Shinso and Erasermic Family Oneshots

You Can't Fix Me

Tw: self unaliving, S/H

Hizashi was ready. He finished his rum, getting rid of the edge so he could finally go through with his plan. He could imagine his husband, or maybe his son, finding the note on the table. He could imagine them scrambling to call the emergency number, begging them to find him and stop him from taking his life.

None of that mattered, though. At least, it wouldn't matter in a few minutes. He let out a breathy chuckle, his eyelids heavy with the drowsiness given by the alcohol. He walked along the edge of the building, teetering from side to side, threatening to fall with one false step.

His phone started ringing, and he answered it in a drunken haze. "Hizashi! Hizashi where are you?! Whatever you're planning on doing, stop! Hitoshi and I need you, please don't go through with it!" Shota sobbed from his end of the line. "Don't cry, Sho. You should be happy! I'm finally not going to be hurting anymore, I'll be free, with Oboro!" The blonde grinned.

"Hizashi, please, I can help you, therapy can help, and medication, just please tell me where you're at." Aizawa begged. Hizashi's smile faded, and he looked at his feet. Reconsidered his options. He made a decision. "I love you, but you can't fix me." He hung up, tossing his phone away. He peered down at the city street below him and chuckled.

"Those poor people are in for a surprise." He picked up on sirens nearing and sighed. "Now or never, I suppose." He glanced in the direction of his house and smiled sadly. "I love you both, so much." And, with a sense of hope, he leaned forward and let himself plummet to his death.

Aizawa didn't speak to anyone for days, curled up in his bed and crying. Hitoshi didn't feel anything, mentally checking out to protect himself from the feeling of grief. Neither spoke or ate for a week, wallowing in depression. Neither could accept he was gone, but they also knew the news reporters were telling the truth. Hizashi Yamada was dead. There was nothing they could do about that.

Aizawa was the first to speak. Hitoshi had expected some sympathetic words, maybe a hug and the two would cry together. Instead, he was met with an unforgiving, angry man. "This is all your fault!" He screamed, face glistening with tears. "If you hadn't come into our lives none of this would've happened!"

Hitoshi gave him a blank stare, one he'd mastered in his time spent with his mother. He never thought he'd have to check out because of his dad, though. Tears formed but he said nothing, this was only a stage of grief, he told himself. He didn't mean it, he couldn't have... Right?

Hitoshi was beginning to doubt that thought. Aizawa only grew more and more aggressive, shoving Hitoshi to the floor, snarling at him when he entered a room, belittling him for getting something to eat. It was driving Hitoshi into the same spiral Hizashi had went through. He still said nothing. He only took the discipline, because that's what it had to be. Aizawa would never abuse him.

Hitoshi never dealt with his emotions healthily, so when his new home life started to mirror his old one, he reverted back to old habits, slicing his skin open, ripping nails off, scratching his skin until it was bleeding, anything that could draw blood. He deserved this anyway, it was his fault Hizashi was gone, wasn't it?

When Hitoshi did show his feelings, for the first time in two months, it was a wall of anger smacking Aizawa in the face, shoving him to the ground, punching him in the nose. But the boy was crying, wailing in misery with each hit that made contact with Aizawa's face, before collapsing and bawling into the hardwood floor.

He banged his fists against the floor, pathetic pleads for his papa to come back spewing past his lips like water from a stream. Aizawa, recovering from his bloody nose and black eye, stared at his child, and he felt guilty for the past two months, how harshly he treated him. "Toshi..." He tried. "No!! You don't get to call me that after the past fucking month of hell you put me through!!"

Hitoshi cried out in anguish when he hit the ground a little too hard, his now broken hand bleeding from the knuckles, the boy trembling. "I want Papa back..." He hiccuped. "I just want to trade places with him, you'd be happy then..." He whispered, closing his eyes and focusing on the cold touch of the floor on his cheek.

Aizawa paled, tears slowly trailing down his face. "Please don't leave me too..." He murmured, gently pulling the boy in his arms. "You're all I have left, Hitoshi..." They bawled into each other's shoulders, the first time one had shown affection to the other since Hizashi's death. It was... Touching, to say the least, the two clinging to each other like one would disappear if they let go.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry Hitoshi..." Aizawa sniffled, trying to wipe his tears away. "It was wrong of me to take my emotions out on you. I don't... I don't expect you to forgive me, but please, don't leave me alone." He begged. Hitoshi burrowed further into his dad's chest. "I'll stay... But it'll take a while for me to forgive you."

"I can live with that, so long as you're with me." Aizawa rested his chin on Hitoshi's head, holding him protectively. "I promise, I'll never hurt you again. Ever." He said in a dark, serious tone. Hitoshi nodded, allowing himself to pass out in Aizawa's arms. If only Hitoshi knew his dad had lied to him.

It had been six months since Hizashi's death, and Hitoshi seemed to be stuck in a constant cycle of anger and depression. Aizawa appeared much happier today, which stuck out to Hitoshi as odd. He seemed pale and clammy, skin shining with sweat.

"Dad, are you... Okay?" He asked hesitantly. Aizawa nodded, swaying on his feet. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just expecting something I've been planning for a month now." He spoke delicately. Hitoshi didn't like his choice of words, scowling. Aizawa could feel his heart trying to crawl out of his chest, could barely focus with the constant dizziness weighing him down.

Finally, after waiting so long to execute his own plan, his vision faded, and he fell to the ground. Hitoshi made a strangled, anguished sound. "Dad!" He cried, grabbing his phone and flipping Aizawa on his back. He dialed the emergency number, sobbing.

He didn't hear the sirens for another ten minutes. He checked Aizawa's pulse, sighed, and looked at the clock. When he opened the door for the paramedics, he stopped them for a moment. "Thirteen twenty two." He said bitterly, looking at his feet. "Time of death, thirteen twenty two."

He looked up to watch the color drain from the paramedics' faces. "Oh, kid..." One tried. "Save your pathetic apologies." He spat, shoving past them. He crumbled into a pile of sobs on the sidewalk, watching as the paramedics gloomily carried the body bag into the ambulance to be taken care of later.

He was alone again. He was back on those cruel, unforgiving streets where he spent two years of his life. There were always the dorms at UA, but that only lasted a month. Being thrown back into the system forced him to unenroll, and he fled from his foster home shortly after that.

He only brought a blade with him. He decided then and there that he would join his dads in the afterlife. He'd leave all the pain and suffering here, in the living world. He wandered into some forgotten alleyway, near the outskirts of the city he used to call home.

He sighed shakily and pressed the cold metal into the sensitive flesh of his wrist, and dragged it up his forearm, making sure to bury it as deep as possible. Tears scaled down the soft, red plumpness of his face, whimpering in pain. He repeated the action on his other wrist, and watched as blood poured out of his body.

It didn't take him long to pass out, a pathetic chuckle pushing past his chapped lips before he was enveloped in darkness. It was dark, so dark, like a bottomless pit. He was falling, gasping when he landed on something hard and cold. But he was warm, wrapped in a silky touch, because Hitoshi was in his fathers' arms once again, tucked away and hidden from the pain he once knew.

Word count: 1451