Work Text:
Hitoshi just barely manages to stumble back in time to avoid getting hit by the door. He flinches hard when it shuts with a loud bang and then for a moment, everything is quiet before sound filters back in.
There's still the ringing in his ears from the blow he received earlier and he can hear a dog bark and some cars drive by and the wind is howling through the streets.
Hitoshi's face is throbbing where the edge of the muzzle bit into his skin when his foster father hit him and he's pretty sure there's blood pooling at his chin, too.
He lets out a desperate sob before he forces himself to be quiet again. Hitoshi knows from experience that crying with the muzzle on is only going to make his life harder—is going to steal his breath from him faster—and he's not looking forward to having a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the street.
So he grits his teeth, ignores the blinding pain in his cheek—could his foster father finally have broken something?—and then he turns his back towards the house.
There is no way he's going to be allowed back in, not tonight, despite the storm warning, and he learned early on that lingering around the house is only going to get him another beating for ruining the image of his foster parents, so Hitoshi forces one foot in front of the other and moves out on the street.
Nakamura was so kind to throw a jacket and a scarf out before he pushed Hitoshi out as well and even though Hitoshi knows the thin jacket isn't going to do shit against the biting wind, he slips into it and then secures the scarf in a way that hopefully hides most of the muzzle.
He's never been kicked out with it on before and it worries him. If someone tries to talk to him, if someone notices, it's bound to get back to the Nakamura's and Hitoshi is not sure he could survive that beating that would surely follow then.
Hitoshi slowly moves along the street, desperately trying to think of where to go, how to survive the night without drawing attention to himself and he just turned the corner when he remembers the park down this road.
It's big and since this is not a very good neighbourhood people tend to avoid it at night, so it might be his best bet. There has to be a bench somewhere where he can sit, or maybe just a secluded corner where the wind isn't quite so biting.
It takes him almost two hours and three rounds through the park to settle on a spot—a bench so hidden he walked past it on his first two rounds—and he sits down carefully, his body protesting every move now.
His face is not the only place where Nakamura hit him after all but it is definitely the worst and Hitoshi hates the feeling of the muzzle's edge biting into his skin still. It's pure agony and every time he so much as swallows it moves and it makes him feel vaguely sick.
But throwing up with the muzzle still locked tight is the worst possible thing he could do, so he forcefully moves his thoughts away from that feeling and instead wonders how he's ever going to make it to school tomorrow.
Or how he's going to explain this to Aizawa.
Hitoshi knows that he will most likely have to skip tomorrow, that there is no way in hell Nakamura will let him out of the muzzle in the morning, and Hitoshi's eyes burn at the thought of upsetting his teacher and skipping out without excuse.
It could threaten his spot in the hero course and the thought makes panic run through Hitoshi.
It's probably best to try his hardest to get the muzzle off somehow and then simply avoid any and all answers to the state of his face.
If he makes it through the night and doesn't just freeze to death or gets killed.
He curls up small on the bench, trying to stay alert to his surroundings despite everything but soon enough his eyes slip closed and he falls into an uneasy sleep.
Hitoshi jerks awake when a hand connects with his shoulder and for a moment everything hurts. His body is protesting his every move and when he woke up he tried to yell, which of course is impossible with the muzzle still strapped to his face and all that causes is more pain.
"Easy, kid, easy. It's just me," a voice reaches him and it almost instantly calms Hitoshi down, because he knows that voice, even if he can't place it for a moment.
By the time he finally manages to take his surroundings in, his mind has made the connection between that voice and Aizawa and for a moment hope blooms in Hitoshi's chest, so bright and so incredibly painful that it takes his breath away, before his stomach drops out.
Aizawa can't see him like this. No one can see him like this, but especially not Aizawa.
"Shinsou, what are you doing out here?" Aizawa asks him when Hitoshi stays silent, because it's not as if he could even form words in his panic, muzzled or not.
Aizawa waits for an answer for a beat, but when nothing comes he frowns.
"Shinsou, are you okay?" he asks, much more gently this time and Hitoshi notices with a start that he's shaking from head to toe.
It must be worrying to Aizawa for sure, but Hitoshi is simply relieved because this is good. As long as he's still shivering, everything's good.
Things are worrying when he stops doing that, he knows that from experience.
Hitoshi forces himself to nod but Aizawa doesn't seem fooled at all.
"Yeah? Why don't you say something then?" he asks, his eyes fixed on Hitoshi's face and with a sinking feeling Hitoshi raises his hands to clutch the scarf close.
It's still covering the muzzle, so he isn't quite sure what Aizawa is so fixated on, but of course the pro hero must have noticed.
"Shinsou, is that a muzzle? Did someone put that on you?"
It almost makes Hitoshi laugh, because why in the hell would he ever put that onto himself, but he bites back the sound and tries to will Aizawa to go away.
"Is it locked?" Aizawa quietly asks, already reaching for something in his jumpsuit and Hitoshi can't help the jerky little nod.
It's locked and he can't get it off and he's hurting all over and cold to the bone and his mentor was never meant to see him like that.
"Come here, kid, I'll get it off for you, alright?" Aizawa softly says and holds out a lockpicking set.
Hitoshi knows that he shouldn't, knows that he'll be in so much trouble with Nakamura for this, but he turns around, offering the back of his head to Aizawa.
Aizawa makes quick work of the lock and he let's Hitoshi know that he's done with a whispered "There you go".
He doesn't try to take the muzzle off for which Hitoshi is thankful because he's pretty sure it's actually stuck in his cheek by now and Hitoshi knows that this is going to hurt like a bitch but no amount of gentleness will make this any better so he simply rips it off, biting his lip to stave off the scream that almost threatens to come out.
Hitoshi would love to throw the muzzle far, far away, but he knows he'll have to give it back to Nakamura, that and the lock and so he turns around and holds his hand out for it, not caring that there must be new blood streaming down his face.
"Shit, kid," Aizawa breathes out and brings a hand up to tilt Hitoshi's head up with a careful finger under his chin. "That looks bad."
"No fucking shit," Hitoshi rasps out and moves away from the warm, gentle contact.
It's not for him. He can't have this, not now, not ever, because once he makes it back to the house, to the cold, harsh, hard people that pretend to be his family, Nakamura will have his head.
"What happened?"
"Got jumped by some guys," Hitoshi mutters, because no matter for how long he wished Eraserhead would swoop in and safe him from his numerous horrible foster families, he knows it can't be.
It can never be.
"You need medical attention for that," Aizawa says, clearly not believing a word he says but Hitoshi stubbornly shakes his head even though the blood is still dripping down his chin.
He must make a horrible picture right about now.
"Where's your phone? We need to call your guardians. I'll call the police," Aizawa goes on and Hitoshi goes stiff with terror.
"No!" he almost yells out before he forces himself to calm down. "No, that's not necessary. I didn't see them clearly, so it's just—it doesn't matter."
"Shinsou, it matters. Of course it matters. Your face looks horrible and it's illegal to use a muzzle on a civilian. What are your guardians going to say?"
"Nothing, it's—fine," Hitoshi presses out and then forces himself to his feet.
He needs to get away from Aizawa, now, before he pries where he shouldn't, before he ruins everything for Hitoshi.
"Thanks for your concern, sensei, but I'm fine. I should go home now."
Aizawa studies him for a moment, clearly not believing a single word Hitoshi is saying, before he pushes himself up.
"Alright, lead the way."
Hitoshi blinks.
"What?"
"It's the middle of the night and you're injured. Someone needs to explain this to your guardians, so I'm bringing you home."
"No, you're not," Hitoshi blurts out because he could not imagine anything worse than this.
Aizawa frowns at him and Hitoshi scrambles for words.
"I'm fine, I'm totally fine and the house is not that far away, you're clearly in the middle of patrol, don't bother with me, I can make my own way home."
Aizawa crosses his arms in front of his chest as he studies Hitoshi with a piercing look.
A tiny part wants Aizawa to protest, wants him to insist, to take control of the situation and to get Hitoshi out of it but the bigger part of him knows that that is stupid.
If Aizawa gets involved it's all over for Hitoshi; the Nakamura's are the last foster family even close to U.A. where he didn't get kicked out yet and if he loses this, he'll lose everything.
So Aizawa can't get involved.
"I'm good. Thanks, sensei," Hitoshi forces himself to say and then takes the muzzle and the lock out of Aizawa's hand and simply walks away.
He's unsteady on his feet, his entire body complaining and screaming in pain but he forces himself to walk as evenly as he possibly can.
It takes Hitoshi a while to realise that Aizawa is just a few steps behind him and even longer to slow down and turn back around.
"What are you doing?"
"Patrolling," Aizawa says with a shrug of his shoulders and Hitoshi bristles with anger.
"I don't need you to fucking follow me," he hisses out and wonders if this is it, if this is how he loses his shot at the hero course.
"I'm not." Another shrug. "I'm simply patrolling. I happen to have to go this way."
It's complete and utter bullshit, Hitoshi knows that, but he doesn't know what to say to it and so he opens and closes his mouth several times, making the side of his face erupt in pain, before he sharply turns away and starts walking.
Aizawa stays just a few steps behind him, follows him wherever he goes and after three rounds around the same block Hitoshi knows that he's screwed.
Either Aizawa follows him until he goes home, or he'll eventually start asking questions again, and Hitoshi can't have neither.
"Why are you doing this?" he desperately whispers out and Aizawa sighs.
"Kid, you're out here, hurt, muzzled, in the middle of the night. I don't think it was a bunch of random guys who jumped you and I don't understand why you just won't tell the truth, but I'm not going to let this go. I already let too much slide."
Hitoshi flinches at that, because he knew Aizawa had seen some of his bruises and a bitter part of him wonders why Aizawa even let it slide in the first place.
"You're going to follow me all night, aren't you?" Hitoshi whispers out and Aizawa nods.
"Or until you're home and I made sure you're actually safe there. Your choice."
It's not a choice, not at all, because if he goes home, he'll have to ring the doorbell, and Aizawa will want to talk to Nakamura and then Hitoshi will be dead but walking around for the rest of the night isn't an option either.
Hitoshi is cold and hurt and already swaying on his feet and he's going to keel over sooner or later anyway.
"The house, then," Hitoshi mutters because getting killed might just be easier than having to deal with everything being taken from him.
He wouldn't survive without U.A. anyway, so he might as well get it over with.
Aizawa follows him silently all the way to the house, where Hitoshi stops just at the stairs, looking up at the closed door.
This is how I die, he almost hysterically thinks and can't actually bring himself to move forward.
"Shinsou," Aizawa says softly and steps up to him, his body almost close enough to warm Hitoshi up. "Hitoshi. Trust me," he says, low and urgent and Hitoshi shudders even as he sways back into Aizawa's chest.
"How? I can't—this is everything I have left, I—how?" he chokes out because he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how he can trust Aizawa when he's going to lose it all after this but Aizawa just steadily takes his weight and lets out a measured breath.
"I can help you, Hitoshi. You just have to let me. I can get you out of there, I can make sure you're safe. You just have to let me."
"And then what?" Hitoshi sobs out. "This is my last chance. There is nowhere else for me to go. If I trust you, they'll take me away."
"I wouldn't let that happen. You would come with me, you would stay with me. I should have said this sooner, but I have a foster license. My husband does, too. Since we're Pro Heroes were generally not considered for regular fostering but if I bring this up with CPS, they would have to place you with me. I wouldn't allow for anything else. You just have to trust me."
It's almost too good to be true; it's everything Hitoshi ever wanted and he doesn't dare to believe it.
"Your husband. He'll mind."
"He won't. Hizashi has been buying stuff for your room for weeks now."
"Hizashi," Hitoshi repeats because the name sounds almost familiar and it's something else to focus on than the unbearable hope inside of him.
"Yamada Hizashi."
"Present Mic," Hitoshi breathes out in sudden understanding and Aizawa chuckles.
"Yeah. Hope that's not a problem."
Far from it, because Present Mic is one of his only teachers he actually likes and he has followed Put Your Hands Up Radio for almost all of his life now. But still, Hitoshi is scared.
"CPS can do whatever they want. They don't have to place me with you."
"They will have to. Neither Hizashi nor I will allow anything else to happen. We'll get Tsukauchi involved as well, to bring your foster parents to justice and we will not allow CPS to take you from us. We'll fight them tooth and nail for it, if we have to, and if nothing works, we have Nezu and All Might on our side. CPS can't afford a public spectacle like that. You would stay with us."
He says it with such conviction, as if there truly is no other way for this to go, as if Hitoshi staying with them is everything he ever wanted and Hitoshi closes his burning eyes.
"Trust me, Hitoshi," Aizawa whispers again and Hitoshi is helpless against the hot tears sliding down his cheeks.
"Okay."
His voice is barely audible, even in the silence of the night, but Aizawa lets out a measured breath.
"Thank you," he says and then moves past Hitoshi to ring the doorbell of the house.
Hitoshi tenses in anticipation, because surely this is going to go over just horribly, and he doesn't understand why Aizawa even needs to do this in the first place, but before he can spiral into a complete panic there's sound on the other side of the door and Hitoshi shrinks in on himself.
"What the fuck do you want?" Nakamura yells out as soon as he opens the door and his eyes narrow in on Hitoshi before he even seems to notice Aizawa.
"You're bringing home this brat?" he demands to know and then seems to realise that the muzzle is gone. "What the fuck. Who do you think you are?" Nakamura hisses out and takes a threatening step towards Aizawa, who doesn't even move a single muscle.
"Control your anger, or you'll have me to worry about," he calmly says and it only serves to make Nakamura more angry because he draws himself up to his full height, easily towering over Aizawa.
"Or what? You think I'm scared of you? Who are you? Some homeless guy who picked up this waste of space?"
Hitoshi is trying not to let the words get to him but he flinches with every insult Nakamura throws at him so carelessly and he wishes he would have just kept on walking around the city instead of leading Aizawa here.
"I'm a teacher at U.A.," Aizawa calmly says and Hitoshi can see the exact moment Nakamura snaps in his fury.
He lunges forward, past Aizawa and straight for Hitoshi, hands outstretched as if he wants to plunge them right into his chest and knowing Nakamura, he just might.
Before Hitoshi can so much as stumble backwards, Nakamura is on the floor, groaning in pain and completely wrapped up in Aizawa's capture weapon. He is still glaring at Hitoshi, absolute murder in his eyes even as blood trickles down from his temple but his line of sight is interrupted when Aizawa steps in front of him.
Hitoshi raises his eyes to him and he was not prepared to see a small smile play around his mouth.
"I recorded the entire interaction. He tried to attack a minor in presence of a Pro Hero, which is just stupid and allowed me to legally get one good hit in. Now I'll call Tsukauchi and an ambulance and Hizashi and you will never have to go back here," Aizawa says, carefully reaching out for Hitoshi and putting his hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now. Thank you for trusting me."
It's enough to make Hitoshi burst into tears and everything after that is one hell of a blur.
He just knows that Aizawa stays by his side all the time, not leaving him alone for even a second, and that truly is all Hitoshi ever wanted.
(Nakamura did end up breaking his cheekbone and the cut on his cheek requires stitches that leave a bright, long scar. Hitoshi couldn’t care less because it got him a home, where things are soft and warm and where his guardians are fond of him. Hitoshi would gladly take a thousand scars for that but Aizawa and Yamada make sure he doesn’t have to. Not anymore.)