Chapter Text
Hitoshi wasn’t expecting the police officer when he opened the front door of his foster family’s house, but he really really should have.
“Hello, I am here to speak with the guardians of Shinsou Hitoshi, are they home?” The tall woman removes her service cap, tucking it under her arm as she stares down at him. She is giving nothing away and the lack of signalling is only causing more anxiety to build in Hitoshi’s stomach. The large hand that clasps around the back of his neck, tight and pinching, makes that anxiety turn to nausea.
“Yes, I am Hano Takeshi, his foster father. What has he done now, officer?”
Using the connection at his neck, Mr. Hano forces Hitoshi to step out of the doorframe and as soon as he is out of direct sight of the officer, his foster father releases a sharp stab of lightning down his spine, a parting promise of more punishment to come. The shock weakens Hitoshi’s knees, only catching himself at the last moment thanks to the eight months of practice he has had since being placed here.
“Let’s speak privately, Mr. Hano, please step outside here with me.”
“Of course. Shinsou, go to your room until you are called out, please be out of your school uniform and dressed appropriately by the time that happens.”
By the time the front door closes behind Mr. Hano, Hitoshi’s breathing is coming quickly in a way that has nothing to do with the physical exertion it took to walk to “his” room. Dropping his schoolbag into a corner, Hitoshi closes the door, turning the knob and releasing it slowly to minimize the sound as much as possible. The last thing he needs is to wake up Mrs. Hano from her mid day nap, after the stunt he pulled at UA today, he’ll be lucky to be able to go back at all this week after his punishment is dealt.
“Up, Shinsou, quick. If you’re touching the ground, you die,” Aizawa-Sensei shouts, chasing him through the trees, the whipping sounds of Hitoshi’s capture scarves filling his ears.
He had missed the branch he was aiming for and hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum like he had been taught the week prior. Back on his feet in seconds, he is swinging by the nearest branch again, adrenaline fueled glee filling his chest as he feels the ghost of his teacher's grip narrowly miss grabbing the back of his shirt. Laughter bubbles out of Hitoshi, moving faster and faster, landing each swing and evasion. Flying through the air is the most free Hitoshi has ever felt, these training sessions have become his only lifeline to joy and the hope of becoming a real hero. It takes far longer than it should have for Hitoshi to realize Aizawa-Sensei wasn’t chasing him anymore. It isn’t until the shadowy mass of an ex underground Pro Hero is knocking him out of the treeline that Hitoshi is aggressively reminded why he is learning from Aizawa-Sensei three times a week.
‘Midoriya wouldn’t have been caught off guard’, Hitoshi thinks bitterly.
Hitoshi grapples with his teacher, twisting and fighting mid-air to gain the upperhand, but he isn’t quick enough. Hitting the ground again, Hitoshi lets out a grunt as a rock digs into his shoulder, but the extra 200lbs he was expecting to crush his ribs never comes. When they finally come to a stop, Hitoshi realizes Aizawa-Sensei had protected his head and rolled them in a way that the older man took the brunt of the impact. A shocking amount of anger fills Hitoshi’s chest, did Sensei think he wasn’t strong enough to take a hit? Shoving away from his teacher he goes to stand, but, mortifyingly, he trips over his own scarf tangled around his legs. Groaning in annoyance and humiliation, Hitoshi accepts the loss and stays down, burying his face in his hands. He senses more than sees Aizawa-Sensei stand and walk to hover over him.
“Are you okay, Shinsou? I tried my best to protect your fall, but I won’t promise to do that again. This isn’t playtime. You need to be aware of your enemies, your objective was to evade and contain me. You barely evaded me, let alone capture me.”
The anger that had filled him had been dulled by humiliation, but it reignites under the reprimands.
“Yes, Sensei, I am fine. And I did fucking evade you… the first time,” Hitoshi gruffed out, rolling onto his back. Finally meeting Aizawa-Sensei’s disappointed gaze, the burning heat of frustration becomes overwhelming. “No need to be so disappointed, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes anyway.”
Throwing the capture scarf off himself, Hitoshi sits up, holding his head in his hands. He doesn’t like how quiet his teacher is being, but at least if he just leaves Hitoshi won’t have to replay his words of rejection until the day he dies. Cool, callused fingers gently touching the back of his neck was the last thing Hitoshi expected, the sharp jab of pain pulling a hiss from his throat and his hand automatically smacking the fingers away.
“You have a shock burn on the back of your neck,” Aizawa-Sensei says, his eyes pinched in confusion and worry. “Did you spare with Denki Kamanari? You two should absolutely not spar unsupervised, especially if this is a resulting injury!”
Flinching at the name of the blonde 1-A student, who frankly was way too enthusiastic about Hitoshi’s existence, Hitoshi covers the spot with his hand and stands quickly, walking backwards from his mentor.
“No, it’s nothing. I need to go,” The anger has been replaced by the anxiety that always grips him when someone questions a random bruise or deep scar. His wrist is gripped tightly, Aizawa-Sensei loosening his grip as soon as he had grabbed him, seeing Hitoshi’s shoulders hitting his ears.
“Shinsou, it clearly isn’t nothing. Do you need to see Recovery Girl? I will take you.”
Seeing Recovery Girl means paperwork and notifying his foster father. And notifying his foster father meant another sleepless night and deeper burns. He doesn’t know why he does it, Hitoshi had never considered it an option in the past. It may have been the fact that he only got 8 hours of sleep in the past 3 days. It may be because of his complete failure at the training today, or the fact that his carelessness exposed his most recent wound to his Sensei. No matter the reason, Hitoshi regrets it as soon as he does it.
“Sensei, why do you even care?”
“Because Shinsou-”
As soon as the tether is formed, Hitoshi grips it and yanks, Aizawa-Sensei going still and blank behind his powerful eyes.
“Go to Present Mic’s classroom and tell him to smack you,” Hitoshi commands, his Quirk in full effect. Without hesitation, Aizawa-Sensei leaves the wooded training area. Hitoshi’s tears stain the capture scarf as he leans down to collect it before heading to his grave.
Hitoshi hated how accustomed to this he has become, but then again, he isn’t usually in a home for this long. Kneeling on the floor in front of his bed, he has changed into the first shirt Mr. Hano had beat him in, deeming it his punishment shirt in order to avoid staining anymore of his few belongings. The muzzle secured to his face is a size too small, the rubber piece on the chin and nose have long cracked off leaving exposed metal that digs into his skin with any twitch of his face. Kneeling, palms face up on his knees and securely muzzled, Hitoshi is the epitome of humble regret and submission. He really wished that it mattered. He was going to be beat either way and then probably expelled from UA, hell, those would be the best outcome. There is a police officer outside after he used his quirk against his teacher, a Pro Hero, his mentor. Illegal quirk use is a serious crime. Hitoshi was foolish to think Aizawa-Sensei wouldn’t report him, a misplaced feeling of understanding and maybe even…affection. ‘Stupid…’
Hitoshi flinches at the sound of the front door hitting the wall behind it and heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom. A pin of hot liquid spread over the bottom of the muzzle, his flinch pinching his skin against the exposed metal, a trail slowly dripping down his neck. Muffled voice reach Hitoshi’s ears, Mrs. Hano’s shrill tone is obvious, but the other is unknown. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters right now other than the chill numbness spreading over him. The bedroom door is opened slowly, and while he was expecting a slam, Hitoshi still doesn’t look up.
“Shinsou…,” A voice that is definitely not Mr. Hano whispers. Hitoshi knows better though, he doesn’t raise his eyes. The figure in front of him kneels down and…the end of a grey scarf enters Hitoshi’s field of vision. Jerking his head up, he meets Aizawa-Sensei’s eye and can’t stop the tears from building. He hadn’t considered the possibility of his mentor wanting to make the arrest himself. That thought guts him, the tears escaping as Hitoshi struggles to control his breathing, knowing full well that crying in the muzzle is hell.
“Shinsou, slow down, let me get this thing off of you,” The older man reaches around to unclasp the device, but Hitoshi jerks away from him, shaking his head violently. He can’t be trusted anymore, he deserves to wear this. Especially around Aizawa-Sensei.
“Okay, okay, keep it on for now, but can you get up? I am going to grab your school items and the clothes you have hanging up so we can go.”
Hitoshi tracks his mentor's movements, confused by them. ‘Why would I need my things in prison? Or? Oh… a juvenile center.’ Fear slides over him like a wet blanket, of course his Sensei would think he is doing Hitoshi a favor, a lesser sentence. Aizawa-Sensei has no idea what a group home of delinquents managed by social worker rejects is really like. It is a good call for Hitoshi to keep the muzzle on, at least then no one can accuse him or use his mouth in ways that make it impossible for him to taste anything other than bile. Everyone who has always makes the same joke: ‘You should be grateful to have a break from that thing, don’t you agree this is a way better way of muzzling you?’
A shiver goes through Hitoshi at the thought, but then Aizawa-Sensei is back at his side and looping an arm around his own, guiding him out of the bedroom. Walking through the house, Hitoshi notices a distinct lack of…people. His foster parents are nowhere in sight and there are only 2 other officers standing outside when he steps off the porch. Helping him into the back of a police car, Hitoshi realizes he is trembling when a shock blanket is placed over his shoulders. ‘Odd… why waste a blanket on an arrested villian’
Aizawa-Sensei slides into the passenger seat of the car, the original officer who had knocked on his door in the driver seat.
“To your place, Erasure?” The officer asks as she pulls out of the drive.
“Yeah, Mic is getting a room prepared and Nezu has expedited the emergency foster paperwork.”
‘What?’