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"Is this really necessary?" Hitoshi queried, eyes wide with bewilderment, peering over his steaming cup of lemon water to where Aizawa surged around the kitchen with a mania not before seen in him. With some a fierce growl and firm waves of his spatula, Aizawa continued to cook down the cabbage and ginger in a large bubbling cauldron like pot.
Yamada was perched on the counter nearby attempting to mix snickering and cooing unsuccessfully and instead just sounding on the verge of hysteria induced asphyxiation. Occasionally he received a scathing glare tinged with red which simply made the guttural noise worse. Most of Aizawa's attention however was focused on the recipe that Touya provided, a natural remedy that wouldn't interfere with the steroid shot currently in his child's system, a complex mixture of ginger, cloves and turmeric. In hopes of maintaining a relationship where he could be trusted with his children, Nedzu had been generous dolling the compassionate leave out.
Purring softly in Hitoshi's lap, Izuku's back leg twitched as he sniffed and then sneezed quietly into the lurid pink blanket draped over both of them. Hitoshi's nose wrinkled as they smiled. Even with the drilling in his head and lethargy that threatened to sink him into the floor as if it were made from toothpaste, they were happy. It was entirely unexpected.
It was a tipping point of anxiety, overflowing from the naturally or laboriously deep wells within each member of their cobbled together family. A final bout of fresh trauma to truly crack open the meticulously crafted facades. Still hot and gooey from incubation, out came their true forms; a clingy kitten, a social awkward ghost, a child with a fondness of poetic threats and a protective fretting father. It was as if there was an entirely new dynamic between all of them, one that subconsciously suited their buried needs and desires rather than what was required to protect their minds. The growing pains were fading.
Even with that, time was still required to find the balance of doting and uninvolved support. Hitoshi's nose was crinkled up as they kept trying to rise from the sofa, gently pushing the green kitten to the side only for Izuku to hiss and scramble back onto his lap and intimate a chainsaw.
"It really isn't necessary, I'll be fine with some-"
"Hitoshi, head trauma is awful. Let me take care of you."
"I already can't get up because of Izuku, don't restrict me more. I'm competent! I swear to whatever sadistic god is out there if you try to spoon feed me like a baby bird then I'll brainwash you into spending the night on the roof clucking like a chicken."
That was one of the first times that Hitoshi had mentioned his quirk without hesitation or disdain towards it. Humour was a coping mechanism and it's a huge step forward for them. Pride bubbled in Aizawa but he kept it together by gripping the counter out of sight of his healing child.
"Okay. Stand up," he responded with. After another unsuccessful attempt to relocate Izuku, Hitoshi glowered at him with a pout. Unbeknownst to the older, a small scrap of paper drifted to them, landing on his lap.
'He's saying I love you, take the time off. You deserve to be pampered. Also, be glad he's following a recipe and not freestyling in the kitchen; the amount of pans I have seen him wreck with 'food' is not to be underestimated.'
With a great amount of staged reluctance, Hitoshi settled on the sofa, sinking into the plush exterior and turning his gaze to the tv that was playing the hero news silently. Izuku had put it on before falling asleep and no one had tried to change the channel.
"Hey, Yamada," Hitoshi asked to the air, unaware that the ghost was seated right next to him and was rubbing gentle circles into Izuku's tiny head. "How long have you been a ghost?"
Preening, Yamada turned to Aizawa and began to babble a mile a minute at the man. It was obvious by the running words together and mumbled ends that he wasn't thinking through what was leaving his mouth, more subconscious as Yamadada overwhelmed his already preoccupied mind.
"He says around 21xx, so… 15 years ago?" Aizawa relayed the information, "Been in this apartment for 5 ish, but spent a while travelling for free to other places. Damn, the five fingered discount, huh?"
Yamada's yammering trailed off, mouth agape as Aizawa continued on, rambling his thoughts as he carefully checked that the tea was properly steeped before pouring it into one of the mugs that Izuku had squirrelled away into the cupboards, this one in particular having sleeping purple cats.
Or, well, flatline discount? Maybe we could go travelling together, you sneak me onto the plane. Lived here with someone after you were kicked out of the foster system. Oh, that fucking thing. Let Hitoshi down, me down, so many people, now you? Fuck that. It won't even let me adopt IzukuMaybe Nedzu could… okay, tea is done. 'Toshi, after you have some and take your meds you can nap. On the sofa, please, so I can keep an eye on you while I do paperwork-"
"Yo, Shouta," Yamada cooed quietly, leaning against him, halting his words with a mild shock of cold. "How long has it been since you slept? Maybe you should nap with your kids. I'll take care of the cleaning, hm?"
Aizawa swayed slightly, blinking sluggishly as Yamada gently guided the hand clutching the mug to the counter. By now, Hitoshi was standing nearby, eyebrows drawn into a concerned grimace. They exchanged whispers and with joint effort, since Hizashi's energy to interact with the mortal realm was waning, planted him on the sofa. The two physical bodies curled up together as pills and mugs floated into the sitting room.
"He'll be okay, he just needs rest."
Hitoshi leant further into Aizawa, seeking comfort and hugging his torso tightly. Adjusting to account for Izuku's small form, only to find him gone. They blinked at the shape left on the cushions but felt a chill. It was like an ice pack on a sprained joint, soothing the anxiety that had built at seeing his father in a state of sleep deprived delirium. It wasn't the first time it had happened to Aizawa or even themself, but it always scared him.
He felt like a baby, swaddled in a neon pink blanket with their father, eyes closed as their body protested to existing, a vague shape of chill travelling up and down his back in circles.
"Sleep, 'Toshi. It'll be okay."
The dim light trickling in from the kitchen area disappeared. Yamada watched in exasperated contentment as the two snoozed on the sofa, entangled, long hair of varying colours splayed across each other.
This was his family. Only two could see him, and they all needed to take better care of himself, but it's not like that criticism couldn't be applied to himself. But his heart ached and burnt with a new emotion every time something happened. If Hitoshi smiled or made a joke or fell, it cracked open a part of his shell. He loved them.
So he put the tea in the fridge, and began to tidy the kitchen, entire being full and content.