Chapter 8: Alert
Something was happening.
Shouto didn't know what it was, but the air in the house he'd been forced to live in had changed.
His not-mother and *NOT*-father were acting differently as well. They had been since they'd had an argument in their room. He'd only heard bits and pieces of it, just muffled voices coming through the walls, and then one of them had slammed the door.
He hadn't wanted to hear their stupid argument anyway.
He'd since come to regret not trying to listen. It might have gotten him out of this house.
They were up to something. It was pretty obvious from the way they'd changed, his not-mother suddenly acting like a human being for the first time since they'd arrive, and his *NOT*-father leaving the house daily. When he got back they'd often retreat to their room, something they'd also do in the evenings, earlier than before.
He had to try and figure out what they were doing. They were treating him as if he wasn't even there unless they caught him watching, at which point they dropped whatever they were working on pretended to act as his parents.
He stomped off whenever they tried it. They weren't his parents, they were never going to be his parents. He just wanted to get back home. And if he gave them some time, they'd go back to doing whatever they'd been doing and he'd try to sneak back to watch.
He was really hoping he could catch them doing something illegal. Maybe if he got them arrested as villains he'd be accepted back?
It was his best shot, and he knew they were trying to hide things from him. Their bedroom was almost always locked. He'd tried it a few times when his not-mother was downstairs and his *NOT*-father was out of the house. He tried to look up videos on how to pick locks, but nothing came up on HeroTube. It was infuriating that a locked door was enough to keep him out.
He could simply blast the door down, but if he did they'd know immediately. As shitty parents as they were, they never actually left him home alone.
It was increasingly looking like his best option though. He was pretty sure he could make a large enough blast to break the door so he could get inside.
And then his *NOT*-father arrived home one night and gave his not-mother a nod. She smiled, then caught herself, looking his way and telling him they'd be going out for the evening.
He could tell there was more to it than that. His not-parents weren't exactly being subtle. They were anxious, worried like his mother had often been. They wanted him to do what they asked without questions. He was tempted to refuse, it would give him time to finally search their room, but he doubted they would make it that easy.
But he'd already made that mistake. If he hadn't, he would probably have known what they'd been planning all along. But if he played along, went with them, he could throw a wrench in whatever they were planning. He smiled thinking about it before realizing they were still staring at him, looking even more anxious now.
He'd probably tipped them off a bit, but it didn't matter. He agreed and they looked so relieved that it was all brushed aside. He climbed into the back of the car and buckled up. That was when he asked where they were going. It caught both of them off guard, but his not-mother said they were going for an evening drive. Wherever they were taking him, he'd have to keep his eyes out.
The ride itself was awkward. His *NOT*-father was driving around, seemingly aimlessly, and there was an awkward anxiousness permeating the car.
Then his not-mother's phone rang. She answered it in an instant and nodded, and everything shifted, just like it had after that one night. There was a new tension, new drive, new focus. His *NOT*-father suddenly picked a new road and sped up.
He asked where they were going, but his not-mother asked him to be silent. He asked again, firing off bursts to demand their attention. His not-mother turned around in her seat and narrowed her gaze. He would find out soon. They were almost there.
His *NOT*-father hadn't even looked at him.
Something about the way they were acting made him stop. Maybe it was because his not-mother's glare had the same fiery intensity that father's did. Maybe because his *NOT*-father held, for the first time, the same determination that his father had.
In spite of himself, he sat back in his seat, frustrated. All he could do was look out the window. But when he did, his eyes went wide, because outside the window he saw something he'd only looked at once before. It was seared into his memory.
They were driving past his home.
And they were slowing down.
Author's Notes: I seem to be going back to older stories it seems. This has, I think, one more chapter to it. It would be nice to actually complete a series.