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It hadn’t been Todoroki’s intention to end their training session going down in flames.
At least, not literally.
“Work on your weak points,” Aizawa had instructed at the start of class. Simple enough. Obvious enough, in Todoroki’s case. He’d more than proved his capabilities with his ice half, but the fire that ignites along his left side had yet to yield to his control in the same way.
It frustrates him to no end. Progress had been slow—far too slow, in his mind. Aizawa had disagreed when Todoroki had approached him with his concerns, but the pro hero doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get the way Todoroki fights against memories and intrusive thoughts that accompany the flames of his quirk. He doesn’t feel the anger that simmers just beneath his skin, the anger held back by fear, because fire fueled by anger is power free of restraint.
Todoroki doesn’t know who would be more at risk if he were to relinquish what little control he seemed to have over his fire to the hidden flames of a different kind—the others around him, or himself. He’d rather not find out.
Then he’s assigned Bakugou as his partner, and he might as well throw the whole day away. The other boy’s explosive nature and matching quirk won’t help matters. Progress will be made, sure, but in the wrong direction, at the wrong pace.
If anger shaped by a competitive streak a mile wide works for Bakugou, fine. Anger born from resentment, though, fuels a different kind of fire. A dangerous kind.
Despite his doubts, though, Todoroki relents—not that he has much of a choice. Still, perhaps a simple training exercise can help some, can provide a bit of insight into how he’s supposed to go about taking control, rather than waiting for control to be relinquished to him. As much as Todoroki disapproves of Bakugou’s hot-tempered and overconfident attitude, the other boy is a formidable fighter, that much Todoroki can admit.
Maybe his classmate’s anger is what he needs. Maybe he can learn a bit by example and tap into his own competitive streak, fuel a different kind of fire—a better kind. Maybe he can fight fire with fire rather than fear.
And, for a while, maybe it works.
Maybe he makes some actual progress.
And, maybe, he lets himself get a little carried away in the process.
. . .
It doesn’t take long before the surrounding area heats up a couple dozen—or hundred—degrees. The air feels uncomfortably hot in his lungs, as though he’d inhaled flames that blaze but (thankfully) don’t burn. The floor beneath his feet shakes as an explosion goes off to his right, and his hand twitches, his right side itching to cool the fight down with a blast of ice.
His left hand moves instead, and he returns the favor with a wave of fire that his opponent skillfully dances away from.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, IcyHot,” Bakugou retorts, egging him on. There’s another blast, and the other boy is flying above him, palms sparking.
Todoroki hits the floor and rolls, barely avoiding the explosion that follows. Flames dance along his arm and down his leg as he gets to his feet, a steady blaze that keeps his faux enemy at a preferable distance.
Bakugou doesn’t give him much time to catch his breath before he’s coming at him again, right hand stretched out, eyes shifting to the side, and Todoroki moves—but it’s a feint, and suddenly the other boy twists around, hands up, BANG. The air explodes in front of his face, and Todoroki’s knocked to the side with a grunt, letting out a ragged cough as more smoke fills the air.
He’s worn out and his head aches and they’ve been going at it for far too long, but when Bakugou asks if he’s ready to call it quits, Todoroki climbs to his feet and wills the fire to burn hotter.
“Not even close,” he says, and it’s stupid, but he’s fairly certain his impulse control was lost to the flames a few explosions ago. His foot’s on the pedal, now, and he’s not sure he can take it off. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. The smoke has gotten too heavy for him to think clearly, fire still burning bright inside and out. His foot may be on the pedal, but the brakes still work. He’s just not done yet.
His head spins and his heart is racing and that’s not good, but he throws his hand out anyway and lets loose an inferno.
. . .
The training gym shakes with the force of yet another explosion, and Aizawa sighs. The two boys are half-way across the gym, and yet the pro hero can still hear the stream of combative words that follow as his students egg each other on.
“Bakugou, Todoroki,” he calls. “I would like to avoid sending a student to the infirmary, if at all possible.”
His words go ignored. It’s not surprising in the slightest.
The rest of Class 1-A is still spread out across the room, split up in pairs with instructions to focus on weak points and improve their fighting. Aizawa’s original goal of the exercise had been simply to strengthen their quirks, but the added excuse to blow off some steam after a stressful couple of weeks is a lucky bonus—one his students clearly had taken advantage of.
An hour into their class time, however, and most of the sparring matches have died down. To Aizawa’s left, Kirishima and Midoriya drop to the hardwood, breathing heavy. There’s an apparent agreement on a draw, sealed with a weary fist bump and tired grins. Behind them, Yaoyorozu and Uraraka have moved onto simple hand-to-hand combat, looking too worn out to continue using their quirks. Ojiro and Asui are quick to follow.
Another explosion has the floor shaking.
To Aizawa’s right, Ashido watches the fiery duel with interest. “Are they trying to kill each other?”
“Bakugou, probably,” Kaminari agrees. “I think Todoroki’s just burning himself up. He’s literally smoking.”
Aizawa looks. True to Kaminari’s words, the other boy appears to be smoking, fire still burning, though not quite as bright, as he counters Bakugou’s intense attacks. Even across the gym, Todoroki looks drained, but there’s a fire in his eyes that burns hotter than the flames alight on his body. He’s physically willing himself to stay in the fight.
For what seems to be the hundredth time since he’d begun teaching this class, Aizawa finds himself cursing the unhealthy streak of stubbornness and self-sacrificial tendencies that runs through just about every single one of his students.
They’ll make great pro heroes in the future, sure, but that doesn’t keep them from being a pain to deal with now.
There’s another blast, and Todoroki is sent sprawling. He’s quick to his feet, though, and Aizawa inwardly commends him for that, but that thought quickly vanishes as a harsh cough rips through the boy’s chest.
Bakugou eggs his classmate on, and Aizawa sighs in resignation as Todoroki leaps at the challenge and sends a fiery blaze in Bakugou’s direction. And so the fight continues, waves of heat emanating from the two as they both refuse to yield to the other. Neither one of them look to be aware of anything outside of their battle.
Neither one of them look to be stopping anytime soon.
And this has gone on far too long. Aizawa’s ready to step in and call time on their match when there’s a sudden lull in the fight. Todoroki pauses, an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation that just about gets him an explosion to the face if Bakugou hadn’t pulled himself back just in time. The blonde twists, turning his attack into a roll as he hits the ground, sparing hardly a second before he’s back on his feet, eyes narrowed in an angry glare.
“The fuck was that, Half-n-Half?”
There’s no response. Todoroki’s still, fire all but extinguished, leaving nothing but wisps of smoke curling up from his arm and leg and side. There’s a dazed look on his face, an expression so out of place Aizawa finds himself instinctively taking a step forward out of concern.
Even Bakugou looks confused, anger mellowing out to mere irritation. “Hey, IcyHot. You fall asleep standing up, or something?”
There’s another troubling pause, before Todoroki’s eyes shift and he meet’s Bakugou’s gaze.
For a second, it’s silent, as if the whole gym is holding it’s breath.
Then everything unfreezes and Todoroki crumples to the floor.
. . .
The moment Todoroki goes down, the whole class seems to surge forward, calling out in worry. Bakugou reacts but isn’t quick enough to fully catch the other boy before he hits the ground. Instead, they both end up on the floor, Todoroki sprawled out on his back with Bakugou leaning over him, shaking his shoulder roughly.
“Get the fuck up, IcyHot,” Bakugou’s saying as Aizawa approaches. “I swear I’m gonna kill you if you make this a repeat of the damn Sports Festival.”
Around them, the clamor of the other students is rising in volume.
“Todoroki!”
“Whoa, what happened?”
“Did he seriously just faint?”
“Is he okay?”
Aizawa waves them back. “Give him some room,” he orders, though his eyes don’t leave the unresponsive boy on the gym floor. He crouches beside them, keeping his expression impassive but inwardly he finds himself growing more and more concerned about his student lying still before him.
He watches the boy’s chest move up and down, relieved to find him still breathing, as shaky as those breaths seem to be. “Bakugou,” he says. “What happened?”
Bakugou snaps his head up. “How the fuck would I know?” He gestures widely, frustration masking what little concern Aizawa might have seen in his eyes. “We were fighting, and he decides to freeze up like an idiot and then pass out out of nowhere. I didn’t do shit!”
On the floor, Todoroki shifts.
“Todoroki,” Aizawa calls. “Are you with us?”
The boy lets out a low groan, eyebrows furrowing as he turns his head towards Aizawa’s voice. His eyelids flicker, then grow still again.
There’s a blur of green as Midoriya drops to his knees and grabs his friend’s wrist. “His heart is beating really fast,” he says after a minute, worry coloring his tone. “His pulse is going crazy. Shouldn’t we get Recovery Girl?”
Aizawa is about to shoot the idea down, recalling the unfortunate fact that the school nurse is on the other side of the city working another job, when the boy on the floor moves again. The hand in Midoriya’s grasp clenches into a fist, and the green-haired boy lets go as Todoroki tugs his arm free with confused irritation.
His eyes flicker open, then just as quickly slide shut.
“Hey, kid,” Aizawa says. “Eyes open.”
Todoroki complies, though he doesn’t seem too happy about it. He peers up at them through a half-lidded gaze, eyes flicking from Bakugou’s scowl to Midoriya’s worried frown and finally to Aizawa.
“Sensei?” He mutters, looking dazed. “Wha’ happened?”
Bakugou huffs. “You fucking passed out on me, that’s what,” he retorts before Aizawa gets the chance to speak. “What—did the fire get too hot for you, or something?”
“Bakugou,” Aizawa admonishes.
“What?”
Todoroki shakes his head, appearing to regret it as he immediately grimaces at the movement. “No, no,” he slurs, then clears his throat. “’m fine. Sorry.” He shifts, elbows moving back as he makes a clumsy attempt to sit up before anyone has time to stop him. Immediately color drains from his face and he sways to the side, very nearly toppling over before Midoriya grabs his shoulders and guides him back down.
“Please don’t move, Todoroki,” Midoriya says.
Kirishima crouches beside him. “Yeah, man,” he agrees. “Have you seen you? You’re not fine.”
Todoroki doesn’t try to argue. He swallows, face twisting in an uncharacteristic display of discomfort that’s further proof of just how out of it the boy seems to be. “Dizzy,” he mutters. “Head hurts.” He shifts uncomfortably, head falling to the side to rest against the hardwood floor. Sweat coats his face and neck, duo-colored hair plastered to his forehead, gym outfit clinging to his body.
Aizawa sighs at the sight. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want to get used to, it’s tending to his (often reckless and stubborn) students when they go down—not only is it an unpleasant part of hero work, it’s also a rather blunt reminder of just how young these kids are, of how hard they push themselves to prove that they’re capable despite their age.
“Someone get him some water,” he calls over his shoulder, not bothering to look behind him as he immediately hears a pair of feet run off. He reaches out, laying a careful hand on Todoroki’s arm. “We should get him out of this,” he says, gesturing at the rather constricting, sweat-drenched shirt. “Midoriya, Kirishima…” The other boys are quick to move, Midoriya gripping Todoroki’s shoulders to slowly guide him up and keep him from swaying as Kirishima holds out a wary hand behind Todoroki’s back in case he falls back. Todoroki swallows as he sits up, head tilting forward and eyes squeezing shut like he’s fighting off a wave of nausea. Aizawa wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case.
Kirishima shifts around so he’s facing Todoroki. “You okay, man?” He waits for Todoroki’s barely-there nod before reaching for the hem of the boy’s shirt. It’s gone a few moments later, leaving Todoroki in a sweaty but significantly looser white undershirt. The boy’s still breathing heavily, chin nearly against his chest as his head lolls forward.
Something pangs in Aizawa’s chest. Todoroki looking so out of it is a rare sight, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen. Still—the boy pushes himself so hard; something like this had always been bound to happen, something to remind Todoroki that yes, even he has limits.
Sometimes, Aizawa finds he has to be reminded of that himself.
It’s not a nice thought.
“Sensei,” Jiro calls out behind him. He turns to take the water bottle she’s holding out, giving her an appreciative nod before facing the boy on the floor. Todoroki looks to be a bit more with it now, something Aizawa’s grateful for. Nursing children back to health has never been his strong suit (nor is being nurturing to begin with).
Even still, the grimace on Todoroki’s face is enough to tug at anyone’s heart strings. “Here,” he says, unscrewing the cap from the bottle. “Drink something.”
The kid glances up, staring at the bottle with a bemused look in his eyes before taking it with a shaky hand and bringing it to his lips. He gulps at the water, a worrying hint of desperation in his movements, draining half the bottle in the span of a few seconds.
“Careful,” Kirishima warns as Todoroki nearly chokes on the water.
The boy moves the bottle away, setting it on the ground unsteadily. “Mm,” he hums, closing his eyes and leaning back against Midoriya’s hold. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Aizawa says, taking the bottle and screwing the cap back on before one of them knocks it over. ‘Not for this, at least,’ he thinks, reminding himself to have a talk with the boy about limits and what it means to go past them (unnecessarily). “Are you feeling any better?”
Todoroki’s quiet for a second. “Yes,” he nods, then scrunches his face into a grimace at the movement. “I’m okay.”
Aizawa hums, not at all convinced. “I’m taking you to the infirmary, anyway,” he says, brushing Todoroki’s immediate protest aside. “You just collapsed in the middle of my class. I don’t care if you feel better now. I’d rather be safe than sorry, wouldn’t you?”
Todoroki clenches his jaw at that, but wisely makes no more attempt to argue. “Fine,” he mutters.
Aizawa nods, plan set in stone. “Class dismissed,” he says as he stands. “Everyone go back to your dorms.”
He’s met with immediate protest from some of them. “Sensei—!”
“Go,” he orders, tone soft but still firm. “You can see Todoroki when he returns to the dorm. He doesn’t need everyone crowding him right now.” He glances down at Midoriya and Kirishima who are still on the floor by Todoroki. “You kids, too.”
Midoriya opens his mouth to argue, but Aizawa’s unrelenting look has him thinking twice.
Aizawa looks over at Bakugou, then. The boy’s covered in sweat, too, though he doesn’t look nearly as bad as the fire-and-ice user on the floor. He fixes Bakugou with a pointed look. “I better not see anyone else in the infirmary because they were hiding something like this and waited until it got worse,” he says, ensuring he meets the boy’s gaze.
Message received. Bakugou huffs and looks away. “Yeah. Got it.” He moves then. “Come on, Deku, Shitty Hair.” He grabs at their ears, pulling them up and away from Todoroki, purposefully ignoring their complaints as they get up and follow without much of a choice.
“Wh—Kacchan!”
“Ow! Bro, not cool, let go!”
Aizawa watches as the class filters out of the gym doors, leaving the remaining two in the quiet that follows. He turns his gaze back down to the boy on the floor. Todoroki’s sitting up on his own now, headache still present—if the wrinkles in his forehead are any sign—and skin still far too pale for Aizawa’s liking.
Then the boy hunches over with a quiet groan, one arm curling up and around his stomach, and Aizawa instinctively crouches down and reaches a hand out to squeeze reassuringly at his shoulder. He waits for the apparent muscle spasm to fade, Todoroki eventually uncurling slightly and glancing up at the teacher warily.
“Alright,” Aizawa says, brushing over the new symptom (which had apparently been the right choice as Todoroki lets out a quiet exhale in relief). “Can you stand?”
Todoroki nods, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Yes,” he says firmly, as though forcing his body to believe it. Still, he accepts Aizawa’s offered help as he takes his hand and lets the teacher pull him to his feet. He visibly bites back a groan as he sways, gripping at the pro hero’s hand to steady himself.
And apparently he can feel Aizawa’s gaze on him, because he takes a breath and says, “I’m fine.”
Those words are in the boy’s vocabulary far too often to be healthy, Aizawa muses as the two slowly shuffle to the infirmary, but with one glance at Todoroki’s pale face and the way the boy grimaces as he takes an unsteady step, Aizawa stays silent.
The lecture will come later.
. . .
“Just drink a lot,” the fill-in nurse instructs. “And rest. You have the remainder of the day off, so that shouldn’t be a problem. You wore yourself out so your body needs time to recover. Am I clear?”
Todoroki looks more like a child than ever before as he sits in the infirmary bed, arms loosely crossed and mouth turned down in a frown that’s a mere fraction away from a pout. “Yes, sir,” he says quietly, meeting the man’s gaze to show his sincerity before glancing away.
The nurse hums in assent, then turns to leave the room, nodding to Aizawa as he passes. The door shuts quietly behind him, leaving Aizawa with an empty infirmary and a pouting child.
He sighs. “Todoroki.”
The boy looks up at him. “Sensei?”
“What happened?”
Todoroki frowns. “In the gym? I passed out. The nurse said—”
“I know what happened, kid,” Aizawa cuts him off. “I want you to tell me why.”
Todoroki goes silent. “I…” He sighs, biting at his lip as his eyebrows knit in an odd mix of frustration and guilt. “I wore myself out,” he says tiredly. “Heat exhaustion, right? I… I pushed myself too far and my body couldn’t take it.”
Aizawa opens his mouth to commend him for being able to recognize where he’d gone wrong, but then the kid keeps talking.
“I should’ve been able to handle it by now,” he says, an edge of anger to his words. “The fire, I mean. I just… I haven’t been practicing enough. I thought if I pushed myself harder…” He trails off. “Next time—”
Aizawa inwardly groans. “Kid, stop.” The boy does, mouth snapping shut. “This is exactly the kind of mindset that landed you in the infirmary in the first place. You’re strong, I’ll give you that, but you spent years honing your ice power. Expecting to reach the same level with your abilities over fire in only a fraction of that time is not dedication. It’s idiocy. It’s taking two steps forward and one step back.”
Todoroki’s still. “I’d still be moving forward,” he says quietly.
“Slowly, and at the expense of your own health.” Aizawa sighs. “I’m not going to stand by and watch as you literally tear yourself down just because your old man taught you it’s the only way to build yourself up.” It’s a low blow, unprofessional at best, and a part of Aizawa regrets it, but he sees the way the look in Todoroki’s eyes goes sharper at his words, and he accepts the necessity of it. His voice goes a tad bit softer. “Part of being a hero means knowing your limits. And until you graduate from UA, it’s my job to not only teach you that, but also how to push those limits properly. So no more reckless training. Can you promise me that?”
Todoroki’s quiet for a moment. “I can try,” he says eventually, and it’s enough for Aizawa.
The pro hero nods. “Head back to the dorms as soon as you feel you’re able. Call a friend if you need to. And I better not hear of you doing anything but resting as instructed.” He gets a nod in response, then turns to leave.
“Sensei?”
Aizawa stops at the door.
Todoroki doesn’t meet his gaze, looking down at his pale hands sullenly. “Thanks,” he says, words quiet but sincere.
Aizawa has to fight back a small smile. “Take care of yourself, Todoroki.”
He’s gone before the boy has a chance to respond.
. . .
“Hey, hey!” Hizashi greets far too loudly as Aizawa enters the teacher’s lounge. The blond is sprawled over the chair, cup of coffee in hand, and Aizawa has a brief thought that someone like Hizashi should not have access to any more caffeine. “Yo, why the eyebags, Shouta? They’re really giving you that done-with-life look, I like it.”
Aizawa sighs. “Those kids are going to be the death of me one day.”
“Ooh, yeah, I bet. Long day of being a dad?”
“Yeah, I—excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Hizashi says, completely invulnerable to the glare Aizawa shoots him, sipping his coffee with an infuriating air of indifference. “Those kids are your kids. They’re thawing your ice-cold heart. I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up adopting one or two of them.”
“I’m not their father,” Aizawa insists, finding it ridiculous that the other teacher had managed to drag him into his silly argument. He eyes the coffee machine in the corner, headache brewing behind his eyes. “I’m their teacher, nothing more.”
Hizashi snickers. “Shouta, you were done for the moment you saw those kids. Don’t even try to lie. They’ve grown on you, I can tell. You’re got a soft spot for them.”
“I have nothing of the sort.”
Hizashi’s relentless. “Deny all you want,” he sings out. “But it’s two against one.”
“What?”
“Toshinori agrees with me.”
Aizawa blinks. “He is not one to talk.”
Hizashi’s eyes light up with glee like he’d just caught Aizawa in his trap. “So you admit it! This is great. I’m gonna get you one of those ‘#1 Dad’ mugs for your coffee. To keep you awake, you know—parenting twenty kids is exhausting, I bet.”
Aizawa groans, turning on a heel. “I did not sign up for this,” he mutters as he leaves his caffeine-high friend in the lounge nearly choking on his coffee in between a fit of laughter. He’ll get his coffee somewhere else.
He can still hear Hizashi cackling as the door shuts behind him.