Work Text:
It had been days of this. Shōta wasn't sure how many; he'd stopped trying to count after the second good blow to the head. If they wanted him to answer their questions they should really stop smacking him around; the excessive concussions would definitely not help his memory or the slurring of his words. He was more likely to drop dead from some internal haemorrhage or if one of those broken ribs floated too close to his lungs. All he knew with any certainty was he had been here for days and would die before he told them where Izuku was. And that really he shouldn't be holding out for a daring rescue.
Shōta's heart hurt as he accepted his fate; dying in some dingy room, tied to a chair and beaten until he couldn't see straight; never able to run his fingers through forest curls or hear that quiet mumble again. Hopefully Hizashi and Hitoshi would be able to keep Izuku and Eri safe once he was gone. Oh, sweet Eri. Shōta was sure that if he could spare the energy, he would sob.
There's no warning as the door is opened. A stern woman walks in, blonde hair slicked in place, clothes immaculate, face set grim. Shōta knows she won't come near him, she doesn't need to. As current head of the Hunter Public Safety Commission, she had people to do her dirty work. Lumbering in behind her was someone new, which just meant they were probably moving to more intense torture. Since the regular beatings had yet to yield fruit, maybe they would move on to pulling teeth or fingernails. Shōta would be impressed with the variety if he wasn't the poor soul on the receiving end of it.
The woman steps forward, not close enough to touch but Shōta gets a waft of the flowery scent of her perfume. It makes Shōta very aware of how ripe he must smell at this stage; the closest thing he'd gotten to a shower had been buckets of ice water tossed on him if he fell asleep. The curl of her lip in disgust at him just reinforces the feeling of his unwashed state. Shōta gets startled out of his staring contest by the other person dropping something heavy onto the table.
“Well then, Eraserhead. Are you ready to talk? You know what it takes for this to end. Just tell us where the vampire is hiding.” She speaks slowly, like she thinks Shōta is so far beneath even the dirt on the bottom of her boot and wouldn't understand anything. Shōta just wishes he could remember her name; if only so he could adequately haunt her after this.
A sharp slap across his cheek turns his head, and Shōta is made aware that he's taken too long to answer. He spits bloody saliva at the woman, just missing the toe of her boot before he gets slapped again. The woman raises her hand again before she remembers her station and rights her composure.
She gives a hum of disappointment. "Very well. If you choose to remain insubordinate, we shall step up our measures. Doctor, if you'd please?" She gestures over her shoulder to the man at the table as she leaves, a heavy bolt sliding across the door after her, and for the first time Shōta gets a proper look at him.
He's a ghoul. The sallow skin and yellowing eyes give him away. And to make it worse, Shōta was sure he had killed this one. He had been sent to investigate a series of disappearing children. He found that the local doctor was taking them back to his lair to conduct experiments, devouring the ones that didn’t lead to anything. Shōta had killed him with his own hands, strangled the life out of him; so why was he here?
“Is this what the commission does now? Making deals with monsters?” Oh Gods, his speech is so slurred and his throat is so dry.
“Oh please, Eraserhead; don’t pretend you’re so high and mighty when you have your own pet monster.” This time the doctor speaks, his wheezing breaths rubbing on Shōta’s memory. “I am merely doing what I can to survive. And while I do miss my own lab, the commission has access to things I couldn’t get on my own. It was quite the wondrous boon to my research!” The joy in that wheeze makes Shōta want to kill the monster all over again; properly this time.
“Izuku isn’t a monster!” It tears at his throat to raise his voice like this, but he will be damned if he lets any of these bastards stand there and insinuate that Izuku is a monster. “He has more compassion than most damned humans I’ve met, and he is leagues above a pathetic ghoul like you. He is NOTHING LIKE YOU!” The ropes strain against Shōta’s very tired arms as he tries to lunge at the Doctor.
"Now now, Eraserhead. I wouldn't wiggle so much if I were you." The Doctor grabs some instrument from the table. Shōta doesn’t know what he holds, but he doubts it’ll be something he enjoys being touched with. "It would be an awful shame if you were to garrotte yourself before I was ready." He takes a step closer and Shōta can see the glint of a scalpel in the lantern-light. He can feel his heartbeat pick up, pounding in his ears until it's the only sound he knows.
The Doctor grabs Shōta's face and he wants to struggle, by the Gods he wants to struggle, but he feels the pinpricks of the Doctors claw-like nails and knows the natural paralytic will already be flowing through him. It might stop him moving, but it sure doesn't mitigate any of the pain. Shōta watches with growing horror as the scalpel gets closer to his face.
"Now I know I was meant to ask you questions, 'where is the spawn? Where is the little dragon girl?' but first I want to do something just for me. You see, Hunter Eraserhead, I know about your magic. That little bit of gorgon blood somewhere back through your ancestry. Too far to know, but I am hoping that with your eyes I can work out how to repeat the process. I could never turn down the perfect specimen, unless of course you have any siblings or childr-"
The Doctor's rant is cut off by the door being ripped off its hinges. Shōta feels the metal bite into his cheek as the doctor turns at the commotion. The wound is deep and there is the immediate sensation of liquid running from below his eye, but Shōta is still helpless against the paralytic in his veins.
"Shō? You in there?"
Oh Gods. That voice. That sweet, heavenly voice. The lethargy in his soul disputes as he lays eyes upon his love, looking like proof of heavens, even when covered in blood; it must have been a hell of a fight to make his way here. But he came. Unless he’s actually a hallucination and Shōta is on the verge of death.
"Izu-"
"Ah. So the spawn has come for his mortal lover, how poetic. Pity he is currently my prisoner, little vampire. And I so loathe to give up my things." The Doctor makes a very inhuman sound as he sheds his form, becoming the spindly, sunken monster of his soul. “You’re welcome to what’s left of his corpse once I’m done with him, though I cannot promise there will be much for you.”
The bestial growl coming from Izuku reverberates through Shōta’s aching bones, and he is reminded that Izuku isn’t human. For all that they spent time together, sharing meals and beds, making jokes and watching over their daughter, because that's what she is to them; Izuku was a creature under those freckled cheeks. Maybe not a monster, but not a human.
“DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM,” Izuku roars, launching himself at the ghoul in the blink of an eye. Shōta has never seen Izuku quite like this; fangs bared and dripping venom, fingers tipped with deadly claws, eyes glowing in the dim of the room, taking in everything he can see and processing it all in an instant. There was a reason vampires were considered one of the more dangerous predators.
Shōta isn't able to follow much of the battle, still unable to turn his head as beasts clash around him. They’re behind him when it goes quiet, followed by the visceral sound of something, someone being ripped apart. And still Shōta can't move. His heart is back to pounding out of his chest as he waits to find out who won. He holds his breath as the squelch of boots gets closer to him.
“Shō? Shō?! Are you ok?” The breath leaves him in a rush as he feels Izuku touch him, first on the shoulder and then he’s there, kneeling in front of him, hands gently cupping Shōta’s face like he was a fragile treasure. He looks radiant and deadly, like what most people would assume a vampire should look like, but Shōta would kiss the daylights out of him if he could move, ghoul blood smears be damned.
Izuku takes a moment to just look him over, eyes lingering on the ghoul nail scrapes and the still-bleeding cheek. He knows to touch him gently, and can probably smell the damage on the rest of his body with his heightened vampire senses.
“My Gods, you’re alive. Oh Shō. Oh my Moonlight.” It hurts Shōta to hear Izuku talk like that; so tiny and quiet, not at all like the bright sunshine of a man who stole his heart. Izuku presses his lips briefly to Shōta’s before he begins working on removing the bindings. “‘Zashi and ‘Toshi are here too somewhere. We knew this place was huge underground, but we weren’t ready for them to be ready for us. But after we’d checked out the other bases, I guess it made sense for them to know we were coming.”
Shōta knows it's just Izuku’s way to calm himself. The same way he knows why Izuku keeps touching his skin, feeling his heart beneath those deft fingers; all just ways to reassure himself that he has Shōta and this was real and they were safe.
“When we found out you were gone, I went almost feral. Nemuri had to put me under, but that still took about a day to work. Eri was apparently beside herself, with both of her d- both of us out.” He has the gall to look sheepish, probably blushing under the splatter. “We’re lucky Hizashi has such a way with her or she might’ve lost control. I think she mostly was worried about you, but she kept telling me she knew we would find you, so I knew I couldn’t stop until I had you again.”
The last knot gives and Shōta reaches for Izuku. His muscles ache and he knows the ghoul venom won’t be close to dissipated yet, but Shōta just needs to feel those curls beneath his fingers again. He pulls Izuku into a deep hug, slotting his face in the crook of his love's neck and lets himself sob.
“Izuku. Izuku. Izu-.” He keeps repeating the name like a prayer, getting quieter as he clings to his Sunshine. If he never speaks another word again he wouldn’t complain; only his heart’s name from his lips would be enough for him.
“Shō, Moonlight, my wonderful grumpy cat, we need to leave. There’s no guarantee we took out anyone with power, and I’m sure we’ve stirred up enough trouble that the Royal Guard will be here soon. We have to go. Can you walk?” Shōta shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ll help you. I’ve got you. Let’s go home.”