Chapter Text
Shouta hadn’t planned for Hitoshi. He hadn’t planned for children at all. At eighteen (almost nineteen, but that meant shit all) he could barely be considered an adult himself. He wasn’t even legally able to drink. All he was concerned with was his work as a Pro Hero, and making sure he ate and slept enough for Hizashi and Nemuri to get off his back.
But life didn’t give a single fuck about what Shouta wanted, just ask Oboro.
So, instead of Shouta’s easy plan for the night (finishing his patrol, choking down whatever leftover Hizashi had left in his fridge, then summarily passing out on his futon), he was at the emergency room. Watching, unblinkingly, as the ER staff tended to a worryingly small toddler. Where else was he supposed to be after he found the kid wandering the streets of Tokyo, out of his mind with a fever.
And a muzzle locked around his head.
Sheer anger still thrummed through his veins, his eyes narrowed at the innocent hospital workers as they checked for infections. They needed to wait for an oral surgeon to get on site, since apparently the kid’s fucking mouth was wired shut as well. Cold metal around his eyes- sores from uncleaned material and sweat- harsh words from teachers and students alike- Whatever this kid’s (toddler’s) quirk was, it was not one that the world was kind to.
Once the attending surgeon arrived, the ER doctor pulled Shouta to the side, a grim understanding in his eyes as he made sure to remain in the kid’s line of sight, “I’m not going to sugar coat it, Eraserhead-san.” Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the doctor sighed, “This situation isn’t good, and it isn’t the first time we’ve seen Hitoshi-kun here.”
Shouta’s eyes flickered between the doctor and the kid- Hitoshi, his name is Hitoshi-, nodding curtly for him to continue. With pursed lips, the older man grimaced, “This is the first time it’s been so severe, but none of his foster homes have been too kind to him since his quirk developed…”
“What could be so bad they’d muzzle a child ?”
A pained look now, “Brainwash, I believe they call it? Limited mind control requiring a verbal call and response. The last time he was here, we called his foster home and they said they had no interest in ‘raising a future villain’...”
He growled low in his throat, ignoring the shocked look on the doctor’s face, “... He’s not going back to the bastards that did this to him.”
“... While I understand your concern, Eraserhead-san, it’s most likely he’s just going to end up back in a different foster home. The fact you found him wandering the streets… It’s most likely Hitoshi-kun’s current foster family already doesn't want him back…”
Shouta watched as the attending carefully inspected Hitoshi’s now free jaw. Unbidden, memories from school, of a small pitiful cat, surfaced with a scowl. A child and a kitten weren’t anything to compare to one another, but-
I’m powerless- I’m powerless- There’s no Oboro to save him if I turn away. There’s no Nemuri waiting in the wings who’ll take him in-
“You could do just about anything if you put your mind to it.”
Closing his eyes, Shouta squared his shoulders, “Alright then.”
--
The process to get custody of Hitoshi was… depressingly easy. No other foster home in the system, even with the 72,000¥ monthly allowance, wanted to take in a ‘future villain.’ So by the end of the process, the Foster Care office was basically tripping over themselves to get Shouta registered to take Hitoshi in as soon as possible. They even went as far as registering him as a Specialized Foster parent. He only made so much working as an Underground Pro, so the extra 123,000¥ a month was appreciated. Even still, it left an ashy taste in his mouth.
He only needed to be ‘specialized’ because of all the shit Hitoshi went through under their watch, after all.
In the end, it didn’t matter. In the end, what mattered was the relief of seeing the kid safe in his shitty one room apartment tentatively inspecting the barebone furnishing. He had managed to find a kid’s futon at a local thrift store, but decided for everything else it would be better to bring Hitoshi along. They definitely needed to stop at a clothing store, going by the woefully small and light bag the kid had come with.
As Shouta flopped down on one of the zabuton, Hitoshi froze and stared at him wearily. Carefully, slowly, he moved over to the other cushion and took a seat, bowing his head. He fought to keep his poker face as he stomped down his anger. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he reacted like a kicked dog, and he wouldn’t understand that Shouta’s irritation wasn’t his fault.
“You wear your stress all over your sleeve, and drag down the people who need saving.”
Nakaoji’s words bouncing around his head, Shouta let out a slow breath, “So, Hitoshi-kun.” The kid flinched at his words and Shouta wanted to scream, “Hey, you’re fine. I was just gonna say, once you get your bearings we can go shopping.”
Hitoshi frowned, eyes darting around the small apartment. Even with his evident confusion, the kid still said nothing.
“I got you a bed and a place to put your clothes,” Shouta pushed past the sheer confusion on Hitoshi’s face, “But I don’t know what type of clothes, or toys, or whatever you like. So we can go to Daiso or wherever we need.”
Wildly, Hitoshi shook his head as his frown only deepened. He just frowned back at the child, “‘No?’ Why not? I’ve got the money, and this is gonna be your home too. We’ll stop at Sunshine too, we can grab foods that you like.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, “I don’t know much about cooking, but we’ll figure it out…”
An overwhelmed look overtook the kid’s face, his small hands fisting into his pants. Seeing the sheen of tears in his eyes, Shouta leaned forward and placed a hand on the ground before him, “I know it’s a lot. It doesn’t feel real. But I’m-“ blowing a breath out his nose, he gave the kid his best smile, “I’m gonna be right here, doing my best to protect and support you, Hitoshi-kun. Well after it starts feeling real to you, alright? I’ve got you.”
A small hand came to rest in his hand, the kid giving him a tentative nod.
An exhale. Ok, it’s a start.
--
It turned out that going clothes shopping with a kid who refused to speak and express his opinions and an adult(?) who only wore his hero uniform or pajamas was… difficult. Sure, the essentials like underwear and socks were easy enough, even pants were straight forward. But both he and Hitoshi were stuck as they came to the shirt and jacket section.
There were so many colors and patterns hanging from each rack. Shouta wore black, the only real ‘pop’ of color being his yellow goggles, he didn’t know the first thing about what colors a kid should wear. All he knew was a voice that sounded too much like Nemuri rang in his head sternly, You cannot dress a kid in only black, Shouta!
Clearing his throat, he looked down at Hitoshi, “... Do you want to pick out your own shirts?”
The look Hitoshi gave him seemed to yell, I’m four, remember?
Groaning, Shouta rubbed his chin, “Can you at least show me what colors you like…?” Hitoshi was still staring at him, and the feeling of shopping housewives staring at him had begun to weigh on him. Crouching down to Hitoshi’s level, Shouta sighed, “Do you like bright colors or darker colors?” He held up a hand for each option, looking at the kid imploringly.
After a second of Hitoshi eyeing him, the four year old tapped the hand for ‘darker colors.’ Ok, I can work with this. Nodding, Shouta curled that hand closed, “Alright. Do you want black like I wear, or do you want something else?”
The hand for ‘something else’ gets tapped this time.
“Alright… do you like reds or blues more?”
‘Blues.’
A small grin spread across Shouta’s face, “Ok, one more… Do you want solid colors or patterns and stuff?”
Hitoshi hesitated, hand frozen in front of him as he looked between Shouta and the clothes around them. Softly, Shouta murmured, “If you want both, you can tap both of my hands.”
Nervous purple eyes stared at him as Hitoshi carefully tapped both of his hands. Shouta gently squeezed the small hands, giving the kid a nod, “Both it is. Let’s go look, Hitoshi-kun.”
After that, Hitoshi slowly opened up more, even scrunching his nose unhappily as Shouta picked out a shirt the kid didn’t like. By the time they got to Daiso, Hitoshi trotted a few meters in front of Shouta, either pointing to toys he wanted or just grabbing something and placing it in the cart.
Hitoshi was less interested in the plates and utensils, but brightened up when they got to the cups. Looking at the options, Shouta’s eyebrows furrowed, “.... Do you need a sippy cup?”
When he glanced down, Hitoshi’s face was outright insulted, his nose wrinkled tightly as he shook his head. Shouta huffed at the kid, “How am I supposed to know, kid? You still need training chopsticks, it’s not a far guess.”
He sniffed at Shouta, pointedly picking up an All Might cup on the shelf and dropping it with the rest of their purchases. With a roll of his eyes, Shouta ruffled the kid’s hair, “Ok, I got it. You’re still getting those partitioned plate things though.”
Staring at him, Hitoshi nodded slowly, as if saying Yes, since I’m four.
--
Two days later, Shouta and Hitoshi were in their apartment’s small kitchen contemplating a pile of ingredients. The kid was sitting on the counter, looking between the food and Shouta with a doubtful look.
Wrinkling his nose, Shouta rolled up his sleeves, “Don’t give me that look, Hitoshi-kun, I can do this.”
Poking an egg on the counter, he nodded slowly at Shouta. Rolling his eyes, Shouta grabbed the egg pointedly, “How hard can it be? I’ve survived this long, I’m sure I can make oyakodon.”
Hitoshi shifted further away on the counter, looking pointedly at the stove. Shouta pulled a face at the kid, “I know how to cook well enough to not cause a fire. Have some faith, will you?”
The kid stuck his tongue out at him, his nose scrunched up as the front door clicked open. And Hizashi’s familiar loud voice rang out, “Yo, yo, yo! Shouta! You haven’t been answering your phone, bud! Well, more than usual that is! Nemuri even said you haven’t replied to her Sushi pictures!”
They move quickly, Shouta clicking the stove range off when Hitoshi jumped and stumbled off the counter to cling to Shouta’s pants. The two of them froze and stared, as Hizashi stopped in the genkan. Lowering his shoes slowly, the blond pursed his lips at them, “... Hey, Shouta, who’s the kid…?”
Crouching down, he gave his friend a pointed look before carefully wrapping an arm around Hitoshi. Whispering softly, he squeezed the kid, “Hey, it’s ok. I know he’s loud, but he’s safe. He’s a Pro Hero too.” Trembling, Hitoshi’s purple eyes stared at him pleadingly, “His name’s Yamada Hizashi, his hero name is Present Mic. He’s my friend.”
Once Hitoshi’s trembling calmed down, he picked the boy up and held him to his chest as he made his way to Hizashi. Taking the cue, Hizashi met them halfway in the center of the apartment, giving Hitoshi a tentative smile, “Hey little listener, what’s your name?”
Small hands tightened in Shouta’s shirt as he sighed, “... This is Shinsou Hitoshi. I’m fostering him.”
Hizashi’s brow furrowed, “Is he not old enough to talk, Shouta?”
Hitoshi flinched, Shouta smoothing a hand through his hair, “... Sit down, Hizashi. It’s a long story.”
By the end, Shouta could see Hizashi fighting to conceal his anger. His own brow was pinched, the memories reviving the heat of rage he’d felt when he found Hitoshi. He bit it back however, as the kid pulled on his sleeve and motioned to his stomach pointedly. Nodding, Shouta stood up, “We were in the middle of making lunch. We can keep talking while I cook.”
“... You’re going to cook, Shouta?” Hizashi gave him an incredulous look, Hitoshi immediately copying the expression.
Narrowing his eyes, Shouta waved his hand, “Don’t you start too, I’m perfectly capable of cooking.”
“Uh-huh, how about, instead, since I intruded on you two, I’ll cook instead?” Before Shouta could even retort, Hizashi was in the kitchen pulling on an apron. Shouta would have protested, if he hadn’t felt Hitoshi sag in relief into his side. Instead, he just sighed and carried the kid over to sit on the counter again so they could watch the other man cook.
As he chopped away, Hizashi hummed, “So have you signed Hitoshi-kun up for kindergarten yet? He’s the age for nenshou right?”
“...?” Shouta tilted his head, “Kindergarten’s optional, right?”
“Well, yea, when you got someone at home watching your kid, Shouta! You at least gotta figure out a sitter or even find a public daycare. Plus, Hitoshi-kun here’s gotta get socialized with other kids!” Shouta and Hitoshi both eyed Hizashi wearily, the blond shaking his head, “Probably a private daycare, honestly. It’s way past the enrollment time for a kindergarten, and the amount of kids at a public one would probably freak the little listener out.”
Picking up one of Hitoshi’s cat plushies and handing it to the kid, Shouta leaned on the counter, “How do you know so much about this, Hizashi?”
As he continued to prepare the food, Hizashi waved a hand, “My mom would complain about it to me when she had to sign my little sibling up.”
Nodding, Shouta hummed, “What do you think, Hitoshi-kun?” Once the kid looked up from his plushie, Shouta raised his hands, “Do you want me to try and find a small daycare, or is a big one fine?”
Hitoshi contemplated his hands as Hizashi frowned, “You’re gonna have him decide, Shouta?”
Keeping eye contact with the kid, Shouta nodded, “Yea. He’s gotta know I’m gonna take what he wants into account when it comes to decisions, right? Hitoshi-kun?”
Looking up, a small smile flickered across Hitoshi’s lips. After a moment of silence, a small hand tapped ‘small,’ and Shouta nodded, “Alright, sounds good. I’ll do my best, Hitoshi-kun.”
Hitoshi made a soft happy noise before he wriggled on the counter, pulling on Shouta’s sleeve. Once he tilted his head, the kid pointed to his pile of toys in the corner, “Gotcha, gotcha, kid. Hold on…” After Shouta placed him on the ground Hitoshi went to play, leaving the adults alone.
Glancing back, Shouta caught an odd look in Hizashi’s eyes that quickly disappeared, replaced by a smile, “You really figured out a communication system with him, huh Shouta?”
“Mmm yea…” folding his arms, Shouta leaned his chin down, “One day he’s gonna be comfortable enough to talk again.”
Shaking his head, Hizashi laughed, “With you there? I don’t doubt it, bud.” Reaching over the counter, he gave a small tap to the top of his head, “Let me help you, yea?”
Shouta mumbled, “You didn’t sign up for this, I did, Hizashi.”
“Mmm yea, but even if we’re not a hero team, we’re still a team right?”
Glancing up, Shouta stared at his friend before nodding slowly, “... Yea I guess you’re right.”
“Awesome! So first order of business, making sure you don’t accidentally poison the kid!”
“My cooking is not that bad!”
--
They fell into an easy pattern after that, once Shouta got Hitoshi enrolled in a nearby daycare. They’d wake up, eat a simple breakfast, get Hitoshi dressed and dropped off at daycare, and Shouta would be off to do his patrols around the city. Then, once it was time for pickup, Shouta would get Hitoshi and go home, where they’d have dinner, watch TV or play with the kid’s toys, wash up for the night, before eventually falling asleep to do it all again the next day.
It was easy enough to say, but that didn’t mean it worked out all the time. Shouta was still a pro so his schedule was unpredictable at the best of times. So sometimes, Nemuri or Hizashi would have to go pick Hitoshi up for Shouta, if he was delayed for too long. Or he’d have to ask a neighbor to keep an eye on the kid if an emergency came up after daycare.
Their lives were hectic and unpredictable, but it was theirs.
Shouta did his best with Hitoshi, giving him a heads up whenever he thought he might not be able to pick up the kid himself. Or explain the best he could why he needed to leave to go help other local heroes. And while the kid still didn’t speak, Shouta liked to think he knew Hitoshi well enough by that point. That the nod he received was of understanding and acceptance when he needed to leave. That the bright smile when he came back safe and sound was one of happiness at his return.
One night, as Shouta fought his insomnia, trying to get any sleep, he heard Hitoshi stir. Rather, he heard soft muffled whines and whimpers coming from the boy. Sluggishly lifting his own head, Shouta watched quietly as the small lump under the other futon shivered.
A nightmare, then…?
Quietly pushing out of his futon, Shouta slowly padded over to Hitoshi, only stopping briefly to pick up one of the kid’s stuffed toys. Carefully, he laid down on the ground beside the futon and placed the plushie near the opening of the blanket. Stretching one of his arms over the top of the futon, Shouta let out a soft reassuring hum, “You awake, Hitoshi-kun…?”
A startled noise was the only response he received, but it was enough, “Hey, it’s fine. A nightmare or bad memories got to you, right?”
Hitoshi made a soft affirmative sound.
“I get it… they’re scary right? I get them too.” Staring at the ceiling, Shouta sighed softly, “Whatever you need, I’m here.” Shifting his hand, he gave the cat plushie a tap, “I brought Himechan too, so you can hug her.”
Small arms snaked out of the covers, wrapping around the toy. As Shouta waited, eventually purple hair and eyes peeked out to stare at him. Smiling softly, he tilted his head into the crook of his arm, “There you are, Hitoshi-kun.”
The kid wriggled under his covers, his teeth catching his lip. “Mmm, c’mere, I’ll tell you a story, ok?”
Shifting, the kid squirmed to rest against Shouta’s chest. Wrapping his arm to cradle Hitoshi, Shouta closed his eyes, “There you go, Hikkun.” Humming softly, he began, “Once upon a time, there was an old woodcutter and his wife…”
By the time Shouta finished the story, Hitoshi was snoring quietly on his chest. Face lax, the four year old’s small hands were loosely fisted in Shouta’s shirt. With a quiet hum, Shouta pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his kid’s head, “G’night, Hikkun.” Before falling asleep himself, knowing the crick he would have in his neck the next morning was well worth it.
--
Shouta had not meant to leave Hitoshi alone for this long. At all, ideally, but things had not gone as he had planned. They had been making dinner when Shouta realized they were out of milk and soy sauce. Normally he would have just brought Hitoshi out to the store with him, but the kid was tired, pleasantly overwhelmed from the time he had spent with Nemuri before Shouta got home.
So, he had thought foolishly, Hitoshi would be fine alone at home in the ten minutes it’d take him to run to the conbini and back. And if he had anyone’s luck other than his own, it would have been fine. But no, he was Aizawa Shouta.
And life did not give a fuck about what he wanted.
When he got to the conbini around the corner, he found that it was closed for renovations. Fine, no problem, there was another one five minutes away. Hitoshi was a good kid, he’d be fine in the time it took for him to get to the other one and back.
Which is why, of course, on his way to the other conbini he saw a villain being chased down. Which delayed him by half an hour, since he had to stop and help. And then that conbini was out of milk, somehow. So he had to run to the next closest conbini, where they didn’t even have the brand of soy sauce Hitoshi liked. But by that point he’d been gone for over an hour and needed to get back to his kid.
Hitoshi was a good kid, he wouldn’t get into trouble on purpose. But the kid didn’t talk, not to mention calling out if he was in trouble. Images of shattered glass and his kid bleeding out, or him slipping in the bathroom and hitting his head, or ( gods forbid ) a villain attacking the apartment building in his absence all spun in Shouta’s head as he ran home.
The building was still standing when he rounded the corner, but that didn’t slow the pounding of his feet or heart as he dashed up the stairs. There was no villain, no fire, no crying that he could hear as he burst through the front door panting for air, his eyes searched the apartment, “Hikkun, I’m sorry I took so long-!”
There, in the center of their apartment Hitoshi crouched unharmed, staring at him with his wide purple eyes. That was fine. That was a relief! What wasn’t expected was that Hitoshi wasn’t alone.
Four kids sat with his kid, grey and blue eyes staring at him with varying levels of weariness and fear. White and red haired, scuffed and dirtied kids, frozen in the middle of wrapping a bandage poorly around one of the boy’s arms. The only girl shook, the roll of cloth falling out of her hands as she whimpered softly.
A boy barely bigger than Hitoshi was curled up on his kid’s futon, clutching onto a plushie as shudders wracked his body.
Once the door fell closed behind him, Shouta watched as Hitoshi slowly stood up and walked over to him. A small hand reached up and curled around his fingers, pleading purple eyes turned up to him. As a small voice, soft and weak from disuse, spoke, “Help them… Please, dad.”
As Shouta’s son asked him to help these hurt and lost kids.
Closing his eyes, he dropped to his knees and clutched Hitoshi to his chest, “... Yea… Yea, ok, Hikkun.”