Archive of Our Own

Shinsou Hitoshi woke up on the floor. He was sitting up, still dressed in his day clothes, his back against the wall of the bedroom. His body was stiff with cold and from the position he’d drifted off in. His schoolwork was spread out on the floor in front of him and he had a vague memory of trying to finish his English homework before sleep consumed him. He must have been more tired than he’d thought from his training with Aizawa that afternoon.

He blinked hard and rubbed at his eyes. It was dark in the room and when he stretched upwards to look out the window, he found it was dark outside too. He reached to pick up his phone where it was plugged into the wall beside him: it displayed the time as just after one in the morning.

A quick glance at the bed beside him showed three little bodies curled up tight under a mountain of blankets. He remembered tucking his foster siblings into his own bed last night— the biggest available, save for their foster parents’— hoping that the combination of their shared body heat and all of the blankets he could rustle up would be enough to keep the cold from leeching in. Apparently, he’d been successful. When he reached to feel the cheek of his five year old foster brother, it was warm, a sharp contrast to Hitoshi’s frozen fingers. Haru turned in his sleep, moving instinctively away from Hitoshi’s cold touch.

Confident that his foster siblings were protected from the chill, Hitoshi left the room.

He walked quietly, his socked feet padding between the garbage scattered across the floor. There was no reason to sneak around— his foster parents hadn’t been home in days— but instinct was a powerful thing.

An empty chip bag crackled beneath his foot and he winced. The house was filthy. Hitoshi had gotten used to living in it, but the stench still hit him like a wave every time he entered the house.

He needed some fresh air.

The front door was loud— the hinges hadn’t been oiled in years— and he didn’t want to risk waking the kids, so he headed for the back door instead.

He shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie them and slipped out onto the back porch. He shut the door carefully behind him to keep what warmth he could trapped inside.

Settling himself on the top step of the porch, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through it absently. The wood of the porch was cold enough to burn against his pants where he sat. He should have brought a jacket, but he was pretty sure it was piled on top of his siblings with whatever other layers he’d managed to scrounge up. Oh well. He was pretty sure he’d stop shivering when he was dead; if anything, he could take it as a sign that he was still alive.

His phone was charged— he was grateful he’d had the foresight to bring his charger over to where he’d settled himself on the floor— and the slow heat of it warmed his hand. There wasn’t much to look at; he ended up scrolling through his short list of contacts.

He stopped on one, his thumb hovering above the name.

If you need anything, you call me. That’s what Aizawa had said when he’d given him his number. Hitoshi wasn’t really sure what he meant by that. He probably didn’t mean this.

What would he even say? I need, I need— Jesus, what did he need?

He wasn’t sure, but he’d already pressed the Call button.

It rang three times. Aizawa was probably on patrol anyway, or asleep. Either way, he wouldn’t answer his phone.

Hitoshi was just about to end the call when the ringing stopped.

“Shinsou?” Aizawa’s voice was low, heavy with the dregs of sleep. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry. You were asleep.” Hitoshi could have kicked himself. Of course Aizawa was asleep: it was one in the morning, what was he thinking—

“It’s okay,” Aizawa said, interrupting Hitoshi’s rapidly spiralling thoughts. “I wasn’t really. I drifted off grading papers.” There was a noise on the other end of the line, like Aizawa was now in motion.

“What’s going on?” Aizawa still sounded tired, but there was an alertness to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Uh.” Shit. What was Hitoshi supposed to say to that? “Nothing.”

Definitely not that.

Fortunately, Aizawa didn’t sound as angry as Hitoshi expected him to. Instead, he just seemed curious. “You called me at one in the morning for no reason?”

“Um, no. I don’t know.” Hitoshi swallowed. He couldn’t quite explain why, but his eyes were burning. “I’m sorry.”

Aizawa’s voice was careful. “Shinsou, are you safe right now?”

He sniffed. “Yeah,” he said, and it almost caught him off guard how miserable he sounded.

“Are you sure?”

He bit his lip as tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared enough to ask. Let alone ask twice. “Yeah,” he repeated, swallowing hard.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Aizawa’s voice was unusually gentle, a prodding thing that Hitoshi wanted so badly to trust.

He buried his face in hand, shaking his head like Aizawa could see him. “Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s nothing. God, I’m so stupid.” He shook his head. His hand slid up to his hair and he tugged at it until it hurt. “Sorry.”

“We’ve talked about this.” Aizawa’s voice was firm and Hitoshi could almost see the stern look on his face. “You’re not stupid.”

Hitoshi smiled wryly. “Right.”

He let out a short exhale. Every inch of his body ached, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the position he’d fallen asleep in.

“Shinsou—” Aizawa’s voice sounded strained, like he wanted to say something but was holding back. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how to answer that without lying and he was so tired of lying.

Aizawa sighed.

“I’ve been practicing the forms you taught me,” Hitoshi said suddenly, instead of a real answer. “With the capture scarf. I think I’m getting better.”

He could hear Aizawa’s quiet surprise at the abrupt change in subject, but thankfully, his teacher went along with it.

“You’ve been improving a lot, kid.”

Hitoshi couldn’t help how he preened at the praise.

“I’m working hard,” he said. He didn’t know why he was telling Aizawa, who saw every day how hard he worked, but there was no one else Hitoshi wanted to share it with.

“I know,” Aizawa said, and Hitoshi could practically hear the rare smile in his voice. Then it shifted, back to business, back to concern. “Your voice is shaking, kid. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, it’s just fuckin’—” He winced at his language, and on the other end Aizawa let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry. It’s cold out here.”

Any trace of amusement vanished from his teacher’s voice. It was replaced by alarm. “Are you outside?”

Hitoshi shrugged. “Yeah. Just on the back porch, I’m not wandering.”

Aizawa let out a short sigh at that. “Well, I’m glad for that, but it’s still January. Do you at least have a coat?”

Hitoshi must have hesitated for too long.

“Jesus Christ, Problem Child,” Aizawa exhaled sharply. “Go back inside.”

Hitoshi smiled humorlessly. It was for no one but himself. “I can’t.”

Aizawa’s voice was flat. “Why not?”

Hitoshi said nothing.

“Shinsou.”

Silence.

“Did you lock yourself out?”

Hitoshi scoffed before he could help himself. “I’m not stupid.”

Aizawa let out an amused huff at his audible indignation. “All right. Can you tell me why you can’t go back inside then?”

For a moment, Hitoshi just chewed on his bottom lip. It was chapped and burning in the winter air. Finally, he said, “It’s fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Hitoshi was silent.

Aizawa’s voice was careful. “Shinsou, I need you to answer me honestly. Is there something about your foster home that makes you feel unsafe?”

Hitoshi forced his words to be perfectly even. “I don’t understand.”

Aizawa rephrased. “Will you be in danger if you go back inside the house?”

“No.” Hitoshi let out a quiet, frustrated noise, grinding the toe of his shoe against the porch step. “I don’t know.”

Aizawa was silent.

“I mean—” Jesus, he was starting to cry for real now. He only hoped Aizawa couldn’t hear his stuttering breath. “No one hits me, or anything. I’ve been in worse homes.” There’s not even anyone in there right now, he almost said.

“I’ve read about some of the homes you’ve been in, kid. I don’t doubt you’ve had worse. The point is, it shouldn’t be bad at all.”

“You don’t understand,” Hitoshi said, and he swiped a hand across his face to clear it of tears. “That’s just how it is in the system. You take what you can get and you keep your mouth shut because the next home might be worse.”

For a moment, Aizawa said nothing, and Hitoshi was certain he’d said too much. He was always walking the line when it came to keeping his mouth shut, and now he was sure he’d fallen across it.

Then Aizawa spoke. “I can hear you shaking, kid. Please go back inside.”

Hitoshi scoffed before he could help himself. “It’s not any warmer in there.”

“What does that mean?”

“The heat’s out,” Hitoshi said derisively. “Has been for days. The other kids in the house are all real little, so I put them all in one bed with their jackets on and as many blankets as I could find.”

“And you?” Aizawa asked. His voice was impassive and that was almost worse.

Hitoshi shrugged. He traced a thin line with his nail on the frost-covered porch slats. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Aizawa made a dissatisfied noise at that. “What about the parents?”

Hitoshi dug his nails into the crack in the wood, uncaring as his fingertips went numb. “Dunno. They’ve been gone for days.”

Aizawa’s voice was steely. “Where? When will they be back?”

Hitoshi let out a noise of derision as he recalled the words his foster mother had thrown at him when he’d asked the same: “None of my business.”

“It is. Especially if you were left in charge of the household.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Hitoshi said. “I just complain too much. I’ll stop.”

“No,” Aizawa said sharply. “I would argue that you don’t complain enough. Something is wrong here, Shinsou, and I need you to recognize it.”

Hitoshi let out a harsh breath, and he hated how it shook.

“It’s a good house,” he said helplessly. He repeated, like a broken record: “They don’t hit me.”

“So they don’t hit you. That’s the bare minimum, kid. And they're hardly even meeting it.”

“I don’t know,” Hitoshi said, and for some reason he couldn’t explain, he conjured up a smile that didn’t match the despair in his chest. “It seems pretty good to me.”

Aizawa was immovable. “You and all of the kids in that household are being severely neglected.”

Hitoshi let out a shaky breath of laughter, though there was no humor behind it. “You can be really blunt sometimes, you know that?”

“Hitoshi. You deserve to be taken care of.”

Hitoshi sucked in a sharp breath and he couldn’t help how it shook. He was crying now, silent tears streaming down his frigid cheeks. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Aizawa call him by his given name.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, his breath stuttering. “I don’t know why I’m—” He broke off with a quiet, stifled sob.

Aizawa was quiet. “It’s okay,” he said, as Hitoshi pressed his arm tight across his mouth and bit into the sleeve of his sweatshirt in an attempt to quiet himself.

He shuddered, a muffled whimper escaping as he buried his face in his knees. His teeth were locked in the fabric of his sweatshirt like a gag.

“It’s okay,” Aizawa repeated softly, and Hitoshi let out a sob.

Aizawa didn’t say anything for a while. He just let Hitoshi cry, real and defeated and so, so tired.

After a while, Hitoshi went quiet. His throat hurt.

“Kid.” Aizawa sounded almost regretful. “You know I have to report this.”

Hitoshi sucked in a shaky breath and nodded. It was futile: Aizawa couldn’t see him. “I know,” he said, swiping the back of his hand across his cheeks. He was trembling still, but this time, he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you believe me?”

Hitoshi closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

He’d heard that promise too many times to be able to trust it at face value. But the difference now was that he wanted to believe. He wanted to trust Aizawa. He wanted to not have to be the oldest, the responsible one, the one who took care of things. He wanted to be taken care of.

“That’s okay.” Aizawa’s voice was quiet and steady, a solid thing that Hitoshi— without his notice or consent— had begun to take an unreasonable amount of comfort in. “I’m going to help you whether you believe me or not.”

Hitoshi wanted to collapse. He wanted to sleep, wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to wake up in the morning, cold and unchanged and secure in the knowledge that however shitty his life was, at least it wasn’t going to get worse. It was going to stay the same. He could deal with that.

But stagnancy didn’t seem to be an option anymore.

“Where are—” He sniffed and swallowed back his seizing throat. “Where are we gonna go?”

“Well, the kids will be taken into new placements. There’s no need to worry,” Aizawa said quickly, as if he could see how Hitoshi had opened his mouth. “I’m familiar with a few good homes nearby, and I know the parents personally. They’ll be taken care of, I promise.”

Hitoshi swallowed. The kids, Aizawa had said. Not him.

“As for you…” Aizawa hesitated audibly and Hitoshi stiffened. Here it was: too old for another foster home. It was either a group home or juvie for him— either way, his dreams at UA were over.

“It would be my preference if you came into my custody.”

For a second, Hitoshi was frozen. He forced his mouth to move. “I don’t understand.”

“Hizashi and I have our foster licenses,” Aizawa explained patiently. “It’s your choice, but I feel that you would do best in an environment with someone who’s already familiar with your needs.”

“My needs,” Hitoshi said weakly. “What does that matter?”

“It matters a lot,” Aizawa said seriously. “You’ve been neglected for a long time. Long enough that you’ve forgotten what it means to be taken care of. I’m not going to let it continue.”

“Christ.” Hitoshi buried his face in his hand. “What the hell did I do?”

“The right thing,” Aizawa said firmly. “I know it’s frightening when things change, but this is for the best.”

“I know.” Hitoshi still sounded miserable. “I just— I want the best for the kids, but I don’t know how to get it for them.”

For a moment, Aizawa was quiet. Then he said, “You’re a good kid, Hitoshi. But you don’t need to be in charge anymore. Let me do this for you.”

“I can’t—” He broke off, panic rising senselessly in his chest. “The kids don’t sleep well when I’m not there,” he argued weakly. “I can’t— how can I leave them?”

“You’re not abandoning them.” Aizawa’s voice was so steady and there was a warmth to it that Hitoshi wanted to latch on to and never let go of. “They will be safe and happy where they’re going. And they can see you anytime they want.”

“They’re my responsibility.” It was a last ditch attempt at an argument and his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. “I’m the only one— no one else is going to look after them if I don’t.”

“And you’ve no doubt done an excellent job taking care of them. But it’s time to let someone else take the reins for a bit. Can you do that for me?”

Hitoshi’s throat seized and he let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t know. I… I guess.”

“Thank you,” Aizawa said, like he wasn’t the one helping Hitoshi.

For a moment, they sat in silence. The only sound across the line was Hitoshi’s shaky breath.

Then Aizawa spoke again: “I’m going to make some phone calls. While I do that, can you do something for me?”

“Mhm.” Hitoshi couldn’t open his mouth without risking the flow of tears restarting.

“I’m sorry to have to give you this responsibility, but I need you to wake up the other kids and get them dressed and ready to go. They don’t need all of their belongings, just—”

“I know,” Hitoshi said, swallowing hard. He shouldn’t have interrupted his mentor, but he couldn’t stand to listen to the instructions he’d heard a thousand times before. “I’ve done this before.”

“Right.” He couldn’t place Aizawa’s tone. But before he could think too hard about it, it softened again. “I’ll stay on the line with you until you’re ready.”

Hitoshi sniffed and shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in about half an hour. Will you be okay until then?”

“Yes.” He was robotic— he had to be in order to get the words out. At Aizawa’s farewell, he hung up.

He buried his face in his hands. He was too emptied of tears to cry again, but his cheeks were still wet and his body felt weak from repressing his shuddering sobs.

“Hitoshi?”

His foster sister’s voice was a soft thing, reaching through the cold and snapping him back to himself. He sat up stiffly, swiping his hand across his face to clear it of tears before he turned to face her.

“Aiko.” He smiled, but he was sure it looked as wobbly as it felt.

She was looking at him with her big, shining eyes that cut a wide path through the darkness. His wet cheeks were caught in her Dark Vision and her face immediately scrunched up in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, smiling tightly at her. He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here.” She was wearing one of his shirts to bed, along with a ragged pair of her sweatpants. It had been the warmest option of pajamas Hitoshi had been able to give her.

Her hand slipped into his and he guided them back inside.

“Aiko, I need you to do me a favor.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and trusting. It made Hitoshi want to start crying all over again.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Then pack your backpack with your school things, your toothbrush, and a change of clothes. I’ll help you with that last part if you need it, but I need to go wake the other kids first.”

“Are we leaving?” It was such a simple question, but too knowing coming from an eight year old. Hitoshi hated how familiar she was with this. As much as he tried to protect them from the devastating reality of the foster system, his pseudo-siblings still understood it better than he wished they did.

He nodded. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at her like he had any control over this situation at all. “I won’t let anything bad happen to any of you.”

She nodded up at him, and the pure trust in her expression nearly broke him.

“Go on,” he said, nudging her towards the bedroom before he could start tearing up again. “I’m counting on you to help Haru and Mei.”

She lit up at the instruction— she’d always loved being helpful— and hurried down the hall towards the bedroom.

He sagged the moment she was out of sight. He wanted to collapse, wanted to curl up on the couch and not wake up until his life was fixed, or at least back to the same monotonous trainwreck it always was.

But there was no time for exhaustion now. He had a job to do.

He trudged down the hallway after Aiko, mentally preparing himself to explain the situation to two sleepy children.

It was a trick and a half to get Mei and Haru out of bed. They were already resistant given the cold, but having to tell them that they were moving houses— again— was almost too much for them to bear. Still, Hitoshi managed, somehow getting Haru to comply as he wrestled Mei into some semblance of real clothing and packed a bag for her. She was only two, so there wasn’t much by way of school things for her. Instead, he packed her nighttime diapers, a few extra changes of clothes, and some comfort items— most of which he’d bought himself.

Aiko was a godsend, helping Haru with his bag. She managed to stop him from packing his entire stash of candy he’d been hiding, replacing it instead with his school books.

Hitoshi didn’t need to prepare much for himself, besides scooping up his books and charger from the ground and retrieving his jacket from the bed. His backpack served as a go-bag most days— he’d been locked out too many times to not be prepared to spend a night or two outside— so he was as good as ready.

By the time he was snagging the kids’ toothbrushes out of the bathroom, he heard a knock on the door.

“Here,” he said, pushing the toothbrushes into Aiko’s hand. “Find a ziploc for those, then put your shoes on and help the others with theirs. I’m gonna go get the door.”

When he pulled open the front door, Hitoshi was half-surprised to find Aizawa standing on the little crooked porch. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe his teacher when he’d said he would come— it was just that after eleven years in the system, he’d learned better than to place his faith in adults.

“You look tired,” Aizawa said simply.

Hitoshi smiled, but it was a wry, exhausted thing. “I am tired.”

Aizawa’s eyes crinkled in something like a smile and he entered the house as Hitoshi stepped aside. “Your social worker is out of the prefecture on another case. I’ve been authorized to handle things until she can get back.”

Hitoshi nodded his understanding. His social worker was nice enough, but insanely overworked. He was just glad they’d allowed Aizawa to take control of this, rather than send some interim case worker who knew next to nothing about their situation.

“You’re all coming home with me tonight,” Aizawa said. “There’s a good family I know of nearby that will take the kids, but they won’t be prepared until tomorrow afternoon.”

Hitoshi nodded. He was numb.

Aizawa’s eyes flickered to something over Hitoshi’s shoulder and he followed his gaze automatically.

Aiko was standing in the entrance to the living room, her backpack on her shoulders and Mei in her arms. Haru was peeking out from behind her legs, his own small backpack stuffed with his essentials.

“Uh, we’re ready,” Aiko said shyly, inching closer to Hitoshi. She didn’t look at Aizawa. Men were a touchy subject with Aiko and it made Hitoshi sick to think about why that might be.

“My name is Aizawa Shouta,” Aizawa said gently, and he held out his hand. Hitoshi was surprised; he didn’t think he’d ever heard his teacher speak so kindly. “I’m a Pro Hero.”

Aiko’s gaze darted away and she hitched Mei up a little higher on her hip.

Hitoshi shook his head minutely at Aizawa and his teacher nodded in understanding, retracting his hand.

“‘Toshi.” Mei’s face crumpled in a tired sob. She reached up from where she was resting on Aiko’s hip and made grabby-hands in his direction.

Hitoshi took her by the armpits and set her on his hip. He didn’t miss the way Aiko sagged in relief at the loss of Mei’s weight.

“You’re all right,” Hitoshi murmured, bouncing her gently. “I know you’re sleepy. You’ll be tucked back in bed soon, huh?”

Mei only made a disgruntled noise and pressed her cold nose into Hitoshi’s neck.

Aizawa held his hands out in offerance. “I can…?”

Hitoshi shook his head immediately. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his teacher: Mei just didn’t do well with strangers. Not to mention, the warmth and weight of the small girl against him gave him a quiet assurance that he hadn’t realized he needed. Beside him, Haru’s small fingers curled into the hem of Hitoshi’s shirt. With his free hand, Hitoshi tangled his fingers in the kid’s hair and Haru leaned into the touch, his head pressing against Hitoshi’s hip.

“Everyone ready?” Hitoshi asked. He raised his eyebrows at Haru and Aiko. “You’ve got all of your school stuff? I don’t want to hear any excuses about not being able to do your homework because you left something behind.”

He ignored Aizawa’s quiet huff of laughter.

“We got it,” Aiko said seriously. “I helped Haru.”

Hitoshi gave her a smile and a wink. “Good job.” At his side, Haru pressed a little closer and Hitoshi gave his hair a ruffle in return.

Aizawa raised his brow at Hitoshi. “Where’s your bag?”

Hitoshi nodded at the front door, where his backpack was sitting on the ground.

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. It had his school stuff, a toothbrush, and his extra uniform. He didn’t have much beyond that. Aizawa picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.

“My car’s out front,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Hitoshi glanced back at Aiko. She gave him a little nod, looking entirely too scared for his comfort.

He swallowed hard and looked back at Aizawa. “We’re ready.”

Aizawa led them to the car. They must have been a strange sight, a troop of battered children trailing after a Pro-Hero.

Aizawa opened the front door and reached to start the engine and turn the heat on.

As Hitoshi opened the door to settle the kids in the backseat, he found a surprising sight.

“You own a car seat?”

It was yellow and entirely out of place in his mentor’s car— at least, the version of Aizawa that Hitoshi held in his head.

Aizawa only shrugged as Hitoshi buckled Mei in. “I have a foster license. Things happen in hero work— it’s best to be prepared. I’m just sorry I only have the one.”

“Haru will be fine,” Hitoshi said, buckling the boy into the middle seat. As he rounded the car to climb in the front seat, he stopped to check Aiko’s buckle too. Finally, he climbed in himself, securing himself beside Aizawa.

His teacher glanced at him, his brow raised, as Hitoshi settled his backpack between his feet. “Good?”

Hitoshi nodded, though he sent an anxious glance towards the backseat. All he found was Mei sound asleep, Haru holding her hand, and Aiko staring out the window intently. He allowed himself a small smile and tried to ease the tightness in his chest.

The drive took about half an hour. By the time they arrived, Haru was asleep too, his hand still gripping Mei’s loosely. Beside him, Aiko was wide awake.

Aizawa took his bag again and Hitoshi was grateful for it as he unbuckled Mei and hefted her into his arms. Haru was dead to the world, but Hitoshi couldn’t carry both him and his sister. He sighed at the thought of having to wake the five year old, but resigned himself, switching Mei to one arm to reach for Haru.

A hand touched his shoulder and Aizawa’s low voice came from behind him. “I got him.”

Grateful, Hitoshi began to move to allow his teacher to unbuckle the sleeping boy.

“No,” Aiko said, too quickly. Her eyes were wide and alight with her Dark Vision. “I’ll take Mei. ‘Toshi, you get Haru.”

Hitoshi knew better than to argue with Aiko when she was this anxious, so he passed Mei down to her and gently shouldered Aizawa out of the way to pull Haru into his arms. He could feel Aizawa’s eyes on him, but he ignored him for the moment.

Hitoshi ushered Aiko ahead of him as they followed Aizawa to the front door. They were greeted with a rush of warmth as the door opened and Hitoshi breathed an unconscious sigh of relief.

Just inside, he toed off his shoes and removed Haru’s too. He followed Aizawa further into the house, Aiko a little shadow beside him.

According to Aizawa, there was only one extra bedroom in the house and it was equipped with two twin beds. Apparently, Present Mic had set up a futon between the beds though, for a third. That would work for Haru, Hitoshi figured: he didn’t seem to care where he slept, so long as he was close to Mei. As the only biological siblings in the house, Hitoshi made sure to keep Haru and Mei together as much as possible. He would fight for them, even if the system wouldn’t.

(Hitoshi was silently grateful Hizashi was staying out of sight at least until the kids were in bed. He was pretty sure the introduction of one more strange man would send Aiko over the edge into a panic attack.)

Hitoshi and Aiko worked as a silent team, getting the younger two re-dressed for bed and tucking them in.

When they were settled, Aiko tugged at the hem of his jacket and whispered, “Hitoshi, I need the bathroom.”

“Oh,” he said, turning to face her. He took his jacket off then, finally feeling the warm air settle into his bones. “Okay.” He offered her his hand. “Let’s go find it.”

She wasn’t usually this clingy— she’d always been so independent; it genuinely impressed him sometimes, the way she was able to step up and handle things— but everything about this situation was new, so he wasn’t too surprised when she placed her little hand into his own.

Her Dark Vision eyes darted to Haru and Mei’s sleeping figures. “What about…?”

“They’ll be fine,” Hitoshi assured her. “I’ll come with you, but if it makes you feel better, I can keep an eye on their door too.”

Satisfied, she nodded.

Hitoshi led her out of the bedroom, where Aizawa was waiting in the hallway. Hitoshi raised his brow. “Bathroom?”

“Over here.”

To Hitoshi’s relief, it was just a few meters down the hall. He waited outside with Aizawa while Aiko washed up and got changed.

“You should go,” Hitoshi told his mentor quietly, nodding back towards the living room. “She won’t like it if you’re still out here when she’s done.”

Aizawa nodded, his eyes heavy with understanding, and disappeared back down the hall. Hitoshi heard voices murmuring from the kitchen and assumed Hizashi was there too.

Aiko emerged from the bathroom cautiously, relaxing when she caught sight of Hitoshi. She was in her pajamas now— still just Hitoshi’s shirt and her usual sweatpants that rode up too high at the ankle— but she was still zipped into her coat.

“You don’t need that,” he reminded her, pinching the shoulder of her coat. “It’s warm here.”

She just shrugged. She didn’t take it off until she was back in the room, Hitoshi watching from the doorway as she tucked herself into bed. She liked doing it herself; Hitoshi wasn’t about to argue with her, especially not after she quietly requested that he watch over her until she was asleep.

Despite the new environment and her heightened state of anxiety, it didn’t take long for Aiko to drift off. Hitoshi waited for a minute or two longer than necessary, just watching as the kids breathed, before he exited the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

On unsteady legs, Hitoshi made his way to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, a long exhale escaping him. He could feel Aizawa’s eyes on him from where he sat at the kotatsu, but he didn’t look up.

“You take good care of them.”

Hitoshi shrugged. He was too tired to be bitter as he said, “Someone has to.”

He knew he was being watched, Aizawa’s eyes lingering on him where he sat. He had been since the moment Aizawa stepped through Hitoshi’s front door, and though he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, he knew there was nothing he could do now to stop his teachers from learning about how he’d been living. He hadn’t missed the way the hushed conversation in the kitchen had fallen silent when Hitoshi reminded Aiko that she didn’t need her coat to sleep here.

He knew full well that his teachers’ perceptions of him were changing by the minute and he hated it.

Hizashi entered the living room then, dressed in what were clearly pajamas, and Hitoshi realized all at once that it was nearing three in the morning.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Hitoshi said, rubbing at his eyes. “I know it’s an inconvenience—”

“Stop.” Aizawa’s tone didn’t hold its usual sharp authority, but Hitoshi found himself obeying anyway.

“It’s okay, Hitoshi,” Hizashi said gently. “We’re glad you’re here.”

Hitoshi gave a little nod. He couldn’t quite look the voice hero in the eye.

“Do you want to sleep?” Hizashi asked, gesturing at the stack of bedding that was perched on the arm of the couch. “I can make up the couch for you.”

“Um—” Hitoshi had to cough to clear his throat. “If— if it’s all right, I’d like to stay up a little longer. I’m not—” He winced a little as he stumbled over his explanation. “I’m too keyed up to sleep right now, I think.”

“That’s fine,” Aizawa said, waving his hand casually at the stack of papers on the kotatsu. “Is it okay if I stay up with you? I’ve got papers to grade.”

Hitoshi nodded. He was quietly relieved that he wouldn’t be left to sit alone in the darkness, though he knew Aizawa’s presence didn’t promise distraction. Hitoshi didn’t care; he didn’t think he had the energy to hold a conversation without breaking down anyway.

But fate didn’t seem content with letting him have this small reprieve.

It seemed he was hardly sitting down for a minute before a wail cut through the house, shrill and familiar.

Hitoshi was on his feet before he fully registered it. His exhaustion fled in an instant, forgotten among his rushing adrenaline, and he raced towards the source of the noise.

Hitoshi burst into the bedroom, Aizawa on his heels. Mei had stopped screaming now, the sound replaced with red-faced sobs and halting whines. Aiko was sitting next to her on the bed, shushing her tearfully. Haru was curled up on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands covering his ears, like if he couldn’t hear Mei’s cries then no one else could either.

Hitoshi hurried over to Mei’s bed. He nudged Aiko aside, sending her to comfort Haru instead.

He scooped Mei into his arms and pressed her tight to his chest. She clung to him, her sobs ragged and bone-chilling. He shushed her quietly, rubbing her back as she buried her face in his neck.

“I tried to make her be quiet,” Aiko said, clutching Haru’s hand like her life depended on it. She was in tears too, her wide eyes darting fearfully between Hitoshi and Aizawa, who was standing in the doorway watching this all unfold.

“It’s okay,” Hitoshi soothed. He kept his voice quiet and calm, pressing his lips to Mei’s hair. “We’re safe here.” He made eye contact with Aiko and Haru over Mei’s head and tried to crinkle his eyes into something akin to a smile. “No one is going to get in trouble for being too loud.”

He could feel Aizawa’s eyes on him as he comforted the toddler, but he ignored him for the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles into Mei’s back. “It’s okay. You’re all right.” He shifted her in his arms, pulling back slightly to look into her red, watery eyes. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Mei sniffed and her face crumpled again. “Bad dream,” she said, her voice cracked and raw from crying.

“Oh, Mei.” He held her close again. “It’s okay. I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I’m around.”

It took a few minutes of his gentle soothing to ease her sobs. He rocked her until her eyes were drooping and her white-knuckled grip on him began to loosen.

“Do you want your brother to sleep up here with you?” he whispered, jerking his head at Haru.

Mei nodded, her face still pressed tight to his shoulder.

“All right.” Hitoshi motioned for Haru to climb onto the bed. He obeyed quickly, dragging his blanket behind him and climbing under the covers.

At Mei’s insistence, Hitoshi squeezed in next to them too. He was nearly hanging off the edge of the little twin bed, but he managed to press himself close enough atop the covers that Mei stopped trying to pull him closer.

She was quickly losing her battle to sleep and soon her hands fell slack from his shirt. After a moment, Hitoshi eased himself away, kneeling beside the bed and wiping the last of her tears from her flushed cheeks. He reached over her to brush his fingers across Haru’s cheek too. He was awake still, holding his sister tight, and as Hitoshi’s fingers ghosted over his skin, a small tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.

Hitoshi hushed him with a gentle smile. Haru tried to return it, but his weak and wobbly smile only made Hitoshi’s heart clench.

Aiko was on her feet when Hitoshi retreated from the bed, and she just shook her head as he motioned to her own bed. She followed him out into the hall, keeping silent as he quietly shut the door behind him.

He crouched down in front of her, keeping his body and voice soft as he spoke. “What is it?”

“‘Toshi, I—” Aiko’s face crumpled and without a word, he took her into his arms. She sobbed, her face pressed to his shoulder and her little fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

For a long moment, he just let her cry. Then, gently, he pulled her away from him.

“What is it?” he asked again, thumbing away a tear on her cheek.

Aiko sounded stricken. “I don’t know. It’s everything. Mei, me, this new place. I’m scared.”

Hitoshi’s heart clenched. He wanted to cry too, wanted to break down like the kids, but right now —always, he thought, anytime the kids could see him— he had to be strong.

So instead, he smiled at her, a firm thing.

“Did you hear what I said in there to Mei? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” He kept a solid hand on her shoulder, the other on her cheek. “I know things are changing, but I’ve got you, all right?”

She nodded tearfully and sniffed. Still, she didn’t move, save to reach up and grip his wrist where his hand held her cheek.

“Do you want to stay with me?”

She started to nod, then aborted the motion. “Mei and Haru—” She looked nervously back at the bedroom door. “They’ll be all right?”

Hitoshi nodded solemnly. He knew her fear all too well, and hated that it wasn’t unfounded. “They’ll be fine. You don’t have to protect them right now.”

She swallowed. “Okay,” she whispered. “Then I want to stay with you.”

He stood and lifted his arm. Immediately, she tucked herself against his side.

“You’re safe too,” he reminded her. “This isn’t like other homes. No one is going to hurt you here.”

She was silent.

“They’re heroes,” he reminded her, trying to muster up the same enthusiastic tone he did for the younger kids.

Aiko just looked at him. “Heroes can be bad too.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. There had been too many years before Hitoshi had met Aiko and too many things that could have happened without him there to protect her. Like the rest of them, she didn’t like to talk about her past. The present was too much to bear already.

“How about this?” he said, giving her a firm smile. “If anyone in this house hurts you, I’ll kill them. Plain and simple.”

He didn’t care that Aizawa and Hizashi could probably hear him. He didn’t care that technically, he was threatening violence against his teachers, not to mention two Pro Heroes. He only cared that his promise made Aiko look a little less frightened.

Hitoshi squeezed her and moved to guide her along to the couch. He sat down and she didn’t give him a moment before she burrowed herself into his side. He let out a soft noise of surprise, but wrapped his arm around her anyway. It wasn’t like Aiko to be so tactile— she always tried so hard to act grown up— but if that was what she needed right now, Hitoshi was more than willing to give it.

For a long while, they just sat together in the dim light of the living room. Aizawa was there too, grading papers silently at the kotatsu, and Hizashi was hovering between the kitchen and the living room. Hitoshi couldn’t help but be grateful for their steady presence, though he knew it meant that he was being watched. He also knew that at least Aizawa had witnessed the conversation between him and Aiko in the hall too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It wasn’t long before Aiko nodded off for good against Hitoshi’s side. It wasn’t good for her to sleep propped up the way she was, so he carried her back to the bedroom and tucked her into bed. He was relieved to see that Haru and Mei were sound asleep too, though their cheeks were damp and shiny in the glow of the nightlight. He wiped them with his sleeve.

He was blank as he shut the door silently and retreated back to the living room. Exhaustion had robbed him of every emotion, even anger. He wanted to be angry, wanted to be furious on behalf of his pseudo-siblings, but there was nothing inside of him but mind-numbing exhaustion.

“Haru’s sleeping in Mei’s bed,” Hitoshi said, rubbing his eyes. It burned just to keep them open, but it hurt worse to close them. “So I can sleep on the futon in the middle.”

“Do you want to sleep yet?” Aizawa asked, his brow raised.

Hitoshi shook his head numbly. Even if he laid his exhausted body down, he doubted he’d be able to close his eyes for even a second.

“How about some coffee then?” Hizashi suggested.

“‘Kay,” Hitoshi said, nodding and blinking slowly. “Thank you.”

He sat down on the couch, willing himself with every ounce of strength he had left to stay stock-still and keep it together.

But it was no use. As he inhaled a shaky, stuttered breath, his face crumpled and he began to cry. His hands rose to press against his face and he shuddered, full-body, as a sob escaped him.

The cushion dipped beside him and a warm arm settled across his shoulder. Hizashi’s voice was heartbroken: “Oh, Hitoshi.”

He could feel a presence in front of him and when a heavy hand landed on his knee, he couldn’t help the loud sob that escaped. Aizawa was crouched in front of him, a pillar as Hitoshi shattered.

“I’m tired,” he whined. He was just aware enough to be embarrassed of his cracking voice, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hitched in a shuddering breath and realized— probably belatedly— that his hands were trembling.

“I know,” Hizashi crooned, rubbing Hitoshi’s arm soothingly. “I know.”

Large fingers encircled his wrists and gently pulled his hands away from his face. Through his watery vision, he could see Aizawa in front of him. His expression was impassive, but the gentle way in which he held Hitoshi’s wrists made Hitoshi want to collapse into sobs all over again.

“I’m fine,” Hitoshi insisted, his voice cracking on the second word.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Aizawa said dryly, a hint of a smile in his voice. He still hadn’t let go of Hitoshi’s wrists and it took a second for Hitoshi to realize: Aizawa was taking his pulse.

He pulled his other wrist out of Aizawa’s grasp and wiped his sleeve against his watery eyes. “I’m fine,” he repeated hoarsely. His throat hurt, but he swallowed despite it.

“How long have you been in that house?” Hizashi asked softly. His arm was a comforting weight around Hitoshi’s shoulders.

“Two and a half years.” Hitoshi sniffed and wiped a hand across his cheek. “Mei was a newborn when I got there. I—” His throat seized with emotion. “I took care of her. I fed her, I changed her diapers, I got up in the middle of the night when she cried. She’s my—” He stiffened as another sob shuddered silently through him. He wasn’t going to cry again. “I love them,” he said finally, when his throat had stopped seizing. “I love all of them.”

“I know, honey.” Hizashi’s hand was so warm on his back and God, when was the last time anyone had touched him like that? To give comfort, not to take it? Hitoshi couldn’t remember.

“Everything I do is to take care of them. I don’t know who I am if I’m not doing that.”

“You’re a kid,” Hizashi said, kinder than Hitoshi deserved. “It’s okay to be that too.”

Hitoshi just shook his head.

“I want them to be safe,” he whispered with a trembling breath. “I want them to be happy. But…” He swallowed hard and turned his head to the side as if that could protect him from his mentor’s steady gaze. “It’s selfish,” he said bitterly, his mouth screwed up tight to stop the wobble of his voice.

“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes,” Aizawa said simply.

Hitoshi wished they were sparring. Then he could hit him without any consequences but a hit in return.

Instead, he said what he was thinking. “I want them to be safe,” he repeated. “But I don’t want to lose them either.”

Aizawa’s expression was soft, too soft to belong on his mentor’s face. “Hitoshi, I give you my word. They won't be gone.”

Hitoshi inhaled shakily and tried to nod. It ended up with his face crumpling in another sob. “I think I did the wrong thing,” he managed, pressing his hands into his burning eyes. He didn’t know why he was admitting this.

But Aizawa’s voice lacked the judgment Hitoshi expected. “How so?”

“I shouldn’t have done anything,” Hitoshi said, suddenly frustrated. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Aizawa said simply.

“I don’t care,” Hitoshi said, too harsh to be appropriate towards his teacher. But Aizawa didn’t react, save to squeeze his wrist gently. Hitoshi realized then that he’d been digging his nails into his palms. He loosened his fists.

“I want to be a hero.” It was a phrase Hitoshi had been carrying inside of himself since he was old enough to understand that nobody was going to help kids like him. It was one he repeated to himself, at night in bed, on the walk home from the train station, silently in the bathroom, even just to see his lips form the words in the mirror. “I want to be a hero, but I keep fucking up.” He’d already cried on his teachers’ sofa at three in the morning— he figured he was way past being scolded for swearing.

“You already are one,” Aizawa said, like it was obvious.

“I made them move,” Hitoshi snapped, tugging his wrist out of Aizawa’s grip to swipe away frustrated tears. “Again. I’m trying to take care of them, but all I do is fuck up their lives.”

Aizawa didn’t flinch at his sharp tone. “Do you know what I see?”

I don’t care, Hitoshi wanted to snap again, but it wouldn’t be true and he knew it. Besides, Hitoshi knew Aizawa well enough to know that he was going to say his piece anyway, whether Hitoshi wanted him to or not.

“I see a hero,” Aizawa said firmly. “Who stepped up to do the right thing even though it was hard.”

Hitoshi tightened his jaw against the onslaught of emotions in his chest.

“I see a hero who prioritized the safety of others over his own, no matter how much it hurt.” Aizawa’s voice was soft. It made Hitoshi want to collapse into tears all over again. “I…” Aizawa paused briefly, looking pained. “I wish you didn’t have to do that. You’re still a kid yourself and you shouldn’t have to shoulder those kinds of responsibilities. But, Hitoshi… the qualities you displayed tonight— and, I imagine, you display everyday— are qualities of a hero.”

“Don’t,” Hitoshi said, his throat tight. He looked away, his lips thin with some strange mix of sorrow and frustration. “Don’t.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi half-wished that wasn’t true. Everything would be easier if there were no exceptions to the rule that adults can’t be trusted.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Aizawa said, and his eyes were too kind for Hitoshi to meet. “But you did the right thing tonight.”

Hitoshi said nothing.

His arm a solid weight across Hitoshi’s shoulders, Hizashi squeezed him gently. “I think you need to get some sleep,” he said quietly. “Everything will be clearer in the morning.”

“The kids will be gone in the morning,” Hitoshi whispered. It was the first time he’d really thought about it. Aiko, Haru, and Mei were going to be taken away from him, probably forever.

“They’re not going to disappear,” Aizawa said firmly. He reached to press his hand to Hitoshi’s hair and Hitoshi leaned into the touch. “You’re going with them. You’re going to help get them settled and comfortable in their new home, then you’ll come back here.”

That was more than Hitoshi had dared to hope for, but Aizawa wasn’t finished.

“They’re only going to be a few miles away— a ten minute train ride. And I’ll mark each of their files with requests for weekly visits with their big brother.”

“We’re not—” Hitoshi’s throat seized, but he pushed past it. “Only Haru and Mei are biological siblings, it won’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aizawa said, his tone firmly planted in teacher territory. “I’ll stamp it into their files myself if I have to. You’ll have visits.”

If Hitoshi hadn’t already spent all his tears, he was pretty sure he would have started crying again.

“Okay,” he croaked out. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Aizawa said.

Hitoshi definitely did, but he was too tired to argue with the brick wall that was his mentor right now.

“Sorry,” Hitoshi said instead, gesturing vaguely at his damp eyes. He’d cried far too much for a fifteen year old, especially one who was training to become a hero. He didn’t want Aizawa to think he was some crybaby. “I’m just really tired, I think. I’m not usually this… you know.”

Aizawa's expression was soft. “It’s okay. I’d rather you feel your emotions than bottle them up.”

“Yeah,” Hizashi said, with a little laugh. “That’s one thing I don’t want you picking up from Shouta. That and his sleep schedule.”

“It may be too late for that,” Aizawa said dryly, shooting a pointed look at his watch.

Hitoshi laughed hoarsely. “I know,” he said, swallowing past the dryness of his throat. “I know. But first, can you tell me about the kids’ new house?”

“Of course,” Aizawa said, nodding. He moved to sit beside Hitoshi on the sofa, boxing him in in a way that made Hitoshi feel strangely safe. “The parents are friends of Hizashi and I. They fostered and adopted two kids, both of whom already graduated high school.”

“They don’t have any kids in the house right now,” Hizashi added. “And they’re excited to meet these guys.”

“Aiko doesn’t do well with men,” Hitoshi said, mentally flipping through his important notes on the kids. “The dad— is he nice?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Hizashi said, sounding far too cheerful for the situation. “It’s two moms!”

“Oh. Oh.” Relief flooded Hitoshi’s chest. He hadn’t realized he’d been so anxious about Aiko’s reaction in particular, but now that he thought about it, his worry made sense. If Aiko wasn’t able to adjust, it would be a lost cause for the younger two. “Good. That’s good.”

“I’m glad,” Hizashi said, squeezing Hitoshi’s shoulder lightly. “You’ll meet them tomorrow, but is there anything else you want to know right now?”

Hitoshi shook his head. As long as he was going with his siblings tomorrow, everything would be fine. The only part that worried him was the eventual goodbye.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” Hizashi asked gently. “It might make you feel better.”

Hitoshi supposed there might be something to that. After all, he hadn’t truly slept since the night before; his upright bout on the floor earlier didn’t count.

“I can try,” he said, nodding.

“Do you have clothes to sleep in?” Aizawa asked, gazing at his wrinkled uniform shirt critically.

“Just my spare uniform.”

“I’ll find you something then,” Hizashi said, getting up from the couch with a ruffle of Hitoshi’s unkempt hair.

“Thank you.” Hitoshi meant it for more than just the clothes. It seemed Hizashi understood because he sent him a wink before he disappeared down the hallway.

“I should… go brush my teeth,” Hitoshi said awkwardly, suddenly very aware that he’d just spent the last few hours crying intermittently to his teachers.

“Hitoshi.” Aizawa’s voice stopped him. “You did the right thing tonight. I’m… I’m proud of you.”

There was nothing but those words to blame the sudden tightness of Hitoshi’s throat on. “Thanks,” he said, a little hoarsely.

“Go,” Aizawa said, with a jerk of his head.

Hitoshi obeyed, heading towards the bathroom where he found a stack of pajamas waiting for him. He dressed quickly and as he brushed his teeth, he found himself staring into the bathroom mirror.

It was clean— Hitoshi knew that was an odd detail to notice, but he’d been living in filth for so long, it was almost strange to see his own reflection unsmudged.

He watched in the mirror as his own mouth formed the phrase that was etched into his bones: I’m gonna be a hero.

He’d whispered this to himself hundreds of times before, like a promise he was making to himself. Never once had he gotten anything back, besides the dull ache of determination in his chest.

But this time, Hitoshi heard another voice in his head, one he trusted more than anything:

You already are.