Chapter Text
Yagi Toshinori’s first stop, after Recovery Girl declared him “as fit as he will get” and dismissed him, is the hospital. Not because of the faint ache in his arm that lingers or the tightness of his chest that he barely notices nowadays, but because he managed to pry a certain address from principal Nezu. The little creature had hesitated, but eventually declared “I suppose he won’t mind visitors” and given in.
So Toshinori had put the address into his car’s navigation system and instead of going home headed into the city as the sky slowly darkened.
Truth to be told, Toshinori isn’t convinced Aizawa Shouta will enjoy visitors. The thing the man most enjoys appears to be uninterrupted sleep, after all. However, Toshinori hasn’t been able to shake the lingering unease from his chest. Whenever he closes his eyes he still sees that terrible scene in the training facility: the monster crouched over a still body, holding one arm of its victim at an unnatural angle, while another, more human monster reached for three terrified students.
His arrival had prevented the worst. And yet the attack had only happened because of him.
The guilt lingers. If he’d not played hero getting there. If he’d been on time.
He thinks of the blood streaming down Aizawa’s face, the bruises, the shattered elbow, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. He’d feared his younger colleague dead or dying. The news he’d live and recover had taken a huge weight of Toshinori’s chest, but he needs to make sure.
That, and, if possible, apologize.
He parks his car and makes his way to the hospital entrance. It’s early in the evening and busy, with many people coming and leaving. Chatter fills the air as Toshinori walks past the entrance desk, inconspicuous in his oversized shirt and jacket, and heads toward the elevators.
The ride up is silent, though his mind keeps racing; the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. What should he say, what can he say? Will Aizawa even be willing to listen?
Before he knows it, he’s walked down the corridor, turned a corner and found the right door. There is no name on the plate next to it, but that is not uncommon where pro heroes are concerned. Toshinori presses his lips together; he can still turn around. Go home and carry on.
Except he may be bad at paperwork, but he’s never been one to shirk his responsibilities. And he knows that the guilt and what-ifs will not let him sleep - last night only sheer exhaustion had eventually pulled him under. Nightmares had woken him.
So he exhales and knocks.
There is no immediate reply, though something within clatters. It’s good enough for Toshinori to slowly open the door before his courage fails. The words on his lips die when he takes in the scene, though.
Aizawa Shouta, seated on the sole bed in the room, is attempting to draw a plain black jacket across his shoulders with two mummified arms. His entire face is covered in bandages, and Toshinori freezes for a moment. Why hasn’t the injury been healed yet? Aizawa’s a pro hero; it’s standard for doctors with a healing quirk to treat them as quickly as possible.
Excepting injuries that would put too great a strain on either doctor or patient to heal. (Blood, so much blood. Pieces of bone scattered on the ground). Toshinori blinks away the memories.
Aizawa’s also wearing his usual black trousers, boots, a bright pink shirt and a beige cardigan. Toshinori is relatively certain he’s seen Yamada Hizashi wear the latter two items on another occasion. He is also watching Toshinori expectantly.
“Ah, hello Aizawa-kun,” he greets belatedly, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. An impressive number of high-tech machines stand next to the wall, unhooked but obviously recently used. Toshinori swallows.
“Yagi-san,” Aizawa acknowledges, and continues to hitch the jacket further up by rotating his shoulders. A grimace passes his face, almost completely hidden, except for the way the bandages around his mouth twist.
Toshinori steps forward before he quite knows what he’s doing. “Can I help you?” he remembers to ask before actually reaching out. He’s always hated to see other people in pain; and what the villains did to Aizawa must have heard enough for a lifetime (and Toshinori is no stranger to pain, but the tightness of his lungs and the taste of iron on his tongue is what he brought onto himself. All Aizawa did was protect the students).
Aizawa gives a short nod. With his heart hammering in his throat (funny how he’s faced down fearsome villains and his heart had remained calm) he tugs the jacket up until it settles firmly around Aizawa’s shoulders. Smooth black hair tickles his wrists, and he hopes his face isn’t actually as flushed as he feels. “Is this alright?”
He removes his hands and takes a step back.
“‘s fine,” Aizawa replies and rises unsteadily to his feet.
Toshinori’s brow crinkles. “What are you doing?” he asks as Aizawa totters toward the door. “Where are you - If I’m making you uncomfortable, just -”
“I’m leaving,” Aizawa declares, slowing down to assess the closed door. He probably hears Toshinori’s breath hitch, because he turns to look over his shoulder. “That has nothing to do with you, Yagi-san; I was already preparing to leave before you arrived.”
“Ah,” Toshinori says, dumbfounded. “That ...”
In a move better suited to a ballet dancer, Aizawa raises his leg, presses the door handle down with the sole of his boot, and then pulls the door open.
“Where are you going?” Toshinori asks again, moving forward automatically, thinking his younger colleague has no business leaving. At the same time, that’s not his decision to make. “Nezu-san said you’d be here at least until the end of the week.” It’s a miracle it won’t be longer.
“I can recover at home just as well,” Aizawa replies, nudging the door open and casting a furtive glance down the corridor. Apparently he’s happy with what he finds because he steps outside, leaving Toshinori gaping in disbelief.
“Home?” he echoes, incredulous and hurrying after Aizawa down the empty corridor. “Aizawa-kun, you’re … you’re badly injured! You need to rest. How will you even get around at home?” Perhaps it is hypocritical of Toshinori to fault his colleague for overexerting himself when All Might’s habit of doing so is what left Toshinori with a broken body.
Aizawa stops before a corner, allowing Toshinori to catch up. “I’ll manage,” he says, before glancing around the corner. Toshinori realizes that apparently his colleague is doing what has been dubbed ‘informal self-discharge’ among several professional acquaintances, aka running away from the hospital. (He’s done it himself often enough).
“You’ll scare the doctors,” Toshinori offers quietly.
“Either Hizashi or Nemuri will explain,” Aizawa counters. His voice drops as there are steps echoing from the far end of the corridor.
“Won’t they get a fright to if they get a call saying you went missing?” Toshinori asks, lowering his own voice. He isn’t entirely certain if he should play along. But he feels too guilty not to. He’s been too late to assist Aizawa against the villains.
He can assist him in sneaking out of the hospital.
Aizawa shrugs. “They’ll figure it out.” Then he twists his head to smile at Toshinori over his shoulder. It’s nearly hidden underneath the bandage, but it’s one of Aizawa’s rare, truly-amused smiles. “And then they’ll come for a visit.”
“And help with whatever there is to do,” Toshinori concludes, shaking his head, impressed despite himself. “I’ll admit, that’s clever, Aizawa-kun.”
“I thought you would understand, Yagi-san,” Aizawa says with a smirk. “I heard you don’t much like hospitals either.” His eyes, reddened as they are, glint, and Toshinori feels himself warm in response.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, wondering at himself. Any other words are drowned by a short, vicious coughing fit that leaves him taste iron. Aizawa watches with concern as Toshinori wipes his mouth, then takes another peek around the corner.
“Alright, the corridor is empty,” Aizawa declares. “Now let’s get out of here before they check both of us in.”
They make it to the elevator without being stopped. Toshinori’s hands are sweaty when the elevator doors close behind them, and Aizawa releases a deep breath. Some pro heroes they are, Toshinori thinks, strangely amused.
This wasn’t the way he expected the visit to go at all.
“Were you being treated here as well?” Aizawa inquires during the elevator’s slow descent. “I wasn’t told much except that everyone apparently is alive and mostly alright.”
Toshinori glances at him, picking up on the tension underlying the questions. “Everyone is fine,” he confirms. “Midoriya-kun overtaxed himself, but he’s already been seen to by Recovery Girl.”
Aizawa shakes his head. “That boy,” he mutters. “He really needs to learn some control. But he’s alright now? Any lasting damage? And what about the others he was with, Asui and Mineta?”
“They are all fine,” Toshinori assures as the elevator doors open with a ping. They step into the busy lobby, trying their best not to attract any attention. “From what I heard everyone was mostly concerned about you, Aizawa-kun. You saved their lives there, after all. They know that.” Everyone knows that.
Aizawa glances away. “It’s my job,” he demurs.
They pass the exit. Several people glance their way with questions and concern in their eyes, and a little boy tugs on his mother’s skirt, saying “look, a mummy and a skeleton!”. The mother shushes him.
“I’m sorry I was late,” Toshinori says as a cool breeze tickles his skin. Lanterns light the pavement, but Aizawa and he automatically drift toward the shadowed path leading across the lawn before the entrance and toward the parking lot.
“Don’t be. They were planning to kill you,” Aizawa replies. He glances toward Toshinori again, eyes dark in the faint light. “In fact, is it safe for you to wander around on your own?”
Toshinori’s chest warms, though he waves the concern aside. “Hardly anybody recognizes me looking like that,” he says with a confident chuckle. “And even if my time is limited, I am still All Might.”
“I don’t think that scared those villains,” Aizawa counters.
“They didn’t scare me either,” Toshinori answers swiftly. Because truly, they did not. He has faced many villains in his time; this group, even with their unpleasant quirks, would not have bothered him at the zenith of his power. And even now he believes he can take them - as long as he isn’t late and over his limit again. There is still some spark within him, and after what the villains did, he does not think he will have mercy when they come next.
Gravel crunches under their feet as they slowly make their way away from the brightly lit building. The rustling of leaves now drowns out the faraway human voices.
“What did scare me,” he continues after a beat, “was what they did to you. What they could have done to the students if you hadn’t acted.” He presses his lips together, glad the darkness hides the bitterness in his eyes. “I wonder if coming to UA was a good decision.”
The footsteps next to him stop. Toshinori turns to find Aizawa looking up at him, eyes calm and assessing. “As far as I recall you saved the day and the villains did the damage,” he states drily, dark hair fluttering in the wind. “Yagi-san, you know how that works.”
Toshinori bows his head. Because yes, he knows how that works. But he can’t help his own thoughts. “Yet my presence made UA a target.”
Aizawa shrugs, turns and starts walking again. “Who knows,” he says. “They might have targeted random schools all over the city if you hadn’t come to UA.”
Toshinori’s blood runs cold at the thought.
“Or not,” Aizawa adds. “We now know what they want. The next time we’ll be prepared.” He casts a look toward the dark sky, and Toshinori feels the day’s fatigue crawl back into his own veins. A taste of terror remains in his mouth, but it’s a familiar feeling - he can’t save everyone, and now more than ever a society that has come to rely so heavily on one pillar is starting to face the drawbacks of that.
Still, he accepts the end of this strand of conversation for what it is. “How are you planning to get home, Aizawa-kun?” he asks instead as he catches up. They’ve almost made it to the lot where Toshinori’s small, blue sedan sits.
“Bus?” Aizawa guesses, unconcerned. “If there’s one. If not I guess I’ll walk.”
Toshinori shakes his head in exasperation. “Let me drive you,” he offers. “It’s the least I can do.” They reach the lights of the parking lot. A huge, overhead watch reads the time; it’s just a bit past nine at night.
Aizawa doesn’t contemplate for long. “Don’t mind if I pick up that offer. I’m afraid I’m rather late as it is.”
“Not a problem,” Toshinori returns, taking the lead and steering them toward his car. “Late?”
Aizawa grimaces. “My cat. She’s rather fond of punctual meals.”
“You have a cat?” Toshinori echoes, surprised at the unexpected revelation. He’d not thought of Aizawa as the pet-owning type. But a cat fits perfectly, he thinks. He can imagine it all too well, Aizawa and a black cat both curled up on some couch, sleeping the day away.
Also, escaping from the hospital doesn’t look quite as irrational now.
“Yes, she’s -” Aizawa begins, but then a phone rings in the pocket of his coat. He stops, turns to Toshinori, and with an awkward expression lifts his arms. “Could you take that and put it on speaker?”
Toshinori wonders what could be so important about a call. And the name greeting him on the display makes him want to press decline.
He presses the green button instead, harder than strictly necessary.
“Hello, Aizawa speaking,” the man says the moment the call comes through. Judging by his voice one couldn’t tell the man had been on death’s door not a day before.
“Hello Eraserhead, this is Edgeshot,” comes from the other end of the line. Toshinori can already hear the busy hum in the background; Edgeshot wouldn’t call for anything but hero business. He presses his lips together and watches in disapproving silence as Aizawa’s brow creases underneath the bandages.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Edgeshot begins. “I heard you got injured, but we’ve kinda got a situation that would need somebody with your skills.”
Toshinori really, really wants to end this call. He looks to Aizawa instead, hoping the man will put his foot down.
“I’m not really up for any fighting at the moment,” Aizawa answers cautiously, eyes narrowed. “What kind of situation?” A breeze brushes past them, and Toshinori has to suppress a shudder.
“Hostage situation,” Edgeshot replies swiftly. “We can keep you away from any fighting, but it would help a lot if you could just take a look at it.” There is a note of dry humor Toshinori doesn’t think he’s ever heard from Edgeshot.
Aizawa consider it. “I guess I can take a look at it,” he deadpans. “Alright, I’ll come by. What’s the address?”
Toshinori wants to protest. Aizawa ought to be back in that hospital behind them, or at the very least resting in his own bed. Or feeding his cat. Whatever situation Edgeshot is trying to resolve certainly won’t be as simple as just ‘taking a look at it’.
He holds his silence, though, while Edgeshot gives the address and hangs up.
“Are you really going to go?” Toshinori asks incredulously.
Aizawa looks at him. “Yes?”
“What about your cat?”
“She’ll hate me more than usual, but she’ll live.”
And Toshinori knows (because All Might had been the same) that there’s no arguing here. Because the cat will live, but the hostages might not. So he takes a deep breath. “All right, but I’m coming too.”
“You’re coming, Yagi-san?” Aizawa asks, voice consciously lowered to avoid bystanders overhearing. Then a slow grin curls the lips half-hidden underneath multiple layers of bandages. “Heh, I guess that wouldn’t be too bad.”
tbc