Thunderstorms
(Authors Note: A snippet of what I think it would be like if Aizawa adopted Shinsou from a bad foster situation that had to do with quirk discrimination. Poor kid just wants to be a hero.)
It was rare that Shinsou found himself awake from a nightmare without Aizawa being the one to wake him up from it, but tonight was one of those nights. He sat bolt upright in his bed, sheets tangled around his ankles and comforter half on the floor, purple hair stuck to his forehead with nervous sweat. Tears inadvertently streamed down his face, as the phantom sensation of the too tight muzzle chained to his face, the feel of the cold floor of the basement and the horror of what he had had suffered through played across his mind's eye. Shinsou shuddered, trying to take the deep measured breaths that Aizawa always had him do to calm down after nightmares, but was failing miserably without the reassuring presence of the hero beside him.
He was so caught up in residual fear and trying to get his previous foster parent's cruel laughter out of his head, that he didn't register the pouring rain and winds of the storm outside. So when the thunder boomed with a low rumble, Shinsou bit his lip so hard to repress the shriek of sudden terror that he drew blood. Shaking hands clamped down over his ears, and he rocked back and forth, wishing more than anything that it would all go away.
It would be better for him, he thought, if he didn't remember anything at all: none of the pain, the cold concrete, the tight muzzle locked onto his face, the bloody cuts his shoulders and back were always covered with. The insults they screamed at him, the food they denied sensation of the muzzle being removed from the cuts where it was forced on too tightly, opening the wounds and making his eyes water from the stinging agony. He would never forget the spitting hatred in his former foster parent's eyes as Aizawa had carried him from the basement, rescuing him from the hell he had suffered for 11 long years.
His mentor had been his lifesaver, figuring out the level of abuse Shinsou had suffered through when no one else had ever given a damn about him. The first time he actually met Aizawa, not just in passing, but actually stopped and made eye contact with him, Shinsou had the chilling feeling that the dark eyed man with the level gaze could see right through his facade. Not days after the sports festival, Aizawa, the Eraserhead, his childhood idol and hero, had offered to personally train him.
Shinsou had wondered if he was dreaming those first few days, knowing that this had to be too good to be true, as it was his most hidden and secret dream. What had he done to ever deserve this? Aizawa was Eraserhead, the only hero that Shinsou knew of who didn't have a flashy quirk, but rather a mental quirk, just like him. His idol had a quirk that was like his, his own villainous one, but he was a Hero.
The man moved like a shadow of the night, and was unbelievably strong, as Shinsou had found out on the first day of training with him. Aizawa had been having him do some basic movement and warm up tests, just getting a feel for what Shinsou's mobility and strength levels were at. The last test was where Aizawa had Shinsou try to touch him, just to see if he could move fast enough to outwit the hero. It had gone on for five minutes, and not once did Shinsou come close to making contact.
He remembered expecting a punishment for failing so badly, hanging his purple head in shame, and trying to ignore how tired he was, shaking and sweating from such intense physical activity. Shinsou knew he was weaker than most other boys his age, he didn't regularly have the chance to work out, or even eat on a regular schedule (let alone every day).However, no punishment, or even harsh words came his way; he instead received the furthest thing from what he expected.
"Not bad, kid. You're further along than I would have expected."
Shinsou's head came up fast at that, purple eyes rimmed with dark bags and wide with shock. Gray eyes with a hidden warmth met his gaze in return, and Aizawa stood calmly before him, breathing evenly and not like he had just evaded someone trying to catch him at top speed for almost 5 minutes. The breeze blew through the field they were standing in, Aizawa's black hair catching the movement, and Shinsou was grateful for the rush of cool air. The reclusive hero before him stood with his hands in his pockets, just watching Shinsou try and catch his breath with that usual level stare.
"... but.. But I didn't catch… you." Shinsou was careful to keep any inflection of a question out of his voice. Questions were what got him the muzzle and the basement, and questions got him even less food than he already got. He wasn't going to take chances with Aizawa, he didn't want to fuck the best thing that had ever happened to him up.
The dark haired man in front of him hummed in response. "I would have been amazed if you had, I'm very difficult to catch." He sounded almost smug and amused, but then again, Shinsou would be too if there was a 16 year old boy who was gasping for air after comically chasing after them for a few minutes.
Shinsou just looked up at him, wanting to ask what the point of the exercise was then, but didn't dare to vocalize the unspoken question. He gulped as he realized the man had gone from maybe amused to unreadable, but this time it was a different sort of unreadable. Once more, he found the chilling sensation of someone being able to see right through him raking alarm bells up his spine, and he dropped his gaze.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, what is he thinking, what am I supposed to do, oh fuck please don't notice the muzzle marks…
Aizawa asked him something instead, something that ripped the ground out from underneath him, and rocked him to his core.
"Who's hurting you, kid?"
FUCK.
Hours later, after Shinsou had vehemently denied any abuse by his foster parents, or fellow foster siblings, he had returned home. Aizawa had eventually let the subject drop, and he had breathed a secret sigh of relief. Shinsou looked up to Aizawa, but he didn't need him to know about the Nakatsukasa family, what how big of a fuck up he was.
Shinsou had no idea that was the start of a new life for him.
For the first week of training, he just met Aizawa after school, as discussed at the previous training session. They typically worked outside, using the open field and fresh air as their training ground, going through basic combat and mobility drills. Shinsou learned small things about Aizawa that first week, including that he liked cats and preferred salty snacks over sweet, but he also learned that the man wouldn't punish him for questions. The dark haired hero welcomed them, and invited him to ask a question anytime he had one.
But Aizawa had started noticing odd things. Shinsou flinched when reached for with open hands, he had only two sets of known clothes, and everything he owned was worn and tattered. The hero furrowed his brow in concern and anger, hoping his theory of child abuse wasn't correct. The purple haired teen was nothing but polite and honest with him, and Aizawa noticed Shinsou would stick to his side like glue if he could.
The suspicion that things were definitely not okay at home grew when he noticed bruises he knew Shinsou hadn't received from training; bruises that Shinsou had no good explanation for. He would get a muttered excuse about being clumsy, tripping and falling, but no solid answer that he could believe.
When the Aizawa had first discovered that the purple haired teen didn't own a phone, his suspicion of child abuse was set in stone, but he said nothing. Wordlessly, the next day, he passed the teen a slim black phone with a note upon which was written his phone number and address.
"If you ever need me, or you need help with anything, call me. Please kid. You can text me too, if that's easier."
The Erasure Hero was both firm and comforting with his words, and let a hint of a smile touch his grumpy face at the look of pure gratitude and respect shining in the boy's eyes for a brief second.
"Thank you, Sensei." The tone was almost reverent, but hesitant, as if waiting for the catch to sweep his feet from underneath him.
Two weeks later, Shinsou managed to pull the cell phone Aizawa had given him out of his pants pocket, where his foster parents had failed to notice it.
He was chained to the floor in the basement, his collar bones broken, his one ankle badly messed up and he was muzzled, because he had been caught taking food from the pantry without permission. Shinsou had begged, pleaded, apologized, and then screamed in agony as they hit him so hard they broke his bones when he spoke. Now, here he was locked in the cold basement, hungry, in pain, and he just wanted the one person he knew, the one person who had never hurt him. He wanted the one person who was never afraid of his quirk, and believed him when he said that he wanted to use it to be a hero.
Shinsou couldn't talk because of the muzzle, and his vision was hazy from his head being smacked harshly against the concrete floor, but he was able to blink hard a few times and find Aizawa's contact info in the phone menus. Carefully tapping against the screen with bloody fingertips, he sent a single text to Aizawa, praying that the man would get it in time.
'Bsmntt. Help me. Pleas..''
He promptly passed out as he pressed send, phone falling to the floor with a quiet clatter from where he was laying on his side awkwardly, chained to the floor like a literal animal.
Thunder rolled through, and the crackle of lightning lit up the basement through dingy windows.
The abused, broken teenager didn't hear his phone buzz with a responding text from Aizawa not thirty seconds later, didn't hear the sounds of the police and Aizawa literally breaking the door to the house down to find him. He didn't hear the sounds of Aizawa dashing down the wooden stairs of the basement faster than he ever had before, didn't hear the choked gasp of shock as the lights were turned on the horrific scene he made on the floor.
Shinsou was laying in a pool of his own blood from the head wound he had suffered, muzzle clamped over bloody purple hair. His arms were sprawled at awkward angles due to the broken collar bones, and one ankle swollen and purple from being twisted as his foster parents had hauled him down the stairs. The abused boy was curled on his side, the phone he had used to call for help covered in bloody fingerprints, and Aizawa saw red as rage flooded through him.
The Hero crouched beside the boy, fingers pressing against his bruised throat, praying he would find a pulse. A deep sigh of relief rushed from his chest when he found one, and Shinsou stirred slightly under the touch. Aizawa growled when he saw how deeply the muzzle cut into his student's face, and swore to himself that he would never allow harm to come to this boy that he saw so much of his past self in. Two officers carefully came down the steps, and blanched at the sight of Eraserhead crouched over the purple haired boy, choosing not to comment on his hand smoothing lavender hair out of bruised and tear stained eyes.
After photos for criminal evidence of what his foster "parents" had done to Shinsou had been taken, Aizawa was handed bolt cutters, and he cut the chain link at the back of Shinsou's head where the muzzle was locked and connected via a short chain to a metal loop in the floor. The chain clattered with the sounds of heavy metal to the floor, and Aizawa winced as he gently pulled the muzzle from his student's face.
Outside, the thunder rolled, booming and shaking the foundation of the house. Shinsou could remember it vividly, and the look of concern and care in Aizawa's eyes as the hero spoke to the broken boy in his grasp.
Still, Shinsou was barely conscious as his hero carefully pulled his broken and small frame into his strong and sturdy arms, cradling him close to a safe chest, and he heard the hero promise to never let him go again. He managed to open his eyes as Aizawa carried him out of the house, but the only thing he saw was the vehement hatred in his abuser's eyes and the soft tendrils of Aizawa's hair against his capture weapon. He remembered turning his aching head to rest against the warm and safe hero's chest, the thunder cracking, and then everything went black.
Another loud boom of thunder rocked him out of his past memories, and the sudden noise caused him to flinch in surprise, before looking up from his knees. He was cold, t-shirt damp with sweat and his hair sticky. He fluffed his violet hair dry with shaking hands, before clumsily sliding out of bed, shucking his old shirt for a clean and dry one.
The room that Aizawa had given him was better than anything he could have dreamed of: a soft and warm bed, a dresser, a desk, and a window with a small overlook. The window frame was big enough to sit in, and he had spent many sleepless nights and early mornings perched on the cushions there, oftentimes with their Maine Coon cat, Schrodinger. But right now, it felt so empty and devoid of comfort, and all he wanted was something to reassure his aching mind that he was okay.
He bit his lip in worried contemplation, torn between trying to sleep out on the couch, or just giving up and watching a movie on his phone. Maybe the cat would come and lay in bed with him? Another roll of thunder shook slowly through the house and he shook, flashing back to the dark and stormy night that Aizawa had saved him from that basement once more, and then he knew what he wanted.
Shinsou wanted Aizawa. Was he still awake? He turned and checked the time, finding breathing difficult with the tears pricking his eyes from the nightmares. He scrubbed at his eyes, the dark bags underneath like bruises, and squinted as the numbers 3:47 glared back at him. Shit, Aizawa was probably asleep by now, but he decided to check anyway. The man had said it was okay to be with him in the living room at any time if he couldn't sleep; he also struggled with insomnia and knew what it was like.
The exhausted teenager silently edged his door open and padded out into the hall, his bare feet cold on the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the kitchen. Aizawa wasn't there, nor was he in the living room, but Shrodinger, his cat, was on the couch in a content ball of fur. His eyes welled with tears, his throat tightening in that prickling sensation that he knew all too well. Sighing in disappointment and trying to repress the urge to just cry, at both that Aizawa wasn't there and that he was so weak he needed the comfort of the dark haired man's company, he got a glass of water and drank it slowly.
He came to sit down on the soft couch next to the cat, who let out a soft murp at the intrusion of space, but accepted offered ear rubs all the same. Shakily, he let out a deep breath, biting his lip as another wave of tears threatened to spill over when the thunder rolled through again. Shinsou curled in on himself as he wondered if Aizawa would get mad if he slept on the floor in his room, but almost immediately smacked himself at the thought. He had never been in the man's bedroom, that was his personal space, and Aizawa offered him the same courtesy.
Of course he would get mad if Shinsou just walked in and slept on the floor without asking first, he was downright pathetic for even needing to be near the man's soothing presence because he was scared of a thunderstorm. Still though, Aizawa had never gotten mad, never punished him, never mocked him for having fears, just understood and was there for him. He cared for him, and took good care of him; this was the first time Shinsou had ever had someone who was so good to him, and he wouldn't let himself mess this up.
The thunder rolled again, louder now, bringing the lightning with it this time. Shinsou shook, body moving off the couch and back down the hall unbidden, and heading almost instinctively for the place he knew contained the solace of safety. Aizawa's bedroom door was imposing, and Shinsou stood in the hallway, hand on the knob, stuck in indecision. His fingers were shaking, and breathing was difficult around the lump in his throat, and fuck he was panicking because he didn't know what to do and he was going to fuck this up…
He said to come to him anytime I needed him. But I will probably wake him up, I can't wake him up. I also didn't ask to go into his room in the middle of the night, he will probably get mad that invaded his privacy. I should just go back to bed-
The thunder let loose with a rumbling boom outside, rattling the windows, and this time, Shinsou didn't manage to contain the terrified squeak that left him. He dropped to a crouch, covering his head in terror, the tears flowing as he started to sob once more. He was so pathetic, damn near sixteen years old and scared of thunderstorms. He knew five year olds who were braver than he was, and as he curled into a ball on the floor of the hall, trying to control his breaths around panicked sobs, he didn't hear the sound of Aizawa's door opening.
"Shinsou? Hey, hey, hey, kid. You okay?" Aizawa's gentle, sleepy, but concerned voice registered, he saw the black lounge pants in front of him, and Shinsou went completely still. He squeezed his eyes shut, drowning in panic, bracing himself to feel that pain again. The pain he dreaded.
Fuck. FUCK. I woke him up. I'm gonna be in so much trouble, oh my god, is he going to muzzle me? Please don't punish me, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I'm pathetic, I'm sorry. Fuck. fuck. Fuck. Please don't send me away, I'm sorry.
Shinsou wasn't breathing, perfectly still on the floor as he didn't move, and Aizawa felt his heart break as he realized that the kid was bracing himself to be hit. The thunder rolled overhead and his eyes widened, sleep leaving him for the moment as he realized why the purple haired boy was panicking next to his door. Without another thought, he dropped down to sit next to him, gently speaking with low, reassuring tones.
"Hitoshi, you're safe here. I'm not going to hurt you."
Shinsou's shoulders slackened slightly, and he sucked in a breath, inhaling irregularly. It took Aizawa a second to realize that he was actually sobbing, but sobbing so silently he couldn't breathe because his chest was contracting so hard. As he started to breathe again, he heard the cut off sobs and choking hiccups of someone crying in utter panic.
"Hitoshi, it's Aizawa. You know I won't hurt you, ever. If you need me, you can always come and get me, kid." He kept his voice low and as gentle as he could, speaking to the panic ridden teenager in front of him like he was a traumatized child, which he was.
Shinsou's fingers loosened from their white knuckle grip he had in lavender locks, and his breathing started to even out, but he was still clearly gasping for breath and crying. He wouldn't look up at Aizawa, but he was calming down just a bit, and just when Aizawa was opening his mouth to offer some more reassurances, Shinsou looked up.
"Hitoshi?" Aizawa asked, just seeing if he would respond. The hero knew that using Shinsou's given name would typically yield better results, as he was the first foster parent who actually called him Hitoshi. He didn't dare move, even though his brain was screaming at him to offer the physical comfort he knew Shinsou needed.
Shinsou mutely met his eyes, and he started to cry harder, going from the gentle sniffs he had been, to shoulders shaking in wave after wave of anxiety and fear. Still, the purple eyes didn't look away from Aizawa's, meeting the tired and concerned gaze of the man who was seated before him, with his soft black hair mussed from sleep and hanging in his eyes.
"I.. I'm sorry.. I woke you up. I'm… pathetic…. P-please…" Shinsou turned away as he lost the ability to speak, fingers tightening in his hair once again. Aizawa felt his heart break that the kid felt the need to apologize for wanting something as basic as reassurance, and he could hold himself back no longer, giving in to the need to comfort the kid he knew to be his son. Reaching gently for the shaking boy, he drew him into his chest, cradling Shinsou with utmost care. Shinsou stiffened at his touch, biting his lip as he stifled his sobs, and for several moments, he didn't move.
Aizawa felt like his chest was about to burst with tension, hoping the traumatized kid wouldn't pull away and run from him, when Shinsou slowly loosened his fingers from where they were knotted in his lavender hair. Shaking hands instead found their way around Aizawa's sturdy frame, forming a knot with his shirt on his back, holding onto him and returning the hug.
Taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a hum of patient approval, Aizawa tightened his embrace around Shinsou, his hands smoothing into purple hair and along his shaking back. The teen was still crying, but more softly now, and his face was pressed into Aizawa's neck, seeking his comfort. He showed no signs of wanting to move, and that was just fine with Aizawa, he leaned back against the wall and just held the boy as long as he needed. His work calloused hands smoothed through lavender hair and his sleepy voice offered deep hums and reassuring words, and slowly, Shinsou eased out of the panic he was consumed by.
"I'm sorry.." His voice was barely a whisper, rough and scratchy with tears and embarrassment. His hands scrubbed furiously at his eyes, letting go of Aizawa, flushing as he realized he was rather sitting in the man's lap. The dark hero showed no signs of being upset, or angry, but rather seemed relieved to hear the apology, a gentle hand staying in his lavender hair.
"Don't be. You can always come and get me, Hitoshi. Even if it means waking me up."
Shinsou coughed, and took the distraction to scramble up and off the floor, gathering himself. He needed to blow his nose, and get some water. He was spared the awkwardness of having to say as much by Aizawa going on to say, "Go ahead and clean up. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
The dark haired man rose up from the floor, gracefully shaking the feeling back into his limbs, patting Shinsou on the shoulder, and walking away. Shinsou gratefully walked privately to the bathroom where he blew his nose and washed his face, taking a moment to compose himself before he made his way to the dimly lit kitchen.
Aizawa was waiting for him, the electric kettle just starting to rumble as it was heating up, but there was a glass of water waiting for him. Wordlessly, Shinsou took it, drinking it down steadily and slowly, thinking about the Hero-no, his foster father, in front of him. Aizawa was quiet, tired, and beyond gentle, caring, and firmly understanding: he was easily Shinsou's favorite, and best foster parent he had ever had, to the point where he knew he had found his home. This was the place he wanted to stay, and he didn't know if Aizawa felt the same way, but he sure hoped he did.
A few minutes passed, and the kettle softly whistled, Aizawa turning to it and pouring water for tea quietly. Steaming cups were settled on the kitchen table, and they sat there in companionable silence, sipping tea and petting the purring ball of fluff that was Schrodinger as the storm rumbled around them.
A few minutes in, and Aizawa met Shinsou's tired eyes with an equally tired stare as he asked, "Will you be able to sleep with the storm?"
Shinsou looked away, cheeks heating with embarrassment, but shook his head.
Aizawa just nodded and took another sip of his tea before he stood, waiting for Shinsou to follow him.
"Come on, you can stay with me. You need to sleep." He turned, walking off to his bedroom with Shrodinger weaving between his feet as he went. A bit shell shocked and not quite sure he heard the man correctly, Shinsou followed him.
Aizawa's room was dark and cozy, drapes pulled partially over the windows, a dresser with his hero goggles and capture weapon tossed on top of it, and a large bed covered in thick blankets. It smelled clean and felt warm, a mixture of the summer air and freshness of the storm with touches of laundry detergent and Aizawa's cologne coming through. Still, the inviting softness of the warm linens and the comfort of knowing Aizawa was there was helping to soothe his mind already.
"This is really okay…?" he let himself ask, just this once, hesitating when his body screamed to do nothing more than dive into that ridiculously cozy looking bed. He jumped at another rumble of thunder.
"Yes, Hitoshi. It is okay, and will be as you need it. Now come lay down." Aizawa punctuated the statement by settling Schrödinger onto the blankets and climbing into bed.
Another moment of hesitation, and Hitoshi gave in, sliding under the covers to join his dad in bed for the night for the first time since he was just a toddler. Aizawa just seemed to know and innately understand what deep down he truly needed to feel at ease. Still, Hitoshi didn't think Aizawa knew the magnitude of what it was that he was offering to him. This comfort and trust he hadn't had since he was just a kid, and even then, he could barely remember what his actual father looked like, let alone the last time he had actually been cared for like this.
He wasn't sure what to do with himself for a moment, struck by horrified embarrassment that Aizawa would think he was pathetic or childish, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the exact thing that he had always wanted but had never let himself dream of, happened.
Aizawa reached for his son, drawing his arms around the lanky boy and holding him close to his chest, wrapping his thick duvet around them both in a cozy cocoon of safety and warmth. Aizawa smelled of soft, woodsy cologne, laundry detergent, and like safety. The black shirt he was wearing was soft, and Hitoshi buried his nose in it, cuddling close enough to his guardian to hear the steady heartbeat thumping in his chest.
They felt Schrödinger move to lay by Hitoshi's head with a content purr, and then as the rain tapped against the windows, they fell asleep. Hitoshi hasn't slept so hard and well for years.
