Chapter Text
It had become a tradition, at this point, for Aizawa to take Hitoshi for food after training. It started out of necessity, he couldn’t follow the meal plan in his foster mother’s realm, tried not to be seen at all when he was home. Now he lived at the dorms, and could make food whenever he wanted, but Aizawa kept taking him anyway. Hitoshi wasn’t going to stop him, even if he was starting to feel bad about the strain it must put on his wallet. He’d pay him back, someday, for this and everything else his mentor had given him.
Mostly, their meals occurred in comfortable silence. Sometimes Hitoshi would work on homework and Aizawa would do paperwork. He’d been doing a lot more of it lately, the kind that had his mouth pinched tight at the corners. Must be a tough case, but he never asked for details. He didn’t have his license yet and had worries enough adjusting to the hero course and the apparent target it put on his back. If Aizawa thought his input would be useful, he’d ask for it. He was blunt that way, didn’t bother wasting time.
So it was no wonder that they were barely in their seats before he decided to break some major news. No preamble, no easing in. No way for him to really prepare a response. Maybe that was on purpose. It was easier for him to ask questions when he was disarmed.
“The bid to foster you finally went through.” he said simply, looking at the menu, even though he almost always ordered the same thing.
“I thought you put that in months ago.” he said, his heart beating faster in his chest. They’d discussed this, shortly after Hitoshi had been removed from his previous foster family’s control. Aizawa was content to be his teacher, to look after him until he reached eighteen, but he’d given another option. To be a part of his and Yamada’s family. It had taken him days to think it over, stuck between familiar paranoia and distrust and a flickering hope for more. He’d eventually agreed to try, and Aizawa’s answering smile was soft instead of toothy and manic.
“I did. There were complications. More paperwork than is usually part of the process.” he said, rubbing his temples at the memory as if it would stave off headaches long past.
“Good thing I’m worth it.” he said, and he meant it as a joke, but Aizawa was too sincere to play along.
“You are. It was still a pain.” he said with a shrug, and despite over a half-year as his student, Hitoshi still found himself made dumb by that easy care. He’d idolized Eraserhead before he met him, and though he could see him now as a person with his share of flaws, he’d yet to suffer the backlash that supposedly came from meeting your heroes. He was starting to suspect he never would.
“What was holding things up?” he asked, indulging his curiosity. Even a question felt safer than examining his feelings right now, too big and aching.
“That’s what I wanted to discuss. The short answer is that you’re going to have a foster sibling.” Aizawa said gently, probably aware of how his instincts had him lurching into a jealous, uncomfortable hurt.
“I didn’t know you already had a kid.” he said quietly, trying to trim down the edges of his discontent with logic. He’d had foster siblings before, he wasn’t a stranger to cohabitation. He was already a member of split attention with his classmates, it wasn’t like sharing it at home meant Aizawa and Yamada didn’t care about him. But they’d never mentioned another kid. Not once. He thought Aizawa trusted him more than that.
“It’s recent, and they’re more Zashi’s kid than mine. I messed up the first time we met and they’re still a bit skittish.” He could understand that, in theory. He found Aizawa’s brusque honesty a relief, but it could come off as pretty harsh to someone else. Especially if they were a little kid. “The reason it took so long was that I had to get special permission to tell you about them.”
“Oh.” he said, cheeks reddening in shame. Assuming the worst had worked out fairly well for him before, but it was a disservice to do the same to his mentor. At least Aizawa didn’t seem overly bothered. “How old are they?” he asked, not sure if he should ask for the more sensitive information in a public place like this.
“Thirteen.” he said, which didn’t explain the flicker of pain that crossed his face at the fact. That wasn’t an especially tragic age to be in foster care. “Their name is Thorn. They’re in protective custody.” Well, shit. “I can’t share all the details with you, both because I’m trying to respect their privacy and there’s an open investigation. But you’re going to learn some of it if you’re living with us. I trust you can be discrete about this.” he said, not really a question, but Hitoshi replied anyway.
“Of course, sensei.”
“It’s just Aizawa or Shouta at home.” he said, already including him as part of that, as if he hadn’t been blindsided enough. “Most of the ground rules are the same as the dorms. Keep your area clean, no loud noises after 10 pm. You and Thorn have separate rooms. There’s two things they asked me to tell you before you meet, sometime later this week.” he said, and he nodded and listened closely. “First, they’re American and still learning Japanese. They understand more than they speak, but it might be easier to use at least some English at first.” More Yamada’s kid than his indeed, Aizawa had a terrible grasp on the language for being married to a man who taught it. “Second, you can ask about their past, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get the answer you want.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” he said, confused by the cryptic nature. Not sure what they were expecting of him.
“Thorn has been…well frankly, they’ve been through Hell. They don’t tend to give direct answers about what happened. Not to Hizashi and certainly not to me. I don’t push. I’d advise you to do the same.”
Hitoshi figured that was for the best. Aizawa had pretty good advice, on the whole. But he couldn’t quite quash his anxiety. What on Earth was he walking into?