Chapter Text
Hitoshi wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon. Muffled music is filtering in through the door.
That alone should tip him off to the fact that something is very wrong. His foster parents don’t cook breakfast. They certainly never play music. Hitoshi is warm and comfortable where he’s bundled up, which should also be a sign that something is not right here. Hitoshi almost always wakes up either too cold or hot, depending on the weather.
Hitoshi’s body feels lazy, which isn’t something he’s used to feeling. He’s more well-rested than he’s been in what feels like forever. His head is resting on a soft pillow, and he’s covered with an even softer blanket. Hitoshi doesn’t want to open his eyes and end whatever dream he’s found himself in.
Loud laughter rings out, and it startles Hitoshi out of the light doze he’s fallen into. His eyes fly open, adrenaline flooding his system at the unfamiliar surroundings. He’s not in his room, not in his foster home, and for a blinding second, he can’t remember where he is.
More laughter breaks him from his almost panic attack and Hitoshi remembers, slowly and then all at once the events of last night.
Locked doors, falling asleep cold on a hard bench, being woken up by Aizawa-Sensei, being taken to his home, meeting Present Mic, falling asleep warm on a soft bed. “Let me help you.” “Do you trust me?” “You’d stay with us.” “We’ll make sure you’re safe.” “We’re gonna help you, okay?”
Hitoshi is in Aizawa-Sensei and Mic-Sensei’s guest room. Hitoshi is in Eraserhead and Present Mic’s guest room. Because they’re married. Because Aizawa found him while on patrol last night and took great issue with Hitoshi being locked out and sleeping on a park bench. Hitoshi is going to go out there and eat breakfast with them. Then they're going to talk more about what happened last night and what’s going to happen next.
Hitoshi very much wants to know what’s going to happen next. He’d prefer an itemized list if at all possible. He does not want to talk more about last night. They’re going to have questions about his foster home, about his time in foster care. Hitoshi does not want to answer those questions. He knows how bad his answers are going to sound, but he doesn’t know how to explain that to him those things are normal. That he can handle most of them, so it’s really not that bad.
Present Mic had mentioned that officers were going to come by. Because they had reported what happened last night. Hitoshi is going to have to tell police officers what’s been happening to him. Hitoshi has told people before and no one had believed him or cared, so he’s pretty skeptical about that, but surely they’ll listen if Eraserhead and Present Mic are there. Right?
Hitoshi will find out, he suposes.
Hitoshi is sure he’s acting too calm about things right now, but he feels like he’s vacillating between calm acceptance and total panic about the situation. It can’t be all that healthy, but whatever.
It’s also hard to be all that worried when faced with the combined forces of Present Mic and Eraserhead. Hitoshi knows that Aizawa-Sensei cares about him and his safety and health. Aizawa has asked after him enough times, has offered to help him with anything-- “If you need anything let me know.”-- practically every day since they started training, that Hitoshi is confident that the man cares.
Hitoshi has even, embarrassingly enough, daydreamed before about unloading all of his grievances about his home life to Aizawa. Has imagined the hero getting angry on his behalf and saving him.
Maybe Hitoshi manifested it. Because he remembers, faintly, Aizawa’s face when Hitoshi said last night wasn’t the first he’d spent outside. He’d looked frighteningly angry before he got his expression under control enough to only look concerned.
‘Or it could mean that we foster you. Full stop.' Those words ring in Hitoshi’s ears, and he’s definitely going to have to ask for clarification on that. He’d rather embarrass himself by asking what exactly they meant by that than have his hopes be crushed into tiny little pieces if they only mean to be a pitstop on Hitoshi’s way to another family.)
Hitoshi reaches for his phone from where he’d placed it on the nightstand next to the bed before falling asleep. He tries to turn it on before being rudely reminded that it’s dead, and he doesn’t have his charger with him. Maybe Aizawa or Mic will have one he can borrow? He kind of really wants to check the Class 1C group chat. Hitoshi has never missed a day of class, and he’d like to assure his classmates-- his friends?-- that he’s fine. Maybe ask Toge, who takes the best notes, to send him pictures.
Hitoshi is aware that without his phone he can’t put off leaving the relative safety of the room any longer. Hitoshi doesn’t really want to go out there in his oversized and borrowed clothes, but he also doesn’t want to put his uniform back on. He has his gym clothes in his backpack, but those are in desperate need of a wash after training yesterday. Hitoshi compromises by pulling on his sweater, so he at least looks semi-presentable.
Hitoshi opens the door slowly and peeks his head out into the hallway. Seeing no one, Hitoshi slinks to the bathroom. Once finished in there, Hitoshi creeps into the hallway again. This time though, he’s stopped by a loud “Meow!”
Hitoshi looks down and into the bright green eyes of a small orange tabby cat. It meows at Hitoshi again. Hitoshi crouches down, reaching a hand out should the cat feel so inclined to investigate him. It does, creeping forward to nose at Hitoshi’s hand before rubbing its face against his palm. Hitoshi obligingly scratches its head.
“Hello,” he says softly. The cat meows at him. “Nice to meet you.”
“That’s Apple.”
Hitoshi looks away from the cat now using Hitoshi’s torso to stretch to see Aizawa standing at the end of the hallway. He’s looking down at Hitoshi-- or the cat?-- with a fond expression.
“I found him during a patrol eating a rotten apple,” he continues. “It seemed fitting.”
Hitoshi snorts, picking up Apple and standing back up. Apple snuggles into Hitoshi’s chest and purrs when Hitoshi continues petting him.
“Kinda mean to name him after a rotten piece of fruit,” Hitoshi remarks.
“Then he shouldn’t have been eating rotten fruit,” Aizawa shoots back. Hitoshi snorts again. “Come on, you woke up just in time. Hizashi’s just finishing breakfast.”
Aizawa turns to go back to the kitchen and Hitoshi follows. He feels a little more at ease in the home than he did last night. Maybe because it’s light now, and things feel more real. Apple wiggles in Hitoshi’s arms when they make it to the kitchen, jumping down and running to meow at Present Mic’s heels at the stove.
“You already ate your breakfast, you monster. Leave me alone,” the man chastizes. Apple meows, loudly, in response. Hitoshi doesn’t bother to hold back his laugh. Mic whirls around, a wide grin on his face.
“Shinsou! Good morning! Or well, afternoon, I suppose.”
“Good morning, Mic-Sensei. What time is it?”
Mic pouts. “I told you last night to just call me Yamada. Or Hizashi. Come on, listener, no hero names in the house.”
“Sure, Yamada-Sensei.”
The man pouts some more, but Aizawa cuts off whatever he might’ve said next. “It’s just after noon. Tsukauchi, the detective we talked to yesterday, said he’d be here around two. So, we have a few hours to sort ourselves out before he shows up.”
Hitoshi feels a spike of nerves at that, but attempts to swallow them down. “Okay.”
“But not before eating!” Yamada says. He flicks off the stove and brings a dish over to the table, motioning for Hitoshi to sit. “I hope you don’t mind a more American breakfast, my mom always said that it’s best to have a full stomach before a busy day.”
Hitoshi’s never had much American food before, but the spread of dishes on the table looks good enough that his stomach grumbles rather loudly. Hitoshi blushes, but Yamada just hands him a plate of pancakes, bacon, and some cut fruit.
“Eat! Do you drink coffee? How do you like it?”
“Um, I’ve only ever had it in those cans from the vending machines at school, so I’m not really sure…” Hitoshi trails off.
“Oooh, we’ll have to experiment then! I’ll put some milk and sugar and we’ll see how you like it. Shouta likes his bitter, but I like mine sweeter. We’ll make yours in the middle,” Yamada does just that, placing a mug of still-steaming coffee next to Hitoshi’s plate.
“Thank you,” he says, that same damned shyness from last night coming back in a moment of weakness. He sips the drink. It’s a bit sweet, with a bitter aftertaste that teases at Hitoshi’s taste buds. He takes a bigger drink, deciding he likes it. “This is good, thank you.”
“You sure? Want anything added?” Hitoshi shakes his head. “Perfect then! Get to eating, you can have as much as you want, don’t worry. There’s plenty here.”
“Hizashi only knows how to cook in large batches,” Aizawa says, spearing a strawberry with his fork. “We’ll have leftovers for days. Eat as much as you want, you’re doing me a favor.”
“You love my cooking!”
“You can only eat leftover pancakes so many times before it’s disgusting, Hizashi.”
“It’s not my fault the recipe is for a large batch!”
“You could always half it.”
“But then it doesn’t taste the same!”
Hitoshi finds himself entrances by their banter, absentmindedly eating while he watches. This is nothing like the fighting his foster parents do every day. This is… this is gentle teasing. Both Aizawa and Yamada are smiling while they go back and forth. Neither man raises their voice. Yamada laughs with every comment Aizawa throws at him. Aizawa snorts at one point. It feels…
It feels good, Hitoshi thinks, to witness this. Hitoshi can practically see the love they have for each other in the air. Hitoshi feels so comfortable here that it scares him a little. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be staying here, but they’re making it damned hard for Hitoshi to not get attached.
Hitoshi eats enough food that he’s pleasantly full, a feeling he doesn’t get often. Not unless one of his classmates gives him an extra snack at lunch because “You’re trying to get into the hero course, Shinsou! You need to eat more!” He always feels guilty for taking it, but his classmates are so supportive of him that Hitoshi can’t imagine telling them no, not when his stomach is aching for it.
When everyone at the table seems to be finished, Aizawa waves both Hitoshi and Yamada to the living room, saying that since Yamada cooked, he’ll clear up. Hitoshi follows Yamada to the living room, more than a little nervous to be alone with the hero. He’s seen Yamada around school and has talked to him once when Hitoshi had a question about his English homework and his teacher was out. But other than that, Hitoshi hasn’t interacted with him. Considering how high up Present Mic is on Hitoshi’s list of favorite heroes, he’s freaking out just a bit.
Hitoshi sits on one end of the sofa, trying not to sigh in relief when Yamada takes the armchair. He can see that Yamada is about to say something, and Hitoshi wants to pay attention, he does, but a soft mew from beside him steals Hitoshi’s focus. Beside him on the sofa, clearly having just woken up, is a fluffy white cat that nearly blends in with the sofa.
“Hello there,” Hitoshi whispers, waiting for the cat to wake up more and stretch before reaching his hand out like he did with Apple. The cat eyes him for a moment before sniffing him. Apparently deeming him worthy, he gets a headbutt for pets.
“That’s Cream,” Yamada says. Hitoshi thinks his voice sounds exasperated. When Hitoshi looks over, Yamada’s face is pulled up in a grimace.
“Cream.”
“Yes. She was a stray that would come around because Shouta liked to feed her. He got her to stay by leaving out bowls of cream for her.”
“You named your cats after foods.”
“Yes.”
“You named your cats Apple and Cream.”
“... No one ever said we were good at naming the cats.”
That started a laugh out of Hitoshi that Cream does not seem to like, seeing as she pulls away from him and jumps off the sofa, walking away with her tail in the air. Hitoshi hears Yamada grumble a “spoiled princess” under his breath which makes Hitoshi chuckle.
“How are you feeling today, Shinsou?” Yamada asks once Hitoshi calms down.
“Ah,” Hitoshi takes stock of himself before answering. “Um. Nervous? Anxious. I know everyone will have questions that I don’t want to answer but will have to. Confused. I don’t like not knowing what’s gonna happen to me. Um. Maybe a little guilty. I don’t want to be a bother, but now this is a whole thing when it’s never been a problem I couldn’t handle before.”
“Okay,” Yamada takes a deep breath. “Let’s tackle that. It’s normal, expected, that you’d be anxious about this. A lot has happened in the last twelve or so hours to turn your life pretty much upside down. Anyone would be anxious about that.”
It feels good, Hitoshi thinks, to have his feelings acknowledged and validated so easily like that. It warms him a little, to see Yamada taking him seriously and wanting to help Hitoshi work through his feelings.
“As for the questions,” he continues. “We do have questions. The police will have questions. But you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to or are uncomfortable with. If you want us to be, Shouta and I, or just one of us if you’d prefer, will be here while the police talk to you. Any questions you want to skip we’ll back you up on. None of us have any interest in upsetting you or making you relive bad memories.”
“But you, and they, will have questions about- about my foster home. And I know I’ll have to answer some of them. That’s the whole point.”
“Yes,” Yamada admits. “They’re going to ask questions about it. I’ve seen and taken part in a few interviews like this before. If it would help, I can tell you what I think they’ll ask? You don’t have to answer right now, obviously. But it might help you mentally prepare so you’re not going in blind.”
Hitoshi stares for a moment blinking at Yamada. That sounds a lot like that itemized list Hitoshi had yearned for earlier.
“Yamada-Sensei, if you could give me an itemized list of how today is going to go I would beg you for it.”
Yamada laughs loudly, “Not quite, but it’s something at least. You said you were also feeling confused and a little guilty? Well, I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that there’s no reason for you to feel guilty. You are not and never will be a bother. You deserve to have people worry about you. You deserve to have people care about you. You deserve to have people make a fuss over you. You deserve to live in a happy, healthy, and safe home, which is not something you’ve had. Someone should have stepped in before now to help you, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to suffer through this alone for long enough to believe that it isn’t a problem. Because it most certainly is a problem. And it’s one that Shouta and I plan to fix, if you’ll let us.”
If Hitoshi was staring before, he must be gaping now. That was… a lot of words. And all of them were trying to convince Hitoshi that he was wrong about something he’d believed for at least five years now. He’d given up ever leaving the foster system on a good note sometime between house number five and six that muzzled him. The only reason the family he’s with now doesn’t is because they’d been worried that someone at UA would notice the marks it left on his cheeks and they hadn’t wanted to be caught.
Hitoshi’s not used to people, especially adults, caring about him. He’s not used to adults telling him that he’s not a bother, or problem, or nuisance.
He’s never had an adult apologize to him before. He’s never had an adult talk to him like this before.
It’s all Hitoshi has ever wanted. And something he believed he’d never get.
Embarrassingly, he feels tears spring to his eyes. Hitoshi hasn’t cried in years, but he’s come close twice now in the last twenty-four hours. Hitoshi looks down at the carpeted floor to avoid eye contact and rubs roughly at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He tries to pull himself together quickly, before Yamada gets it in his head that Hitoshi needs physical comfort. Because if he gets a hug right now, he knows there’s no stopping the deluge of tears that would come.
“As for what’s going to happen to you,” Aizawa comes into the living room, plopping down on the sofa opposite Hitoshi. “There are a few options for you.”
“Like what?” Hitoshi asks, voice still thick with unshed tears.
“Well,” Yamada starts, but doesn’t continue past that. He looks to Aizawa, which prompts Hitoshi to do the same.
“We’d like to foster you,” Aizawa says plainly, trying to come off as nonchalant but he’s fidgeting with the end of a throw pillow. Hitoshi has never seen Aizawa fidget before.
Then his words catch up to Hitoshi, and he’s gaping all over again. “Like…”
“As in, we’d like to be your new foster parents,” Aizawa clarifies. “Not just having you stay here while your caseworker-- who’s also going to get a piece of our minds, by the way-- finds you a new family. We’d like to be that family.”
“Right,” Yamada continues. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course. I know you don’t know me well-- at all, really. But you know Shouta, and we can get to know each other. We’d love to have you.”
This… this has to be a dream. It has to be. There’s no way Hitoshi is this lucky, is being told he can have this thing he’s wanted so badly. That these two heroes, Hitoshi’s heroes, are telling him that he can stay with them. That they’ll foster him. That they want to foster him. There’s no way it’s that simple, that he can just… have this.
From the looks on both men’s faces, they’re very serious about this. Aizawa looks determined with a hint of doubt. Yamada looks so very earnest with an edge of nerves. But both are looking at him with open and honest gazes. No hint of humor or derision or lies anywhere that he can see.
Hitoshi really doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Doesn’t want to open his heart to a break that would ruin him. Doesn’t want this to be a joke, or a trick, or a lie. His hopes have been dashed so many times before but it still hurts the same even after all these years.
But, Hitoshi remembers how these two have treated him over the last twelve or so hours. How Aizawa has been treating Hitoshi for months. He remembers warm hands and kind words guiding him from a cold park bench into a cozy home. Remembers gentle hands untangling a borrowed support item from his shoulders. Reassuring voices leading him to the kitchen and giving him warm food and drinks. Solid hands squeezing his shoulders and telling him that everything is going to be fine. Bright and happy words telling him to eat his fill without worry. Two voices, different as can be, giving the same sentiment; you are not a bother.
“You mean that?” Hitoshi asks. “You… you want me? Both of you?”
“Yes,” Aizawa doesn’t hesitate. “We both would love to foster you. We’d love for you to stay with us.”
“We’d be honored for you to join our family, Hitoshi,” Yamada says. And Hitoshi.
Hitoshi breaks.
The tears are hot, burning as they flow down his face in rivulets. He’s breathing too quickly yet feeling like he’s not getting in any air at all. He doesn’t understand how they can say that so easily. He doesn’t understand how a few simple words can make Hitoshi feel like he’s breaking into pieces.
Hitoshi has wanted two things out of his life; to have a family that loves him and to be a hero. Hitoshi had given up on that first one fairly quickly after a few years in the system, and he’s been fighting like hell to make the second one come true.
But now that first dream is a possibility. It’s been handed to him on a silver platter after years and years of hurt and pain and heartbreak. Hitoshi doesn’t let himself want often-- it’s only a good way to set himself up for pain later on. But right now, Hitoshi wants. He wants to be a part of this family. He wants Aizawa and Yamada to take care of him. He wants to come home to this warm and inviting home at the end of the day and know that he’s wanted here. He wants so badly it burns.
Or maybe that burning is the tears still flowing freely down his face. Hitoshi wipes at them, but they just keep coming.
“Hitoshi,” he hears Yamada through the roaring in his ears. “Can we hug you?”
Hitoshi knows he won’t be able to speak, so he nods as enthusiastically as he can. Aizawa pulls Hitoshi across the empty middle cushion between them and into his side. His arm is firm around Hitoshi’s shoulder, grounding him in the same way it did last night. He feels rather than sees Yamada move into the now vacant spot on Hitoshi’s other side. Yamada starts rubbing Hitoshi’s back in gentle circles, and it makes Hitoshi feel like a little kid again in such a way that brings on a fresh wave of tears. Hitoshi buries his face in Aizawa’s shoulder and lets the tears come, quiet sobs wracking his body.
Hitoshi has always been a quiet crier. Had to be, when making any noise only brought him pain, and then later when he couldn’t make noise.
Hitoshi knows it takes him a while to calm down, but he doesn’t really care. Yamada is still rubbing his back and murmuring calming platitudes to him. Aizawa has taken to stroking through Hitoshi’s hair. Hitoshi feels exhausted, even though he’d felt so rested earlier. He’d forgotten how tiring crying your eyes out is. Underneath that surface-level exhaustion, Hitoshi feels lighter than he has… ever. If those words from Yamada earlier broke him, then they put him back together better than he’d been before.
Hitoshi feels safe, here in between the two heroes comforting him.
Hitoshi sniffles, rather disgustingly considering how much snot comes with crying. He coughs a bit, clearing his throat enough to speak.
“I’d like that,” he whispers. “If- if you really want to. Want me. I’d like that.”
“We really do,” Yamada says. Aizawa hums his agreement, not stopping his strokes through Hitoshi’s hair until Hitoshi pulls away.
“I’m gonna. Fix my face,” Hitoshi extracts himself from the sofa. Aizawa snorts at his delivery. Normally Hitoshi might feel embarrassed, but considering he just cried his heart out on the man’s shoulder, he’s entitled to that snort.
“Detective Tsukauchi should be here soon,” Yamada warns. “Do you need anything? Want anything?”
Hitoshi is shaking his head, pulling out his phone unthinkingly to check the time, but it was still dead. “Actually, um. Do you maybe have a charger that would work with my phone? It’s been dead since last night.”
He hands Yamada his phone, letting the man examine it. “We should have something. God knows I never throw away cords. I’ll look.”
“Thanks,” Hitoshi is waved off, so he heads to the bathroom. Hitoshi splashes water on his face, blows his nose, blows his nose again, god crying is gross, and splashes water one more time. He looks at himself in the mirror, surveying the damage. His face is flushed, cheeks pink both from the crying and from him rubbing at it. His eyes are red-rimmed, a little swollen, and glassy. He no longer looks a mess, but it’s obvious he just finished crying.
When Hitoshi sits back down on the sofa, he’s immediately handed a glass of water by Aizawa.
“Drink,” he says. “You’re phone is charging on the bookshelf. It turned on pretty fast. You must’ve gotten about a hundred texts with how much it was vibrating.”
Hitoshi gulps down the water, not having realized how thirsty he was. “It’s probably from the class group chat. I’ve never missed a day before, they’re probably freaking out.”
Aizawa hums, throwing himself down on the sofa with a sigh. “Tsukauchi is on his way. Should be here soon.” Hitoshi squirms, some of his earlier nerves coming back. He feels much calmer than before after his revelation with Aizawa and Yamada, but he’s still not looking forward to talking about his foster life.
“Oh!” Yamada exclaims. He sits on the other side of Hitoshi, sandwiching him between the two heroes again. “I didn’t tell you earlier! You wanted an itemized list of how the questioning would go?”
“I’m just nervous,” Hitoshi murmurs, playing with his sleeve. “They’re gonna ask hard questions.”
“They’ll ask you about last night first,” Yamada says. “Since that’s the incident we reported. They’ll ask for your version of what happened and how you ended up here. They’ll probably ask you about what it’s like to live there. Does this happen often? Does it only happen to you? Are you consistently fed? Do you have access to necessities? What does punishment in this house look like? Stuff like that. You can go into as much or as little detail as you want, or you can skip questions if you’d rather. Like I told you earlier, we’ll support you either way. We won’t let them push.”
Hitoshi takes and lets out a deep breath. Okay. He can answer those questions, he can do that. “Will they ask about, um, previous houses?”
“I’m not too sure,” Yamada admits. “They might, but that’s not the focus of today, so maybe not. If they do and you don’t want to talk about that, you can say so. They can deal.”
Hitoshi nods. He can do this. He’ll have both Aizawa and Yamada with him. Eraserhead and Present Mic. He can do this.
A knock at the door sends the two cats who’d been climbing their tree running for the hallway. Hitoshi kind of wants to join them. “Dramatic bastards,” Aizawa grumbles as Yamada stands to get the door.
The police enter, an average-looking man in a trenchcoat and… a cat? Yeah, that’s someone with a cat mutation quirk. Yamada leads them into the living room, exchanging pleasantries along the way.
“Hello,” trenchcoat says once they’re fully in the room. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. This is my partner Officer Sansa.” The cat man waves. Aizawa nods in greeting. Yamada sits back down next to Hitoshi. Detective Tsukauchi takes the armchair, while Officer Sansa stays standing.
“Hello,” Hitoshi says back, voice soft as his nerves hit him all at once. “Shinsou Hitoshi.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Shinsou,” Tsukauchi smiles at him. The man gives off a comforting sort of vibe that, if Hitoshi were any less nervous, would probably relax him. “Let’s get to it, shall we? So, we’re here to ask you some questions about what happened last night and how things are at your foster home. During the interview, my quirk will be active. My quirk is called Lie Detector, and, as the name suggests, I’ll be able to tell if you’re telling the truth or not. Would you like an example?”
Hitoshi blinks. “Sure.”
“Alright, first I’d like you to tell me the truth. About anything in particular.”
“Um. My name is Shinsou Hitoshi.”
The detective smiles. “True. Now tell me a lie.”
Hitoshi sits up a bit straighter. “My hair is dyed.”
The detective's eye twitches, just slightly. “Lie.”
“Wicked,” Hitoshi smiles. God quirks are cool sometimes.
“Thank you,” Tsukauchi looks pleased. “Officer Sansa will take notes and dictate our answers, though we do have to also record audio. Do you consent to that?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Since you’re a minor, you can have Eraser and Mic in the room with you, or you can ask them to leave. Your choice.”
“Um, I’d like them to stay.” Hitoshi tries not to look at the men on either side of him. He can feel his ears starting to burn.
“Alright, so we’ll begin…” Detective Tsukauchi begins the tape, detailing the time, who’s in the room, and the nature of the interview.
“Shinsou, can you tell me your foster parent's names?” Tsukauchi begins the questions.
“Rei and Takeshi Hina,” Hitoshi tries to make himself sound clear and confident.
“True. Now, can you tell me, in your own words, what happened yesterday that led to Eraserhead taking emergency custody of you?”
Hitoshi clears his throat. “The trains were delayed on my way home from school, so I ended up being late and missing curfew. The ah, rule I guess, if you miss curfew is that you get locked out. I didn’t want to stay on the porch in case one of the neighbors got nosey enough to come over and ask why I was out. So I walked around for a while until I got to the park and decided to stay there. I fell asleep on one of the benches and Eraserhead woke me up a few hours later. I told him what happened and he brought me back here.”
“All true,” Tsukauchi says. His brow is pinched and his lips are pursed. “You said the rule for missing curfew is getting locked out. Has this happened before?”
“Once. A few weeks after I started living there I missed curfew. That time I knocked until my foster father came down. But he just yelled at me and told me I ah, needed to learn my lesson, and he locked me out. I haven’t been late since then.”
“True. There are other kids in your foster home as well, correct?”
“Yeah, there’s four of us, including me. The others are younger, though. Two in elementary and one in middle school.”
“True. Is this the rule for all of them, or just you?”
“All of us. They pick the younger ones up from school, so they’ve never been late. They tried to lock Yuta out once when he was late. But it was really cold and I didn’t want him to spend all night out there, so I snuck him in through one of the windows and he spent the night in my room. He snuck back out early in the morning so they’d think he stayed out all night.”
“True. Did you get in trouble for this?”
“We didn’t get caught. He ran around the block a few times so he was all flushed and shivering like he’d been out all night.”
“True. Okay, I’m going to start asking some more general questions now. Do punishments like that happen often? Where you get what would be a necessity taken away from you? For example; restricting meals, access to hygiene, things like that?”
“I guess? If we’ve gotten in trouble, at school or at home, we’re not allowed dinner. They get us in trouble a lot. Um. They took Yuta’s door off after he got detention. We can like. Shower and stuff like that, but it’s cold most of the time. I’m- I’m not allowed to talk much. Because of my quirk.”
“True. How often would you say you’re denied a meal?”
“Every day? They don’t feed us breakfast. If you mean dinner, then maybe once or twice a week. It was worse in the beginning, but they don’t really risk punishing me too badly anymore.”
“True. What do you mean by that? Is there a reason for that?”
“Um. I know you’ll probably ask anyway so um, sometimes when we get in trouble they’ll-- they’ll hit us. Sometimes it leaves bruises. But they don’t really… do that to me much anymore.”
“True. Thank you for telling us that, Shinsou. And why would they not… punish you like that much anymore?”
“They started toning it down when I started at UA. They were worried that someone would notice, and-- I don’t know. Get them in trouble.”
“True. Can you tell me what punishment was like for you before UA? Before they ‘toned it down’?”
Hitoshi hesitates for a moment, biting at his lip. This is both harder and easier than he thought it would be. It was easy to tell them about last night. They all already knew what happened. Aizawa was even there. And it’s easy to tell them about the other kids, he hates how they treat the other kids.
It’s much harder to talk about himself.
Aizawa and Yamada are welcome presences at his sides. Aizawa’s knee is pressed against Hitoshi’s leg. Yamada’s arm is around his shoulders. It’s grounding, keeping his mind solidly here in their living room and not lost in memories.
Hitoshi takes a deep breath.
“Um. There was a lot more hitting. I missed maybe three dinners out of the week? And--”
He can’t say it. He can’t sit here, next to his heroes, and tell them that up until a few months ago, Hitoshi had been regularly muzzled.
“Shinsou? Is there something else? Would you like a break?”
Hitoshi shakes his head. He tries to speak, he really does, but nothing’s coming out. He can feel himself starting to cry again. How ironic, that when he’s trying to tell them about being muzzled, he can’t speak.
That thought makes him angry enough to spit the words out. Hitoshi is nothing if not a stubborn, contrary teenager.
“They used to muzzle me, before. Every night when I got home from school. They only stopped because they were afraid someone at UA would notice the marks it left on my face.”
Hitoshi feels both Aizawa and Yamada still next to him. Yamada’s hand on his shoulder is squeezing tightly enough to hurt just a little, but he can’t bring himself to brush the hand off. It feels like the temperature in the room has dropped. Hitoshi observes all the adults in various states of what looks to be shock and anger.
Hitoshi can understand Aizawa and Yamada being angry for him. They’ve established that they care about Hitoshi. But he doesn’t really get why the officers look equally as angry. Hitoshi has told police officers before, has tried to tell plenty of people before, and no one had ever cared.
Tsukauchi clears his throat. “That is true,” his voice is clipped.
“Shinsou, is your caseworker aware of this?”
Hitoshi blinks again. That answer feels very obvious to him.
“She gave them the muzzle.”
Silence. Then--
“What? ” Yamada hisses. He turns so that he’s facing Hitoshi, face a wash of anger. Hitoshi almost feels afraid before he realizes that that anger isn’t directed at him.
“I’m a-- uh-- I’m a ‘high-risk kid’,” Hitoshi says. “No one really wants me because of my quirk. So part of the deal, when I go to families, is that I bring a muzzle with me.”
“That-- That’s-- has every house you’ve been to muzzled you?” Yamada asks.
“Hizashi--” Aizawa tries to, Hitoshi doesn’t know, calm him down maybe? Hitoshi knows that Yamada won’t like Hitoshi’s answer, so he keeps quiet. Yamada heaves in a breath through his nose but doesn’t ask again.
“Well,” Tsukauchi says. Hitoshi turns back to him, uncomfortable with the anger rolling off Yamada. “That was all true. I think we can go ahead and call this interview done. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to add, Shinsou?”
Hitoshi shakes his head. There are a million things he could say about his time in foster care, but if he did then they’d be here for hours.
“Alright. I’m calling this interview to a close, then,” Tsukauchi stops the recording. Officer Sansa closes his notebook with a sharp snap!
“We have more than enough information from this to fully investigate not only your foster home, but the office that handles your case, as well,” Tsukauchi continues. “We should be able to get the rest of the kids out of the home as soon as we check in with the chief. We’ll make sure they’re taken care of and will fully vet the new homes they’re sent to. We’ll make sure they’re safe. I’ll let Mic and Eraser know when Mr. and Mrs. Hina have been arrested and the house is cleared so you can go get your things.”
“Um,” Hitoshi starts. “That’s it?”
“Well, there’s a bit more red tape and steps that I’m sure we’ll have to take,” Tsukauchi explains. “But essentially, yes. I’m just skipping the middle bits.”
Hitoshi nods. This all seems… deceptively easy.
“It’s my understanding that Mic and Eraser are interested in being your new foster parents?” Tsukauchi asks.
“Yes,” Yamada hisses.
“Yes,” Aizawa agrees, tone calmer but Hitoshi knows he’s no less angry.
“Would you like to stay here, Shinsou?” Tsukauchi asks.
“Yeah, I would,” Hitoshi agrees.
“Alright,” Tsukauchi smiles at him. “That shouldn’t be a problem. There’s some paperwork that I’ll email, but I can’t imagine there’s anyone who would dispute this. Once you both fill out the paperwork, I’ll get it fast-tracked so Shinsou doesn’t have to worry about anything. Should only take a few days to process everything.”
“Just like that?” Hitoshi asks, bewildered.
“Just like that!” Tsukauchi smiles. “We’re speeding things along a bit considering the severity of the situation. But that’s all, we’re not skipping any steps or anything like that.”
Just like that, Hitoshi thinks. I’m out of that house and in the care of two heroes. Just like that.
Hitoshi sits on the sofa in shock. He barely responds when Tsukauchi and Sansa say their goodbyes. He hardly notices that Aizawa is the one to walk them out. He doesn’t notice that Yamada has turned to face him again, expression a wash of worry rather than the anger it’s been.
It hurts, in a way that Hitoshi doesn’t know how to describe, that this is such an easy fix. That all it took to get him away from all those people that called him a villain, that hurt him, that silenced him, that treated him as less than dirt all because of something he couldn’t control, was a phone call to a police officer made by people who cared enough to push. That if only someone had cared just a little bit more, Hitoshi wouldn’t have had to go through any of that pain. That if someone had believed him when he was younger, had looked a little bit closer, had bothered to check on him, he could’ve been safe. He could’ve been happy.
It feels like he’s gone through all of this, all of this hate and hurt and suffering for nothing because it all could’ve been prevented. It all could’ve been stopped.
If only someone had cared.
Hitoshi doesn’t even realize he’s been crying, has been zoned out lost in his own thoughts of self-pity and-- and anger, because that’s what he’s feeling right now, he’s angry. He doesn’t realize he’s been crying until Yamada is pulling Hitoshi into his side and Aizawa is crouching in front of him instructing Hitoshi to breathe, Shinsou, try to breathe with me okay?
Hitoshi tries, he really does, but any breath he sucks in gets immediately released. His chest feels tight, and it hurts, and Hitoshi is so angry. He feels betrayed. Hitoshi didn’t ask for his quirk, didn’t ask for his parents to die and leave him alone, didn’t ask to be hurt. Hitoshi never wanted any of this. He wanted to be helped when he was hurt, when he was ignored, when he was silenced.
People were supposed to help him. The orphanage he was first placed in was supposed to help him. His social worker was supposed to help him. The houses he was placed in were supposed to help him. Adults and teachers and police officers were supposed to help him.
So why did no one ever help him?
Why was it so easy, so simple, to help him once someone cared enough to?
Why did no one ever care?
Hitoshi feels a sob rip from his throat. So much for crying quietly. The quick and short breaths he’s sucking in are doing nothing to help him calm down; they hurt more than anything. Hasn’t he been hurt enough? Does even his breathing have to hurt him now?
A hand on the side of his face startles Hitoshi enough that he jumps violently. The hand retreats immediately, but now that Hitoshi’s felt something other than his burning panic, he can notice other things around him.
There’s a warm hand on his back, rubbing circles. Someone is kneeling in front of him, and Hitoshi can hear them talking. Hitoshi blinks until his eyes are clear enough to see the figure. Aizawa is in front of him, and that’s right, he was telling Hitoshi to breathe. Hitoshi tries again.
“There you go, Hitoshi, try again. You’re doing good, keep it up.”
Hitoshi tries to match his breaths to Aizawa’s exaggerated ones. It takes a while, but eventually Hitoshi’s no longer gasping for air.
“There we go,” Aizawa says. “You’re okay. You’re here with us; with me and Hizashi. You’re safe. You’re doing great.”
Aizawa continues until Hitoshi collapses back into Yamada’s side. To his credit, the man doesn’t stop rubbing Hitoshi's back. It feels nice.
“That was so easy,” Hitoshi says helplessly. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling glass. His throat is going to hurt so bad tomorrow. “I’ve been stuck here for years and getting out was so easy. Why was that so easy?”
“Oh, baby,” Yamada pulls him closer. Hitoshi rests his head on his shoulder. He’ll be embarrassed about this later.
“This should’ve never happened to you,” Yamada continues. “The system and everyone in it failed you. I’m so sorry no one has helped you before now.”
“Feels like that should’ve been harder,” Hitoshi mumbles, wiping his eyes. He’s going to have to wash this sweater, with how much snot and tears are on it now. “For everything that happened, it feels like it should’ve been hell to get out. Not-- not just a few questions and then I’m out. It feels--”
Hitoshi stops. He’s gonna start crying again if he keeps going.
“It feels pointless,” Yamada says. Hitoshi nods. “Why did you hurt so much if making it stop hardly took any time at all?”
“If it was really this easy, why did no one help sooner?” Hitoshi continues. “Am I really--”
“No,” Aizawa cuts him off. He’s still sitting in front of Hitoshi. “Whatever you were going to say, the answer is no. No, you’re not a bad kid. No, you didn’t deserve it. People did bad things to you, but that doesn’t make you bad. Doesn’t mean you deserved it. All it means is that they’re the cowards that decided to hurt a child.”
“There’s no reason, no explanation for why people did this to you,” Yamada picks up. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. You should’ve gotten help sooner. There’s no reason, there’s no deserving, for this. There are only the monsters that decided to hurt a helpless child, and the one who had to suffer from it. The only ones at fault are those who did the hurting and those who did nothing to stop it.”
Hitoshi knows, logically, that’s true. He was seven years old the first time he was muzzled, what could he have possibly done to deserve that? Nothing, is what. Hitoshi had thought, in his darker moments, that he must have done something to incur the ire always aimed at him. That maybe him being born was reason enough.
Hitoshi thinks Aizawa and Yamada would take issue with that line of thought. And he knows that it’s wrong, that he’s done nothing, that no one can do anything that deserves being treated how he has. But sometimes it’s so hard to believe.
Maybe they can help Hitoshi start to believe that.
At some point, Aizawa moves onto the sofa with them. Hitoshi doesn’t move from his spot on Yamada’s shoulder, but Aizawa reaches over to brush his hand through Hitoshi’s hair anyway. It feels nice, feels warm, and safe. Hitoshi thinks he might doze off at some point. None of them move, none of them speak. Hitoshi gets to bask in the silence and presence of two people who truly care about him. Two people who have saved him.
It may not be a had before, but Hitoshi can easily see himself getting used to this.
Hitoshi thinks he’ll be allowed to.