The Heroes are Dumbheads but Fun I Guess

Who The Kid Is

Wha-- really?

Really?

Yes I hear you all and yes really.

Roll the flashback!

                                                        ___________________________

Shibuya silenced the jangle of keys in a firm grip, closing the door behind him.

"Ey Taki! Taki! Taki. Moron, are you home?" Shibuya called. Taking off his shoes at the stoop like a normal person.

Without a second pair of boots or the respectable shined shoes he wore for tax purposes. Absolute heathen.

"Come on where are you?" and he looked over to the counter. Empty of groceries and the list exactly where he had left it after writing it last night. "Uhh is dinner gonna be a thing tonight? Yeah? No."

Sure, it happened to be his own turn but that was hardly the point. "Come on. Ughh fine, it's totally fine that we have no fresh food, so I can't make that vegetable pesto I wanted to try, I'm not mad at you... this time."

Unless his butt didn't come out right the hex now.

"You said I could expect you home tonight," he continued on in a loud voice. "No. More. Trouble for the day, you said!"

Shibuya checked the closet for any extra coats hung.

And took the one flier in his brother's hung up white ox fur overcoat.

He peeked into the master bedroom and into the upstairs office and parlor room or the wide, glass floored terrace on that floor which doubled as the go-to for formal dinner parties with bubbling alcohol.

Flinging his bag on the couch Shibuya continued on puzzling out where that deadbeat older brother of his could have gone.

One hall, the one he had just left, had a string of rooms that often hosted his brother's formal business meetings. Whether for his actual work or with the 'cosplay crew.'

To the other side of the staircase, was just one door made of steel and resembled a high security vault with its wide, massive turning wheel.

Better yet, the probe was red indicating much like a porta-potty that grisly business was being conducted.

Shibuya was more concerned with having katsudon after a soul-smashing day of high school with hero-obsessed classmates and other moralizing freaks.

Grinding open the room let each and every dirty skeleton out to see. Stolen jewels and oddity necklaces and brooches, counterfits of artwork-- or were the ones in the Mass Swiss museum the fake ones? And better yet the torture slab all nice and pretty with a hero tied to it.

A hero with dazzling silvery eyes wide and begging for rescue. Or, just to not be seen.

"Sh-- Sh-- Shio!" his brother squawked, making a frightfully ridiculous deep, raked coals of a voice.

From the looks of it he'd caught him just before he'd made the pretty young looking guy with silver eyes scream.

"I'm-- busy right now," he said in that throat grate of a voice, stammering in trying to keep the kid still. "But of course never-- too-- too much for--" in his normal voice but still in two places.

Okay.

Shibuya very simply said what he needed to say.

And his brother could say all the nice things he liked, which sure, was appreciated that this asshole wasn't a complete asshole-- and Shibuya was hard-pressed to make sure it stayed that way whatever he had to do.

"Kid! Kid!"

Oh, Takeda had let the hero boy speak.

"Call someone, please, just say my name Jin-Tsu," he pronounced, "and I promise you--"

There was no "promising" anything.

Shibuya knew his brother was awful, that his brother was going to Hell when and if that sort of thing even mattered.

And that was that.

He personally liked being fed and housed.

"Uhhh uh-uh, didn't see a thing," he drawled.

"Shiiiiooo!" his brother whined. Which was ridiculous. You have a hostage! At least stay dignified about it. Now they both looked bad-- the whole supporting him and watching as a careless witness as it were.

"Forget it," he shrugged, "you have this poor kid working extra hours anyway before his keepers let him go home. Honestly now," at least make it worth the idiot's while or something, "and you never do make Katsudon right."

And the hero spoke again.

Possibly all those hits in battle had left him brain damaged.

And sure enough the same spiel he hated came out of his mouth.

"Hey kid, this guy isn't a good guy and I mean doesn't even have the time of day to see you home from school," he tried. Shibuya couldn't help but be amused that he still chose to focus on this.

But schooled his face back into apathy. Like he said: whole situation. Absolutely ridiculous.

"Who cares. I'm going to kill him tonight for this, we don't have milk big brother," he hummed.

"You know I seriously don't deserve you. Do you wanna hug?"

"God no! Don't embarrass me in front of the private school kid."

Or yourself.

Or better yet, he'd simply yell out how the big, bad Walking Death had awkward conversations with the stove.

His brother slammed his arm down, chopping at noting but air when that coat thwipped in a dazzling smack to face his prisoner.

"YOU!"

That's it, he decided with a discontented mumble, no dessert. Either of them.

Heathens.

"You are going to respect the noise rules. Namely mine," Shibuya asserted, "since I have--"

Actually nope, dead in the water. Besides, Takeda let him listen to his music when he wasn't in the mood for cosplay ranting.

Rather he puffed up and lay down the law, "mac and cheese for our guest," they had an awful generic store type that was about to expire.

"What the-- no. NO! Get me out!" the hero demanded shrilly.

Respectfully though, "tired now. Goodbye. Oh and no dessert either of you."

The hero cried out mournfully as the door closed.

Nope didn't see a thing.

And honestly, did they even have bread crumbs for the chicken cutlets? Much less some of the seasonings to make it a good tasting fire bomb per piece.