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Shouto was wheezing.
Crouched beside him, one hand on his shoulder, Aizawa stared at his student’s face—blue lips, wide eyes, the blood splatter on the lower right of his jaw—and reached up. Gently, he brushed a few strands of white and red hair from Shouto’s eyes. They were blurred with pain and shock. His panting didn’t ease, even looking at Aizawa. The hoarse, ragged sound to every breath was bad enough. The dark, hand-shaped burns and bruises around his throat hurt to look at. He twitched. His shoulders stiffened, curling in on himself. He wheezed again. “Hey, hey,” he started. Turning, he grabbed the oxygen he’d brought in with him. Quickly, he set it up. Then, he pressed the mask to Shouto’s face. “Breathe. Deep breaths. You’re going to be okay.”
Shouto whimpered softly. Jolting, he flinched away from Aizawa’s touch, squeezed his eyes shut. Curling his arms closer to his chest, he sucked in a weak breath. His eyes widened, though. He started breathing deeper. The blue of his lips, between all the blood, started to turn a bit red again. Cyanosis. He’s not getting enough air. Anxiety? Hyperventilation?
“I need to touch you, just to check for head and spine injuries. I’ll make it quick.” He swore.
Shouto just barely managed a nod. His eyes barely managed to track Aizawa as he leaned over him, trying to get a better look at the wounds smattered across Shouto’s skin. They were painfully visible, his shirt was burned away. From the patterns, the handprints marking his skin, it wasn’t Shouto’s fire that had done that. Carefully, delicately, Aizawa felt down Shouto’s spine, felt his head and neck and grimaced when the kid winced. His hand twitched, fingers curling in on his palms. He gasped in pain.
“I know, I know, Problem Child. It’s okay.” Aizawa murmured. Then, pausing, he said, “It’s okay, Shouto.”
“Problem—Child is fine.” He rasped. “Little bit—of normalcy.”
“Okay. Okay.” Wincing, Aizawa frowned. He couldn’t feel any breaks , but with the marks on Shouto’s back, he was pretty sure there was at least bruising to his spine. His whole back was either burns, blood, or bruises. Dark bruises, too, almost black with blood. There was more bruising on his neck. Too much bruising on his neck. His ribs were wrong .
But they needed to solve those blue lips first. Shouto didn’t look hypothermic, it was way more likely to be cyanosis than it was hypothermia. Carefully, Aizawa turned to the oxygen, checked the amount that Shouto was going to be getting, then double-checked the straps holding it in place. A hand fell on his wrist, squeezed briefly. Aizawa clutched Shouto’s hand gently, turning to look at him. Gray and blue eyes focused on him, wide and terrified.
This shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry, Shouto, Aizawa thought. Gently, he reached over, brushed Shouto’s hair back from his face. Wheezing, Shouto coughed. Red spattered the inside of the mask.
“It’s going to be okay, Shouto.” He swore. “I promise you. It’s going to be okay.”
Shouto jerked his head down in a nod.
Turning, Aizawa shouted into the hall, “I need a gurney!” There were people moving. Someone paused in the doorway, someone with some kind of eye Quirk. They blinked, there was a quiet camera click , and then they turned.
“Tsukauchi! Get in here!” Turning back, they added, “Sorry, I have—I have to take photos of the scene—”
“Just go and get someone who can help, then!” Aizawa snapped. Next to him, Shouto flinched and then gasped again. He turned back to the kid. There was more blood on the inside of the oxygen mask. There was more blood running from his mouth. “Hey, hey, focus on me. Focus on me.”
“Hurts.” Shouto rasped. When he shifted, his legs moved. His face paled. Glancing down, Aizawa grimaced. Those legs were definitely broken. In the gaps of Shouto’s torn shirt, he could see more bruising on Shouto’s stomach. Frowning, he reached out carefully. When he pressed his fingers to Shouto’s stomach, there was another flinch.
He’s bleeding internally. He realized. Then, Tsukauchi was there, with a few medics at his side. “He’s bleeding internally.” He said quickly, turning to look at them. Shouto’s broken fingers tightened on his wrist. Glancing down, Shouto brushed his hair back again. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“Let’s get him on here. Any spinal injuries?”
“Bruising, I think. I couldn’t feel any fractures. His ribs are destroyed, though.” Aizawa cautioned. With a nod, the paramedics went to him.
Getting Shouto onto the gurney hurt—him and Aizawa both. They had to move him fast, holding him by the arms and as delicately by the legs as they could. He cried out weakly, turning to Aizawa with something like terror on his face. “Sorry, sorry, it’s okay, kid—” Tsukauchi said, grimacing.
Aizawa stayed right by Shouto’s side as they hurried to the ambulance. He saw a brief glimpse of Todoroki Fuyumi, crying and nursing a broken cheekbone with an ice pack and both eyes blackened. (From what he knew, she’d tried to stop Endeavor. She’d been hit as a result. Even though she was fireproof, thanks to her Quirk, it still hurt. It still broke her cheekbone and eye socket, she was still going to need to go to hospital. But she’d insisted on staying.) Her eyes flicked to Shouto and Aizawa.
Something like fire crossed her eyes.
Turning to the detective, she started talking. Aizawa dragged himself into the ambulance beside Shouto. The kid wasn’t letting his hand go, he didn’t have much of a choice.
Under the paramedics’ hands, the kid gasped. His eyes flicked around in a panic, landed on Aizawa. His gaze had gotten glassier. Shock. He’s still in shock. Holding his hand as carefully as possible, Aizawa murmured something to him. He didn’t know what he said, exactly. He just knew that he was talking, and the kid was looking at him.
The paramedics continued to work, and Shouto just stared at him.
“Sixteen broken ribs, a punctured left lung, a collapsed right lung. Severe bruising, internal bleeding, blood loss, spinal bruising.”
Aizawa paced back and forth where he stood. His boots thudded softly on the concrete in the interrogation room. At the table, Endeavor scowled at him. Tsukauchi continued to read.
“A bruised spleen. A bruised right kidney. Broken ankles, broken lower legs—tibia and fibula. Broken right femur. Broken wrists, broken hands. His trachea is bruised. Severe bruising to wrists and arms, which are known as defensive wounds. Lots of bruises ranging from first-degree to second-degree bordering on third.” Looking up, Tsukauchi asked, “Do I need to continue?”
Endeavor said nothing.
Tsukauchi decided to continue. “Severe shock, from the burns, pain, and from hypovolemia. That’s blood loss, by the way. Are you aware that we almost lost him on the table a few times? A mix of respiratory distress and shock, if I remember correctly.” Flipping the page, Tsukauchi glanced up once. “We’ve spoken with Natuso and Fuyumi as well. I would say I was surprised how quickly they turned on you, but I guess seeing their brother get wheeled out on a stretcher covered in blood gave them a bit of courage. They’re all quite brave. We even managed to talk to Rei. None of them think very highly of you.”
Endeavor looked at Aizawa. “You were planning this, weren’t you?” He asked gruffly. Holding his gaze, Aizawa narrowed his eyes. He said nothing. “You’ve wanted me to go down forever. What did you tell him?”
Aizawa said nothing.
Tsukauchi continued to read off the papers.
Shouto’s friends had swarmed the hospital room.
Of course, Mic had let them in. Mic himself was standing at the doorway, nodding to Aizawa when he slipped by. Midoriya, Uraraka, Bakugou, Iida, Momo, Kirishima, and Tsu were all curled up in Shouto’s room. From the look of the waiting room, they weren’t the only ones there. They were just the ones who’d been let in . Jirou had been putting together a playlist with Kaminari and Tokoyami’s help. Shoji had his arms crossed, eyes closed, listening.
There wasn’t much to listen to. No movement from Shouto. He wasn’t saying anything. Hard to, when he had a tube down his throat and his eyes were closed. His neck was bandaged, there were more bandages crisscrossing his skin under the thin hospital gown and sheets. (The tube had been a necessity. He faded during surgery, on the table. With one collapsed lung and the other punctured, the doctors decided it would be better to give him… support. It didn’t really feel like support.) The heart monitor was going steady, there were electrodes attached to his head, there was an IV in his arm.
Bakugou was sitting by Midoriya’s side, both of them in chairs pulled right up to Shouto’s bedside. Still, Bakugou was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed and head tipped forward, eyes closed. As for Midoriya, he was holding Shouto’s hand with a kind of delicacy, around the casts and splints. Uraraka had curled in on herself, knees pulled to her chest and hands tucked to her heart, head ducked. Next to her, Tsu and Iida had also tried to curl up on the chairs. Iida was slumped to the side, resting his chin on his palm with his eyes closed. Beside him, Tsu had leaned over against his shoulder. Neither looked comfortable. Kirishima was sleeping on the floor. Momo had pulled another chair to Shouto’s other side, elbows propped on the bed with her hair down and her head bowed.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Aizawa sighed, “He’s not going to wake up anytime soon, Shoji. I’ll let you know if he does.” He said to the wall, knowing that his student was listening in. “Get some rest. You all need it.”
Carefully stepping over Kirishima, he settled down in a chair at the foot of Shouto’s bed.
When he woke, it was to someone stacking crackers on his head.
“Ssh, ssh, he’s going to wake up!” Uraraka whispered.
“I still think this is highly inappropriate—”
“No one cares, Four Eyes—”
“—to use our teacher in such a way—”
“Your turn, Bakubro!” A pause. “You want to beat Midoriya, don’t you?”
“Whatever.” There was some quiet shuffling, and then someone was balancing another cracker on his head. Aizawa almost didn’t want to open his eyes and ruin the fun. Also…it was a test of when they would notice he was awake. Nothing more. He did need to decide on some slightly easier work for Shouto to do while he recovered. Something like this would allow him to—
Bakugou balanced another cracker on his head.
Thankfully, Shouto woke up surrounded by his friends and his teacher.
Sitting beside his bed, leaning over and reading from a pre-Quirk poet’s writings (“Acquainted with the Night”, Robert Frost. Perhaps a little depressing, but perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe that could be what Shouto needed in the moment. Something that recognized that things weren’t okay, but things would be okay.)
Groaning, Shouto tilted his head to the side. He sucked in a slow breath. Then, with a heavier breath, he squeezed Midoriya’s hand. The heart monitor sped up a little bit more. His eyes cracked open. “H—hey,” he rasped. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, he moved to reach up for the oxygen mask affixed to his face. Blinking again, he looked around. “What—”
“You’re awake!” Midoriya said, grinning at him. He kept his grip on Shouto’s hand the whole time, like he might die if Midoriya let him go. “How do you feel? Do you need water? Do you want something to eat?”
Reaching over, Bakugou yanked him back down by the shirt with a cross expression, saying, “He just woke up, nerd. Give him a moment to breathe.” Face flushed, Midoriya sat down. Shouto glanced around the room. His eyes landed on Aizawa.
“My father…?”
“In custody. All his assets have been transferred over to Fuyumi.” Tilting his head to the side, Aizawa added, “She’s now your legal guardian, alongside Yuuei during the investigation.”
Relief flooded his student’s face, and he swallowed. Still, something must have broken in him. His breathing quickened. Then, raising his free hand to his face, Shouto took a shuddery breath. He pulled himself upright, despite the protests of those around him. Curling in on himself, clutching Midoriya back like a lifeline, Shouto hid his face with his hand. He started gasping for breaths, shoulders shaking. Carefully, Momo pulled herself up onto the bed, pulling him in and letting him sink into her and Midoriya. The hand hiding his face came around to clutch at her back, bandaged fingers tangling in the back of her sweater.
She looked at Aizawa over Shouto’s head, black eyes soft and worried. Then, looking back at Shouto, she rubbed a hand between his shoulders and murmured something to him. They’d fix things in time.
For now, he was content with this.