Chapter Text
It wasn’t exactly something that had been on Yamada’s ‘to-do’ list for this week. Nevertheless, the amalgamation of recent events mixed with a sort of gnawing in his stomach that wouldn’t settle had clearly clouded his judgement to the extent that the unexpected should have been expected.
The night it happened was rainy, miserable and cold. And perhaps it was the pathetic fallacy in and of itself that prompted Yamada to go through with his terrible idea.
He was stood at a crossing, collar turned up against the rain, hair growing wetter and colder by the second, dripping down the back of his neck and all the way down his spine. He had been splashed by passing vehicles three times by now, and was starting to wonder whether waiting for a chance to cross was worth it at all, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a younger man with a dark navy raincoat, hood pulled up over his head.
Usually, this would not have been a remarkable sight. But it was the split-second glance at his hand that Yamada noted and that piqued his interest. He’d know that hand anywhere. All red and stapled together. And usually – because he was a smart man, whether he chose to show it or not – Yamada would have dealt with this situation like the hero he was, taking the opportunity to question the guy at least, if not jump into action right then and there, considering his reputation. But it wasn’t a usual day, and Yamada wasn’t in a usual mood.
Head hanging low, he slunk away from his position by the lamppost and made his way over, stopping only a pace or so away from the other man. With his hair down and his civilian outfit on, there was about a fifty-fifty chance he’d be recognised, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
“Hey.”
It wasn’t the most impressive conversation starter, that was for sure, but it got the man’s attention. He looked up to Yamada out of icy blue eyes framed with dark burn scars, wearing a sceptical and sour expression.
“You know Eraserhead… right?”
“Are you… actually brainless?”
Yamada stepped backwards at the sheer acidity of his friend’s words, shielding himself with his forearm. He’d expected a bad reaction, but he hadn’t seen this much fire in Aizawa’s eyes since… well, since they’d found out what had really happened to Shirokumo. It seemed like an age ago now, so much had happened since.
“Hey, Shouta, cool it down, man, you haven’t even heard the whole story.”
Yamada’s ‘reasoning’ had no effect on Aizawa, in fact it seemed to provoke him even further. He stepped forwards, so close that Yamada could see the veins in his eye.
“I don’t need a full story!” Aizawa snapped, and then, perhaps suddenly becoming aware of the fact that Eri was asleep down the hall, lowered his voice to a hiss of a whisper, “You know what those villains did. You don’t need me to tell you that. And of all the people I thought I could trust…” He stuck an outstretched finger into the middle of Yamada’s chest, so sharply that the rest of his body seemed to cave in around it, “And I thought we were friends.”
“Sho, we… we are friends.”
“Do you know how much of an idiot you have to be to team up with the monsters who’ve attacked our friends relentlessly since All Might’s retirement? They killed our friends. And worse.”
“This is for the greater good, I promise. You’ll be safe. You and Eri and whoever else.” Yamada strained a smile, and his hand moved to rub away the sore spot on his chest, “You know me, Sho. I’m no villain. It’ll come together, you’ll see.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Yamada.”
And Aizawa never called him Yamada, not unless the situation was deadly serious.
“Think about what you’re doing here,” he went on, “Dealing with the League or the Paranormal Liberation Front or whatever they call themselves now, it can’t end well. How do you know they’ll keep their side of the deal?”
“I-”
“You don’t. You just… don’t.”
“It was worth a shot, Sho. I can’t lose any more of my friends. First Oboro-”
“Don’t.”
“-Then Kayama, then I almost lost you, and not for the first time. I’m not just standing by and watching it happen to everybody else too.”
Aizawa turned his back on him, and that was probably the most insulting part of it.
“Take a walk, Yamada.”
“Sho, I-”
“I mean it.”
He snapped back around, grabbing Yamada’s wrist and yanking him forwards, almost toppling him over, and he dragged him to the door.
“You’re going to go out for a long, long walk, and you’re going to really think about this. You’re going to think about what you’re doing to everyone; to me, to the other teachers, to the kids, to every hero in the city, if not the country, if not the world, and then after you’ve really thought about it you’re going to come back here and meet me on the steps, and if you decide you’re going through with the worst idea I’ve ever heard, you’re going to hand over your license and get out.”
Aizawa threw open the doors, and the freezing cold night air flushed into the room, bringing the rain in with it.
“But I made up my-”
“Go.”
He practically hurled Yamada out of the door, and showed no reaction when his childhood friend’s face met the cold, hard stone steps down from the building, just slammed the door behind him.
Yamada slowly picked himself up off the floor, cracked glasses hanging half off his face, and he roughly wiped the blood from his cheek. With a low sigh, he cast one last look up to the Heights Alliance staff dorm building that towered above him, before he limped around and dragged himself down the path to the gates.