Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It isn't anywhere near the worst they've ever come out of a random villain attack, and he’d certainly count that as a win.  Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and with the knowledge that everyone is relatively fine, Shouta takes a moment to just stand still and silently watch.  The few students under his command are finishing up their duties and gathering near the center of the open air shopping mall to check each other for injuries and await further instruction.

They'd originally meant it to be a simple exercise in group patrolling. Each team consisted of a small handful of students who didn’t typically work together, or who’s quirks didn’t obviously mesh well, headed by a different pro to instruct and lead by example.  It was a practical way to show the students that sometimes there were unorthodox ways they could apply their quirks in tandem with one another.

It was also supposed to be an easy day, as they’d just come off a stressful week of grueling exams, and the students were getting increasingly more stir-crazy as the days went by, trapped in the dorms as the weather warmed throughout the early spring.

Things had gone smoothly until they hadn't, and the worst part is that he's not even surprised.  Not really.  His hell class couldn't step ten feet off campus without attracting trouble—usually in the form of a psychopath or two—and he should consider himself lucky it was just a couple lowlife thugs that had the worst possible timing.  Shouta almost feels bad for them.

Almost. 

His group—consisting of Kirishima, Shinsou, Uraraka and the Poblem Child, had handled things quickly and efficiently, all things considered, but Midoriya had been the one most in his element.  His ability to strategize and theorize about quirk dynamics and applications had given him an edge, and he'd even thought of a few outlandish combinations Shouta hadn’t considered himself—and certainly would not be letting them try any time soon because they were exceedingly dangerous, despite being impressively creative.

Shouta always finds it interesting to watch Midoriya when he actually exercises his brain over his brawn. Even now, well into his second year, the kid still regularly catches Shouta off guard, because typically students with such powerful, flashy, offence quirks tend to be single minded—focusing only on themselves or their raw power—but when Midoriya can be knocked off kilter and convinced to stop trying to imitate Atlas with the world on his shoulders, he excells.  He's a natural leader, and people listen.  Teamwork is such a good look for him, it's baffling how much of a continuous struggle it's been to beat that self-sacrificial nature out of him.  He finally seems to be coming around though—coming to terms with the fact that All Might's singular symbol of peace ideal was never going to be sustainable.  He's finally realizing that getting himself thrown into an early grave means he won't be able to save anyone. 

It's been an agonizingly slow progress, but it is progress. Baby steps are still steps forward, and if that means Shouta might get away with a few less gray hairs in the future, he'll take it.

“Eraserhead sir, it looks like all of the villains have been apprehended and the police have started taking them away,” Uraraka’s confident, if not slightly excited tone breaks him from his thoughts, and he shifts his gaze down to focus on her. 

Good.  She's remembered to use his hero name without prompting this time.  Now if he could just get her to drop the ‘sir’. 

She smiles softly, quite a bit more subdued when she adds, “But Deku found a little girl that got separated from her mom in the commotion.  She seems pretty shaken up about it.”

As if on cue, a sharp wail cuts its way through the air like a knife, and he jerks his gaze toward the origin of the sound.  Midoriya is standing on the other end of the atrium, a crying, blue skinned child held carefully in his arms.  She can’t be any older than five or six, he thinks. 

Taking a few quick seconds to observe, he makes note of the small cut above Midoriya’s right eye that’s seeping slowly, but overall appears to be mostly superficial.  A nasty bruise is forming down the side of his face, and while Shouta doesn’t think there’s a danger of concussion based off the way he's moving about as he sooths the little girl, it wouldn’t hurt to have it checked out once the dust settles and they have a moment to breathe.

Midoriya lets loose one of those warm, wide smiles of his, and quietly says something to the girl that seems to surprise her.  Her tears slow considerably as she replies back, a shake of her head bouncing glossy black curls.  As Midoriya talks—all the while bouncing her gently on his hip—she seems to calm further, and her skin tone is suddenly shifting like a gradient from a stormy blue to more of a teal green. 

Interesting. Emotion based, maybe?

“Good work, Uravity. Get with the others and wait by the fountain.  I’ll help get her turned over to the police, and we’ll go from there.”

“Right!”  She's all eager determination when she gives her little fist pump, dashing off towards Kirishima and Shinsou without any hesitation.

Shouta watches her go for a few seconds longer, then turns toward Midoriya.  He's careful to avoid the small bits of damage surrounding them as he moves forward, and it doesn't take long for him to start picking up on their quiet conversation. 

“-it’s so cool!  And really pretty!  I wish mine did that!”

“That’s what m-mommy says too.  She says daddy's used to change colors t-too, but mine are brighter.  She misses him a lot, but I don’t remember him t-too good.  I try to make her feel better, but sometimes I accidently make her m-more sadder…”  The girl's cheeks are blotchy and she's sniffling, eyes crinkling in discomfort as she tries and fails to clear her nose, “She doesn’t get mad at me though… she’s really nice.  I-I want my mommy…”

“That’s really sweet of you to try and help her, and I'm sure she’s really worried about you and looking all over!  I bet she’s gonna show up really soon.”  Midoriya spares Shouta a hasty glance and strained smile once he notices his arrival, “It’s going to be ok.”

The little girl is obviously still distraught, but nods anyway as she wraps her arms around Midoriya’s neck as tight as she’s able, hiding her face against his shoulder.  He shifts a bit to keep her from pressing against the sharp metal of his face mask, and also to make himself more comfortable, which is how Shouta notices that the kid is carefully favoring his right arm.  It doesn’t seem to be hindering his ability to hold the girl, and he’s good at hiding it, but Shouta is trained and experienced in both heroics and stubborn teenagers, so he spots it without too much trouble.

Another thing to check over when we have a minute.

“Deku,” Shouta isn’t always the best with little kids, but he’s had enough experience with Eri at this point to know how to handle himself.  He’s sure to keep his voice down to avoid startling the little girl, who tilts her head just enough to stare blearily up in his direction before hiding her tear streaked face away again.  Her skin color is slowly shifting to more of a yellow green as she does, and that supports his theory about her colors being emotion based.  

He knows he can be intimidating, he’s tall and lanky and dressed messily in dark colors.  Kneeling to make himself less imposing, he’s now looking up at her instead of down, “Who’s is this?”

“Hey Eraserhead!  This is Ai-chan.  She got a little lost.”

“Surname?”

“I’m not sure.  Ai-chan, can you tell us what your last name is?”

The little girl tightens her grip against Midoriya’s neck, and she mumbles something into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”  Midoriya is ever patient.

“Who is he?”  She asks in lieu answering, shifting to stare at Shouta cautiously, tiny fists tightening in Midoriya’s hood.

“This is Eraserhead.  He’s a pro hero.”

“Like you?”

“Oh, I’m not a pro yet!”  Midoriya is grinning cheerfully, turning so that she’s got a better view of Shouta, “He’s teaching me how to be one though.”

She narrows her eyes and huffs, “He doesn’t look very strong.  Not like you.  You held up the whole wall and stopped the bad guy at the same time!  You’re better than him.”

Cheeky. 

Shouta almost smirks, despite himself.  His problem student always seems to win over the admiration of the little kids.  If he ever hits the top ten charts—and honestly, there isn’t much doubt that he will as long as he survives that long—Deku is going to sell a ton of toys to eager children.  Merchandisers are going to flock to him, and he swears he's heard some of the business management students threatening each other over representation already.

Before Shouta can say anything to the little girl in his own defense, Midoriya chuckles, “Oh, but Eraserhead’s one of the strongest.”

Midoriya's testimony does little to stop her from gaping incredulously, “But-“

“It’s just a different kind of strength.”  Midoriya is still smiling, but it's a smaller smile.  Gentle and soothing and soft at the edges, “You saw me fighting the bad guy today... and me being strong enough to do that makes you feel safe, right?”

She only takes a few seconds of consideration before she's agreeing, “Yes.”

“Well, Eraserhead makes me feel safe.”

And isn’t that just a sudden kick in chest. 

Shit.    

Shouta can’t stop himself from staring, but luckily Midoriya isn’t paying him any attention.  Instead, he has his eyes squarely on the girl in his arms.

“He does?”

“Yes.”  Midoriya answers so freely without an ounce of hesitation, “He’s one of the best.”

Her skin tone is shifting once again, the yellow fading and changing back to a deep green.  Midoriya’s smile once again grows into more of a blinding grin, “Now, Ai-chan, can you-“

It’s this moment that one of the police officers chooses to interrupt, and Shouta recognizes him from a few different incidents he’s had in the past.  He’s a large man, broad shouldered with the head of a shaggy brown wolf, and honestly, he’s got a reputation for being an inconsiderate asshole even amongst his fellow officers. 

Shouta has to bite his tongue to stop from cursing as he quickly stands and turns on his heel in an attempt to head the man off.  The kid is obviously still scared over the villain incident, and it won’t do her any good to have to deal with a brash cop with zero tact, “Officer Sallo-“

“Eraserhead.”  The man is shoving his way forward, hand already outstretched toward Midoriya expectantly, “The mother hasn’t shown up yet.  You can just give her to me.  We’ll take the kid to the station and-“

The little girl’s eyes are growing wider by the second, and she simultaneously pulls away from the officer and tugs at Midoriya tighter, skin darkening at an almost alarming rate to a bright shade of red, “No!  Mr. Deku!”

Midoriya tightens his grip, ever careful of his own rediculous strength, and takes a single step back.  His irises flash neon green for a split second, and Shouta is pretty sure it’s on instinct and not a conscious effort of his own as he glares at the officer.  It doesn’t take a genius to see just how tense and agitated he's grown—Midoriya is always more on edge when a situation involves young children.

“It’s ok, Ai-chan we’ll stay here.“  Midoriya, usually so polite and friendly, practically sneers at the officer.  Shouta should reprimand him for his tone, but he doesn’t.  The guy’s a prick.

“Listen, her mother shouldn’t have lost her in the first place.  She’ll be fine at the precinct-“

Just as Shouta moves to place himself bodily between the officer and the squirming little girl, she lets out a loud screech, flinging her arm out to swat at the offender herself.  Midoriya is quick on the draw, and he’s pulling her back out of reach, but the way he has to twist seemed to jostle whatever injury he’s taken, and he lets out a small grunt as a brief flash of pain paints itself across his features.

This sets the little girl off.

“NO!  I want mommy!”  Her skin changes color in quick succession, blue-green-red-bright and messy, like a kaleidoscope, and with a haphazard flail she accidently strikes Midoriya right across the cut above his eye with her palm.  Blood smears across his forehead in a small streak.

Midoriya stumbles, shoulders tensing, and he gasps out like he’s suddenly breathless.  His eyes are near panicked, and Shouta feels warning bells ring out in his head at the unexpectedly intense reaction, just as he almost drops the little girl.

He doesn’t, but it’s a near enough thing.  Midoriya falls to one knee heavily, and quickly but carefully sets her down so that she can stand on her own.  She doesn’t seem to expect this at all, and the surprise of it knocks her out of her fit.

Her eyes widen slowly at the strained expression Midoriya wears, and she brings one hand up to her mouth.  Her skin goes pink, “Oops.”

Shouta shoulders past the officer and kneels next to his student.  When he isn’t immediately acknowledged, he places a gentle hand on Midoriya’s shoulder, “Are you alright, Deku?”

This seems to startle him from his daze, and Midoriya’s eyes snap to meet Shouta’s.  A flurry of raw emotions flit across his features before he takes a deep breath and nods, “Uh… uh yeah.  I don’t-that was weird.  I’m… ok.”

“Are you sure?”

Midoriya shakes himself a bit, seemingly an attempt to ground himself.  He steals a quick look toward the little girl before closing his eyes and exhaling, “Yeah, I’m alright Mr. Aiz… er, Eraserhead.”

Shouta feels his nerves light up even further as he frowns.  Midoriya has been on more missions and exercises with him than a lot of the other students, and it's been a long while since he's almost slipped up using his civilian name in public.  Whatever this is, it’s clearly got the kid rattled. 

He brings his fingers up and gently prods around the wound above his student’s eye, “Concussion?”

Midorya hisses, but other than a small jump at the touch, he doesn’t pull away, “No, I don’t think so.  I… I think it was-“

“Ai!”  A sudden, high pitched shout interrupts the tense moment and everyone starts, including himself.  He swings around to face whoever's interrupted them, hand instantly gripping his scarf-

“Mommy!”  The little girl is off and running before anyone can stop her, and they all watch her jump into a young woman’s arms.  The woman pulls her close and strokes her hair, burying her face against the girls shoulder.  

The asshole officer gives a snort as he rolls his eyes, and without further addressing either one of them, turns to stalk over to the reunited family.

Shouta wants to strangle the man with his capture weapon, but manages to resist… barely.  Instead, he’s got something more important to address, and turns back to his student.

Midoriya is still looking off, but at least there’s a small smile tugging at his lips, “I’m glad Ai-chan’s mom finally found her.”

While he does agree with the sentiment, Shouta is still far more concerned over the lingering stiffness in Midoriya’s frame, though it does seem to be dissipating slowly.  With one last hum, he let’s go of the kid’s shoulder, and almost doesn’t notice the alarming way Midoriya seems to sway slightly when he does.

“We’re leaving.  Can you stand?” 

Midoriya hesitates.   Shouta doesn’t like that at all.

“Deku?”

Giving his head one last shake and smiling up at him, Midoriya seems to regain his resolve ,“Yeah… Yeah, I’m ok!  Really.”

Shouta really hates when Midoriya says it like that.   

Because it’s always a lie.

Chapter Text

It’s early—the sun is just peaking up from the horizon as he walks, painting the sky in deep pinks and purples.   The frosty crunch of the grass beneath his feet is the only sound besides his own breathing.  Each exhale causes a billowy puff of dewy condensation to fan out around him, and it’s actually quite a nice feeling.

He can’t help but pause and take in the familiar surroundings, draped in brand-new light and sharp shadows.  He’s walked these grounds countless times at this point, and makes this same small trek three times a week to meet All Might for their early morning jog.  It’s a ritual of sorts, one he hardly ever misses if he can help it, even if his mentor doesn’t really have the stamina to run for very long.

He’s a bit earlier than normal today.  There are no upcoming classes, and they’ve all got the long weekend to themselves, but despite that, he finds himself antsy to burn off his pent-up energy.

It makes no sense for him to be so worked up, because he’d been exhausted when he went to bed.  Recovery girl had healed  his injuries for him as soon as they'd gotten back to campus—which left him drained and just slightly achy—but for some stupid reason, his brain had been on overdrive last night, and every time he’d finally started to drift to sleep he’d find himself thinking about something completely random. His heartrate would spike in his chest and his eyes would snap open all  on their own, and he’d groan, but would roll over anyway and grab his phone to check the time regardless of how much he knew doing so would just make it seem like the night was passing at even more of a crawl.

And he still can’t figure out why.  It’s been a while since he’d been that wound up after an exercise, and all in all, it had been a pretty good day!  Nothing had gone terribly wrong during the villain attack, and happy endings were always the best.

First his overactive brain had drifted to Ai-chan—she’d just been so cute!  And the way her quirk changed her skin color?  Very cool.  The pigments were so vibrant, and they shifted all smooth and silky—it was like mixing inks across the surface of a pool. Tight black ringlets framed her face, and she was just precious.  Her eyes, while static in their color, were probably the brightest shade of grey he’d ever seen, the sclera a deep black, kind of like Ashido’s.  He’d always thought Ashido’s eyes were really unique and pretty, a rarity, even in their quirk filled metropolis.

He couldn’t help but continue to fawn over the memory of the lost little girl, and when she’d finally found her mom?  He almost teared up just thinking about the reunion.  It was so heartwarming!  His heart felt so…so full!

But… then he wondered if other kids ever made fun of her for her appearance.  It certainly hadn’t taken him long at all to realize her colors shifted based off her emotion, and that was such easy ammo that bullies could use against her.  It wouldn’t take them much effort at all to figure out just how to manipulate her, because the nature of her quirk meant she was so open—a little girl shaped book to read, with every letter at size forty-six font.

Izuku knew a thing or two about wearing his heart on his sleeve.  About being an easy target for bullies.

And the idea of her suffering like he had when he was her age was so sad. 

His traitorous brain conjured up hypothetical after hypothetical.  Comments and insults and situations where poor little Ai’s hopes and dreams would be crushed over and over.  Stomped into the ground.  Exploded and thrown out a window into the fountain far below—and yeah, maybe he'd been projecting, ok?

That made his heart hurt.  He wanted to find her again and tell her how beautiful and special she was, over and over.  How wonderful her quirk was.  There was a desperation to it—to feeling like it was so important.

Why?  This is dumb, she’s not even old enough to be in elementry school yet.  She probably doesn’t have any bullies!  Stop it, Izuku, get it together!  Go to bed!

When he’d finally wrestled those thoughts under control and buried himself back underneath his All Might themed comforter, he checked his phone for the time again and thought: Ok.  This is the last time.  Finally.  Sleep.  Goodnight.

It had lasted a whopping three minutes and twenty-six seconds before his eyes snapped back open and his brain said:  hey, what about-

The background on his phone was such a great picture.  It was of him and All Might, at the little hole in the wall café down the street.  He’d taken it a couple weeks ago, and looking at it made him feel so content.  All Might was still here.  All Might was surviving, and teaching him and learning how to be a better instructor to his class and wearing fitted clothes-

Oh, yeah, that reminded him-

Tsukauchi had been at the café with All Might the other day when Izuku had met them for lunch.  Man, he always seemed calm and collected, and his quirk must be so useful for his job.  Izuku couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked within him.  He wondered just how deep the lie detection went-could someone circumvent it if they lied to themselves so much they believed their own lies?  Studies showed that physical lie detectors couldn't really pick up on subtleties, and were inadmissible in court because they could be so inaccurate—but Tsukauchi was a living lie detector.  How did he know?  Was it a feeling? A thought?  A physical reaction?

All Might always seemed so delighted to see Tsukauchi—they were obviously very good friends—and it make Izuku so incredibly happy to know that All Might had someone like that in his life to help him.  When Sir Nighteye had died, All Might had been so depressed, and Izuku had been so distraught.  Both for the death of a dedicated pro hero he respected, and for All Might’s feelings.

And he felt so somber thinking about that.  His throat felt like it would close up and he wouldn’t be able to breathe.  He wondered if this was how Togata had felt.  Nighteye hadn't liked Izuku very much at first, which sucked, because the man had been All Might's sidekick for years.

But Nighteye had been close to Togata.  Close enough for resentment over Izuku being chosen by All Might instead.  And Togata was the unknowing pawn-

Stop.  Stop this.  

Izuku’s brain just did this sometimes—this rapid-fire game of six degrees. 

It's... normal... for him.  Especially when he can't sleep, and there's no impending doom, or crazy news.  It's like an internal Wikipedia page, open to a random article, and he just can't help himself from clicking link after link—which means he’ll start at ‘why are zebras striped’ and somehow end up at ‘how much does a refrigerator weigh?’

But over the years he’s gotten good at compartmentalizing.  He’d learned how to meditate.  He’d learned how to shoo away his thoughts and lay in bed and count sheep and fall asleep. 

Usually he didn’t feel so… invested.  Well, no, that wasn’t quite right, Izuku was always invested in his thoughts… but this was just different somehow.

Ugh.

As each hour of the night passed, he'd found himself more and more annoyed.  He must have checked the time at least ten times, and each time he'd take a deep breath, force his eyes shut, and try not to count the seconds before his brain popped up with another random factorid or memory.  When he found himself contemplating the meaning on putting a fried egg on a burger, and why that made him inherently angry, because eggs are for breakfast thank you very much, why do Americans eat such weird food, and why does All Might love it so much? He’d decided, ‘Whelp, guess I’m getting up now.  Goodbye comfy bed, nice knowing you.  See you in like, eighteen hours.’

So now, in the present, he stands, breathing deep to take in the crisp morning air.  He slaps his cheeks with his hands lightly to wake himself up and focus.  Closes his eyes, counts to ten, and then opens them again.

The sight really is beautiful.  The sky is slowly brightening, the sun a pinprick of glowing gold cresting over the hill, and there are cottony clouds hanging far overhead that seem almost dreamlike in the stillness.

He finds himself smiling.  Sleep or no sleep, waking up to this makes him happy.  He’s here, in the second year at his dream school, and despite the bit of chill, it really is the perfect morning.

“Young Midoriya!” 

All Might’s voice shoots through him like a bolt of lightning, and Izuku turns on his heel.  His teacher is smiling at him as he approaches, eyes crinkled at the edges and shaggy blond hair just long enough now to be pulled back out of his face. 

And seeing him is amazing.  Something unfurls inside him that’s filled with warmth, and he feels so much love and adoration.

But it’s also a little… sad.

It hurts a bit to look at All Might, because despite all the reasoning, and logic, and assurances of otherwise, part of him still blames himself for what's happened to the former number one.  He knows it’s not his fault.  Knows there’s nothing he could have done… knows he can't be a hypocrite.

But. 

Izuku has stolen One for All away, and that isn’t fair.  All Might has done so much good.  He was—is—a bright beacon in the dark that attracts wayward travelers.  A symbol of hope, and strength, and peace.

And he is so... so broken.

Oh god, it is Izuku’s fault, isn’t it?

“Young Midoriya?”

How is he ever supposed to live up to the man?  How is he ever going to truly be his successor?  It’s so much pressure and he feels like he’s going to crack under the weight of it all,  have his foundations crumble away and collapse like an old building in an earthquake-

It isn’t fair.  All Might deserves so much better than what’s happened to him.  All Might deserves more than embers.  

His heart aches.

There’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder and this yanks Izuku out of his thoughts so quickly his brain probably has whiplash.  All Might instantly pulls back, which sucks, because All Might is always such a comfort, and his brows are pulled tight.  There’s a deep frown on his face and he looks so concerned, and Izuku doesn't like that, he caused that, he hurts for his mentor-

“I’m sorry my boy, I didn’t mean to startle you.  You just looked so upset.  Did something happen?”

Izuku’s brain scrambles-statics-resets as he tries and flounders to sputter out an answer.  He stops himself from letting out an embarrassing whine, by snapping his jaw shut and inhaling deeply.

He’s incredibly happy to see All Might. 

He lets out the breath. 

All Might looks so worried.  That’s silly, there’s no reason to be worried.  Nothing bad has happened.

He shakes his head. He’s hyper aware of the way his curls bounce lightly against his skin.

What the heck is wrong with him this morning?  He needs to get it together.

“Uh.  Sorry All Might, I was just… I don’t know?  I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I think I was zoning out.” 

Izuku feels so worn out now.

All Might has his head tilted ever so slightly, and is looking down at him with progressively narrowing eyes.  His irises are so intense and blue and Izuku always feels a little bit like he’s being picked apart piece by piece, to be laid completely bare by that stare alone, and for some reason this morning it’s just so much worse. 

“Midoriya, you’re crying.”

Izuku’s hand is at his cheek before he’s even fully comprehended what All Might’s said, and he gapes when he feels the dampness that’s there.  He wracks his brain and bites his lower lip.  He doesn’t know why he’s crying, just that he is. 

“Huh…”  He can feel the way his face is heating up in embarrassment.  He’s been so good about not being such a crybaby in front of All Might lately, and holy crap Izuku, why are you freaking out right now?

“Come here, kid.” 

…and Izuku is suddenly being hugged.

It’s warm, and gentle, and even if All Might is so much thinner and much sicklier, there’s still some strength in his muscles, deep down, corded and pulled tight.  A reminder of what once was.  What still is. 

It’s wonderful. 

And terrible.

A few seconds pass, and slowly but surely his brain finally feels like it’s settling, though he wonders if All Might can feel the way his heart is drumming a staccato against his sternum.  He takes another deep breath, but can’t really find it in himself to return the hug right now because he doesn’t know why the hug was so necessary in the first place.  He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up, or why, just seconds ago, he felt like he was being torn in two different directions.

He’s starting to feel a lot better though, so he lets out a shaky little laugh that he hopes beyond hope sounds more confident than he feels, “I’m- I’m fine, All Might.  Really.”

***

Toshinori can’t help but feel like something is very wrong, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it is.  Izuku had just gone from smiling, to crying, to smiling again over the course of a about a minute and a half.

It’s jarring, to be honest.  Izuku has always been an emotional boy, expressive to a fault—which he’s grown to love so much, and hopes never, ever changes—but this seems so out of left field… and no matter what he asks, Izuku just insists he’s fine, and that he just didn’t get enough sleep last night.

As they jog, Izuku is as talkative and animated as ever, bringing up everything from their recent math exam to the latest ridiculously farfetched Hero gossip.  Apparently, one tabloid has claimed that Mt. Lady is secretly a spy from Russia, sent to seduce the Prime Minister.  It’s such utter trash, and Izuku is laughing about it, and the sound of that laugh is wonderful, but it does nothing to stop his deepest, strongest instincts from screaming at him that something is wrong.

Still, Toshinori takes in every word.  He’s not as equipped to answer while they run—his single functioning lung devotes all its energy to, well, breathing—but he hums and chuckles and grunts to let the kid know he’s listening. 

After a short while they stop to take their first break.  He has to take them often, and while these jogging days aren’t necessarily the most productive for Izuku as far as training goes, the kid does it all without uttering a single complaint. 

Toshinori is incredibly thankful for that.  He cherishes every moment he gets to spend with his young protégé. 

A few seconds of companionable silence pass as they sit on a small wooden bench, right under a budding cherry blossom tree.  His worry is still there, nestled just under his heart, but as time passes it’s starting to fade slightly.  Maybe he’ll just double check with Aizawa, and reconfirm that nothing’s happened recently that might have Izuku worked up.

Their quiet rest won’t last long, Toshinori knows, because the kid can’t help but fill the emptiness with words.

“Hey, All Might?”

“Hmm?”  Toshinori can’t help but crack a smile at his timing, “What is it, young Midoriya?”

“Why do you like fried eggs on your hamburgers?”

***

Uraraka gives him a rediculously tight bear hug as a thank you for bringing her back the coffee she’d requested, and even though she’s nowhere near strong enough to do so, he feels like she’s squeezed all the air out of his lungs.  She’s one of his best friends, and he loves her so much, because honestly, she was probably his first real friend besides Kacchan.

(And there’s a sudden twinge of something so very complicated at the thought of him, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by the positivity of the moment.)

Within just a few minutes of really knowing him, she’d taken apart everything he’d hated about himself and twisted it into something he could be proud of.  She’d taken the insult—Deku—and made it into a representation of hope. 

And yeah, that sudden reaction on his part was partially because he’d had a silly little crush on her at first—she was the first girl that had ever shown him any type of affection that wasn’t his mother (Ugh, that’s embarrassing to admit).  But his feelings have grown into something more sincere since then, and now the romantic crush is long gone, but the love has morphed into something steadfast and pure.  She would always be one of the most important people in his life… all because she’d had the kindness to stop to say hello to a nervous wreck of a kid she didn’t even know.

It feels so nice, and warm, and wonderful.  All these feelings he has for her friendship hits him like a runaway train, blindsiding him, and before he can stop it, the weirdest little whine escapes his throat.  She pulls away and laughs good naturedly at him, because of course she does, what the hell was that Izuku?

“Sorry Deku, didn’t mean to squeeze you so hard!” She’s got bedhead, and her cheeks are still sleep kissed, but her smile is bright and happy.  She takes the coffee and spins around to head back upstairs, almost barreling right into a zombie like Shouto, who’s just come through the doorway himself.

“Whoop, sorry Todoroki!”  Uraraka is dancing around the taller boy as she apologizes, barely managing to not float her coffee away in the process, “See ya later!”  

Shouto hums his acceptance without sparing her a single glance, obviously still asleep on his feet, and continues forward with such a blank expression that Izuku can’t help but snort.

This actually manages to draw Shouto’s attention to him, and the way he blinks is as if he’s just seeing Izuku for the first time ever, "Hmm?"

A year ago, Shouto would have never been caught dead looking so disheveled and bedraggled, but living in the dorms with twenty other teenagers—most of whom have relentlessly wheedled their way into an honest to goodness real friendship with him—has mellowed him some, and he’s allowed himself the right to just exist, as a whole person, without the need to be a perfect representation of discipline all the time.

“Morning!”  Izuku can’t help the smile that seems to be growing wider on his face by the second, and he’s brought coffee for Shouto too.  He snags it off the counter and presents it with a bit of a playful flair, “I thought you might need this.”

Shouto slowly takes his eyes off Izuku, and the expression he wears as he stares at the bright orange cup almost makes it seem like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.  He grunts, and accepts the offered caffeinated beverage like it’s something to be revered, “Thanks.”

There’s a small twitch tugging at the corners of Shouto’s lips, and Izuku finds himself breathless for what seems like the umpteenth time today. 

It’s not like he’s never seen Shouto smile before, of course he has, but for some reason, today, that little tilt has brought forth such a strange, twisted mix of feelings, Izuku feels like he’s the one that almost got trampled by Uraraka.

It’s sort of like how he felt with All Might earlier, but in a completely different context.  He feels like shouting, and crying, and hugging, and everything in between. 

There’s a heaping helping of red hot anger and hurt, because how dare he be so mistreated, for so long, that he practically forgot how to smile, and there’s also a strong surge of something else, something that causes his cheeks to flush hotly and a small flame to light in his heart, because Shouto has a really nice smile.

Shouto must notice the crazy expression that has to be on his face, because he quirks up an eyebrow, the red one, specifically.  His voice comes out lazy and low, “Izuku?”

Oh, Izuku can’t help but think about how nice it is to hear Shouto say his name like that, and he kinda wants him to say it again.  He tries to answer with real, grown up people words, but all that comes out is a mangled, “Uhuh?”

And now he’s really embarrassed.  

 It would be best if the floor just opened up and swallowed him, right now, and he could just forget any of this happened.  That would be so great, thanks!

“Are you alright?”

Get ahold of yourself, Izuku!

“I’m fine!  Really!”

***

“And nothing happened to him yesterday?”

“Other than the pulled muscle, the cracked rib, that he tried to hide, and the bruises?  No.”  Shouta sighs through his nose and slowly blinks his eyes to try and ease some of the dryness.  Cold weather like today wreaks havoc for him—even worse than it used to, thanks to the orbital fractures—and the low hum of the vending machine in the staff room has been giving him a headache all morning.   Now that All Might was here hounding him about the problem child, he suspected his headache was going to hastily morph into a migraine, “And, for once, the injuries weren’t really his fault.  Shuzenji said she didn’t see anything else.”

Yagi is frowning, and he's got one hand up to stroke his chin.  His eyes are staring off out the window, unfocused but not without a hint of concern.  Shouta doesn't like what it implies about one of his students.

“Why are you asking me this?  I’ve already gone over what happened yesterday with all of the teachers, in detail, so that we can alter the training plans.  Again.”

Yagi hesitates to answer, shoulders pulled up by his ears, and Shouta can’t help but roll his eyes, “What did he do this morning?  It’s one of your little running days, right?”

The wet cough and choked response is a dead giveaway that Yagi didn’t think he’d known about their little early morning rendezvous.  To his credit, he recovers quickly, “He was a little wound up this morning—”

“He’s always wound up.  It’s Midoriya.”

“—More than usual.”  Yagi’s sharp tone is full of conviction, so much so that it leaves no room for argument. 

This actually piques Shouta’s interest, because when it's not something serious, Yagi always sputters and flounders when faced with Shouta's ire.   Despite his lack of enthusiasm for the type of hero All Might had been, he was still the number one for so long for a reason.  He had well trained instincts, just as sharp—possibly more so, as reluctant as he is to admit that—as Shouta’s when it came to things like this... even if he didn’t always recognize them through his unfamiliarity with teaching a bunch of unruly teenage Hero hopefuls.  

And now Shouta is suddenly reminded of how off Midoriya had seemed after the encounter yesterday, and he can feel that gnawing sense of dread he'd squashed down after Shuzenji's report of a clean bill of health bubble up once again.  He closes his eyes and brings a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.  He knows he sounds exasperated, and that’s because he is, but probably not for the reasons most people think, “I’ll keep an ear to the ground and try and keep an eye on him today.  Let me know if anything else happens.”      

Chapter Text

Midoriya had been in a funk all morning.  He’d grown more and more distant with his friends, hid behind increasingly wobbly smiles, and while he had been insisting that ‘he was fine, really!’ Something had clearly been bugging him.

Even so, Eijiro hadn’t expected anything like this.

Eijiro likes to think of himself as a pretty empathetic person.  He likes to think he notices when the people around him aren’t feeling so hot, or when they need a sympathetic ear to vent to.  He likes to think he’s reliable in that sense—strong and dependable and unbreakable in a way that doesn’t involve his quirk—and he always strives to make sure no one feels alone in their sorrows, even if they don’t want to necessarily talk.  And that’s ok.  If he can help just by being there then dammit, he’s going to be the absolute best at just being there.   Not everyone needs saving physically, some reach out for support in a different way… and he is never going to let someone down again due to his own insecurities.

It’s probably why he gets along with Bakugou so well.  Bakugou needs someone who knows how to listen without taking his words at face value.  He needs someone who can take everything he dishes out, break it apart, and call him out for it when he’s being a complete asshole. 

His explosive friend has the personality to match his quirk, all smoke and heat and fire, and for the longest time it was like he had no idea how to handle it.  His anger and passion are both extremely volatile, for sure, but that’s just what’s visible on the surface.  Bakugou is way more complicated than that.  He’s way more than just the violent punk a lot of people think he is.  He's not the villain some people insist he is.  

Eijiro knows that Bakugou used to have a pretty screwed up view of the world, and an even more screwed up understanding of his place in it—and really still kinda does sometimes, but the squad was tempering that down piece by piece, day by day—and that had led to the undeserved animosity that festered between him and Midoriya.  Bakugou had quietly admitted to Eijiro in confidence one night a while back that he knew what he’d done to their green haired friend had been, quote, “The most fucked up shit, and Deku’s a dumbass crybaby, but he didn’t deserve that.”

It’s probably the closest Bakugou would ever get to outright saying “I was wrong.”

Midoriya, in contrast, is so, so soft.  So dependable and careful when handling other people’s emotions or needs, but shy and embarrassed to show his own vulnerabilities.  He is so willing to throw himself face first into the fire without any regard toward his own safety.  He’s brave, and supportive.  He’s so unbelievably strong.  His quirk is so freaking O.P. it isn’t even funny, and while it’s constantly changing, he’s trying so hard to reign it in and master it, and succeeding.  Slowly, sure, but it’s happening.

Midoriya is also really anxious most of the time, and obviously has some lingering self-esteem issues bubbling up from deep down inside.   Eijiro's sure he doesn’t know everything about what happened to him—Midoriya is always pretty tight lipped about it, and Bakugou only shares a bit about their childhood, and only from his perspective—but he knows in his heart it couldn’t have been very easy to deal with growing up.  He’d clearly been a victim of more than just Bakugou’s torment. 

And that just sucks so bad. 

Midoriya is like the sun—he enriches everyone’s lives just by existing, and sometimes he’s really damn hard to look at because his blinding grins and unwavering support make him seem so bright—so he really doesn’t deserve to be haunted by such dark shadows.

Eijiro is a bit ashamed to say he hadn’t noticed just how bad it all was until way later than he should have.  Midoriya hides it, or tries to, but he's not very good about it.  He has all these… tells.   Little, compulsive habits and twitches that can only be subconsciously induced reactions he has no real control over.  

It’s taken a long time, but Midoriya has mostly gotten over the stuttering and sudden flinching around the rest of the class at least, only flaring up when he’s especially upset or nervous. No one ever really gives him any crap when it happens, except Bakugou of course, but Midoriya knows his childhood friend doesn’t really mean it, and he usually just brushes it off without much more than a strained smile. Sometimes Eijiro even thinks Bakugou’s snarky comments and harsh demeanor helps.  It’s his way of showing he cares, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

They were both slowly but surely taking steps to making things right between them… in their own twistedly unique, turbulent way.   The two had definitely been getting along pretty well recently, all things considered.  They share casual, if not heated, conversations, brutal bare knuckled, awe inspiring sparing, and impossibly intuitive and fluid team ups on the field.  Their combined enthusiasm and drive inspires the entire class to just be better. 

It’s a relief, honestly, because it used to be so hard to be good friends with both of them, and their progress is such a manly display of maturity that Eijiro can’t help but be proud of how far they’ve come over the past two years.  Kaminari fondly calls them frienemies—much to Bakugou’s very vocally expressed irritation and Midoriya’s lighthearted amusement—and Eijiro has to agree with the assessment one hundred percent.

Which is why Midoriya’s uncharacteristically venomous reaction to something so seemingly benign from Bakugou has caught him so off guard.  

And the wide eyed, slack jawed look Bakugou has trained on Midoriya’s hastily retreating back makes it evident that he isn't the only one thrown completely for a loop.

Eijiro can feel his heart breaking just a bit at the furrowed brow and confused look pulling at Bakugou’s features.  It only takes a few seconds before the blond hastily spins on his heel, stomping heavily in the opposite direction with his hands shoved so far in his pockets his belt has to be straining at the clasp.

It makes him hesitate—who needs him the most?  Who should he follow? 

The answer comes to him only seconds later when the front door to the dorm slams so hard he can hear the dishes rattle in the kitchen cabinets. 

Midoriya doesn’t do this.  He doesn’t do unrestrained and unstable.  Midoriya gets angry, of course, everyone does… but Midoriya’s anger seeths below the surface.  Midoriya grits his teeth and bottles it up and slowly lets it simmer away, careful not to it affect the people around him.  He doesn’t break things.  He doesn’t lash out… at least not like this.  Not usually at people he cares about, and certainly not over something so small.

Not that Midoriya doesn’t have the potential to be downright bloodthirsty at times, but Eijiro has only ever seen that side of him when it involves a particularly disturbing villain, or someone other than himself getting seriously hurt by doing something stupid. Only then will he’ll let his anger make it’s presence known, but he still always stays in control.   

And, not to beat a dead horse or anything, but seriously, this had been such a minor issue it was completely mind boggling to see him lose it like this.

So he follows the boy with curly green hair.  A quick dash through the kitchen and out the door—and holy crap, Aizawa is gonna be pissed, because that hinge was definitely broken—and he stops dead in his tracks, because Midoriya is gone, and the only evidence of his departure is the way there’s bits of gouged concrete leading away from the dorm  for a few yards before it evens out again like normal.  He can’t help but stare, open mouthed and dumb at the unexpected damage. 

“What the hell was that?”

The startled voice is what snaps Eijiro from his stupor, and he whips his head around to meet the widened, dark eyes of Jirou, standing stock still and brows pulled practically to her hair line.  She’s looks like she’d just been about to enter the dorms, coming up through the grass to the side rather than taking the sidewalk, and he’s a bit relieved she hadn’t been mowed down by Midoriya’s mad dash out the door.

As if reading his mind, she provides, “I don’t think he even saw me.  I heard him coming and had to jump out of the way.”  She’s pulling nervously on one of her elongated earlobes and narrowing her gaze, “What happened to him, Kirishima?  He’s fucking frantic.”

“I… I don’t really know.  It wasn’t anything…” Eijiro is still at a loss, and only years of accidently screwing up the gel in his hair keeps him from running his hands across his scalp to try and calm himself.   He does his best to shake it off, rolling his shoulders and tapping his foot.  His friend clearly needs help, and he needs find him, “You see where he went?”

“No.”  She’s projecting an air of cool, but she's betrayed by the way her apprehension colors her tone.  She’s twirling one of her ear-jacks around her finger, the other stock still and pointed in the direction Midoriya had run off.  Her typical unimpressed demeanor is lost to the ever-growing look of dread spreading across her face.  Man, what he wouldn't give to have super hearing right now—It’s clear she’s focused on listening to something alarming in the distance, “…But uh, pretty sure he just demolished something in Training Ground Beta.”

What!?

“Shit.”  They’d recently been given permission to use Ground Beta on the weekends to spar and practice their quirks, but only if they had a teacher voluntarily accompanying them to monitor the damage and make sure they were staying safe.  Not to mention that the training ground was like, at least half a mile away from the dorm… which means Midoriya is definitely pushing his quirk harder than he probably should if he was already there and throwing blows.  He was going to be in so much trouble if he was just planning on trashing the place.

And, with startling clarity, Eijiro suddenly realizes how easy it would be for his normally gentle, sweet friend to absolutely level the training ground in a scarily short amount of time if he were motivated enough.

What the heck, bro?

Eijiro can’t afford to stand around like an idiot any longer, he needs to move.  Midoriya is acting out in a way he doesn’t recognize, and even if they aren’t super tight like he is with Todoroki, Uraraka or Iida, they still hang out and Eijiro considers him to be a good friend.  He’s not stupid—even if his test scores suggest otherwise—there has to be something else going on, and he’s not about to leave Midoriya hanging. 

Just as he’s turning to leave, Jirou catches his arm.  He’s so worked up he almost hardens up on instinct alone. Any other time he'd probably laugh at the unintended innuendo... But...

 “Wait, Kirishima.”

He’s desperate to get moving, but her urgent tone steels him, and he spares her a glance, “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said he was frantic.  Like, even in his rush I could hear his heartbeat.  It’s really elevated.  Too elevated.  He’s too far away for me to hear it now, but-” She cringes, and her neck snaps toward Ground Beta as her eyes widen even further, “He just shouted and he’s definitely using his quirk… I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear like that before…holy shit.”  She takes a deep breath and her hand is sudden gone, and she’s already turning to run toward the school, “Go. I’m gonna find Aizawa.  It always takes too long for the stupid security bots-”  

“Right!” 

He makes a break for it, and hears Jirou’s shout as she gets further away, “Be careful, Kirishima!”

No shit.  He thinks.

Midoriya had been in a funk all morning.  He just wishes he would have realized just how bad it had been a lot sooner than this.

***

No. 

No no no.

What is wrong with him?

Why is he… why is he doing this?

Why can’t he stop?  Why does everything hurt so much?  Why is he so angry?

Why can’t he breathe?  Why can’t he focus?

His heart is racing.  He can feel it pounding against his ribcage, each stuttered pulse a sharp strike against his abused bones, a frantic drumbeat in his ears.  His blood boils in his veins and One for All screams across his skin, bright green and glowing, arching untamed energy crackling like lightning against everything he touches.  His feet pound heavy and deafening against the pavement.  There’s a gritty, harsh shout that’s echoing through the empty, false streets, and It takes him far too long to realize it’s coming from him.  He’s clenching his jaw so hard he swears he can hear his teeth cracking, and his knuckles are black and blue from where he’d punched a building.  He doesn’t even know how much power he put into it, can’t feel the pain, he just knows that there’s a sickeningly satisfying crater where there once stood a multifloored mock office compex.

The worst part is that he can’t even remember what made him so upset now, just that he is. 

And he. can’t. stop.

He’s not fine.  He’s really not fine.

***

This is… 

Bad.

There’s just no other word Shouta can use to describe this entire, absolute shit show of a disaster.

He’s just left the teacher’s lounge, where he’d taken a phone call with a very concerned woman named Kiko Funahashi. 

Mother to one Ai Funahashi.

The little girl Midoriya had found during the villain attack the previous afternoon.  The one who had clung to his student like an especially upset koala, who did indeed have an emotion-based quirk, like he’d originally suspected.

What he hadn’t expected was just how… multifaceted her quirk was. 

She’d apparently inherited a part of it from her late father, Takahito Funahashi.  He’d recognized the name as soon as it had come through the receiver, and it struck a sharp chord deep inside him. 

Funahashi had been an extremely successful, well sought-after therapist, due to his quirk’s ability to pull forward his patient’s more complex emotions and help them work through them by breaking them down into simpler impulses.  He was subtle, honest, and very well loved by the people he had helped.

Funahashi hadn’t exclusively worked with heroes, and Shouta himself had never seen him personally, but he knew a few of his colleagues had.  He was a good man that lost his life almost five years previous, when a particularly nasty villain with a toxin-based quirk had fed a deadly gas into an office complex’s ventilation system.  Funahashi could have easily escaped and saved himself, but hadn’t… because he’d used his quirk to talk down and distract the villain long enough for several heroes and police officers to arrive. 

Unfortunately, it had been far too late by the time he was whisked away to the hospital.  The man hadn’t lived through the night.  His lungs had been too damaged, could no longer absorb enough oxygen, and he had painfully asphyxiated while his wife watched on in horror.

It was the type of tragedy every hero worth their salt strived to prevent. 

Shouta had been on that case.

Ai had grown up without him, and was now barely five years old.  Her quirk had just manifested a few months ago, and while it had the base of her father’s power as a foundation, it had apparently vastly mutated past anything he’d been able to do.  She didn’t just have the ability to draw out someone’s emotions and break them down…

No.  That would be too simple.  Too convenient.  Too easy to handle. 

She also amplified them, and like most kids her age, she had basically no control over the output.  No control or real understanding over the amount of damage she could unknowingly inflict.

Mrs. Funahashi had explained as quickly and thoroughly as she could.  Unlike her father, Ai needed physical contact to influence someone else, and there were a few different levels of effectiveness based off a small handful of factors.

For one, she had to be emotionally over-stimulated herself for the quirk to activate on its own.  Her skin color was a good indication-the faster and more chaotic the shifting, the more powerful the activation would be.

He remembered explicitly thinking her color change was reminiscent of a goddamn kaleidoscope.

She normally wore gloves to help avoid accidents.  The only reason she hadn’t been wearing them during the villain attack was because she’d just hit a growth spurt and had grown out of them.  Her mother had taken her to the shopping center to get new ones. 

Simple skin to skin didn’t give as much of an effect as say… if she happened to touch someone’s open wound. 

She’d accidently smeared Midoriya’s blood across his forehead when she flailed away from that bastard of an officer.

The more distraught she was during her quirk activation, the more drawn out the process was.  There would often be a quick flash of magnified emotion right off the bat that was influenced by her own mental state. 

Midoriya had almost dropped her, had been startled and breathless, and his eyes had been wide.  It had taken him several moments to regain his bearings.

Then it would fade, only to slowly build back up to a boiling point over the course of twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the apex being somewhere in the middle.  It would draw out and exaggerate every little fleeting emotion, every half-baked feeling, and the more someone struggled against it, the worse it got, and the more the natural biological reactions to the heightened emotions would spiral out of control.  Excess hormone build up, such as adrenaline and cortisol, could very well reach dangerous levels if not addressed, and the brain wouldn’t always be able distinguish between internal and external conflict, or if that conflict was new or old.  The more complicated the emotion, the more intense and twisted it would grow, and the more primal the reaction.

It was an unbelievably powerful and dangerous quirk.

Of course, it had to be the fucking Problem Child.  Of-fucking-course.

Apparently, it wasn’t until this morning that Ai had been excitedly telling her mom about her new Hero friend, Deku, and how he was the best, and how she met another hero named Eraserman—Shouta would have probably snickered at the misnaming if the unease and dread he’d felt after the attack hadn’t chosen that moment to return and claw it’s way up his throat in absolute trepidation, like a particularly grotesque spider pulling itself from a deep dark hole—and she’d let it slip that she’d accidently gotten ‘very mad at the mean police man, and she was so scared he was going to take her away!  She accidently got Deku’s blood on her hand, but it was ok-’

Mrs. Funahashi had immediately called.  Unfortunately, U.A.’s security had given her a ridiculous level of runaround, but she was an impressively adamant woman.  She demanded to talk to Eraserman. 

It was the wrong name.  So of course they’d had her leave a message with an automated system.

So she dug her heels in and called back several times.

When she still had no luck with the security measures, her next message explained in no uncertain terms that she knew for a fact that one of the students was a danger, both to himself, and possibly to others as well.  She’d used several colorful expressions, and had started making threats herself in a desperate attempt to get someone’s attention.  Something she said finally got through the screening, and Shouta had been alerted of her call.

He and Nedzu were going to have a very long talk about the entire contact system once this was all settled.  He understood the need to filter through all the unnecessary bullshit they got on a daily basis, but this?  This was serious, and was growing even more serious by the minute… because it had been nearly twenty-four hours since the villain attack yesterday, and if Midoriya lost his shit to a particularly dark emotion?  That was a recipe for disaster.

She wasn’t wrong—he had the potential to be an absolute danger to himself and everyone around him.

Now Shouta was rushing down the hallway toward the security room In an effort to find the kid as quickly as possible.  Of all of his students to potentially fall victim to this particular accidental quirk activation, Midoriya was quite possibly the worst-case scenario, outside of maybe Bakugou. Possibly Todoroki, on a bad day.

What scares Shouta the most—and make no mistake, he wasn’t above admitting his fear in this situation—is the sheer range of emotion Midoriya can exhibit on any given day.  The kid laughs and cries in equal measures, but has an adamant aversion to actually admitting what he’s truly feeling at any given moment.  He’ll suffer in silence, all the while butting his nose into everyone else’s instabilities and insecurities in an attempt to root out and solve every single one of their problems.

And, while he does an admirable job hiding it, Shouta had come to realize some time ago that Midoriya has some seriously deep-seeded trust issues.  Especially when it comes to his teachers, All Might non-withstanding…

…and even then.

Shouta has suspicions as to why.  There are signs, ones he should have addressed a long time ago, but he hasn’t wanted to push the kid because it has been a chore and a half just to get him to stop knocking on deaths door every time he throws himself into a fight.  Not to mention that Shouta admittedly isn’t the best option when it comes to the whole emotional support thing.  He has his own internal demons to deal with, and knows he comes across as aloof and uncaring… Though he hopes his students understand by this point that he is there, and he would listen.  He might play it off as an inconvenience and direct them to someone better equipped to handle their specific need, but they would be respected and addressed.

A slight, small body slams into his as he turns the corner, and while it’s not enough force to topple him, it is enough to knock the breath from his lungs and send his unintentional assailant sprawling backward and flat on her ass.  Shouta had been so caught up in his own thoughts he lacked the reflex to catch her.

Kyouka Jirou winces, before hastily jumping to her feet and grabbing his sleeve.  It’s completely out of character for her, but her gaze, while distraught, is determined. She’s almost out of breath and her bangs are slightly slick with sweat.  Her cheeks are also just shy of flushed—she must have run all the way here from wherever she’s come from.  “Mr. Aizawa!  It’s… Something’s wrong with Midoriya!”

He doesn’t need her to explain.  He just needs one question answered, and he needs it answered right now.

“Where?”

*** 

Chapter Text

The elevator moves too fucking slow. 

He can practically hear the way his teeth threaten to crack as he grinds his jaw, tight and angry, finger jamming over and over against the fourth floor button as if that will somehow make the stupid metal box climb the shaft any faster.  With all the money U.A. throws away on frivolous shit, one would think they’d be able to afford a decent elevator for the student dorms, but no, of course not.  They’d rather spend it on stupid ass combat robots and holograms and fake cities and more real estate than they could ever use.

Fucking Deku, and his stupid fucking attitude.  What even was his problem?  Katsuki hadn’t even done anything to the stupid Nerd-

This time.

It’s absolute fucking bullshit.  It’s-

He didn’t DO anything.

Katsuki grunts as the elevator finally comes to a stop, with a quiet ‘ding’ he hardly bothers to notice.  Everything is still and silent for a few moments too long and he swears if the doors don’t open in the next three seconds, he’s going to blow them to hell, consequences be damned-

Fuck.

Why is he so upset about this?

Who the hell cares if Deku wants to act like an asshole?  Not Katsuki, that’s for sure.  He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with this bullshit-

What the fuck did he do?

He passes Shouji’s room, then Kirishima’s.  He’s tempted to just kick in his own door, but fuck that because that’s his space, and it’s honestly the only place he can find some peace and quiet on the whole goddamn campus, so he’d rather not break the lock that keeps the rest of those losers out of his hair. So he fishes his key from his pocket and when it slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor with a loud clang, he feels like he wants to scream, like the little piece of silver metal has personally insulted his mother, and that’s just not gonna fly, because only he gets to insult the old hag-

And it’s Deku’s fucking fault he’s worked up like this, because honestly, where the hell did the stupid Nerd get off snapping at him like that-

Deku doesn’t snap.

His room is dark when he eventually bests the lock, and he spends a couple seconds just standing in the doorway and glaring at the way the light from the hall spills in and casts eerie shadows across every surface.

He hates it.  Hates how his brain automatically reverts to a time when he was blind and choking, clawing desperately at his throat, sucked into an inky black slime that whisked him away-

He doesn’t bother to flip the light switch.  Instead he barrels straight into the room and grabs the blackout curtains so tightly he has to fight against the impulse to spark his palms, because he really doesn’t want to deal with fire alarms and being put on house arrest for property damage-

What did he say?  What did he do?  Why did Deku snap?  After all this fucking time, after all the shitty stuff he did before… why now? Weren’t they over this?  Weren’t they better?

He flings the curtains open and tucks the fabric so they won’t slip shut again.

Deku doesn’t snap.

Katsuki can see a lot of the campus from his balcony—it’s one of the perks of being on the fourth floor—and he doesn’t miss how there are dark billowy clouds slowly rolling in on the horizon.  It’s supposed to storm later, which would usually bring him some semblance of joy, because he likes thunder storms, even if he has to put up with the way Dunce Face gets all supercharged and jittery, but for some reason the incoming darkness and the dampness in the air just causes his mood to plummet even further.  It’s thick and suffocating and cold and dreary-

Has he finally gone too far?  Has he finally crossed that line?

He’s personally offended by the irritating sigh that worms it’s way free from his throat, and he runs a (not) shaking hand through his hair.  He continues to stare through the glass, not really at anything in particular, just vaguely enough for his eyes to take in the blobs of color and shapes, and he takes a deep, steadying breath.  In and out.  Just like the dumbass therapist suggested: take a step back and figure out why he’s actually pissed off and all that.

So.  Why was he angry?

Because Deku fucking snapped at him, for no reason whatsoever.  Katsuki hadn’t even said anything particularly mean, he hadn’t even thought about it, it’d just come out.  A was just a stupid, small jab to embarrass him in front of Kirishima more than anything, and Deku doesn’t cares about that shit anymore.  The Nerd usually just gives him a shit eating grin and rolls his eyes- Kacchan this and Kacchan that.  Even if Katsuki does fuck up somehow and say something to upset him, he usually just gives him that stupid ass pathetic look, and excuses himself to go wallow against Round Face or Icy-Hot’s shoulder, or whatever other stupid coping shit is he does-

Deku doesn’t snap.

There’s movement in the grass below, a shock of bright red hastily moving away from the dorms, and when he focuses, he recognizes that it’s Kirishima, and he’s hauling ass.  Raising his gaze to follow his friend’s trajectory, he realizes that he’s making a beeline towards the training grounds in the distance.

Why the fuck was Kirishima in such a hurry to get there? 

It takes a few seconds, and it’s pretty hard to make out against the hazy gray clouds, but is that smoke?  Is there a training exercise going on today? 

Suddenly he feels like the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end, and there’s a jittery energy building under his skin, churning and turbulent in his unease. Something’s wrong, he just fucking knows it, and it probably says something about just how much shit his class has been through over the past two years when his stupid trauma-broken brain instantly suggests villains, but his instincts scream at him that that’s not right, and the distinct lack of security alarms assures him it’s something else… something a lot closer to home but infinitely worse.

He probably wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t already been so focused, but for an instant he swears he sees a small streak of lighting, radioactive green, and in sharp contrast to the darkening horizon.  A brief, bright flash spanning the length of a single breath, and it’s gone, but it was there.

And he knows that lightning.  Knows the raw, untamed power that causes it.  He’s seen it up close, felt it’s vicious, dangerous crawl against his skin (under his skin?) and now his heart is in his throat because what the hell is happening?

This isn't a matter of Deku getting upset or angry or offended.  There is something else at play here, something more. 

Deku.  Doesn’t.  Snap.'

And fuck, whatever it is, he feels like he’s caused it, at least partially, and now he has to do something about it.  Feels deep down that if he doesn’t, then something horrible is going to happen.  To Deku. 

He refuses to be the cause of it.

Throwing open his balcony door, he lets his palms spark weakly a few times to build his sweat, then launches off the rail.  He quickly twists his arms back and lets loose a few carefully controlled explosions, a metaphorical middle finger to gravity itself, as he slows his decent and practically soars.  He feels the way his shoulders jerk roughly in their sockets, smells the slightly sweet scent of the glycerin catching fire, and he is hyper aware of the way his hair brushes against the skin of his forehead as he propels himself through the air at a breakneck speed.  Normally he’d feel ecstatic, and alive at the way his muscles pull and push and at how his palms burn, but right now the overwhelming sense of dread building in his chest overwhelms everything else.

He’s just a few meters away from Kirishima when he lets himself fall, landing roughly on his heels but not missing a beat as he easily catches up to his classmate.  Kirishima is heavier and slower than he is, but right now he’s taken a desperate pace that’s hardly sustainable in the long term.  Katsuki won't have any trouble keeping up.

Kirishima must have heard his explosions, because he doesn’t startle or stumble When Katsuki barks out, “Shitty hair!”

He just throws a look over his shoulder, eyes wide, a strange mix of confusion and relief overtaking his features, “Bakugou?”

Running side by side is familiar for the two of them, but there’s a frantic beat of energy that seems to spur them both to move just a bit faster.  Katsuki doesn’t think he needs to explain himself, not to Kirishima, who understands him more than almost anyone else, but he tries anyway, “Deku doesn’t snap.”

***

It’s not the dust and debris that almost chokes Shouta the moment he flings himself up and over the edge of the partially intact roof with his capture weapon.  It’s the tense, heavy shroud of anxious energy that’s threatening to snap at any moment, a dangerous backlash of dread and agony that clogs his throat and makes it hard to breathe as he takes stock of the scene.

Shouta finds himself hesitant to step out of the shadow of the twisted piping at his side, and into the open stretch of concrete beyond, because Midoriya hasn’t noticed him yet.

If he had any doubt Midoriya may have been affected by the quirk before now, it’s gone.  It’s painfully evident in the way he’s pacing far too close to the distant, barrier free edge of the fake, thirty story industrial tower.  In the way his right hand is clenching and unclenching, stiff at his side with knuckles white and straining, while the other buries itself in his mop of dark green curls, staining the strands red.  Thin rivulets of blood run down the kid’s left arm and drip onto the scuffed concrete below, each small splatter painting the surface like some sort of macabre Rorschach inkblot.  Shouta can’t see the full extent of the damage from as far away as he is, but he can certainly see enough.   There’s dark, mottled bruising down to his elbow that reminds him of the early days when his quirk was still too much for him to handle, and it’s no doubt the cause of the twisted streak of demolished buildings that had lead Shouta here.

Midoriya is wearing dust caked cargo shorts and a well-worn—and blood speckled—tee shirt, which allows Shouta to see the way his sweat slicked skin looks blotchy and overheated, quirk active and ruthlessly twisting its way through his body just under the surface.  Small bolts of untamed green energy crackle across and away from his form, some dissipating in the air, others bouncing violently along the metal and concrete surrounding him. 

The other two occupants of the roof do have Midoriya’s attention however, even if his focus on them is spotty at best.  Kirishima and Bakugou both stand alert, a bit to the side and a fair distance in front of Shouta, and much, much closer to their classmate.  He’s not sure how they got here before he did, unless Bakugou used his explosions to blast them both up the side of the building, but he can’t help but curse inwardly at just how long it’s taken him to get to the scene.

The two of them have at least enough situational awareness to have noticed his quiet arrival.  The sideways half-glance the redhead sends his way is full of fear, but he’s doing well enough hiding it from Midoriya.  Shouta is silent as he points toward his own temple and mouths the word ‘quirk,’ praying their lessons focusing on simplified intuitive communication will pay off.  He hopes it’s enough to make Kirishima understand the exact, dangerous nature of the situation they’ve stumbled into.  It takes several seconds, but Shouta can practically see the gears turning in his student’s head, and can see the exact moment he gets it, the bright flash of recognition in his eyes as he hastily shifts his gaze back toward the problem at hand.  The way he tilts his head suggests he’s whispering something toward the blond at his side.

Bakugou hasn’t looked his way at all, but his shoulders twitch once and his spine grows rigid at whatever Kirishima is saying.  Then he’s slowly turning his palm backward at his side, in an extremely slight indication that he too is aware of Shouta’s presence, and has received the message.  It’s careful, and calculated, and it’s all the evidence Shouta needs to prove they’ve both realized just how perilous the situation could become if Midoriya startles unnecessarily.  It’s an uncharacteristic subtlety on Bakugou’s part.  One that shows just how much he’s learned—how much he’s grown—over the past two years. 

Shouta is so incredibly thankful he’d insisted on the alternative communications classes.

Not that Midoriya seems like he’s in any mindset to notice his childhood friend’s progress.  He’s practically growling to himself, shuffling back and forth on increasingly unsteady feet, each and every time he tries to speak he gets out half an unintelligible thought, then seems to angrily bite it back, like it’s something unbearably bitter, something dangerously toxic—and maybe, in a sense, it is.

Shouta wants nothing more than to erase his quirk, snag him with his capture weapon, and yank him bodily away from the ledge.  His heart is pounding against his sternum at such a rate his chest physically aches, but he knows he can’t act rashly.  He’s quick, but gravity is always quicker, and at the moment Midoriya is skirting far closer to gravity’s cruel embrace than his. 

He curses the fact that he can’t sneak around the other side of the building and grab the kid from behind… that side of the building is too smooth, and stands far above the surrounding structures.  There’s no handholds or snag points for his scarf.

So, he’s got to approach from the front.  If he were to erase the kid’s quirk, would Midoriya instantly panic?  Shouta would be erasing the only thing that might offer any sort of safety if he were to trip over the twisted piping or uneven concrete and fall.  Sure, he could blink in an instant to restore Midoriya’s powers, but even then… would the kid have the mental cognizance to recognize what’s happened?  Would he be able to save himself?

On the reverse, he’s got two other students present that are possibly in danger.  Kirishima and Bakugou could defend themselves long enough for him to activate Erasure if Midoriya were to lash out, but if his quirk isn’t fully under his control… could they really?  Shouta would like to say yes, it wouldn’t take longer than a few seconds and both of them are trained well, and impressively powerful and skilled in their own rights, but there is doubt, because even though Shouta hasn’t seen the anomaly that is Midoriya unleashed up close, he has seen the immediate aftermath. 

He’s seen the eyewitness and damage reports from I-Island, and knew that Midoriya and All Might had fought side by side.  Midoriya had apparently held his own, albeit aided by a very high-tech and unique support item.

He caught the ass-end of the physics defying battle against Overhaul, and Midoriya himself had admitted to repeatedly destroying his own body, over and over, just so that he could use his powers unrestrained while being constantly rewound. 

Shouta had been on the rescue force for the Nabu Island incident, and had seen in person the sheer destruction left behind from the fight against Nine and his allies, and even though no one seems to remember exactly what happened there, he has no doubt it has something to do with Midoriya facing the villain head on.

He can hardly speculate on the amount of power necessary to twist the landscapes so drastically.  Can hardly imagine going toe to toe against someone with so many overbearingly powerful quirks, and somehow coming out victorious.  Even if what Midoriya claims is true—that he and Bakugou were the paragon of perfect teamwork—it hardly changes the fact that it is terrifying. 

That Midoriya is terrifying.

Midoriya hisses suddenly, the hand gripping his hair pulling tight as he stumbles against a half-torn sheet of corrugated metal, but thank fucking god he manages to regain his footing and slump forward instead of backward, “Why?!”

Shouta can feel himself wince at just how strangled his student sounds.  Midoriya is always animated in the way he speaks, whether he’s happy, excited, or angry.  He’s almost always rattled and unsure, self-confidence fluctuating vastly on any given day, but despite all of that, he is always passionate.  

But this?  This isn’t anything like passion.  This is anguish.  

Kirishima is fidgeting slightly, but otherwise stationary.  He’s just as hesitant as Shouta is, though probably for different reasons.  Kirishima is always the one who wants to help.  He’s kind, and compassionate, and fiercely protective of his friends, but he can’t protect Midoriya from this. 

He can’t protect Midoriya from himself. 

Bakugou, however, takes a single, small step forward and slowly—so very slowly—raises his hand to draw Midoriya’s gaze.  It’s full of purpose, and Shouta can just about work out what Bakugou’s thought process is.  If Midoriya is paying attention to him, directing his anger at him, he might just move far enough away from the ledge for Shouta to be able to act. 

He’s also planning for other contingencies, if the way he’s slowly wringing his fingers against his other palm, sweat building, is any indication.  There’s a reason Bakugou is one of the top students of the class, despite his crass attitude.  His voice is unwavering when he asks, “Why what, Deku?”

Midoriya is practically petrified at the response, jaw working back and forth almost as if the question has confused him—like he wasn’t actually expecting an answer, much less one that requires him to explain his own thoughts.  A maelstrom of expressions flit across his face, and then, like a switch has been flipped, he’s set on rage.  His quirk is flaring suddenly, a single snap of neon green lightning cracks out in a wide arc as he snarls, “Oh, fuck you Katsuki-”

Kirishima is practically choking on his tongue, and Bakugou is flinching back as if he’s been struck, and Shouta can’t help but wonder what he’s caught most off guard by—the harsh language, the tone at which it was spat at him, or the unexpected use of his first name—

“You-you know!”  Midoriya’s fist is tugging at his hair, the crackle of energy going wild for a moment as his irises distort and flash even more brightly, a rising smell of ozone in the air, “It’s always you!  It-it’s-why?  Why can’t-why can’t you just- What did I ever fucking do to- ” 

There’s a moment where he seems to lose himself, eyes blank and glassy as if stuck in some horrible flashback, and Shouta starts moving his hand to his scarf, only to freeze again a moment later when Midoriya takes a steady step back.

The frosty chill that’s crawling it’s way down his spine kicks against each and every one of his vertebrae, and he has to physically hold back the shudder of fear as one of his most talented, troublesome students sways even more dangerously close to the edge of the building. 

Midoriya’s perilous movement snaps Bakugou and Kirishima from their stupors, both simultaneously taking a small steps forward while Bakugou grunts out a harsh “Deku-“ and Kirishima cries out, “Midoriya-”

“Shut up!”  Midoriya is shaking—has been shaking, but now it’s even more pronounced, wracking his frame violently—and there are hot, angry tears welling up in his eyes, glistening in the green light that surrounds him.  He lets out a guttural whine and glares, “Just stop!“

And they do.  Kirishima has his hands up in a placating way, a desperate lilt to his voice that makes him sound so young and scared, “It’s ok, bro.  Listen, we can-“

“No!”  Midoriya huffs out between gritted teeth, “No, we can’t- I can’t- I don’t know what-“ 

He closes his eyes and curls forward, bringing up his other hand to join the first in his hair, “He chose-he chose wrong, I-I can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Deku-“ 

“It wasn’t supposed to be me-“

“Deku- hey!  Don’t ignore me nerd-“ 

“-you were-you were right, Kacchan- I’m just a useless, quirkless Deku-I can’t-every time I think I finally-“  Midoriya pulls one hand down to stare at it, a mess of dirt and blood and mangled skin, and his shoulders shake even harder. 

Bakugou takes another step forward, and Shouta knows he needs to move too, so he plots out a path that will bring him within range, and keep him from Midoriya’s sight for as long as possible. 

“It should have been-was supposed to be- He should have given One for All to Togata-“

And even though he hasn’t really managed to say much, there’s so much there.  So many hidden answers in the inconsistent, frenzied word vomit Midoriya is spewing that Shouta wants to take notes, but his brain can hardly process anything beyond the need to just grab his fucking student-

“Deku, shut up!  Are you trying to blab it all to the whole goddamn world?” Bakugou’s seething, frantic tone and the way he’s gone statue still almost causes Shouta to pause, because now it’s evident that Bakugou knows something that he doesn’t.

“-Or you!  Could have been you and it would have been better-better than me-“  And now he’s inches from the edge and Shouta can’t breathe, because he’s still not close enough, but his feet are still moving and his eyes are already burning in anticipation and he’s prepping his capture weapon-

“Izuku!”  Bakugou shouts desperately, voice cracking in a way that he’s never heard before, reaching one hand out, “Please just shut up and get the hell away from the edge before you fucking fall!”

Everything is suddenly silent, save for the ragged breathing of the four of them, and the sharp crackle of Midoriya’s quirk.  Time almost seems to have stopped-

Midoriya is laughing.

It’s an ugly thing.  Broken and sharp and painful, like he’s gurgled glass and is desperate to spit it out.  His quirk flickers even more brightly for a brief moment, then snuffs itself out, and he sags, marred arms wrapping tightly around himself as he wheezes out that harrowing, awful sound, voice growing more and more strained before fading to something just above a whisper, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“What?”  Bakugou and Kirishima both stutter out, but in two very different tones.  Kirishima sounds completely heartbroken, and Bakugou sounds absolutely horrified.  Shouta finds himself relating to both.

“You said it!”  Midoriya shouts, eyes bubbling over again with tears as he curls even further in on himself, “Don’t you remember?”

Shouta forces himself a few steps closer while Midoriya’s gaze is still turned away, threading one strand of his scarf between his fingers, just a few more steps and he’ll be within range, and nothing will be in the way-

“That-“ Bakugou hesitates, and even though he’s clearly trying to keep his voice quiet and calm he’s visibly shaking, “That was a long time ago-“

“-Pray that you’ll have a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof-“

Shouta feels all the air leave his lungs at that, and Kirishima practically wilts in front of him.  Bakugou huffs out a short solitary breath that sounds so resigned, fist clenched so hard at his side his knuckles are white, “I didn’t-“

“And you know what my first real thought about that was, Kacchan?”  Midoriya’s voice barely carries, barely exists at all, but still manages to somehow sound so unbelievably clear, “I thought about how I couldn’t do it because it would screw up your future career as a hero.”

He lets out a single sob before bringing one hand up to cover his mouth in a failed attempt to silence himself, “Isn’t that so fucked up?”

And just as Shouta starts to move forward again, Midoriya raises his red-rimmed gaze to look up at his childhood bully.

And Shouta knows things are about to go to hell, because Midoriya’s eyes are widening with shock, because now he’s looking past Bakugou and Kirishima, and seeing him.  He let’s out a warbled cry of alarm and shuffles backward on instinct, but there’s nothing there to catch his footfall, so he tumbles-

Bakugou’s explosion rings out just in time to drown out the savage string of expletives Shouta is unleashing on the world, and he flings his capture weapon forward, but it’s still too far, too late, and he can’t reach Midoriya so he has to improvise and trust that Bakugou’s speed will be enough-

-and he sees Bakugou’s hand reach, fingers splayed wide, snatching Midoriya’s battered palm with his own.

The white cloth is wrapping itself around Bakugou’s waist just as he starts to go over as well, left arm outstretched and right hand still sparking and sizzling.  The blond crashes violently against the corner of the building, letting out a pained grunt, but has still manages to keep his hold.

But now there’s too much weight, both because of the distance, and the fact that these fucking kids are so packed with dense muscle, and Shouta feels himself slipping before he can secure the other end, but then Kirishima is suddenly there, his entire body jagged and hardened—except his palms, obviously out of fear of tearing the reinforced cloth-

-and Shouta swears if he ever hears anyone say the kid is anything less than brilliant ever again, he’ll hunt them down and beat them senseless himself—and together they pull.

Bakugou huffs out a breathless whine, but still swings his other arm around to reach down and get a better grip-and finally, Midoriya’s limp form is pulled up and over, spilling onto the roof, a tangled mess of limbs between the two teenagers as Bakugou wastes no time in weakly shuffling them as far away from the edge as he can manage, still tangled as he is.

Shouta is already running, Erasure active as he dodges poles, pipes and metal, rubber soles smacking loudly against the concrete. Within seconds he’s slid to his knees next to the two boys.  Bakugou still has a death grip on Midoriya’s wrist, but after a few tense moments he seems to realize Shouta is there, and he groans, releases his grasp, and falls backwards to lay flat against the concrete.  An unconscious Midoriya still half in his lap, but he’s apparently emotionally drained enough to not give a damn.  He wraps one arm around his center, draping the other across his eyes as he desperately fights to steady his breathing.

“Are you hurt?”  Shouta asks tersely, eyes raking the blond teenager’s form for any obvious signs of serious injury.

Bakugou grunts out a quiet, “M’fine.  Check him.”

“Bakugou.”  Shouta finds he has very little patience, and his voice sounds overly steely, even to himself.  He and Shuzenji have taught them all how to self asses at this point, so the kid better get his shit together and fucking self asses.

“Side hurts pretty bad where I hit the edge, but only if I breathe deep.  Might’ve fucked up some ribs or something, but it doesn’t feel like I’m gonna keel over or anything.  Shoulder feels off, but it’s not dislocated, and I can move it.”

Kirishima lowers himself besides them and frets, looking as though he wants to scoop them both up in his arms and never let go, but only reaches out to settle a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder.  His other palm hovers above Midoriya for a split second, but he clearly realizes that crowding would be an awful idea, so he doesn’t touch, and Shouta wants to thank whatever Gods exist that it seems like the redhead has some common sense.

Midoria’s skin looks damn near washed-out, and his eyes are clenched shut, breaths shuttering and shallow.  Shouta knows the momentum must have smacked him against the side of the building pretty hard, but he’ll take bruised and battered over sidewalk paste any day.  He hastily checks to make sure the kid’s neck and back look fine, and when he’s satisfied he won’t make things worse, he carefully lifts Midoriya off Bakugou’s lap and lays him flat.

Shouta inhales long and deep in an attempt to stop himself from shouting uncontrollably. 

Midoriya lets out what can only be described as a whimper below him, and begins to stir, so Shouta levels a harsh glare back toward the other two teenagers and hisses out between clenched teeth, “Leave.”

Kirishima faulters, “But-“

“Don’t argue with me.  Leave and head to recovery girl, I called her on my way here.  She should have some rescue bots already waiting at the entrance, if she’s not there herself, and both of you need to be checked out.”

“What about Midoriya?”  Kirishima asks timidly, chewing his lower lip.  A small dab of blood wells up underneath his shark like teeth, but it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed, “He was so-“

Shouta sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose, “Midoriya is under the effects of a powerful psychological quirk, and honestly, even that’s more than you need to know.”

“So that’s why he said all those things?”

Bakugou snorts, but it doesn’t actually sound the least bit amused, “Drop it, Shitty hair.”

“But-“

Batting Kirishima’s hand away, Bakugou rolls to his side so that he can stand.  With a grimace, he gets his arms underneath him and pushes himself up, and Kirishima places a palm on his back to steady him when he stumbles.  He takes a deep breath and turns to face Shouta, “I did a lot of shitty things to him when we were kids, and he’s clearly not as over it as I thought.  I know you said he’s got some fucked up quirk messing with him, but everything the nerd said about-“  His voice hitches, and the corners of his lips curl up into a scowl, “-I wasn’t the only one that fucked with him, but I was the worst, and the teachers never did shit to stop it.”

“Leave.”  Shouta repeats as Midoriya starts to squirm, and thankfully they listen, because he’s not sure he could keep his anger in check if they hadn’t.  

His mind races.  He’s still got his quirk activated, and his eyes are starting to itch and burn against the strain.  He isn’t sure if Midoriya will try to activate his own quirk defensively on instinct.

He’s also not sure if he should try and move the kid quite yet, but he needs to do something.  It’s going to start raining soon, if the darkening sky and churning storm clouds are any indication, and getting him to recovery girl is an absolute must—Funahashi had said that sedating wasn’t the best option, because all it did was delay the inevitable, but if Midoriya was going to hurt himself then-

“Mr. ‘zawa.”  The kid’s voice is so meek, and slurred, it brings Shouta’s racing thoughts to a halt, and he glances down to meet the half lidded, glazed over gaze of his student, “You said… it’sa quirk?”

Midoriya must have been at least slightly more conscious over the last few minutes than he originally thought.  “Yes.  You’ve been under the effects of a progressively worsening quirk since yesterday.”

“Wh-What?”  Midoriya suddenly seems like he’s just realized Shouta is actually there, eyes widening as he twists his neck to try and take in his surroundings, damaged fingers scrambling to find purchase against the cold concrete below him.  It doesn’t take long for Shouta to realize he’s looking for an escape route.

Like he’s in trouble.

“Midoriya,” Shouta can feel the tension rising around them, heavy and foreboding, and he’s about to grab the kid’s shoulders to hold him still, but he fights against that impulse and stops just short.  He hates it when other people touch him uninvited in stressful situations, except for maybe Hizashi, so it’s hardly fair to assume Midoriya would be any different, especially when the kid looks like he’s one breath away from a full blown panic attack, “I’m going to touch you, alright?  Just to move you a bit, in case it starts raining.”

Whatever Midoriya was expecting him to say, it must not have been that.  His eyes snap back up to meet Shouta’s, and there’s so much hesitation and fear, but also a little bit of something else, something just barely struggling its way to the surface.  He’s frantically searching Shouta’s face like he’s looking for some kind of truth, some kind of answer.

 Whatever it is that Midoriya is searching for, he must find, because he swallows once and gives a shaky nod, “Okay.”

Shouta returns the nod with one of his own, and when it doesn’t seem like Midoriya is going to lash out like a caged animal, he lets his eyelids slide closed for a few short seconds of blissful relief.  When he regretfully has to peel them open again, Midoriya is still staring, so open and vulnerable and unnerving.   

Shouta carefully helps lift Midoriya under his less injured arm, just enough to support his weight as they shuffle forward.  His right elbow and lower back protest angrily, because he is both emotionally and physically drained, and the kid is deceptively heavy, despite his much smaller frame, but he manages to get them closer to the stairwell door without too much of a struggle.  There’s an overhang there that should shield them long enough to leave if the weather decides not to cooperate.

Midoriya instantly slumps against the wall and slides down, and Shouta crouches next to him, still supporting his weight to make sure he’s not going to topple over. 

He only lets go once he’s confident Midoriya is steady enough, shifting to stand and give the kid some space while he calls Shuzenji, but he finds himself letting out a surprised grunt and almost losing his balance, because bruised and bloody fingers are suddenly twisted tightly in the fabric of his jumpsuit right below his sternum. 

“Please…”  Midoriya’s voice is wrecked, “Please don’t…”

Shouta doesn’t move, “Midoriya?”

The kid relaxes his hold minutely, but doesn’t actually let go.  He closes his eyes and brings his other hand up to his hairline and submerges his fingers in his curls.  Shouta keeps a close eye on each movement, to make sure he doesn’t start to tug.

 “Why ‘m I so tired?”

Shouta ignores the way his knees protest angrily as he continues the uncomfortable crouch, and answers honestly, “Could be the emotional breakdown.  Could be the overuse of your quirk.  Could be a concussion from when you slammed against the side of the building.  It’s probably a combination of all three.”

It’s evident that Midoriya is trying to focus, but isn’t doing a very good job of it, because he only gives a slow nod and a few blinks in response.  Shouta lets out a quiet sigh.  He doesn’t know what to do, because honestly, he’s got the emotional range of a fucking tree most days. 

He cares about his students much more than he’ll ever admit out loud, and he hurts when they hurt.  He’ll fight tooth and nail for them, any day of the week, any hour of the day.  He’ll sacrifice his quirk, his sleep, his sanity for them, time and time again.  He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they’ll live long enough to actually graduate, and to instill in them the skills to survive long after that… but he can’t help but feel like this right here is beyond him.

And while it seems like they’re on the downswing of things now, Midoriya still doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to move much less truly understand what’s happening for least a little while longer, so Shouta hesitantly suggests, “Do you want me to call up someone you’re more comfortable with?  I can get All Might-“

The name is barely past his lips when Midoriya’s grip tightens, a frustrated whine settling into the space between them.  Dulled green eyes catch his own, full to the brim with a twisted mix of complicated emotions that bubble up and spill over and down his cheeks once more, in a brand new collection of thick wet tears. 

“No.  No no no-please.  Just…”  Midoirya huffs between quiet sobs, “Just…  I can’t.“ 

“Midoriya-“

“Not him.  Not-It’s-“  Midoriya is wheezing, and the way he’s looking up at Shouta feels so painfully familiar, but he can’t quite place it-

“Eraserhead-”

Oh.

Midoriya sniffs, bringing his other hand up to join the first, holding tight but not pulling, his whole frame shaking as if he’s afraid that no matter what move he makes, it’s going to be wrong, “Just… you.”

And he recognizes the look in the kid’s eyes now, buried so very deep under all those other warring emotions.  It’s a look that constricts itself around Shouta’s heart like a snake and squeezes tight, because he’s never caught that look on Midoriya’s face before, but he has a feeling it’s been there, just out of sight, and he’s missed it, and that’s absolutely unacceptable.

Because it’s the same look he gets from the people he desperately scrambles to pull out of the rubble after a villain topples a building, fingers rubbed raw and bloody.  It’s the same look he gets from the people he steps in front of knives, and fire, and bullets for, earned scars littering his body from head to toe.  The same look he gets from the people he frees from dark, locked rooms, as he wraps them in blankets and promises they’re going to be ok-

The people who look at him with wide pleading eyes full of fear, and confusion, daring to hope.

The people who have never seen him as Shouta Aizawa, chronically sleep deprived high school teacher, but as Eraserhead, the Hero.

There’s so many things they’re going to have to talk about when Midoriya is in his right mind again, and he has no idea how any of it’s going to be handled.  Midoriya’s relationship with All Might, his quirk, his trust issues, and both his and Bakugou’s confessions-

But those are all problems for later, because he finally knows what he has to do now.      

(Oh, but Eraserhead’s one of the strongest.) 

Shouta gently takes Midoriya’s wrists in his hands and moves to carefully pry the abused fingers free of his jumpsuit.  He doesn’t squeeze, too afraid to cause further injury, but he won’t let go, “Ok, Problem Child.  Just me.”

(Well, Eraserhead makes me feel safe.)

And isn’t that just a sudden kick in chest.