Hitoshi pulls the same jeans on from the day before. He tells himself it's because, his mother always taught him to rewear clothes before having to wash them again, and not because he didn't have any other. After he dresses, he makes sure to splash water on his face and swirl some in his mouth, just so look fresh. There isn't much he could do for his unruly hair, but he did pinch his cheeks a little, just to make himself look more alive.
While waiting for the older couple to be ready, he takes a closer look at the bedroom. Upon closer inspection, he realizes there are faint patterns in the wallpaper. The kind that seem to go on forever, and make your eyes unfocus from staring at them for too long.
"Hitoshi, we are ready whenever you are! No rush though", Hizashi calls from downstairs.
Hitoshi jumps aggressively, and grits his teeth to keep the shriek of fear buried in his throat. Ringing out his hands, he walks out of the room, and down the stairs.
He see's Hizashi sprawled comfortably on the couch, reading a book. While Aizawa packs some snacks and water into a bag in the kitchen.
"Hey kid, just so you know, we are going to bring some snacks and water." Aizawa looks at him, sudden feeling sprouting into his expression.
"You don't need to worry about that, okay? If you want some food or drinks just ask." Hizashi speaks up as well, "Yeah! And we may get some food out as well, seeing as it's almost lunch time."
Hitoshi just stares at them. He has never been this thought of. His mother thought of him, of course she did.
But not in this way.
Not in a way that is full of caring and sincerity. His mother thought of him by talking down to him. By punishing, and teaching him lessons. This is attention, and yet he is so self centered he wants more. How ungrateful is that?
"Kid?...Hitoshi!"
He jumps back defensively. Locking eyes with Aizawa, who is kneeling at his level. His hands are hovering over Hitoshi's arms, clearly not sure if he would be okay with physical contact.
"It's alright, you're okay." Aizawa sits down all the way, and encourages Hitoshi to do so too. "Just relax, you are safe." Hitoshi is confused. He is not freaking out, or anything.
Why is Aizawa talking to him like that? His only mother talked to him like this when he had just finished a punishment. Hitoshi rejects all form of comfort, knowing he doesn't deserve it. He didn't go through a punishment to learn a lesson yet. He is still doing shit wrong.
He stands up, and looks at the door, signaling he is ready to go. Aizawa gets up slowly, and backs away to a distance, before handing the bag to Hizashi.
"Only Hizashi is going to take you. I would love to go, but I have to do some work.", Aizawa says.
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"Do you want some music on?", Hizashi asks, glancing over to where Hitoshi sits in the passenger seat. He decides to try something again.
'YOU WANT TO SIGN INSTEAD OF TALK?' Hizashi has to sign with one hand, to keep one on the steering wheel.
Hitoshi's fisted hand shakes a bit as he signs, 'YES'.
His chest blooms with pride as he gets the boy to communicate. 'WHY DON'T WE GO TO THE CLOTHES STORE FIRST, THEN GET SOME FOOD.' Hitoshi nods wordlessly, but it's clear that he wasn't going to deny anything.
Hizashi decides to put on soft music, to fill the deafening silence of the car.
'IM SORRY I MADE YOU WAIT FOR ME'
This is out of nowhere, with no rhyme or reason, but it's clear he was worried about it. As much as Hizashi wants to pull the car over, and just hold the small boy in his arms, he knows making a big deal about this will only make Hitoshi more uncomfortable.
'DONT WORRY, I GOT DRESSED FAST TO READ' Hitoshi needs to know that he isn't a burden. That nothing about him taking the time he needs to get ready, is wrong or annoying.
The drive lasts for about fifteen minutes, and it takes a few more to find a place to park. Then they go into the clothing store. Hitoshi, doesn't know his size or style, but that's okay. Hizashi has a sense for these things and can compensate. They get a few pairs of all items Hitoshi may want or need. The boy doesn't give much help, though. He just shifts from foot to foot, subtly glancing at the price tags.
After a bit, he gets a call from his husband. After carefully dropping the purple shirt into the cart, he picks up. "Hey babe! It's going great" he says, thinking he was checking in on the trip.
"I just got a call from the foster care unit." He says bluntly. Hizashi hears the strain on his voice. "Marcella, didn't inform us of a few important things. Hitoshi has healing ribs. They were broken by his mother, and he only got medical care because social services were finally called."
Aizawa's voice is livid. Not at him or Hitoshi, but the unit. Hizashi knows they are sometimes unreliable but damn, this is excessive.
"I'm going to check this out okay? We may be coming home sooner than expected." He hears a grunt of agreement from his husband, before hanging up.
"Hitoshi?" He turns from where we was watching the tv, at the corner of the store. "I just got a call from Aizawa. He said he just found out that you are hurt. We're not mad, but can you tell me if you are?" Hitoshi's face morphs into a tight panic.
"It's okay, we're not mad. I'm not mad. I just want to make sure you're okay." He takes the pair into the bathroom for a shred of privacy, before once again prompting Hitoshi to talk to him about what's wrong.
Instead of talking, he just lifts up his shirt, like a child admitting to breaking a vase. His ribs are wrapped tight, almost like a brace. "Can I unwrap them?" Hitoshi nods.
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He wakes up to water drops on his nose.
He sits up and wipes the warm liquid off with the back of his wrist. Looking around in his bed, he wonders what could be leaking, or if he was just dreaming and the water was never there. When he feels another thick droplet, he gets up and flicks on the lights.
His breath hitches in horror when he sees the source. From his ceiling blood-not water- is dripping down. There's blood everywhere. On the floor, on him, being splattered around the room by his fan. It seems like way more than when he woke up.
His house is bleeding.
A scream threatens to choke him, but he keeps quiet, not wanting to wake his mother. What he does realize though, is that the room directly above his is his mothers'.
He wrenches the door open and sprints up the stairs. His thin limbs don't take him nearly as fast as he would prefer, but he makes it. The door is blocked. There is no lock, and Hitoshi is almost never allowed in his mothers room, so he doesn't know what could be in front of the door.
He plants his back foot into the floor, and with all of his weight and strength, kicks into door right next to the handle. He is flown in, and then sees that there was nothing in the way. He was sure he couldn't get in.
His attention is pulled from the door to his mother. She is horrifically wounded, seeming as if her entire front is laying open and cut. She's hanging from a cross like structure that he is sure they didn't own.
"MOM!"
He has never screamed before. He's never been allowed too. But at this moment he screams with such power, and pain, he is sure he will lose his voice. He begs for her to come back, to be okay, and then just begs. Incoherently. He curls into himself from the ground before he feels strong arms wrap around him.
'It's who did this to her' he thinks. Kicking and screaming, he gets pulled back by his arms. "SHE NEEDS ME!"
The boy gets turned to face the assailant, and is met with a cop. He's fat, and ugly, and cruel.
He took Hitoshi from his mother.
====================================
He jolts awake on the grey couch in the living room of Aizawa and Hizashi's house. He remembers stumbling into the car. Maybe listening to music. Nothing else.
Was he afraid when the couple found him out? He fucked up and feels numb. That's not right. He should feel guilty.
Oh god...
He must be forgetting what his mother taught him. She molded him into a decent human being. Certainly not a good one, but that's not because of her. Only Hitoshi.
He knew this would happen. He knew that without his mother, he would forget all of the lessons she taught him. But he does feel numb, and he doesn't know how to spark any feeling toward the situation.
So he just creeps back up the stairs, and to his bedroom, making sure not to mess with the adults in the kitchen. He is tired, and unfeeling. Maybe if he goes to sleep, he will wake up as authentic and alive as when he was young. When he was clean and pure. It's never worked before, but he will try anyway.