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“Hey, Dad.”
It’s so soft that Shouta just misses it, having to strain his hearing over the incessant ringing in his ears. Huh, he must’ve drifted off for a while, probably from whenever the shitshow at the USJ happened to whatever day it was now. His arms feel stiff–his whole body feels stiff–and he can’t see anything out of the corner of his eyes, partially blocked by something white in his vision. There’s the smell of antiseptic wipes, the beeping of a monitor, a sharp pain in his head, and the tug of something weighing him down as he tries to shift, trying to find where the voice is coming from.
Oh yeah. Multiple injuries from getting his fucking head slammed into the ground. He can now feel all the bandages around his arm, legs, torso, face–just about everywhere.
“It’s now day…..five since my release from the hospital and day seven since the USJ.” Shouta easily recognizes the voice as his kid. “You’ve been unconscious–and still are—since the USJ. Everyone there was safe, y’know? Even Mineta, although Tsu was adamant on leaving him for the League.” Izuku lets out a soft laugh and Shouta can feel his son’s gaze fall on him. “Uhm, let’s see. Auntie Nem has been going back and forth between the house, UA, and here to check on all of us and the cats. This morning, she actually dragged Pops out of the room to take him home so he could get actual sleep.”
Izuku begins to crack. Shouta can feel–in his many broken bones–the exact moment his son begins to crumble. No matter how doped-up he feels at the moment, he can tell that his son isn’t faring too well, and it’s breaking his heart.
From the sniffles to the way his voice begins to grow to a whisper. He wants nothing more than to reach out and ruffle his hair, pull his kid into his arms, tell him how proud he is and how much he loves him. But, he’s currently in a full-body cast and in a fuckton of pain, so all he can do is listen for the time being.
“Recovery Girl had healed my injuries as soon as we got here, but I ended up sleeping for a while. She said it was from the response of her quirk and the exhaustion of the battle. Pops was going back and forth in between rooms, checking to see when I would wake up and when you would get out of surgery. For all I know, he’s going gray, so we owe him big time when it’s his birthday.” Izuku lets out a slight laugh at that, though, as Shouta slowly turns his head to look at his son, he sees the sadness in his eyes. He sees Izuku’s deep, purple eyebags, his curls all fluffed up and messy, one of Hizashi’s sweatshirts hanging off of his frame from where he’s curled up in a chair.
“I-I think it would be nice if you woke up soon, Dad.” His voice cracks and Shouta wants nothing more than to scoop his son up in his arms. “We all miss you—I miss you. I think Dirt’s starting to go insane since she’s, according to Auntie Nem, been tearing up multiple pillows.” There’s a soft inhale as Izuku is physically restraining himself from crying. His heart is breaking. “I told myself I-I wouldn’t cry. It would be your decision if you’d want to wake up after all, but I know h-how much you’d h-hate it if you didn’t. You try to act all gruff and cold, especially towards the class, but you l-love us all. You ‘tolerate’ us.”
Then he goes back to that soft tone of voice, where Shouta has to stop himself from leaning closer towards his son, lest he irritates his injuries even more. Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on his kid.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Dad.” A sniffle. “I couldn’t do it–I knew I was a fool to rush into battle. I-I wasn’t s-strong enough and n-now you’re like t-this!” He hears Izuku as the teen begins to take short breaths, the sound of a chair sliding across the floor, all before the teen is standing over his hospital bed. There’s a small weight on one of his hands as Izuku tries to hold onto it, messing around with the pristine bandages. “I just want my Dad back, and to rip off Shigaraki’s head. Why…why is the universe always against me? What did I do? What did I do to deserve this–why aren’t you awake, why is Pops suffering in silence, why wasn’t I strong enough to save you?”
His head drops onto the mattress, falling just a few inches away from where Shouta’s hip is. The man can only stare up at the ceiling in shock, his mind reeling from the confessions and bad thoughts plaguing his son’s head. How he started off so calm, so, so calm, and just spiraled. If it weren’t already shattered into a million pieces, Shouta’s heart would’ve broken.
Very carefully, so he doesn’t hurt himself or scare his son, Shouta places his arm on Izuku’s head, just resting it there. Immediately, Izuku goes rigid, and Shouta can practically hear the gears turning inside his kid’s head. Izuku carefully lifts his head up from where he’s face-first into the sheets of the bed, looking at his father. Shouta opens his eyes again, squinting from the bright LED lights and blinking before he turns to stare at Izuku.
Tears are welling up in his son’s eyes, the beautiful, viridian color shining in the bright hospital lights. Shouta wants nothing more than to pull the kid into his arms, to hold on tight to his kid, his Problem Child, his son, his baby.
“Kid-” He starts before his throat feels as if it’s closing. He’s trying to pull himself up, coughing all the way, before coming to the realization that his arms are still broken (what a shock) and slipping back down onto the mattress. Izuku knows what to do, his amazing and smart and wonderful son. He gets up, presses a button on the hospital bed that allows Shouta to sit up, and places a straw in front of his mouth.
“I-it’s not coffee, only water, but it’ll have to do for now.”
Shouta, gratefully, takes small sips of the cup of water with some help from Izuku. He finishes it about halfway and waits patiently for Izuku to sit down again, seeing as the kid goes to press a red button to alert the nurse of his consciousness.
“Kid,” Shouta starts, seeing how Izuku’s head snaps to stare at him as if he’s not believing that this is happening. As if he’s somehow dreaming and that his father isn’t awake yet—Shouta has been accustomed to what his son has thought for the last ten years.
“D-dad,” Izuku chokes out, sliding his chair closer to the hospital bed. “How…what…when?”
“Since you started talking, I think. How long was I-“
“Seven days, Dad. Seven.” Tears are starting to stream down his cheeks. “Seven days of waiting and waiting and even more waiting until you’d wake up. Seven days of waiting and then you suddenly wake up and don’t even say anything?! I’d punch you if you weren’t a mummy,” he sniffles.
“Do it, I fucking dare you.”
Izuku tries to hold in a snort, tears rolling down his cheeks at the motion. He must still be on a lot of meds at the moment, it’s probably why he doesn’t seem to have a filter and that he can’t feel his legs.
“Hm, maybe not when a nurse is on the way.” Shouta lets out a hum of amusement.
A lull in the conversation.
“Kid?” Nothing.
“Problem Child?” Still nothing.
“Izuku Yamada-Aizawa?”
“Izuku Aizawa-Yamada?”
“Izuku Aiyama..?”
“Izuku Yamazawa…?”
“Izuku-“
“I’ve been paying attention for the past 2 minutes, Dad,” Izuku’s eyes are still glimmering with tears, yet there’s amusement in his eyes. “Although, it was funny hearing all of those versions of my name. Very creative, very logical.” He not-so-secretly hides his phone from Shouta’s view, obviously sending the video that he took to Hizashi and Nemuri. Probably even Yagi, too.
“I am a very creative person,” he states, matter-of-factly. “But anyways, before I pass out or get sidetracked like some cat,” he glares at the eyebrow raise Izuku gives him. “I wanna know what’s up with you, kid. What’s all this talk about ‘not being strong enough’? You’ve been training to be a hero, have become Nedzu’s personal student, and could analyze any type of quirk since you were six. For all I know, you’ve been analyzing before you could even write, let alone talk.” He slightly moves his hand, beckoning Izuku to come closer to the bed. As his son hesitantly moves his chair and takes his place beside Shouta, the man places a bandaged hand on his arm. Izuku grabs onto it immediately.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
He sniffles. “You got hurt. I was fine at first and then y-you got h-hurt….a-and I couldn’t do anything. I-I couldn’t push my feelings aside and h-help. A-and then I-I got hurt and-”
Shouta moves to sit up, cutting off Izuku in the process. Izuku takes both of his hands, helping him to sit upright and fixing the pillows behind him.
“How bad? Where?” He easily remembers Izuku confessing about how he had been released from the hospital recently. (And how his husband was tearing himself apart the entire time. Hopefully he’s on his way soon, knowing that he’s awake due to the video Izuku sent him. God, he misses Hizashi, he really just wants to give him a hug.)
But he has his problem child to worry about.
Izuku pales slightly. Shouta only stares at him, blankly. “You can’t get out of this one, kid.”
“Broken ribs and a sprained foot.” Shouta’s eyes drift to the floor, spotting the bandaged wrapped around Izuku’s socked left foot. “I think I had a concussion, too, so I don’t remember much after seeing you hit the ground. I knew Pops arrived since I heard him scream and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone in class since my phone broke. He says that everyone’s worried, both him and Auntie, but didn’t allow any visitors.”
He sniffles before a small, determined smile dons his face. “But I’m okay.”
Shouta gently takes his kid’s hand as best as he can. He looks like he’s in mittens—a mummy in mittens—due to the amount of bandages. “No you’re not. Izuku, kid, you’re still crying. Your eyes are all puffy and you have eyebags larger than mine.” His kid slumps down, elbows resting against the mattress of the hospital bed as he leans into Shouta’s side, head resting under his chin. Again, and oh-so gently, he repeats, “What’s wrong, kid?”
That’s where he breaks. Izuku’s shoulders begin to shake as Shouta wraps an arm around his kid as best as he can. Izuku is practically on the mattress at this point, all of his weight is on the bed as he turns to hid in his father’s embrace.
“I-I was so s-scared!” He sobs, Shouta only pulls the teen closer. “I-I thought y-you were g-gone, t-that I’d never s-see you a-again. I’ve been b-beating m-myself up ever since I woke up that I-I didn’t do e-enough.”
“But you have. I’m here. I’m here, kid. I’m not leaving anytime soon. I have to see you and the other kids graduate, I have to make sure Yagi knows what he’s doing, I have to make sure ‘Zashi doesn’t adopt any kid in his sight-”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the other way around, Dad.” Izuku giggles.
“Anyways,” Shouta smirks beneath his bandages. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, ‘Zuku.”
He sinks further into the embrace, small arms coming to wrap around Shouta. “I-I know. You’d claw your way out of wherever.” Shouta snorts. “It just s-scares me, like it’s out of my control—and I know it is out of my control whether you get hurt or not—but I feel so…helpless.”
A new voice breaks their conversation. “But you did the best you could. You did great, baby, just like a hero would.”
Hizashi is standing in the doorway, glasses held in one hand as he wipes his eyes with the other. He lets out a small laugh at the way Izuku’s ears begin to tint pink. Then, there’s a soft smile on his face, mixed with confusion and worry, probably from hearing the good-half of their conversation. He fixes his glasses and moves closer to the bed, placing one hand on Izuku’s shoulder and the other on Shouta’s head, fingers running through his husband’s hair. His smile only grew as both leaned into the touch.
“Hey, ‘Zashi.”
“Hi, Shou. Welcome back.” He leans down to peck his forehead. “And hello to you, Izu.”
“H-hi, Papa.”
Hizashi sends him a soft and reassuring smile. “You’re fine, love, we’re not mad at all. But, we’ll have to have a talk after all of this.”
Izuku only nods before pulling his Pops down to join their cuddle pile, careful not to squish Shouta in the process. Soon enough, Nemuri joins the hug as she runs into the room in tears, overly joyous about how Izuku and him are finally awake. Izuku is sitting in the bed, squeezed comfortably against Shouta’s left side, head resting in between the crook of his dad’s shoulder and neck, an arm wrapped around him. Hizashi flanks his right, sitting up against the pillows to allow Shouta to rest his head on his husband’s chest, Hizashi’s fingers playing with his raven strands of hair. Nemuri lays at the foot of the bed, just below where Izuku is laying, holding onto the hands of her nephew and two best friends.
The three others are asleep, after days of chaos and worry. Shouta can only smile and close his own eyes, a promise to wake up soon.
The nurse doesn’t have to heart to disturb them when he arrives, merely dimming the lights and closing the door.