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Shouta's been counting the days.
34. It's been 34 days since they took him.
(And a student, they tell him. They taunt him with that tidbit, refusing to reveal which one. It's one of the boys, they say. Probably Bakugou, that's who they took the last time.)
They use Twice's clones on him a lot. They show him his students, dead and dying, before melting into grey goo.
He tries not to listen. He does his absolute best to keep his mouth shut when they question him, no matter what threats they use.
And they know he's afraid of them, at least a little. Toga especially tends to flaunt his fear, laughing as she cuts thick lines into his arms, hands, chest, back.
He should've been more worried when she came in this time.
Her eyes were bright, wide, shining with sadistic glee. She teased him with her blade for a few minutes, and then brought out a syringe.
She'd taken his blood before. She'd taken a lot of his blood before.
But this time, she is giving. He feels it enter his arm, thick and cold, and by the time the needle is withdrawn, he's struggling to focus on her.
She laughs at this, like she laughs at everything. She pokes at him. He blinks slowly. There's something in his ears, rushing and ringing.
He swallows, and it's like forcing down a mouthful of bees. The air scratches at his throat, stings in his eyes.
It's all fading before him, the room, the villain, the fear…
And he's waking up.
It feels like he's just blinked, and in an instant cleared his head and healed (most of) his injuries.
And, of course, teleported.
No longer is he in a dark, leaking basement, chained to the wall by his hands and ankles. Now he is surrounded by white and blue, by warm blankets, by light.
He takes a deep breath and finds his throat hurts at the strain. There's thick bandages around his neck and chest, and one of his legs is in a cast, held up by straps.
Evidently, he's been rescued. He knows the hospital when he sees it. He's been there god knows how many times, for himself and for his loved ones.
And knowing that he is safe, he lets himself drift. It isn't easy to get back to sleep, but it is welcome.
Hizashi stays with him while the doctor comes in and checks him over. She uses her quirk on him, something similar to Recovery Girl's if the resulting drowsiness is anything to go by.
"They told me that they had one of the students," he says. "One of the boys." Hizashi nods tersely, averting his gaze from Shouta's. "Who was it? Is he okay?"
Hizashi shakes his head. "We aren't supposed to tell you any details yet," he says. "I want to, Shou, believe me. But the kid's in critical condition, and they don't want us to stress you out by telling you what he's going through."
"That doesn't mean you can't tell me which one it is," Shouta points out. Hizashi shrugs, affords him a half smile.
"It's Midoriya."
Shouta sighs. Of course it is.
"Should have guessed," he says gruffly. And he wants to get up, and run to wherever they're working on him, and see for himself that the kid is as safe as Hizashi has promised him.
"Get some rest, Shouta," Hizashi says. "I'll stay right here with you."
Shouta yawns, shakes his head. "No, go home. You need to sleep in a real bed, you big drama queen."
Hizashi plops himself down in the plastic chair and grins. "You wouldn't leave me alone in a sterile hospital room, and I'm just doing the same for you."
With no response to the statement and a growing sense of fatigue, Shouta pulls up his blanket and dims the light.
"I'm his teacher," he yells, hair shooting up in the air despite the pull of gravity. "I need to know what happened in there, you need to tell me."
The nurse looks terrified, but shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but our patient confidentiality policy-"
"With all due respect," he growls, "I don't care."
"Shouta, you need to have patience," Nemuri urges. "He'll let you see him when he's feeling better."
And there's this flash of something in his mind - red on green, the shattered scream of his student in duress.
He shakes his head.
"I should have been there for him," he mutters. "Let me be there for him now."
Hizashi and Nemuri share a look and he glares at the two of them.
"In due time," Hizashi agrees.
Shouta squints at him with glowing red eyes, then turns away. His hair falls to his shoulders, and he crosses his arms over his bandaged chest.
"You're keeping something from me," he says. "I swear to God, I'll find out what."
And he does find out.
He finds out when his student is finally in stable condition, and finally asks to see him.
"We'll be bringing you to him," the nurse says. "You're almost ready to be discharged, but it's policy that we use the wheelchair regardless. Just a precaution."
And they're wheeling him down the white halls, closer and closer to the student he hasn't seen in what feels like two months.
(It is two months, technically. But Midoriya had confirmed what Shouta had only seen in fragments: they'd been together on that last day before rescue came.)
They stop outside a door in the children's ward, and Shouta's heart skips a beat as he remembers that Midoriya is a child. A hero in training, sure, but a child all the same.
A child who's seen blood, and death. A child who's been tortured.
A child that Shouta failed to protect.
The nurse opens the door and Shouta immediately notices the noise, the sound of machines monitoring every aspect of Midoriya's wellbeing.
The second thing he notices is the arm.
The missing arm.
Midoriya is sitting upright in his bed, paler than Shouta's ever seen him, and thin, too. His eyes are darkened by a lack of sleep, and his left arm is just gone.
(He sees red on green. The scream. Something twitching on the floor, the scent of cooking meat.)
"S-sensei," Midoriya says. Shouta stares at him. "You're okay!"
And this is what makes the kid a hero, he realizes. The fatal, dangerous, heroic instinct that tells him to put others before himself.
(Shouta sees the scars on his arm, neck, peeking out from behind pristine white bandages. He sees the dark, red, shiny skin that stretches across his shoulder, wraps around the stump.)
"Are you?"
Midoriya blinks at him, and then smiles, tears forming in his eyes.
"No," he admits. "I'm… I'm not."
Shouta wheels himself over to the bedside and places his hand on top of the kid's. He squeezes, and the kid squeezes back.
"I will be," he says quietly. "I'll have to be."
Shouta shakes his head. "You don't have to be okay, kid. It's okay to not be okay."
Midoriya sniffles, and leans into Shouta's chest.
"I'm sorry I hid it from you," he says into his teacher's sweatshirt. "Th-they told me you didn't remember, and, and I…"
Shouta leans in and pulls him close, back aching at the awkward angle and posture.
"It's alright," he says.
Midoriya breaks down sobbing in his arms, and Shouta rubs circles into the kid's back. He begs forgiveness for things Shouta doesn't need to forgive, and Shouta just pulls him even closer.
And he's angry that nobody told him. He's angrier when they do tell him, after that first meeting, that the kid did it to save him.
(He's the teacher. He's the pro hero. He should have been saving the kid, not the other way around. It stings, burns, kills him to know that his student suffered while he was too drugged to even remember it.)
And like he consoles Midoriya, he is consoled by those he loves.
They will be okay.