Work Text:
Warm.
It was the first thing Hitoshi Shinsou was aware of. The warmth. All around him. Cradling him. Warmth under his cheek, pressed to his back, a soft, rumbling growl under his ear.
Warm.
And… dark. It takes him a moment to realize that, yes, his eyes are open. Just, shadows, deep grays and black all around him. Lazily, he blinks a few more times, brain sluggishly attempting to make sense of the slim bars of lighter black-gray, were those…? One hand, feeling oddly disconnected from his body, outside of his control, rises. Presses. And. Yeah. Those were feathers. Wings. Wrapped tightly around him, keeping him close to the chest under his ear, the low soothing rumble of an Alpha offering whatever comfort they could.
Huh. That's. That's new.
The feathers shift slightly, the body under his cheek moving just enough to press a rough, scratchy cheek to the top of his head, dragging stubble across his purple hair and leaving. Oh.
Oh.
It's an Alpha, of course it's an Alpha, but the scent of protective rage is just. It does something to his muddled brain, grabs at the tension that's always haunted his every waking moment and forces it to relax. It's. Wow. It's good. It's good. Hitoshi chirps, the sound instinctive as how his muscles melt, when one of the hands that had been stroking up and down his spine shifts to the back of his neck. Directly over the primary scent glands there, squeezing gently. Instantly, Hitoshi's own scent rises, floods the contained space but. It's nothing like he's smelled before, sweet and soft, lacking the normally sharp or bitter undertones he always thought was just part of his makeup. Without it? He smells good, something fresh and clean, without overwhelming the slightly sweet notes that all Omegas shared.
Wow.
Still reeling from waking so suddenly, and the relaxation that's utterly foreign to him, it takes a too long moment to realize just who he's crushed up against, exactly whose soft rumble is stealing all the strength from his bones. Aizawa-Sensei? What…?
He chirps again, unable to force his tongue to move in an intellectual question, just the soft questioning cheeps more often found in pre-verbal fledglings, or those in extreme distress. Or, apparently, found in himself when he's forcibly cuddled by his mentor. Which, why? He'd only come into the classroom, his second week as an official class 1-A student, and maybe he hadn't had the best weekend. But it hadn't been bad, just. An average weekend.
Aizawa rumbles again, cheek flattening Hitoshi's hair one last time before he pulls away, eyes dark and a little angry around the edges, pinched tight with unhappy tension.
Not at Hitoshi, though, he couldn't be the cause of that ire, when Aizawa was still pressing gentle hands along his ribs, down his arms. Soft, gentle. Checking him over, and Hitoshi could almost ignore the fact that it's less petting and more a cautious check for injuries. Injuries that, apart from the bruise on his wrist, Aizawa wouldn't find. And the bruise on his wrist was only from a scuffle gone wrong, a random beta deciding that Hitoshi's bag was a lot more interesting than she should have found it, and had arched huge golden wings in an attempt to intimidate him. It didn’t work, and when he had eventually proved too much trouble, she had flown off. Not before nearly breaking his wrist, however, with her last attempt to force her will on him.
"Did you know, Hitoshi Shinsou, that you currently reek of distressed, injured omega?" The man he's using as a chair asks, peering down into the shelter his wings make, eyes glinting in the shadows from his hair, staring seriously down at the younger man. "And that's in addition to your regular anxiety and distress."
Shinsou blinks, tilting his head, a silent question in his violet eyes. Still nonverbal, then. Shouta doesn't mind, letting his wings part just enough that the fledgling in his arms can look from between his feathers, the silent and empty teachers lounge, free of any overly interested faculty for once. And. Yes. He calms further, pliant and lax in Shouta's arms.
He hadn't expected this, when he came into the school that morning. Coffee in one hand and the other scratching idly at his scruffy chin, wondering if there were still a packet of his eye drops in this desk or if he'd have to go back to the lounge and his case there. There had been a sound behind him, too early for most students still, and…
And the scent.
Scent, flooding in the small room, before he'd been able to even fully turn. Omega, distress, anxiety. Injury, likely a bruise, small and already healing but. Shouta had turned, and he hadn't even meant for his wings to flex, reaching out towards the boy, until. They touched, feathers to feathers, and yeah. It would be embarrassing, if Shouta gave a shit. His wings did what they did, it was too exhausting to try and corral their movements all of the time, and mostly he didn't care if he was loudly proclaiming his exhaustion and lack of fucks to give. So he was prepared to apologize, already pulling his wings back to his body and considering being more insistent on his "requests" to have the boys home looked into when.
When Shinsou melted. Wings pressed down, long flight feathers brushing the ground as he surrenders, eyes fluttering shut. Fluttering shut and falling. Falling.
Shouta caught the boy, moments from slamming his stupidly bright purple head into the cold tiles, brain already whirling as he adjusts the boy, pulling dark wings up so his feathers won't drag on the floor, though… with how they're already dust covered and scraggly, it wouldn't matter.
And with how he fainted...
Severe neglect could cause that, he knows, had even seen it a time or two, with other kids, other classes. It never gets easier, and by the time his instincts recede, he's been in one of the communal nests for almost the entire morning and Shinsou was no closer to waking, still pathetically limp and unresponsive. Still passed out, despite Shouta's calming croons, or how his feathers are wrapped tightly around them both. Neglect. At the minimum.
It had been instinct, the desire, the need to protect the teenager that drove Shouta to bring them to the nest. But… but it was more than had him scenting the younger. Protective, possessive. Raging.
Because he's seen it. Shinsou is a good kid. An excellent one, once he puts aside his senseless anger at the world, when he has a goal. The kid blooms, at the smallest scrap of praise or tolerance, opening his posture and practically begging for more. Nothing that Shouta was particularly skilled at giving, far more used to brisk harshness, but even his awkward attempts had the boy shining. No one should be that pleased to have a crabby, exhausted man give them an offhand compliment.
Fucking assholes. Every. Single. One. Of them. They all took what should have been a decent, happy omega and hurt him. Shouta was going to have words and possibly more for every single person that had a hand in harming the boy in his arms, purple eyes wide and nearly uncomprehending as Shouta drags his chin over lavender hair once more, leaving his scent. His scent. Covering the boy. Offering belonging and protection. A measure of comfort for him and a dire threat for anyone who would try and hurt the fledgling again.
"You don't have to try and talk yet, Shinsou. Don't worry about it." He rumbles, drawing back to allow a sliver of light into the darkness created by his wings, enough he can see the confusion on the round face, and hear the questioning chirp much more clearly. "But, anyway you have to communicate is fine, I will listen and I will not move forward until I understand."
A promise. Iron clad and one Shouta Aizawa will not break, going so far as to lift his hands off the boy's arms completely, despite the action being the utter last thing he wants to do. Dark eyes meet lavender, willing the boy to understand, to accept that Shouta was going to keep his word. To trust. Clearly Shinsou Hitoshi had never had the opportunity to be allowed to decide if he could trust someone or not, and he doesn't move for several drawn out moments, wariness starting to build in his scent the longer Shouta stays still, does not push.
But, eventually, the boy's eyes close, and he deliberately tips his head back. Loose, easy, exposing the tender, vulnerable curve of his neck, wings flexing to uncover their innermost feathers. Trusting. Surrendering. He doesn't even flinch when Shouta's hand slips over the offered skin. Not tightly, not gripping or demanding, but. Cupping. Protecting. Accepting the trust Shinsou offered and promising not to break it, own wings fluttering in the soft quiet, pulling tighter around them, shielding them both.
"Thank you, Shinsou." And, if his voice was rough, scratched against his throat on the way out… he could simply offer an excuse. Offer a distraction, a denial that the slim boy in his arms ever made him emotional with one simple, instinctive movement. "Thank you for your trust. You are both encouraged and expected to make your displeasure or lack of consent known, but will you let me preen your wings?"
He pauses, waiting for any reaction. Nothing, not yet. He starts to talk again, keeping his voice at a gentle rumble low in his chest, soothing as much as he can. It's all nonsense, something about grading, or Present Mic's newest guest on his show, or. Something. The details escape him, but it's enough to break the silence without forbidding the younger man from breaking the stream of words. Useless, needless sounds, just to soften the silence.
He talks. For a long long time.
His throat is sore, tired and dry, by the time the boy in his arms responds, quietly shifting and bringing his wings in tight to his back. Coming back to himself.
His scent steadies, calms, settles.
But still no noise.
Shouta frowns, peering down at the bowed purple head and pausing.
"Shinsou?" He asks, curious and a little. Little worried. He can admit that, somewhere in the back of his mind, to be dealt with later. Because while Shinsou Hitoshi wasn't exactly loud, this level of complete and utter silence wasn't. It wasn't good, and he frowns, letting his feathers part from the protective wall, light filtering in. "You don't have to stay here, Shinsou. You just had a really severe reaction to my wings brushing yours. It didn't make sense to keep you in the classroom, so I brought you here."
It's an explanation, and an excuse both. Shouta… Shouta is still nervous, an anxious trembling in his limbs, mixing with the protective rage lighting a fire low in his gut. Abused, neglected, hurt. Everything in him, both the Alpha instincts he'd learned to control and the instincts cultivated from years of hero and teaching, reject the very idea that anyone, --Alpha, Omega, adult or child--, could ever be neglected enough that their first reaction when presented with a contact that should be normal and expected was to surrender so completely. Thanatosis, tonic immobility, a last ditch effort to appear harmless, a silent begging to not be hurt further. An old instinct, one that should have been thoroughly stomped out in this day and age, at least outside traumatic events.
Walking into a classroom? Having someone else's wings brushing theirs? Not traumatic. Or. It shouldn't be.
Hitoshi just blinks, frowning a little. Maybe in response to Shouta's scent, the warm curry of protective anger, or how the room is still empty, though Shouta had seen faces peer in from the small window on the door, curious and wanting. A glare had been enough to send any too curious onlookers scurrying.
"You're safe, Shinsou. You can leave at any time." He'll repeat that until he's blue, if that is what the Omega needs. Or even if that's what he wants. Body language and scent had been his guiding cues so far, but without further confirmation… there's not much he can do. Except. "Are you able and willing to nod, or shake your head?"
Was he able to nod, or shake his head…? Of. Of course he can.
It's just.
Everything is hazy. Warm, and the darkness isn't scary, it's comforting. Safe. Unfamiliar, and the man holding him is only slightly less so. He's just as safe though, with incredibly gentle hands and a scent that blankets them both, creating a little shelter, a bubble of warmth and calm and…
Aizawa is tensing, corded muscle under his cheek turning hard and steely.
"Shinsou." And, wow. That's. That is a tone Hitoshi had only heard once or twice, the command in every note. An Alpha's tone, snapping Hitoshi's attention up, to the serious dark eyes. "I need to know if you can respond to me, if you're tracking what I'm saying."
He is. Hitoshi can hear everything just fine, can process it and understand and… It's just that his limbs feel heavy like they're encased in concrete. But Aizawa-sensei is clearly worried, bitter clove along his otherwise warm-dark scent and that's...unpleasant. So, he nods, dips his chin.
Tries not to revel in the instant flood of bright relief-grateful-ease between them.
"That's, that's good. I'm glad. Do you want to get up?" That's an easy answer. Hitoshi shakes his head, ducking his head to push it up under Aizawa's chin, pulling his legs closer to his body. Making himself smaller, easier to handle, taking up less space. If he does so, if he shows that he won’t be a bother, maybe Aizawa will let him stay.
He wants to stay, so much. So much he hates it, because its just his stupid Omega instincts, the longing for touch and affection, the weakness inherent in his genes. Another obstacle to becoming a hero, another hurdle he has to overcome.
But Aizawa just shakes his head, breathing heavily for a moment.
"Kid. Whatever you're thinking, stop it. I can promise it's not right, and we can deal with it later, but your scent right now…" he shivers, hard, the motion forcing the soft banded feathers to flex, beams of light spilling into the small cave of wings and Aizawa. "Do you have a problem with me scenting you?"
He had done that, earlier. Rubbed his scruffy chin over Hitoshi's hair, left his scent and his… protection? Most of the scenting Hitoshi had heard of was between friends and family, but. Aizawa wasn't any of those, and protection based scenting wasn't unheard of, even if it wasn't exactly common. Why would…
No. That's not what Aizawa was asking. He wasn't asking if Hitoshi understood why he was being scented, claimed as part of something and wanted. He was asking if Hitoshi was okay with it. Which… Yes. Yes.
"Alright. Alright." Relief, it's almost a tangible presence, as Aizawa leans down, scrapes his chin over Hitoshi's hair. And oh, oh. That feels. That feels good, that feels like. A contented trill trickles from his lips, hesitant at first, but growing stronger when Aizawa rumbles a reply. Happy. The simple kind of happy that makes his brain just shut down. An easy kind of happy, and… is this what his quirk feels like? The simple erasure of unease? Hitoshi hopes so, resolves to ask someone, later. Much later. "Are you comfortable?"
That's another easy answer. Hitoshi nods, pressing his cheek against the soft black of Aizawa's shirt, his own awkward attempt to scent the man back.
Silence, for a minute. Comfortable, dark. Safe.
"Did I upset you when I asked to preen your wings?" All of the man's other questions had been firm, almost demanding, but this one… He's hesitant, curious. Hitoshi is far too relaxed to tense anymore, pressing his cheek again and again to Aizawa's shirt, considering and distracted by the soft scratch of it, so well worn it's comfortable even against the softest of his skin.
Was he upset?
Preening was, at the very least, intimate. Something only very close friends did, or family. A bonding moment, trust and vulnerability freely shared.
Hitoshi… never had someone to groom him. Never trusted someone like that, with the easily broken bones and delicate feathers. Never felt another's hand straightening, cleaning.
It's embarrassing. How much he wants, suddenly. He hadn't really considered it earlier, the first time Aizawa-sensei had asked, had been far too inside his own head, but. It sounded nice. Sounded good. So. No, he hadn't been upset, just… hadn't had enough of a foothold in reality to convey that, had been too busy drifting on the sensations, on the feeling of being held to really process the question but now…
He shakes his head, utterly incapable of explaining further than that, but he doesn't have to. Aizawa understood, sighing heavily and leaning a little further back into the nest, leaning Hitoshi a little more firmly against his chest. "Good. I'm glad, Shinsou."
More silence.
"Is that something you want?" There's no question what he means, even if callous, scarred hands hadn't slipped around his back, the space between his wings. Pausing, waiting. Offering without demanding, a question in the way his arms remain tense, willing to remove themselves the moment he indicates they're not welcome anymore.
He could consider it. Could worry and second guess and fear until he just didn't answer at all, which would be its own answer…
But.
It's too nice here. Too warm, scented with content Alpha and his own happiness, his own easy relaxation. He can worry later. Right now…? What he wants?
Yes.
He nods, a little slowly, then more firmly at the questioning almost-growl Aizawa gives, flaring his wings a little to underscore that yes. He wants, he trusts. As much as he's able, despite the small flinch he can't hide as Aizawa's hands first brush through the tangled, dusty mess that were his wings.
A brief moment, and they do it again. And again. And again.
It's bliss.
Simple, bliss.
Like a puppet unstrung, Shinsou melts, under Shouta's careful, exacting hands. He doesn't even react when Shouta moves, pressed flat to Shouta's chest so the dark haired man can better fix the dark wings, freeing them of dust and smoothing any wayward feathers. But mostly, just. Petting. Caring. Giving comfort where Shinsou likely never had any.
That wasn't going to continue.
Even if Shouta had to personally visit each and every single adult in Shinsou's life, even if he had to step in and adopt the fledgling himself, even if he had to send the kid to therapy daily, Shinsou Hitoshi, now sleeping on his chest as the sun started to sink past the horizon, was going to learn what every other child never had to question.
That he was loved. That he was worthy. That he deserved to be taken care of, and that if he wasn't receiving that care freely, that Shouta Aizawa was both willing, able, and eager to step in, and do it himself.