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These meetings were going much better than Toshinori had expected. He’s glad, actually, that so many parents still believe in UA’s ability to care for their children. He’d fully expected to have to spend a long time with Aizawa at each home trying to gently convince family after family of UA’s dedication to students’ safety. Really, the fact that the Bakugou family hadn’t been any more against the idea of bringing their boy to an on-campus dormitory was shocking, and encouraging, though Toshinori had not allowed that to show.
Overall, the responses were more positive than they had any right to be, particularly since…well. No more All Might to watch over the students. Not that the rest of UA’s staff was any less competent, they would all gladly fight to their last for the safety of their students and mow through any villain that hadn’t given other pros trouble. But there is something to be said about having the Symbol of Peace taking care of your kid. He’s just glad that nearly all of them still had faith in the school.
Excepting Midoriya, of course…
Toshinori rubs the pad of his thumb over the cast still wrapped tightly around his right arm. He knew the tail end of that fight with All for One had been broadcast. Izuku must have seen it. Hopefully not in person, damn kid, hopefully he’d been smart enough to book it once he and his friends had snatched Bakugou away, but in some way, he must have.
His arms itch, even the broken one. He’d punched the kid for a good fucking reason. That reason was definitely his own fault. Pretending Midoriya had the same kind of control Toshinori had had over his quirk as soon as he got it was outright stupid. He should’ve known better. Should’ve thought more about what it meant to be this kid’s whole world, his whole reason for wanting so badly to be a hero, even as a quirkless middle school nobody. Stupid, stupid, stupid kid.
But now he wants to wrap the boy up in a hug for the next six or seven decades, centuries…however long Izuku could stand. Wants more of that beautifully broken release he’d felt on Dagobah, clutching that stupid kid with his good arm, and hoping it would be enough. Wants to crush him against his rail-thin chest, sob into his messy green frizz of hair, and tell him how sorry he is for how he’s failed as the boy’s teacher until his throat bleeds, and then tell him again.
Except he can’t. More talking to be done. And with…
“Maybe you should sit this one out,” Aizawa mutters under his breath as the car pulls up. The names Todoroki Shouto and Todoroki Enji glare up from the list of names Nezu had handed them that morning.
Endeavor was hardly a pleasant man to interact with on a decent day. He’d certainly been a major help with the fight, blasting Nomu away like they were little more than paper scraps, and even giving Toshinori time to cobble together a way to defeat All for One, which was a feat in itself. Maybe he didn’t know who that scrapyard pile of a man really was, but that doesn’t change the fact that even standing in his presence was dangerous. Toshinori was more grateful for Endeavor’s appearance than Todoroki would ever understand.
That isn’t going to make this talk any easier. Toshinori scratches a persistent itch on his right shoulder. “No, let me come with you. Better some help than none at all when it comes to Todoroki,” Toshinori says. Although, he thinks as he and Aizawa climb out of the nondescript black car, I suppose I might be more of a distraction than real help.
The silence from the house is simultaneously unsettling and expected. Todoroki would never let anyone outside know what he was thinking. Certainly not about…this.
Aizawa takes the lead, knocking solidly against the wooden door. The barest hint of a scuffle comes from behind it, though it could just be the scuff of feet against the floor.
The door slides open, revealing a young woman with shoulder-length gray hair flecked with scarlet. Fuyumi, his brain helpfully supplies. Shouto’s sister, listed as one of his emergency contacts along with his father. She glances between the two of them for a moment.
“We need to speak to Endeavor,” Aizawa says, and the statement clearly makes Fuyumi nervous.
She glances over her shoulder. “I…don’t know if this is the best time.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, but we’re here to discuss moving Shouto into the dormitories.” Aizawa adjusts his suit jacket over his arm. He nods towards Toshinori. “We’ve been to every other 1-A student’s home. As soon as we know if Shouto is permitted to move into the dormitories, we-“
“ALL MIGHT!”
Toshinori can’t help the small flinch at Endeavor’s deep roaring yell. He watches Fuyumi scurry out of the way as Endeavor suddenly appears in the doorway, wreathed in flame with all the fury of an elder god.
Over a couple of teachers at his door…
“What the hell are you doing here?!” Endeavor snarls. He doesn’t seem to even notice Aizawa, icy blue eyes trained on Toshinori. The attention is much more unnerving without the protection of One for All.
Aizawa, thankfully, is unbothered by Endeavor’s mood. He takes a subtle half-step forward, inclining his head. “Todoroki Enji. We’re here to discuss moving your son into UA’s dormitories.”
For a moment, it seems as if Endeavor doesn’t hear the words, content to glare and snarl at Toshinori until the sun sets. When his eyes flick away to Aizawa, Toshinori assumes that he’ll just give whatever answer he’d arrived at and storm off, and the pair of them can go back to UA with good news. An exhausting, but productive day, and one closer to the new school year.
But no. Endeavor is hungry for a fight and won’t let them leave without one, Toshinori realizes when the man steps over the threshold.
“I got that damn paper!” He growls. Endeavor steps toward Toshinori, jabbing a finger accusingly at his chest. “You… You just walked away!” Endeavor’s hand clenched to a fist again, and Toshinori almost expected him to throw a punch. “You walked away, and now-! Look at you!”
Suffering from throngs of media trying to trip him up on the daily means that Toshinori is very practiced in keeping his expression neutral. Behind that mask, though, he can feel his remaining insides twist and tangle with Endeavor’s words. He tries to tell himself that Enji is just lashing out, just needs to be angry at something, and better him than his kids. Unfortunately, those words are clawing at wounds that have barely had time to scab over.
Gran Torino had noticed. Toshinori had collapsed before he could settle into the ambulance, thankfully after the cameras had moved on, but he couldn’t keep his grasp on consciousness. In his mind, All for One’s words had swirled and whipped, a typhoon of regret and rage and utterly breaking pain. They’d battered against him, throwing his world off-balance, reopening the horrible wound of Nana’s death after he’d done his damnedest to sew up that jagged, gnarled gash over his heart.
You know he was just trying to get a rise out of you.
I know.
He just wanted you to stop thinking clearly.
I know.
Stop beating yourself up, Toshi. It’s done now.
I know.
Maybe he did know, somewhere in his head. But Toshinori couldn’t make the cuts hurt less. He’d just done what he knew would help – distracted himself. Pretended he didn’t notice. Hoped nobody else noticed, either.
Somehow, Endeavor’s flames seem to leap higher. “You enjoyed toying with me, you rat!” He’s clenching his teeth so hard that it must hurt. “And now you look like this!” Endeavor takes another step. “Now, I can’t take that number one place from you!”
His hand shoots out.
Toshinori’s locked into the movement as soon as it starts, but he doesn’t know what he’s able to do about it. Before, he’d had the protection of his quirk and that would be that. But puffing up with the Midoriyas, even that handful of seconds, took every last ounce of energy he had been able to muster.
He’s just angry. Enji’s just worked up. He’s-
In a moment, Endeavor’s flames disappear, and the loss of them is enough to make him halt. Toshinori is nearly cross-eyed with Endeavor’s massive palm hovering just in front of his face, barely an inch from grabbing him. He glances to his left.
Aizawa’s hair is still pulled back, styled like it had been for the media address, but the loose ends spilling over his shoulders have lifted, and his eyes shimmer with a dangerous red glow. “Todoroki.” He doesn’t raise his voice. There’s no need. His tone brooks no argument, not even from Endeavor. “Just tell us if you’ll give consent for Shouto to move into the dormitories or not. Take your anger out on someone that deserves it.”
The three of them are stock still for what seems like hours. Toshinori worries about Aizawa after a few seconds go by, how painful it must be to hold his quirk for this long, just to tame a moody father.
“Father?” Aizawa finally blinks as Endeavor is forced to turn around to address his son. Toshinori makes a mental note to make coffee for him when they get back with that house-made blend he seems to love so much. “Is it UA?”
Endeavor huffs. “Yes,” he grumbles, throwing one last fiery glare to the pair of teachers before stomping back into his home. “You have my consent for Shouto to stay,” he half-yells over his shoulder.
Shouto sighs with the type of resigned exasperation expected from a parent more than a child. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Aizawa. All Might. Sorry you had to deal with him.”
Toshinori puts on his best smile for the young man and rubs the back of his neck. “Not to worry, young Todoroki. We’re looking forward to seeing you again once classes are back in session.”
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” Toshinori and Aizawa stare at Shouto as the boy looks over his shoulder at apparently nothing. He turns back to his teachers with a slight furrow to his brow. “You did more than you needed to, at Kamino Ward.” Toshinori suddenly wishes to melt into a puddle and slither away. The young Todoroki is terribly perceptive, but the sharp analysis is difficult to endure after being so thoroughly beaten down by his father’s overwhelming heat. Shouto suddenly bows. “Thank you, for doing everything to save Bakugou.”
“I-“
“Good afternoon.” The boy doesn’t slam the door shut, but it’s a near thing.
Toshinori can’t suppress the full-body shudder that runs through him. He suddenly feels exhausted in a bone-deep way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.
Aizawa nudges his elbow, turning back to the car. “We’re done. Nezu needs to know we got parental consent for everyone from 1-A.”
“Right. Right…”
They start walking back to the car. No more families to talk to, everyone’s parents have given consent for them to move into dorms, so it would just be a matter of waiting for the buildings to get put up and students to settle in.
Toshinori’s shuffling steps slow to a stop. His whole body feels like it’s suddenly made of lead and iron. Things he used to not think of as very heavy. His chest feels constricted. His head feels light. The bright, cheery midday light swirls in his vision, every outline wavy and unsure.
There’s a hand on his shoulder. From…someone. Aizawa. The man is looking at him, his mouth is moving, but Toshinori can’t hear what he’s saying. Some slight pressure on his good side has him shuffling around, then pulled down to sit on the curb.
Everything hurts. Not that that’s terribly abnormal, Toshinori’s used to pain at all hours of the day. This hurt feels different than that, though. A constant, steady pull, ripping him apart thread by loose thread, even though there aren’t many left.
Aizawa’s hand lifts away for a moment to rest against his wrapped forehead. The slight heat of his hand is muffled by the bandages, but it feels nice all the same. It’s merely warm, not like Endeavor’s blazing inferno boiling his face off his skull.
The warmth disappears. Toshinori nearly whines. His brain feels like it’s been deep-fried; he can’t get more than a few mildly coherent thoughts pulled together. Everything is too much and not enough. Everything hurts and soothes. Everything burns and freezes. His broken, destroyed arm itches like a thousand insects are burrowing just under the skin.
Suddenly something is being pushed into his good hand. Someone’s talking to him. Nudging him.
Toshinori slowly follows the guiding touches. He isn’t sure he could fight them if he wanted to. Water spills into his mouth and he swallows it. His mouth is dry. Dehydrated. He’s dehydrated.
That’s not the only thing making him feel like this, but it’s obviously not helping. His mind is clearing up, steadily, so he continues drinking in small, measured sips from the bottle he’d been given. By the time the bottle is empty, he’s at least got his bearings again.
He glances to Aizawa. He wants to be embarrassed, but Aizawa is so unjudgmental that he can’t manage it.
“You aren’t starving yourself, too, are you?”
Toshinori manages a strangled chuckle. “Not intentionally.” Aizawa doesn’t respond. He’s just waiting for an explanation. Which he deserves, considering how he’d just helped without any hesitation, knowing exactly what he needed to get and offer and how. Toshinori rubs the seam of his slacks. “Sorry you had to see that,” he says in lieu of that explanation.
Aizawa shrugs. “Most people need a break after dealing with the hothead.”
The casual antagonizing nickname makes Toshinori smile. It shouldn’t – Endeavor is a commendable hero in his own right – but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “Yeah, suppose so.”
“That’s not what that was, though.”
“…No,” Toshinori admits quietly. Aizawa has always been an expert at cutting him down to size, slicing through his chipper projections like he was made for it. There’s no point trying to lie to him.
Aizawa reaches up to pull his hair down from the styled messy bun. His dark hair falls back over his shoulders, and he drags his fingers through it until it more closely resembles his usual look. “You didn’t get like that because of Todoroki,” he states blithely.
Toshinori sighs. “No.” He should say more, but he can’t find the words. Not right now.
“How did it go with Midoriya?”
How did it go? How did it go? It went fucking terribly, he wants to scream. This boy is the second human being I’ve ever felt true, genuine connection with, and his mother cut me open with all the ways I’ve failed him and left me to bleed.
It would have been easier if this had been a few years earlier. Even after that first injury and his sudden time limit on his power, Toshinori would have buffed up and shot off in a split second, dived down into the Pacific Ocean, opened his mouth and screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed until he got sick of the salt water flooding his mouth.
But he can’t now. Can’t just run off and deal with this ugly mess.
He glances to Aizawa, who merely stares back with stubborn patience. If there was anyone he’d tell…
Toshinori shifts, pulling his knees up to his chest despite the protest of the wound on his left side. He just wants to feel a little smaller for a change. Less of a target for once. “His mother refused, at first.” The constricting band around his chest tightens. “She…made some very good points about Izuku’s recurring injuries.”
“She was right to.” Aizawa is staring him down with barely furrowed brows when Toshinori looks over. “I recall making my own statement to you about it.”
Toshinori huffs a quiet, tired laugh. “You did.” He wraps his left arm around his knees. “So she didn’t think he should come back to UA. She did change her mind,” he adds quickly, “I didn’t lie about that.”
Aizawa makes a soft, breathy sound that sort of sounds like a laugh. “I didn’t think you did.”
“O-oh. Um.”
“Relax. If we hadn’t been working together for so long, I might have.” The pair are silent for a moment. Grass and trees rustle with the gentle breeze, and birds chirp merrily among the branches above them. “It was what she said, wasn’t it?” Toshinori hugs his knees tighter to his chest. “Her reasons for not wanting Midoriya to come back. That’s why?”
He wonders why Aizawa asks. There can’t be any doubt in his mind if he managed to pinpoint it so easily. Toshinori doesn’t want to say it out loud. It feels like shamelessly baring an open wound to a villain.
Aizawa, however, is silent. Toshinori knows that he won’t let this go so easily. So, he sighs. A heavy, broken expulsion of air. “Yes,” he replies, as quietly as he can.
The birdsong feels like a slap in the face. So happy, so cheery, so carefree – a betrayal of his crushed spirit. A warm, beautiful summer day is so offensive, suddenly. It should be storming. Typhoon, tsunami, simple thunderstorms, anything more befitting how he feels.
“She’s not wrong to be worried-”
“I know.”
“-but it’s more than that for you.” Toshinori doesn’t respond. He swallows hard against the dry lump in his throat. “You’re not his father, are you?”
Toshinori coughs, caught off-guard by the bland statement, and blood sprays out over his curled fist. Now he feels more light-headed. “N-no! Of course not.”
Aizawa simply shrugs. “You act like it.” Toshinori’s brow pinches. You act like it. Some days he feels like it. He…wishes he was Izuku’s real father.
During their ten months of training at Dagobah, they’d had plenty of time for small talk. They didn’t do much of it at first – Izuku was focusing too much on his training and Toshinori was still doing some last-minute clerical work to get into his position at UA – so the little they exchanged was mostly inconsequential. The longer they trained together, though, the more they talked, and the more Toshinori had learned of the boy.
His father had come up unintentionally. Toshinori had just been trying to be polite, encourage the boy on his way home, and mentioned how his mother and father would be worried if he stayed out too long, particularly after the encounter with the sludge villain.
Izuku had looked – struck. Like Toshinori had reared back and backhanded him. He hadn’t known how to take it at the time, stuttered out an uneasy apology and told the boy to keep his head up.
A few days later, Izuku had properly opened up about it over a helping of takoyaki during lunch. His parents were still legally married, but he hadn’t seen his father since he was a young toddler. Apparently, he worked abroad, or that’s what he told his family. Money was still sent back to them, enough that his mother didn’t need to work more than part-time to handle bills, but Izuku’s father hadn’t come around to see his wife and son for well over a decade.
Toshinori couldn’t help it. He’d gotten angry. Izuku had flinched away, assuming he’d said something wrong, but Toshinori had pulled the boy back to him and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he deserved better than an absentee father. That he was far stronger than that man, with or without One for All.
Maybe he’d been reminded too strongly of his own parents. Maybe he’d looked at that boy and seen what Shimura Nana had seen in that scrawny blond teenager all those years ago – a bright, beautiful little star that the world had tried desperately to blacken.
“It doesn’t matter if I act like it,” Toshinori spits out, bitter at himself more than Aizawa. “I’m not.”
“You may as well be.”
“What difference does it make?” He barks. “Whatever my relationship is to Izuku, I failed him either way!” Toshinori grits his teeth, glaring down at his broken body. He can’t do anything else.
“The difference is pretty obvious.” So matter-of-fact. Damn him. “Midoriya’s mother told you why she didn’t want him back at UA, and you interpreted it as how terrible of a father you are.”
“And?”
Aizawa stares him dead in the eyes, long enough for Toshinori to be uncomfortable, though he still refused to look away. “And you need to think about that.”
“I-“
“You haven’t. Otherwise, Todoroki wouldn’t have gotten to you the way he did.” Aizawa heaves a sigh and leans back, propped up with his hands flat against the matted grass. “Look, I don’t care what your actual connection with Midoriya is. But you obviously see him as your son, and it’s hard to deny that he sees you as his father.”
His dark eyes drift up to the gentle light filtering through the bright summer foliage. Toshinori follows his gaze upwards. Friendly, puffy clouds bob along soft blue sky between the gaps in the leaves and branches. Insects and birds flit by.
Pretty. Peaceful. Pleasant. So different from that bloody, hellish fight a scant week ago.
“If you think of Midoriya as your son, and what his mother said hurt you that much… Use it.” Toshinori tilts his head. Just barely visible between branches, arcing up into the sky on its very own little twig, was a tiny flower bud. Aizawa sighs beside him. “He wants you to be proud of him.”
High above, the little flower bud trembles in the wind. One of its petals peels away for a moment before settling again. Toshinori feels hot tears spill over his cheeks. “I am.”
A hand – not his own – reaches up and wipes the tears away. Toshinori glances down to Aizawa, drawing his hand back to rest behind him.
He manages to grin as he rubs his other cheek dry. “Thank you. You’re…much better at this than me.”
Aizawa makes a noncommittal hum. “I’ve been doing it longer.” After another moment of silence, Aizawa rises to his feet, groaning and grumbling about sitting on the curb for so long. “Come on, we’ve wasted enough time.”
With a small amount of difficulty, Toshinori clambers upright as well, ignoring the many pops and creaks of his joints. “I suppose I owe you another round of drinks for this.”
Aizawa…he actually smiles. It’s small, unpracticed, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Don’t worry about it. This one was free.” He gives a friendly shove as they approach the car. “But you do owe me for erasing Endeavor before he seared your face off.”
Toshinori laughs - and for the first time in over a week, he feels a little lighter.