Work Text
Hisashi gasps. Awareness comes back to him like a semi-truck crashing into him. He wriggles, but finds his arms and legs are binded to a chair. To make matters worse, he’s been gagged, and no matter how hard he tries, his quirk is useless against the material. If he had to use one word to describe the room he’s currently trapped in it would be, ‘white’. White ceiling. White floor. White walls. White. White. White. The only light comes from a bare bulb hanging over his head, a metal pull string dangles just out of reach (well, if his hands were actually free that is). The room is empty of anything besides the chair Hisashi’s tied to. His blood drips onto the floor, contrasting with the bright white. He sucks in a breath through his gag. His dark hair hangs over his eyes. He can’t remember how he got here. The last few hours are a blur. He remembers leaving his house. He remembers getting in his car, driving to the harbor, and parking a few blocks away. He remembers getting out of his car and nothing else. It’s like his memory’s been scrubbed. Or maybe, the dull ache radiating from the back of his head tells him, some low-level thug cracked him over the head. Guess the boss found out. A door is thrown open to his left. It fits seamlessly into the wall, so he jumps when it opens suddenly. “Hello,” a short, stout man in a lab coat says. He pushes a cart. Hisashi tries to take in everything about the man. Anything that could possibly help him when he gets free. His face is familiar. One of the boss’ minions, perhaps? He tries to speak through the gag with no success. “Wh’v ‘r v?” The man chuckles. “Who am I?” He clicks his tongue, pushing the cart right in front of Hisashi. “It shouldn’t matter to you.” His eyes widened, because laid on the metal surface of the cart, are photos of his wife and son dead. His beautiful Inko’s hair is darker than usual, blood staining her hair, face, and clothes. She lays sprawled out on the floor, arms tied behind her back. The shadow of the camera man can be seen hovering over her, capturing her final moments. Hisashi shuts his eyes, forcing down the wave of emotions that overtake him. “Look,” the doctor laughs, grabbing his chin. “Look at what you did.” He opens his eyes, but he can’t make himself look at any of the other countless photographs. The idea of seeing what became of his son is too much. The doctor doesn’t seem to like this, because he grasps a fistful of Hisashi’s hair and forces his head downward. His eyes, against his will, catch a glimpse of his son’s fate. His baby…. He coughs, bile forcing its way up his throat. The gag stops most of it from leaving his mouth. Hisashi’s head spins. (His son…why would they?....Izuku, baby…..). The doctor jabs a finger into his cheek, laughing cruelly. “Like what you see?” He does not. At all. But he can’t muster the strength to tell him that. “No?” The doctor sighs. “That’s disappointing. Oh, well. I suppose I should tell you why you’re here.” Next to the photos is a tattered but well-loved baby blanket. The exact same one they brought Izuku home from the hospital in. Blood stains the blue fabric. That, more than anything else, convinces Hisashi that all of this is real. His son refuses to go anywhere without it, dragging it around the house and occasionally out in public. Images of his family’s demise, illustrated so vividly by a thousand-dollar camera, flash through his head. Over and over and over again. Splashes of deep red on forest green, dripping and spilling and ruining everything. “AHHHHH!” He screams. The gag is singed as his quirk is let loose. The doctor tells him to calm down, but Hisashi is beyond reason. He prizes himself on having excellent control of his quirk (something he owes to his now-deceased parents who put him in quirk therapy after he burned down their house). But none of that matters now. Nothing matters now. He’s the only one left. The door slams open. “Hold him down,” the doctor says, pointing at him. “Sensei, doesn’t need another hideout burnt down.” Hisashi is forced out of his chair. Two men, bigger and stronger than him, hold him down. The doctor makes quick work of placing a muzzle over his face. “This is fire-proof,” he mutters. “Perfect for someone like you. Wouldn’t you agree, traitor?” -x-x-x- Izuku screams, jolting awake. The nightmare he’d been having is already starting to fade, but he knows from past nights that it has something to do with the war. He also knows that it changes - seeing Kacchan covered in blood and unmoving, his mentor fighting All for One, or failing Ten- He sits up, placing a hand over his racing heart. It’s been like this since the war ended a month ago. Sometimes the nightmares follow him into the waking world. Flashes of images, barely glimpses, stampede through his mind. It never lasts long - maybe three or four seconds. But everytime it feels like a life sentence. It almost feels like he’s there, experiencing it all again. Talking to Mr. Aizawa about it would be the wisest choice, if not going straight to Hound Dog. But everyone is so busy (too busy for him certainly), and it’s not like a few scary images will kill him. He looks at his alarm. The red glowing numbers read: 1:30 am . Izuku sighs, resigning himself to staring at the ceiling. He lays back down, ignoring the way his sweat soaked shirt clings to his back. -x-x-x-
“I can’t take it anymore Mon!”
“Is…is Shigaraki still in there?”
Stumps where his arms used to be. Useless as he himself has always been and always will be.
“Midoriya!” Mr. Aizawa yells. Something in his voice startles Izuku out of his thoughts. A creeping concern that is plain as day, especially when he looks up and meets his homeroom teacher’s eyes. His classmates have a similar look in their eyes as well, but they have the decency to look down at their desks (somehow that makes Izuku feel worse. It reminds him of the few kind people at Aldera that wouldn’t make fun of him, but would also look the other way when he got bullied. Putting their heads down or holding their hands over their ears, as Izuku begged for help). “Sorry,” he clears his throat, clasping his hands together on his desk. “What was the question again?” “See me after class,” Mr. Aizawa says instead of whatever he originally asked. He calls on someone else. Izuku stares at the empty seat ahead of him. Kacchan…. -x-x-x- By the time the bell rings for lunch, Izuku has zoned out and zoned back in more times than he can count. His classmates send him pitying smiles as they file out of the room. Uraraka pats his arm as she passes. “Be strong,” she whispers. Iida is more blunt but no less kind. “Be honest.” And then, they’re alone. “Midoriya,” Mr. Aizawa starts. “What’s gotten into you?” There’s nothing in his tone that indicates an accusation, but with how fast Izuku’s heart is racing it might as well be. “Not- nothing. I…um…it’s just been hard since the war ended.” Mr. Aizawa doesn’t say anything. It makes his heart beat faster as his brain struggles to come up with a coherent reason. “And…uh…um….I guess it’s hard to sleep sometimes.” “You’re tired?” “No, well, yes. But that’s not what it is. I promise it’s not on purpose. I really have been trying to sleep.” Mr. Aizawa tilts his head. “I figured. Have you talked to Hound Dog, yet?” Izuku frowns, looking at the ground. It’s not that he dislikes their school’s guidance counselor, but he would be lying if he said that the pro hero doesn’t scare him a little. The last time he got scolded by him, while dealing with Gentle and La Brava, felt like enough interaction for a lifetime. “Midoriya, you need to talk to someone. And if that someone isn’t me or Hound Dog, then it has to be someone else. But you need to talk to someone.” Izuku shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, forcing a thin smile. His teacher looks thoroughly unconvinced, almost worried. “I am ,” he insists, smiling wider. “Today was just an off day.” Mr. Aizawa narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?” No, no, he isn’t. Izuku has never been less sure in his entire life. Everything feels not quite right, like someone has come in and placed all his things two inches to the left. But saying that would be admitting that he has a problem. A problem that, in the grand scheme of things, is insignificant. “Positive.” -x-x-x- Lunch doesn’t make him feel any better. Todoroki and Uraraka are distant - understandably so - and are almost adamant about keeping Izuku at arm's length. He tries not to take it personally. He can’t imagine how much they’re suffering (fighting your own brother can’t be easy. And he has no idea what went down during Uraraka and Toga’s fight, but it’s changed something deep within her.) His other friends try to keep the peace. Iida is more talkative than usual, filling the quiet with updates about his family (his brother is doing well, better than the doctors could have possibly hoped). Izuku finds himself looking around the cafeteria, searching for the one person that might understand him. Only that person is still in the hospital, their heart being closely monitored. “Midoriya,” Iida says. His eyes are soft but determined, much like they were that day in the rain. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Izuku stares down at his still-full plate. He pokes at his rice, stomach roiling at the idea of eating anything at all. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Just tired is all.” -x-x-x- The sun has only just started to set. The sky is full of pinks and soft oranges. It’s late June, so there’s no chill that follows the sun going down. Izuku got permission to go for a run off school grounds. Mr. Aizawa hadn’t wanted to grant it, still shook up from the (second) loss of his long lost friend, but he relented when Izuku promised to keep his cellphone (tracker and all) on him. While U.A. is almost completely rebuilt, the homes and businesses around it aren’t. Rubble has been cleared from the road but it remains off to the side, forgotten for the time being. Houses burnt and half-decayed sit abandoned. Izuku pays it no mind. The people and shop owners here were among the first to be evacuated to safety. Hopefully no one was foolish enough to stay behind. Glass crunches under his feet as he runs along the darkened street. He runs and runs until the sun has set behind the horizon. Usually, this would trigger the streetlights to turn on, but they aren’t there anymore. The remainder of them lie in pieces along the sidewalks (or what used to constitute as a sidewalk). He finally stops for a moment, panting and heart pounding, near the konbini he and his class used to go buy food at. It’s in a sorry state now, less a building and more a rundown gazebo. Izuku puts his hands on his knees, allowing himself a moment to breathe. It’s quiet out here, he realizes, comparing it to the constant chatter of his classmates. It’s quiet out here. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looks back at the glass-less windows of a house. No one’s there. He huffs, standing straight. Of course, there’s no one there. Most of the villains have been rounded up and the civilians have been instructed not to return until further notice. But the minute he turns back around there’s….also no one there. Izuku sighs.
I’m being paranoid for nothing.
A glass bottle rolls out from behind the abandoned konbini. “Hello?” He calls out. “Is someone there?” He’s stuck between moving closer and rendering aid, or running full force back to school grounds. Which, while unhero-like, is exactly what Mr. Aizawa wants him to do. The urge to make sure everyone is alright wins out. Izuku creeps closer, one hand on his left pocket - the one carrying his cellphone. “Hello!? Don’t be scared! If you need assistance, I can escort you to U.A., or wait for an ambulance with you.” No one answers him. “Is anybody there?” Izuku purses his lips, hands on his hips. Maybe it was all his imagination? His mother has told him, in no uncertain words, that he has an overactive one. And with the war and his nightmares hanging over him like a dark cloud, it wouldn’t surprise him if it was nothing. He sighs again, turning back towards U.A. He’s traveled far enough today. Pressing his luck might make Mr. Aizawa take back his permission for next time. A loud crash has Izuku getting into a fighting position, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. He stares at the space beside the shop. Something’s being dragged along the ground, heavy and weighed down. Metal clangs together rhythmically. Izuku breathes out and in, forgetting his cellphone and promise to his teacher. Out from behind the Konbini a man appears. Izuku sizes him up, assessing him. But the man is in bad shape, even from fifty feet away Izuku can see that. His hair is choppy and uneven. He’s dirty and covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. His mouth is covered not by one muzzle but two (one fabric and one metal. The latter one hangs off, it’s straps dangling down the man’s back). He wears hospital clothes, dirtier than the rest of him. Zip ties and bits of rope dig into already raw skin. The man’s eyes are watery. He holds his hands out in front of him. Izuku is quick to hurry over. “Can you talk?” The man wheezes, shaking his head. “O-kay, that’s fine. I’ll call an ambulance.” He waits for the man’s approval to dial 119 (he would have done it anyway, but he would rather avoid an altercation if the person is wary of getting help). The man’s eyes seem unfocused, and they never stop tearing up. It’s like a constant, never-ending fountain of tears. In a weird way, it reminds him of his mom. “They’ll be here soon,” he says, speaking softly. “In the meantime, I can try taking that muzzle off you.” Realizing that he might have misstepped, he quickly adds, “if you want, that is.” The man looks at him, no less unfocused and no less teary-eyed. He looks back at the ground, sitting down. Izuku reaches out tentatively, hands shaking. He goes slow, in case the man wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He touches the metal around the man’s mouth. The thought, it might be there for a reason, pops into his head but he ignores it. Maybe this is foolish of him, but the man doesn’t look like a threat (at least at the moment). His hands feel around, trying to find the release. A button or a clasp, perhaps. Whoever did this must have built one into it.
Unless they wanted the man dead….
His fingers brush up against a notch on the side of the mask. Barely noticeable unless you’re looking right at it. Izuku fidgets with it until the muzzle falls off. Part of him winces, terrified that the muzzle might have been there for protection. But it falls off and the man doesn’t react at all. The sides of his mouth are covered in dried spittle and (what Izuku can only assume) sick. Izuku digs into his pocket for a napkin or cloth. He remembers stuffing one in after lunch. It should be around here…. He pulls out a napkin, crumbled but still clean. “Here,” Izuku says, holding it out. The man doesn’t look at him. The man mutters something. “I’m sorry, what was that?” The man continues muttering. It sounds like “gone” “my baby” “come back” but Izuku can’t be sure. He kneels down next to the man. “I’m going to clean your face, okay?” More muttering. Izuku carefully dabs at the dried spittle. It’s little use, but some of the worse bits do flake off. “I know this isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do.”
More like the least I can do. After Tenko, I shouldn’t even be able to call myself a-
He clenches his eyes shut, willing the unpleasant (but no less true) thoughts to go away. This isn’t about him. “The doctors and nurses will clean you up. Make you all better.” His words are childish, spoken as if he’s reciting a nursery rhyme. Calm and soft and gentle. “My baby…” the man rasps, eyes flitting up not quite to Izuku’s but somewhere between his chest and stomach. Izuku tenses up, hands pulling back. “I need….to go home. They….they….” he trails off. Izuku tilts his head to the side, confused. “They?” He asks. The man’s expression turns stormy, eyes glaring at Izuku. It’s such a 180 that he’s left with no time to react. “They lied to me!” Each word sounds like it hurts, being dragged out just like the man’s lame leg upon the ground. Izuku scrambles back, dirty napkin clutched in a fist. “Sir?” The man’s eyes are like blazing infernos. He practically snarls at Izuku, clawing at him. Izuku, in spite of losing One for All, hasn’t lost his training, so the man ends up grappling air. Still, that doesn’t help his racing heart. “Sir? What are you talking about? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to- ah!” He’s abruptly cut off by the man lunging himself full force, from a crouched position, at him. It takes Izuku by surprise, and in the few seconds between realization setting in and the man pouncing, it’s too late. The man is skinny, likely due to improper meals, but he’s shockingly strong. He’s taller than Izuku and his hands are bigger too. Easily holding Izuku’s hands to his chest. Izuku screams, flailing his legs. “Help!” “Are you working for them?” The man asks, getting close to his face. In response, either out of discomfort or pettiness, Izuku shuts his eyes and turns his face away, unwilling to engage. “No,” he finally says after feeling the man’s grip tighten around his wrists. “No, I’m not.” “I don’t trust you.” The man grabs his face, turning his head. “Look at me,” he says, almost teasing. When Izuku doesn’t oblige, his voice turns demanding. “Look at me, damn it!” Izuku’s been in enough life-or-death situations to know when to listen. Despite popular belief, he does, in fact, want to live to see twenty. He forces himself to open his eyes. The man hovers over him, eyes still burning and mouth forming a scowl. The man gets closer, until they’re nose to nose. There’s nowhere for Izuku to go. His only hope is the ambulance arriving, or one of his classmates coming to look for him. The man’s eyes soften suddenly. “Your eyes,” he murmurs. “My baby’s eyes.” “Sorry,” Izuku squeaks out. He knows there’s no reason to apologize. It’s not like he went out and stole some unsuspecting baby’s eyes. But the man is breathing down his neck, on the verge of a breakdown, and he has nowhere to run. “‘M sorry, baby.” Hot tears fall on Izuku’s face. “‘M so sorry.” The man sobs quietly, grip unwavering. Izuku shuts his eyes again, wanting to disappear into the ground below. He feels every bit the failure that everyone must think he is. This man is hurting and all he can think about is running away!
I want my mom. I don’t want to be here. I want this man to go away.
“No!” The man shouts. It startles Izuku to tears, or maybe he’d already been on the verge of crying? He doesn’t know anymore. “Open your eyes! I need to see your eyes!” Izuku listens. “I-I’m sorry, shhhh….I didn’t mean to make you cry.” The man uses his free hand to comb through the curly side of Izuku’s hair. “Shhh….daddy’s here. Don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry for scaring you.” There’s a time and place for everything. In war and stopping violent criminals, it’s fighting. During a wedding, it’s not declaring your undying love for one part of the married couple. And under a strange man who is shushing you like a baby and claiming he’s your dad, it’s to play along. “I-I’m fine,” Izuku stammers out. “Of course you are, because I’m here.” The words while dissimilar enough to his mentor’s catch phrase still makes Izuku’s heart twinge (he misses All Might’s bentos and words of wisdom. He makes a mental note to visit him - if he gets out alive that is). The smile the man sends Izuku is almost fatherly. “I’ve missed you so much.” The man’s smile is almost contagious. If Izuku wasn’t a scare away from peeing his pants he might have smile himself. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you and mommy. That must have been scary, huh?” Something in Izuku tells him that the man isn’t expecting an answer. Not that he could give one. The man hums, hand finding the back of Izuku’s head. It presses him closer, forcing his face into the crook of the man’s neck. It’s warm there. If he pretends, putting his overactive imagination to good use, maybe he can picture his mom holding him, instead of this madman. Eventually, the shrill alarm bells of the ambulance break the quiet. Izuku fears they might run them over, but it’s quickly dismissed when they pull up beside them. Two people get out of the back. An older woman and a man, maybe two or three years older than Izuku himself, are quick to assess the scene. “Sir,” the woman says, “I need you to get off…ah…what’s your name?” “Iz-” he stops himself. Does he really want this person to know his name? What if he escapes and tracks him down? “Deku.” “Deku,” the woman continues. “Please, get off, Deku.” The man looks between the first responders and Izuku, eyes wide. “Stay back! Get away!” He covers Izuku’s body with his own. “I won’t let you take him!” The woman sighs. “Sir, please, we just want to help.” “No! I won’t let you hurt him! Take me! Kill me! But leave my baby alone!” Izuku tries to breathe through his own rising panic. More and more he feels like he’s being slowly suffocated. An impossibility given their size difference, and yet, Izuku squirms underneath the man, terrified that every breath might be his last. Off to the side, the woman and man chatter about something.
Hopefully, a way to get me out of this situation.
The man kisses Izuku’s sweaty forehead. His lips are chapped, pressed firmly to his skin. “It’s okay. I won’t let them take you.” Please do. After a moment of deliberation, the woman comes back. She kneels down a few feet away. If Izuku’s hands were free he could reach out to her. “Hey,” she murmurs. “I understand that something bad must have happened to you. And I know you don’t want us to take your baby away from you.” The woman puts on a fake smile. “You know, I have three kids myself. I don’t know what I’d do if someone took them away.” The man says nothing. “Would it be okay if we took both of you to the hospital? Just to clean you guys up.” Shaking his head, the man tightens his grip. “No!” Izuku looks at the woman’s exasperated expression and comes to an understanding inside himself. He summons all his dignity and promptly throws it away. “Daddy,” he murmurs. The man’s attention is instantly on him. “I…I want to go to the hospital.” The man blinks, as if processing Izuku’s words. Slowly. “But…but those people-” “Want to help us.”
Help you, help me, it’s all the same really.
The man sighs. “Okay,” he says. “But you stay right next to me the whole time.” Izuku barely stifles a groan. Mr. Aizawa is definitely not letting him leave campus again. -x-x-x- The ride to the hospital is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as having a grown man you’ve never met in your entire life, hold onto you like a lifeline. To make matters worse, the man refused to answer any questions about himself. And any attempt by Izuku to talk to the first responders was shot down with a shush. A nurse and a security guard meet them at the entrance of the hospital. The man looks between all the adults, a betrayed expression crossing his face. “You-you liars!” There’s a click, like the flick of a lighter. And then, orange flames erupt from the man’s mouth. Thankfully for the ambulance and the staff, the man’s flames are interrupted by a hacking cough. He chokes, covering his mouth in his elbow. The security guard takes the brief opportunity to haul the man off the ambulance and subdue him. Izuku watches on, numb, a single thought running through his mind.
Didn’t my father have fire breath as his quirk?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was four in the morning when Inko heard a knock at their front door. At that point in her life, she wasn’t much of a sleeper, so she’d already been up. She expected her husband. It wouldn’t be the first time Hisashi forgot his keys. He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his neck. But still, something in her said he would've called or texted if that were the case. And he never came home so late. So, she got on her tiptoes and looked through the peephole. Her suspicion had been right, because on the other side wasn’t her husband of four years. It was a man dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase standing on their doorstep. “Mrs. Midoriya,” the man said, with an urgency in his tone. “Please, open up. It’s about your family’s safety.” “Who are you?” She asked, hand on the doorknob. “I work with your husband. We don’t have much time. Let me in, and I’ll explain everything.” Inko reached for her phone before remembering she left it to charge on the nightstand.
Damn it!
“I’m with the commission.” “Show me your ID,” she demanded. The man sighed, resigned. “Fine, fine. Here.” After some more back and forth, Inko allowed the man entry. In retrospect, even with an ID, she might have been inviting a serial killer into their home. But the man had been so convincing, nice too - for a commission worker (Hisashi was different from the other workers at the hero commission, she reasoned to herself.) “You need to pack any necessities and leave tonight. There’s a car out front that’s going to take you to your new apartment.” He moved as he spoke, checking behind photos and under the coffee table. “What? Why? I need to call my husband.” “No time. Trust me.”
Said the strange man in my house.
“Please,” the man begged. “I know this is weird and a little scary.” He took Inko’s hands in his own. “I work with your husband day in and day out. And I promised him if things got too bad and he couldn’t come home, I’d be the one to escort you guys to a safer place.” Tears sprung to Inko’s eyes. “Is…is…” she trailed off, unable to get the awful words out of her mouth. “We don’t know. All our agents have a tracker on their phone. And we lost the one on your husband, which means your family might be a target.” Inko thought about Hisashi and her baby asleep in the next room. “Okay,” she said, steadfast and unwavering even while crying. “Tell me what I need to do.” -x-x-x- In the early days, Hisashi cried and cried. He mourned the loss of his home. Of his family. Of normalcy. Of life without fear and pain. He felt like the pain was a punishment for not protecting his family. Their final moments were burned into his memory, seared like the metal rod he was poked with. It didn’t last long, though. Hisashi can’t be entirely sure what happened first. If the people holding him captive grew bored of him, or he just stopped reacting to their abuse. He supposes it doesn’t matter, because either way the physical torture stopped - motivated by his waning emotions or otherwise. He was still trapped, however, and rarely did he see anyone else. The only upside to the physical torture was that it meant he saw other people. It meant an escape from his tiny cell with no windows and minimal light. And it meant that his screams and pleads were actually heard instead of muffled by reinforced steel. But it stopped, and Hisashi remained locked up in his tiny cell with minimal lighting and no visitors. Until he didn’t…. -x-x-x- “Damn, nerd,” Kacchan teases him. There’s something like a fond smile on his face. It’s abnormal and strange to Izuku. It makes his heart beat faster and face grow hot.
But considering the circumstances, Izuku is liable to chalk it up to the bizarre encounter he had not two hours earlier. He ignores the softness in Kacchan’s eyes, the concern (both things he’s imagining to make himself feel better). “What did Mr. Aizawa say?” Izuku’s eyes widened. He tenses up, hand shooting to his pocket to grab his phone. “Shoot! I forgot!” Kacchan scoffs. “Better get on that.” “On it! Be right back, Kacchan.” “No you won’t. Visiting hours are over,” a nurse taking Kacchan’s vitals says. “Your mother’s been informed about the situation. She’ll be here soon. In the meantime, call your teacher and wait in the lobby.” “Oh,” Izuku says. “This place sucks,” Kacchan complains, holding his (good) arm out for the nurse to draw blood. “Can’t you bend the rules just this once?” The nurse shakes her head. “If I bend them for you-” “You have to bend them for everyone,” the boys finish for her. “Okay. See you later, Kacchan.” “Later, Izuku.”If the fond look didn’t make Izuku blush, the use of his name definitely did. He hurries from the room before Kacchan can tease him about it. -x-x-x- Hisashi’s eyes shoot open.
This isn’t my cell.
He reaches for his mouth, only to find the muzzle gone. The large machine next to his bed beeps loudly. He groans, holding his hands over his ears. He can vaguely remember how, in the first years of his captivity, the absence of noises made him go half-mad. All the things he never thought he’d miss. Cars and people talking loudly and birds singing and animals chattering and even the microwave going off. But that was years ago, and now….. Now he wishes it would all stop. He glances around the room, looking for an exit. The windows are open (likely against protocol), but Hisashi would rather not die. Not until he finds his baby. He grits his teeth, anger coursing through his veins, at the reminder of his son. Those bastards took his baby away from him! His anger quickly turns to ice cold fear.
They took his son away….
Images of his own torture rings through his mind. Hisashi would like to believe that they wouldn’t subject someone so young and innocent to such barbaric practices, but he has no faith in his fellow man. Hisashi glances at the door, before yanking the IV out. A spurt of blood erupts from his vein. The machine next to his bedside beeps even louder. He lets out a hiss between clenched teeth, placing pressure on the crook of his elbow. “Damn it.” Unhooking the heart monitor, he resumes putting pressure on his (now) sluggishly bleeding elbow. He slides off the bed and hobbles for the door. They’ll probably be here soon, so he doesn’t have long. -x-x-x- Hisashi curled up on the cold floor. Since his captors have grown bored of him, he spends his days sleeping. It’s the only way to pass the time, and sometimes he gets to see his baby and wife again. They’re always so happy to see him, and sad when he has to leave them. But he promises them, eyes filled with tears no matter how many times he says it, that he’ll see them soon. He always wakes up after that. By then it’s feeding time. His muzzle is off and a tray of moldy food and a glass of water sits near the door. Abstaining from eating isn’t allowed, so Hisashi scarves it down. In the early days, he would try to stay awake to see who reattaches his muzzle. But it’s a fruitless endeavor, besides the idea of staying awake has slowly lost its luster. Especially when his family is waiting for him, beckoning him to join them. But one day, after eating a bowl of flavorless oatmeal, something shiny under the bowl caught his eye. Carefully, he lifted the bowl up, shooting anxious glances at the door. His eyes widened looking at the image in front of him.
This…what is this….
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, blending together, because in front of him was an image of his son. Not dead, like they showed him, but a few years older, alive. With shaking hands, Hisashi turned the photo over. Scribbled on the back in black ink are the words: “they lied to you.” He feigned sleep after that, photo tucked under his shirt. The person that brings the tray isn’t usually the one that takes it (if it’s the same system from when he was first brought here), so he felt nothing when he set their hair on fire while escaping. The muzzle wasn’t on all the way, but it’s still more than he can figure out in his adrenaline-filled state. A single word replays in his head. The source of his strength and newfound determination. “Izuku.” -x-x-x- Izuku makes his way to the lobby. His mom doesn’t have her driver’s license and public transportation is limited, so he’ll be there for a while. Hopefully enough time to get his story together. He can already hear Mr. Aizawa’s voice…. As he turns the corner, passing the floor’s nurses’ station in the process, Izuku’s met with a quiet hallway. The elevators sit at the end. One for the NICU above the floor and the other for the lobby. Izuku hurries along. Something about the quiet makes him uneasy. He’s never liked elevators, likely stemming from a brief but no less traumatic incident in his childhood where Kacchan jumped in one and got them stuck. He sighs, pushing the downwards arrow. The elevator door opens. Izuku smiles, looking up. “My baby!” Before Izuku can call for help, he’s pulled into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind him. -x-x-x- Hisashi looks over his son, holding him by the shoulders. His eyes are shiny like he’s holding back tears. “Oh, it’s okay now. Daddy’s here.” He draws his son closer. Izuku tenses up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” “Let….let go of me!” Izuku shouts, squirming. Two hands shoot out and push at Hisashi’s chest. The impact causes him to stumble back. “Ow!” He frowns, rubbing his chest. “That hurt, Izuku. We don’t hit.” Hisashi reaches for his son again, but Izuku throws an arm out. “Stay back! I-I don’t want to hurt you, but I…” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Fear settles on Hisashi, like a heavy blanket. He looks at the doctor who looks between them, and knows that these awful people are going to take him away again. They’ll hurt him until he breaks, and it will be all Hisashi’s fault…. He lunges forward, pushing the doctor out and then punches the button for floor 16. His son gasps, standing in the corner. “Sir,” he murmurs. “I want to help you, but I can’t unless you-” Hisashi grabs his son by the hair and knocks his head against the wall. It isn’t enough to make Izuku unconscious, but it is enough to make him woozy. His body leans against the wall, blood drips from his head wound. “‘M sorry, little one.” He presses a gentle kiss to the wound. “But I promise it will all be over soon. Then, we can see your mommy again.” Izuku groans, eyes drooping but not fully closing. The elevator doors open to the sixteenth floor. It’s surprisingly empty. Not that Hisashi expected any less. He chose this floor for a reason. “Wh- where are we going?” Izuku asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” Hisashi responds instead. He guides his son down the hall and into the first room, taped off with a plastic tarp. He helps Izuku sit on the floor by the window. “This floor is under construction,” he says, looking out the window. “I saw a sign for it while I was looking for you.” “What do you want?” Hisashi sighs, looking down at police cars on the street. He wonders if they already know where they are. Either way, it will already be too late. “You,” he murmurs. He looks down at his son. “I want us to be a family again. I want to save you from ever being hurt again.” “Life is full of hurt,” Izuku mumbles, body sagging. His words are slurred, on the edge of barely comprehensible. “Not this kind of hurt.” He opens the window. A slight breeze blows through Hisashi’s dark choppy hair. “I really hope that in our next life, I’ll get to be your father again.” And then, as if remembering the last decade, he adds, “I promise I’ll do better next time.” Izuku has gone quiet. His eyes are slowly blinking, struggling to stay open. Hisashi sighs. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs again. “Now, c’mere. Let’s not keep Inko waiting.” He helps Izuku to his feet. Most of his son’s body weight rests against him. Carefully, he bends Izuku halfway over the windowsill. His heart is pounding. Just a little bit more- “Hisashi?” He pauses. “Hisashi? Is that you?” Tears well up in his eyes. This has to be a trick of some sort. An illusion to distract Hisashi from what he has to do. But it sounds just like her. The temptation is too hard to resist. He looks back. She looks different now, older like their son, rounder too. But no less beautiful, and it takes all his will power to look away. “No!” He shouts, starting to push Izuku over. “Stop!” The illusion of his wife screams. “Please, Hisashi, stop!” She crosses the room, grabbing a hold of the back of his shirt. “Don’t do it!” He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s crying. “I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, we can get through it. Just please, please stop!” He shakes his head. “You’re not real! Go away!” Izuku dangles out the window, kept from falling by his legs and Hisashi’s grip on his shirt. Inko sniffles. “But…but I am. Ask me anything,” she says. “Anything at all.” He doesn’t have time for this, but a softer part of him forces Hisashi to humor her. “Where did we meet?” “Our college library. I was a receptionist there. You kept coming back day after day. It took you an entire semester to work up the nerve to ask me out.”
How would they know….
A hand grabs his chin. It’s gentle, soft in its grip. “Hisashi,” she murmurs. “Look at me.” In a moment of weakness, he does. His eyes meet hers. Her eyes are green, similar but not quite like Izuku’s. Dark green like the foliage of a forest. He chokes on a sob. “Inko?” “It’s me,” she says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Hisashi turns back to his son who is a strong gust of wind away from being a smear on the pavement. Quickly, he pulls Izuku back inside. With Inko’s help, he lays him on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I…I thought-”He’s cut off by his wife’s calm voice. “Shhh…it’s okay. Everything is going to be just fine.” Hisashi doesn’t know if he believes that, but for now he chooses to. If only to relish in his family’s presence for a moment longer. -x-x-x- The sun has hardly set, the last remaining rays of soft orange light stream in through the nursery curtains. Little ducks decorate the light blue fabric - the one thing Hisashi picked out himself for the room. His wife had been worried, as most first time mothers are, and it showed (and continues to show now, even almost two years later). And the only thing that helped quell it was to give her free reign over their baby’s room. Aesthetics were never his strong suit nor child safety, so most of the stuff in the nursery was handpicked by Inko. Still, the few touches he did put in seem to blend right in. The ducky curtains, the soft bunny toy that Izuku likes to teethe on, and the baby blanket they brought their son home in. Hisashi sighs, preparing himself for the battle of wits that’s about to occur. His son wiggles in his arms, still so full of energy in spite of running around for hours on end. (“It might be a growth-spurt,” Inko said, trying to keep their son in the tub. “I heard from one of my friends that it makes the little ones antsy.”) “Beddy-bye,” Hisashi sing-songs, twirling around. Izuku giggles, hands grabbing onto his father’s shirt. Hisashi continues to hum. The crib is in sight. If he can distract Izuku long enough, then it’s all downhill from there. He turns again, relishing in the happy giggles he earns for the effort. And it places him right next to Izuku’s bed. “And down….” He lifts Izuku up above his head. His son’s smile grows (if that’s possible) showing off all his milk teeth. “We go!” He pretends to drop Izuku, only to catch him a second later. “Hehehe…daddy….heheh…you’re silly!” Izuku is still recovering from Hisashi’s antics that he allows his father to put him down. It doesn’t last. “Hey!” He pouts. “Daddy!” “Time for sleepy time, baby.” He leans over the railing. “It’s already past your bedtime.” “Momma?” Izuku asks. He tries to sit up, but Hisashi is one step ahead and uses his hand to firmly (and gently) keep him laying down. His son grunts, unwilling to give it up. “Mommy’s busy, Izu.” Hisashi sighs, remembering the state of their living room. Who knew having kids was akin to giving life to an F-4 tornado? Izuku’s lips form an ‘o’ shape. “Oh!” His eyes light up. “Momma’s sleepy, too?” His wife is a known insomniac, and it’s only gotten worse since she had Izuku. But that’s not something Izuku will understand. “Yep, and daddy’s tired too. See.” Hisashi drops his head onto the railing. He closes his eyes and pretends to snore. Tiny hands tug on his hair. “Daddy!” Izuku squeals. He opens his eyes, looking around. “Wa-wait? Where am I?” He makes his voice exaggerated as if he just came from one of Izuku’s cartoons. His son laughs, clapping his hands. Hisashi waits for him to stop laughing to brush back his bangs and kiss his forehead. He feels bad that his son inherited his hair texture, but at least he inherited something of Hisashi’s. “Daddy?” Izuku asks, calmer now. “Yeah, bud?” “I love you.” His doe eyes slide shut. Hisashi smiles softly. “I love you, too.” He gives his son one last kiss goodnight, covering him up with his baby blanket. In the hallway, his phone starts to ring. He makes a hissing noise between his teeth, glancing at the nursery’s closed door. He answers it without looking at the caller ID (not something he usually does, but he can’t afford the ringing waking Izuku up). “Hello?” “Hello, Atakani-san ,” an unfamiliar voice replies. “Who is this?” He moves away from the door. “Nevermind that. The boss has another job for you.” Hisashi presses the phone into his shirt, collecting himself. He inwardly curses the commission. The fuckers promised it was a one and done job. That the villains wouldn’t be able to track him down. Liars. He resigns himself to working another job. Maybe his superiors will allow to relocate after all is said and done? Inko has been wanting to move out of the suburbs and into the city.
Hisashi holds the phone to his ear. “Are you there?” The voice asks. Unfortunately, he answers inwardly. “Yes, what’s the job?” “A drug shipment at the East Harbor. Eight O’Clock.” “But that’s…” Hisashi checks his watch. “In half-an-hour.” “Then I guess you should hurry. Don’t be late.” The call ends, filling him with an urgent sense of foreboding. Hisashi discards any further thoughts. He sends a quick text to his manager - a formality more than anything else. Just letting him know that the villain they’ve been trying to track down somehow has Hisashi’s personal phone number. His mind is a whirlwind of thought, and as he stumbles to put his shoes on, Inko comes to join him at their front door. One of Izuku’s other blankets is folded neatly over her forearm. “Hisashi?” “Work,” he explains. “It’ll be quick.” “Promise?” She asks timidly. Her eyes look him over as if searching for any hint of a lie. “Promise.” He lifts up his pinky finger and hooks it with hers. He kisses her sweetly, hoping to convey that he really, really doesn’t want to leave. That he’d rather stay home and be with his family. Inko smiles softly at the ground. “Be safe. I love you.” “I love you too,” Hisashi says. “I’ll be home before Izuku can say ‘All Might’.” Their son has certainly been trying. As of right now it sounds more like “Ah Met.” “Hopefully sooner than that,” she mutters. “Izuku and I would miss you too much.” “Sooner it is.” He kisses her one last time, savoring her warmth before pulling away. As much as he hates it, disobeying his so-called boss would mean possibly endangering his family. And he would rather die than let anything happen to them.