Work Text:
There was a simplicity in breaking. A pattern. It starts with a small chip, nothing more than a tiny blemish. A weak, fracturing point. Add a little more stress, a slight bit of pressure and the chip forms a canyon. Carving its way through, creating a deep crack that is impossible to fix. It weakens the surrounding pieces and becomes faulty. Allowing for smallI tendrils to fan out, reaching, vines slowly spread and consume everything in its path before shattering. Breaking into thousands of pieces. Impossible to repair.
Aizawa Shota was chipped.
You’ve got this Shota!
Aizawa Shota was shattered.
The Hollow
Aizawa Shota drifted. He was a raft lost in a turbulent sea. Oboro was gone. Just like that. A simple foolish mistake and his friend, the only person that cared about him, was gone. There would be no more shared meals during lunch. No more study groups after school. Shota had known those gatherings were an excuse. He knew that Oboro had seen the bruises that marred his skin and was doing his best to keep him out longer. He was trying to keep him away from his foster parents as much as possible. It was a futile attempt, they didn’t stop and Shota became much better at hiding it from his friends. He learnt every trick to hide the fog that covered his mind from lack of sleep. He did everything he could to show what little Oboro offered was enough. More than enough. All the little things meant the world to him.
Then the building came down.
He lost it all.
Shota spent more time with his foster family. His ocean of sorrow was slowly drowning him. His body ached, his mind muddled from pain and exhaustion. He was a being of ruin, destroyed by the world around him.
He drifted. Did what was demanded of him and followed the routine placed before his feet. He completed his assignments. Trained until his body collapsed. Dragged himself to the house only to be met with harsh worse and harder fists. Stealing food and brief moments of rest where he could.
It wasn’t enough.
Two weeks later his familiar routine was broken. His foster dad threw a bottle at his face the previous night and the glass shattered as it struck bone. Leaving a trail of little cuts along his cheek. A larger, deep cut lined the bone under his eye where the glass had struck. Shota still went to class as usual. His teacher asked about the injury, his home life. He shrugged it off, not wanting to take the silent offer, unwilling to talk for the first time in weeks. Afraid of what would pour out of him if he did speak. He walked away.
Shortly after the talk, if it could be called that, it was heroics. The days exercise was to practice sparring, simply take turns with a partner defending and attacking. It was an opportunity to learn how to read an opponent, observe their body language and make quick decisions. Shota was pulled to the side by Hizashi. For a moment he was dumbfounded as he stared at his friend standing in front of him. He wondered when he had last seen the blond. Truly seen him. His friend looked exhausted. Hair and clothes stayed perfect as always but dark bags laid under his eyes. His frame looked lighter, in his shoulders and wrists. Hizashi carried his weight as if aches lay deep within his muscles.
Shota knew that pain well.
They fought.
It was pathetic to watch. Hizashi favoured one of his legs. He was careful to keep his left foot beneath him, right barely touching the ground. Shota’s world spun, fading in and out with every movement. Each twist or jump back had his vision dimming and static filling his mind. It wasn’t long before he collapsed, the world fading out completely after Hizashi hit him a little too hard in the wrong spot.
Recovery Girl hounded him when he woke. Angry word poured out of her, threats that he needed to take care of himself. That this wasn’t something she could heal. It was the fretting of a grandmother. He knew there was care laced deep within her words but all he felt was guilt. Thoughts swelling up from the depths of him mind that he was a nuisance, nothing more than a burden to those around him. It was all he would ever be. The lesson carved deep in his flesh by dozens of homes and something he could never escape.
Nedzu arrived as well. Accusations against his foster family. Thoughts voiced of needing to move him to a new home. Shota only shook his head. It wasn't a good home, he knew that. Nobody should be treated the way he was, but he knew others had it worse. He only had another year before he could live on his own. Just one, he could stick it out.
He waited until he was alone then quietly packed up his things and left the school.
The walk back was filled with apprehension. He could feel his palms warming with sweat, a shake beginning in his knees. Shota knows the fosters would have been called, maybe even questioned. There was no telling what they would think, how bad the night would be.
A bottle flew towards him the moment he opened the door. It connected with his head and he dropped, hands flying to cradle his oozing temple. He wasn’t aware of much else after that, choosing to retreat within his mind. The hours passed in a blur, all too much for his hazy mind. The words thrown at him. The angry blows. He was one bleeding wound with his soul pooled on the floor before him.
When they finally left him alone, he hauled himself back up to his feet. Vision fading as the world around him went in and out. Dancing and hazy.
He left. Simply picked up what he could of himself. Whatever fractured pieces of “Shota” remained and wandered aimlessly. Going deeper into the city, losing himself in back alleys and dim lighting of the night.
It was in one these dark lanes his knees finally gave way. He collapsed to the ground and leaned against a wall, struggling to fill his lungs with air. Shota sat there, aching and broken. He stared up at the gap between the buildings to the faintly shining stars. He was stuck with his fading heart and his thoughts. It wouldn't be the worst thing, to die in this alley, Shota thinks. It’s where he belonged anyway, among the trash and refuse. Unwanted and dirty.
The only person who cared for him, even if it was just a small sliver, was gone. What did he have left to fight for? Before he just wanted to stay by the clouds. Bask in the glory of the warm sun and their combined gentle shade. But this is what Shota was, dark and hollow. Less a son and more a thing. The night was his guardian, the shadows his true home.
Returned at last to die.
He sighed, ribs screaming in protest at the movement. His limbs had long gone numb. A chill climbing up from his hands and feet, it’s cold fingers reaching for his heart. Unable to stop death’s cold grasp Shota closed his eyes.
The Calm
Warm hands on his shoulders and hurried words were thrown his way. Peeling his eyes open felt monumental, draining his energy. Blearily he blinked at the figure hovering over him their hands squeezed cuts and bruises. Shota couldn’t stop the pained moan from escaping.
A muttered curse and the hands released him. Questions were thrown his way. The words were reduced to sounds. His mind unable to process what was being said but knew he had been spoken to.
His eyes drifted close again.
Another squeeze to his arm.
Eyes flying open as pain ripped through the limb.
“Look at me kid.” Shota did. A mask was lowered to reveal an older man. His hair a deep purple. and skin darker than his own, as if he had spent his days in the sun. Lavender eyes met his.
“What happened?” Shota opened his mouth to answer, but his voice hadn't worked in weeks. He stopped trying, eyes drifting down. “JSL?” The man offered.
Shota nodded, raising his shaking hands between them, ‘fosters’ was all he was willing to offer. The man tsked, making Shota jump.
“Sorry kid. How’s this? I take you back to base. My wife’ll patch you up and then we chat. Get you some food and proper rest.”
It sounded nice, like something Oboro would do for him. Kindness offered so easily.
He shook his head. ‘I belong here.’ He signed.
“Can you walk?” The man asked, completely ignoring his previous comment. He shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll carry you. Hop on my back.” Too weak to do much else, Shota followed directions.
Climb on.
Stay awake.
“Name’s Shiro. Shinsou Shiro. My old man was creative.” Shinsou scoffed. “I go by Nightshade in the underground network. I’ve seen you… won the sports festival right?”
Shota tapped his arm twice.
“Thought so. You did good kid. You’ll be a great hero.” Shota tapped once. Watching the building come down. Hearing Oboro push him on.
“We need more heroes like you kid. I don’t know what happened but I’ll help you. I want you to prove them all wrong. Be a little bit more of what this world needs. You got it in you. I can feel it.”
For the first time since that fateful day in the rain, tears rolled down his cheeks. Shota tried his best to hide his face.
In the early hours of the morning Shota was patched up by a strange man and his partner. A beautiful woman, who radiated warmth as she bounced a baby on her hip.
They didn’t talk much the first day. They allowed him to rest. Constant checking up on his injuries and making sure he stayed put. Shota wanted to cry just at their kindness.
He wanted to ask them, beg them, how they could care about his well being? How could they want to take care of him, a complete stranger, when they had a child of their own? He didn’t mean anything, he belonged amongst the trash.
He didn’t say anything, voice staying firmly locked away. He was afraid that if he spoke out the spell would be broken and these kind, kind people would leave him. He went through the motions, did what was asked of him to stay in their good graces. He wanted to hang on to this as long as they would allow him.
They sat with him days later, asked him his story so they could help. He opened his mouth and to his surprise words poured from his lips. Everything he ever wanted to say spilled between them. All the broken pieces of his heart laid bare.
The woman helped him. Soft hands tracing his spine when he was done. Gentle words whispered in the air between. Promises of hope and love. Promises that he could stay. They would never send him away. They were vigilantes and they would save the broken boy before them. He had asked them then, “Why me?” His voice was filled with cracks, filled with tears.
She just smiled and whispered; “Because that’s what we do.” Then lightly kissed the top of his head. It was the first time he had received any sort of motherly love. It made something in his chest break, yearning for something he could never have.
Shota’s few days of healing turned into a week, then two spent with the Shinsous. He found himself not wanting to leave. He wanted to enjoy the calm the little family offered. He learnt that Shiro was a vigilante at night but a quirk analyst during the day. He worked closely with heroes below and above ground. It was the only way he could be close to earning the title of hero after UA rejected him. He had a minor emotional manipulation quirk. He didn’t use it often but it had been deemed unsuitable for hero work.
Shota had held their little boy while the pair sparred. Fists and dull knives flying in a well practiced dance. He enjoyed watching them. Enjoyed seeing the way they would sneak in gentle touches amongst their powerful punches. Short brushes of fingers on exposed skin. Pulling the other in close and gently squeezing before one would feint an attack then seperate. Their movements were so in sync it was hard to tell who was leading the fight.
Yukio was a quiet woman but fiercely protective of her own. A true mother bear. She was also a vigilante, Shadowdance. Able to manipulate shadows it was a versatile quirk. Shota had watched her form sharp blades, blend into the dark and disappear within, but also capture her husband with them. She was powerful, Shota was in awe of her skill. In awe of both of them as they fought, danced, together.
The little boy, Hitoshi, was a quiet child. With a love for napping he stayed close to Shota. While confined to the couch as he healed the boy liked to curl up on his chest. Using Shota as his own personal heater. He didn’t mind, not really, the weight was comforting as he slept.
Once his body had healed, they offered to train him. He eagerly agreed. Wanting to feel the rush of a fight. To fall through the air and catch himself with his capture weapon. It was an item that never should have left UA grounds but he was so thankful to have stolen it.
The first week of training they forbade him from using it. Not to be cruel, just so they could see where his skills lie and learn what needed improvement. He trained with them both, learned brute force and how to read people from Shiro. While Yukio taught him how to dance, to be light on his feet but deadly with a blade.
When he was finally allowed to pull out the capture weapon, he showed them how it worked. They were ecstatic with the support gear he had made. Once again they were adapting how they were teaching him. Including new skills to better suit the weapon. Shiro walked him through new methods of attack, how to pull people in to his advantage. Yukio taught him how to fly properly. Shota had always let gravity do the work for him, learned to be okay with falling but knew how to catch himself. She taught him that gravity could be manipulated, and could be beaten. She showed him how to move his body through the air and keep his balance. The air was his playground and he revelled in it.
A new routine was born. Gently morning greetings with breakfast all together, Yukio demanded it. In the morning he would work with Shiro. Followed by a nap in the afternoon with little Hitoshi. Then dance in the shadows and sky with Yukio once the sun fell. No matter how much Shota reminded himself that he wasn’t a Shinsou, in these little moments together Shota truly wanted to call them family. But he was still an outsider, he reminded himself. He was a burden on the little family just like all the others he had stayed with. Still, he was astounded by the way the pair so easily looked after him, cared for him like he belonged. They didn’t mind how little he talked. Didn’t mind the days where all he wanted to do was sleep because memories were drowning him and the voices became too loud to block out. The guilt he felt, for leaving the sun, was crushing and he ached.
They sat with him, listened to him. Offered him reassurance and gentle touches as easily as breathing. Infinite amount of kindness and love poured out of them. They were a warm blanket to shatter beneath.
He’s done that a lot recently. Breaking before them. They were masters at kitsurugi, the fine art of piecing pottery back together with gold.
The families' routine changed once again months into his stay. The vigilantes had wanted him to be fully rested before making their offer. They only asked when his body was no longer a constant ache from bruises and hunger. His mind was clear, no longer hazy from lack of sleep. It was the best Shota had felt all his life. He knew he would never be able to repay them.
“Would you like to join me on patrol?” Such a simple offer that made his heart sore. He must have looked at the man with hope in his eyes, it caused Shiro to chuckled.
“It’s nice. To see you excited about something.” Shota turned away, hoping to hide the blush climbing his cheeks. Shiro reached out, pulling Shota into his side. He melted under the heavy arm, the warmth. “We’ll get you feeling again soon. We aren’t giving up on you kid. You’ll be a hero.” Shota didn’t believe him, not when he had abandoned UA and the hero course.
That night the little boy wailed as they walked towards the door. Shota couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t cried any other time Shiro left, so why now? The parents laughed, Yukio’s grip tightened on the boy as Shiro observed them. Shota stared from the door.
“Why?” He found himself asking. Lost to the reasons the child would wail and hold his little arms out, tiny hands grasping at nothing in his direction.
“Hitoshi loves his big brother.” It was a simple answer but oh so heavy.
“I’m not-” He whispered, voice cracking and failing. His hands shook slightly as he stepped back.
“Don’t lie to yourself, kid. You belong here with us.” Shiro added with a smile on his face.
For a moment Shota stared at them blankly, losing himself to the voices in his head. The ones that screamed they were lying and trying to trick him. They wanted him to lower his guard so it would hurt more. The voices screamed that he would belong to no one. He was broken and unlovable.
“Oh my star.” Yukio’s voice was a song, a balm to his aching soul. She passed her son to her husband. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around Shota. “My star.” She whispered in his ear. A declaration that he was theirs.
He collapsed, falling to his knees within her arms.
“You belong to the night and shadows, my star.” He clutched onto her, fists tight in her sweater. Once again crying, breaking, in front of them.
They delayed patrol that night for as long as possible. Yukio was unwilling to let him go. Hitoshi had only quieted when placed in Shota’s arms. He felt his throat tighten, the lump growing at the back of his throat.
It took some convincing from his wife but promises were exchanged.
Look after them.
Stay safe.
Shota thinks the man had a hard time leaving his wife and little boy, who now slept soundly in his arms. Shiro did eventually leave to patrol the city.
Instead of going on patrol with Shiro, Shota sat in the living room with Yukio. Warm blankets and fluffy pillows spread around them on the floor. Shota had always enjoyed sitting on the floor, a weird quirk no one seemed to understand. He didn’t mind that. Once Yukio learnt of it she had made a little corner filled with the softest thing she could find. A simple acceptance of him. They sat there now, all three pressed together. It was then that Yukio dropped damning words.
“We need to talk about your future.” Shota couldn’t stop his heart from sinking. He hauled in a breath and couldn’t let it go. Eyes falling to the ground in front of him, afraid of what he would see if he looked at her. Was this her way of saying he wasn’t wanted anymore? It was the longest he had been at any home.
That didn’t seem right. She was here, fingers brushing along the calluses on his palm, right after little Hitoshi had demanded him. Her voice was soft and sweet. He tried to beat back the voices in his head. Tried.
His future. It wasn’t much of one. He knew he needed to go back. To the system, to UA, and to Hizashi. God Hizashi. He found himself missing his friend, missing the sun. Going back meant pain and misery. Everything that he had gained here would be taken away. There would be no more family breakfasts, no more training sessions, no more little moments that his soul craved. He didn’t want to go back to that life now that he knew what it was like to be loved.
“None of that now.” She lightly poked his cheek. “We just need to know what you want to do. You have options.” She laid them bare.
The first option was to go back to UA. To continue on his path as a hero the proper way. Or he could start interning under Shiro, learn analytics and finish high school online. Both options he would stay with them. They would not give him up. She refused to send him back to the hands of uncaring adults.
UA was his dream school. Especially after he made it through to the hero course. He could be with Hizashi again, if Hizashi would even want him around. Shota was under no illusion that he hadn't abandoned him. But going back would also mean seeing the holes Oboro had left. Living with his echoes constantly haunting him and Hizashi.
Shota realized with startling horror, he barely thought about his friend these past months. He had been so consumed by his own grief and this small family that Hizashi had slipped his mind. His friend suffered much like he had but there was one thing that made him better than Shota. Hizashi was always able to bounce back, always had the ability to keep going. It was a strength that Shota didn’t hold within. Hizashi would be okay. He had to be. Because Shota wanted to cling to this small family as long as they would let him. He just had to be strong enough to leave Hizashi behind, as cruel and horrible as it made him.
“I- I want to stay.” He breathed the words, a small shake from fear.
“Then you stay. Shiro will talk to the police. Work out a way that you get to stay with us. Technically you’ve been missing for a few months. You might be questioned. Shrio will do everything he can to make this as easy as possible for you. I promise. And Shota-” Her hand cupped his cheek. Warm as her thumb brushed along the scar under his eye. “You will always have a home with us.” He bowed his head, hands reaching out to cling to the shadow.
Night and shadow, right where a star belonged.
The routine changed again. Shota would spend his days in front of a computer, books and papers spread around him as he studied. Hitoshi crawled around the floor, babble spilling from his lips. Yukio danced around the space. Moving between checking on her kids and cleaning the apartment. The afternoons remained the same as little Hitoshi demanded his nap with Shota. They would be woken for dinner, a family thing that happened every night no matter how late everyone arrives home. Then he would patrol with one of the vigilantes. They alternated nights, as someone needed to stay with their child.
Shota reveled in the patrols. How freeing it was to soar through the night air. Some nights they wandered the rooftops looking for trouble and finding none. Other nights they fought back to back until criminals and villains were captured. Civilians thanked them and they were on their way. The training never stopped. Every night on the streets Shota learnt something new from the vigilantes.
Shota flourished. The hole inside was slowly being filled by the love the small family so freely gave him. Some nights patrols went wrong. Shota would be carried home broken and bleeding because he had thrown himself between one of the vigilantes and villains. They would patch him up, beg him to be more careful. He would agree but they all knew he lied. Shota couldn’t let them get hurt, not when they had a son waiting for them at home.
Months flew by. He loved the routine he followed as he bathed in the families warmth. His mind slowly being filled with memories. Good memories. Hitoshi crawling towards him. Yukio taking his hand, music engulfed the apartment as she taught him to dance. Shiro showing him how to cook. The two working in tandem.
It was domestic. Sickly sweet and everything he ever wanted in life but never dared to think he would earn.
Shota found that he was happy, being with the little family.
For the first time in a long time, Shota was happy.
When Shota was supposed to start his third year at UA Nedzu came knocking, appearing at their apartment. They sat at the table, tea before them and either adult by his side, little Hitoshi in his lap.
The principal offered Shota his place in the hero course. He apologized for not seeing what was happening sooner. He spoke of how Hizashi took him leaving. Every word the rat spoke about is old friend hurt. Before he knew it, he was clutching onto Hitoshi, heart thumping painfully in his chest as the words landed. He had faith Hizashi would bounce back, could continue on. He had been wrong. While he was here healing, Hizashi had been doomed. Guilt clawed at his heart, stole the breath from his lungs.
“Get out.” Shiro interrupted. His voice was cold and harsh. “I know what you do, how you manipulate people. You will not hurt my son. Get out.”
My son.
All the pain swirling in his mind subdued. The voices silenced. His ear’s filled with static as his gaze snapped to the vigilante.
“Now Shinsou-kun you-”
“No. UA had nothing left to offer Shota. We will ensure he becomes a hero, but it won’t be because of you. Now get out.”
The rat did as told, but not before pausing in front of the door.
“Yamada-kun isn’t doing well Aizawa-kun.”
Of course, not without one final blow. Sensing his sorrow Hitoshi wrapped his tiny arms around Shota’s neck, burying his face. He held on, crying on the little boy.
“I really am awful.” He spoke into wild purple hair. Hizashi consumed his mind. Memories of rooftops with the sun and clouds. Fresh air in his lungs and a smile on his face as the teens talked about nothing. Grand debates were argued before Shota was pulled in as the tie breaker. Meals shared between the three of them.
He had abandoned Hizashi. He left him alone in his grief and here Shota was with a kind family and hope in his heart.
“No my star. You were hurt. Still are. That doesn’t make you a bad person. You can’t help someone else if you don’t save yourself first.” She cooed, hand in his hair.
The pair spent the night whispering words to him. Holding him together as he cracked once more. He was a swirling mess of emotions. Guilt for hurting the family, for barging into their little circle. Guilt for abandoning Hizashi. My son still echoed in his head and he felt like a fraud. Voices whispered that he would never deserve a family. Screamed how he was awful down to the very marrow of his bones.
Shota thought he would run the moment the pair left him alone. Just so he would stop being such a leech on this family.
They never left him alone.
The Storm
Life continued on. They celebrated birthdays, holidays, little steps for Hitoshi, Shota graduated. Any and all little events were a celebration to Yukio. Something that brought them all together. It must have been magic. A spell placed upon him, because he started to see himself as part of the little family. Not just an intrusion but with each celebration, each night they waited for him to return, held off dinner just those few extra minutes, he felt like he belonged. They were his and he was theirs.
He learned as much about the family as he could. Ways to make them all smile and laugh, even how to offer comfort when they needed it.
Shota had grown happy with his life. Especially watching his little brother grow. Little milestones hit and with each one Shota was so proud of the boy. Just after his sixth birthday Hitoshi got his quirk. The day was a complete and utter mess. Hitoshi had cried and begged Shota to forgive him once they figured out how to break the brainwashing.
“I’m so proud of you little moon.” He whispered and the boy’s tears turned from those of sorrow to joy. Shota laughed as the boy burrowed into his arms.
Their time as a family was never going to last. No matter how closely they stuck together, how hard they fought to come back home, the routine would always change.
Shota never thought it would be his fault.
The night air was filled with the coppery scent of blood. It mixed with the smell of stale water and soaked garbage. It burned Shota’s nose as he breathed in. The deep breath caused pain to explode from his chest. Forced ribs to shift and scratch against tender organs and flesh. His head ached, pounded in time with the beat of his heart.
“C’mon kid. You need to wake up.” The was…dad? The voice was low and scratchy. Barely strong enough to force out the words. He moaned, prying his eyes open. “There you are. Shrio laid in front of him, the man looked so relieved to see Shota awake. His eyes drifted over Shiro. His heart skipping beats with each injury he saw. Shiro’s nose was broken, one eye swollen shut. Blood trailed down his cheek. His chest was a mess of blood from various cuts, the fabric of his costume was soaked, stained a deep red. Arm broken and chest twisted painfully from broken ribs too.
There was so much blood pooled beneath both of them. Shota couldn’t tell what was his or Shiro’s.
“What?” He exhaled, voice a painful rasp.
Memories slammed into him. Shiro and him had left for patrol. It had been a peaceful night, running along their usual route. Shiro had wandered the streets, attention split between watching for trouble and Shota flying between the rooftops. He remembers smiling down at him, the little salute he would receive in return.
They had stopped a few fights before it all changed. Shota had been reckless, falling in to his patterns. He charged in, attempting to stop some sort of deal. He had missed all the signs. The two men in the alley had back up. Shota had interrupted the deal but eight more men emerged from the shadows. All smiling like wolves.
It had been a trap. A perfect one at that.
Before he knew it he and Shiro were fighting back to back. They fought with all the dirty tricks they knew. Knives and fists aimed for soft spots. Three of the men were down.
The fight had gone on too long.
Shota was tired. Each time he would pause, try to steal a second to just breathe, he was under attack again. His capture weapon flew as he tried to buy himself just a second. One single second and he-
He heard Shiro scream. Shota whirled around to see a blade being ripped out of the man’s side. Blood poured out.
“No.” He whispered. That momentary pause was all the men needed. They pulled on his capture weapon, ripping Shota off his feet towards them. He bit back a scream of his own as a blade pierced his thigh.
When both of them were on the ground, the men didn't let up. Attacks rained down on them. Shota screamed as bones snapped. His mind had gone hazy, before completely fading out.
“C’mon kid. Back with me.” Shiro demanded. Shota did as told. His eyes met Shiro's. He looked so pale, sweat beaded along his forehead. Mixing with all the blood and dirt.
“I need you to go home.” Shota shook his head. He wouldn’t leave. He didn’t even know if his body could move. “It’s not a debate. Get. up.” He ordered. It was a tone he hadn’t heard since Nedzu appeared at their apartment.
Shota would always do as demanded. He pushed his hands underneath himself. Forced his broken body to sit up. Pain radiates through him. His entire body a thrumming pulse, nerves on fire.
“There you go.” Shiro sounded weaker. His voice was fading. Shota crawled to him. Sitting before him, Shota placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
He needed to get Shiro up too, he couldn’t leave him here in the alley. This wasn’t home for either of them.
“My son.” They man sighed and that was it.
No grand speech. No words of wisdom. No goodbye. Shota didn’t get to say a single thing to him.
“No. No. Please. ” He begged. Shaking his shoulder. Fingers resting on the man's throat, not a single beat answered him. No faint flutters. Not a single breath. His father was just gone.
He leaned over him, foreheads pressed together. Crying and begging for him to come back. Please don’t leave me. He begged and begged. His throat felt as though it was bleeding. His head pounded. Chest this thing that was cracked open with his heart missing.
Hours passed. His father grew cold beneath him. He kissed his forehead before pulling himself to his feet. Holding his broken arm to his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was to protect the limb or to try and hold the shattered pieces of his soul together.
His dad was gone. The man who pulled him bloody and broken from an alley, who had saved him was just gone. He wasn’t sure what he needed to do now. He wandered the dead streets.
His mind drifted back to Shiro. How was he going to tell Yukio that her husband was dead because of him? Little Hitoshi, oh god. What had he done?
He wandered, trying to keep one foot in front of the other as his mind ran circles but never far from the little family he broke. Shota was a curse. Doomed to ruin everything he wanted to hold close.
You’ve got this Shota!
“Shota?” Someone paused in front of him. The voice painfully familiar. Slowly his gaze drifted up from the ground. Eyes trailing up black leather, oh so familiar. His heart ached at the sight of it. His eyes meet green ones, hidden behind ridiculous frames. Blond hair falling over one shoulder.
“‘Zashi.” The man before him softened, relief flooding him.
“Yeah man.” Slender fingers reached for him. Hizashi stepped closer, palm cupping his bruised cheek. Shota didn’t think he had much left in him to break, but still his soul shattered.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. ‘Zashi I-” Hands quickly pulled him close. He groaned as wounds were squeezed. Bones grinding together.
“Shit.” Hizashi stepped back, hands staying on his shoulders. “You need a hospital.” He watched as Hizashi's eyes drifted over him.
Shota shook his head. Trying to step back but his knees gave way.
“Shota!” Hizashi went down with him.
“No hospital.” He moaned before collapsing against the man.
Shota was in and out for a few days. Little bits and pieces slipped through, sticking in his memories.
He heard the old frettings from Recovery Girl. Was awake long enough to apologize to her. He doesn’t remember what she said back.
Another time cold fingers brushed his hair back. Gentle humming filled the air. He had been awake longer that time. Nemuri leaned over him as she placed a cool cloth on his forehead. She started talking, he didn’t know what she was saying, just knew she was mad. At him? Probably. He always ruined things. He thinks more apologies spilled from his lips. Incoherent and not a single tangible thread. He remembers the sickly sweet smell of her quirk.
The final time he woke up without anyone hovering over him. He sat up. Groaning as his exhausted body worked against him. Hizashi sat on the floor, arms and head resting on the couch near Shota’s hip. The man looked exhausted. Older but still the deep bags under his eyes from their highschool days. It had been years since he'd last seen him. Shota had changed, grown, but Hizashi looked the same.
Shota ran his fingers through tangled blond hair. The long strands were a mess over his shoulder. He let himself enjoy the feeling of Hizashi, of having him close, for just a minute. He let himself wonder what could have been if he hadn’t run. If he had taken Nedzu’s help when it was first offered. Could they have still opened that agency in Oboro’s name? Would they have been close? Became something… more? Or would they have drifted apart?
Shota couldn’t deny that on the days spent on the rooftop of UA, he would watch his friend. How he laughed so freely. How the sun was a perfect companion for him, the way it would get caught in his hair, casting him in gold. They didn’t spend much time together but Shota held it close, wanting more back then. He also knew he could never ask that of Hizashi. Not then and especially not now.
There was a choice here and Shota didn’t want to make it. He could stay with Hizashi. Beg his old friend for forgiveness and offer up endless amounts of apologies. Tell him what really happened the evening he supposedly disappeared. He could share all the little stories of his family. If Hizashi would hear him out. If Hizashi still wanted him around. If… if…. If…
Or he could go home. Where Yukio and little HItoshi were probably waiting. He would have to beg them for forgiveness too. Shiro was dead because of him and- No. He couldn’t think about that now. He needed to move, to do something. Thinking about Shiro would leave him a broken mess. But gods did he want to break. He craved Yukio’s gentle touch. Craved the way Hitoshi clung to him.
There really wasn't a choice.
Shota pulled away and forced his aching limbs to move, to get closer to the window. He grabbed his capture weapon from the coffee table. Settling it around his neck before opening the window.
It screeched. A high pitch whine that startled Hizashi. Shota watched as his gaze flew over the room before setting on him and the partially open window.
“No please.” His old friend quietly begged.
“Zashi I-” The blond rose to shaky legs, standing in front of him. Shota could see the ruins that Hizashi had become. Was that his fault? It had to be, he left and his friend broke. Yet another thing he ruined. It truly seemed like that was the only thing he was good at.
“I just got you back. I thought- you were just gone and nobody was looking for you. I spent years trying to find you. Please don’t leave again.” Shota closed the gap between them.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined you too.” He whispered.
“Please stay.”
“I- I can’t stay. I have people-” Hizashi sounded so wounded at the confession, breath stuttering out with a low keen. “But I’ll visit. Zashi, I promise you, I will visit.” Relief was a heartbreaking sound as they collapsed to the ground together. Shota was unwilling to let his friend fall alone.
He sat under the window with his back to the wall. Hizashi leaned against him, hands holding onto him.
“I thought you would hate me.” Shota admitted. “I didn’t think you would want to see me again.”
“You were all I had left.” Hizashi whispered.
“I’m sorry.” Hizashi only squeezed him tighter. “How long was I out? How bad?” He asked, trying to move on from the apologies.
“Six days. Most of that was from an infection. Recovery Girl came by a lot.” Shota sighed, thinking of his little family. They had to have found Shiro by now. They would know.
Shota watched as Hizashi’s eyes drifted close, only to snap open again. Guilt squeezed his heart.
“Rest 'Zashi. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Just like that his friend was out. Head resting on his shoulder, hands linked together.
The door slammed open, shocking Shota out of his doze. Across the room Nemuri fumed where she stood. Then dropped to sit on the ground across from him.
“I hate you.” His breath froze as she spoke with waves of hatred and venom. “He fell apart when you left. I’m not talking about crying for a day, Sho. He was quiet, shut himself away. After we graduated he started drinking, going to parties and coming home with strangers. He tried anything and everything he could to distract himself.” Her gaze was furious, fire raging deep in her eyes.
“You ruined him. I still drag him out of bars. Any missions and he throws himself in the fights, not giving a damn if he comes home. I’ve lost track of how many times he’s almost died.” She hauled in a breath. Shota saw the way her hands shook as they grasped at her pant legs.
“Oboro died and you abandoned him. And now what? You almost died and now he’s suddenly worth your time? No.” She laughed, bitter and full of resentment. “No that's not right because you're not staying are you?” He gazed moved to the open window above him.
“I was going to go tell my mom I was still alive.” He whispered, unable to look at her anymore. He looked at his and Hizashi's fingers still laced together.
“Your what?” Her voice was filled with rage she didn't want to let go. Shota wouldn’t blame her for it.
“My mom. That day, when I passed out in training. Nedzu called my fosters. I was hurt too Nem. I needed help.” He sucked in a breath. That night was always hazy in his memories. It was filled with pain and not one he really wanted to remember.
“Sho I’m not talking about your feelings being hurt. He-“
“They beat the shit out of me. I almost died, Nem. I was lucky that my dad found me.” He sighed as years of guilt rose to the surface again. Bringing forth ugly memories he wanted to forget, to leave in past.
“I know I should have been better. Done better by Hizashi but I needed to be saved too. My mom taught me that in order to help others, I had to save myself first.” Shota was determined as he looked at Nemuri. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
“Sho you don’t-” She was going to start yelling, he could see the fury in her eyes. It was years of pent up anger and he wouldn’t deny her the right to express it.
“Stop.” Hizashi whispered, pulling himself off of Shota. “You did what you felt was right. Still fucking hurt Sho.”
“I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence, too many emotions between them all. Shota wanted to explain where he’d been, why he didn’t check in sooner but it wouldn’t do any good. Nemuri was stuck in her rage, he was drowning in grief and guilt, and Hizashi… Shota couldn’t quite tell. He used to wear his emotions so plainly for all to see, but right now Shota couldn't read him. when had that changed? Or was he always that way and Shota just missed it. Failed to truly see his friend.
“Can I meet her?” Hizashi asked. Shota only nodded and asked if Nemuri would like to join them.
He walked the familiar streets with each step closer to home he felt his body relax. Yet he was terrified of what Yukio would say. Terrified she would leave him. He also had faith that his little family would stay together. What little was left of it anyways.
His heart steadied at the sight of the apartment complex. He sighed, unlocking the main door and holding it open for the two behind him.
They were silent as they walked through the halls, climbed the stairs.
“Just-“ he paused outside the apartment door. “They’ve dealt with a lot. Because of me.” He whispered. It was a failed attempt at asking them to be kind, to forgive his family within. Hizashi’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed.
He knocked lightly before pushing the door open.
In the living room little Hitoshi was shaking silently in his mothers arms. Yukio curled around him as if to protect him from all the bad in the world.
“I’m sorry.” Shota spoke. Their heads turned towards him. For a moment the only sound was Hizashi and Nemuri entering and closing the door behind them. Then-
“Nii-san!” Little Hitoshi shrieked. He wiggled out of his mothers arms. Legs wobbled beneath him as he landed on the ground. Shota dropped to his knees, arms open as the little boy charged towards him.
“Nii-san!” He wailed. Tiny fists clutching the front of his shirt. Forehead rubbing on his chest as he cried.
“I’m here, little moon. I’m here.” He held the boy close. Lightly squeezing him within his arms the way he knew the boy loved. Shota buried his face in unruly purple hair. Soaking in the love so freely given.
“Oh my star.” Yukio was right beside them. Arms wrapping around her sons.
“I thought you were gone.” She whispered.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Shota knew he had tears running down his own face. His cheeks felt sticky but with this little family. His little family. He didn’t care.
“I- I’m sorry to interrupt.” Nemuri spoke moments later. Shota still clutched Hitoshi close, the boy's wails quieted but still tears trailed down his cheeks.
Yukio leaned back. Her fingers made an attempt to brush through his own hair, but were met with knots. She chuckled and gave him a knowing look.
“My apologies. You see my husband… he… passed a few days ago. We feared the worst when Shota didn’t come home.” Guilt coursed through him. Not only did he not come home but he caused his fathers death. He didn’t want to face his mother. To tell her it was his fault. But-
“Don’t you dare start Shota. We made a promise to protect you and Hitoshi. We knew, one day, what it would cost us.” She turned from him, standing to meet his friends.
“My Hitoshi won’t let his brother go for a while now. How about the three of us move to the table, have some tea and talk?”
Shota watched as they wandered away. Leaving the two in the entrance.
“Little moon, couch?” Hitoshi nodded against his chest.
Shota picked him up. His heart settled at the familiar weight in his arm as he sat down. Hitoshi impossibly nuzzled in more, curling against his chest. Behind him he could hear the conversation. He found himself humming to the boy. His little brother. Yukio let them ask questions. Shota listened.
Questions about who she was-
Shinsou Yukio. You may call me Yukio around my family.
How and why Shota was here.
My husband found him, years ago bleeding out in an alley. Poor kid had a rough time healing. Shiro and I decided we would do what we could for him.
“Why didn’t you send him back? Why hide him away?” He properly payed attention to their conversation now.
"Shota has every right to choose his own path. We gave him options, he chose to stay.” He heard the protective tone and could feel her shadows twisting. “Do not make him feel guilty for putting himself first. My son does not deserve you belittling his choices.”
“You love him.” Hizashi quietly breathed the words.
“Of course. He is mine. I do not know why you are here. If Shota chooses to go with you, I won’t stop him. However I will stop you if you force him into anything. You will not decide for him. You will not guilt him.” Her tone left no room for arguments.
“It’s okay.” Shota spoke. “I’m not going anywhere.” Hitoshis' head snapped up, lavender eyes meeting his own. There was so much hope on his little face. Shota poked his cheek. Smiling as the boy pouted and batted his hand away.
“But Sho-“ Nemuri was interrupted by Hizashi.
“Nem. It’s- I’m glad.” Shota turned his head to look at the man. Their eyes met and there was so much understanding, so much love in his eyes. Shota found himself aching. He hurt him so much but Hizashi looked so relieved. Looked happy for him.
“If one of us could escape the system and find a home. I’m so glad it was you.” He couldn’t stop staring at his friend. “I know Sho, what those houses did to you. I couldn’t do anything to help and I’m sorry. I knew and I never saved you. I wished you would have at least told me you were okay. I-“ he shook his head. “No, that's not fair of me. I-“
“Nii-san it’s okay.” A small voice interrupted Hizashi from his lap. Tiny hands tugging his attention back. Little fingers brushing away his tears. “We’re all together again. It’s okay.”
Shota's hands moved. One cupping the back of his brother's head, the other splayed across a small back. He leaned forward and cried. Rivers flowed down his cheeks as he held the precious child before him.
He heard them whispering before they all were before him, kneeling on the ground.
“Day by day Sho. I’m not losing you again.” Hizashi whispered, slender fingers reaching to bury in his hair.
Shota slid off the couch. Landing on his knees and the boy clung tighter to him. He was enveloped by many arms. Everyone he loves close. The warmest of blankets to hide underneath.
His family was missing a piece. The night no longer watched over him. He thinks the shadows would be enough. More than enough with her gentle grace. The sun and twilight by side. A little moon to watch over. They painted quite the scene.
Shota loved every piece of it.