Home

"It's dark…"

Hitoshi stood on the wooden, mostly bare train platform, looking up at the quickly darkening sky, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. The cold air hit his nose and he gave a small cough into his gloved fist before tilting his head back up, lips parted as he stared at the sky. Out here, it was easier to see the stars starting to shine in the sky and as a consequence, the dark here was a lot different than the dark in the city, even if it was just starting to fall. There was no light pollution to highlight the horizon and cover the stars and Hitoshi knew well that if they didn't get moving soon, they'd be walking in complete darkness, given that half the rural town's street lights were out.

"It's winter. It gets dark early."

Hitoshi looked behind him, turning slightly, eyes focusing on Aizawa, dressed in a heavy jacket, with a bag slung over his arm, Hitoshi knowing that he at least had a notepad and a recorder with him. Aizawa finished sorting out their tickets, having offered to hold onto Hitoshi's, shoving them into the pocket of his coat before giving Hitoshi a nod, sounding no different from how he usually did.

"Which way to your foster home?"

Hitoshi was a little hesitant to leave the platform. While he'd gotten used to the commute back home, he'd always hated leaving the train station, since it meant making the journey back home. At least when he was riding on the train, he could read or work on schoolwork, but after he stepped out of the station and started walking the familiar path back to the crowded house, he had nothing but his own thoughts and while Hitoshi had the ability to get into anyone's head with a few clever words, being in his own mind was frustrating and tiring.

Even now, he was forcing himself to remember that he wasn't alone this time, and that he'd be coming back to the train station, also not alone. He'd been doing this for so long that his immediate feeling, standing on this platform with Aizawa, was nothing but horrible dread that sat heavy against his stomach.

"That way," Hitoshi nodded to his left. The train station was old and wooden and didn't have much shelter, and Hitoshi could see the low lights from the string of houses lining the street the station was on. They were spaced out, the small town surrounded by farms and open space, the collection of households and streets and the rare business hardly enough to even be called a town. He took a sharp breath, and made himself look at Aizawa again, if only to remind himself that he wasn't alone, "They know we're—that you're—coming, right?"

"I called and told them," Aizawa answered him, not wasting any more time, passing Hitoshi quickly, Hitoshi instantly following at his heels, knowing that he should be the one leading, since he was the one who knew the way. He didn't, though, feeling far safer following behind Aizawa like he usually did. He didn't want to be the one leading him around. "Your foster parents seem to realize that it's not smart to turn me away with everything else going on and that doing so would only make them more suspicious."

"Right," Hitoshi could understand that much. They'd always wanted to prevent outside trouble and there was no doubt that that was exactly what Aizawa was causing for them right now. They'd always been good at cleaning up a little and putting on a slightly better appearance, so they more likely than not saw this as a way to clear their name—and potentially get their paycheck back.

Hitoshi didn't know if Aizawa had told them whether or not Hitoshi would be staying. He didn't exactly want to ask out of fear of what the answer was.

"The house is, uh—" Hitoshi fought to fill the silence, the cold air of the dark town bothering him and only deepening his anxiety as the two of them made their way to the wooden steps that led down to the street. Hitoshi followed in Aizawa's footsteps, trying to fill the enormous open space with his words, "—Well, it's pretty crowded. And it's usually pretty cluttered and dirty. They probably cleaned up a little, though. It's just… nothing like your house."

"My house is a certain way because it's the opposite of what I was used to at your age," Aizawa commented, not even looking back at him as they hit the bottom step, Hitoshi's shoes thumping against the concrete pavement. He stopped for a moment, glancing in the direction Hitoshi had indicated earlier, before starting down the street, Hitoshi keeping pace with him.

There was a lot in Hitoshi's head right now. His frantic thoughts had started the moment he'd gotten on the train with Aizawa back in the city. It was a lot. Too much. But he'd deal with it, reminding himself that this would be over and according to Aizawa, he could still back out.

The morning had gone well. Or, the afternoon had, because Aizawa and Yamada had let Hitoshi sleep in until early afternoon, when Hitoshi had gotten himself up. Aizawa had spent the night on the couch with him, Hitoshi waking up a couple more times to find him still there, asleep sitting up like he had been previously. Hitoshi had felt better upon waking up, feeling significantly healthier than he had since he'd caught this infection in the first place. Getting actually restful sleep had been nice, and Yamada's cooking was ten times better than the stuff he usually ate, and the man was basically pushing lunch at him the moment Hitoshi had woken up.

There'd been a couple odd things—Hitoshi's disconnected phone being one of them, as well as the conversation Aizawa had had on the phone with the police shortly before coming here, though he'd taken that to a different room, so Hitoshi had no idea what it was about.

The sky was gradually growing darker overhead, Hitoshi looking up again to see that more stars had appeared, decorating the darkness that hung over them. There were a few streetlamps, a couple of them flickering as Hitoshi and Aizawa walked underneath them, threatening to burn out and further darken the street. Hitoshi pulled his scarf up, over his mouth, protecting himself from the cold air.

Up until getting here, the rest of the day had been—enjoyable.

Being somewhere so normal was odd. Having people pay attention to him was odd and he wasn't used to it yet, but it was something that Hitoshi liked. It wasn't like he wanted to be talked to all the time or that he needed a lot of attention, but—not being ignored and having two people around who seemed genuinely interested in him, even if one of them hardly ever stopped talking, was something he actually enjoyed. It helped that the house wasn't crowded, that it was only Aizawa and Yamada there and now, he supposed, Hitoshi. While Yamada talked a lot, the guy seemed to just want to get to know Hitoshi and even with that, the house was quiet and calm and Hitoshi had distracted himself with playing with cats and playing his handheld game, preventing his thoughts from getting loud.

He'd never thought he'd miss something that he'd only experienced for one day, but here he was, walking down the rural street of his town with Aizawa, wishing that he could just be back in Aizawa's house with him.

"Left up here," Hitoshi spoke, the silence unnerving to him. He pointed at the next street that branched off of the main one, where they'd be turning left and be almost to Hitoshi's house. That street was significantly darker, with only a few houses on it and not nearly enough life for there to be a streetlamp there. Aizawa just nodded, giving him a short glance, and Hitoshi took a breath, wanting to just talk, even if Aizawa didn't talk back, just so he could get out of his head, "There's eight other kids there. Most of them are younger. The only one who's older than me is my foster parents' actual kid."

Hitoshi paused, thinking. He had no idea what this was going to be like. Aizawa had told him on the way here that it most likely wouldn't be a long visit, though Hitoshi wondered if that was him assuming that something bad would happen, and that part of the purpose of this visit was to gather the small amount of things that Hitoshi had, which was why Hitoshi was wearing an empty backpack. He was nervous, nervous for Aizawa to see his house, the room he shared with most of the other kids, and for him to meet the people he lived with.

…Had lived with? Hitoshi shook the thought from his head. It was fast and… that wasn't something he could think about right now. Yesterday he'd spent most of the day with Aizawa under the impression that when the time came around, Hitoshi would be getting on that train back home alone and would be continuing his life in the same way he had for the last few months. And now—he was here, with his teacher, with the understanding that he wouldn't be staying here and that when this was over, he'd get to take the train back into the city and spend another night with Aizawa and Yamada.

"Most of the others actually have parents," Hitoshi continued on, following Aizawa around the corner he'd pointed out earlier. It took a moment, but Hitoshi's eyes quickly adjusted to the even lower level of light here, though Aizawa didn't seem bothered by it. He was probably much more used to the darkness and being out at night, given that was when he did hero work. Part of him wondered if Aizawa had taken a day off just to do this. After following him for a decade, Hitoshi didn't want to think about being the reason why he'd not be able to do his job.

"The others—most of them got taken away from their parents or… some of them are there because my foster home is strict and I guess some of the kids aren't fit to be with their families."

"I'm not sure if strict is the word for it," Aizawa commented. "I'm strict. Your foster parents are neglectful and abusive. There's a difference."

Hitoshi drew a sharp breath in, heart pounding harder in his chest, Aizawa's words falling onto him, heavy and suffocating.

"You really are blunt sometimes," Hitoshi turned his head away as Aizawa looked back at him, staring at the dark sidewalk.

"That might've been too much," Aizawa's voice was softer, and Hitoshi hated the way that it almost sounded like an apology. He didn't want an apology. He wanted things to be the same, for nothing to be different just because he was obviously nervous and upset. Hitoshi didn't look at Aizawa, glancing to the side, where the row of spread out houses sat, an all too familiar house standing only a few meters from them. They were close. Aizawa noticed, too, because he stopped, Hitoshi stopping with him, "When I told you last night that you could back out at any time, I meant it."

Hitoshi shook his head, "I'm fine."

There was silence between them. The world was eerily quiet here. Hitoshi had never liked it.

Hitoshi had never thought of himself as an extrovert, but he liked to be around people. Being here was simultaneously too lonely and too crowded. The town was fairly empty, Hitoshi having never met and had just rarely seen the other people who lived on this street. There was a lot of space between the neighbors and the foster home, and the home itself was backed up against a farm field, Hitoshi having spent countless sleepless nights out on the back step, looking out into the field that stretched as far as he could see and disappeared over the horizon. When he walked the streets, he hardly ever saw anyone.

At home, including him, there were eleven people. Two foster parents and nine kids—one of which being a biological child, one being an infant, three of the kids being between three and seven, the other two being a little older. Hitoshi was the outlier in more ways than one—his quirk, his age, his status as a problem child, the fact that he was an orphan, among other things—and he was never allowed to forget that. The house was crowded and yet, just as lonely as the rest of the town was.

"You need to tell me if you want to leave," They hadn't started moving yet and Aizawa's voice had thankfully lost its softness, instead raising to a tone that told Hitoshi that he was giving him an order. "If you want to go, then we will, but you need to tell me. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," Hitoshi didn't hesitate, nodding, stilling looking at his foster home. He could understand orders. He could follow orders. It was just everything else that confused him. He trusted Aizawa and Aizawa hadn't let him down, had never told him to do something that harmed him. If Aizawa told him to do something, then Hitoshi was going to do it, because he was the one adult he actually trusted and the one person who'd never broken any of the trust he'd put in them.

"Good," Almost unwillingly, Hitoshi felt himself relax at the single word of praise. It didn't last long, though, "That's the house?"

Hitoshi didn't look away. He knew where Aizawa was pointing. The house was the only brightly lit up one on the street, the front yard having piles of clutter—mostly consisting of toddlers' toys and trash that hadn't been taken out properly—along with a fence and an unlocked gate to get in. Even from here, just from the brightly lit windows and from what he knew with his experience here, he knew that the house was lively and the sight of it made his stomach drop.

"That's it," He answered quietly.

They stood there for a moment more in the darkness, Hitoshi unable to look away from his foster home, the dread only growing and growing until it felt like it was definitely going to swallow him whole. He was frozen to his spot, unable to take that first step, hardly able to breathe, and he had no idea what to say or do—

And then Aizawa went, and Hitoshi followed.

He didn't say anything, the dread he felt overtaking his need to speak. He shut his mouth, staying silent, and he knew perfectly well that what he was feeling was only what he was conditioned to feel and there was no real threat or reason to feel afraid, but that didn't change at all that he felt it in the first place. He dropped to walking behind Aizawa, rather than trying to stick at his side, following him through the gate and up the few steps to the house. He could only stand behind Aizawa and watch as he knocked at the door.

He could hear noise inside. It was muffled, but what met Hitoshi's ears was the familiar sound of kids whining and others talking over them and as the shouting started, Hitoshi drew back, cringing and recognizing the unmistakable voice of his foster father telling the other kids to get out of the way and be quiet.

The second the front door swung open, Hitoshi sincerely wished that he'd stayed back at the house.

He wished he'd never got on that train, never walked to the house, and never come back here. He wished he'd taken Aizawa more seriously when he'd said that his emotional health was more important than this. He wished he hadn't come here just so he could act like he wasn't bothered by the things that went on at home, just so he could put on some sort of a show of being mature and able to handle things. Hitoshi didn't consider himself a weak or emotionally vulnerable person and had worked for years at drawing up a facade of being unbothered and cynical to the world around him, but the second that door swung open, Hitoshi wanted nothing more than to cower and hide more than he already was.

Yoshida-san was a large man and standing in the doorway of the house, blocking most of the light from the inside and casting long shadows over the front lawn of the house, he looked even bigger than he normally did. He wasn't particularly strong or bulky, but he was tall, and the sour, openly scowling expression on his face didn't do much to make Hitoshi any less intimidated. Aside from his height, he was normal, no different than any civilian on the street—and he even looked as if he'd cleaned up a little for this, wearing a clean set of clothes and having trimmed his facial hair.

Hitoshi didn't move. Part of him wanted to leave right now, but he shook the thought from his head. There was no danger, he told himself. He was already partially hiding himself behind Aizawa, putting his teacher between himself and his foster father.

"You must be Shinsou's teacher."

The noise from the rest of the house died down and in the silence, the man's deep voice seemed to echo around the street. He was looking directly at Hitoshi, making no secret of it, and Hitoshi forced himself to remain neutral, glancing to the side of him so he wouldn't have to meet his eyes.

The urge to reach out and grab the back of Aizawa's jacket was hard to fight. He refused to do it, though, not wanting to act like a child, knowing that even if Aizawa didn't care, someone else would see and point his behavior out and use it to ridicule him.

"Yes, we spoke on the phone," Aizawa sounded formal, but Hitoshi was used to that. It was the same way he heard him speak to other teachers and adults. It was about as polite as he got.

"Are you here to return my kid to me?"

Hitoshi could feel the man's gaze on him still, burning holes straight through him, but he didn't look back at him, unsure if he could hold it together if he did.

"I'm here to do exactly what I said over the phone," There was no change, and Hitoshi was almost relieved that Aizawa didn't seem the least bit surprised by his foster father's rudeness. "Nothing more and nothing less. I believe you agreed to allow me to do my job, so I'd appreciate being let in."

For a moment, nothing happened. Hitoshi didn't want to look and see his foster father's expression to see if he'd gotten angrier. He just waited, standing behind Aizawa, grateful that he wasn't being prompted to talk or answer or even face Yoshida-san. He waited, waiting for something to happen, trusting Aizawa when he'd told him that he'd take care of things.

"...Come in," The words were followed by his foster father moving enough out of the way to let them through. Hitoshi didn't immediately move, not until Aizawa did, keeping his head down as he followed him through the door and into the entryway of the house.

The shame that hit him was instantaneous.

The house smelled. It didn't smell like anything in particular—a combination of little children, left out food, and people who didn't seem to know how often they were supposed to bathe—but the smell hit him as soon as he walked through that door and it was strong and it was like walking into a wall of it. Hitoshi had gotten used to it, but it was strong enough to the point where he'd have to re-acclimate to it every time he left the house for a few hours. It'd never bothered him much, but now that he'd brought someone else to the house, it was the thing that initially made him feel ashamed.

That feeling was only worsened as he glanced around. True to what he'd expected, the house was cleaned up a little, but the only reason Hitoshi knew that was because there were a couple places where piles of things had disappeared. After spending a night away from here and spending that night in some place clean and normal, the house looked even more cluttered and dirty than it had when he'd left it yesterday morning.

He couldn't help but to notice that Aizawa was looking around, too.

The house wasn't anything like Aizawa's house. It was closed off and even though they were just standing in the entry room, Hitoshi could see how dirty it was. There were bags of trash leaned up against the wall, piles of clutter on the floor and the decorative table, a pile of unsorted, various sizes of shoes piled on a mat. He was embarrassed of the state of the house, hanging back at little, rubbing at the back of his neck, still able to feel his foster father's eyes on him as he shut the door behind them.

Still, though, to Hitoshi's relief, he didn't talk to him, instead directing his words at Aizawa, "What, exactly, does 'doing your job' entail here?"

Hitoshi tried to make himself look busy, going through the motions of taking off his shoes and putting them in the messy pile with the other kids', listening closely as Aizawa responded to him, "This is a home visit, so I'll observe, take notes, and record what I feel fit, as well as intervene—if necessary."

"It won't be."

"We'll see." Aizawa turned to Hitoshi and his heart nearly stopped with anxiety, but Aizawa didn't scold him or even speak harshly of him, asking something of him that thankfully didn't require a verbal response, "Hitoshi, show me the rest of the house."

"That's my job," Yoshida-san interjected before Hitoshi could do anything, but Aizawa didn't even look at the man.

"It isn't."

Hitoshi cleared his throat, trying to stand up straight and maintain his neutral expression and tone. His voice shook a little, but he managed to get his words out, even if his nerves seeped into them, "Follow me, Sensei."

He didn't dare to look at his foster father. His instincts and conditioning took over and Hitoshi brushed past the both of them, hearing Aizawa immediately follow him. He was halfway down the short hallway when he heard the exasperated annoyed huff of his foster father as he trailed after them.

The hallway wasn't long, and to Hitoshi's dismay, the smell of the house only grew as he turned into the common room of the house. It was a large room, though it looked significantly smaller than it actually was with the amount of clutter and things in it. There were children's toys strewn across the room, stacks of homework and half-destroyed books on any surface available, plates and silverware interspersed with them. Hitoshi frowned, pushing back a scowl, when he realized that the room was almost as cluttered and messy as it had been yesterday, if not worse. A couple kids were in here—two of the younger ones, two girls—and they immediately looked up at them as they approached.

Neither of them glanced at Hitoshi for very long, instead looking at their foster father and Hitoshi's teacher, someone they'd never seen before.

"This is the living room," He hated the silence, even with the noise of people in the other rooms and the banging that was coming from the kitchen. "You should be able to observe from here. Uh—you can sit down, if you want, and I can make you tea. I think the others are getting dinner ready. Or I can make you something else if you want…?"

He didn't know what to do, so offering to do things for Aizawa was his resort. He felt watched by the both of them, though he was fine and used to Aizawa watching him. It was his foster father that was bothering him. While he was usually ignored here, the attention he did get from Yoshida-san had conditioned him to feel wary whenever he looked at him.

"No, tea is fine, thank—"

"Don't answer him."

Hitoshi drew back a little, taking a sharp breath in at his foster father's snapped words, cutting Aizawa off. He shut up, not saying anything. And he didn't have to, because Aizawa didn't even hesitate.

"…Excuse me?"

"One of his rules is that under no circumstance is he allowed to ask questions," He hated the way his foster father sounded proud, like he was happy he got to indirectly scold Hitoshi in front of his teacher. "It's the only way we can prevent incidents with him."

"I've never—" He started.

"Quiet."

Hitoshi shut his mouth again, scratching at the back of his neck. He should've known better than to speak.

"I don't recall reading about him ever using his quirk under your care."

Hitoshi looked at Aizawa, finding that he was still defending him, saying what Hitoshi had meant to before he'd been cut off and told to be quiet. There'd been incidents in the past, though after the initial couple years of not having any control over his quirk, the only time Hitoshi had ever used it was in emergencies when someone, usually a foster sibling, was getting violent with him. Even then, all he'd do was use it to remove himself or them from the situation and make things stop. He'd never used his quirk here, though, since even in self defense, it was always more trouble than it was worth.

"He's a problem child," Yoshida-san insisted, and the words hurt more than Hitoshi wanted to admit they did. He really did try to not be an issue here, but it was hard when the only interaction he ever got was when he was yelled at, insulted, and punished. It wasn't like he went out looking for trouble, but lately, when Yoshida-san or any of the older people here started insulting him, it'd been difficult to not argue back. After all, he was going to get in trouble anyways, and arguing back felt good, if only just in the moment.

He didn't like being hurt. That couldn't be such a strange thing.

"Yes, you've told me that before. Repeatedly," Aizawa's voice was starting to lose its neutrality, his tone going dry. "I've never had any of the same… problems that you describe with Hitoshi. He's always been respectful and well-behaved with me. Which leads me to think that the issue might lay here rather than with him."

"Are you insulting my parenting style?" Suddenly, Hitoshi was glad that he wasn't between the two of them. Yoshida-san was getting aggressive, riled up, and angry. He'd seen it before, the same escalation, probably hundreds of times. "Surely you know that Shinsou is only here because no one else would take him. My house is a last resort for these kids. The rules I have are in place because they're a necessity."

"Why don't…" Hitoshi stopped himself before he could fully form a thought, and neither of them seemed to have heard his murmured words. He wanted to step in, but he'd already been snapped at once for asking something. He wasn't about to risk that again, and interrupting without a question was hard. He'd gotten used to not asking questions over the years but spending one night with people who hadn't cared about him asking things had set him back.

Even though he hadn't heard him, Yoshida-san turned his attentions towards Hitoshi, staring hard at him, "What are you waiting for? Go. You have chores piled up to take care of and now that you've also brought a guest home, he's your responsibility."

"I understand," Hitoshi answered, almost automatically, and forced himself away from the conversation, tensing as he heard his foster father following him through the archway into the dining room and kitchen, leaving Aizawa behind in the mostly dark common room. He'd really wanted to get away from his foster father, not that he'd wanted him to continue arguing with Aizawa, but watching and hearing that had been more stressful than Hitoshi had ever imagined it'd be.

He tried to ignore it and the moment he walked through the doorway to the dining room, loud noise met his ears. He knew Aizawa could probably still see him, given that the entryway to this room was large and left open, and he'd be able to see anything that happened, but being separated from him for the first time since yesterday only made Hitoshi more on edge.

Most of the others were in here. The kitchen was small and he could hear the baby whining in his foster mother's arms, some of the other little kids sitting on the floor and babbling, a couple of the older ones doing their best to make dinner, being too small to actually reach most of the cabinets. A few of them looked up at him, his foster mother, Shino-san, giving him a deep, unhappy frown, but no one said anything to him and after a moment, it was like he didn't exist at all. There were no greetings, no questions, not even a snide remark. Nothing. It was like he hadn't disappeared for a full day and then come back without much of an explanation.

That was fine. It wasn't like he was staying here.

Hitoshi didn't know when he'd started allowing himself to take comfort in that, or when he'd started letting himself believe it was actually real.

It was like nothing had changed here. Even his foster father had abandoned following him to scold one of the smaller children, yelling at the boy for leaving a toy out or something—Hitoshi wasn't totally sure because as he watched, he felt like the noise all ran together, like he was watching something he was totally uninvolved in from a window outside the house.

He had to look behind him to make sure that everything in the past day hadn't been some sort of fever dream or fantasy he'd slipped into, and he let out a breath of relief when, in the dimness of the living room, he could see Aizawa sitting down, head bowed as he wrote notes on the pad Hitoshi had seen him tuck into his bag before they'd left. If anything, that was reassurance that things were different, even if everything here, with the general ignorance he'd been met with, was terrifyingly normal.

Hitoshi forced himself to keep moving. He unwound his scarf, took off his hat and the gloves Aizawa had lent him a few weeks previous, unzipping his coat and hanging it on one of the dining room chairs. He didn't say anything, not even looking at anyone for longer than was necessary, as he slipped into the little bit of empty space in the kitchen. He was used to this, moving around as much as he could so as not to bother anyone, working almost automatically. He took down a mug, spotting a bit of dirt in it, and moved to the sink to try to wash it out.

That was where he made his biggest mistake of the night, the mistake that broke through the little self-control his foster parents had.

The issue was that his foster mother was standing near the sink. Not in front of it, but near it enough that she was definitely in the way. He thought he could work around her, though. Of the nine foster kids, six of them, including himself and the baby, were in here, as well as his foster mother and when the kitchen was already small and cramped, it had a tendency to lead to a lot of accidents.

And this was an accident. Even if Hitoshi later thought that he should've known better or waited a little longer, it was still an accident.

He tried to move into the empty space and in doing so, mistakenly bumped against Shino-san, having misjudged the amount of space he had and jostling her, his arm and hip hitting her body. It wasn't nearly enough to knock her over, but it was enough to sway her a little, and she noticed. She noticed instantly.

There wasn't a single second between him running into her and her scream, and not a moment between that and the noise of her slapping his arm, and then the thud of him hitting the counters and cabinets behind him.

The momentum of being shoved back so violently caused him to slam his head into the upper cabinets. He was tall, tall enough that he was easily able to reach them and tall enough that when he was pushed back against them, he'd hit his head hard. It hurt, and it hurt bad, his ears ringing as his head throbbed.

"Shit," He yelped, not thinking, grasping onto the counter, using his other hand to rub at the back of his head. He clenched his teeth, trying not to curse anymore at the pain. It wasn't like he didn't regularly get pinned or thrown around during training but god, at least Aizawa was careful enough to not actually hurt him.

"Watch your goddamn language!" There was hardly a pause, his foster father not even giving Hitoshi enough time to recover before his yell filled the room. Hitoshi's head spun and he scowled at all the noise, not even realizing until he looked around that he'd dropped the mug he'd been holding. It hadn't hit anyone, but there was a mess of ceramic pieces on the floor. Yoshida-san noticed, too, because he continued yelling, "Clean that up and then sit down where you belong and think about what you did!"

He knew what that meant. He'd been told to sit alone at the dining room table for a punishment so much that that was just where Hitoshi spent most of his time at home, even when he wasn't told to. It always made him feel like a little kid, being forced to sit at a table without any interaction, being given the silent treatment and not being allowed to do anything, and he was fighting to not argue, to not snap at his foster father and tell him that he wasn't a small child and this had been an accident. He held back, though, if only because Aizawa was here, and instead just grit his teeth, clenched his hands into fists, and ignored his throbbing, hurting head as he tried to make his way to the closet to get the broom.

He was interrupted, though, but it wasn't by either of his foster parents.

"Hitoshi, come here."

It was called to him from the common room, and Hitoshi stopped, heart beating hard.

He went. He didn't question it. He didn't ask for permission. He went when Aizawa called him and did what he was told, leaving the room with everyone else and going to him, even when his foster father shouted after him.

Aizawa was sitting on the couch, next to a pile of what Hitoshi assumed was the older boy's college paperwork. He beckoned Hitoshi to him, staring up at him with dark eyes when Hitoshi stopped in front of him.

"Is your head alright?"

"It hurts," Hitoshi said, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice. Distantly, he could hear his foster father following him, making no secret of his anger as he stomped around, but Hitoshi wasn't focused on him. Aizawa had put aside his notes and had all his attention on Hitoshi, his usual stoicness gone, concern replacing it. Hitoshi raised a hand to the back of his head, feeling a little wetness back there. He pulled his palm away and stared at it.

"Sit down," Aizawa instructed him, pointing at the spot on the floor directly in front of him. "Let me see it. If it's bad enough, we'll have to go to the hospital."

Again, Hitoshi did as he was told without question. He sat down, his back against the couch, drawing his legs to his chest. The room around them was dim, no lights having been turned on and the only brightness coming from the open doorway to the dining room. He sighed, dropping his head a little to help out when he felt fingers brushing through his wild hair, pushing apart some of the strands.

"What are you doing?! He has a mess he needs to clean up."

That was Yoshida-san. Hitoshi didn't look up at him, keeping his head down. Aizawa quickly found the spot he'd hit, and vaguely, Hitoshi wondered if he'd hit the edge of the cabinet when he'd fallen. He hadn't been able to tell, since everything had happened so quickly, but if he was bleeding, that was most likely what had happened.

"Your wife pushing Hitoshi and making him hit his head is far more concerning to me," Aizawa pressed his thumb against the worst part, Hitoshi hissing in pain at that. Aizawa let up, though he still had Hitoshi's hair pushed apart, moving his hand to above the worst part of the injury. He tapped Hitoshi on his shoulder, and Hitoshi hummed in acknowledgement to tell him he was paying attention. Aizawa seemed satisfied enough with that, "Are you drowsy at all?"

"No," Hitoshi answered immediately.

"Do you know where you are."

"Yeah."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Hitoshi rattled off the date. He didn't feel tired or confused at all and he was well aware that Aizawa was checking to make sure he wasn't concussed. Hitoshi had been before, but he hadn't hit his head hard enough to be. It hurt and was bleeding a little, but mentally, he felt fine.

"It looks like a cut," Aizawa told him, a pressure that made Hitoshi hiss again following his words. The pressure kept up, and Hitoshi wondered what Aizawa was pressing against the back of his head. His only thought was that he was trying to mop up the small amount of blood back there. "If it keeps bleeding, you'll have to get stitches, but it looks like it's stopping."

"He's fine," There was no doubt now that Yoshida-san was getting annoyed. Hitoshi could hear it in his voice.

"Your wife shoved him pretty hard and slapped him. That's not fine by any means."

"She slapped him on the hands because he touched her."

Hitoshi dared to raise his head a little, though whatever Aizawa was pressing against his head forced him to keep it down for the most part, "…I didn't mean to bump into her."

His tone was a little angrier than he'd meant it to be, and he didn't let himself say any more, too afraid that he'd fly into an argument with his foster father if he said any more.

"You're lying."

Hitoshi's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, but he clenched his teeth and didn't make a sound. He wasn't going to take the bait that he was being given. He'd told himself that he didn't want to argue or fight and he was trying to behave, but it was getting more and more difficult with the way he was being pushed.

"Stop that," At first, Hitoshi thought it was directed at him, before he realized that Aizawa was talking to his foster father, his words said as if he were lecturing a misbehaving high schooler. "Are you trying to get him to argue with you? What are you, a grade schooler?"

Yoshida-san said nothing. Finally, the pressure let up and Aizawa drew back, though not before tapping Hitoshi on the shoulder again, "We're almost done here. Show me your room."

"You just got here!"

Hitoshi ignored his foster father's exclaimed words, grabbing onto the edge of the couch and pulling himself up, raising a hand to his head again to feel around where he'd hit it. He looked down, eyes immediately drawn to Aizawa's clothes, where he could see a large spot of blood on the sleeve of his jacket, and Hitoshi realized that he'd been pressing his arm against the back of his head to get the bleeding to stop.

"I've seen enough," Aizawa said, standing up and tucking his notepad under his arm. He gave Hitoshi a nod, ignoring any further arguments from Yoshida-san. Hitoshi got the hint and started leading the way, keeping his head down and just doing what Aizawa told him to. Shame stirred in him as well as more anxiety as he realized what Aizawa was about to see, but he led him to the small hallway and then down it, turning on the light to the large, shared bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway. Aizawa did, too. Hitoshi's face burned hot with total embarrassment. If there'd been a way to avoid this, he would've, but Aizawa had told him prior to this that this was part of any home visit and Hitoshi wanted some things from here, anyways. It was a necessary thing, but that didn't make it any better.

"I'm sorry," He stared at his bed, at the incriminating things. "This must be really embarrassing for you."

There was silence and then, from behind him, despite everything that had happened just now, Hitoshi heard a snort of amusement from behind him, "It's a little flattering. Not embarrassing."

Hitoshi, after all, hadn't thought to take down the photos he had hanging above his bunk. Posters and most decorations weren't allowed, but Hitoshi was a 'permanent' kid and the one thing that had stuck with him throughout every foster home and every group home was his habit of printing out photos of his favorite hero and taping them above his bed. If Hitoshi had had the chance, he would've taken them down, but there'd been no way he could've known this would happen and to make matters worse, he had the bottom bunk right across from the door.

Right across from them was Hitoshi's bed and above it, in the space between his bunk and the upper one, Hitoshi had about ten pictures of Aizawa's hero persona taped above his bed, and had had that for the past two years he'd lived here. It was embarrassing that he hadn't taken it down when he'd first started formally training with Aizawa and had actually met him, but meeting him had only caused Hitoshi to like and idolize him even more.

He honestly felt too ashamed to move, so when Aizawa brushed past him, looking around the room a little more, Hitoshi was relieved and followed him in. The room was fit for a lot of kids, seven of them sleeping in here at one time. There were four sets of bunks, Hitoshi purposefully having the one directly across from the doorway to 'keep an eye on him'. The room had no actual door and Hitoshi had few possessions and as Aizawa looked around, Hitoshi went to his bedside table and took off his backpack, opening the top drawer.

"Sorry about what happened out there," Hitoshi said quietly, taking out the locked metal box inside the drawer. He fished the key out of his pocket, sliding it into the lock and biting his lip as he turned it and wiggled it to try to get it to unlock the old thing. "I really should've been watching where I was going more."

"It's not your fault," Aizawa told him, and Hitoshi stopped for a moment, hearing him approach him. "You bumped into someone by mistake. It happens. The reaction your parents had wasn't justified at all."

Hitoshi kept quiet, finally feeling the lock give, "…Sorry, this is really embarrassing, too."

Inside were the only things of real importance to him. Hitoshi had learned to not attach a lot of sentimental value to objects, since in foster care, they were so likely to get lost and disappear in one way or another. But these things—they were a few things he'd collected over the years that he wanted to keep. It was mostly photographs—some of his parents, yellowing at the edges, a few from over the past few years, one from about a month ago when Hitoshi had convinced Aizawa to take a photo with him. Besides that was his journal, a bell from a cat's collar that he'd played with a long time ago, and… a replica of Eraserhead's goggles that he'd made for a school project in elementary, as well as a paper he'd written for Aizawa's class and gotten full marks on.

His face was burning again, and he didn't say anything more as he pulled his backpack over the box and dumped it all in. He'd already made the decision to leave the box here, letting himself be hopeful that he wouldn't need it anymore. He noticed that Aizawa had sat on his bed and started writing again, giving Hitoshi enough time to gather some clothing, roll it up, and shove it into his bag, too.

He stood up, then, giving a last glance at the photos he had hung on the wall. He'd leave them up.

"Are you ready?" Aizawa was looking up at him from over his notes again, raising an eyebrow at him.

"We're really leaving?" Hitoshi asked, voicing his first real question since he'd gotten here. "We really did just get here."

"I've seen enough," Aizawa repeated the same thing he'd said earlier. "I recorded the audio of what happened. There's nothing more for me to see and staying here is damaging your health. I'll take you back home and send all this to the people managing your case."

"Alright," Hitoshi just nodded, looking away from Aizawa and the photos on the wall again. If Aizawa was right and if Hitoshi was letting himself believe that he could stay with him, then this would be the last time he'd be here. He wouldn't see his foster parents again, or his foster siblings, or even this house. While he hoped that if something was done for him and whatever case that had been started with him also caused the other kids to be removed—

—He couldn't bring himself to miss this place at all.

He was itching to get out of here. He grabbed his backpack and led Aizawa out of the room again, and the second he entered the common room, he knew something was wrong, because most of his foster family had moved into here, including both of his foster parents. Still, Hitoshi didn't let himself linger, returning to the kitchen to get his coat, and was in the process of slipping it on and pulling his hat over his still throbbing head when he heard Aizawa break the eerie silence.

"Hitoshi's coming with me."

The break was instant and Hitoshi froze in his spot, clutching his knitted scarf in both hands. His foster father's voice was loud and booming, reaching into every corner and crevice of the house, "You can't take my kid from me."

"Law enforcement said he could stay with me, so yes, I can," Aizawa sounded almost bored, irritated and like he wanted to be done talking to Yoshida-san. With shaking hands, Hitoshi pulled his scarf onto his neck and barely managed to zip up his coat, hearing his foster father start to lay into Aizawa again.

"Who do you think you are? Coming into my house, criticizing my parenting, insulting me—"

Hitoshi stepped into the doorway, having put his backpack on and gotten all his winter clothes on. Suddenly, every person in the room was looking at him, every pair of eyes on him, from Aizawa to his foster parents to the rest of the kids he'd lived with over the past few years and Hitoshi felt small and weak as every one of them stared at him.

"Come on, Hitoshi," Aizawa beckoned him and Hitoshi went, to his side as Aizawa prepared to walk out. He followed him, just behind him and at his heels, as his teacher walked back into the entry hallway, keeping his eyes on Hitoshi, as if to make sure he was following him.

It was the moment that Hitoshi stepped into the entryway that his foster father grabbed him, fingers curling around his arm in a grip that was crushing.

Hitoshi's eyes went wide and he pulled, instinctually using all of his strength, yanking his arm from his grasp, staring him right in the eyes as he did so.

"—Don't touch me—" He hissed through his clenched teeth, stopping dead in his tracks. He narrowed his eyes, hating the way he could still feel his foster father's grip on his arm, even though he'd pulled away from him. The taller man looked shocked, eyes wide, giving Hitoshi the single most vulnerable expression he'd ever given him. The room was utterly quiet, silent to the point where Hitoshi could hear every breath his foster father took. The man reached out again, clearly trying to grab Hitoshi again, but Hitoshi moved back, too quickly for him to touch him. He opened his mouth again, voice coming out sharp and harsh and louder than he'd ever spoken in this horrible place, "Don't touch me!"

"You're not leaving," Yoshida-san told him, though his tone couldn't match Hitoshi's. Hitoshi had too strong of a voice, and he couldn't mirror it. "You don't want to leave. Tell this guy that you're not going anywhere. Tell him how much you like it here."

There was nothing. Nothing, but only for a split second. In that nothing, Hitoshi felt something that he'd never quite let come to the surface before. It was something he'd always distantly felt, something he'd tried to cover up with realism and stoicness. But now, as he stared at this man, he realized something. He might've been taller than Hitoshi, but Hitoshi was stronger than him and had been able to rip himself from his grasp and right then, he realized how much he absolutely hated this man and his wife and this house and everything they'd ever done to him.

And he wasn't going to put up with it any longer.

"Are you kidding me?" Hitoshi made no attempt to keep his voice down. He was yelling now, every word of his shouted into his foster father's face, as he glared up at him and completely let go of his composure. "I hate it here. Living on the fucking streets would be better than this. Do you really think that I want to stay here?"

Silence.

The short laugh that Hitoshi let out reeked of bitterness and the nonresponse just made him angrier, "You—even now you still think I'm trying to brainwash you? Are you serious? You get to beat me around and insult me and act like I don't exist and then when I ask you a simple question, you can't even answer me? Do you honestly think I'm some sort of monster?"

"You're lying. It's not that bad here."

"Not that bad?" Hitoshi felt like laughing again, but it wouldn't come. "It's horrible here. Everything you do is horrible. You don't even say a word to me unless it's to insult me or scream at me. Everyday I come home and none of you even say anything to me. None of you even acknowledge that I exist. It's like you don't even think about me unless you need some kind of punching bag. I can't sleep. You refuse to let me eat if I've done something to make you mad. I'm constantly getting beat and pushed around by everyone here and you tell me every fucking week that I'm going to become this horrible villainous person just because of my quirk and—"

Hitoshi stopped, dragging a hand down his face. Something hot and wet ran down one of his cheeks, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his coat.

"—And I'm so goddamn lonely all the time that I'd rather be homeless than live here. So no, I don't want to stay here."

When he felt a hand curl around his wrist, he didn't fight. He wiped at his face, brushing away the tears that had started falling. The grasp on his wrist was loose, enough that Hitoshi could easily break away if he wanted to, and he let it happen when Aizawa started pulling him towards the door.

His foster father didn't say anything more, but he ran after them, but the person he grabbed this time wasn't Hitoshi.

Aizawa had pushed Hitoshi out the door and was halfway out himself when Hitoshi realized, through bleary, tear-filled eyes, what was going on. He tried to say something, but nothing would come out other than a wordless, quiet whimper, the cold air of the night biting at him and feeling like it was determined to freeze the tears to his face.

He couldn't do anything but watch. Aizawa halted, halfway out the door, still holding Hitoshi's wrist, and Hitoshi could see that his foster father had grabbed Aizawa.

It didn't last long, and Hitoshi didn't expect it to. Aizawa was clearly trying to keep quiet as he leaned in and hissed his words to the other man, but Hitoshi still heard them, "Unless you'd like to get into a fight with a pro, I suggest you let go of me."

There wasn't even a pause. The other man apparently had enough common sense to realize when a threat was a reality and let go, the sound of the door slamming making Hitoshi jump and gasp.

It was over, then.

Hitoshi couldn't move on his own. His legs wouldn't work unless he was pulled around. That was what happened, Aizawa not speaking to him as he pulled Hitoshi down the steps by his wrist. Hitoshi went, going where he was directed, and he couldn't stop the small, occasional whimpers that escaped him. The tears were even harder to hold back, and Hitoshi stopped trying, just letting them fall as his teacher pulled him down the street and away from the house he'd lived in for the past two years.

Hitoshi didn't look back. He wanted to be away from here as quickly as possible.

Aizawa didn't stop until they were back on the street with the lights.

It was under a flickering streetlight that he finally pulled Hitoshi to a stop, Hitoshi rubbing at his eyes and trying to wipe the tears away with his sleeves. His head was still hurting and the crying was just making it worse, especially as he tried to hold it back, feeling nothing but shame as Aizawa fixed him with his dark stare.

"I'm sorry—" He breathed, trying to hold his mouth shut so he wouldn't let out any sobs or whimpers. He watched, expecting to be reprimanded for yelling and cursing at his foster father, but Aizawa's expression just softened.

He really wasn't expecting it when arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close, but Hitoshi just grabbed at Aizawa's shoulders, pressing his face into his chest. He didn't let himself think, and eventually, under the flickering street lights, neither of them saying anything, Hitoshi's crying finally died down and he was able to pull back, wobbling a little on his feet, having leaned into Aizawa for support. As much as he'd wanted to stay holding onto him, he wanted more than anything to get out of this town.

"What are you apologizing for?"

Hitoshi coughed, clearing his throat and brushing away the last few tears. When he raised his head to Aizawa, there was a definite wet spot where Hitoshi had buried his head in his chest and cried into him. He stood back, still shaking a little, and Aizawa waited, not prompting him again until Hitoshi was ready to speak, "Yelling, I guess. I didn't mean to get so mad back there. I didn't mean to cry, either."

"Crying's fine. It's a good way to release emotional pain," Aizawa's tone was soft, and Hitoshi held onto it, listening to every word he said. "I would've stopped you back at that house if I thought you were doing something wrong. It's good to have some closure, even if that closure is doing what you did."

Hitoshi only nodded, having no more words. His mind felt—empty. And he liked it that way. He didn't like spending time in his own head.

"Are you ready to head back home?"

Again, Hitoshi nodded, and Aizawa didn't ask any more questions.

"We can go wait at the train station, but I'm going to call Hizashi to pick us up. I don't think a long train ride would be best for you right now."

"Is—is he around?" Hitoshi asked, still trying to find his voice again. He gave another cough, throat itching a bit.

"He's not far. He had some fundraiser he was doing not far from here. The ride back to the city will be quicker by car."

"Okay," Hitoshi whispered.

Aizawa stared at him a long moment and as Hitoshi looked down at the sidewalk, he reached out, putting his head on Hitoshi's head. They stayed like that a little longer before Hitoshi was finally able to move on his own, and they made their way the short distance to the train station

------

Waiting wasn't so bad.

Hitoshi sat on the steps with Aizawa. The sky was nearly pitch black and Hitoshi spent a lot of time staring up at it as Aizawa wrote out more notes by the small light that the station provided. Aizawa eventually pushed what Hitoshi quickly identified as a jelly packet into his hands, telling him to drink it to stay hydrated, and Hitoshi had followed his directions as they waited.

It wasn't bad. Hitoshi just sat, not doing much, not feeling like doing much. He swung his feet a few times as the life started to creep back into him, and watched the stars in the sky above him.

This would be his last time here.

Yesterday, everything had been normal. Things hadn't been good at all, but there was one thing Hitoshi did enjoy in his life, and that was his meetings with Aizawa. Things were changing now, but—from what Hitoshi could tell—they were going to get better.

Things had felt so normal at Aizawa's house. He wanted that. That was being offered to him, and Hitoshi was going to take it.

He trusted Aizawa more than he'd trusted anyone else in his life. He was starting to trust Yamada, too. Staying with them—having a normal life, the life they were offering him, was something Hitoshi had only occasionally allowed himself to fantasize about. His plan had been to wait things out and show everyone that he could be a great hero and then start living a normal life. The plan had essentially been to just wait it out and age out of the system and do everything he could to actually make something of himself. This, though, was better. This was everything he'd ever wanted, and everything he'd never let himself want because wanting things only led to disappointment.

He took to watching the road eventually, and then going between that and looking up at the rural sky. He didn't know how long it was—and it didn't matter—but eventually, he saw the lights of a car approaching them. It drew Aizawa's attention, too, and he urged Hitoshi up onto his feet and the car pulled to a stop, hardly parking before Yamada was out and greeting them.

"Shouta! Hitoshi-san!" He sounded relieved, and happy. He was excited to see them, and Hitoshi watched as he pulled Aizawa into a tight hug and then flashed a bright grin at Hitoshi. "I'm so happy the two of you are alright."

"Hizashi, you look ridiculous."

Aizawa's comment pulled Hitoshi back to the ground, and he looked to see that Yamada's face was half-done in makeup, and Hitoshi was reminded that he'd been coming from a radio fundraiser. It looked like they'd interrupted him in the middle of getting ready.

"Yeah, well, I told everyone that I had a family emergency."

The word family struck him hard, and Hitoshi stayed silent, Yamada grinning at him again.

"Ready to go home, Hitoshi?"

It was Aizawa that spoke, and Hitoshi glanced at him, still trying to come back to himself a little. He nodded, though, and Yamada opened the back door to the car for him.

"Yeah," Hitoshi murmured. Before he could stop it, his lips twitched up into a smile, and it wasn't bitter or fake, but genuinely happy. This would be the last time he'd see this town unless he chose to ever come back and visit it, and Hitoshi couldn't be more relieved at that. He got in the car, shutting the door behind him and leaning back, shutting his eyes as he heard Aizawa and Yamada get in as well, talking to themselves. Yamada was excited, still, going on about making something celebratory for dinner and Aizawa was humoring him, from the sounds of it. He didn't pay much attention, though, opening his eyes again to watch out the window as they started to leave the town behind.

For the first time in his life, Hitoshi was going home.