Chapter Text
Hitoshi kicks at the gravel by the edge of the curve. His social worker is currently up the sidewalk from him, talking to his foster parents, well, former foster parents, in an attempt to soothe them. Turning to pick at the edge of the black trash bag, Shinsou lets out a low sigh.
He wasn’t really sure what he had done this time, but it was enough to be the final straw. Not that he was really complaining.
He’d spent 10 years at this orphanage with short breaks at different foster homes, but it was apparently preferable to whatever they were going to do with him next. His social worker, Jin Ishiyama, had said that he was being placed with a foster family that “reforms'' their wards. The tone Ishiyama had used sent chills up his spine.
If St John’s wasn’t the dregs of the foster system, he couldn’t imagine how awful a reformation family would be.
A soft tap to his shoulder drew Hitoshi from his thoughts and he peeked up from where he was crouched.
Ishiyama was looking down at him with a remorseful expression, hand gesturing to the same black car he’s had since taking Shinsou’s case 6 years ago. Hitoshi scrutinizes his face before tapping at the metal encasing his jaw. Ishiyama just shakes his head in return, leaving Shinsou to hang his head as he pulls himself up and slings the trash bag over his shoulder.
It was worth at least asking.
The ride to whatever home they were going to took them across town, into a nicer area surprisingly. Ishiyama had promised he wouldn’t have to leave UA, and while Shinsou was appreciative of that, he was expecting to at least have a long train ride in his future.
They pulled up to a nondescript building, the outside indistinguishable from the buildings next to it. It didn’t look out of place here, blending into the background in a way that if you weren’t looking for it you wouldn’t find the place. While the outside left Shinsou nonplussed, the interior was another story.
The security to enter the building was complex and required multiple codes and key sensors to get up to the 5th floor. Ishiyama led them up with ease, using a key to access each security point and entering a code that Hitoshi wasn’t keen on learning. He wouldn’t be here long anyway.
Plush carpet muffled Hitoshi’s already soft footsteps, the blank walls warmed by the occasional wall sconce, all contributed to an air of luxury without looking gaudy. Hitoshi wasn’t sure what type of family he was going to be with. Not a single home he had lived in had been this nice.
Finally, they reached a door at the end of the ridiculously long hallway and Ishiyama knocked softly.
“Best behavior, Shinsou. This is your last chance, alright?” The social worker whispered.
Shinsou curled in on himself slightly, shoving his free hand deeper into his pockets as he glared down at his worn boots. He knew that. He knew that he was on thin ice when placed with the St. John’s, so he just nodded his head and prepared himself for the inevitable.
The door swings open with a soft click and there’s a sharp inhale.
“What’s that on his face?” growls out a familiar, deep voice.
Hitoshi’s head snaps up, taking in the black hero jumpsuit and gray worn capture scarf of his mentor.
Oh shit.
----
(2 hours earlier)
Shouta had been awoken from his afternoon catnap by the shrill ring of his cellphone. His personal cell phone. It was a rarity that someone other than his friends or Nedzu called him on this phone, therefore it must be incredibly important. He slips a hand out of his yellow sleeping bag, not even opening his eyes fully before answering the call.
“Hello,” he grunts, voice rough with sleep.
“Aizawa-san, I am sorry to bother you,” the nervous voice of his favorite caseworker replies.
Shouta sighs and rolls out of the sleeping bag, already rubbing his eyes and feeling a headache building.
“Ishiyama-san, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I have a difficult case for you. I know it’s been several years since you’ve had someone rotate through, but this would be his last chance before we send him out to a juvenile detention center or group school.”
Shouta rubs at his dry eyes harder and tries to suppress a groan. Right now wasn’t the best time to take a kid in, but if they were that at risk it might be possible.
“Tell me a bit about him,” Shouta sighs.
“15, UA student, he has a pretty dangerous quirk and has been on probation at St. John’s for ages. He’s rotated through more foster than I can count and never for very long. St, John’s says they want him gone by the end of the day. If you can’t take him, I’ll take him out to the Musutafu Home for Boys for the night until I can figure something out.”
His ears had perked up at hearing the kid was a UA student. He wasn’t one of Shouta’s hero students, he had files on any kid in foster care and this year he didn’t have any. Maybe it was a support course student, or maybe Hizashi might know them.
“I’ll take him on trial for now. My job is dangerous at the moment, but if this is it for him then we’ll try it. Send me his file and give me an ETA so I can have his room prepped.” Aizawa finally replies.
“Thank you Aizawa-san,” The relief in Ishiyama’s voice is nearly palpable, “He’s a good kid even if everyone says he isn’t. It’s that quirk of his that keeps getting him in trouble. I’ll have him over by 7’oclock. I still have the key you gave me last time.”
Shouta mutters a quick affirmation before hanging up. It was just after five, so he’d need to get to work on this as soon as possible. The file hadn’t come through yet, but he could at least call Hizashi to let him know.
He propped his phone on his shoulder, curling back into his sleeping bag for just a few more minutes of warmth while he talked to his husband.
Hizashi picked up on the third ring with a loud greeting.
“Zashi,” Shouta murmured, used to the loud blonde’s volume, “we have an emergency placement that’ll be at the apartment in two hours.”
“A little listener? How exciting! Do you know who they are yet?” Hizashi replies enthusiastically.
“No, I just got off the phone with Ishiyama. I figured I would let you know so you can head home soon. The guest room is prepped, it just needs to be dusted, and we should probably put the cats away until we know how he feels about them.”
Hizashi hums an affirmation, letting Shouta know that he’ll see him soon before hanging up.
Shouta had a feeling this was going to be a long night.
----
(Present)
Hitoshi immediately averts his eyes to his shoes, panic flooding his veins as he works to stay still.
That was his mentor in the doorway.
Aizawa-sensei was a reformation foster parent.
Hitoshi knew that Aizawa-sensei could be hardass in training. He had left Hitoshi barely able to walk to St. John’s many times, limbs barely functioning and brain buzzing from strategy information, but the teacher had never struck him as a reformation host. His skin started to crawl. Maybe Aizawa-sensei wasn’t the person Hitoshi had thought him to be.
“Aizawa-san,” Ishiyama starts softly, “I know how you feel about quirk inhibitors, but this one is necessary. Shinsou’s quirk is extremely powerful and very dangerous. He says that he has control of it, but from reports he really doesn’t, so the quirk inhibitor is needed until he can be trusted.”
“I will decide if he needs it or not, seeing as he’s my mentee and now my ward. I know that he has perfect control over his quirk. He doesn’t need a fucking muzzle. ” Aizawa-sensei snaps before crouching down in front of Hitoshi.
Hitoshi tries his best to look anywhere but at his mentor’s face, choosing to instead glare harder at his boots. Don’t make eye contact, don’t breathe too hard, don’t move a muscle.
“We’re going to get this off, okay Shinsou? I’ll call Hizashi and he’ll take care of you while I speak to Ishiyama-san.” Aizawa’s tone is soft, but when Hitoshi flicks his eyes up he catches a wave of simmering anger in his mentor’s gaze. He’s not sure if that anger is pointed towards him or for him. Both options leave him rattled.
“Aizawa-san, please, his quirk-” Ishiyama starts to plead, but Aizawa cuts him off.
“Hizashi!” Aizawa-sensei calls over his shoulder, ignoring the horrified look on the social worker's face.
In the next moment, a tall, blonde man is skirting around the corner with a huge smile on his face. His hair is piled on top of his head and he has reading glasses that are sliding down to the tip of his nose. His face is oddly familiar in a way that Hitoshi just can’t place. Like when you’re trying to think of a word and it’s just on the tip of your tongue.
“Hey, little listener! Welcome hom-” the blonde is yelling before stopping like he had hit a brick wall. “I see,” his tone darkens slightly, “let’s go get that off, yeah Shinsou? I know you don’t need to wear that. I’m very much aware of your quirk control.”
Hitoshi peers at the man inquisitively before looking at Aizawa-sensei for help.
His teacher just chuckles before elbowing the blonde in the side.
“Hizashi, he doesn’t recognize you out of your uniform. It’s Present Mic, kid, your homeroom teacher.” Aizawa-sensei informs him helpfully.
Hitoshi’s eyes widened at the realization for a split second before returning back to his neutral expression. He nods and quietly slips past Aizawa-sensei, following his laughing homeroom teacher further into the apartment.
Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei were married. His teachers were married and were reformation fosters. They were his reformation fosters.
Hitoshi felt his breathing quicken as he followed a few paces behind Yamada-sensei, eyes trained on the other man’s heels. It was a dream to be rescued by his favorite heroes. Saved from nasty foster homes and a hopeless situation at St. John’s.
But he had given up on that ages ago. Even when he finally met the two of them and started his hero training he hadn’t considered the idea. It was a pipe dream from his childhood. Even though meeting his idols hadn’t been a letdown in the slightest, he couldn’t let any hope build in him. Hitoshi hadn’t imagined that his teachers were a reformation home, a home that he was now placed in.
He gripped his chest with one hand, the other snaking up to tug at the tight metal that was latched on his face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe.
A soft hand landed on his upper back and Hitoshi flinched hard. Not good, need to calm down before he’s punished.
When had they gotten to the bathroom? Hitoshi didn’t even remember crossing the living room. The hand moved from his back to pull his hand away from the muzzle, gently placing it on soft fabric across from him. The fabric was moving forward and back, a slow, even rhythm. Hitoshi struggled against the hand holding his, even as he ignored the black that was crowding the edges of his vision.
Breathe idiot, breathe!
Hitoshi worked through breathing as deeply as he could while staying immobile and silent. Eyes cast down at the floor and attempting to count the tiles. The hand hadn’t moved from where it was holding Hitoshi’s, even as Hitoshi had frozen and stopped struggling.
Slowly, the world began to filter in sound that he hadn’t realized he had lost.
“-there you go, can you hear me now Shinsou? You’re doing good buddy, keep breathing with me. Yup, just like that. It’ll be over in a few minutes, just keep up those deep breaths. Let’s flush the adrenaline out of your system. In and Out. Good job, you’re doing so well,” Yamada-sensei muttered in an endless stream.
His tone was low, soothing, like he was using his quirk to pitch his voice in a more soothing tone. Actually, Hitoshi was sure that was exactly what he was doing. It was giving him something to focus on, to maybe pick apart later when he was alone.
With his brain distracted and his breathing finally evening out, Hitoshi finally felt the panic attack ending and leaving behind the typical exhaustion. He briefly flicked his eyes up before remembering the no eye contact rule.
“ Sorry,” Hitoshi signed before ducking his head. Dammit, why couldn’t he remember any of the rules right now?
“It’s ok listener, panic attacks happen sometimes,” Yamada-sensei replied gently, “Maybe we can talk about it when I get this off of you. Is it ok if I touch the back of your head?”
Hitoshi whipped his head back and forth, scrambling away from the hero and pushing himself into the corner of the bathroom.
“Woah, ok bud,” Yamada-sensei holds his hands out, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just figured you would want the muzzle off.”
Putting a hand up to his face, Hitoshi pushed harder on the muzzle. He couldn’t take this off, he wasn’t allowed to have it off outside of school. Blood trickled slightly from fresh cuts being jostled. It had been put on too tightly earlier during one of St. John’s… punishments, and opened up old cuts that had just started to heal over. Shoving the device further into his face made the wounds worse, blood starting to trickle down his throat. He couldn’t let the hero take this off, it was breaking the rules.
“Do you not want it off? You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to, but it looks like it’s hurting you,” Yamada-sensei took a step back, giving Hitoshi more space.
Hitoshi shoved himself further into the corner as the man moved, even if was to get farther away.
“You know you don’t have to wear that? Shou and I would never, ever make you wear a muzzle ,” Yamada-sensei nearly growled the last word, sounding just like Aizawa-sensei had at the door.
Oh god, they were going to make him wear something worse than the muzzle. That’s what he meant, right? Because no one would ever let someone with a villainous quirk talk in their home. This is a reform home, it’s meant to be stricter and harsher than the orphanage. Could it even get worse? Well, the two of them were heroes and had access to villain-level quirk suppressants, so it’s totally possible they might have something St. John’s didn’t.
“Shinsou let me-” Present Mic stepped forward with his hand outstretched slightly and Hitoshi immediately dropped to the floor, back sliding on the tile as he threw his hands up to protect himself.
“Oh, kid, kid. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take that thing off so you can talk to us,” he soothed and sat down on the floor. Mic didn’t move any closer, didn’t try to touch Hitoshi, didn’t even look like he was going to do much more than talk. So, Hitoshi lowered his hands, slowly albeit, and stared at the hero with wide eyes.
“ Off?” he signs with shaky hands, not sure if he was really allowed to speak.
“Yup, off, little listener. I know you don’t want to be close to me right now, but I am going to have to get close enough to work the thing off. I’ll stay right here and you come to me when you’re ready. I won’t move, promise.”
Hitoshi narrows his eyes slightly, holding his hands tightly to his chest as he tries to analyze Present Mic. The man was very different out of his hero costume, even more different than in school. His posture was relaxed, hands in his lap, and his face seemed open and kind. There was no malice or hidden intent in his eyes, only a bright light that Hitoshi wanted to bask in, like when Yamada-sensei gave him praise in class. His body language didn’t scream aggression, but more of a casual openness that Hitoshi wasn’t sure what to do with.
Cautiously, Hitoshi crawled forward and sat just out of arm’s reach of the hero. Best to be precautious.
“Thanks, listener,” Yamada-sensei said quietly but didn’t move to do anything. “I’m going to need to get to the clasp. Can I see the side of your head?”
Hitoshi nodded and turned his body, leaning his elbows on his knees to rest while Yamada-sensei moved slightly closer to look at the muzzle straps. He hissed out a sharp breath when lithe fingers probed at the back of his head where the strap had been digging in.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s on pretty tight and cutting into your scalp. I’m going to have to cut it off, but it’s going to take some time since I’ll have to be so careful. Does that sound like a good plan to you?” Yamada-sensei pulled his hands away and put them back into his lap while he waited for Hitoshi’s reply.
Hitoshi is very confused as to why Yamada-sensei keeps asking for his permission, but he nods anyway, unsure if he would be allowed to say no.
Yamada-sensei hummed quietly as he worked at the leather straps. His hands are cool against Hitoshi’s scalp and he moves as carefully as he said he would, stopping to check that Hitoshi is alright every few minutes. Eventually, he hears the soft snap! Of the last of the leather being cut and lets out a sigh of relief when the straps fall away. His hands reach up to yank the muzzle off, but his teacher is quick to stop him.
“Wait, bud! Don’t pull it off just yet,” Yamada-sensei rushed before placing a hand over the muzzle to hold it to Hitoshi’s face.
Hitoshi immediately rears back and away from the hand, tears welling in his eyes. He knew it, knew it was too good to be true. Yamada-sensei wasn’t taking the muzzle off completely, just fixing it the way he wanted it to be. Hitoshi scratched at Yamada-sensei’s hand, a soft sob escaping him even through the tight clamp of the contraption.
Yamada-sensei’s hand finally moved and Hitoshi yanked the muzzle off his face, chucking it into the corner of the bathroom and as far from him as possible. He was already stumbling to his feet, ready to bolt from the room and away from the man before he could be punished, but a solid body blocked his path.
“Shinsou, you’re bleeding,” the gruff voice of his mentor stopped him.
Aizawa-sensei was right, he could feel hot blood dripping down his cheeks, dripping off his chin and onto his shirt, joining the rivulets that had traveled down his neck earlier. But that wasn’t important at the moment, it was more important to get out of the small space of the bathroom than to worry about a little bit of blood.
Hitoshi pushed hard at Aizawa-sensei’s chest, but the man didn’t budge, just put his hands on Hitoshi’s shoulders and held him firmly yet gently in place.
“Shinsou, we’re not going to hurt you or make you wear the muzzle. We just didn’t want to make the cuts worse by pulling the muzzle off too quickly. It’s ok that you did, I would have panicked too,” Aizawa-sensei soothes, much kinder than how he sounds at school or training, “but Hizashi and I would really like to clean those cuts if you’ll let us. We’ll take you to see Recovery Girl in the morning, but we need to make sure they don’t end up infected before then.”
The fight leaves Hitoshi’s body and he drops his head in defeat and shame. What was he thinking acting like this? He was really asking for something bad to happen. Clasping his hands tightly in front of him, Hitoshi turns stiffly and sits on the edge of the tub.
“ Sorry, I’ll stay still Aizawa-sensei,” Hitoshi signs. Better not to speak yet since he wasn’t sure of the rules.
“It’s alright,” Aizawa-sensei sighs as he crouches in front of Hitoshi, just like earlier, “can I take a look?”
Hitoshi nods again, tilting his face towards Aizawa-sensei while still keeping his gaze downward. Aizawa takes his face gently in one hand and cleans each of the cuts, spreading medicine on them, and bandaging them. Now, Hitoshi has a line of bandages across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and on the underside of his jaw. He was sure looked ridiculous.
Aizawa-sensei sits back on his heels and gathers the excess paper from unwrapping the bandages. Hitoshi waits, unsure of what he should do now, waiting for an order. He holds his breath, afraid to start hyperventilating again. What happens now? When does he learn the rules? What does Aizawa-sensei do to reform kids?
A soft hand on his knee startles him from another thought spiral.
“Why don’t you get settled in your room? We can talk for a bit after.” Aizawa murmurs.
Hitoshi slowly stands from the bathtub and slinks around Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei, who had been sitting on the counter and handing his mentor supplies as he worked, not fully turning his back until he reaches the doorway. He backs out of the room, eyes trained on the two teachers before turning the corner. He walks on silent feet along the edge of the hallway towards what he assumes is the room he’ll be staying in, doing his best not to sprint to somewhere he might feel sort of safe.