Chapter Text
Peter Parker. Peter. An American name, or maybe European, if Aizawa isn’t mistaken.
“Where are your parents?” Shouta asks. The kid - Peter - furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Shit, Shouta thinks, Doesn’t know Japanese then. “Parents?” Shouta tries again, this time in rusty English.
Peter hesitates, shrugs, then shakes his head. Shouta digs around in his pocket for his phone and scrolls through the contacts with one hand until he gets to his husband’s name. It rings twice and then, “Sho? What’s up?”
“I’ve run into a kid out on his own. Looks to be about fifteen or sixteen, maybe younger, European I think — and he doesn’t speak Japanese.”
“Aww, poor little listener! Want me to try talking to him?”
“That’d be great. I’m handing you over now.” Shouta holds out the cellphone and Peter looks at it blankly for a moment before reaching to take it. After a few beats, in which Shouta can hear his husband’s loud voice muffled over the line, Peter’s face lights up in relief. The kid starts talking, his English faster than Shouta can keep up with. He pauses every now and then to hear Hizashi reply. Finally, Peter hands the phone back to Shouta.
“Alright, Shou, the kid is American. He said he’s from Queens, New York.”
“Then what’s he doing in Japan?”
“That’s the tricky part,” Hizashi says, “I asked him when he moved to Japan and what he was doing here alone, but he told me he didn’t know. He said something about... an American Hero called ‘Doctor Strange’? Peter said the last thing he remembers is falling asleep in Queens. Honestly he seems pretty confused; his story is all over the place.”
“He might have a concussion,” Shouta says. He takes a more assessing glance at Peter, “Pupils look normal enough. I could be missing something, though.”
“He’s probably alright for now. Hand the phone back to him for a minute; I’ll see if he has his parent’s phone number.”
Shouta waits and watches as Peter talks to Hizashi again. The kid’s voice is quieter now, subdued in a way it wasn’t before. He’s obviously exhausted — Shouta can tell by the heavy drooping of his eyelids and the slight delay in his responses to Hizashi’s questions. Finally, Peter gives Shouta the phone back and slumps against the alley wall.
“So...?”
“Good news is, he gave me an American phone number, some guy named ‘Happy’. Not a relative, apparently, more like a family friend,” Hizashi says, “I’ll have to call long distance. While I get to work on that, how about bringing the kid here? I’ll pull out the extra futon for him so he can get a couple hours of sleep while we figure this situation out.”
An American number? Shouta’s eyes narrow. That means this ‘Happy’ person isn’t in Japan. If theirs is the only number Peter can think to call and he’s not even a relative... it’s completely illogical. It’s only after this thought that Hizashi’s suggestion finally registers in Shouta’s brain and he can’t help huffing out an amused breath. His husband is such a bleeding heart.
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Shouta says. Even though he can’t see his face, Shouta can tell that Hizashi is smiling when he replies, “Got it, babe. See you soon. Love ya’!”
“Love you,” Shouta says, much less enthusiasm in his voice but just as sincere. Hizashi ends the call and Shouta pockets his phone. Peter is halfway asleep already, his head bobbing against his chest. When Shouta crouches in front of him, the kid startles fully awake again and immediately flinches backwards. It’s the kind of instinctive reaction Shouta’s only seen in abused children and Heroes (or people in general) with PTSD, among other possibilities - none of them good. It’s worrying, but they’ll have to address it later. For now, Shouta focuses on what he can control.
“I... will help,” Shouta says in English. He holds a hand out and waits. For a moment, Peter hesitates. Shouta gestures to himself, “Hero.”
This time, there is no hesitation. Peter takes his hand.
Unsurprisingly, Peter falls asleep in the taxi on the way to the apartment. Shouta ends up half-carrying him over to the elevator and through the door, finally depositing him on the futon in the guest bedroom. Peter mumbles something that Shouta thinks might be an expression of gratitude under the slurred exhaustion in his voice. Then, before Shouta can open his mouth to reply, the boy is fast asleep again.
A moment later, Hizashi’s arms encircle Shouta’s waist from behind. “I tried calling the number he gave me,” Hizashi says, his voice quiet, “It’s been disconnected.”
Shouta’s shoulders tense. “Disconnected?”
“That, or it was never a number that anyone owned in the first place. I got an automated message and then nothing. Do you think Peter might have remembered it wrong? Or maybe I mixed something up?”
“It’s possible.” Still, Shouta doesn’t think it’s likely. Hizashi’s memory is a steel trap, something he’s known for other than his explosive quirk. There’s a better chance that Peter gave the wrong number on accident, but something about this situation doesn’t sit right in Shouta’s gut. He has the same feeling now that he gets when he’s on high-stakes missions, the feeling of’I’m missing something here; something is wrong’ that’s saved his life more times than he can count.
None of this makes any sense, Shouta wants to say. But he’s not one for stating the obvious. Besides, he can tell Hizashi is pretty near to getting a stress headache as it is; there’s no need to go around in circles any more tonight.
“Let’s head to bed,” Shouta suggests. He nods towards Peter, who has begun snoring softly. “The kid is exhausted and so am I. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, so we'll have all day to figure this out.”
Peter wakes up with a splitting headache, the smell of coffee easily detectable with his enhanced senses. He drags himself off the futon and stumbles down the hall until he reaches the kitchen. The two men sitting together at the dining table make Peter pause, blearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Good morning!” one of the men says, a grin splitting his face. He looks like the personification of sunshine - bright and blonde. Peter’s eyes skip over to the second occupant, the polar opposite in both looks and demeanor.
“Uh... h-hi?” Peter says. “I mean, er... good morning.”
“Are you hungry?” Blonde jumps up from his seat and makes quick work of pulling down a plate from the kitchen cabinet, “Do you like eggs? Or maybe something else. I dunno what you’re used to eating in America. I think I’ve got the ingrediants for pancakes —“
“Hizashi.”
Blonde quiets immediately, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “Ahh, right, sorry, Shouta.”
Hizashi. Shouta. The first must be the blonde, Peter thinks, and then... maybe ‘Shouta’ is the other man’s name, judging by Hizashi’s response. The two men are polar opposites in both looks and personality, as far as Peter can tell.
Hizashi gestures encouragingly to the only empty chair, but Peter hesitates to sit next to the gruff man with triple eyebags and days worth of stubble glowering at him across the table.
“Shouta is just a huge grump in the morning, don’t worry,” Hizashi says, amused, “And besides, his bark is always worse than his bite. He’s a big softie on the inside.”
Peter highly doubts that, but he doesn’t want to spurn the couple’s hospitality, so he sits quietly and tries not to make eye contact with Shouta. Hizashi plates up some eggs and bacon, sliding the food in front of Shouta and Peter before sitting down with his own. Shouta says something in Japanese that sounds like a question and Hizashi huffs a laugh and responds in kind. Peter tries not to look as if he’s listening, focusing on picking at the food on his plate. He’s not really hungry — hasn’t really been hungry since that night a few days ago, when his whole world had fallen apart and aunt May had —
Peter blinks back tears. No. He’s not going to think about that.
“Peter?” Hizashi ventures. Even though his voice is gentle, it startles Peter from where he’d been lost in thought.
“Oh, uh — sorry, I… I just got distracted for a second,” he says, stumbling over the words.
Hizashi nods, “Looked like you were a thousand miles away.”
Peter figures there’s probably a joke somewhere in there, but he can’t dredge up a laugh, even a fake one. So instead he merely pushes his eggs around on his plate and avoids Hizashi’s eyes again as he says, “Yeah… something like that.”
Shouta notes the kid’s slumped shoulders and the bags under his eyes, as well as the curve of his back where he leans heavily against the table. All these signs and more speak to utter exhaustion. Sure, the kid had slept the whole night through, but it only seems to have helped a little. Something else besides just the physical stress was going on- something that’s affecting him just as much mentally.
Hizashi and Peter chat in English. From what Shouta can gather, Hizashi is asking Peter about his life in New York. As he describes the city, the kid’s face gains some color and he straightens up. He even cracks a smile at one point when mentioning two names that Shouta assumes must be some friends of his, ‘MJ’ and ‘Ned’. Shouta drinks his second and then third cup of coffee, but eventually he knows there’s no use in dragging out the inevitable. He nudges Hizashi’s foot under the table before the blonde can lead Peter down another lighthearted tangent. To Hizashi’s credit, his smile doesn’t falter at all, signing a quick //yes?// under the table where only Shouta can see it.
//Ask real questions now.// Shouta signs back, giving his husband a pointed look. Hizashi sighs, but Shouta knows he’s just as interested in figuring out the mystery surrounding Peter. It’s just that Hizashi has a heart of gold and doesn’t like to see kids upset. Shouta’s heart is more like a mixture of coffee beans, jelly snack packages, and sleep deprivation, so he’s never been particularly concerned about upsetting teenagers — at least not if asking hard questions or probing will help keep them safe in the end.
“So, Peter...”
Uh oh. Peter can tell by the careful tone of Hizashi’s voice that the next set of questions aren’t going to be so easy to answer. The sudden switch probably has something to do with Shouta, who’s been mostly silent for the entirety of breakfast except for the occasional grunt whenever Hizashi addresses him directly. After this third cup of coffee, however, Peter notices that he’s looking less like death warmed up and more like he’s ready to get down to addressing the several elephants in the room.
“We tried calling the number you gave us last night,” Hizashi says, “But it didn’t go through. Can you repeat the number to me? I want to make sure I didn’t hear it wrong.”
Peter does, dread curling in his stomach when Hizashi’s smile falters.
“Do you have another number I could call, Little Listener?” Hizashi asks.
Peter doesn’t have anyone else to call. The only reason he thinks Happy might’ve been a semi-decent option is because he knew the man would at least remember May - and that might've been enough of a connection for him to at least help Peter figure out how he'd gotten to Japan of all places. The silence must go on for a bit too long because Shouta says something in Japanese and Hizashi responds in kind.
Peter has never regretted taking Spanish as his high school foreign language credit until now. MJ had been studying Japanese for as long as Peter has known her and probably even longer; she’s fluent enough that she would have easily been able to hold a conversation if she were here. He suddenly aches with how much he misses her, a feeling so visceral that it makes his heart hurt and his eyes water.
"You don't have any relatives in Japan?" Hizashi asks, "No one at all?"
"No. None that I know of. My uncle... my uncle died when I was a kid," Peter stumbles over his words. "Aunt May was all I had left, and now..." His voice cracks.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo. Losing someone... I understand how hard that is." There's a pause as Hizashi exchanges a look with his husband, before turning back to Peter. "On the phone with me yesterday, you mentioned something about a ‘Doctor Strange’?"
Peter nods. "Yeah, he's a... a hero from Queens."
"A hero?"
"Yeah."
"Like a Pro Hero?"
Peter hesitates, then shrugs, "I... I guess?"
"What's his Quirk, exactly?"
"Uh... his what?"
"His quirk," Hizashi repeats. Peter's blank stare must be answer enough because Hizashi quickly clarifies, "His 'superpower?'"
"Oh! It's kinda hard to explain. I guess it's like... time-travel? Er... magic? Stuff?"
"Magic?" Shouta repeats.
"Yeah, basically."
"How do you know this Doctor Strange guy again?" Hizashi asks, eyes narrowing.
"I don't know him that well, we've just... worked together a few times."
"Where do you work?"
"It's sorta... confidential. I don't really feel comfortable talking about it."
Hizashi looks at his husband and quickly translates Peter's answer. If Shouta had looked irritated before, his expression now is downright concerned.
"Alright," Hizashi says after a long pause, "So this 'Doctor Strange' has a quirk he uses to perform 'magic', or something like it, and the two of you have worked together multiple times before - but you can't explain what that 'work' is, exactly, because you think it has to be... kept secret?"
"No, it's not like that. It's not... he's not..." Peter takes a deep breath, "Look, Doctor Strange isn't a bad guy. He's a hero!"
"I didn't say he was a bad person," Hizashi says quickly, though it's obvious he's thinking it. "We're just trying to figure out the best way to contact your family, Little Listener -"
"I don't have any family! Not here, or in Queens, or..."
Peter's voice breaks and he looks away, blinking back tears. He feels like an idiot. These people have been nothing but kind to him, and here he is, sitting in their dining room and losing his temper.
"Peter?" Hizashi prompts.
Peter swallows hard, staring down at his lap. "My aunt... my aunt died. A few days ago."
The silence in the room is thick, heavy, almost oppressive.
"I'm so sorry," Hizashi whispers. He quietly translates to Shouta, and the other man's expression shadows.
"There was an accident," Peter continues, "I... I tried to save her, but..." He doesn't want to go into too much detail. He can't. If he thinks too much about the way the smell of smoke and burning flesh had permeated the air, the way Aunt May's body had sagged in his arms when he caught her...
He can't.
"A... a bad person killed her." Peter says. The words sound flat, even to him, but he can't manage to inject more emotion into his voice. It's like everything is numb. He's so tired. "But he only did it because he hated me, so it... it was my fault."
"Peter, no," Hizashi's voice is firm. "Listen to me. It wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself for what a villain did."
The words are kind, but Peter can't let himself believe that. How can Hizashi, a stranger, know? He wasn't there. He didn't see the look in the Goblin's eyes. He didn't see the pure, unbridled, hate that had been there. If Peter had been stronger, faster, if he had just been able to do more, then maybe it all could have been avoided.
Obviously sensing that pressing the issue won't change Peter's mind, at least not right now, Hizashi diverts the conversation back to practical matters. "Since you can't think of anyone else, we can try and call this 'Doctor Strange' -"
"Actually, um," Peter winces, slouching in his seat, "I don't know if that would be possible, either. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned him."
Hizashi's gentle smile grows a little pinched as he translates and Shouta huffs, crossing his arms. "Why?" Shouta asks Peter, his English accented but still firm and clear.
"It's just... it's kind of hard to explain."
"Try."
Peter winces again. This is going to be difficult. "He wouldn't remember me."
"But you said you worked with him before?" Hizashi says, confused.
"Right, yeah, that's true, it's just..." How does Peter describe this? What can he say that doesn't make him sound completely out of his mind? "The thing is, something... happened. With like, his superpower? Magic, I mean. He... he forgot me." Peter swallows thickly, his eyes dropping to the floor, "Everyone forgot me."
"What?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but-"
"No, it doesn't, it's just," Hizashi's mouth tightens into a grimace, "Quirk accidents like that do happen, of course, but why didn't you report it?"
"Report it to who?" Peter hadn't thought the result of his explanation would be him ending up more confused than Hizashi.
"I guess it depends on where you were at the time, but if it happened in Japan then... the American embassy, maybe?" Hizashi shrugs. "I'm not sure what the protocol for things like this are in America, but I can't imagine it's that different -"
"Wait," Peter shakes his head, "I think... I think I'm missing something here. What do you mean by 'quirk accidents'? I don't understand."
Shouta's eyes narrow and he asks Hizashi a question in Japanese. Hizashi responds with a quick //I don't know// before turning back to Peter.
"What's confusing you, Little Listener?"
"You said 'quirk accident'. What... what is that?"
Hizashi tilts his head, "You mean, how does someone lose control of their quirk?"
"No, I mean, what exactly is a quirk?"
Shouta's eyebrows furrow and he signs to his husband, //What is he talking about?//
"Peter," Hizashi says slowly, "Where did you say you were from again? New York, right?"
"Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Who's the top Pro Hero in America right now?"
"...I guess, up until recently, maybe Captain America?"
A tense silence descends. Hizashi's smile tightens, cracking at the edges. He stands from the table and gestures for Shouta to do the same. "Thanks, Peter. We'll be right back, I'm just going to have a quick word with Shouta, okay? You can get seconds of breakfast while we're talking, if you like."
"Uh, okay," Peter says, but Hizashi is already herding Shouta down the hallway.
Hizashi and Shouta retreat into the master bedroom and close the door. "He's not from here," Hizashi says as soon as the door clicks shut.
"Obviously."
"He doesn't know about Heroes. He doesn't even know who the top Pro is in America!"
"Clearly."
"He doesn't know about quirks."
"Yes, Hizashi, I got that -"
"Shouta," Hizashi interrupts, his voice strained, "There is no one in our world who doesn't know about quirks."
Shouta lets out a long, slow breath and runs a hand over his face, "You're right."
"Maybe he's lying," Hizashi offers. It's not likely, but it's not completely out of the question, either.
"If he's lying, then he's the best actor I've ever met."
"I'm inclined to agree with you, but..." Hizashi sighs, "If he's not lying, then..."
"Then where in the hell did this kid come from?"