Work Text:
The bad guy had named himself Hercules.
He wasn’t even Greek. Actually, no, Aizawa had sat listening to his husband ramble on about Greco-Roman literature to know that technically, his name should be Heracles, so this dude wasn’t even Roman. Or Italian. Or anything that would make the name Heracles make sense. He wasn’t even sticking to the theme. His costume was a three-piece suit. At least the Scourge of Kamino could argue for dramatics, or that he was so much more of a threat than Hercules. He could probably pay for replacing the three-piece suit a thousand times over, anyways.
Dodging to the side, Aizawa twisted and then grabbed his capture scarf. Slinging it around Midoriya’s middle, he yanked him away. The kid glanced back, nodded, and then sent an air blast or whatever it was in Hercules’ direction. Taking the hit, he went skidding back. The street crumbled around him. Growling, Hercules straightened up.
Charging in, Aizawa went to punch him in the face. Ducking to the side, Hercules went to grab him. Midoriya jumped in. Hercules’ meaty hand wrapped around Midoriya’s wrist. With a laugh, Hercules launched him into a building. Aizawa caught a glimpse of Midoriya’s bright green hair before he disappeared. Then, he reappeared again, throwing a punch. Aizawa went skidding and then twisted to kick Hercules in the shin. Midoriya managed to kick him in the face. Hercules’ head snapped to the side. Then, he grabbed Midoriya around the middle.
Aizawa was thrown back, a hand wrapping around his ankle. The world flipped. Twisting again, he landed.
It was a bright, sunny day. Almost too bright, too sunny, too perfect. The sky was an unusually bright blue. Aizawa should have known that it would turn out like this. Midoriya skidded to a stop on the asphalt beside him. Turning, he glanced at Aizawa. “Are you okay?” His kid asked.
“I’m fine. You?” Midoriya jerked his head in a nod. The both of them focused back on Hercules. “What’s your analysis, kid?”
“He’s got a basic strength Quirk, which means he’s better at melee fighting. If we want to try and limit property damage,” Midoriya rolled to the side, grabbed him, and yanked Aizawa out of the way of a thrown car. The blue sedan went flying by, crashing into a fire hydrant and sending a burst of water up into the air. As if nothing had happened, Midoriya continued, “Then we’re going to want to stay close. He’s already caused a lot of damage. We could continue ranged, or we could run in and try to finish this. Erasure should work on him, though.”
“Right. I’ll snag him with the scarf, use Erasure. You kick him in the head and knock him out.” Nodding, Midoriya ran forward. Triggering Erasure, letting the world turn red at the edges, Aizawa threw his scarf forward again. It wrapped around Hercules’ middle, trapped his arms at his side—Midoriya sprang up, went for a kick—
His heel collided with Hercules’ temple.
The man dropped to his knees, eyes shuttering closed. Then, he tilted forwards. Smacking face-first into the ground, he let out an awkward sound and slumped even more. His face was mashed into the asphalt. It was almost satisfying (Aizawa totally didn’t hide an “Aizawa smirk” behind his scarf, Hizashi. He was a fre-pessional, as Eri liked to say). Beside him, Midoriya stayed crouched and then pressed his fingers to Hercules’ pulse. He waited. Aizawa stayed where he was. Then, Midoriya sent him a thumbs-up, standing.
Aizawa approached, releasing his scarf and wrapping it around his hand as he went. “Good work, Midoriya. Here.” He tossed some manacles to him. Quickly, Midoriya locked them around Hercules’ wrists. Turning, Aizawa waved over an officer. “We should get back to patrol.”
“Really?” Midoriya’s eyes brightened, and he grinned.
Looking at him, Aizawa arched a brow and asked, “Did you think patrols ended because you caught a villain?”
As they walked, Midoriya laughed and rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand, “Well, I was worried you might have us head back. With the whole villain magnet thing and all.”
“I don’t see the point. It’s illogical to take you off the streets and end patrol early because of a fight that went well. If you ended up in the hospital, then you would be forced to,” Aizawa started, “but that didn’t happen, did it?”
Midoriya grinned at him. “I guess not.” Then, he added, “Do you think he knew that Hercules is the Roman name for the Greek Heracles? Though, he didn’t seem to have a theme. Other than the super strength. He really just had the Quirk going for him. Why not go by the name Goliath? He was super tall, but that doesn’t really matter because Goliath was also a warrior and would have had a theme, too, so it’s like—”
Midoriya jolted, letting out a choked noise.
Coughing, he stumbled forward. Blood spurted from his mouth. Freezing, Aizawa stared at him for a second—a lung injury? A mouth injury? But what—one of his students’ hands went to his stomach. Aizawa dropped his gaze. There was screaming behind them.
There was a piece of rebar protruding from Midoriya’s stomach, emerging bloodied and rusty from his hero costume. Blinking, Midoriya stumbled. He sucked in a weak breath, tilted forwards. His eyes dulled out. Shit. Aizawa darted in, grabbing him—have to keep him from falling on the wound—
What happened?
“Eraserhead, behind you!” Someone screamed. Turning, Aizawa caught a glimpse of Hercules back on his feet, standing with one arm extended like—like he’d just thrown a javelin. Or a piece of rebar. Turning, Hercules grabbed another piece of rebar from some nearby debris. Aizawa blinked, Erasure filling his vision as he cradled Midoriya in his arms. The kid gasped raggedly.
One of the bystanders ran in, jumping onto Hercules’ back as he struggled with the rebar without his strength. They locked an arm around Hercules’ neck, used their other hand to yank his blazer and shirt to the side, and bit him. Hercules roared, letting go of the rebar and stumbling back. He grabbed onto the person’s hair. They kept biting.
Ripping them from his shoulder, Hercules turned. Someone skidded to a stop by Aizawa, “I’ll help keep pressure on the wound. You go help!” They ordered, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide purple eyes. Nodding, Aizawa shoved himself up and launched back into the fight, eyes burning.
Hercules stamped on the ground when he blinked, sending pieces of dirt and asphalt into the air. Blinking again, Aizawa rolled to the side. Hercules grabbed dirt and asphalt from the ground. He threw it back. Dirt splashed across Aizawa’s face. Crying out, he dropped down and struck blindly. His eyes stung. A fist slammed into his back. Turning, he grabbed his dagger and drove it into Hercules’ calf. There was a roar of pain. Kneeling over him, Hercules reeled back. Aizawa twisted, rolling onto his back and then hooking a leg around Hercules’ knee. With a twist, he squinted past the burning of his eyes and erased Hercules’ Quirk, then threw him to the ground. The person who had bit him, a blur of gray and white, tackled Hercules again and smacked him into the road.
This time, Hercules’ wrists were locked behind his back with someone sitting on his neck to keep him down.
That someone was the person who had bit the man. Aizawa didn’t even care. Turning on his heel, he ran to Midoriya’s side, dropping to his knees by his student.
Lying on the ground with two people trying to stop the bleeding, Midoriya panted. Green eyes wide, he glanced at Aizawa, eyes glazed with panic and pain. “Hey, Problem Child.” He said, reaching out. He settled a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. There was more blood on the ground, on Midoriya’s face, streaming from the corner of his mouth and pooling on the asphalt under his face.
“The rebar hit him in the lung. We called an ambulance.” The first person, the one with purple eyes who had shouted at Aizawa to finish the fight, said. Nodding, Aizawa turned back to Midoriya. “Just keep him calm. We’ll keep the pressure.”
“I’m going to cut the rebar. We’ll secure it. Taro, do you have your jacket?”
“Yeah.”
Reaching over, the second person grabbed the rebar about six inches from where it entered Midoriya’s back. Quietly, Midoriya whimpered. He clasped one hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Aizawa touched the back of his hand. Eyes snapping open, Midoriya looked up at him. He gulped, mouth drawing into a thin line and eyes terrified. “It’s going to be okay, Problem Child. I promise. I’ve got you.”
Midoriya stared at him, wide-eyed. There was more blood pooling on the ground. Even when Taro’s friend had cut through the other side of the rebar, even when the two of them had the bar secured in place with a hoodie, the white fabric was already soaking through with red. Aizawa clutched Midoriya’s hand a bit tighter. The kid’s skin was going cold from shock, from blood loss. They were running out of time. Hold on, kid.
You need to hold on.
Midoriya’s breathing got more ragged, blood running down his cheek more and more. The ground under them was rough. The minutes ticked on—one, then two, then five, and then ten. The sirens got closer—
The ambulance couldn’t make it. Wheezing, clinging to his arm, Midoriya groaned weakly. He stared up at Aizawa, chillingly close to the number of times Aizawa had held a victim as they died. Don’t follow them. Don’t join them. Hold on, just a bit longer. Glancing back, he saw the ambulance screech to a stop. There was a problem with the road.
Ducking down, Aizawa dragged Midoriya into his arms. There was a weak grunt. Then, his head dropped against Aizawa’s collarbone. Apologizing to him, Aizawa started running. He was cradling Midoriya in his arms tightly, feeling wet blood pool against his stomach where it was running down Midoriya’s side. It wet his hands, too. Come on, kid. Just a hundred more feet. Just hold on.
He reached the ambulance.
“He needs help!” He roared. The paramedics already had the gurney prepped. They let Aizawa settle Midoriya down himself. He turned to the kid—a hand seized his, scarred fingers digging into his. The panic on his face was palpable. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.”
Midoriya’s eyes shuttered closed, head dropping back against the gurney.
“He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s still got a pulse.” One of the paramedics said, fixing an oxygen mask to Midoriya’s face. He was turned on his side, the rebar still through his stomach. Under them, the ambulance engine rumbled to life. They were driving already.
Aizawa didn’t let go of Midoriya’s hand until the surgeons had to kick him out of the room.
Jolting awake, Izuku scrambled for—something.
He actually didn’t know what he was reaching for. A weapon? A book? It was something. As he looked around, though, he spotted his mother crocheting in a chair on one side of his bed. On the other side of his bed, Aizawa was in the other chair. Covered in a crochet blanket. “Mom.” He started, looking at her with wide eyes. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” She replied, not even looking up from her current project. It was another blanket. This one was Present Mic-themed. He didn’t even know where she was hiding the yarn, because she had to have it somewhere. The blanket had a gray microphone outlined in a bright, almost canary-yellow. The rest of the blanket was black. As for the blanket covering Aizawa, she had somehow managed to make a pattern with cats—all different patterns, including tabbies and calicos and pointed cats—with Eraserhead goggles on them. She had color matched his googles. He didn’t even know how. Where had she found Eraserhead-goggle colored yarn?
“Mom.”
“Don’t mock your mother.”
“Mom.”