Recovery

The Fear

Hitoshi could only remember the cold. He felt cold shivers run down his back, he ass felt cold where he was sitting, his arms and legs tied together, but worst of all, chills shook him. Where was Aizawa-sensei? The two, he vaguely recalled, had been on mission together- patrolling, if his brain could think right- when he'd been snatched by the Kurogiri. Not long after, he'd heard Shigaraki mumbling about him being the wrong one, that the problem child's hair was green, not purple like his own. So he was looking for Midoriya, then. Blearily, he peeled his eyes open, looking into the space around him. He was on some kind of classy bar, Kurogiri mindlessly humming as his gaseous hands cleaned out a glass with a towel. He looked around, and went to open his mouth—

When he figured out why he was so cold.

A leather muzzle covered the bottom half of his face, locking his jaws together, but allowing him to breath. With a jolt, he realized he couldn't speak.

His silent panicking must've gotten Kurogiri's attention.

"Ah, young one. Sorry for this, but please understand. Shigaraki Tomura was not pleased when you did not turn out to be the One for All boy." Hitoshi slightly struggled, trying to speak. Kurogiri nodded his gaseous head.

"And yes, the muzzle. We do know of your Quirk, so please also understand that this was a necessary precaution." Hitoshi felt himself panic; those were the words every orphanage mother had said to him, all six of the women he was watched and 'cared for' by. His eyes were wide and he felt his breathing pick up. Kurogiri's lantern light eyes  widened.

"Young one? What is wrong?" Hitoshi thrashed, because suddenly he couldn't breath, he couldn't feel his jaw, the restraints were too tight, suffocating him—

Kurogiri kneeled in front of him, startling him. "I am going to loosen it for you to tell me what is wrong." He stilled at the word 'loosen', his breath still coming in gasps. "Know that I do not have ears, in this form, and as such, your Quirk is useless to me." Hitoshi nodded his assent, he just needed to breath—

And the leather was undone. The top half still went over his nose, but the bottom half was freed from his jaw on one side, letting the leather hang. He coughed, accidentally in the gaseous man's face, and curled away, breathing harshly, his voice vacant as he struggled to get his tremors in check. Kurogiri tilted his head.

"What is wrong?" Hitoshi flinched.

"I-I swear I won't use my voice, please, no more muzzle, I'll be good, I won't fight, no more muzzle, please please—" a slow laugh came from his right, and his eyes darted that way. Shigaraki was there, a hand covering his face, and he was giggling.

"Ah, so you've got some past with a muzzle, huh, purple?" Hitoshi instinctively nodded and flinched back when Shogaraki went to reach for him, mutters starting up again.

"Please, won't try to use my Quirk, please, please—" and with a sharp snap, the side of the muzzle was done up again. Shigaraki crouched in front of him.

"Kurogiri here has a soft heart, but while you're here, the muzzle stays on, boy. We know what you are capable of." Whimpers forced themselves from Hitoshi's chest, and he pleaded as best he could with his eyes. Another voice from his left made the boy curl into the wall, his eyes darting that way. The man with the burn scars was there, Dabi, was it?

"Oi, handsy, he's obviously going to have a panic attack, you can't leave that thing on him." Shigaraki glared at him through the fingers of the hand covering his face.

"What do you propose I do? Take it off and have him brainwash one of us to let him go?" One of the light blue haired man's hands went up to scratch at his neck. "Well, no. The muzzle stays on, until I decide what to do with him. Unless you want me to decay him?" Dabi snorted, but didn't try to argue the point. Hitoshi felt himself give a high pitched whine, before he realized—

No one was coming to save him.

With that knowledge, Hitoshi slumped to the ground, not trying to fight back, and just working on breathing. Kurogiri eyed him almost with something next to concern, Hitoshi could feel. But that wasn't important. So he clenched his eyes together and counted.

In, 1...2...3...4...out, 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...in, 1...2...3...4...out, so on. Amidst his breathing, Dabi gave a slight sigh.

"I'm going to tie him in the cell and take off the muzzle, would that work?" Shigaraki scratched more, but Hitoshi tried to block out the sound.

"Unbuckle it. Don't take it off. And remember, don't answer to anything he says." An affirmative noise, and Hitoshi felt himself be untied from the wall and hauled to his feet, his legs wanting to give out, but he staggered alongside Dabi, just breathing. Vaguely, he thanked whatever god was out there that the villains hadn't tried to remove his costume— the humiliation would've killed him. Suddenly, he was aware of a hand near his face, and he jerked back, his eyes flying open, Dabi, while he was contemplating, had led him to a cell of some sort, and had tied him to a wall, with some give for his rope. Now he was reaching for the boy's muzzle, tired but patient eyes watching him carefully, hand frozen millimeters from the clasp. When the boy didn't move anymore, Dabi unbuckled it and took a graceful step back. Hitoshi sucked in a huge breath, his lungs filling too quickly and he coughed. After he got two full breaths in, he recoiled from the older boy, and rocked, humming a lullaby he'd taught himself when he was younger, one that he calmed down with, mentally singing the words—

Frére Jacques, frére Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines,
Ding ding dong, ding ding dong.

He repeatedly hummed it, desperately trying to get a grasp on his nerves.

Dabi raised his scorched skin at both the song and actions, but only sighed.

"Try to get some sleep, kid. It won't help to torture yourself to stay awake." A hysterical laugh left Hitoshi's throat. Sure, tell the guy who's dad had an insomnia Quirk to get some sleep.if only Dabi knew the irony. The burned male gave him one last look before exiting, the lock clicking on his way out. Memories rushed Hitoshi like an avalanche.

"Haha, look, Shinsou-kun is muzzled like a dog!!"

"You must wear this muzzle all the time. It's a necessary precaution against your Quirk. I'm sure you under stand, don't you, Shinsou-kun?"

"Are you going to growl at us? Is that muzzle there so you don't bite us?"

And the worse,

"He can't fight back!! Let's show this dog who his owners are!" And he cried.

"Aw, he's whimpering, just like a real dog!!"

A long cry left his lips before he could stop it.

"Dad!"

Before he went back to humming and rocking. Over and over.

Frére Jacques, frére Jacques...