Chapter Text
—
By the time Present Mic would have gotten to the scene, the fight was over. Which was just as well; it meant that when he got the updated Hero Network alert that Eraserhead, Student, and civilians were all on their way to the hospital, he was already en-route from UA and could detour easily to meet them.
It wasn’t Present Mic that arrived at the hospital, anyways; he had his Directional Speaker with him, but he hadn’t had time to change into his proper Hero attire when he got the alert that Eraserhead’s student was requesting backup on his behalf— because the Hero himself had already started fighting— so all he had with him was the emergency kit he kept in the car, which luckily included a change of civilian clothes. Hizashi walked into the hospital out-of-costume on thursday night, around 10:45, and had to show the receptionist his Hero Licence to gain access to the ward his husband was in, but to his relief he found the man quickly enough in the hallway outside of a surgery theatre.
That relief was immediately replaced with concern.
Shouta was a mess. He was still in his Hero costume, with blood on his clothes and in his hair where it fell forward over his face; the too-familiar smell of smoke and concrete dust clinging to him like a shadow. Haunted eyes snapped up to meet Hizashi’s, and as he pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning on, the Voice Hero saw a long, straight cut along his cheek; leaving a dried trail of blood in some unhinged parody of tear-tracks.
“‘Zashi,” he said, and the word was tinged with a tell-tale strain that told Hizashi that his husband was right on the edge of breaking down.
“Shouta,” he responded, pulling the man into a careful hug; and then, because there was only one reason for him to look like that, to be standing outside a surgery theatre, Hizashi angled his head towards the door and asked: “how’s your kid?”
Shouta pulled back slightly, head angled just to the side so that he was looking over Hizashi’s shoulder. He took a deep breath before reporting the damage: “concussion, dislocated shoulder, fractured one wrist and two ribs, laceration on his side, dust inhalation, a lot of bruising and, uh, they’re worried about- about shrapnel, from- from the-” he paused and swallowed once before finishing the sentence, “from the collapse.”
Oh. Oh. “He’ll be okay, though, yeah?”
Shouta nodded. “Yeah. And Chiyo’s on her way.”
“Good.” And, with that out of the way, Hizashi brushed his husband’s hair back from his face and asked: “How are you doing, Shou?”
Shouta just slumped forward, trusting the other man to catch him. His words after that were muffled against Hizashi’s shoulder, but he still heard them clearly. “I’m fine, just scratches. Bruises. Harder fight than I thought it’d be…”
Hizashi tsk ed. “Next time, you wait for backup, Shouta.”
The exhausted man nodded mutely into Hizashi’s jacket, and he brought his arms around to rub up and down his dusty back.
He may not have made it in time to help with the fight, but he was there in the aftermath, and Shouta needed his husband more than he had needed the Voice Hero. Hizashi knew that; so he did what needed doing, waited with Shouta until Shinsou got out of surgery and then sat with the kid while Shouta got the bare minimum of treatment for his injuries. He went and got civilian clothes for the other man— once again glad that they kept extra in the car— and he brought him food and water, even if he only ate half of what was put in front of him. Shouta couldn’t be convinced to sleep, but that was to be expected; when this was over, he’d make sure he caught up. For now, the kid was most important, and Hizashi would do his best to support them both.
—
Dawn saw the majority of the Morning Crew gathered in the dorm kitchen, watching the news on Yaomomo’s laptop while they waited for word from more reliable sources.
“Tremors shook the area late last night as Heroes undertook a raid on a group of villains who had taken multiple civilians hostage. The civilians were all evacuated safely and four villains were apprehended, with the Heroes only sustaining minor injuries…”
Fumikage turned away from the screen and towards his plate, pushing the food around instead of eating it. Minor injuries. They hadn’t heard from Shinsou since the others had parted ways with him after the raid; but according to Jirou, he’d been taken away in an ambulance. Neither Aizawa nor Present Mic had returned to school, either, but Midnight had told Fumikage they were alright before she left— he was awake, of course, waiting for the others to return and keeping the darkness inside himself at bay.
“They’ll be needing my support for the debrief,” she had explained, “what with how it all went down. I’m sure you’ll hear more soon. Stay out of trouble!”
He had stayed out of trouble. That fact was, however, not a comfort to him; on the contrary, he wondered if things would have ended differently, had he been there to offer his assistance when his friends’ plans went awry. Instead, all he could do was sit in the common area, watching the headache-inducing light of his phone as darkness grew and grew inside him, as the others faced mortal peril, as they fought villains far above their own skill and Shinsou was left alone, bruised and bleeding in the dark against a dangerous unknown and—
“Hey, Birdbrain,” Bakugou said, jabbing Fumikage in the side with an elbow and forcing him out of his thoughts. “I can hear you thinking. Shut up.”
Fumikage shifted side to side in his seat, inclining his head toward Yaomomo’s computer screen, where footage of the villains being loaded into police cars was still playing. “I regret that I was not of more assistance,” he admitted, “in your fight against the darkness which plagues this world…”
“Seriously?” Jirou cut in from across the table, “we would have walked right into Midnight if you hadn’t told us when she was leaving.”
Yaomomo nodded. “Your role was vital, Tokoyami. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He lowered his head briefly, considering their words. He had never had friends quite like them, before; ones who took notice when he was lost in the intricacies of his own mind, ones who cared enough to pull him out and reassure him of his place with them. He hadn’t thought he needed it— and yet.
“You may all call me Fumikage,” he said, then added, “when we are in trusted company.”
Bakugou snorted dismissively, but Fumikage detected a hint of fondness in it. Yaomomo nodded with a smile. Jirou, of course, had been primarily calling him “Fumi” for several weeks— a nickname she picked up from Hagakure, who was simply incorrigible about such matters. As was Bakugou. And perhaps that was for the best; it would not be suspicious, for either of them to be overly familiar or aggressive, respectively. Fumikage, on the other hand… no, for him it was best to maintain formality.
The news has started playing footage from a different villain fight, since they didn’t have any of last night’s raid; instead, they showed the fight which led to the arrest of Dragon, two years ago. “Thanks to our brave Heroes, dangerous Villains are brought into custody every day…”
Bakugou stabbed into his own plate with a fork. “Lucky bastard…” he muttered.
He glanced up to confused looks from around the table. “Eyebags,” he clarified, “he’s not even in the hero course but he gets to fight, and he doesn’t even catch them all! There were, what, seven villains in there? Police said they only got four.”
Fumikage considered this. Which villains had escaped? Yaomomo had pointed out the ones that the news showed being loaded into cars— Alkiman, who Aizawa-sensei had beaten quite badly; Jetblade; an unknown with some sort of metal-manipulation quirk; and Taika. “Wyvern escaped,” he realized.
Bakugou gestured emphatically. “Yeah! Idiot let the main Villain get away, who does that?!” He punched his own palm and grinned; “I would’ve made sure she couldn’t get back up again.” He emphasized his point by letting off a small explosion.
Jirou scowled. “You saw Shinsou coming up from the tunnels. You’d rather you get hurt like that?”
“Obviously not, Earjacks,” the blonde scoffed. “I wouldn’t get caught in a fuckin’ cave-in in the first place. I’d be smarter than that.”
“Shinsou saved my life,” Yaomomo snapped, “don’t talk about him like that. Every Villain in that room would have outclassed any one of us, we did what we had to do.”
Fumikage nodded. “Strength does not only find itself in force,” he added.
“Exactly,” Yaomomo agreed. “A strong quirk isn’t everything, Bakugou— would you have done better? Or would you have brought the building down on top of us?”
A tense silence fell around the table following her words, and a series of conflicted emotions flashed across Bakugou’s face: confusion, then rage, then restraint, and was that begrudging acceptance? Respect?
Anger won out, but it was nowhere near the blonde’s usual levels of rage. “Shut up!” He sneered, then crossed his arms and sank down in his seat. “I’m still a better fighter than all of you losers.”
To Fumikage, the words rang with a challenge. Dark Shadow pushed out from under his cloak, glaring up at its host. No, Fumikage mentally chided, now is not the time.
When? Dark Shadow demanded.
In training, we may seek him out and request a duel.
Dark Shadow nodded. We’ll show him! He’s not stronger than us!
Around the table, his friends were eating silently. Bakugou was doing what could only be described as sulking. The tension had not dissipated, but it didn’t get the chance to escalate, either, because only a few short moments after the blanket of silence had fallen it was broken by the door to the dormitory swinging open.
“Mic-sensei!” Jirou sat up straight in her seat. “You’re back!”
Yamada Hizashi was almost unrecognizable as the Hero Present Mic, with his hair down and a tired, almost haunted look in his eyes as he caught sight of Yaomomo’s computer screen and grimaced. Fumikage knew, as the man pulled himself together to offer a grin to the gathered students that didn’t quite reach his eyes, that he had encountered darkness that night.
“Heya!” He started, “I’m just here to grab a few things, don’t mind me!”
“Where’s Aizawa-sensei?” Yaomomo asked.
Mic was making his way past them to where the teacher-supervisor dorm was, and with his hand on the doorknob he turned back to face them. “He’s, ah…”
A spike of worry shot through Fumikage. The news had said the Heroes sustained only minor injuries— were they wrong? Had the severity been downplayed? The image of their teacher after the USJ attack, limping and wrapped in bandages, came to his mind. “Is he hurt?”
The Hero looked to the computer screen again, then back to their four expectant faces. “No, not badly,” he eventually settled on, “he’ll be back tomorrow. Midnight and I will be trading out here in the meantime.”
Bakugou glowered. “If he’s taking the day off, it’s got to be bad,” he pointed out.
“No, no, that’s—” Mic sighed. “That’s not why he’s away. He’s just got Hero work to do,” he gestured to the laptop, which had started playing the report over from the beginning again, “after that kind of operation, the paperwork alone is enough to bury anyone!”
It was an excuse, but none of them were going to push it. Mic slipped into the teacher’s room, and they all shared meaningful looks. “He better be okay,” Bakugou growled.
“Mic-sensei wouldn’t lie to us,” Jirou insisted.
“As if paperwork is enough to keep him away from our training. Provisional licensing exams are in two days!”
Yaomomo shut her laptop. It was just repeating the same thing as before, anyway. “I don’t think he’s injured,” she weighed in, “but there must be something else going on.”
Yamada emerged from the room, then gave them all a reassuring smile, and headed back toward the entrance to the building. “Midnight will be here, ah…” he looked down at his phone, “soon! Good luck in training today!”
And then he was gone.
And then, after a beat, the window in the kitchen slid open, seemingly on its own, followed by the soft tap of feet hitting the floor. Hagakure had returned.
“‘Toshi’s okay!” Were the first words she spoke, and Fumikage felt everyone in the room relax, if just a fraction. “He’s still unconscious, though, and they’re keeping him at the hospital till tomorrow. I think Aizawa-sensei is staying with him, too.”
“How’d you get that from eavesdropping on a mission debrief?” Bakugou asked— while standing to prepare the girl a plate of food, of course.
“Sensei was really anxious to get back to Hitoshi,” Hagakure explained, “also, are he and Mic-sensei a thing?”
Jirou rolled her eyes. “Yes, they’re married and Mic-sensei is disgustingly sweet about it. Don’t tell either of them I told you that,” she warned, looking around the room. “I promised not to tell the class.”
Fumikage nodded.
“How do you know about it, Kyouka?” Hagakure wondered.
She held up an earphone jack. “These, plus I listen to Present Mic’s radio show, and he’s mentioned ‘his husband’ on there a few times. Not by name, of course, but it’s pretty obvious if you hear how they talk to each other…”
“Why do they hide it?” Yaomomo asked, frowning.
Jirou rolled her eyes. “Aizawa-sensei wanted to see how long it would take us to notice. Far as I know, the only other one who has is Midoriya. And probably Shinsou, but I’m not sure he counts.”
“That tracks,” Bakugou huffed, “Deku’s always been a little know-it-all.”
Hagakure dug her clothes out from where she’d stashed them in a cabinet— it became much easier to track her movements when she was clothed. “Anyway,” she started, “what they’re not saying on the news is that three of the villains got away. That, and they also spent a lot of the meeting talking about Sunrise.”
Fumikage took another bite of his food. Yaomomo perked up. “What were they saying?”
“Mostly they were trying to figure out the ‘new vigilante’s’ angle,” she might have used finger quotes, but it was hard to tell, “and what to do if they show up again. Aizawa-sensei asked to be kept informed on anything about Sunrise, and it didn’t sound like it was high priority but…”
“But they’re definitely looking,” Jirou finished for her friend. “Great.”
“It’s not like they’re going to find anything,” Bakugou pointed out, “just watch. They won’t even suspect us.”
Yaomomo frowned. “They might suspect Tooru…”
Fumikage had considered this. “Their suspicion greatly depends on how the civilians describe their rescue.”
“Well, they don’t yet. Plus, I left the civilians alone as soon as we were clear,” Hagakure said, “and I found a blanket in that one room, draped it over my head. Hopefully, with how dark it was…?”
“We can’t rely on that,” Jirou pointed out, “invisibility quirks are rare. If they figure you out…”
“Eyebags can ask his dad -sensei,” Bakugou suggested, somehow making fun of their unconscious-in-the-hospital friend twice in one sentence, “he has good reason to want to know. Aizawa’ll tell him.”
“Good idea, Bakugou,” Yaomomo agreed, “Shinsou can try to figure out what they think.”
“That’s assuming he wants anything to do with us after last night,” Jirou lamented, “dude was not happy.”
He would help them. Fumikage was certain of it. “He is one of the Sunrise Pact,” the boy pointed out, “his loyalty will hold as firm as the earth beneath our feet.”
“Yeah,” Hagakure agreed, finally sitting down to eat. It was almost seven A.M. “He’ll at least let us know if Aizawa-sensei’s on to us!”
“I hope so,” Yaomomo sighed, shaking her head. “I really hope so.”
—
Hagakure filled them all in on the contents of the post-raid debrief that had taken place in the hospital, though not in an actual patient ward; apparently, Musutafu General had a few dedicated rooms for police and Hero use.
Aizawa and Yamada had both been present, both out of their standard Hero gear; as well as Midnight, Detective Tsukauchi, an officer with a cat mutation Quirk called Tamakawa, and Chief Tsuragame. Most surprising to Hagakure, though, had been the presence of Sir Nighteye— apparently, his agency had been working on several cases relating to Wyvern since Dragon’s death, and he was not happy about being upstaged and kept out of the loop on this operation.
Momo was just relieved that they weren’t suspects.
From the sound of things, those attending had figured out a timeline for themselves in which one vigilante broke into the building, freed the prisoners, and then returned to the surface to help Aizawa and Shinsou fight. They hadn’t considered that it might have been two people, let alone more than that; and they seemed to think Sunrise had their origin somewhere within criminal circles, maybe working or having worked for Dragon or a member of his Court. They’d profiled Sunrise as likely dangerous, but possibly protective of children; given that they tipped the Heroes off to this location in particular, and fought alongside Eraserhead’s student rather than trying to help the Hero himself. It was a logical enough hypothesis, even if it was wrong.
Training that day was dampened with a sort of anxious energy, all of the students waking up to discover the news one by one. Kaminari, unsurprisingly, wasn’t there; and Midoriya, in particular, seemed like even more of a nervous wreck than usual— he kept checking his phone, occasionally typing something out before trying to look like he’d been paying attention to what they were doing.
An hour or so into training, Momo realized why.
The Morning Crew
(Friday, 09:36)
Yaomomo: Is Midoriya friends with Shinsou?
Bakugou: how should I know?
Jirou: I think so? They train together sometimes
Hagakure: He brings Hitoshi lunch!
Jirou: Oh, I guess he’s probably super worried huh?
Yaomomo: Do we know when Shinsou’s going to wake up? @Hagakure?
Hagakure: They just said probably today.
Yaomomo: should we tell Midoriya?
Bakugou: No. he’ll be fine. Deku’s way too nosy, he’d want to know how we know, and he can’t keep a secret to save his life.
Hagakure: @Shinsou text midoriya when you wake up!!
(10:19)
Shinsou : I lived, bitch
Shinsou: also you guys need to up your game. Izuku texted me 47 times.
—
Purple & Green
(Friday, 09:53)
Izuku: If you’re busy that’s okay
Izuku: I understand!!
Izuku: Just please let me know if you’re okay and when you’re coming back to training
Izuku: and if Aizawa is alright!! We haven’t seen him either.
Izuku: Midnight didn’t seem worried but Mic is really down??
Izuku: I mean he’s trying not to show it but he’s not as bright as usual, you know?
Izuku: i'm just worried is all
Izuku: text me when you can please.
Izuku: or call, even!!
Izuku: I'm supposed to be training but Mic would understand
Izuku: just let me know if you’re okay
(10:18)
Hitoshi: heyyy I’m alive, and Sensei’s fine too
Izuku: hitoshi!! What happened??
Hitoshi: I got knifed and also blown up a little bit lol. I’ll be back tomorrow
Hitoshi: they’re keeping me at Musutafu General overnight
Hitoshi: can’t even be mad about it. I’m in the Hero ward
Izuku: do you want company? I can come to the hospital after training
Hitoshi: that would be really nice, actually.
Izuku: okay!! I’ll let you know when I’m on my way!
Hitoshi: thanks.
—
With another kiss from Recovery Girl, the last of Hitoshi’s injuries had been taken care of. It also had the lovely side effect of letting him catch up on some of the sleep he’d missed over the last few days— hell, the last few months. Years. He wasn’t very good at sleeping. They set up another bed in the same room, which Aizawa promptly passed out on after receiving his own healing kiss.
Hitoshi woke up a little before three in the afternoon. Aizawa was already up, bandage-free and having at some point cleaned most of the leftover grime from himself. “There’s a specialist coming in an hour or so,” Aizawa told him, “to make sure they got all the smoke and dust out of your lungs. They already saw you once, last night, their quirk is completely safe.”
He was preparing to leave, Hitoshi realized. He sat up. “Where are you going?”
“UA, then the police station— there are some things I need to take care of. ”
“Oh, right, I guess you’ve got to get back to your class…”
Aizawa made a so-so motion with one hand. “Might check on them, but I’m going to help get Mira and the kids set up.”
Hitoshi perked up. “Oh, yeah! How are they doing?”
The door creaked open a crack.
Aizawa grinned lazily. “See for yourself.”
“Hitoshi!” Tiny footsteps tapped across the wooden floors, and a moment later huge, round eyes were peering up over the side of Hitoshi’s bed.
“Hello, Nakai.”
Nakai smiled and set about climbing up onto the bed with him. “Hitoshi! Mama says when you get hurt it’s really important to tell an adult so they can help.” One tiny finger poked him in the cheek. “And Heroes get hurt a lot and mama says you’re going to be a Hero, but you’re a kid still, so, so you’ve got to be careful, okay? And always tell an adult if you get hurt!”
Getting scolded by a child about his communication tendencies was not what Hitoshi had expected from this interaction.
“Of course, kid,” he patted Nakai on the arm, “sorry for scaring you.”
Nakai huffed and collapsed down against Hitoshi’s chest. “I wasn’t scared!”
It had been a while since Hitoshi had been around smaller kids like this. His current foster placement was alone. “Of course you weren’t, Kai.” He brought an arm up around the brave little boy and looked up to his mentor, who was looking back at him with a rare, fond softness. Hitoshi rolled his eyes.
Mira watched the scene from the doorway, a relaxed smile on her face even as Hitoshi could see the stress in her posture and her eyes. This whole thing must have been really hard on her. Her baby slept in her arms.
Kimon was there, too, hiding partially behind Mira. Hitoshi waved at her. “Hey, Kimon, how’re you holding up?”
She took a half step out to the side. “I’m okay, I got to see Denki… I really missed him.”
“He’s doing alright, too? With everything?”
Kimon nodded. So did Mira, who chipped in with “he’s a resilient kid. I can see why he’s in the Hero course.”
It was Aizawa’s turn to nod, just once, and then he came up to Hitoshi’s bed and picked up Nakai from where the boy had settled in against Hitoshi’s side. “We should head out,” he decided, herding the child and, by extension, the other civilians, towards the door. But he didn’t leave with them; not right away. Instead, he sent them on ahead with a casual “I’ll meet you downstairs, I’ve got to talk to Hitoshi for a moment.”
Then he shut the door and turned back to face his protege, gaze exacting.
“Have you contacted your foster parents?” He asked.
Hitoshi sank bank into his pillows. “No,” he grumbled, “why would I? It’s not like they need to be here…”
Aizawa sighed and leaned back against the door. “Just because I’m authorized to make medical decisions for you doesn’t mean we don’t need to inform them of the situation. Send them a text.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Hitoshi already knew that, but still: “Doubt they’ll answer, anyway— you can sign me out of here on your own, right?”
Aizawa nodded. “Tomorrow morning, assuming you’re all clear.”
“Right.”
His mentor opened the door again. “Text them,” he insisted, “and rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Will do, Sensei,” Hitoshi’s mocking salute was met with a small grin before Aizawa turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
Hitoshi sighed.
It wasn’t like his foster parents were bad. Compared with some of the places he’d stayed before, they were downright angelic— he had a roof over his head, a bedroom with furniture, and he was allowed to eat almost anything they kept in the house. They signed whatever paperwork he needed them to sign— a minor miracle on its own— he looked after himself, and they left him alone. It was, objectively, the best foster placement he’d ever had; he got his freedom, they got their government cheque. But their arrangement didn’t really include things like caring if he was injured. He’d chosen to pursue heroics, and underground heroics at that; he dealt with the consequences himself.
Well, lately, Aizawa dealt with the consequences. Up until just a few weeks ago, Hitoshi would have been incredibly suspicious of someone taking the sort of care that his mentor put into his wellbeing; he was used to people expecting something in return for that sort of thing. Hitoshi had spent the first month of his ongoing internship desperately trying to make himself useful without seeming like that was what he was doing— in hindsight, Aizawa had been incredibly patient with him, until Hitoshi caught on that the way to gain his approval was to learn. Work hard, yes, but he didn’t need to do anything to make his mentor’s life or job easier at all .
And now…
Aizawa had gotten him a spot in the Hero Ward, stayed with him in the hospital, and refused his own sleep until Hitoshi had woken up. He brought in Recovery Girl, he talked to doctors for him, organized specialists, who knows what strings he’d pulled to get a second bed in the room. Before, too, when this mission had been a simple stakeout, he’d made sure Hitoshi slept and ate before they went out.
He didn’t know what to do with this sort of care. But still, despite everything, Hitoshi found he didn’t mind it.
He texted his foster parents. Got hurt in a Villain fight last night, he wrote, I’ll be in hospital until tomorrow. Eraserhead can sign me out.
Predictably, they did not answer.
(Message read 15:36)
—