Chapter Text
He couldn’t sleep. They had given him strict instructions to sleep on his back because of his stitches and bruised ribs. But every time he laid on his back and closed his eyes all he could feel was the blood choking him as he laid on the cold floor, waiting to fade away. Most nights he’d stare at the ceiling, tired eyes memorizing every inch of the white ceiling. Maybe he should but some glow in the dark stars up there. One of the biological kids in an old foster home had them and he envied them. He whimpered as rain dripped against the window.
“Hitoshi?” Fuck. Yamada was supposed to be asleep without his hearing aids, but as he turned his head there was the unmistakable long blonde haired man standing there. “Are you in pain?” A gentle hand rested on his forehead.
‘No. Can’t sleep.’ He signed. Hizashi gave him a sympathetic smile.
“Want to talk about it?” He asked softly.
‘Still feel blood.’ He slowly lowered his hands as Yamada stared sadly.
“How about I stay with you while you fall asleep?” Yamada asked softly. Shinsou didn’t oppose it, so he sat down on the edge of the bed. Soft humming came from the older man and it slowly echoed around the room, no doubt his Quirk.
‘Song?’
‘Hey Jude.’ Yamada signed back.
‘Like.’
“ Hey Jude, refrain, don’t carry the world up on your shoulders ,” Yamada sang softly. His voice was so soothing, so soft and unlike the usual projection it had. It made Hitoshi’s eyes begin to grow heavy. Even though he tried to fight against the sleep and continue to soak in the singing, Yamada’s hand gently running through his hair made it difficult.
“Sleep, Hitoshi,” Yamada said softly.
‘Don’t stop.’
“I won’t, as long as you promise to try to sleep.” Hitoshi gave a weak nod, “ Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better .”
***
In hindsight, he shouldn’t have asked Aizawa to let him see his neck. But he needed to know. He had to see with his own two eyes that he wasn’t imagining his nightmares. So he watched his reflection with intent eyes as Aizawa unraveled the day old bandages. Just before he peeled them off his skin, he looked up.
“Are you sure about this?” Aizawa asked. Shinsou glanced at his mentor-turned guardian’s eyes, then at Yamada who was leaning against the doorway.
‘Yes.’
“Hey,” Yamada said softly, grabbing one of Shinsou’s hands, “squeeze if it gets overwhelming, okay? We’ll turn you around.”
He gave them a nervous nod. With a bated breath, Aizawa unwrapped the last of the bandages until Shinsou was faced with the inevitable truth.
His foster mom had tried to kill him. The proof was in the stitches that went from one side of his throat to the other and the thin, perpendicular set of stitches on the left side of his neck where she had tried again. The skin was bruised and the edges of the black threads were red. It hurt when he swallowed and it made him nauseous to see how the action tugged on his stitches.
“I’m going to clean them, is that alright Hitoshi?” Aizawa was quiet, but Shinsou nodded.
Even as Aizawa diligently cleaned off his stitches he could only think about how he had seen himself in the mirror. He didn’t even remember that moment until he glanced back up. Instead of an alarming amount of stitches all he could see was an open wound. Still bleeding. His hand desperately trying to stop it. The crimson liquid oozing between his fingers.
He didn’t mean to whimper, he also didn’t mean to grab onto Yamada’s hand so tight that his fingers turned white. Experienced hands guided him to the ground and continued their work there.
“Breathe with me, Hitoshi,” Yamada said, but it sounded muffled, “Shouta is almost done, okay?”
“Hey Dad- what the hell is wrong with eyebags?” Bakugo’s voice made him shakily glance up.
“We’ll be right out, Katsuki,” Yamada said and Shinsou focused on the tiles of the bathroom floor. Maybe if he counted all their corners he’d be able to breathe.
“Is he having a panic attack?” Bakugo sounded much closer than before.
“He wanted to see his stitches,” Aizawa explained, his fingers gently guiding the gauze around his neck again, “almost done, Hitoshi.”
“Hey,” Bakugo said, “you’re not breathing. Like this, you gotta breathe like this.” Bakugo took one hand and pressed it firmly to his chest. Shinsou’s hand trembled against the steady rise and fall of the other teenager’s chest. Warmth oozed into his cold hand. He was so cold these days.
“That’s it, Hitoshi,” Yamada encouraged as he moved a few stray hairs from Shinsou’s eyesight, “you’re doing so well.”
He hadn’t noticed when he had matched Bakugo’s breathing. Yet he continued until the panic subsided. The material of Bakugo’s shirt was soft, softer than anything he had owned. His fingers curled into the material before he could stop them. But Bakugo didn’t shove his hand away or snap at him, instead he gently grabbed Shinsou’s wrist and rubbed the inside with his thumb. Like Aizawa would.
“Shouto and I are going to watch a movie,” Bakugo said.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Aizawa said softly, his fingers affectionately running through Shinsou’s hair, “why don’t you join them while Hizashi and I clean up here? Then we’ll pick up dinner.”
“We’ll let you pick,” Todoroki’s voice made him look past Bakugo’s broad shoulders. He gave the subtlest nod which Aizawa hummed in response to.
“Okay, on three alright Hitoshi?” Aizawa said softly.
It was a little embarrassing to have to be helped off the floor by the two pro-heroes. His ribs ached but not as much as they would’ve if he had pushed himself off the ground. If only his neck was the only pain he had. His foster father had cracked two ribs and broken one. His spine was bruised somehow, he didn’t really pay much attention when the doctor was explaining, and his body was a canvas of different shades of bruises. Yamada painstakingly rubbed a salve on them before bed so he would be able to get some semblance of peace. Then in the morning, Aizawa would help him wipe any that was left off and clean his stitches.
“No bean bag fight today?” Yamada teased. Instead of their usual spat, Todoroki and Bakugo sat in his caretaker’s spots with enough space for him in the middle.
“It’s not fair if Hitoshi can’t sit in it,” Shouto said.
Admittedly, the first time he tried ended with him crying out. Or crying out as best he could, it was more of a croak until Shouto managed to help him off. The pain flaring in his spine kept him from noticing that Shouto had pressed his cooled hand to the middle of his back. That was one way to find out his spine was still bruised.
“What are you in the mood to watch, eyebags?” Bakugo asked, tossing the control into his lap.
There were so many options. Shinsou swallowed. He hadn’t even seen most of them. Movies were a privilege he was never privy to by his foster families. Bad kids don’t get to watch movies and Shinsou was the worst of him. The controller was heavy in his hand as he lowered it. He swallowed, screwing his eyes shut. He wouldn’t cry, not out here. Not when he was doing so well that day besides the stitches incient.
“Hitoshi?” Aizawa’s voice always brought him back. But it was Todoroki’s hands that he was gripping. “Are you alright?”
‘Bad kids don’t get to watch movies.’ His hands trembled as he signed. Aizawa sighed and gently grabbed Shinsou’s chin.
“You are not a bad kid, Hitoshi, no matter what your file says or what your foster parents told you,” Aizawa said.
“Don’t listen to those fuckers,” Bakugo grumbled.
“Yes, Hitoshi, you’re not a bad kid. Katsuki is yet our parents still let him watch movies,” Todoroki said.
“Who are you calling bad you half ‘n half shit head!” Bakugo yelled.
“I clearly just said you.”
They’re arguing was drowned out by Aizawa’s gentle hands leaving Shinsou’s hold. When did he grab them? He looked up at his mentor who gave him a warm smile.
“We’ll be back, we’re picking up dinner,” Aizawa said, “I can stay if you want.”
“You’re not invited to watch the movie old man!” Bakugo snapped before turning his attention back to Todoroki.
‘I’m okay.’
***
“Alright buddy, just a little longer,” Dr. Ito encouraged.
It unnerved Aizawa to see Shinsou gagging on the endoscope. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks whether Hitoshi meant for them to or now. He knew it hurt for Hitoshi to open his mouth so wide and keep it open for so long, it was one of the disturbing discoveries they made in his stay at the hospital. A lifetime of having his jaw clamped shut because of muzzles had done that to him. Among other things, Aizawa knew this was only the beginning of the mountain of problems that followed from pulling a kid out of the system. At least Shouto and Katsuki’s parents regularly took them to doctors appointments and dentists, even if it was for the sake of appearances.
Hitoshi’s jaw clicked if he opened it too wide. He was criminally neglected. Hizashi had already been taking him to the dentist for check ups. Then making copious appointments for fillings, root canals, and whatever needed to be to don to get this kid a night guard for when he did sleep. There were nutritionists and psychologists. Not to mention Dr. Ito, the ENT specialist working on his vocal chords. Even if he wanted to shield Hitoshi and keep him safe at home, he knew these appointments were necessary even if they were going to make him uncomfortable.
“Alright, all done.” Hitoshi gagged again, lurching over the side for the trashcan. Aizawa jumped up to rub Hitoshi’s back.
“Deep breaths,” Aizawa instructed, one hand on his chest and the other on his back, “easy Hitoshi, calm down. Just breathe.”
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” Dr. Ito said with remorse in her tone. She handed Aizawa a cup of water, which he helped Hitoshi take small sips from. “While you finish that, why don’t Aizawa and I go talk in my office?”
Seeing Hitoshi’s nervous gaze Aizawa immediately offered to stay. He shook his head and motion for him to go. So Aizawa reluctantly followed Dr. Ito to her office a few doors down from the examination room. Despite the warm and inviting decor, Aizawa couldn’t help but tense as he sat down.
“We need to discuss his healing,” Dr. Ito said with a sad smile.
“It’s not good is it,” Aizawa said. Dr. Ito sighed and shook her head.
“His vocal chords would’ve been in better shape if not for the second entry wound,” she explained, “the trauma is...significant. There’s a chance his voice will never return. If it does, it will not be the same. You need to have this conversation with him.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“You’re his father.”
Aizawa froze. Logically, he knew that taking Hitoshi in meant he had another child. Another person who saw him as a father. He had felt like Hitoshi’s father for so long now, goading the kid into using his Quirk until he was comfortable enough to use it without his provocation. Dragging him to dinner after training. Celebrating his birthday. Getting him a god awful ugly Christmas cat sweater. Worrying about him. Caring for him.
But he never heard someone call him Hitoshi’s father out loud. It felt...warm.
“How high is the possibility he’ll be able to speak?” He asked, clearing his voice when he felt the tears burn the back of his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Aizawa.”
Fuck. That was not what he wanted to hear. Aizawa didn’t know how losing his Quirk would affect Hitoshi, but losing his chance at the Hero Course would break him. It was the one thread he held onto while in the hospital. Becoming a hero was the single that kept Hitoshi alive, kept him motivated to keep going. He knew U.A. wouldn’t kick him out, but the Hero Course would be pushed even farther away. Just when it was within the kid’s reach. It didn’t feel fair. Why was the world so intent on bringing Shinsou Hitoshi down?
“Shou! Tell how it went!” Hizashi’s chipper voice echoed through the phone. Aizawa sighed, glancing over to where Hitoshi slept on the couch. The tear tracks were still staining his cheeks and Aizawa swore there were more sliding down the soft skin as he slept.
“Not well,” Aizawa mumbled.
“Well…” Hizashi urge. He wished he had told Hizashi to skip class and come with them, but he had missed so many days already and he couldn’t gamble off his classes as easily.
“It’s not looking good with his vocal chords,” Aizawa explained, “there’s...he’ll probably never be able to talk again.
It was silent for a moment.
“How did he take the news? ” He could hear Hizashi’s nervous pacing. His tone had dropped from Present Mic back to Yamada Hizashi.
“Maybe you should come home early.”
If Aizawa never had to hold Hitoshi so tightly in his arms again, it would be too soon. He had sobbed into Aizawa’s shirt, gripping his shoulders so tightly he was sure there would be bruises. His kid was falling apart and there was no way of keeping him together. Aizawa wished in that moment that he could hold him tight enough to keep him from shattering. If only he had been born with a healing Quirk. But the world wasn’t that kind.
“Shit. Fuck. Shou, is he alright?” Hizashi was well into freaking out.
“Cried for a long time after, that’s why I hadn’t called you. He eventually tired himself out so he’s sleeping on the couch with the cats,” Aizawa whispered. “I told him he can stay at U.A. He asked about the Hero Course and I...I didn’t know how to answer Zashi. I want to tell him he can still but...the board…”
“I’m pulling Shouto and Katsuki out too. We’re on our way home.” A soft sob caught his attention. Hitoshi was up again and by the looks of it, his short nap hadn’t helped his mood.
“Warn them. He’s waking up. I have to go.” Aizawa didn’t bother to let Hizashi answer as he hung up and tossed his phone onto the table.
“I’m here, I’m right here,” he said softly as he lowered himself in front of the couch. Hitoshi reached out and gripped him again. The softest croak left his throat and Aizawa held himself back from wincing. His poor kid couldn’t even cry out like he knew he wanted to. This was too cruel. Feeling his shirt soak with tears again, he didn’t bother to hold back his own this time. Hitoshi crawled off the couch and into his lap again.
Aizawa was tired of holding his kids together as they fell apart. But as long as they needed him, he’d keep them together.
***
“He can still be a hero,” Hizashi said. They had been going back and forth about this for the better part of two hours, but Aizawa’s eyes were glued to the door to Shinsou’s room. When they had gotten home, Katsuki and Shouto managed to coax Shinsou out of his lap and into their arms. Aizawa couldn’t hear what they were saying but he watched as Shouto let Shinsou curl into as they kept guiding him into the room.
“It won’t be easy. What if he needs help, he can’t call out for it,” Aizawa said, “not everyone knows JSL, he can’t depend on that in the field. Someone like Endeavor would bypass him.”
“We’ll be there. Shout will be there. Katsuki will be there,” Hizashi said softly, “Midoriya will be there, he’s been learning. So has IIda, Uraraka, Kirishima and Kaminari. They’re invested in helping everyone. He’ll be alright.”
“We can’t be there forever,” Aizawa whispered, his voice cracking, “I want this for him Hizashi, it’s his dream but...I can’t let him do this if I know it’ll get him killed. I just...I can’t.”
“You’ll break his heart,” Hizashi whispered, “it’ll kill him if we stop him.”
“Fuck,” Aizawa whimpered, his hands tangled in his hair.
“Hey, love,” Hizashi said softly, his hands gently untangling his husband’s from his dark locks. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll be here for him as long as he needs. Hitoshi isn’t alone anymore. He has us. He has Shouto and Katsuki.”
“Tell me we’re doing the right thing by him,” Aizawa whispered, “tell me this is the best for him.”
“Shou, you will never hurt Hitoshi,” Hizashi said, “it’s not within you to hurt our kids or your 1-A kids.”
Aizawa resting his head on Hizashi’s shoulder. It was his turn to be the rock, to be the strong one as Aizawa broke down. He didn’t know how Hizashi could stare at all the hurt and pain in Hitoshi’s future and keep a straight face.
“He’ll be alright,” Hizashi said confidently.
“We should check on them,” Aizawa said softly, “call them out for dinner, it’s getting late.”
“You start getting them rounded up and I’ll heat it up,” Hizashi said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Aizawa stood and wiped his cheeks. He splashed some water on his face to try and get rid of the redness in his eyes, even though it seemed to be permanently there, before beheading towards Shinsou’s door. A few days before Hizashi had come home with a door label. This time it was suspiciously shaped like Eraserhead’s goggles with space for a name. Hitoshi looked excited enough to scribble his name and slap it on the door. Katsuki’s door label had been a rushed decision, but Aizawa didn’t think he minded the All Might insignia. Shouto’s had been an afterthought. The Frozen door label still hung on his door anyways.
“Boys,” Aizawa said with a knock. There was no response from inside. He frowned, gently twisting the doorknob and cracking the door open.
The sight inside put so many of his worries at ease.
All three boys were curled under Shinsou’s huge, fluffy Present Mic blanket. Shinsou was laying on his back, even if it was uncomfortable. But his face was at peace. Shouto had his back turned to the door. It was impressive how easily Shouto slipped into the role of big brother when he figured out he was the oldest. One of his hands was thrown over Hitoshi’s stomach while the other rested over his eyes. No doubt Shouto had been using his right had to ease Hitoshi’s probably oncoming headache. Katsuki was at ease, for once. One of his hands was still being gripped by Hitoshi.
Aizawa watched his three sons and knew, no matter what trials and tribulations awaited Hitoshi, he would be alright. His new family would not let him fall. Even if he did, they’d be there to help him back up.
He closed the door again and walked back to the kitchen.
“Well?”
“Let them sleep,” Aizawa whispered with a soft smile.
“Hitoshi has so much more left to give to this world, Shou. And we’re going to help him achieve his dreams,” Hizashi said.
Aizawa glanced back at the door.
He’ll help Hitoshi be a hero. It’s what his kid deserves. Even if the world who was so intent on breaking him didn’t deserve a hero like Hitoshi.