Chapter Text
He rushes straight past students and fallen villains and some awful sort of monster that's bloody-brained on the ground, and skids to his knees beside Izuku, wrapping a long arm around his son to pull him in close to his heaving chest, and he pushes past the blood on Izuku's hands and face and front to focus on Shouta.
On the love of his life, who looks halfway dead. One of his arms is twisted the wrong way, and there's blood everywhere, on both his son and his husband, and Hizashi can barely breathe, his heart creaking right apart, digging splinters into his ribs and lungs because he wasn't here.
His family is hurting, and he wasn't here.
But he is here now, and he's going to do everything he can for them. The sound of sirens are already wailing their approach, and he doesn't dare move Shouta himself, not when there's clearly so much damage to his arm and possibly his spine or neck or skull, so he pools most of his focus into reassuring his son, holding Izuku close, spare hand coming up to rub broad circles over his son's back. (It isn't the time to think about it right now so he doesn't, but part of Hizashi still marvels that their kid doesn't have a spine prominent enough to almost hurt your hand, or ribs pronounced enough to count with just a light touch-)
"Hey, hey, Precious, your Dad's gonna be alright, you hear? Shou- Shou's gonna be a-okay baby, so you just keep breathing for me, yeh?" Izuku is sobbing, half-breaths tearing out of his chest, and Hizashi doesn't want his kid to fall into a full-on panic attack, it's the last thing their son needs, nor would it help with the panic roiling through the blond as well, so he keeps up the circles and starts counting. If he speaks in a rumbling undertone that he's long-since relied upon to soothe his husband and, in recent years, his son to sleep, then it's only a tiny slice of home that they both desperately need in this moment.
Then there are paramedics rushing towards them, shouting to each other with a rush of medical jargon and orders and concerns, and Hizashi forces himself half out of Pops headspace and more into Mic, for all that he keeps his arm around Izuku's shoulders. He has to stop his circles though, waving for the paramedics to hurry even more before shifting his hold on Izuku enough to hike his son onto his hip, putting their shoulders about level, and then he pushes to his feet, for all that not staying right beside his husband hurts something soft in his chest, digging in with claws and teeth.
What hurts more is Izuku's hiccupping whine, bloody hands reaching out for his dad.
"I know, baby, I know. The doctors are here now, they-" He cuts off with how the paramedics are swarming around them now, keeping Izuku settled on his hip and curled in close to him. He answers the rapid questions of one lady with bright red skin, watching on with hawk eyes and bouncing his son slightly the whole while. Maybe she thinks he's rude, but Hizashi couldn't care less right now. No, he's busy being terrified for his family, uncaring of the iron tackiness of Izuku's hands as the teen finally clings to him. He recalls everything he's asked for (no allergies, previously had a few fractures to the left arm, right hip has a weakness due to dislocation, all injuries today are probably due to the minor villains that are being rounded up or the awful, massive monster that is sprawled out, unmoving, not far away-) and tries to make sure he doesn't let his Quirk escape him in sobs to echo his baby's ever-quieter whimpers, eyes burning but never wavering from his husband (the light and love of his life, the one he wants to grow old with but right now, oh, right now-).
At some point, the paramedics pull a gurney out of literally nowhere, undoubtedly using a Quirk that Izuku would be fascinated by on any other day, and they're transferring Shouta onto it, the blush pink glow of some sort of stabilising Quirk keeping him safe from further injury. Then, of course, they're rushing him to the ambulances at the entrance of the USJ, making use of the ramped sections of the stairs along with the continued use of the stabilising Quirk.
Izuku keens, a wordless plea that speaks of how young he truly is, and it tears apart the final shreds of Hizashi's heart. If that fact has him finally sobbing himself, just a single, dry-eyed agony of a breath, then he lets himself have it, holding Izuku impossibly closer in that single moment of weakness.
There are still some paramedics around them, and whilst he can tell that Izuku isn't too badly injured (he is hurt though, incredibly so, but only so much of that is physical-), Hizashi starts making haste up the stairs himself, reporting much the same list of answers for a new paramedic as he did for his partner, making sure to mention that Izuku is still on a far looser nutrition plan from years of malnutrition, that he suffers from bouts of anaemia even now, that he's otherwise healthy. No, no allergies- Yes, he can put him down- It all slips from his mouth practically without volition, and perhaps there is some truth to his persona as a loudmouth blond because it's all he can do to talk as he follows the paramedics. They get to the ambulances at the same time as Shouta, thanks to Hizashi's long legs eating up the distance and the paramedics swarming around them, and he has to put Izuku down at the open doors, holding his son to stop the kid's wobbly legs from giving in beneath him.
"Go- Pops, please go with Dad," Izuku begs, staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes, and it crushes those already-ruined tatters of Hizashi's heart, the rest of the world disappearing around them.
"Precious-" There's a whine to his son's voice then, a keen that isn't complaintive but rather very much grieving, completely ache-filled and soul-rending,
"I- I don't want him to be alone. Please?" That alone manages to break Hizashi's everything, because his kid is asking him for something, is asking with a desperate, full-body need, but also this is one thing that he very much can't give his son.
"Izuku, kiddo, Precious, I can't leave you alone either, not now, I don't-" He can't help the melting of his words, the way that they bleed and run into each other, oversaturated watercolours in bruise and blood tones, oily and awful upon his tongue. Hizashi feels sick.
"Hizashi, I'll go with Shouta. Is that alright, Spring?" The voice interrupts him, but the blond doesn't mind in the least, shoulders loosening the tiniest bit at the arrival of Nemuri, letting the words slip away from his tongue, giving in to nothing but silence and holding his baby close to his side.
"Auntie!" Izuku gasps, some coherency in the word, reaching a hand out for the woman, who doesn't hesitate to come the last few steps over to hold his bloody fingers between her own, squeezing gently without hesitation.
"You've been strong, Spring, but let your Pops look after you now?" And oh, how grateful Hizashi is for he and Shou's best friend, because when he's more than frazzled with the sight of his little family being bloody and hurt, she's managing to keep just a bit more logic and support together than he is.
"That would be- Just, yeah," Hizashi huffs, managing a flash of a smile for her,
"Thank you, Nem." She returns the expression, just as much of a grimace as his was, but equally as soft as well,
"Always Zashi. Spring, you look after that Pops of yours for me, got it?" She squeezes Izuku's hand again, and it earns her a tremulous smile and tiny jerk of a nod.
"I'll keep you updated, Zashi. Be good, you two," she adds, falling a little short of their usual teasing but still helping to ease the ferrous cage of their ribs.
Then she's climbing into the ambulance with Shouta, offering them one last look, firm and reassuring, before the doors are swinging shut and the pair are being guided towards another ambulance, paramedics asking Izuku questions about the blood and where he's hurting and if he got hit on the head at all. Hizashi, even as the sound of his husband's ambulance wails away into the distance, is idly glad for how relatively little Izuku seems to be hurt.
At least one of his little family doesn't seem at risk of dying. Of not being with him any more.
Hizashi, however, categorically refuses to think about that right now. The literal danger has passed, and Shouta's with both Nemuri and paramedics, so Hizashi needs to try and somehow not worry about that for now. In lieu of drowning in his thoughts and the overwrought agony that is staccato-circulating around his bones, Hizashi turns his entire attention to grounding Izuku. He hums a little tune that reverberates all wrong in his chest when he's fighting down ugly sobs, and keeps his hand in Izuku's, and listens to every word the paramedics and his Precious say.
They clean and gauze-up some of the injuries on his arm, although with the mess of dried blood and the violent trembles wracking his baby, it's hard to do much at all. The medics are too busy keeping a shock blanket around his shoulders and checking for concussion, hooking him up to some mild painkillers for now, identifying and dismissing potential issues. Hizashi, for his part, focuses on his hum and rubbing his thumb in regular, matching-rhythmed circles over the back of his son's bloody hand.
It's only as they're arriving at the nearest hospital that Hizashi really registers that Izuku has ended up with Shouta's knife, currently shoved into his son's utility belt, and that the blade is completely bloody. But it doesn't really matter, and given how the kid is hunched over, keeping their conjoined hands close to it.
Then they're being piled out of the ambulance, Izuku being wheeled on the gurney, and from there, time gets lost to a fractured mass of half-jargon words and white walls, helping Izuku scrub away all of the blood and wiping away his still-occasional tears. It hurts to see his kid hurting, and it hurts to not be able to see his husband right now, but he's not the one actually injured, so Hizashi sucks it up and keeps moving, looking after his Precious as best he can.
There are texts from Nemuri to keep him updated with Shouta, when he gets sent into surgery for his arm, that there's a few hairline fractures in his skull but ones that can be nigh-on instantly healed thanks to one of the Quirks amongst the staff, apparently being prioritised due to the potential complications of a head injury, doubly so with being a regular user of his eye-based Quirk, as a hero. Loose, overviewing details, not too many specifics just yet, which helps for now, because the overall sense that his husband is getting treatment does help to hear, but right now thinking about the specifics would only work him up.
So Hizashi keeps an eye on his phone, and directs all of the rest of his attention to Izuku. He sits next to the bed that his son has been assigned, a hand on his kid's leg because his arms are being healed. There are friction burns on his arms from putting too much strain on his movements with his capture weapon, not to mention the awful troughs that have been dragged around his wrist. There's a tiny five-spot patch of disintegration just below his shoulder, something like little droplets of rain except they're raw wounds, that Izuku seems to be surprised by. Hizashi doesn't press though, not now, and only watches the doctor and nurse with hawk eyes, hand pressed firmly against his son's leg, flexing his fingers in a subconscious rhythm.
Izuku, for his part, is trembling. He hadn't even registered when Shigaraki caught the top of his arm, although logically he can register that it was probably when he hit the villain in the chest, so focused on his breathing that he might not have processed the pain of it. (Now though, he can feel the pain of it all, the awful static of his nerves splitting and fraying with the fracturing of his skin, the way that he could feel how his wrist had literally flaked and fallen apart, and a numbing sort of agony spiralling wide-)
And, once the doctor leaves him alone, the nurse still organising some of the various pieces of medical paraphernalia like the IV drip that Izuku does not like being inserted into his uninjured arm, he turns his attention to his Pops. There's a waver to his gaze, and he bites his lip, wanting to ask the awful question but not wanting to hear the potential answer.
The idea of not knowing feels worse than the possibilities though, his Pops reaches out to tap his chin, gentle but insistent, prompting Izuku to stop biting his lip, and with that he finds his throat loosening the tiniest bit as well, focused on the rust-tinged question upon the tip of his tongue,
"P-Pops?"
"Yeah, Precious?" The immediate answer soothes him a little, for all that it's a limited effect. He's too worried about his hero.
"Is Dad- He-" His Pops shifts his affection, brushing knuckles over freckled cheeks with such a soft gaze, and Izuku can see his own heartbreak reflected right back at him,
"He's alright, or as alright as he can be. His head injuries have been healed alright, ya dig?" Hizashi's attempt at some sort of levity falls flat, Izuku only shifting, discontentment an ocean-depth shadow to his eyes,
"But- but what about his arm? And his ribs and spine and just- just-"
Hizashi's heart really needs to learn how to stop breaking even more. It should be impossible at this point.
"Izuku, baby, this is your Dad. He's the Eraserhead," Hizashi tries, and he does mean the words, but Izuku hurts too much inside-out to agree (there's static in his limbs and screaming even louder than Papa's in the back of his head-),
"He's still just Dad though. He- the monster just hit him and he broke, Papa, he broke." Izuku feels like he's breaking too.
"And he's being fixed, darling," Hizashi presses, twisting his hand to fully rest his palm over his child's cheek,
"He's here too, alright, in the best place he can be, and your Auntie Nem is with him. Izuku, Precious, lil' one, your Dad is going to be okay, even if it takes a bit of time. He will be."
That, finally, seems to do the trick. Izuku's shoulders slump, and he reaches out with his IV arm, not wanting to move the other even if it is halfway-healed, bandages now tight around his wrist and upper arm, and makes grabby hands at his dad.
Hizashi doesn't hesitate at that, bouncing out of his seat and perching very carefully on the edge of the bed, ducking equally carefully beneath his son's IV line to instead settle right up beside his son's head, twisting so that his thighs are fully on the bed and next to Izuku, and pats his knee, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Wanna cuddle?" Izuku only smiles up at him, wavering but there all the same, and it's the most gorgeous thing that Hizashi has possibly ever seen, a balm to his heart and soul.
Either way, he's shifting, and then there's a head of wild curls pillowed in Hizashi's lap, the perfect position for him to run careful fingers through his son's hair, to pull apart the tangles and where it's damp from getting the blood out of it (and Hizashi knows that he'll never forget the stench of the black-tinged blood that had tainted his son-) and to soothe him, moment by moment, into sleep. The blond can only hope that his own presence will help keep any nightmares at bay for the time being. The baby's going to need some good rest to help him heal. (And that's ignoring the agony that has always come with his son screaming or whimpering or shuddering awake from bad dreams, the helplessness of trying to comfort his sobbing Precious.)
At some point, a few hours later, a doctor comes in. They smile and bow slightly to Hizashi, giving him the chance to send them away before they move to do anything else, but he keeps a hand in his son's hair and nods them in. There's a few minutes of them reading over Izuku's file, comparing it to his current medical stats, but when they get to leaning down near the bed, clearly trying to get a look at the kid, it has Izuku startling, something about the attention and proximity pushing him back into awareness.
"Pa-?" The cut off question is more of a half-asleep murmur than anything else, trailing away into Izuku shifting back and up, pressing up against Hizashi's chest, away from the doctor who has been leaning away and stepping backwards anyway, giving the now-awake teen some space.
"Right here, Precious. The doctor is too, is that alright?" Izuku blinks up at him, adorably bleary for all that the underlying haze isn't ideal, and manages something almost a nod,
"Mmhm."
"Thank you, darling. Let's get you sat up for the doctor, ya dig?" He keeps his tone verging on bright and happy, reassuring, and carefully tugs and guides Izuku to be sitting up, shifting them both so his kid is between his legs, back to chest. It makes it easy for the doctor to check him over properly, that the bandages aren't bleeding through nor that any of his vitals are out of place.
When the doctor is wrapping up, Hizashi understands the pleading glance Izuku tilts back to give him, and smiles, shifting a hand through curls once more.
"Sorry, Doctor, but would it be possible for me to take him to be with his Dad? Shou's also in the hospital, in room A-41." There's a brief pause, but not for long, their shoulders loosening and expression softening even further,
"That should be fine, so long as he doesn't try to walk there, or come off his IV, understood Izuku-kun? I can send a nurse in to help you both move and get settled, if you'd like."
"Please," Izuku murmurs, that single word made of lace spiderwebs, so easily broken or dismissed.
But they just nod, smiling somewhat again, and leave with that.
It doesn't even take fifteen minutes for the two of them to be opening the door to Shouta's room, Izuku being carried upon Hizashi's hip once more, a nurse walking alongside and wheeling the kid's IV with them. Nemuri turns to face them from a seat at the man's bedside, but it's the man himself that snatches both of their attention.
Because Shouta, whilst breathing, still looks nothing short of awful. He's too-pale and the stark bandages and bedding doesn't help, his dark hair and eyebags and exposed bruises are too much of a contrast against it. It's no wonder Izuku lurches in Hizashi's hold, almost enough for him to fall right to the floor, an aborted noise choking atop his tongue. There are beeping machines and too many bandages and a dark blue cast and so, so many things wrong with everything before them that Hizashi wants to scream. (He wants to shatter his own teeth, to tear apart his throat and lungs with the strength of it, level the entire fucking city because never, never should his Shou-cat look like this, and never, never, should his son have to bear witness to the sight, to the occurrence and aftermath in every awful detail-)
They're both moving forwards then, Nemuri standing up and stepping aside so that Hizashi can, almost thoughtlessly except he's as careful as ever with his baby, to put Izuku down in the now-vacated chair, kneeling beside him, both of them staring at Shouta and ignoring the slight bustle of Nemuri and the nurse behind them.
"Zashi, honey, want me to tell you a bit more in the corridor? Let Spring spend some time with Shou?"
"I-" He wants to say no, that scream still pressing itself at the base of his throat, but the blond swallows as best he can past it and glances down at his son. His son, who is utterly fixated upon the unconscious hero, eyes swimming with something more complex than an entire galaxy.
Maybe some time alone with Shouta will do Izuku some good, and Hizashi really does need to know the details of his husband's injuries, particularly now that he has seen that Shouta is alive. Not well, but alive. So Hizashi has to nod, lean over to press a kiss to his son's hairline, meeting his dark gaze briefly, long enough to assure himself that Izuku will shout for him if he needs to, and pushes back to his feet, following his best friend out of the room.
Left alone with his hero, the teen shuffles right to the front of the seat, uncaring of his own IV, and reaches out one shaking hand to settle on the edge. Not touching, not when he looks so fragile and Izuku feels so fragile, but just next to him. Ready for- for something. Because Izuku just wants- needs his Dad to be alright. To wake up and grumble at him for getting hurt, even if it's just a little bit. He lets the memory of the man looking all home-sweet on the bus only hours ago (how has everything gone so wrong, so quickly?) linger in his mind, and words tumble across his lips like leaves falling in autumn, smouldering like coals,
"Dad- Dad, you- you went all soft earlier when I smiled at you on the bus, I saw it, so you- you need to let me call you out on it and we- we can make Pops laugh. Dad, please? You- You always want to hear Pops laugh. Dad?"
His Dad doesn't wake up.
It's not surprising, and Izuku hadn't really been expecting him to, not logically, but he had hoped. Had so desperately wanted and needed dark eyes to blink open and squint at him, all warm and soft as though they were all just at home with the cats and blankets and no injuries at all, except maybe some scrapes and bruises from training together or one of his dads having a cut or burn from trying to cook something harder than what they're actually good at.
But, no, his Dad doesn't blink awake, and he's still injured, the machines are still ringing in time with the screams at the back of Izuku's head, and nothing at all is right.
"Hey, Precious, you doin' alright?" Izuku can't speak, not after his unanswered plea, nor can he look away from his Dad, so he just shakes his head and slumps straight into his Papa's side when the man drags a chair over to sit beside him.
"He's already better than he was." Both of them know that Hizashi is right, but it doesn't stop the man's voice from wavering in a way that he almost never has, because his voice control is immaculate, nor does it stop him from squeezing Izuku closer, his son shifting to twist shaking fingers into the soft fabric of the sweatpants (bright pink, short on the ankle and loose in the waist and hips, and one hundred percent Shouta's) and there's a hum pressed into his curls even as they both stare at their unconscious loved one.
Neither of them move again for a long time. No, they sit and they stare and Hizashi sometimes hums little tunes, unable to help but slip into things far more melancholy than intended. He tries not to, but can't really help it all the same.
It's far from surprising that Izuku ends up falling asleep, or at least dozing to some degree, because his weight grows against Hizashi minute by minute, hour by hour, and his breathing slows and steadies, deep snuffles and a drooping head. The cuteness of it is enough to lighten Hizashi's heart the tiniest bit.
Maybe Hizashi sleeps too, or drifts in and out of awareness, because the next time he registers looking at his husband, Shouta is looking right back at him.
If it wasn't for the weight of his son against him, Hizashi would be leaping forwards and sobbing and yelling for his partner, but instead he simply beams through tears (it's pure waterfalls and sunshine, with all of the rainbows in between-) and stretches out his free hand to grab his Shou-cat's hand, grip maybe too tight but Shouta is managing a hazy half-smile in return, and Hizashi's heart feels too big for his chest, sweet-swollen and warmth-welling. His family are okay. He- he wasn't sure they were going to be.
"Zashi?" The groggy question is perhaps the best sound he's ever heard.
"Hi, Shou," he murmurs, the tiny words barely there at all, choked with sheer relief and the tears still slipping from his burning eyes. And Shouta blinks at him, slightly less blurry for a second,
"Zu? Ki's?" Trust Shouta to immediately be worried about everyone else first. It's almost enough to have Hizashi snorting or giggling, if not for how his chest is still full of razor-winged butterflies.
In lieu of all that, he answers the question instead,
"Izuku's alright. Just a few injuries, mostly healed, and, look, he's sleeping right here, all safe, you know?" He gives his husband a chance to look, glazed eyes focusing on their son and brightening just the tiniest bit, a spark of something between hope and solace, and Hizashi talks again only once Shouta seems to have settled a bit, offering up a final reassurance,
"And your class are fine as well. Nothing worse than a fracture or some bumps and bruises with a mild concussion, all healed up already!" There's some slight scrunching of eyebrows then, but it relaxes again with something like discomfort blurred by relief,
"Mm." Hizashi squeezes his husband's hand, gentle but very much firm all the same, needing Shouta to know that he's here, that they're together and okay,
"You can sleep, Shou-cat. We're all safe, you did well."
"Than's Zash'."
There's a hardly-there smile at that, one of Hizashi's very favourite expressions ever, the sweetest thing, and if his heart hadn't already been settling and softening then this would have done it: his husband is gorgeous, no matter what. (The gauze taped across his nose and the bandages still wound around his forehead don't detract from it in the least, because all he cares about is the love of his life being alive and able to smile at him.)
When Izuku shifts against Hizashi several hours later, the doctors have been around twice to check on Shouta and once for Izuku himself, removing the kid's IV at that point and leaving a prescription with Hizashi instead. And apparently Shouta is doing well enough that, provided he's completely coherent next time he wakes up to pass the mental competency and wellness checks, he will be looking at being released in the next day or two. His arm has been partially fixed, but the fractures are still there, with the cast and sling to accompany that fact. It's a lot better than he had originally feared. (Hizashi still feels sick with it, honestly, stomach twisting tighter than the grip Izuku had curled into him with, all desperate child-exacerbated grief. Today has been beyond awful.)
The kid shifts again, murmuring wordlessly into Hizashi's top, and he can only squeeze his son gently, giving him the time to process and wake up. It isn't a bad decision, apparently, because there's a more discontent twitch, a second, before that hand loosely resting upon the blond's knee fists tightly into the fabric again, even as Izuku's shoulders relax again.
"Pops?" He hums for a moment before settling into actual words, shifting his thumb in a meaningless back and forth against his son's shoulder,
"Hiya, baby. You doin' alright there?"
"Hurts," he mumbles, not moving at all, and Hizashi murmurs in wordless sympathy,
"Mm, it's been a while until you took your painkillers. I'll just grab them a second, kay Precious?" Izuku only hums against him, pliant and listing when Hizashi leans to the side to grab the bag he's kept beside him this whole time, pulling out the still-packaged prescription and a water bottle from a vending machine that was overpriced but easier than dragging Nemuri to the hospital for a second time in as many days.
By the time Izuku has taken the pain medication and sipped down half of the water bottle, staring at his Dad the entire time, he apparently has enough wits about him to glance up at Hizashi, all wide-gazed and soft-mouthed, caught halfway between mournful and relieved,
"Has- has Dad woken up?"
"He did, Precious. Asked after you and the class first thing." They both know that such a thing is ridiculously Shouta, and it brings a facsimile of a smile to Izuku's pale face, some vague sunshine amongst the clouds.
Maybe everything still feels kind of awful right now, but it also feels far more hopeful. There's pain and worry and oh-so much fear, all of lingering in spider shudders and needle pricks down their spines, tight ribs and trembling fingers, but they're together, they're healing, and that's all that matters, truly.
Now they just need to go home.