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It was easy for people to forget because All Might couldn’t hold his muscle form anymore, but even without it, he was really, really tall. He cast long shadows, the lack of bulk rendering them only slightly less intimidating. At least to someone like Shoto, who had spent most of his life vigilant of shadows, always ready to fight when they came for his back, his wrists, his throat.
Which is why when All Might snuck up on his left side during a free training period, his heart immediately shot out adrenaline. And why before he could analyze the situation, a spiky shield of ice was towering between them, frost anchoring All Might’s feet to the floor.
All of the color drained from Shoto’s face when he finally processed who the shadow belonged to.
All Might had one hand out, like he’d been ready to lay it on Shoto’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, luminous irises sunken further into blackness than they usually seemed.
“I—I—I—” Shoto tried, but nothing else would come out. The more he tried to force the sentence out, the more that something thick and bitter built up to block his throat, figuratively and literally. By the third I, Shoto was convinced he would throw up if he opened his mouth again. So he switched to signing: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
Judging by his increasingly confused and concerned expression, it didn’t appear that All Might knew sign language.
An itch like crawling cockroach legs prickled Shoto’s skin, and he was filled with the overwhelming urge to pick at his stitches, to pull them out, to tear the seams sewing his veins shut. The itching came with familiar bad thoughts.
You’re a weapon. You’re a weapon. You can’t be a hero, you can't even be a person. All you are is a weapon.
Given that All Might had no idea what he was trying to say, and that the eyes of his classmates were steadily orbiting to the scene he’d caused, Shoto had two options. Puke all over All Might’s shoes, or go find Aizawa.
So he broke into a sprint to find Aizawa.
It didn’t take long—right outside the doors to the gym, Aizawa was camped out in caterpillar form. He usually feigned sleep in the same room as his students so that he could stealthily watch their progress, but seeing as today was a do-what-you-will day, he probably trusted All Might to supervise them on his own. As soon as he saw Shoto’s sneakers, he was up and out of his sleeping bag.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
Shoto fought the urge to press one hand to his mouth, instead raising them both to sign, I want to hurt myself. I really want to hurt myself.
“Okay. Hey, hey,” Aizawa said, trying to keep Shoto’s eye contact as his student’s chest heaved and he shivered like he was dying.
Like he did when he had been dying, Aizawa tried not to think.
“Keep looking at me. Let’s sit down. That’s it, now try to follow my breathing. Watch me.” He deepened his inhales and exhales, keeping his rhythm slow and clear. He could tell that Shoto was trying, but each shuddering breath was stuttered by hiccups. “Good job. You’re doing a great job. I’m proud of you for coming to me. Keep trying, you’re getting it.”
The hiccups hit deeper and quicker, until Shoto couldn’t even attempt to breathe. He slammed one hand over his mouth and used the other to sign as quickly as he could, Vomit.
Judging by the way that Shoto’s cheeks immediately puffed out, Aizawa didn’t have time to get him to a bathroom or trash bin. He surged forward and tilted Shoto’s head to the side so he at least wouldn’t be sick all over himself. The touched made Shoto flinch, snapping his last thread of control. He collapsed to the side and threw up the liquid remains of his lunch. Aizawa rushed to support his shoulders, keeping him from face-planting in the puddle.
All the work that Shoto had put into regulating his breathing was now rendered useless as he gasped and wheezed and spluttered. Aizawa winced as he watched Shoto’s stomach convulse, followed by his throat, ending with a slew of puke spraying past his lips. As if his panic were literally squeezing him, punching out mouthfuls of his stomach.
Shoto threw up a good five times before he was just dry heaving; red-faced, head hanging, eyes streaming, nose leaking snot and vomit. Aizawa moved one hand to press the palm into his chest, applying gentle pressure, hoping to calm his racing heart.
It took a few minutes, but Shoto’s breath eventually slowed, probably due to utter exhaustion more so than actual calmness. He slumped in Aizawa’s hold, hovering over the pond of sick. He was shivering again, the little hairs on his skin raised with goosebumps. Aizawa shifted them away from the mess, leaning Shoto against his own chest so he could rub his back. “That’s it. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Aizawa paused when he heard a strange snuffling noise, ready to tilt Shoto to the side if he needed to get sick again. It took a couple of seconds for him to remember that’s what Shoto sounded like when he was crying. A shockingly quiet sound, made of little muffled, snuffling hiccups. It didn’t even sound like Shoto was trying to stop himself from crying, or trying to hide his tears—it simply sounded like he didn’t know how to cry properly. Which he didn’t.
A tremulously pale hand came up to sign, I’m sorry.
“Hey, it’s alright, kiddo. You didn’t do anything wrong. No need to apologize. If you need to apologize, I’ll tell you, alright?” A pause, then a weak nod. “I don’t know what happened in there, if anything happened, but we can talk about it later. Let’s take another minute to breathe and then I’ll take you back to the dorms.”
The hand was moving again. Class.
Aizawa snorted. “Kid, if you think I’m letting you go back to class after having a panic attack so bad that you threw up, I must be an awful teacher.”
A low, distressed whine came from Shoto, likely in protest. “Don’t worry, I’m kidding. But seriously. It’s more important for you to recover than for you to stay in every single class. Even students without your circumstances need to leave once in a while. It’s nothing to worry about. You won’t fall behind.”
Shoto huffed. Aizawa said this as if he actually wouldn't worry about it, just because he said so. But he didn’t mention it. He was too tired (he was so, so tired), his head hurt too badly.
Even so, he signed, You don’t need to stay?
“No, All Might can handle things on his own.”
Shoto flinched at the mention of the retired hero. Aizawa filed that away.
By the time they made it back to Aizawa’s quarters, Shoto was dead on his feet. (No, he’s not dead, Aizawa told himself. He’s alive, he’s here, he’s healing.) He still wasn’t talking, but Aizawa didn’t expect him to for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
“Alright, kiddo. Eri went to the teacher’s lounge with Mic and Midnight today, so we’ve got the place to ourselves for a while. Do you want to shower? Or just rinse your mouth and go to bed?”
Honestly, Shoto was a little worried that he’d collapse if he tested his luck with a shower, but he felt tacky with cold sweat and rotten with vomit, so he opted to sign, Shower. Aizawa accompanied him to the bathroom, running the faucet while Shoto brushed his teeth.
By the time he was done, Aizawa had turned on the shower and gathered a set of pajamas for him to change into afterwards. “I need you to do a couple things for me,” he said. “First, I need you to not change the temperature. Don’t worry, I didn’t make it hot—but I don’t want you making it colder. Second, you look like you’re gonna hit the deck, so I’d like you to sit down while you’re in there.” He paused to wait for Shoto’s nod of understanding. After he got it, he pushed through the last point: “I know this isn’t ideal for you, but since you told me you wanted to hurt yourself, I need to stay in here with you. You can have the curtain drawn and I’ll turn around while you change, but I can’t leave you alone in here.” The bathroom had been carefully voided of sharp items and wayward medication, but in the end, Shoto didn’t need those things to hurt himself. His quirk was more than enough.
Shoto drooped, ghostly sullen, but nodded.
“And by the way. I don’t know if I say this enough, but I’m really, really proud of you for coming to me. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re hurting. But you did wonderfully today. Thank you for coming to find me and telling me how you felt instead of hurting yourself.”
Shoto hadn’t looked him in the eye since they got to the dorms, but Aizawa could clearly see how they bloomed glassy with unshed tears. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and the hand that lifted to sign was trembling noticeably harder than before. Thank you.
“Nothin’ to thank me for, kid. But you’re welcome anyway.” Aizawa had learned the hard way since the hospital that Shoto did not take “there’s nothing to thank me for” as an answer on its own. “I’ll turn around so you can change. Just knock on something or tap me if you need help.”
Shoto undressed, unwrapped his arms, and sat down in the shower; letting the mild water soothe his stitches.
After a shower and dinner, Shoto sat on the couch with Aizawa, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and watching TV while his guardian prepped his arms to be re-bandaged. At this point, his arms had healed enough to go without the bandages, but the wraps prevented him from picking at the stitches, and he was still sensitive to the sight of the mangled scars.
Yamada and Eri had returned a little while ago after going on a “double date” with Mirio and Tamaki, and were currently having a blast splashing in the water of Eri’s evening bath. She’d asked if Shoto wanted to join her, but Aizawa had politely declined for him, since they needed to dress his arms ("Sho Sho's arms wear dresses?" she'd asked). Shoto was thankful for that; he loved spending time with Eri, but he’d never engaged in “bath time” with a child before. He wouldn’t know what to do. Perhaps one day he’d learn, but not on a no voice day.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Really?” Aizawa muttered under his breath, setting down the first aid supplies and patting Shoto’s knee before making his way to the door and turning the knob.
All Might stood on the other side, looking as sheepish as Aizawa had ever seen him. Remembering how Shoto had flinched at his name, Aizawa was immediately on the defense. “What is it?”
“I wanted to come check on young Todoroki. I… I’m afraid that his panic attack today was my fault.”
Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”
All Might swallowed hard, probably choking back his unease in the face of Aizawa’s simmering anger. “Well, I, he’s made such great progress using both his quirks at the same time, and I wanted to tell him that. I… forgot that we aren’t supposed to approach him on his left side…”
Aizawa’s fingers twitched, physically straining not to wring All Might’s skinny neck. “You snuck up on the blind side of a kid with PTSD?”
If looks could kill, All Might would a withered husk on the carpet.
“I really want to apologize to him, I shouldn’t have forgotten—”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Aizawa seethed. “Are you serious? How did you forget? I get that Midoriya is your apprentice, but you’re a teacher now. You have to have room in that thick skull for all of your students, especially—”
Aizawa cut off his rant as Shoto stumbled over to the pair, the measly amount of color he’d recovered once again drained from his face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before shooting Aizawa a desperate look and signing, Tell him that he doesn’t have to apologize, it was my fault. Please.
Aizawa locked his jaw and blew out a long sigh through his nose. He absolutely did not want to tell All Might that, but it would be exceedingly unfair of him to not translate what Shoto wanted to say. That would be what they had dubbed “pulling an Endeavor.” So he settled for, “He says that you don’t need to apologize because it was his fault. Though I literally couldn’t disagree more.”
All Might wilted. “Young Todoroki, I—”
Shoto cut him off with his hands. Please don’t make me talk about it. I understand if you don’t accept my apology, but please don’t make me talk. Aizawa voiced as much.
All Might looked desperate at this point. “But—"
“Look,” Aizawa said. He did feel a little bad for continuously cutting him off, but Shoto was swaying on his feet and looking like he was about to be sick again. Even if All Might had done right by coming to apologize, it was distressing Shoto, and that was precisely what they didn’t want to do. “I appreciate you coming to apologize, but this is too soon. You can try arguing with him when he’s verbal. Now, would you please drop it for now?”
All Might nearly never lost a battle, but then again, he nearly never tried to fight with Aizawa. “Okay.” He turned to Shoto. “Please know that I am truly sorry. I’ll be around to talk whenever you’re ready. Have a good night, young Todoroki.” He hesitated for one last moment, then shuffled away down the hall. Aizawa fought the urge to slam the door.
Maybe he was overreacting—All Might had realized that he’d screwed up, after all, but… he’d somehow managed to forget the number one rule that the staff had established when Shoto had come back from the hospital and they’d learned (with horrified faces) that he was nearly blind in his left eye; and it wasn’t lost on Aizawa that All Might cast a very, very long shadow.
Even if he hadn’t meant to, he’d hurt one of Aizawa’s kids. Aizawa was hard pressed to let that go.
But he would let it go for now, for Shoto.
He turned back to the kid, jolting out of his thoughts when he saw Shoto’s fingers itching at his uncovered stitches. “Hey, why don’t we go bandage your arms. Then we can get ready for bed, yeah?”
Despite how anxious he was feeling, Shoto’s mouth crooked into a very slight grin. Aizawa really tended baby him. It was vaguely humiliating, but… he didn’t exactly mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so cared for. He nodded, following Aizawa back to the couch.
They picked up where they left off with the wrappings. It was silent for a few minutes, save for the quiet babble of the TV—but it didn’t take long for Aizawa to break the mutual muteness.
“I know you’re going to be hard pressed to believe me, but what happened today really wasn’t your fault. And you know that I don’t bullshit people.”
Surprisingly, Shoto huffed a laugh. He pulled his arms away from Aizawa to sign, Says Mr. Logical Ruse?
Aizawa snorted. “Okay, fair enough. I only bullshit you guys in large groups for educational purposes. Agreed?”
Shoto nodded, still grinning, then lowered his arms back to Aizawa’s hands. He didn’t flinch when he touched them.
They finished dressing his arms in silence. By the time they were done, all of mirth had faded from Shoto’s eyes. His hands were shaky when he raised them. How can I be a hero if I’m scared of shadows?
Aizawa thought for a moment, hand-picking his words, then stooped to catch Shoto’s drooping gaze. “You think you’re the only hero that’s afraid of something? Our fears are part of what makes us heroes. They give us empathy for those we save.” He paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. “And the fact that we stand up even when we’re afraid is what really makes us heroes. There is no bravery without fear, right?”
Shoto shrugged, but Aizawa could tell by the way his eyes cleared a little that his point had made it home. Even so, Shoto raised his hands again. What if I hurt someone?
Really, Aizawa hadn’t the faintest idea how such a sweet boy had come from the hellflame that was Endeavor. Then again, he should know by now that parents don’t necessarily dictate the dispositions of their children.
“You won’t. And I know that because you’ve thought about it.”
Shoto shook his head. I froze All Might to the floor.
“Yeah, well, he was being an idiot.” Shoto looked like he wanted to smirk, but it came out as a grimace. “And you didn’t actually hurt him. Kid, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re clawing your way out of hell right now. And despite the way you were raised, you’re still just that. A kid. You lot may already be heroes, but you’re still young, and learning, and growing. You still need to be taken care of. Not because you’re weak, but because you’re kids. That’s what adults do with kids. You’re all fighting your way through more than just hero work, and you especially are working through what I can only call some ‘major shit.’ It won’t be that way for forever. I know it probably feels like it will, but I can promise you from experience, it won’t. Does that make sense?”
Shoto didn’t move for a solid minute, mulling over Aizawa’s words. He’d always believed (no, not believed, known) that actions were more sincere than speech, but… Aizawa had more than enough actions to fortify his words. So he nodded.
“Good. I’ll always be here if you need to talk, but you look about ready to pass out. Let’s get your futon set up in the spare room; I think I heard Eri say she wants to read you a bedtime story.”
Shoto cocked his head to the side. She can read?
Aizawa smirked. “Not really, but it’s funny to hear what she makes up.”
For the first time that day, Shoto smiled.