Chapter 20: The Nursery Plans
The air in the waiting area was still and too cold. It smelled of industrial cleaner, old coffee, and the underlying, cloying sweetness of air freshener meant to mask hospital smells. It failed. Every exhale from the four men waiting seemed to hang in the chilled space, thick with impatience and a shared, coiled tension.
Shouta stood at the window, his back to the room. He wasn’t looking at the city lights sprawled below. His reflection in the dark glass was a grim, shadowed cutout. His hands were clasped behind his back, the knuckles white. Every few minutes, his shoulders would tense, a minute ripple of strain beneath his dark suit jacket. A sound would filter down the hall—a distant moan, a muffled cry that wasn’t Izuku’s, the squeak of a trolley wheel—and his entire frame would go rigid, his head tilting slightly like a wolf catching a scent.
He hadn’t sat down once in the thirty-seven minutes since they’d been ushered out of the birth room.
Hizashi occupied a sleek vinyl armchair, his posture deceptively calm. His long blonde hair was tied back in a simple, elegant knot. His hands were folded in his lap, but his thumbs circled each other in a constant, silent motion. His green eyes were fixed on the closed door at the end of the hall, the one with the discreet ‘Private – Omega Delivery’ placard. He breathed slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth, a technique he used to soothe his own nerves and, by extension, the agitated alpha energies in the room. His scent, a gentle lotus bloom, was a deliberate, fragile dam against the storm of sharper aromas.
“He’s strong, Shouta,” Hizashi said softly, not for the first time. “Kenji is with him. The medical team is excellent.”
Shouta gave no indication he heard. Another low, drawn-out sound echoed from somewhere. It wasn’t Izuku. It was someone else, in some other room, enduring their own trial. Shouta’s jaw muscle jumped.
On a two-seater sofa, Katsuki and Eijirou were a study in contrasting restlessness. Katsuki sat bolt upright, his crimson eyes burning a hole in the same door Hizashi watched. He bounced his knee, a rapid, stuttering tremor that made the whole sofa frame shudder. He’d rejected the coffee Eijirou fetched an eternity ago. It sat cold and full on the table beside him.
Eijirou, in contrast, was a bundle of contained movement. He cracked his knuckles. He stretched his neck from side to side with audible pops. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, then slumped back, then forward again. He kept glancing at Katsuki’s profile, wanting to reach out, to touch, but sensing the volatile energy crackling around his mate. He settled for words.
“Remember Haruto?” Eijirou’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, meant only for Katsuki. “Fifteen hours, dude. Fifteen. And he was just one. Izuku’s got the endurance of a freaking marathon runner, but this… this is a whole different league. Two. Man, the manliness required…”
“Shut up, Ei,” Katsuki muttered, not unkindly, but with a ragged edge. “Just… shut up for a minute.”
He didn’t need the reminder. His mind was trapped in the memory of that sterile room thirty minutes prior, just before they’d been asked to leave. Izuku, propped on the futon, dwarfed by pillows, his face sheened with sweat, his beautiful hair plastered to his forehead and neck. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes screwed shut in concentration as a contraction seized him. He’d been silent through it, biting his lower lip so hard Kenji had gently pried it free with his thumb, whispering something lost to the hum of machinery. Kenji had looked up then, meeting Katsuki’s eyes for a split second. In them was not fear, but a fierce, primal focus that Katsuki recognized. It was the look of an alpha holding the line.
Then the midwife, a calm beta woman with hands that moved with efficient grace, had politely but firmly shooed them out. “It’s time for the active phase. The omega and his alpha need space to focus. We’ll call you.”
And so they waited. The clock on the wall ticked with a sonorous, mocking slowness.
“What if something’s wrong?” The question left Katsuki’s lips before he could stop it, low and gravelly. It wasn’t directed at anyone. It was a fear given sound, escaping its cage.
“Nothing is wrong,” Hizashi said immediately, his voice gaining a thread of steel. “Your brother is in the best possible hands. Birth is… it is a tempest. It has to run its course.” He knew. He remembered the blinding, tearing pain of Katsuki’s own entrance into the world, the surprising, slightly easier calm of Izuku’s. Each one unique. Each one a mountain to climb.
A sudden, sharp cry sliced through the hallway insulation.
This one was distinct. This one was Izuku’s. A short, guttural sound of immense strain, abruptly cut off.
Shouta spun from the window as if yanked by a wire. He took two involuntary steps towards the door before halting, his body vibrating with the need to act, to intervene, to fix. There was nothing to fix. This was biology, raw and unstoppable. The helplessness was a physical acid in his veins.
Katsuki shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. Eijirou stood too, placing a broad hand on the small of Katsuki’s back, a solid point of contact.
Silence descended again, heavier than before. It was the silence of collective held breath.
They heard a lower voice, Kenji’s, a steady murmur they couldn’t decipher. Then a different sound. A thin, reedy, protesting wail. It was joined a moment later by another, slightly higher in pitch, equally indignant.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
The four of them froze, statues in the fluorescent light.
The cries continued, overlapping, a symphony of new life asserting itself. They were strong cries. Healthy cries.
Hizashi’s hands flew to his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut. A tear escaped, tracing a clean line down his cheek.
Eijirou’s face broke into a stunned, radiant grin. “Whoa.”
Katsuki just stared, his breath leaving his lungs in a slow, shaky exhale. His clenched fists loosened.
Shouta didn’t move. He was listening, his head tilted, parsing the dual cries. His black eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the door.
Minutes passed. The cries subsided into intermittent, hiccupping fusses. They could hear the murmur of more voices now, the midwife, a nurse, Kenji’s low, responding tone. The wait became a new kind of agony. The knowing, without the seeing.
Finally, the door opened.
The beta midwife emerged, her surgical scrubs neat, a faint smile on her tired face. She looked at the four eager, anxious faces turned to her. “The Takahashi family is ready for visitors. Mom and pups are doing wonderfully. You can come in now.”
She didn’t need to say it twice.
Hizashi was the first to move, a fluid glide toward the door. Katsuki and Eijirou followed close on his heels, a united front of pent-up energy finally unleashed. Shouta moved last, his strides long and deliberate, but the usual composed authority was gone, replaced by a driven intensity.
The birth room was warmer, the air changed. The antiseptic smell was now layered with the metallic tang of blood, the clean scent of fresh linen, and something profoundly new and sweet—the scent of newborn pups and satisfied omega.
The scene was one of controlled, post-storm calm.
Izuku was reclined against a mountain of pillows on the futon, looking utterly spent and incandescent. He was pale, dark circles like bruises under his eyes, his hair a damp, tangled wave around his shoulders. He was swaddled in a fresh white kimono-style gown. And in his arms, nestled in the crook of each elbow, were two tightly wrapped bundles of white fleece, each crowned with a shock of dark, damp hair.
Kenji knelt on a cushion right beside the futon, so close his side pressed against Izuku’s. One of his hands rested on Izuku’s thigh, a possessive, steadying anchor. The other hand was gently stroking the tiny head of the bundle in Izuku’s left arm. Kenji’s face was bare, stripped of all its charming sarcasm. He looked younger, awestruck, his black eyes shining with an emotion so deep it was humbling. He smelled of alpha pride, of sweat, of utter relief, and of a love so fierce it scorched the air around him.
Hizashi, Katsuki, and Eijirou stopped a few feet inside the door, their gazes instantly, magnetically, drawn to the two tiny beings in Izuku’s arms. A hushed, collective gasp filled the space.
But Shouta’s eyes barely flickered to the babies.
He walked past the others. He walked past the bassinets lined with soft blankets, past the midwife tidying supplies. His entire world had narrowed to the futon, to the small, pale omega holding the future.
He went straight to Izuku.
He lowered himself, not to a cushion, but to one knee beside the futon, bringing his eyes level with his son’s. The action was so unconsciously submissive, so completely out of character, that Hizashi’s breath caught.
“Daddy,” Izuku whispered, his voice raspy and thin from effort, but his smile was the sun breaking through clouds.
Shouta’s hands came up. They hovered for a second, unsure where to land—on Izuku’s head, his shoulder, the babies. They settled, one on Izuku’s cheek, the other gently cupping the back of his son’s head. His thumb swept over Izuku’s cheekbone, wiping away a trace of moisture that wasn’t sweat.
“Izuku,” Shouta said, and his voice was cracked, rough with an emotion he never let surface. “Look at you.” The words were immense. They contained every worry of the last nine months, every moment of pacing in the hall, every silent prayer, every ounce of awe at the monumental feat just accomplished.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against Izuku’s. It was an old gesture, one from Izuku’s childhood, reserved for moments of utmost consolation or pride. He held it, his eyes closed, breathing in his son’s scent—the familiar sweet green tea now mingled with the milky richness of nursing omega and the sharp, new notes of pain and exhaustion. “You did so well. So perfectly.”
Izuku leaned into the touch, a tear escaping and trailing down into Shouta’s palm. “They’re here, Daddy. They’re really here.”
Only then did Shouta pull back, his hand sliding from Izuku’s head to rest on his shoulder. He finally, truly, looked at the two bundles.
The one in the crook of Izuku’s left arm, the one Kenji was touching, had a slightly rounder face. His eyes were scrunched shut, his little mouth a perfect, pouting rosebud. The shock of hair was jet black, like Izuku’s and Kenji’s.
The one in Izuku’s right arm was a fraction longer, his features a little more defined. He was awake, his dark eyes (impossibly, they looked black already) peering blurrily at the strange new world. His hair was a shade lighter, a deep, smoky charcoal.
“This one,” Izuku said, nodding to the left, his voice gaining a thread of warmth, “is Kaito.” He looked at the awake one, his expression softening into pure adoration. “And this is Hiroshi.”
“Kaito and Hiroshi,” Shouta repeated, the names becoming real in his mouth. He reached out a single, careful finger. He didn’t touch a baby first. He touched the fleece blanket near Hiroshi’s tucked hand. His finger was large, calloused. It looked absurdly rough against the pristine softness. “May I?”
Izuku nodded, beaming.
With infinite care, Shouta slipped his finger beneath the blanket’s edge, finding Hiroshi’s tiny hand. Five miniature, perfect fingers reflexively closed around his calloused fingertip. The grip was surprisingly strong. A current, pure and electric, shot up Shouta’s arm and settled directly behind his sternum. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.
“Strong grip,” he murmured, a note of approval entering his tone, the first hint of the assessing alpha grandfather returning.
That seemed to break the spell for the others.
Hizashi glided forward, tears streaming freely now. “Oh, my darlings. My precious boys.” He knelt gracefully beside Shouta, his eyes drinking in the sight of his son and his grandchildren. He didn’t reach to hold them yet. His first touch was to Izuku’s knee, a gentle, loving press. “You were so brave, my sweetheart. How do you feel?”
“Tired, Mama. Really tired. And… everything hurts,” Izuku admitted with a weak, honest laugh. “But it’s… it’s the good kind of hurt.”
“The best kind,” Hizashi agreed, his gaze shifting to the pups. “They’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
Katsuki and Eijirou approached more cautiously, Haruto’s boisterous energy absent here in this sacred space. They stood behind Hizashi, looking down.
“Damn, Izu,” Katsuki said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He was staring at his brother, at the palpable exhaustion, at the serene triumph on his face. “You actually did it.”
“Told you I would,” Izuku whispered back, a ghost of their old sibling teasing in his eyes.
Kenji finally looked up, acknowledging the rest of the family. His smile was tired but brilliant. “They have impeccable timing and powerful lungs. Already demanding.”
Eijirou crouched down, his huge frame folding. He stared at the two tiny faces, his own fierce features transformed with wonder. “Dude. Two. Two little alphas. Look at them! They’re so… small. But man, those cries were not small.” He glanced at Kenji, a new, profound respect in his eyes. “How’d you hold it together in here, man?”
Kenji blew out a long breath, his hand still moving in a soothing rhythm on Kaito’s head. “I didn’t have a choice. He,” he nodded at Izuku, “was doing all the work. I just… held on. Reminded him to breathe. Got growled at a few times when a contraction hit.” He said it with such fondness that Izuku blushed.
“You were perfect, alpha,” Izuku murmured, leaning his head against Kenji’s shoulder for a second.
“So,” Katsuki said, his eyes scanning the two pups. “Which one is which again? This grumpy-looking one is…?”
“This is Kaito,” Kenji said, his voice softening further. “He arrived first. Came out ready to argue, I think. Hiroshi followed about eight minutes later. He’s been quietly observing everything.”
As if on cue, Hiroshi let out a tiny, squeaky yawn, his little face contorting adorably before he settled back into his wide-eyed stare.
The midwife stepped closer. “Would the grandparents like to hold one? It’s often good for the pups to feel the scents of their extended pack early.”
Hizashi’s eyes lit up. He looked at Izuku for permission. Izuku nodded eagerly. “Please, Mama.”
With the expertise of decades, Hizashi reached out. Kenji carefully helped transfer the bundle that was Kaito into Hizashi’s waiting arms. Hizashi cradled him, one hand supporting the head, the other the body. He rocked him gently, a slow, instinctive sway. He hummed a few notes of a lullaby, his lotus scent enveloping the newborn. Kaito’s scrunched face relaxed a fraction.
“Hello, little Kaito,” Hizashi cooed. “Welcome to the world. Your grandmama is so happy to meet you.”
Shouta watched, his finger still held in Hiroshi’s grip. He looked from Hizashi with Kaito to Izuku with Hiroshi. A quiet, staggering realization settled over him. His lineage, which had been a single, strong line, had just branched explosively. It was no longer just him, Katsuki, and Haruto. It was now these two new souls, these two tiny, perfect alpha boys who would carry the Aizawa-Takahashi name forward. The responsibility was immense. The joy was terrifying in its depth.
“Would you like to hold Hiroshi, Daddy?” Izuku asked softly.
Izuku asked softly.
Shouta’s answer was not a word, but a motion. He didn’t hesitate. He withdrew his finger from Hiroshi’s grasp and slid his broad hands, palms up, beneath the fleece-wrapped bundle. His movements were not the stiff, formal gestures of a patriarch, but the instinctual, careful adjustment of someone handling something infinitely precious. He lifted Hiroshi from the crook of Izuku’s arm, bringing the pup against his chest with a seamless, secure confidence that belied the emotion storming behind his black eyes.
The room held its breath.
Shouta looked down at the tiny face. Hiroshi’s dark, unfocused eyes seemed to stare right back, his little mouth a solemn line. He fit perfectly in the cradle of his grandfather’s arms, a stark contrast of immense strength and utter fragility. Shouta’s stern face, usually carved from granite, underwent a slow, seismic transformation.
His eyebrows, perpetually drawn in severity, softened. The tight line of his mouth relaxed, then quivered at the corners. He adjusted his hold, one large hand cradling the back of Hiroshi’s head, his thumb stroking the faint, downy hairline.
Then, Shouta leaned down. He brought his face close to the bundle, his voice dropping to a low, rumbling murmur the others had never heard.
“There you are,” he cooed, the sound vibrating with a warmth that seemed to physically alter the room’s temperature. “Hello, little Hiroshi. I have been waiting to meet you.”
Katsuki’s jaw went slack. Eijirou blinked, as if doubting his own eyes and ears. Hizashi’s tears fell anew, a silent, joyful stream. He’d seen Shouta with his own sons, but that was decades ago, a memory softened by time. This was present, raw, and shocking in its tenderness.
Izuku felt a sob of happiness catch in his raw throat. He leaned heavily into Kenji, who simply wrapped an arm around him, his own expression one of stunned fascination.
Shouta was oblivious to their shock. His entire world had condensed to the weight in his arms. “You have your father’s thoughtful eyes,” he murmured to the baby, his voice a private, gravelly ribbon of sound. “And your carrier’s fighting spirit. I heard you. Announcing your arrival with authority. That is good.”
Hiroshi blinked slowly, a tiny fist escaping the swaddle to brush against Shouta’s suit lapel.
“Strong,” Shouta observed, a note of profound approval deepening his cooing tone. He caught the wandering fist gently in his own finger. “Yes. You will need that. To protect your brother. To lead.” He bent further, until his lips nearly brushed the baby’s forehead. “Your grandfather is here,” he whispered, the words a vow so soft they were almost inaudible. “I am here.”
He straightened, but continued to rock in a subtle, rhythmic motion that was entirely instinctual. The sight of Shouta Aizawa—domineering alpha, stern family pillar—gently swaying with a newborn while speaking in hushed, adoring tones was surreally beautiful. It dismantled every rigid expectation in the room.
Eijirou found his voice first, a hushed whisper to Katsuki. “Dude. Your dad is a giant softie.”
Katsuki could only nod, a strange, tight warmth spreading in his own chest. He’d never doubted his father’s love, but it had always been a solid, demanding, often silent force. This was love made audible, visible in the careful curve of his father’s shoulders as he bent over the pup.
“Would you like to switch?” Hizashi asked after a moment, his voice thick. “You should meet Kaito, too.”
Shouta looked up, as if remembering they were not alone. The softness didn’t vanish, but it retrenched, becoming a quieter, more protected thing. He gave a single, slow nod.
With a practiced, graceful exchange, Hizashi transferred Kaito into Shouta’s now-vacant arm, and took Hiroshi into her own. Shouta looked down at the second grandson. Kaito, still snoozing, made a soft, snuffling sound.
“And you, Kaito,” Shouta said, his voice still gentle, but holding a different note. “The firstborn. The trailblazer.” He studied the sleeping features. “A weight rests on you. You will bear it. You have your uncle’s tenacity.” He glanced at Katsuki, a flicker of acknowledgement passing between them. “That will serve you well.”
Kenji watched, his throat tight. Seeing his own sons, his own legacy, being accepted and assessed by this formidable man was a relief so deep it felt like a physical unknotting of his muscles. He pressed a kiss to Izuku’s damp hair.
“He approves,” Kenji murmured into Izuku’s ear.
“He loves them,” Izuku corrected, his voice trembling with exhausted joy. “He really loves them.”
The midwife, smiling as she finished her notes, intervened gently. “The new parents need some rest, and these little ones will be wanting a feed soon. Perhaps we can give them a bit of quiet?”
The spell broken, the family began a reluctant, shuffling retreat. Hizashi handed Hiroshi back to Izuku with infinite care. Shouta, however, seemed hesitant to relinquish Kaito. He held the baby a moment longer, his gaze soaking in every detail.
“We will return in the morning,” Shouta stated, his voice regaining its usual cadence, though it was noticeably quieter. He finally passed Kaito to Kenji, his hands lingering for a millisecond to ensure the transfer was secure. “You will call. For anything.”
“We will, Daddy,” Izuku promised, his eyelids already drooping.
Shouta turned to leave, then stopped. He looked back at Izuku, then at the two pups now settled against their parents. “You have done something extraordinary,” he said, the words formal, but the emotion behind them as raw as the earlier coos. Then he followed Hizashi out.
In the hallway, the silence felt different. The cold anxiety was gone, replaced by a buzzing, shared wonder. Hizashi slipped his hand into Shouta’s. His fingers closed around hers, tight, almost crushing.
“Two,” Shouta said again, but now the word was a foundation, not a shock.
“Two,” Hizashi agreed, squeezing back. “Our family is bigger.”
Katsuki and Eijirou fell into step behind them. Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor as they walked.
“You okay?” Eijirou asked, bumping his shoulder against Katsuki’s.
“Yeah. Just… never seen him like that.” Katsuki shrugged, a defensive gesture. “It was weird.”
“It was manly,” Eijirou corrected, his grin returning. “The manliest. Honest emotion, no filter. Protecting and nurturing the pack’s next generation? That’s alpha prime stuff right there.” He slung an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders. “Makes me think about when we had Haruto. Your dad just stood in the corner like a sentinel for three hours.”
“He did,” Katsuki recalled, a faint smirk touching his lips. “Didn’t make a sound. Just glared at every nurse who came in.”
“Different circumstances,” Shouta’s voice floated back to them, not turning around. “Haruto was a fostered pup, newly traumatized. He needed quiet stability, not overwhelming new scents. These pups… they are born into the heart of the pack. They should know its strength immediately.” He said it as a simple fact, a tactical analysis of infant care, but the explanation itself was a vulnerability.
They reached the hospital lobby. The automatic doors slid open, releasing them into the cool night. The air smelled of city and concrete, a stark shift from the intense, intimate bubble of the birth room.
Shouta stopped on the sidewalk, turning to face Katsuki and Eijirou. “You two will go to their home tomorrow. Ensure the security system is fully operational. Check the temperature regulation in the nursery. The thermostat must be precise for two newborns.”
Katsuki nodded, the familiar terrain of orders settling him. “On it.”
“Hizashi and I will handle supplies. Anything additional they need.” Shouta’s mind was already weeks ahead, logistics slotting into place. Then his gaze focused on Katsuki. “You will teach them discipline when they are older. How to control their strength.”
The responsibility, stated so plainly, made Katsuki stand straighter. “Yeah. I will.”
“Good.” Shouta looked up at the few stars visible between the city’s glow. The tension had finally left his shoulders, replaced by a steady, deep-seated certainty. The wait was over. The future, in the form of two sleeping, dark-haired boys, was already here. Its cries were already etched into his memory, its tiny grip already locked around his heart. He took a long, clean breath.
“Let’s go home.”