Work Text:
Shouta stands on the rooftop overlooking the warehouse district, eyes darting to every small bit of movement around the building he suspected as the base of operations for the group he had been working on the case to take down for the last two months. He knows his target, it’s one of the smaller buildings with three broken windows and a visible but half boarded up front door.
He and Hitoshi had been doing reconnaissance in the area. Hitoshi had gone ahead to check the perimeter while Shouta checked out the surrounding area for any other signs of life. They were pretty certain this warehouse was the one, but with a police strike team waiting on their word they wanted to be one hundred percent sure. Then while they had been split up he had lost contact with Hitoshi suddenly.
Suddenly enough that Shouta was sure something was wrong.
So here he was, waiting for there to be a sign of movement for him to move in. He isn’t going to go in blind, as much as he wants to, as much as his instincts as a parent are screaming to run in and start cracking the heads of this high class drug ring for touching his son. Even if his son is only a couple months off being a pro hero, nearly a sidekick with multiple agencies currently trying to get his attention that he's yet to choose from, but that doesn't mean that right now he's not still working with Shouta under his care in the final months of his workstudy. Something which Shouta feels honoured Hitoshi chose despite the fact he was both his teacher, and since his first year at UA, also his guardian.
And Shouta intends to honour that choice by finding him and making those bastards regret it.
The door to the warehouse opens and Shouta crouches on his perch to not alert them to his presence. A man steps outside, looking like he's come out there to make a call going by the hand held to his ear. Little does he know that his presence has confirmed this building is in use now, and that this is the one the drug ring is operating from as that man matches one of the descriptions he was given.
"Gotcha, fuckers," Shouta mutters with venom, quietly under his breath.
They had intended to do some reconnaissance tonight and engage if an opportunity arose. Shouta's taking this as an opportunity. He sends a message to the couple of police he's working with on this case that he trusts with the location of the warehouse and likely number of criminals present. He knows there were at least enough to grab Hitoshi while he was unaware, so that suggests someone with a strong enough quirk to incapacitate him or he was surprised. Either way it's probably enough for them to be wary coming in. Thankfully they have enough information on these guys that the location was the last piece they needed.
Which most importantly means, even though Shouta couldn't give a fuck about protocol right now, he's not going to get chewed out for what he's about to do. Well, he might be all the same for not waiting for the backup to arrive, but he is out of fucks to give.
He watches the man finish the phone call, and knows that's his cue. He jumps from his perch, using his capture weapon to swing silently down and lands a kick with both feet in the side of the man's head that knocks him out cold.
The capture weapon wraps around the man as he drops, stopping him from making a noise with the sound of his body hitting the floor. Shouta checks he’s completely unconscious and then props his heavy form against the wall outside the door to wait for the police to pick him up.
Him though? He’s going to find his kid.
The warehouse isn’t as big as some of the others in the area, but it’s still large, meaning he has to go through a fair distance of corridors and what look like offices. At least half the building has been separated out into rooms rather than the one high ceilinged space that warehouses often tend to have. This means he has to go slower, which he hates, but on the bright side it makes it far easier to corner the men he encounters, erase their quirks, and render them useless, all without alerting the rest of the men here. The few he doesn't have to knock out immediately he interrogates, asking for a location to narrow down his search, but it takes until the fifth idiot to get any kind of useful answer.
After that, he moves through the halls faster. Anyone he encounters has their quirk erased, followed by being slammed into the wall with his capture weapon hard enough to knock them out. The couple of them with guns or other weapons cause momentary delays, but like usual, and thankfully for him, the majority are relying too heavily on their quirks to win.
Following checking far too many rooms with no joy, he finally gets to one where he can hear the first group he’s found of multiple voices beyond the closed wooden door. Shouta presses himself to the wall beside it in case anyone comes through suddenly, and decides to listen for a moment.
“Fuck, we’ve lost contact with Sagae,” says one man’s voice.
“Do you think it’s a pro? The brat works with Eraserhead right?” A slightly higher male voice replies.
“I haven’t seen him in weeks, that asshole must have sent the kid to do recon or some shit.” Then the voice is raised, and Shouta hears the sound of what is most likely a boot making contact with a chair. “That what you were doing? Nod or something.” When he presumably gets nothing in response he adds with dismissive vitriol, “Fucking weirdo.”
“You can’t exactly question him with that thing on him.” The previous anger Shouta was feeling from the first man’s words is magnified tenfold by that sentence, sending a shudder of anger and fear down his spine. He has to grit his teeth against the desire to just slam into the room going entirely on the element of surprise, but he needs to hear more to make sure these guys, or even Shouta himself, doesn't hurt Hitoshi when he runs in. There’s a dark and unhappy feeling in his chest that at least he’s confirmed where his kid is, even as he wishes Hitoshi was literally anywhere but on the other side of this door.
“He can still move his head, can’t he?”
Shouta thinks he hears a sigh before the second man talks again. “There’s not even anything we can ask him, we grabbed him before he really got a look at anything.”
“How do you know that! How do you know Eraserhead or the cops haven’t been collecting shit on us! The Mujinazaka group just fucking disappeared after that raid last year! Who’s to say that’s not what’s going on here?” Shouta smirks grimly at how the man apparently does have some brains, because that is exactly what’s going on here. And if he has anything to do with it this guy will be behind bars before the end of the day - even if he desperately wants to make his removal from the world of crime a little more permanent.
Just as Shouta is preparing to make his move, he hears another door from inside the room bang open and he curses that they’ve got another exit. But that quickly becomes the least of his worries when the newcomer talks.
“I found Naguri and Chigaya out cold! And word is there’s been squad cars spotted on the edge of the district!” Fucking cops and their inability to do any kind of fucking subtlety.
“Fuck!!” The sentiment is echoed by the previous voice, though for vastly different reasons. “Burn whatever shit you can’t carry, we’re getting out of here now. Shoot the kid or whatever I don’t care, not like he’s gonna get out of a burning building anyway.”
And right there is Shouta’s cue to move.
He slams through the door with a kick, grateful to find it wasn’t locked. He does a quick survey of the room while darting out his capture weapon towards where he had heard the voices coming from before. The men are shouting, trying to grab weapons or use their quirks, but he activates his erasure as his eyes dart to them.
The room is mid-sized, a little bigger than a lot of the offices he’s broken into tonight, but he’s still able to keep his eyes on the three men present with ease. He grabs hold of one man with the capture weapon, and throws him towards the other two with a flick of the fabric, away from the figure tied to a chair that he identifies as Hitoshi.
Immediately after he puts himself between the men and Hitoshi’s quiet, unmoving figure, hating that he can’t better check on him right now, but choosing to focus on the problem at hand first. Two of the men have landed in a heap on the floor, and the third has managed to scrabble away from them and is clutching a gun which he begins to raise towards Shouta. Before he can fire a shot though, the capture scarf flies out and wraps around his arm, pulling him sideways as Shouta darts forward to land a hard punch to the side of his head, followed by a solid kick to the solar plexus which sends him flying into the wall. He doesn't get up.
One down, two to go.
The other two have gotten to their feet by this point and he fixes his quirk on them. Sadly, it only seems to work on one of them - the other has some kind of mutation quirk, making his arms larger with blue spikes decorating them from the elbows upwards. He has no idea which one of them was the one to order his son to be killed, but right now he doesn't care. They’re both going to regret hurting his family either way.
The one with the spikes lunges for him, the only gun it seems was the one he just wrenched out of the other guy’s hand. Shouta uses his scarf to hook onto one of the exposed pipes in the ceiling and pulls himself up to land a drop kick into the man’s head. He’s clearly not used to facing opponents that use Shouta’s style of fighting, further suggesting they had managed to catch Hitoshi by surprise rather than beating him in a fair fight.
The hulking form goes down like a sack of bricks, and Shouta turns his attention to the final man standing, fixing him with his most sinister grin, baring his teeth in anger. He hopes this guy is fucking afraid, because he should be.
Before the man can even make a step forward, Shouta flings the capture scarf out and wraps it around his body and head, then pulls sharply downwards making the man topple like a rotten oak tree. His head slams into the concrete floor, knocking him out cold.
That last move was probably harsher than necessary, but right now Shouta is all out of fucks to give.
Doing a quick visual sweep to make sure all three men are unconscious, and trusting the approaching police to handle the rest of things, he spins on his heel and runs to Hitoshi’s slumped form, blinking and pushing his goggles onto his head as he goes. He crouches down in front of him to first check if he’s responsive before trying to untie his wrists.
“Hitoshi? Hitoshi, can you look at me?” As he says the words, his mind catches up with what he’s seeing and his breath sticks in his throat.
There’s a blindfold covering Hitoshi’s eyes, a black thick piece of fabric covering half his face and tied around the back of his head. But what’s worse, what makes Shouta consider going back to the unconscious men and kicking the shit out of them for good measure, is the thing he can see covering Hitohsi’s mouth which must have been ‘that thing’ one of the men had been referring to.
It’s a rudimentary looking thing, made of wire and metal, attached like the blindfold around his head, but it’s ragged and rusted, probably something they found in the warehouse when they got here and thought could be useful. It’s too small for someone Hitoshi's age clearly cutting into his face and creating deep groves, some of which look like they’re beginning to bleed.
Most importantly of all, Shouta can recognise exactly what it is immediately, even broken and damaged and so fucking old he’s desperately glad Hitoshi’s tetanus shots are up to date because otherwise they would have far more serious need for worry.
It’s a fucking muzzle.
“Hitoshi?” He says, trying to remain calm despite the boiling rage wanting to escape from his chest through his fists. “Everything’s gonna be okay, alright? I’m going to take off the blindfold so you can see me and what I’m doing, then I’m going to take off the muzzle and untie your hands okay?” He gets no response and Shouta is starting to get worried, the paralysing fear threatening to overwhelm him only assuaged slightly by the fact he can see the rise and fall of Hitoshi’s chest under his own capture scarf and hero suit.
Shouta trusts Hitoshi to handle himself great the rest of the time, but right now he’s certain that the specific way his son had been made helpless is affecting him more strongly than usual. Trying to not freak out the kid more than it seems he is, Shouta lifts the blindfold from his eyes, hating the way the fabric snags on the purple hair that was no doubt roughly dragged into the knot behind his head. He does his best to make it as painless as possible removing it, but the sight of Hitoshi’s eyes becoming visible does nothing to calm Shouta.
Purple eyes stare blankly at the floor, completely bypassing Shouta, and he curses quietly under his breath. On top of that, he can see the tear tracks now, cutting through the dust and dirt on his cheeks.
“Hitoshi, I need you to listen to me. You’re safe now, I promise. No one is going to hurt you. I’m going to untie your hands first now, alright, just so we can sit on the floor and I can get this thing off more safely. You don’t need to worry.” He keeps up a stream of words as he stands, trying to be grounding for his son as he moves behind the chair to cut the ropes tied tightly around Hitoshi’s pale wrists that are now rubbed raw. When they’re untied, he holds them gently in one hand, then brings his other around to push against Hitoshi’s chest to stop him from tipping forward. He pulls him from the chair, moving him into a sitting position on the floor, dead eyed stare making panic rise in Shouta’s throat as it wars with anger.
“I’m going to take off the muzzle now, Hitoshi,” Shouta says, deep voice stable and calming like he uses for scared civilians and Eri after she’s had a nightmare.
Fuck, he’s never seen Hitoshi as freaked out as this, the way he was restrained must have triggered something. His and Hizashi’s own histories of dealing with shit like this come to mind, and it makes his blood boil that someone had clearly done this to his son at one point and he didn’t know about it.
He moves as slowly as he can reasonably allow himself, untying the muzzle from around his head and lifting it off of his face. Shouta now notices that his voice modulator is missing, probably torn off and abandoned somewhere. Whatever, they’ll find it later or he’ll have tech support make him a new one. He tilts the muzzle and lifts it away from his features, and something in Shouta dies a little when he starts pulling it away and the small cuts lining the edges of his face start bleeding more, particularly the ones from under his jaw which were getting dug into with a particular intensity to keep his mouth closed. Once it's safely away from Hitoshi’s face, he looks down at it in disgust, throwing it away towards the wall in order to focus on the most likely panicking child in front of him. He doesn’t care if Hitoshi is eighteen now, he’s still a child to him. He's his child.
Shouta puts his hands on either side of Hitoshi’s face and moves his own face lower to be able to make eye contact as he crouches in front of him.
“There. You’re safe now, Hitoshi. You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you, okay kid. That thing is gone.” Finally, finally, thank whoever the fuck might be listening, Hitoshi’s eyes seem to focus slightly, and he looks like he sees Shouta. Shouta tries to smile comfortingly. “Hey kid. You’re alright now, I promise. Can you hear me okay?” He gets a tiny nod, and Shouta exhales. Then Shouta does the only other thing he can think to do. “Is it alright if I give you a hug, Hitoshi?” Another tiny movement of his head down is all it takes for Shouta to move forward and bring his crying broken child into his arms. He falls forward like his strings have been cut, and Shouta places a hand gently on the back of his head, directing it to his shoulder. Hitoshi presses his face to the capture weapon. His arms come up to clutch at Shouta’s hero uniform as his shoulders start to shake uncontrollably. Shouta holds him close, letting his son break apart in whatever way he needs to.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay kid, you’re okay, Hitoshi,” he says. He repeats the words over and over again like a mantra as he feels the shaking turn to sobs.
After a couple more minutes Shouta hears the sounds of footsteps and banging of doors echoing through the building and knows the police have arrived. About fucking time too.
“Hitoshi?” he says, getting his attention. The only response he gets is a halt to the sobs for a moment, only done by Hitoshi gulping and appearing to swallow back the sound harshly in a way that has Shouta wincing in sympathy. “The officers on the case will be here in a second, are you alright to walk? We can leave all this bullshit with them and go home.”
After a moment where Hitoshi seems to think about the words, he nods, and unclenches his hands from Shouta’s shirt and sits back a little.
“Walking good?” Shouta double checks. He gets a nod and the sobs stay reduced to s hiccups.
By this point he’s certain that Hitoshi has settled into being nonverbal for the foreseeable future, but that’s okay. He’ll work on making sure he’s alright once they’re home and Hitoshi has the verifiable safety to talk when he’s ready. “Sign to me if you need anything, okay?” Hitsohi nods and takes a deeper inhale, breaths stabilising; then his eyes dart up to the door behind Shouta.
Looking around he confirms what he expected. In the threshold there are uniformed police officers surveying the room and talking into their radios and looking at the two of them crouched on the floor with a curiosity that makes Shout’s hackles stand up. Simultaneously, he feels relieved and annoyed at the police for getting there now. He tries to focus on relief though as he stands to speak with them.
Thankfully, the lead officers on the scene are ones Shouta knows, and with the evidence on site combined with the pile of criminals Shouta helpfully knocked out for them. They’re reasonably quick in allowing him and Hitoshi to leave when he reminds them that protocol dictates he remove his traumatised and injured student from the scene as quickly as possible.
As they head in the direction of where Shouta parked his car, one arm around Hitoshi’s shoulders as the boy still looks out of it enough to concern him, he texts Hizashi to be ready with tea and first aid for when he gets back with a recently traumatised teenager. He knows his husband will still be up, he never sleeps until they’re both back when out on a mission like this. Eri would stay up too if she could, but Hizashi at least manages to be firm with her bedtime and thankfully she matches Hizashi’s patterns of sleeping and waking more than she does Shouta’s or Hitoshi’s. The car ride back is quiet, and he hates that he can’t get a proper read on his kid, but at least he’s stopped shaking or crying, so Shouta will take that as a positive for the moment.
Getting home, Hizashi is waiting for them in the living room, dressed down in sweats and a t-shirt, hair in a bun, looking tired and worried. He doesn't react to the cuts on Hitoshi's face, and Shouta's glad that he maybe doesn't notice the exact placement of them for now. He asks Hitoshi if he can hug him and Hitoshi lets him, holding him tightly and their son holds him back just as tight. Shouta's eyes dart to the coffee table where he sees their first aid kit sat and feels grateful for his husband even more than normal.
Even though Hizashi only knows the most basic details of what Shouta could explain quickly over text - that he had had a panic attack after getting captured - he’s doing his best to be comforting despite the curiosity and concern Shouta can feel emanating off him in waves. He makes eye contact with Shouta over his shoulder and they share a worried look. Shouta signs a question to him if he’ll make some tea for them and Hizashi gives a small nod.
“I’m gonna go make some tea for you guys,” Hizashi says, pulling back from the hug and smiling. “Some of you favourite, yeah, the peppermint one.”
Hitoshi mumbles his thanks and drops down on the sofa when Hizashi walks away, pausing to squeeze Shouta’s hand as he goes past. Shouta feels relieved to hear Hitoshi’s voice, even quiet and barely there. His son could stay quiet for the rest of his life if he wanted and Shouta wouldn’t care, but he knows Hitoshi has worked hard to feel more comfortable talking with the way his quirk operates, so the confirmation he hasn’t taken too much of a step back after tonight is comforting.
Still, Hitoshi is just staring at the floor in front of him, legs half stretched out and looking exhausted, one hand holding onto his capture scarf in a way Shouta has seen him do when he’s stressed. Shouta knows they at least need to have a little conversation about this, and about what happened - as well as tend to the damage to his face and wrists - but he refuses to push Hitoshi more than he can cope with for one night. So, for now he’ll let Hitoshi have a moment to gather his thoughts, and Shouta will do the same.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says quietly before leaving the room. He goes to go put his capture weapon away, and changes into more comfortable clothes than his hero suit. He leaves his and Hizashi’s bedroom, tying his hair up into a loose bun like Hizashi’s.
When he gets back to the living room he finds Hizashi dropping off the tea and stopping a moment to look at Hitoshi more closely, examining the small cuts on his face with a subtle frown, running his fingers through the wild purple hair as their son looks up at him with tired eyes. Hitoshi spots him first, expression turning to dread, but Shouta hopes to dispel that expression quickly by making it as quick and painless as possible.
Hizashi sees him looking and glances over, giving Shouta a small, sad smile. He turns back to Hitoshi, speaking in a tone far quieter than his usual volume, the one usually reserved for after Eri has nightmares.
“I'll leave you guys to talk for a minute, okay little listener?”
Hitoshi barely nods, then once he’s gone, he leans forward to pick up his peppermint tea. Shouta smiles to see Hizashi put it in Shouta's favourite cat mug with little purple ears on the side - a mug which Shouta knows Hitoshi likes because only he knows how to drink out of it without poking himself in the eye.
Shouta takes a seat on the sofa beside him, grabbing the first aid kit and bringing it onto his lap, unzipping the side and shuffling through the contents.
They sit in silence for a moment, only the sound of Shouta taking out the wound disinfectant and some bandaids. He can tell Hitoshi isn't going to be the one to talk first so he speaks instead, appreciating the distraction of something to do with his hands. “Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”
For a moment he’s not sure if Hitoshi will respond, in sign or in voice. He brings one sock clad foot onto the sofa, pressing his knee to his chest and wrapping one of his arms around his leg. “I’m sorry I got caught," he says softly. "I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings and I fucked up."
Of course he thinks he’s in trouble. “That’s not what I meant, Hitoshi," Shouta says, replacing the bag on the coffee table and soaking some cotton pads in the rubbing alcohol.
Hitoshi looks up in surprise, then the realisation dawns on him and he looks back down at his lap, other hand going to the scarf.
“That stuff... messed with my head is all. Don’t worry about it, Sensei.”
Shouta sighs, and reaches out for Hitoshi's hand on the scarf, waiting for him to unclench his fingers and let Shouta bring it closer. He pushes back the sleeve and starts delicately disinfecting the wounds on his wrists. “Hitoshi," he wants to groan, but he doesn't know how else to phrase what he wants to say, so he settles on being blunt. "That was one of the worst panic attacks you’ve ever had, and it was in response to what those men did. I need you to talk to me, at least a little." His fingers flex in Shouta's hold, like he wants to be holding the scarf as his other hand has the handle to his mug in a choke hold. He pauses the ministrations of of the wound but keeps his eyes focused on it to not put Hitoshi under more pressure. "Please talk to me, kid. You scared me tonight, and I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want this to become something we don’t talk about.”
Hitoshi scoffs quietly. “Like you or Mic would let me get away with that.”
Shouta waits to see if Hitoshi will talk more, prepared to leave it if he really doesn't want to have this discussion now, but he takes comfort in the fact he didn’t immediately leave for either his room or the dorms when they got back as a sign that it’s not a completely hopeless cause. While he waits he goes back to tending to and bandaging one wrist, and then gets Hitoshi to put down the mug so he can move onto the other. When he's nearly done with his right wrist, the left back to holding the scarf, he sees Hitoshi start fidgeting in the way he knows he does when he wants to say something. He tries off the bandage and lays the rest of the bandages down, taking hold of his now cool tea to sip as he waits.
Looking down at the carpet beside his socked feet, Hitoshi wraps his fingers more tightly around the capture weapon, then he speaks, softly and hesitantly. “One of my foster families used one of those things a couple times, I think that's what triggered it. And…” he swallows, and Shouta dreads what else he could add to that. “And kids used to try and gag me at school sometimes. Get a hold of me. They all thought my quirk was scary or some shit.” The way he says it has Shouta’s heart clenching with the way Hitoshi sounds like he believes them.
Shouta had been suspecting as much in the last few couple hours, but he wished he had been wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Tell us?”
Hitoshi shrugs. “You already knew things weren’t great where I was, didn’t think I needed to go into all the details to make it matter any more.”
Shouta inhales and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to not pinch the bridge of his nose, then opens them and fixes them back on the side of Hitoshi’s face not turned away from him.
“Okay, we’re gonna talk about this more. But not tonight,” he adds when Hitoshi’s eyes dart quickly to him with a hunted look. “What do you need from me and Hizashi tonight?”
Hitoshi looks up at him sheepishly, as if he didn't expect the same offer they give to Eri when she's struggling. “Um, I dunno." He looks toward the table where his mug sits, as he thinks. "Maybe...can we just...hang out for a little bit instead of going to bed for a bit? I know it’s really late though-”
“I think we can manage an episode or two of something,” Shouta interrupts. “Go change into out of your suit and put on the tv in here, but keep it low so we don’t wake Eri. We’ll sort out those,” he gestures to his face and the scratches, “when we get back, okay. I'm guessing you're staying here instead of the dorms tonight?"
"If that's okay…" he says without looking up, fingers now playing with the bandage around his wrist.
"’Course, kid. You still like hot chocolate don't you? Or do you want more peppermint tea?"
"Hot chocolate please." Comes the quiet reply.
Shouta stands and picks up both their empty mugs, holding both the handles in one hand. He pauses next to Hitoshi, squeezing his shoulder with his free hand. “Remember we love you, Hitoshi. Nothing in your past could ever change that, alright?”
He sees Hitoshi nod shakily, then Shouta continues on his path out of the room.
When he gets to the kitchen he finds Hizashi sitting at the kitchen table, mug clasped in one hand and phone in the other, probably hopping between apps anxiously while waiting for them. He drifts closer to his husband, places his hand at the top of his spine and leans down to kiss the top of his freshly washed hair.
“How’s our little listener doing?” Hizashi says, looking up at him.
Shouta shrugs and sighs. “He’s okay I think. Tonight just freaked him out. I’ve got a feeling he’s trying to deal with the fact he reacted like that more than anything else. It fucking sucks when your mind turns against you like that.”
Hizashi hums in understanding, hand coming to squeeze his wrist over his shoulder.
“He asked if it's alright if we stay up and watch stuff together for a bit. I know you’re tired, Zashi, so you can go to bed if you want and I’ll stick around with the kid.”
Hizashi smiles softly and takes Shouta’s hand in between his and kisses the back of it. “Ah I can stay up a little longer, it’s only one night anyway.”
Shouta smiles. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” Hizashi says back, bright cheeriness dimmed slightly by fatigue but still shining like Shouta's own personal beacon. “C’mon then eraser, don’t want to leave the little listener waiting,” he stands from the table and lets go of Shouta’s hand. “I’ll make some popcorn, you do the hot chocolate.” Shouta wants to laugh at the way their minds are so in sync.
They move around each other easily, all old patterns and muscle memory. Shouta hears Hitoshi come back downstairs at some point, feet padding gently over wood floors passing on his way to the living room. He spots him briefly, and he looks so tired it makes Shots yawn in sympathy.
While the milk heats up for the hot chocolate Hizashi comes to stand beside him as he watches the microwave turn.
“I know I might regret asking, but what exactly happened tonight, Sho? You said he was grabbed by the guys you were after, but I know Hitoshi, and for the way the kid’s looking it sounds like it was more than that.”
Shouta knew his husband had some kind of suspicions from the way he had seen him looking at the scratches on Hitoshi's face earlier. But still, he has to check before he explains. “You sure?”
"He’s been my kid almost as long as he’s been yours, Sho. I need to know.” Shouta respects his husband enough to be honest with him, even if, as much as he hates it, he knows what he's going to say will hurt him.
“They put a blindfold and a muzzle on him, as well as tying him to a chair."
He hears a sharp intake of breath from Hizashi that he isn't quite able to muffle, and knows his husband is probably putting the pieces together the same way he did, so he keeps talking before he can't anymore. He can collapse later, when his son doesn’t need him to keep it together for him.
“He said that his foster parents had used a muzzle on him before. Thinks that’s why he reacted when they put it on him - plus the other shit probably made it worse. They- fuck.” He brings his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels tears prick his eyes. It all feels more real explaining it like this. "When I got there they were talking about killing him." His voice starts to crack so he stops, and the silence rings heavily around them.
"That wasn't your fault, Shouta. Shit," Hizashi lets out a water laugh. "If anything it's my fault. I should have told him. If I had he might have been better prepared to deal with this shit-”
Shouta turns to face him, and when he speaks his voice has heat to it, pain feeling more visceral as his eyes land on the scars around his husband's face that are so like the scratches Hitoshi has received tonight. He’s desperate to make his husband believe what he's saying. “You don’t know that would have made him talk to us about it. You can't tell me it's not my fault then blame yourself, you ridiculous blonde idiot."
Hizashi turns sharply to mirror him. “But it might have, Shouta!” he says, voice staying thankfully low but he can hear the strength of emotion, of guilt, he's trying to contain. Probably fighting to contain his quirk as well on top of it. “Then we could have helped him - could have prevented our - our son from having to go through something like that. Getting surprised with a panic attack on the job, especially in a situation like that is a horrifying experience and-” Hizashi breaks off, biting his lip and closing his eyes tightly. The microwave beeped minutes ago and the milk might be burning, but neither of them move.
Shouta puts his hand on his husband's arm, long fingers wrapping half around his bicep and holding steady, acting as an anchor for the two of them, not just Hizashi. “You have no way of knowing if you had volunteered that information about your own fucking trauma if you could have spared Hitoshi that. You can’t blame yourself for not having a discussion with him about something he never felt the need to tell us, Zashi.”
Hizashi's eyes open again and Shouta feels his heart break at the look in them. “But Shouta, we should have known ! He has a fucking voice quirk too! We both know how people can react to that!” By the time he stops talking, tears are filling his husband’s eyes.
Shouta pulls him into a hug and Hizashi falls against his chest easily, clutching him tightly. “We thought things were better these days. Or at least, we wanted to think that.”
Shouta knows how much all his kids have suffered, not just Hitoshi. And he knew Hitoshi had something like this in his history, he knew there had been abuse, but he didn't know it had been that bad. He should have tried to see deeper though, see what Hitoshi had made sure they didn’t see.
After a moment Hizashi pulls away, wiping his eyes and trying to gather himself. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
Shouta nods, darting in to peck him on the cheek. “I’m proud of you and I love you," he says, looking Hizashi firmly in the eye, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability to support this wonderful man that agreed to be his husband. His best friend for reasons he’s reminded of every day, but especially in moments like this. "I've got things handled here, go."
Hizashi smiles at him fondly, returning the kiss briefly before he disappears out of the kitchen, steps sure and determined, making Shouta beyond proud of his husband. He takes the milk of the heat and checks the popcorn. But then he slips into the hallway after Hizashi and peeks around the door to the living room. He trusts his husband, but he knows sharing his own trauma is difficult and wants to make sure both him and Hitoshi are okay. In that room are the two people he cares about most in the world aside from Eri.
From where he stands he can only spy part of Hitoshi’s face, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to spot him, so he sees his wife watery eyes in response to the quiet words his husband says. He doesn’t know what they are, but he doesn’t need to to know that they're important.
He sees when Hizashi hugs their son, holding him so tightly, Hitoshi tucking his face against his shoulder the same he had with Shouta, entirely childlike in his pain and sadness, reaching for the comfort of his parents. Hizashi wraps his arms around him and Shouta knows personally how strong those hugs are, as if Hizashi thinks he might make everything better if he just holds you close enough.
They all know that’s not the case, but it still means something when you’re suffering like he knows they all are tonight.
And sometimes, that’s enough.