Izuku: Hitoshi?
Hitoshi: Hey, what's up?
Izuku: Is your dad home?
Hitoshi: Nope. He's working a late shift tonight, won't be home till midnight or so.
Hitoshi: Why?
Izuku: Can I come over?
Hitoshi: Yea, sure It'd be great to have some company, honestly. But, why all of a sudden?
Hitoshi: Is it about your dad?
Izuku didn't respond.
—-
Tenko didn't leave the bedroom for a while after Izuku ran out. He got up to close the door, then sat back on the bed, trying to figure things out.
He didn't even leave when he finally heard the shower shut off in the bathroom, and the door open a few minutes later. He almost left when he heard the front door open and close—Had someone left? Or come in?—But he stayed put.
What finally made him leave was the sound of his mom chopping something. Far too aggressively.
He eased the door open, and the bang-bang-banging of the knife against the cutting board in the kitchen got louder. He walked down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen, approaching his mom from behind.
Her whole body was tense, her shoulders rigid, and her arms slamming the knife against the cutting board hard enough to echo through the small apartment. The rhythmic bang-bang-bang was relentless, each strike sending a jolt through Tenko's chest.
He was a bit scared to say or do anything. She seemed lost in her own head and hadn't noticed him. She was tense enough to whirl on anything that snuck up on her. And she had a knife.
Despite the scene he could see playing out in his head, he tried to find the best way to go about this situation and eventually settled on easing backward into the living room. Once he felt a safe enough distance, he started to call her name but paused when he caught sight of something white out of the corner of his eye.
He turned and saw a piece of paper on the couch, with writing scribbled on it. Curious, he stepped over and picked it up, reading the messy, childlike handwriting.
Headed to Hitoshi's, be back later. -Izuku*
Oh. So that's where Izuku was.
A flash of guilt, confusion, and a mess of emotions from earlier surged through him, threatening to overwhelm his already frazzled state. He clenched the paper tightly, took a deep breath, and pushed them all back down, folding the note with deliberate care. He had other things to worry about just then.
"Mom?"
The chopping abruptly cut off, dropping the apartment into an almost eerie silence for a few seconds before she responded, continuing to chop, clearly making a conscious effort to keep the chopping calmer than before.
"Dinner will be ready in a little bit." Her voice was tight, but he realized it wasn't with anger like he'd thought. She sounded anxious. Terrified, even.
"Mom?" He called again, more wary, now walking back into the kitchen behind her. "What's wrong?"
She ignored him, just kept chopping. He glanced down at the folded piece of paper in his hand and let out a breath, deciding to try something else.
"Did you see Izuku leave?"
She kept chopping for a minute, then finally stopped and set the knife beside her on the counter, turning to face him. Her eyes held so many emotions he couldn't even begin to read. But that could have been partially because they'd all been pushed aside for a look of concern. "No. I didn't."
He stepped closer and held the paper out, not taking his eyes off hers. Without a word, she took it, unfolded it, and read. "Oh."
She scanned it another time or two, a puzzled look on her face. He looked down. He probably should tell her why Izuku probably left. What had happened. He needed help figuring out what to do anyway.
He was just opening his mouth to speak and try his best to explain when she heaved a heavy sigh, the hand with the note falling to her side, and the other coming up to rub her temples. "I can't deal with this, too. Not right now. At least it gets him out of the house for a bit, I guess."
She trudged over to the dining table and fell back in a chair, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. He watched her worriedly, mind going back to the anxiety-filled way she'd been chopping moments before. "What do you mean, 'too'? Mom, what's wrong?"
She looked up at him, eyes flooded with fear, dread, anxiety, worry, and uncertainty. Unease. As well as hesitance.
"Please. Just tell me," Tenko pleaded. His mind was already thinking of the worst, and he had to know.
She bit her lip, stared at him, then looked away with another sigh. "Go look for yourself." She gestured toward her phone on the farthest counter.
He glanced at her again, wary, but then did as he was told and moved to the phone. Picking it up, he typed in his mom's password, and immediately the screen pulled up messages between her and an unknown number.
At first, he was confused. Without a contact name, he had no idea who she'd been messaging. But then, as he scrolled back a little and read a few of their short and to-the-point conversations (which often ended in words of consolation and 'I love you's), he realized that this must've been Hisashi. They were probably taking precautions with his contacts being traced.
So that meant that the last message this number had sent just a little while ago, the one she was probably talking about, was…
Oh.
He felt his heart drop to his stomach, twisting and coiling with anxiety and nausea, ready to come up his throat. But he swallowed it back. He was sure his face had gone pale.
He did his best to stay calm as he set the phone back down slowly, hands shaking. But he could feel his chest pounding and his breaths quickening.
Calm down, he told himself. You can't panic. You knew this would happen anyway. Stay calm.
He took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly, counting in his head as he did so. Then he did that again, and again. Until finally, he felt calm enough to turn back around and walk over to his mom.
He rested a hand on her shoulder, forced out words he could barely find to tell himself. "It'll be ok." He hoped his voice wasn't too shaky, hoped it came out sounding more confident than he felt. "He hasn't lost yet."
He couldn't see her face; she was looking down at the table, her face in her hands. But she let out a sob then, her shoulders hunching up. She turned around in her chair and wrapped her arms around his waist as she let out a few more sobs, shoulders shaking as she began to cry.
Without hesitation, he crouched down and hugged her back, letting her rest her head in between his shoulder and neck as she cried. He might've felt a few tears creep into his eyes too.
He silently hoped with everything he had that his father would be ok.
And he wished that he could help instead of sitting here doing nothing.
—-
Hitoshi frowned at the small guest bedroom. There were still clothes piled in each corner and tossed on the back of the desk chair. Bottles littered the desk itself and the nightstand. The bed was unmade, blankets piled together. The smell of coffee lingered in the air.
But there was less trash on the floor, and it was easier to get to and from the bed. So he shrugged and plopped down into the desk chair. This was good enough. He knew Izuku didn't care, and it's not like it was really his room.
He opened his phone. Izuku had texted back, but it was just to let him know he was on his way. He said nothing about Hitoshi's last text.
He huffed a sigh and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. He thought about what Izuku had asked just a couple of hours earlier as they all walked home from school.
His eyes narrowed slightly. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe Izuku had asked that at all. Could 'Kacchan' be right? Please, what does that explosions-for-brains know? He was just trying to get in their heads.
Why would Hisashi ever leave? And for America, of all places. It was dumb. This was all just dumb.
No matter how hard he tried, those thoughts just couldn't bury the pressing voices.
Then why is Izuku wanting to come over?
Then why had Hisashi disappeared without a word in the middle of the night? Why were Tenko and Inko so upset? Why were they all keeping secrets from Izuku?
He thought about all the times Hisashi had understood him when no one else did. The playful bantering he liked to have with the man. He'd never judged Hitoshi, not for his quirk or anything else. He'd been the closest thing Hitoshi had felt like he'd had to a dad since…
Hitoshi sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe Izuku was coming to tell him he was wrong and that it was something else entirely.
There was a knock at the front door.
When Hitoshi opened it up a few seconds later, he was greeted by familiar green eyes that lacked their usual bright smile. No, instead they were wet, as were the freckled cheeks. Even so, he gave a shaky smile. "H- hi, Toshi."
Hitoshi's stomach dropped, along with that hope.
—-
Only a few minutes had passed since Tenko heard the fight had started, but each second stretched into an agonizing eternity. The low hum of the television, the faint clinking of pots from the kitchen, every noise seemed amplified, grating against his nerves.
He was sitting on the couch, struggling to destroy zombie's with lasers on his console using shaky fingers and a still harshly beating heart. Mom was in the kitchen, back to cooking, maybe even multiple things at once now to keep herself more busy and distracted. The TV was on, playing the news, which was luckily nothing about the ongoing battle. The radio was also playing music from the kitchen.
But despite each of their multiple attempts at distraction, Tenko knew his mom was struggling just as much as he was to keep her mind off things. Especially if how often he heard her yelp or hiss or fake curse, usually accompanied by either hurried footsteps or something falling, had anything to say about it.
After the dozenth time he lost because he couldn't stay focused on his game, he finally threw the thing on the couch beside him with a frustrated grunt.
At the same time, in his mind he saw a giant fist coming down and a large grin that just felt mocking. Then his father's scream.
Then the fear was gone, replaced by anger. He felt a sudden surge of irrational rage tear through him, clouding his vision and replacing the blood in his veins.
He reached up and started clawing at his neck with his gloved hand. It was suddenly miserably itchy, and he desperately scratched and clawed, but it wouldn't go away. It wasn't enough.
He let out a noise, something between a whimper and growl. The glove. The glove, the fabric, it was keeping him from scratching it. He needed it off.
He could barely even process what he was doing before his other hand was pulling the glove off, tugging at the fabric. He needed it off.
Then he froze, glove just halfway off his hand. Another hand rested gently on his, stopping him. It was soft and tender, although he thought he could feel it shake slightly. Or maybe that was his own.
He looked up and saw his mom, crouched in front of him. She smiled, a warm thing, even if her green eyes showed sadness.
"It's ok," came the soft whisper. But it sounded almost far too loud in the sudden silence. He realized abruptly that at some point, everything had been shut off.
With a sudden emptiness, a numbness that he wanted to hate, but yet welcomed with relief because, feeling nothing was so much better then feeling everything, he stopped trying to hold himself up. He fell forward, and his mom caught him.
In between her arms, his head resting in her shoulder as she rubbed his back, he stayed completely still, completely silent. He was scared to do anything, as if it would risk breaking whatever he had right there.
Because just then, just for that moment, things felt almost ok. He could almost ignore everything else and just absorb the embrace. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.
Then there was a knock.
He nearly snapped, just at the sound. Felt, for a split second, all that rage that had just finally disappeared again started to flooding back.
But when mom didn't move, when she didn't let go, he took a deep breath, and another, and felt that anger subside again. He relaxed back into her arms.
Then the knock came again.
He gave a mix of a sigh and groan, but the anger didn't come back this time. And as much as he hated it, he sat back up again.
Mom looked at him, a small smile still on her lips, concern in her eyes, but a bit of that same temporary content he thought was in his own. He gave a small smile back.
The knock came again, more urgent this time.
"I'm coming," she called, getting to her feet.
Tenko leaned back and watched as she walked to the front door, curious as to who it could be.
She stands on her toes to look through the peephole. Then her face goes dark. Confused, but dark.
He feels whatever peace he had before fade, replaced by confusion and dread. "Who is it?" He asked.
She ignored him, pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and opened the door with a quite forced smile.
"Kurogiri, hello." She opened the door wider and, sure enough, the man with the angled, glowing yellow eyes coming from a head made of purple mist flowing up like a fire, and a body seemingly shoved inside a metallic neck and suit, stepped inside. "What are you doing here?"
Tenko feels a sense a nausea approach suddenly, coming to the same conclusion that mom likely had when she saw him through the peephole. Unless this was some really weird timed assignment with Tenko's training, there weren't many reasons why Kurogiri would be there right now.
Unless maybe to deliver news.
Tenko locked eyes with his mom as she closed the door, both sharing a glance heavy with unspoken fears. The air grew colder, the room's atmosphere thick with dread as Kurogiri's ominous presence filled the space.
"Mrs. Midoriya, Tenko." Kurogiri bowed. "I'm sorry to disturb you both, and for the bluntness, but I have a message of greatest urgency from Dr. Garaki."
Those angled, yellow eyes turned and met Tenko's directly, still as emotionless as ever.
"Tenko, the Doctor has asked you to the current base for some words. He would like your help with something immediately. And yes, it does have to do with your father's current situation."