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The nurse is handing him his discharge papers when Hizashi comes flying into the room, panting for breath and hair falling out of his signature Present Mic tower. His entrance is wild and loud, causing the nurse to startle badly and drop the at-home care information packets in a mess at her feet, and Shouta blinks at him in surprise as Hizashi comes to a skidding stop just inside the room.
“...Hey,” he greets awkwardly. “You got here fast.”
Hizashi’s eyes rake quickly over him from head to toe as he leans heavily against the counter just next to the door and gulping down breath. “You — you said — “ He stops to cough. “You said you were in the hospital.”
“Yeah?” Shouta doesn’t frown, but it’s a near thing. He slides off the bed to kneel down and help the nurse pick up all the papers she dropped. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Eraserhead-san has already gotten the wound cleaned and a tetanus shot,” the nurse supplies helpfully, giving Shouta a short but grateful word of thanks as they finish picking things up. Standing, she turns to face Hizashi with a cheery smile. “Nothing too major for a hero, all things considered.”
“Wound?” Hizashi repeats, his expression falling into clear worry. “What wound? How bad was it?”
“It really wasn’t bad,” Shouta says calmly. He goes to stand, grunting when his newly bandaged wound twinges. “I just — “
Hizashi’s suddenly right in front of him, grabbing him under his arms and pulling him upright carefully. “Careful!” he says, half scolding and half panicked. “You literally just said you were hurt!”
The frown he was fighting finally crosses his face, and though Shouta quietly accepts the help up, he steps back from Hizashi once he’s standing fully. “I’m fine,” he tells him slowly. “I’m trying to tell you that it wasn’t bad.”
Hizashi’s expression mirrors his own. “You sent me a message saying you were in the hospital,” he repeats, and he gestures to the room around him.
Shouta rolls his good eye. “I was forced,” he gripes. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“You should really get medical attention when you get hurt on patrol, Eraserhead-san,” the nurse scolds. “Even the smallest injury can build into something life threatening when it doesn’t get tended to properly.”
“Life threatening!?”
When Hizashi steps back into his space, his hands hovering over him, Shouta sighs. He suddenly feels more exhausted than when he was forced to come to the hospital. “Okay, yeah, we’re leaving,” he mutters. He grabs Hizashi’s arm while holding his other hand out for the paperwork. “I’ll read it over later, if that’s all well and good.”
“Of course.”
“Shou, what — “
“We’ll talk when we aren’t taking up this poor nurse’s time,” Shouta interrupts, sending him a scowl as he drags Hizashi out of the room. “Somewhere you can’t make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene!” Hizashi yelps. “You’re injured and won’t tell me what happened!”
Medical professionals in the hallways watch them curiously as Shouta marches them out of the hospital, ignoring the way Hizashi gets increasingly agitated and loud and won’t stop asking questions. Behind them, as they finally exit the building, he can hear some people wondering why Present Mic is making a fuss over a scruffy man, and it makes Shouta want to disappear into a void to be noticed by so many people.
One of the reasons he hates coming to hospitals.
He doesn’t stop dragging Hizashi behind him until they’ve made it to the car — easily spotted with the way a street lamp makes the bold white stripes on the car shine brightly in the dark. “Are you calm enough to drive?” he asks, then grimaces. “Nevermind, give me the keys.”
Hizashi pulls against he way he’s being dragged at that. “Uh-uh, no way!” he says, vigorously shaking his head. “You’re injured! The last thing you need is to stress yourself by driving! You need to rest!”
“And you parked crooked,” Shouta deadpans, nodding at the car. Indeed, for once Hizashi’s parked nearly sideways instead of neatly in the stripes of the parking spot, and one of the tires is popped up onto the curb. It’d be comical if it weren’t clear that Hizashi obviously wasn’t in the best mindset when he was driving early. He holds out his hand. “Give me the keys.”
“But — “
“Hizashi. Give me the keys.”
With unhappy muttering under his breath, Hizashi digs into his pocket and gently slaps the keys into his waiting hand.
Once they’re both in the car, Hizashi’s directional speaker carelessly tossed into the backseat and his hands fidgeting with his seatbelt anxiously, Shouta takes a deep breath, holds it, then releases it. He starts the car, grimaces as he eases off the curb (there’s a grating sound when he does that, and he just knows that the bottom of the front bumper is going to have scrapes when they check it later), and slowly moves them through and then out of the parking lot. He doesn’t say anything as he drives, preferring to keep his focus on the road when he’s behind the wheel in the city — especially since his vision isn’t the same since he lost one of his eyes — and clearly the silence is getting to Hizashi.
Luckily it’s not a far drive to their home, a handful of minutes at most. The apartment garage is quiet and empty of people at the moment, which Shouta is thankful for as he parks and turns off the engine. Less people around means a more private conversation, and he doesn't want to have to go up to their apartment, send the babysitter home, put Eri to bed, and wait to have this talk when they can just sit here for a little longer instead.
“Okay,” he says, slumping back into the driver’s seat. “We’re home.”
“Now will you tell me what happened?” Hizashi bursts out immediately.
“It wasn’t anything bad,” Shouta says slowly, calmly. “I chased a villain into a construction site. I crashed into some of the supplies that were lying around. Nothing serious,” he says before Hizashi can open his mouth, “just some small scrapes and punctures from some used nails. I’d already stopped bleeding by the time I got the villain secured, but there was another hero on the scene that saw what happened, and they forced me to go get medical treatment.”
He waits for Hizashi to process what he’s said. It’s clear that Hizashi was expecting something much more serious from the way his shoulders loosen, but there’s still a pensive pinch to his lips. “...That’s it?” Hizashi eventually asks. “Just some nails?”
“That’s it,” Shouta replies. “Just some nails.”
“They weren’t too big, were they?” Hizashi asks, moving a hand up so that he can chew on a nail. “Construction uses much larger nails than, like, hanging a picture, so — “
“They weren’t big,” Shouta assures. “Like I said, I’d already stopped bleeding by the time I got the villain.”
Nodding slowly, Hizashi looks him over a little more slowly, less panic in his frame and expression. “Where did you…?”
Shouta lifts his hands and digs them under his capture weapon so that he can get at the zipper to his suit, dragging it down to his navel. Once it’s far down enough, he twists in his seat so Hizashi can see the bandages on his opposite side when he pulls the suit open. “Right here,” he says, tapping the wrapping and gauze with a finger. “All cleaned up, and like the nurse said earlier, got a tetanus shot to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
With being able to see the injury for himself, even if it’s under bandages, the last of the worry that had been clinging to Hizashi drains away, and Shouta watches as he slumps into his seat with a heavy, relieved sigh. “Okay,” he breathes out, raising a hand to knock his glasses upwards and press against his eyes. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
“Want to tell me why you were acting like that?” Shouta asks him as he closes his suit up again. “You’re not normally one to panic or make a scene like that.”
An exhausted laugh gusts out of Hizashi. “You really gotta ask?” He grins, a tired expression instead of a normally deliriously happy one. “Seriously?”
Shouta’s brow furrows. “What’s that mean?”
Hizashi somehow looks even more exhausted. “You do know how many times you’ve ever been to the hospital, right?” he asks. Without waiting for a reply, he holds up his free hand with his thumb tucked to his palm. “Four times since becoming a hero. Four times in fourteen years, Shouta.”
“...So?”
“‘So’ — “ Hizashi lets his hands fall into his lap and just stares at the ceiling. “You hate hospitals.”
“I know.”
“So you only go when it’s serious.”
Ah. Shouta grimaces. “I — I tried to tell you it wasn’t serious when you got there,” he mutters. “You weren’t listening.”
“Forgive me for not listening when the only times you’ve ever gone were for literal life and limb,” Hizashi snaps, finally turning to look at him again, and Shouta’s taken aback by the furious glare on his face. “You hate hospitals and only go when it’s serious, so I’ve learned that if Shouta is in the hospital, I need to get there as fast as I can so that if something happens, I can at least say goodbye before you fucking die!”
Shock smacks Shouta in the face.
Guilt hits him in the gut.
For a moment all he can do is stare, working his jaw soundlessly. He’d known that the few times he’d gone to the hospital, Hizashi had been worried. The first time was when he was younger and dumber and a villain got the best of him in a bad way. He still has the scars on his chest and back from that encounter. Hizashi had stayed at his bedside in the hospital the entire length of his stay despite the fact that, at the time, Shouta hadn’t talked to him in nearly two years.
The second time, his aim was off with his capture weapon when he went to leap off a taller building. Honestly, it’s a miracle he hadn’t died when he fell. The doctors told him that he’s lucky he hadn’t cracked his skull open or broken his spine. After, during physical therapy to help all of his mended limbs remember how to work, Hizashi was his biggest cheerleader and supporter, helping him move slowly, drink water, and rest when he needed it (even if he hadn’t wanted it).
The third and fourth times? After the USJ Incident and the Hospital Raid.
For both of those, Hizashi had stayed by his side almost entirely. He’d pushed Shouta to sit next to him at school and during the Sports Festival after USJ, and while he hadn’t slept in bed with him while he was bandaged, too worried about accidentally hurting him while asleep, he’d set up a futon on the floor next to the bed so that he was always near. After the Raid, when Shouta was recovering from losing his leg and his eye, Shouta had to force him out the door to participate in patrols with the city as chaotic as it had been, otherwise Hizashi would have been his second leg and seeing-eye person at all times.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Shouta,” Hizashi whispers after several moments of quiet. “Getting the news that you nearly died and likely could still die. I mean, sure, we’re heroes. We have dangerous jobs. Sometimes that sort of thing just happens.” He scrubs at his eyes, and Shouta realizes with a sinking gut that there’s tears in the corner of Hizashi’s eyes. “But for most heroes, that sort of thing only happens once or twice. I’ve gotten calls about you four times.
“And each time I had to wonder if this is the time that you won’t make it,” he continues. “I’ve seen you covered in blood and lying still in a hospital bed too many times. I’m — I’m sick of it, Shouta. I’m sick of holding you when you end up like that and getting your blood on my hands. I don’t want to do it anymore.
“I can’t, not again. I won’t — I won’t survive doing it again, I don’t think,” Hizashi finishes tiredly. “Not again.”
“I’m sorry,” Shouta says quietly. “I…hadn’t realized what that had been like for you.” He hesitates. “But when you lay it all out like that, I think maybe if something similar had ever happened to you, I’d probably wind up just as…sick.”
And even just the thought of it has Shouta’s stomach turning. Logically, it’s just like Hizashi’s said: They’re heroes. They have dangerous jobs that sometimes lead to life-threatening injuries. Hizashi has been one of the lucky ones where the worst that’s happened to him hasn’t landed him to being admitted to the hospital, but the mental image of Hizashi being in such terrible condition that he would need to be admitted…
Shouta shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“Sometimes…I wish you’d retire from being a hero,” Hizashi confesses, not meeting his eyes.
“I — really?” Shouta asks, surprised.
Hizashi shrugs. “Only sometimes,” he says. “It’s a stupid, selfish thought, and I know you love being a hero. I know you’re really good at what you do, too. I know that the four times you’ve been in the hospital have been wildly extreme cases, and four times in fourteen years isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.”
Shouta’s quiet as he takes that in, and the two of them fall into silence. A part of him wishes that he’d waited until the two of them had gotten inside their apartment and dealt with the babysitter and Eri because the depth of the conversation has him wishing he could grab one of their cats and hold it in his lap. Soothing himself by running his fingers through soft fur usually helps when he feels stressed.
“What if,” he starts slowly, “I did retire?”
Hizashi’s head jerks up. “What?”
“What if I retired,” Shouta repeats. “We’ve been heroes now for over a decade. I’ve built a solid pension despite working as an underground hero without an agency.” He hums, crossing his arms as he thinks it over. “Could probably use that to get a larger place. A house instead of a tiny apartment that’s barely enough room for us.”
“You mean barely enough room for us and all my things,” Hizashi says, voice ragged with emotion.
Shouta’s lips tick upwards. “It wasn’t too bad until we adopted Eri,” he reminds. “Had to move all your shit out of that spare room so she could have a bedroom.”
Hizashi sucks in a shaky breath. “Maybe… Maybe somewhere not in the city?” he offers, hesitant. “Somewhere with lots of sunlight and less crazy city stuff going on.”
“You’d want that?” Shouta asks. “To get out of the city? What about your own work — don’t you need to stay close to Saitama at the very least for your show?”
“I’ve built a solid pension,” Hizashi says quietly. His hand reaches over the center to pick up one of Shouta’s, his thumb rubbing gently on the back of his palm. “And it’s obviously bigger than yours, considering that I’m in an agency and have my show. Maybe…it’s time to let the younger generation pick up the reins, for it all, y’know? Fourteen years as a hero ain’t nothing to sniff at. A lot don’t even make it ten. All Might and Endeavor are kind outliers, after all.”
“Yeah…” It’s true. The older heroes get, the more likely their own age will catch up with them and make them slower in the field. While plenty are able to stay in shape and hold their own spectacularly as heroes even in their forties, most give up the hero title and move to more administrative roles instead of being on the streets.
“And we could — we could spend more time with Eri,” Hizashi says, sounding a little more hopeful. “Instead of having babysitters looking after her half the week, we could be more present in her life. Hell, we could have more time to spend with each other. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Shouta smiles. Gently, he turns his hand over so that their fingers can lace together. “It would,” he agrees. “A big house, away from the city, and time with our daughter and each other. It sounds really nice.”
“And you’re not… You’re not just posing this as a hypothetical?” Hizashi asks. His eyes are wet again, though this time not from upset. “You’re being serious?”
“So long as you are,” Shouta tells him.
“You’re really going to retire?”
Shouta leans towards him. “So long as you do.”
Hizashi blinks, and a tear rolls down his cheek. Despite that, a smile grows so bright over his face it’s nearly blinding. “Back at you, Shou,” he chokes out, leaning in as well so that they can press their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t want to be a hero if you weren’t, either.”
“It might take a while,” Shouta says, closing his eyes and breathing in Hizashi’s closeness. “There’s a lot of paperwork involved, and Nedzu will definitely have something to say about our decision.”
“Nedzu will celebrate us no longer making out in supply closets,” Hizashi laughs, his breath ghosting against Shouta’s lips. “And that’s okay. I’m gonna need to find someone to take over my stuff at the station anyways.”
“Hm. We can use the time while we get everything in order to find a house,” Shouta suggests. “Find somewhere quiet with lots of sun. Somewhere you never have to worry about getting my blood on your hands ever again.”
Hizashi’s hand squeezes his like a lifeline. “I’d love that, Shouta.”
“And I love you, Hizashi.”