Work Text:
It was a gut feeling.
An insanely strong gut feeling that had him awake, fully dressed, and pacing at two thirty in the morning on a Wednesday.
It wasn’t something he could ignore. He’d learned over the years to trust his instincts. They’d saved him more times than he could count.
But there wasn’t anything wrong. He didn’t know why he was so alert and on edge.
Hizashi was fine. He’d checked repeatedly on his sleeping husband. The man was fine. The school was fine. He’d checked the security footage and the alarms. Nothing wrong there. And his students had all been accounted for when he set the dorm's alarm a few hours ago. He’d kept an eye on the cameras around their building and hadn’t received a single notification about any of them leaving.
Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong.
He didn’t need to be pacing this much.
He should just curl up next to Hizashi, let the man invade his personal space, and try to get some sleep.
It’s the rational thing to do.
.
.
.
But he can’t just ignore the feeling.
He turned again to walk back up the hall way stopping mid-step at the dreaded sound of a phone ringing.
In some way it was a blessing, he’d finally know what was wrong, but that meant that something was wrong.
~brrrrrrring~
He spun back around, quickly making his way back to the living room in search of the demonic little device. As a hero and a teacher, he had developed the habit of keeping his phone on him at all times, only silencing when he was on patrol. That didn’t stop the thing from disappearing on occasion.
~brrrrrrring~
It wasn’t on the coffee table or on the couch. Unless it fell down a crack? No. Kitchen?
~brrrrrrring~
No. He did some work at the table earlier so maybe it’s- ...under one of the many stacks of paper covering the table.
~brrrrrrring~
He shuffled through the papers quickly, ignoring the order he had meticulously placed them in earlier. He could hear the phone, it was close and he could fix the papers later. Whatever this call was about had to be important.
~brrrrrrri -
“Aizawa,” he said quickly, answering the phone with desperate curiosity that, like many things, wouldn't be conveyed through his tone of voice.
“Oh…. sorry… I didn’t think you would answer,” a tired voice said.
It was a voice Shota knew well, he’d recognize it anywhere, and with the added sleepiness his problem child sounded too much like a child. He knew who it was, but still frowned in concern as he checked the caller ID.
“Midoryia? Are you alright?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice level despite his rising panic. What was his kid calling him for at two in the morning?
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Izuku said, voice slightly slurred, “really sleepy.”
“I can tell,” Shota said, calming marginally but still alert, “What are you calling about?”
“Well… I didn’t think you’d pick up,” he said slowly, “I just… wanna tell you something. Do you think… we could pretend this is a voice message and you could… just not talk?”
Shota frowned, shifting to sit on the armrest of the couch. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, but what? “Sure thing kid,” he said, “You talk, I listen.”
“Thanks, sensei,” Izuku breathed, pausing for a long moment to try and collect his thoughts, “Well… I just wanted… to thank you. For everything.”
Shotas frown deepened and he stood up to begin pacing again. He wanted to say something but kept quiet like he said he would and listened.
“You’ve done so much for us, 1-A… and for me… You’ve taught me a lot… and put your life on the line to protect us… I just… I want you to know that I’m very thankful to have been able to learn from you…”
His mental alarm started going off, blaring loudly with flashing lights. Something was definitely wrong. His pacing slowed and he sat down again before standing right back up.
“You’re just the best teacher I’ve had… and I know… I could always count on you… So… I’m sorry,” Izuku said slowly, words starting to slur into each other.
“Midoriya, kid, I need you to talk to me. What’s going on?” Shota asked, already wrapping his capture weapon around himself as he headed towards the door.
“Wha? I thought this was a voice… mailbox,” Izuku said, stumbling over his confusion, “Whyyyyy can I hear you?”
“Just tell me what’s happening around you kid. Where are you?” Shota asked running through the halls of the teachers' apartments. He didn’t wait for a response before pulling the phone away from him to check Izuku's location.
“I’m… uh… I’m jus… really tired,” he slurred.
Shotas feet hit the ground at a full sprint, the building door slamming behind him as he made a b-line for 1-A’s dorm. He didn’t even notice that he was still in his house slippers.
“Midoryia I need you to tell me what's going on.
“You can’t go to sleep, kid. Stay awake.
“Midoriya. Midoriya .
“Midoriya. Midoriya .
“ Izuku! ”
Shota vaulted up the front steps of the dormitory, quickly unlocking the door before wrenching it open.
There was a soft gasp on the other side of the line followed by a barely coherent mumble of, “I jus wan take a nap.”
“Do not take a nap,” Shota said, trying to sound stern but hearing the desperation in his own voice. He was already running up the stairs, honestly sort of hoping one of the other students would wake up.
“Did you take something?” He asked, voice raising as the other end went quiet. “Izuku! Did. You. Take. Something?”
There was a soft thud from Izuku's end and then the line went silent, sending a shock of panic through Shota.
He finally made it to the fourth floor, leaving the stairwell and sprinting down the hall. He grabbed the handle and- of course- the door was locked.
He wasted no time stepping back and slamming his heel above the lock. The door swung open, banging against the wall, and bounced back, hitting Shota as he barreled through.
His phone hit the floor and he followed it quickly. He dropped to his knees in front of the unconscious child, vaguely taking stock of the empty pill bottles.
He flipped him onto his back and laid him flat. He wasn’t breathing so he checked for a plus.
Distantly he heard a door open so he called out to them as he began chest compressions.
Then silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity.