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“We’re on a normal patrol today,” Aizawa said seriously. “You do not go off on your own. You do not engage any villains without my express permission and assistance. You’re still in training,” he said, and Hitoshi nodded, just as serious.
He wasn’t about to risk it all for a moment of glory, if it would even be that.
“Verbal confirmation.”
“Yes, Eraserhead,” Hitoshi said, and Aizawa gave a nod.
“Good. You memorized my patrol route?”
As soon as it was given to him.
“Yes.”
“You know the nearest hospital?”
“Musutafu General.”
“Nearest Police station?”
“Shizuoka Police Station.”
“And you know how to get there from multiple different routes?”
“Yes.”
“Emergency numbers?”
“Present Mic, your agency, his agency, and Tsukauchi, in that order unless the danger level necessitates a different order.”
“Alright. We’re going to take it slow and steady, watch my foot placements and follow, just like we’ve been training,” Aizawa said, and part of Hitoshi wanted to huff, and complain that it’s taken them this long already, that they could’ve already been on patrol, that he knows all this stuff.
The other part knows how delicate this situation actually is, and so he won’t risk it for the world, especially just by being some kind of bratty, entitled teen.
“Understood,” Hitoshi said, and Aizawa nodded.
“Let’s go.”
And with that, they were off. Aizawa climbed up onto the roof, carefully checking behind him every now and then to make sure Hitoshi was following (he was; he could probably climb a building blindfolded at this point), and once they were on the roof, Aizawa checked on his equipment one last time.
Then, he checked Hitoshi’s, feeling along his arm bracers and shifting the capture weapon this way and that, like a mother hen. Hitoshi thought about commenting. He didn’t.
“If I go too fast, you tell me. If we get separated, you page me,” Aizawa said. And Hitoshi nodded.
“Yes, Eraserhead.”
Finally, they were on patrol, Hitoshi’s first ever patrol as a hero student, his first internship… everything was finally falling into place like Hitoshi had been wishing for since he was a little kid before shit hit the fan. He’d have a patrol, go home to Yamada and Aizawa, and Aizawa said that they’d celebrate, though Hitoshi didn’t know how.
Hitoshi followed in Aizawa’s footsteps, three steps behind, landing where he landed, tying up the capture weapon where he did, propelling himself forward with the same amount of force, rolling as he hit the next roof.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by Aizawa throwing out a hand. He stopped where he was, skidding with momentum a little, crouching low. Aizawa was listening to something intently.
“My agency is routing us towards a call, a robbery a block out; we’re going, you hang back,” Aizawa said.
“Yes, Eraserhead,” Hitoshi said, and they were moving again.
He heard the robbery before they saw it, windows breaking, someone yelling, someone crying.
They slid into the alleyway beside the building, pulling on their capture weapons practically in unison to untie them before sneaking around the corner.
Aizawa peeked his head up just above the window.
“Four robbers. Two civilians. I’ll go in first, you follow, you’ll handle civilians, while I take care of the robbers. Get them out, then call the police,” Aizawa said, his voice low. Hitoshi nodded, and then Aizawa leapt up and through the window, someone cried out, Hitoshi could hear the telltale signs of Aizawa’s capture weapon tying someone up, and then Hitoshi followed the motion, hopping in and making a beeline towards the two civilians, two women tied up, back to back, duct tape over their mouths and tears in their eyes.
Hitoshi could hear Aizawa fighting in the background as he reached them, whipping out his knife to saw through the ropes.
“My name is Nighthide, we’re going to get you out of here,” he said quickly, freeing their arms, they reached up, ripping off the duct tape themselves. Hitoshi opened his mouth to speak again, but one of the women grabbed him, hands on either side of his head.
“Wha-” he started, but couldn’t finish. There was an overwhelming pressure in his head, a vice pulled tight, like the capture weapon when he was first learning how to use it. Hitoshi lurched away, trying to blink away the pain. He wobbled on his feet, hands in his hair, brain too big for his head. He tripped over something, landing flat on his ass.
“What the hell?” he croaked.
“Why don’t I have control over you?” the one civilian asked, and Hitoshi reached out with his quirk. It was a weak movement, probably wouldn’t even have taken hold, but Hitoshi felt like he could breathe again, his own quirk fixing whatever was going on in his head.
Hitoshi’s brain caught up. Control? Did she also have some kind of brainwashing quirk?
He was on his feet in an instant, brandishing his knife defensively.
“Eraserhead! They’re not civilians!” he yelled, risking a look over his shoulder. Aizawa has two of the robbers in cuffs, and one in his capture weapon. The last remaining robber locks eyes with Hitoshi and then yells out:
“Kimiko! Pivot!”
Pivot?
Hitoshi turned back to the two women, only for the one who had jumped him (presumably Kimiko) to take off towards the other fight.
“Eraserhead-!” Hitoshi started, but then the other women leapt at Hitoshi. He grappled with her, narrowly avoiding the knife she swung at him.
She was quick, light on her feet, some kind of air-based quirk that Hitoshi couldn't quite figure out how it worked.
In the back of his mind, Hitoshi was thinking about Aizawa: he was already outnumbered, and if Kimiko had untied or freed any of the other robbers...
“I’ve got him!” Kimiko yelled.
Hitoshi’s heart dropped into his boots.
Suddenly, the other woman was off him, leaping away, leaving Hitoshi scrambling and looking around frantically, brandishing his knife, and spotting Aizawa.
He was still. Painfully still except for his hands twitching at his sides, his eyes were on Hitoshi, but they weren’t right.
Hitoshi has spent a lot of time with Aizawa over the past year. He’s seen him tired, happy, upset, ticked off, tense…
There was something undeniable in his eyes, something scary, something like rage.
“Hero,” Kimiko said. “You look young, so I’ll be nice and give you a ten-second head start,” she said, and Hitoshi swallowed roughly. One of the men had a finger gun and a cruel smile aimed at him. Aizawa glanced at it and then stared back at Hitoshi, eyes narrowed.
“What?” he said, and she rolled her eyes.
“10… 9…”
Hitoshi was off like a shot, scrambling for the window they came in from.
If his theory was correct, and she had some kind of brainwashing quirk... Hitoshi was in deep shit.
He has approximately 5 seconds before… something happens. He needs distance. Hitoshi was on the roof as fast as he could, running, trying to retrace their steps; he needed the sturdy footholds that Aizawa had guided him to earlier, and-
Feet hit the roof behind him.
Hitoshi glanced over his shoulder.
Red eyes, capture weapon swinging, sure of himself, and locked on Hitoshi.
Shit.
He needed to go.
Aizawa launched the capture weapon towards him, and Hitoshi dropped into the narrow space between two buildings, a move Aizawa didn’t like him doing, but did he have a choice?
He slid down, could feel his hero costume pulling at the rough brick behind him, feet barely giving him enough traction to not fall to his death.
He leapt down as soon as he was near enough, scrambling on the sidewalk, taking off in the opposite direction.
Hitoshi could hear Aizawa’s footsteps behind him, up on the roof. Hopefully, there wasn’t an easy grapple point down. If there was anything that could save Hitoshi right now, it’s that he was thinner still and could slide into smaller spaces.
Otherwise… how could he fight against someone who knows his every move? Aizawa taught him everything, and it was all his first, before it was ever Hitoshi’s.
“Eraserhead?” he called back, glancing over his shoulder to try and keep track of him. Aizawa didn’t even blink, didn’t respond; it was like Hitoshi hadn’t said anything.
He ripped his burner phone out of its pouch with his left hand and his knife with his right, peeling away from the building and running across the street. He could hear the capture weapon reaching out, the cloth pulling tight as Aizawa extended it.
He narrowly dodged, watching the loop that was supposed to catch his leg snag against a lamppost as he ducked into another alleyway.
“Aizawa!” he yelled instead, desperate for maybe even just a flicker of recognition in the hero, only for nothing to happen once again.
The burner phone was a gift from Aizawa. It was 'communication in dire moments'. And 'Untraceable'. And 'Needed for underground heroes who don’t have many options for backup'. His fingers dialed in Yamada’s number quickly. Practiced, the number memorized for so long, Hitoshi was pretty sure he could recite it easier than his own.
The phone started to ring as he emerged through the other side of the alleyway. No time to hesitate, he started running again, trying to stay hidden under awnings and ledges as best as he could. The harder he was to spot, the easier to evade, and the more objects that were in the way of getting a firm hold on Hitoshi, the better.
“Hello?” Yamada’s voice came through.
“Present Mic-” Hitoshi said, the barest shred of relief stealing the rest of the sentence from his mouth.
“Nighthide? What’s wrong?”
“Eraserhead’s been compromised. Some… some kind of brainwashing quirk, I think, he’s after me.”
“After you?” Yamada asked. Hitoshi ducked under a shot from Aizawa’s capture weapon, the grey strand snapping in front of him, coiling around nothing.
“Chasing me down. I don’t know how long I can evade him,” he said.
“I’ll ping your location and contact Eraserhead’s agency. Are you on foot?”
“Yes-” his arm was yanked back suddenly. He tightened his grip on the burner phone, swinging the knife at the capture weapon that had snagged his wrist.
He sawed through it, heels digging into the ground as Aizawa tried to yank him closer from atop a telephone pole.
The second he was free, he fell backward, scrambling into another alleyway practically on his hands and knees.
“Present Mic?” he said, raising the phone up again.
“Nighthide. We have your location, and reinforcements are on the way. Can you get somewhere safe?”
“Is anywhere safe?” he asked. Yamada was silent, and Hitoshi felt his stomach clench, his lungs tight.
“Call the police, they might be able to intercept you earlier than another hero, then call me back through your headphones,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi nodded, even though there would be no way for him to hear that. He hung up the phone.
Basically, if Hitoshi was understanding everything correctly, he was screwed.
There were footsteps above him again, Aizawa on the rooftop above the alleyway, stalking him like a predator from a tree.
Hitoshi racked his brain for anything potentially useful.
There was a subway about half a block away. Hitoshi glanced up. Red eyes gleaming in the dark.
Could he make it half a block?
Hitoshi dialed in Tsukauchi’s phone number.
“Detective Tsukauchi.”
“Tsukauchi, it’s Nighthide. I’m Eraserhead’s intern. Eraserhead has been compromised,” he said.
“Compromised how?” Tsukauchi asked, straight to business. Hitoshi had only met him the one time, very briefly before Aizawa gave Hitoshi his phone number, but he’d seemed kind, if exasperated at Aizawa.
“Brainwashing quirk. He’s chasing me down, likely thinks I’m a threat or a… a villain,” Hitoshi said, unable to stop the falter in his voice. “I’m going to try to slip away. He’s not responding to anything except my movements, continuing to chase me. I don’t know what will happen if he catches me.”
They both knew what was likely to happen if Aizawa caught him.
Hitoshi doesn’t think he’s ever been more scared in his life.
“Stay on the line, Nighthide.”
“I can’t, I promised Present Mic that I’d hop back on the line with him,” Hitoshi said.
“Tell Present Mic to connect me to the call. We’re dispatching officers to your location,” Tsukauchi said.
“Understood,” Hitoshi said, and glanced back up at Aizawa. Aizawa shook his head, the red flickering for a moment before it solidified again. He knew what fish in a barrel felt like now. He clicked back to the previous calls, dialing for Yamada again, staring at Aizawa looming down on him.
There was no way of knowing when the quirk would end, if it was proximity-based or time or some other variable entirely. It appeared that Aizawa might be fighting it, or it could be a flicker of control from the other person. Hitoshi sent a prayer to anyone that would listen that the control would end soon.
Yamada answered on the 2nd ring.
“Nighthide, report.”
“I’m in an alley. Eraserhead is above me, he’s stopping briefly… I think my only option is the subway,” Hitoshi said, and Yamada was silent on the other end.
“How long before you’re underground?”
“Half a block. It’ll limit his movements.”
“And yours,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi swallowed, hardly daring to blink.
“I don’t think I have much of a choice. I can’t beat him on foot or rooftop. I think the only reason he hasn’t come down into this alleyway is because of how tight it is,” Hitoshi said, but as the words came out of his mouth, Aizawa began to wind up the capture weapon. Hitoshi knew that motion.
Hitoshi clicked the button on the side of the burner phone and routed the call up to his headset.
“Nighthide-”
“He’s about to come down. I’m going to the subway; we may lose contact underground.”
“Nighthide, can you bide time until the officers or heroes arrive on scene?”
“No,” Hitoshi said quietly, watching as Aizawa tested the hold he had set on the wall. “Present Mic, I have to run now.”
“Go.”
And with that, Aizawa swung down, and Hitoshi sprinted out of the alley, sliding across the ground to avoid the older man’s outstretched arm. He leapt back to his feet, watching as Aizawa hit the wall, kicking out to turn himself rapidly, the capture weapon falling free, Aizawa rolling as he hit the ground.
Hitoshi broke into a run. He could see the entrance to the subway, and could hear Aizawa’s footsteps behind him. He was potentially backing himself into a corner, into his grave.
Briefly, Hitoshi wondered if Aizawa would ever forgive himself if he killed Hitoshi, before he shook that thought from his head, throwing out his capture weapon to propel himself down the stairs.
He hit the ground hard, forgetting to roll, falling to his knees at the impact, his shoes sliding across the floor as he got to his feet again.
“Present Mic?” Hitoshi said, breathing heavily, running through the subway, jumping over the faregate to get further inside.
“Nighthide.”
“I made it into the subway. Eraserhead is still in pursuit.” Because of course he was.
“Understood. Let us know if you end up on a certain line,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi swallowed hard.
“I… Tsukauchi wanted me to tell you-” he huffed in some air, ducking around a corner, “he wanted to be added onto this line.”
“I figured, I’ve been keeping in touch; you don’t worry about that Nighthide.”
“Thanks,” Hitoshi said. He glanced at the screen, the slideshow switching just in time- this station was getting skipped. There would be no train stopping at this station for Hitoshi to get onto to evade Aizawa for longer.
He glanced behind him. Aizawa was there, gaining on him, eyes red, pace relentless. Shit.
What could he do? He can’t beat Aizawa in hand-to-hand, he can’t keep running, his last hope was this damn train, and now it’s conveniently skipping the station he’s at. He swallowed roughly. There was something he could do. But if Hitoshi lived, Aizawa and Yamada were going to have his head. “Present Mic,” he said.
“Nighthide?”
“I… Yamada, I’m about to do something really stupid.”
“Nighthide, the officers are three minutes from your location. Try to stall-”
“I don’t have three minutes,” Hitoshi said softly. He hopped down onto the train tracks. The headlight was fast approaching, the rumble of the tracks surrounding him like Yamada’s quirk when he couldn’t sleep.
“Yamada. Tell Aizawa I don’t blame him.”
“Hitoshi, please, just hold on, hang in there, they’re almost there, get on the train-” Yamada started, and Hitoshi shook his head.
“There’s no train stopping here. This stop is being skipped. You guys might not forgive me for this, but… I need to focus,” Hitoshi said, uncoiling part of his capture weapon.
“Hitoshi-”
Hitoshi muted the call. Breathed out slowly. The train honked at him, approaching rapidly.
From a different angle, Aizawa approached, his eyes locked on Hitoshi. He wished he’d blink. His eyes must be aching. This might lower his quirk usage even more. Hitoshi shook his head.
Clear mind. Clear thoughts. Take a deep breath. Wind up the capture weapon.
Hitoshi pressed himself as close to the wall of the subway as he could.
Aizawa hesitated at the edge of the platform. So maybe there was some kind of self-preservation clause in the quirk?
Or maybe this was such a stupid idea that Aizawa thought he was just going to kill himself, and he wouldn’t have to worry about hunting him down anymore.
The train sped by, horn still blaring. Hitoshi felt like throwing up, holding his breath, and refusing to budge even an inch away from the wall; the train was close enough to touch, wind rushing by his face, and it was only going to get 10 times worse.
He forced himself to breathe out… and threw out his capture weapon, felt it extend and catch, and then in an instant, Hitoshi was yanked from his spot against the wall, sliding up the side of the train and onto the top, tucking himself in as close as he could.
There are a lot of things that could still go wrong. He managed to get onto the train, hurtling through the tunnel, making good time getting away from Aizawa, but if there was so much as a rock out of place, his head could be gone before he knew it.
He unmuted the call.
“-Toshi, please, please, please respond, Hitoshi. Hitoshi, please. Please, no, please Hitoshi, I can’t- please-”
“Yamada?” Hitoshi interrupted.
“Oh, Hitoshi, please, you’re alive, thank goodness, thank anything, thank everything. Are you okay? Please-”
“I’m on top of the train.”
Finally, a spot of silence on the other end of the call; the only sound Hitoshi was able to hear was the rushing of air past his ears.
“On… top?”
Hitoshi huffed out a giddy laugh.
“Y-yeah. On top, I hooked onto the train with my capture weapon. Aizawa is back at the station,” Hitoshi said.
The train left the tunnel, on a raised platform above the city, chugging along more peacefully in the open air, lights twinkling underneath him. Hitoshi breathed out a sigh of relief.
“Looks like the next stop is a halfway point, meant to just board another train. I’d get off there or else you’ll be back underground,” Yamada said.
“Understood. Thank you, Present Mic.”
“Nighthide, if you do that shit again, you’re grounded for the rest of your life.”
“Understood. Thank you, Yamada.”
The train started to slow at the platform, and Hitoshi unwound his capture weapon just a bit, launching it at a lamppost and then sliding off the train, hitting the platform right as the train stopped.
“Nighthide, come in.”
“Present Mic?”
“Eraserhead was not spotted or picked up at the station,” Present Mic said, and Hitoshi’s blood ran cold.
“What?”
Boots pounded on the platform behind him, landing heavily.
“Nighthide.”
“I know,” Hitoshi said, and then he was untying his capture weapon with a pull, the cloth pooling at his feet. He needed to go again. He took two steps forward, gearing up to jump off the platform. He wasn’t supposed to do this yet. They were still working on balance, and Aizawa, if he made it out of this, was going to kill him. Yamada still might, but did he have another option?
The answer was no, and so Hitoshi dived off the platform.
He slung out his capture weapon towards the underside of the train tracks, hooking onto one of the support beams for it, something excited filling his chest, he would not be falling to his death today.
Right before his own capture weapon snapped taught, Hitoshi braced for it, ready to swing with it, just like in training. But then, something lashed around his ankle tightly, and Hitoshi bounced in the air, stopped suddenly, and yanked between his own capture weapon and Aizawa’s, head hitting a pole that supported the platform, sending sparks of pain through his head and stars into his eyes.
Shit.
Aizawa once told him that upside down was not a good place to be. And that was in training, in a controlled environment, Aizawa telling him how it flips your perspective, can mess with your depth perception and your aim, to avoid being upside down for any extended period of time, at least until he was well practiced.
‘Hero work is not the time for fancy flips’
Hitoshi can only imagine how much worse upside down is when he’s eighty feet above the ground, likely concussed, with someone who wants to put him in mortal danger slowly pulling him back up to the platform.
“Nighthide?”
“Not right now, Present Mic,” Hitoshi said, though his tongue felt too big for his mouth. It was harder to think upside down, he was discovering. Sure, he knew that from training, but he needed his brain to work right now, and it was moving painfully slow.
The trail of blood dripping down his head through his hair also wasn’t helping. Or the ringing in his ears.
“Are you injured?” Yamada asked, clearly ignoring his last statement.
“Hit my head. Aizawa caught me,” he said simply, twisting his body just a little bit to look up at the platform where Aizawa was hand-over-hand pulling him back up to the platform, inch by inch, the red gleaming in the darkness.
“Good catch or bad catch?” Yamada asked simply, and Hitoshi swallowed roughly.
“Bad,” Hitoshi croaked.
“Can you cut his capture weapon?”
“I don’t… I don’t think I can maneuver myself that well anymore. I have my capture weapon in place, but my vision… my head-”
“Nighthide. Take a deep breath.”
Hitoshi did as he was told.
“Pull back your capture weapon,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi yanked at it, twisting the cloth in his grip to loosen it. It fluttered in the wind as it retracted, and Hitoshi watched it for a long moment.
“It’s undone,” he said eventually, jolting through the air again as Aizawa yanked him upward.
“Police are arriving on the scene. They’ve set up a rescue cushion underneath you.”
Hitoshi glanced down, spotting the bright cushion underneath him, so so far down. “I’m a bit high up, for a rescue cushion, I think.”
“Do you trust me, Hitoshi?” Yamada asked, and of course he did.
“Yeah.”
“Keep your arms in. Aim for the middle as best as you can,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi glanced down again. The rescue cushion seemed even further away than it did before.
“O-okay,” he said.
“Cut Aizawa’s capture weapon.”
Hitoshi huffed out a breath. Easier said than done. He drew his knife, stuck it between his teeth, and then yanked himself up closer to his ankle, grabbing at his leg to tug himself up. The change in position made his head throb.
He swallowed roughly, took his knife out of his mouth, and cut at the capture weapon.
It only took two slices with the knife to cut enough for it to snap.
Internally, as he fluttered through the air, Hitoshi tried to make a mental note to thank Aizawa for always reminding him to keep his knife sharp.
Not that it would be his knife for much longer.
He flung the knife as far away from himself as he could and braced, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for the inevitable impact, either with the ground or with the rescue cushion, stuck in a freefall with no way of controlling where he was going to land.
When he hit, all the air left his lungs. He gasped, but no air came in, a fish out of water.
Sound flooded back in, people yelling all around him, hands grabbing at him, yanking him to the edge of the cushion, paramedics shining a light in his eyes that he flinched back from, firefighters moving all around him, police officers forming another layer of people just behind the paramedics and Hitoshi couldn’t breathe.
“Get out of my way!” a voice rumbled through the crowd, and all of a sudden it was clear.
It was clear, and then Yamada was the only one in Hitoshi’s view.
“Hitoshi?” he said, his voice all soft and worried, that furrow in his brow. “I need you to breathe, okay?”
“C-can’t-” he gasped out.
“You just got the wind knocked out of you, just take a deep breath in, and out, it’ll go away in a minute or so,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi nodded, following along as best as he could.
It took a minute, just like Yamada had said, but the spasming in his chest died down, replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion that Hitoshi didn’t know how to manage. But Yamada gently cradled his face, unhooking the persona cords, and just looked at him for a second. Hitoshi’s breath stuttered slightly, and Yamada’s eyes filled with tears.
“You’re okay,” Yamada said, and suddenly, Hitoshi was enveloped in a hug. Finally, he was able to relax.
“I’m okay,” he repeated.
“You’re okay,” Yamada said again, and Hitoshi nodded against his shoulder.
He could fall asleep right here, honestly, but other concerns began to permeate the atmosphere.
Namely, boots hitting the concrete and the sound of guns cocking.
“Aizawa,” he whispered, and Yamada’s grip on him tightened.
“Stay behind me,” he said, letting go of Hitoshi. He gave him one more fond look that Hitoshi didn’t know what to do with before standing, a hand out behind him to guard Hitoshi, obviously trying to block him from view.
Hitoshi rose to his feet behind him, wobbling slightly, a mix of adrenaline and probably his concussion.
Aizawa was surrounded by police, but his eyes were on Hitoshi.
Red. Dangerous.
There was blood trailing down his hand, dripping onto the ground, and for a moment, Hitoshi could’ve sworn he could hear it.
“Midnight’s ETA is two minutes. We hold him here until she gets here,” one police officer called.
“His target remains Nighthide,” another called, this one familiar, and Hitoshi spared a glance towards the officer, recognizing Tsukauchi, who gave him a slight nod. “Present Mic, work on getting Nighthide out of eyeshot.”
“Come on,” Yamada said, still watching Aizawa, but reaching out for Hitoshi. “We’re going to go behind the fire truck right over here.”
Yamada began shuffling over, still shielding Hitoshi from Aizawa, with Aizawa’s eyes tracking them across the lot, following along with their slow steps.
“Yamada-” Hitoshi murmured before he could help himself, and Yamada shushed him gently.
“It’s okay.”
They slipped behind the firetruck.
Hitoshi had just enough time to breathe a small sigh of relief when someone cried out, two tasers went off, and people were shouting.
Yamada pushed him further behind him.
Aizawa slid into view, hand on the ground to slow him down just enough for him to pop back up behind the fire truck.
Yamada didn’t give him a moment; he just swung.
Hitoshi felt like a little kid in a costume. He was pressed against the side of the fire truck, watching the two adults he trusted fight, Yamada holding his own against an enraged, aggressive Aizawa, who kept looking at Hitoshi in between punches.
Two officers came around the fire truck, one of them looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here, the other was Tsukauchi.
Yamada narrowly avoided a knife to the face as Aizawa whipped out the blade, flipping it in his hand to bring it back down, Yamada slipping under his arm, grabbing at his arms and tripping him, landing on top of him.
“Nighthide, are you okay?” Yamada asked, like he wasn’t pinning Aizawa to the ground. Hitoshi couldn’t find the words. Yamada’s voice rose slightly, “Hitoshi.”
“Y-yeah, I’m okay,” he said, and Yamada nodded, satisfied.
“Midnight will be here soon,” he promised. “Then we’ll go home, alright?” Yamada said, and Hitoshi swallowed roughly.
“Okay,” he managed, and Yamada nodded again, focusing his attention back on the squirming, angry Aizawa.
“I heard someone’s been naughty,” someone called, and that caught the attention of everyone in the cramped space behind the fire truck.
“Nemuri,” Yamada breathed, and he sounded so relieved that it rippled through Hitoshi too.
Aizawa lurched in Yamada’s hold, refocusing all of them.
“Hitoshi, put your persona cords back on,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi quickly snapped into motion, numb fingers fumbling with his mask as he hooked it onto his face, the cords suctioning to his face with a faint hiss.
Midnight helped Yamada get a face mask on quickly, then waved for the police officers to disperse.
“Shh, Shouta,” she said finally, leaning over the man, removing her jacket so that the purple mist could spread around them.
Aizawa shook his head roughly, clawed at the ground, and fought with all his might. He locked eyes with Hitoshi one last time, the gleaming red finally, finally flickering out as he collapsed to the ground, boneless.
Yamada waited another second longer, letting the mist hang around them, before he stood up off Aizawa.
“Come on, Hitoshi,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards Hitoshi, and his limbs were moving before he could think, coming up to Yamada, who slung an arm around his shoulders.
Paramedics moved in, lifted Aizawa onto a stretcher, handcuffing him to the stretcher, and moving out, only one staying behind.
“We’re going to Musutafu General, you’re his emergency contact, right?” she asked, and Yamada nodded.
“Yeah. We’ll follow behind in a couple of minutes, might be a bit longer, we’re going to stop off at home, pick up a few things we need,” Yamada said, and the paramedic nodded once, firm, before she ran off to go catch up with her crew. Hitoshi gaped at Yamada, staring at him, stunned in ways he couldn’t even get words out for.
“Hitoshi, you okay?” Yamada asked, concerned. “How’s your head? Oh, we should’ve gotten you checked out, I’m so sorry, come on, we can go now, there might be another ambulance, this way-”
Hitoshi was rooted to the ground, even as Yamada attempted to pull him gently towards the collection of vehicles.
“Hitoshi?” Yamada asked, and he shook his head.
“Don’t… don’t you want to go with Aizawa?” he asked, and Yamada stared at him for a long second.
“Aizawa is safe with all the paramedics right now. You’re my priority, and Aizawa would never forgive me if I left you right now, okay?” Yamada said gently, smoothing a thumb over the back of Hitoshi’s hand. “I think… we get you checked out by a paramedic. Then we go home for a little bit, and then we go to the hospital, yeah? Unless you want to stay home, that’s okay too.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” Hitoshi blurted out before he could stop himself. Yamada smiled, all soft and kind, like he did the very first night Hitoshi stayed in their home.
“Let’s go get you checked out,” he said, and Hitoshi nodded, following Yamada mindlessly.
He gets looked over, a bright light shined in his eyes, Yamada is handed instructions for dealing with concussions that he promptly crumples and puts in his pocket, barely sparing it a second glance.
Tsukauchi steps up right as the paramedic steps back.
“Nighthide, a word?” he said, and Yamada stood to the side, a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder that felt protective. Hitoshi nodded. “Do you have any information on the quirk Eraserhead was under?” he asked. Hitoshi swallowed.
“Not really… one of the robbers called her Kimiko. She had the brainwashing quirk,” Hitoshi explained, and Tsukauchi nodded.
“Did it seem targeted?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was it a setup just to get to Aizawa?”
“I don’t think so,” Hitoshi said quickly. “I think they were just trying to distract any heroes that arrived on scene. She tried to brainwash me, but she wasn’t able to.”
Tsukauchi’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly. “She wasn’t able to?”
“Ah… no… I think our quirks disagree with each other. I felt her try to take control, but it just… didn’t.”
“I see.”
“Sorry I’m not much help,” he said, and Tsukauchi shook his head.
“You’ve been through a lot tonight, you’ve been more help than I expected,” he said, folding up his notebook. “On that note, I’ll let you be. Let me know if you remember anything else.”
“I will,” Hitoshi said with a nod, and Yamada smiled.
“I’m going to get him home, if you don’t mind,” he said. There was an edge to his voice, one that made a bizarre feeling of safety resonate through Hitoshi’s chest.
Yamada helped him up, guiding him to his haphazardly parked car with a gentle hand on the small of his back.
He opened the door for him, helped him into the car, and looked like he was going to help him with the seatbelt for a second before he swallowed roughly, closed the door, and circled to his side of the car.
The ride was silent. Adrenaline was winding down for both of them, soaking Hitoshi in exhaustion. He was half asleep when they got home, Yamada quickly circling the car to open the door for Hitoshi, his hand returning to his back to guide him inside, reaching around him briefly to unlock the door for him.
Hitoshi was just… taken care of. And it felt nice, after the chaos of the night, to be taken care of by one of his parental figures.
“The option is still open,” Yamada said, after hanging up his keys.
“What?” Hitoshi asked, confused, not following where Yamada was going through the slog of sleep. Yamada smiled, fond in a way that made Hitoshi’s head hurt. He gently reached around his head to take his persona cords off. Hitoshi hadn’t noticed he was still wearing them.
“You can stay home, rest some, I can come pick you up later, if you still want to come to the hospital,” Yamada offered, and Hitoshi shook his head.
“I want to go, I promise,” he said, and Yamada nodded, lifting Hitoshi’s capture weapon off his shoulders.
“Then we’ll go,” he said. “You can hop in the shower, and then we’ll go.”
Hitoshi nodded, and Yamada stepped away, still holding the capture weapon in his hands, hanging it on the hook next to the empty one where Aizawa’s was supposed to be hanging.
Hitoshi shuffled forward, through the house, barely seeing anything. Bastard came forward, purring at his feet, and if Hitoshi was less tired, he would’ve leaned down to scratch at his chin just the way he liked.
Instead, he continued forward, practically dead on his feet, until he made it to the bathroom, seeing himself for the first time since before they left.
He thinks he understands why Yamada is hovering so much now.
He’s covered in grime; there’s blood in his hair; the cut on his forehead has been stuck closed with butterfly bandages, the only clean part of his face.
Hitoshi robotically undressed and showered, only to realize right at the end that he forgot both a towel and clothes.
He turned off the water, and immediately there was a soft knock on the door.
“Hitoshi, I’ll leave these on the sink, okay?” he said, and at Hitoshi’s positive response, an arm stuck its way into the bathroom, depositing the pile on the side of the sink.
Hitoshi couldn’t help but smile.
He slips out of the bathroom moments later, and Yamada jolts up from where he was sitting on the couch.
“Hey, you look a bit better,” he said, smiling, and Hitoshi nodded.
“I feel a bit better,” he said. “We going to the hospital?”
“You up for that?” Yamada asked.
“Would rather do that than just sit around here. I’m not allowed to sleep, right?” Hitoshi asked.
“Not really. I’d be calling you every couple of hours,” Yamada answered honestly.
“Then, the hospital it is.”
The car ride isn’t silent like before. Yamada turns on the radio, and he’s humming along, soft and sweet in a way that’s getting Hitoshi dangerously close to sleep. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Yamada works pro-hero magic when they get in, flashing his Present Mic Smile and his pro-hero license that gets them into the back without any fuss, and suddenly they’re in Aizawa’s room.
Hitoshi told himself he’d be fine. Over and over again, he told himself. But he can’t help how his hands clam up, or how his heart begins to race.
“Hitoshi?” Yamada said, and Hitoshi shook his head.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I just… for a second I got… a little worried.”
“He’s still restrained,” Yamada said placatingly. “And they have a quirk specialist who says that there’s no evidence of another quirk in his system. If you want, though, you can wait outside? I’ll come check on you every 10 minutes or so?” he offered, but Hitoshi was shaking his head before he even finished the sentence.
“Nah, I’m okay. I’m being…” he was going to say stupid, but Yamada looked like he was already gearing up to tell him off for it. “Paranoid,” he said instead. “I know that we wouldn’t be allowed in here if there was a trace of a violent quirk in him.”
“He wouldn’t blame you,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi nodded.
“I know,” he pulled up the extra chair beside the one that was already in there. “But he’d sit here for me.”
Yamada hummed, soft and reassuring. Silence settled over them. Hitoshi’s eyes watched Yamada’s and Aizawa’s hands clasped together, Yamada stroking his thumb along the back of Aizawa’s hand.
“I’m very proud of you.”
“What?” Hitoshi said, tearing his eyes away.
“I’m proud of you,” Yamada repeated.
“I got a concussion and lasted a grand total of like twenty minutes on my first patrol,” Hitoshi said with a raised eyebrow, and Yamada swallowed.
“I know. But tonight could’ve been so much worse if you weren’t as capable as you are.”
Hitoshi could’ve died.
This could’ve been a very different hospital visit.
This could’ve been identifying a body.
“Thank you for picking up the phone,” he said, and Yamada’s eyes shot back to him.
“Always, Hitoshi. I could be 80 in a retirement home, and if you called me, I’d fight my way out for you,” Yamada said, and his voice rang true and honest. Hitoshi nodded.
“I… I’m going to go get something from a vending machine,” he said, instead of facing the intensity of care Yamada was exuding for both Aizawa and Hitoshi.
“You need money?” Yamada asked, one hand wrapping halfway around his body as he worked on getting his wallet out.
“I’m okay,” Hitoshi said, waving him off. “You want anything?”
“Nah, I’m grooving here,” he said.
Hitoshi slipped out of the room, poking his head around corners in search of a vending machine, keeping careful track of where he came from and where he was going.
It also gave him a moment to himself.
Logically, he knew that Aizawa and Yamada cared for him; they took him in, trained him, fed him, clothed him, and paid for anything he wanted. But tonight it was something visceral. Yamada went toe to toe with Aizawa for Hitoshi. He chose to stay behind with Hitoshi instead of accompanying his husband to the hospital. He put his life on the line for Hitoshi.
And Hitoshi wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.
He stood in front of the vending machine for a while, trying to decide what he wanted to get. His eyes were stuck on those stupid jelly pouches Aizawa always ate.
Would he want one?
Would he want one from Hitoshi?
“Here,” someone said beside Hitoshi, startling him out of his train of thought, scanning a card and hitting the button before Hitoshi could react. The jelly hit the bottom of the vending machine. “They’re my kids favorite too,” she said, offering it to him.
Hitoshi couldn’t bring himself to accept it for a long moment. The nurse held it out, a small smile on her face, patient.
“Thanks,” he said eventually, taking it with numb fingers.
He fidgeted with the jelly all the way back to the room.
Knocked twice on the doorframe before slipping in.
And made eye contact with Aizawa.
He froze on instinct, deer in headlights, jelly gripped tight in his hand. His breathing was shallow at best.
“Hitoshi?” Yamada said gently, standing.
Aizawa was pushing at Yamada’s hand, trying to get him to move forward.
“I-” Hitoshi started, but the words got stuck. He swallowed roughly, just in time for Yamada to come up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, the touch gentle. “I got this for you,” he managed, offering the jelly pouch to Aizawa.
He forced himself to take the couple of steps forward, Yamada at his side.
Aizawa reached up slowly, like Hitoshi was a spooked cat.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. Hitoshi nodded.
They all stood frozen for a moment.
“Let’s sit,” Yamada decided, moving around the bed to sit beside Aizawa again, and Hitoshi followed, because it was the only thing he could do at that moment.
Yamada took Aizawa’s hand again.
Hitoshi was staring.
Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut.
“I hurt you,” he said.
“I… it’s just a concussion,” Hitoshi said weakly. “I’m fine otherwise.”
“You trained him well,” Yamada interjected. “He did very well.”
Aizawa nodded.
Hitoshi was pretty sure that if Aizawa didn’t have dry eye, he’d be crying.
“I’m okay,” he promised. “And I know it wasn’t you.”
“I… I understand if you want to move homes,” Aizawa said. It sounded like he had to beat every word out of himself.
“I don’t,” Hitoshi said. “I want to go home soon. So we need to get a nurse in here to release you, but home is home,” he said.
And he knew that it was. Any lingering fear would dissipate, was already dissipating, looking at Aizawa’s sad, regretful eyes.
“You’re okay?” Aizawa asked, his eyes darting across Hitoshi’s face, searching for injury and pain and probably fear too. Hitoshi set his jaw, made eyecontact, stamped out the last worry he had in his soul, and nodded.
“I’m okay.”
And he was.
Or would be. That part wasn't important. What was important was their little family feeling whole again and that they would be on their way home soon. To cats, and rest, and some kind of silly breakfast Yamada makes tomorrow.
Hitoshi smiled, soft and tired, leaning back in his chair to close his eyes.
He can start on the rest part here.