Chapter Text
They run across the rooftops. Having mild fun in pretending they don't want to be caught, to feel the familiar grab of white cloth that held the villain more than their own family. Their dark red clothing flapping silently through the gush of wind in their ears that only came from this.
The feeling of running through the city, wind in their face, biting at their skin with little invisible teeth that bring the safety of the cold the villain so loved.
They risked a glance behind them to see the underground pro still hot on their trail. They let a small smile slip knowing their mask would hide it, to know that the man is back to work after all that happened.
It relieved them. As much as they hated to admit it, they still cared.
They are snapped out of their thoughts as the wind suddenly stops. Causing them to jolt, feeling the familiar and warm embrace of the capture scarf they thought they were outrunning.
They hear the soft footsteps that they used to be relieved to hear at night. Though now hearing those rhythmic patter of the man, they felt a shiver go down their spine.
They should have stayed home.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve keeping me from my sleep.”
The hero murmurs gruffly, sounding annoyed.
They freeze at the voice they haven’t heard in over a year.
Before they knew it, they were sitting in a police station. Nervously glancing at the one way mirror, terrified of what or who could be on the other side.
Aizawa POV:
The kid, because that's what they were a kid. Seemed to realize or remember he was sitting there, as their eyes snapped to Shouta in a way that made it seem like he lunged at them. Though he hadn’t moved.
Then their face twisted, in a way that made his stomach wish to turn.
Shouta sits across from them, watching the person across the table smirk.
“Eraserhead, didn’t expect you to be the one to bring my downfall. Guess the police got desperate if they called the best around. Hey, maybe my case will bring some light to your name.”
He chuckles, making Shouta shake his head. He saw something familiar, in the two grey eyes. He was staring for too long causing the villain across from him to raise a questioning eyebrow.
Then he laughs, a cold dead laugh that was devoid of humour, sending a shudder through Shouta’s entire body.
“What don’t you recognise me Eraser? Maybe this will help,”
He removes the makeup covering the scar that Shouta has memorized.
Shouta froze. Whether in fear, shock or a mix of both was uncertain.
This is Todoroki Shoto, his student that went missing after the war, the one who has a seat in class 3-A empty and waiting for him. His hand froze mid-reach for the file on the desk. The coffee he'd been nursing slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud that neither of them acknowledged.
His eyes—still red from the use of Erasure—went wide, the glow dying as his quirk deactivated on its own, like a reflex he couldn't control.
No. He thought, before deciding to announce it.
“No”
The word came out flat. Denied. Refused to exist. He stood up so fast the chair screeched backward across the linoleum, rattling against the wall. He slammed his hands on the table, causing the metal to rattle.
This isnt fucking happening. Shouta is tired, and imagining this. No, Shouta is dreaming and this is a dream.. Nightmare?
“That's not— You're dead. There was a funeral. Your mother showed up, watching as they put an empty Child Sized Casket in the ground. I was there.”
But the scar was unmistakable.
That jagged shape of dull red running from Todoroki Shoto's left temple down past his jaw—Shouta had memorized it the night he disappeared. Had stared at it in a police file so many times the image had burned itself into his retinas. The same scar stared back at him now from across a metal interrogation table, framed by a face he hadn't seen in over a year.
The fluorescent light above flickered once. Outside, a siren wailed somewhere distant, fading into nothing.
He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. His voice dropped low, controlled, but something cracked underneath it like thin ice over deep water.
“How. How are you sitting in front of me right now?”
It wasn't a question. It was a demand, barely held together. His hands gripped the table with vigor. Knuckles a deep white-ish red from the strain of his hands that nearly bent the metal.
No.
No.
No.
No.
NO!
This can't be happening, how-? What could have caused this? Maybe this was Toga, she escaped after convincing the heroes she was dead, barely alive.
It wasn't a question. It was a demand, barely held together.
“You would love to know wouldn’t you Aizawa, or wait I should say Aizawa-Sensei?”
Todoroki says, like this was another Tuesday. He wanted to scream, and launch over that table to yell in the boy's face, then sob and squeeze him tight enough he couldn’t fathom escaping.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He leaned forward, palms flat on the cold metal, close enough that Todoroki could probably see the sleepless bags under his eyes—dark as bruises.
“Don't play games with me. Not now, not when you’ve been dead for nearly a year. Not you.”
Something shifted in the room. The air between them thickened, charged with something heavier than hostility. Shouta's hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the effort of keeping himself still when every instinct screamed to grab the kid by the shoulders and shake the answers out of him.
He pulled back. Ran a hand down his face. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, stripped of the interrogator's edge, leaving something raw and utterly exhausted underneath.
“Your mother was forced to bury an empty casket. She still visits that grave every Sunday. Midoriya— “
he caught himself, jaw clenching—
“everyone grieved. We had a memorial assembly. I watched your classmates cry, Todoroki.”
He said the name, tasting foreign. Like speaking it aloud in this context, in this room, with this person wearing his student's face—it made the world tilt sideways on its axis.
His red eyes searched Todoroki's dull grey ones, now knowing there was a contact over the left one.. Looking for something. An explanation. A lie. Anything to tell him this wasn’t real, wasn’t happening.
“How did you fake your death? And before you give me some clever answer, think carefully about whether I'm the one person in this building who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next”.
“Don’t fucking call me that”
The kid spits like venom
“Don’t you get it?”
He said, voice cracking.
“It wasn’t my fucking choice! Endeavor is one great hero, dragging his kid by the hair, locked me in a shed 400 fucking miles away from anything, no roads, no gas stations, nothing for 400 miles. I walked through that in summer, by the time I collapsed on my way to your apartment I was close to the league. They took me in, made sure I didn’t starve. After I told them that Enji decided I was no longer his perfect little hero he raped my mother to create, they said I could stay. I tried to go back, saw my own fucking funeral, but Enji would just do it again, so I stayed, hid with the league. Hid with my brother's family, the one you locked in Tartarus until he died. We barely got him out in time, leaving ashes of a plant to make you think his body finally turned on him.”
The room went dead silent. Even the flickering fluorescent light seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere down the hall there was a small clatter.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, absorbing every word like a body blow he'd already braced for but still couldn't fully block. His expression didn't shift—not outwardly. No one that didn’t know him well would see it, the nearly imperceptible downturn of his features, something behind his eyes shuttered closed, something old and dangerous clicking into place like a lock turning.
Endeavor.
The name sat in his mouth like poison.
He'd respected the man.
Fought beside him.
Called him a colleague.
Just for- now this—this unbearable weight dropped onto the already cracked foundation of everything he thought he knew.
Shouta forced out a long exhale. Slow. Controlled.
“You better not be damn lying to me child. You’ll need to repeat that in front of Tsukauchi”
Shouta knew exactly where to request the transfer. He also knew that if Todoroki repeated those words in front of Tsukauchi, with Tsukauchi's quirk it would either confirm or deny every syllable, then if the words registered as true, Endeavor's career wouldn't just end. It would detonate into a pile of flames.
(AN: ahh sweet irony my favorite)
His voice came out steady. Almost gentle. Terrifyingly calm.
“What about the league? Dabi. Toga. Twice. They know what happened to you? What he did?”
Because the way he asked it quietly, deliberately making it clear he wasn't asking out of concern for Todoroki's safety anymore.
Todoroki stares at his handcuffed hands, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper.
“Touya knew before I even spoke a word. He saw the familiar burns, the same look in my eyes... he knew what the 'Great Endeavor' was capable of in the dark of our’ home’.”
He looks up, his expression suddenly blank, devoid of the earlier rage.
“Don't talk to me about them. You want the truth? The truth is that the League is the only reason I'm not a corpse right now. If that makes me a villain in your eyes, then fine. I'm exactly what he made me. Go get Tsukauchi, I’ll say it once more. But take it seriously when I say this. You will die if you fight for me.”
He said it with no doubt, like he was certain which made a terribly understandable point, he didn’t know what happened to the world after the war.
“The HPSC will bury me, and everything else {including you} to protect Enji. I’m not worth it.”
he didn’t falter. Like he knew he was worthless, like he didn’t think he deserved a home. He didn’t know that Hawks took over the HPSC after the public turned on them, he didn’t know that the HPSC wasn’t the same, that it was easy to take down those who deserve it, once the winged hero took over.
Something snapped. Not visibly—nothing so dramatic. But internally, behind the carefully maintained wall of professional detachment, something broke like a bone that had been hairline-fractured for years.
“Stop.”
The word cut through the sterile air like a blade. Todoroki flinched—barely, almost imperceptibly—but Shouta caught it. Of course he did. He was trained to notice everything.
He crouched down beside the chair, bringing himself to eye level. Close enough to see the hollowness carved into features that used to carry, a dull though still there light. His voice dropped—not to a whisper, but to something private. Something meant only for this room, for this boy.
“Let me tell you what's changed since you disappeared. Hawks runs the HPSC now. Personally cleaned the bad out after he realized what those people did to him wasn’t justified, Mirko made sure he got his personal justice.. The bad ones are either in prison, or dead.”
He paused. Let that land.
“I know. Because I helped put them there. It was also publicly announced.”
Todoroki's blank expression didn't change, but his breathing did—just slightly off rhythm, like a clock losing a second.
Shouta's hand hovered near Todoroki's shoulder. Didn't touch. Restraint born not from hesitation but from knowing that right now, comfort might feel like another form of control, or trap.
“You're not worthless. Nor are you a part of the league who hurt people, and you're most certainly not a villain. You're a kid who was thrown away by the people who were supposed to protect you.”
A beat.
“Now I need you to say you’ll repeat what you told me when I bring the detective in. So I can burn his entire world down for hurting my student.”
He looks away, his gaze fixing on a scuff mark on the floor as his voice turns bitter and sharp.
“Don't talk to me like I'm still your student. That kid died in that shed, Aizawa. Whether you believe in the grave or not, he's gone.”
He shifts in the chair, the handcuffs rattling with a cold, unsteady clinking, echoing in the empty room.
“If you want to burn his world, do it. I don't care about justice. I just want to go home. Go get your detective. I'll give you everything. Then I want my family.”
Shouta watched him for a long moment. Studied the way Todoroki stared at that scuff mark like it held more warmth than anything else in this room. Like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Then he did something unexpected. He pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling Hawks in too.”
Todoroki's head turned sharply. For the first time since sitting down, something readable flickered across his face—confusion, maybe. Or fear. Hard to tell with someone who'd learned to bury everything behind that perfect silicone mask.
The phone rang twice before a bright voice picked up.
Yeah,Hawks I need a favor. No, it can't wait until morning. Listen—I've got Todoroki Shoto in an interrogation room at Musutafu PD. Alive, what I need you to do is get to Precinct 7 within the hour with every piece of legal authority you can carry. Yes. That Todoroki.
A pause. Hawks said something muffled through the speaker—fast, incredulous, sharp. Shouta listened, then glanced at Todoroki.
“He says you sound like you've lost your mind. Which—fair.”
But his voice carried no humor. Just a twitch of his mouth, proving he told the statement to lighten the mood of the room.
“Get here. When you get here, bring Tsukauchi. Oh, and Hawks—don't tell Endeavor a goddamn thing until I say so.”
He hung up and pocketed the phone. Looking at Todoroki with those tired, bloodshot eyes.
“You said that kid's dead. Fine. Then let me meet the man you've become instead.”
He stares at the phone Shouta just pocketed, his expression unreadable for a long beat before his lip curls in a faint, mocking sneer.
“You’re so certain you can fix this. It’s almost pathetic. You think I’m a man? You’re wrong. I’m a broken thing, not worth fixing.”
Todoroki’s voice is low, barely a murmur.
“You think burning him down fixes anything? It doesn’t put the unmarred skin back on Touya’s bones. It doesn’t un-break my mother nor does it remove the damage he has done.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, the silence of the room pressing in on them.
“If you want to meet the man I am... all you’ll find is something broken and cold. Is that 'man' enough for you, Sensei?”
he says man like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever been called
The word hit different than Todoroki probably intended. Or maybe exactly how he intended—hard to say with him. Either way, it landed in Shouta's chest like a knife.
Sensei. Man. Two words that cut in completely opposite directions. One a relic from a life Todoroki claimed was dead. The other a dismissal of everything Shouta was trying to become for him in this moment.
Aizawa sat back down across the table. Slouched, elbows on knees, hands clasped together. Looking every bit the exhausted teacher he actually was underneath the hero persona.
“Maybe I won't like him.”
No argument. No moral lecture about justice or rehabilitation or any of the things a textbook would tell him to say.
“But I don't care what you call me. Sensei. Eraserhead. That guy who gave you a B minus in Modern Hero Studies and History that you absolutely deserved a B plus in. Whatever.”
Something almost ghosted across Todoroki's features at that last part—gone before it could be named.
“I've spent over a year pretending you were gone. That was the easy part. Sitting here looking at you—that's harder. Watching you try to convince me you're someone I should be afraid of”
He let a small smirk show on his face, that would be imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t in his ‘problem class’
It wasn't sarcasm. It was the most honest thing Shouta had said in a very long time, and it sat between them like something fragile and dangerous, because honesty was a rare form of currency Todoroki has most likely never had from those who make it valuable..
“So go ahead. Show me this man of yours. I'll still be here when Hawks arrives. Maybe long after”
Todoroki leans back, the metal chair creaking under his weight as he lets out a sharp, jagged exhale that sounds more like a hiss.
“You still don't get it. You're talking about grades and classrooms and staying like that’ll happen. That's just not realistic, Sensei. And here I thought you were one of realism, guess you lied too.”
He stares Shouta down, his mismatched eyes cold and clinical.
“You’re terrified? Good. You should be. Because the 'man' I am doesn't need your pity or your B-plus. I need him gone. If you're still here when Hawks arrives, it’s not because you’re saving me. It’s because you’re a witness to the end of the one you called a friend.”
Shouta stares at him, trying to find who he’s looking for.
Todoroki suddenly goes incredibly still, his gaze dropping to Shouta's hands on the table. A chilling, hollow smile spreads across his face, one that doesn't reach his eyes.
“You think you're ready for the truth, Sensei?”
The honorific is spat out like a curse. With more vigor than the other mocking tones.
“I didn't just 'hide' with the League. I helped them. I watched people bleed and I felt nothing because it wasn't him or me.”
He looks up, his voice dropping to a void-like whisper.
“If you bring the cameras, if you bring the law... you're bringing down more than just Endeavor. You're signing the warrant for my execution too. Is your 'justice' worth my life a second time? Because I'm not going back to a classroom. I know damn well you won’t let me go back to them. I'm going to them or a coffin. Choose wisely.”
He stared back without flinching. Took in the chilling smile, the dead eyes, the calculated warning. Processed it the way he processed everything—quickly, clinically, then filed it away for later emotional dissection.
Somewhere outside, tires screeched. Fast car, expensive engine. Hawks had always driven like he had a death wish and a bird's reflexes.
“You know what I see right now?”
He unclasped his hands and leaned back, arms crossing over his chest.
“A 17 year old kid who's spent four years performing for an audience that wanted a hero, or a monster. Playing the ladder so convincingly that he's forgotten there's another option.”
Heavy footsteps in the corridor now. Multiple sets. Tsukauchi's measured pace and Hawks' sharp, confident, predatory stride.
“You say you'd rather die than go back. Fine. Add that to the list. But let me ask you something first.”
The door handle turned. Seconds away.
His voice went low. Private. Meant only for the space between their faces across that metal table.
“When Touya got locked up did he get a choice? Did anyone in that family ever get a goddamn choice?”
The door swung open. Light flooded in. Hawks stood in the doorway, wings half-spread, golden eyes wide and locked directly on Todoroki like a hawk spotting something impossible.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“...No fucking way.”
Todoroki’s expression shifts into something cold and mocking as he realizes the caliber of people entering the room. He raises his cuffed hands, the metal clinking loudly, unapologetic.
“Welcome to the wake. I’d offer you a seat, Hawks, but I think Eraser’s already busy trying to resurrect a ghost.”
He turns his chilling gaze back to Aizawa, his voice dropping to a jagged rough growl.
“You want to know if I had a choice? I chose to survive. Whatever I had to do, whoever I had to break to make sure I never ended up back in that shed... I chose it. Now, are we going to do this, or are you three going to keep staring at me like I’m a miracle instead of a mistake? Eraserhead I fucking swear if you say one more goddamn thing about how I’m worth something we both know im not, I choose death.”
He says it as a threat, and Shouta realizes he’s serious, pushing down the need to go strangle the kid with his husband's style of affection, he gets an idea. What if he convinced Todoroki to see his class one more time before he decides, and he won’t be forced back to school, it will truly be his choice. If there’s one thing his Hell Class is good at, it’s emotional support mixed with messy affection.
Hawks stepped fully into the room, wings folded tight against his back. His usual cocky grin was dulled to a small, fake smirk. He looked like someone had hit him in the chest with a baseball bat.
“A mistake. Right. I'll make sure to include that in my report under "Active Crimes Against Humanity."
Tsukauchi entered quietly, notebook already open. His quirk was strong. He kept his eyes fixed on Todoroki with that gentle, probing gaze. Truth was his native language, and every word spoken in this room would settle into one of the two categories like sediment.
Shouta held up a hand. Silencing the room before Hawks could launch into something theatrical and dramatic, but also to freeze the detective before Tsukauchi started the formal questioning.
He looked at Todoroki. Really looked, and saw it clearly now. The threat wasn't bravado. Wasn't posturing. This kid had survived on survival alone for 17 years and the only thing keeping him upright was spite and adrenaline. Kind words would kill him faster than any villain ever could.
“Okay. New terms.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at him.
“Before any real decisions, you walk into UA. Voluntarily. You see your old class. Your friends. {your family} Whatever you want to call it.”
Yaoyurozu, Bakugou and Midoriya’s names hung unspoken in the air.
“We decide after that. Cell, coffin, or whatever comes next. Something that includes your call. Nobody forces you back into anything.”
Tsukauchi's pen hovered. Waiting. Hawks leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Shouta like he'd just pulled off something insane.
“Your choice kid.”
he gazes at Shouta for a while longer, before seeming to come to a conclusion
“What if I refuse, what happens then?”
he asks as if he isn’t more likely than not going to say yes, for fear of never seeing them again.
Shouta's face displays a dry, humorless smile.
“Then Nezu puts you through rehabilitation so intense you'll wish you'd just agreed to walk through the front door.”
Tsukauchi's pen twitched. Even Hawks snorted.
He's not exaggerating. That bear has a program. Involuntary. Very unpleasant. Involves a lot of paperwork and mandatory therapy sessions with Hound Dog, who will absolutely make you cry within the first week.
Tsukauchi closed his notebook. Gave Shouta a look that said "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you negotiate with a detained suspect" but wisely kept his mouth shut.
Silence settled over the group. Todoroki sat nearly perfectly still, jaw working slightly—the only tell that his mind was racing behind that frozen mask. Calculating. Weighing the variables. Because Shouta had just done something nobody in the kids' life had bothered to do.
He stood. Pulled a key from his pocket. Walked around the table and crouched beside Todoroki, working the cuffs loose. Click. Click. Gone.
Hawks straightened off the doorframe. Tsukauchi's eyebrows climbed his forehead.
“I said voluntarily. Means no chains. No escort. We walk there, you walk out whenever you want.”
Todoroki stared at his freed wrists. Red marks where metal had bitten skin. He didn't rub them. Just looked at them like they were something from a language he'd forgotten.
Let’s go, I know your choice, sorry kid, I knew you for a year too long.”
[Time skip, in which his makeup was removed, and so were his contacts, courtesy of your broken and sleep deprived author]
Shouto’s POV:
He rolls his eyes pretending to be exasperated with everything, hiding that he is beyond immensely grateful so he can think about this.
He was no longer grateful about this, he won’t be able to think. That realization only came to him when he was staring up at the place he called home for too long to forget. The only visible difference was the change from 1-A to 3-A. He can’t go in there! His fam- no his frie- no his classmates were in there, oblivious to his inner Term-oil
“I choose Nezu”
He stated, spinning to walk away.
Eraserhead smirked, because he wouldn’t leave this building. That much, he was certain of. His hell class would get their friend back.
“Nope sorry kid too late”
Eraser said before hesitantly nudging him forward
Todoroki's feet moved like they belonged to someone else. One step. Two. Three. Up the steps of UA’s class 3-A dorms, posters on the pillars to advertise classes, programs and upcoming events. Normal things. Ordinary things that felt like relics from a civilization he no longer belonged in.
Walking behind them at a respectful distance, Hawks had his hands in his pockets and his wings tucked tight. For once in his life, he wasn't talking. Just watching. His sharp eyes caught the slight tremor in Todoroki's shoulders and said nothing about it. Making sure the teenager didn’t try to escape, not that he doubted Eraserhead’s skills, he was just backup.
They passed the porch of the building.3-A’s common room was just ahead. Through the small window in the door, Shouto could see them. Izuku, gesturing wildly with both hands while Iida corrected his posture. Katsuki leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, scowling at absolutely nothing. Uraraka laughing at something Yaomomo said. Kirishima arguing with Kaminari about something pointless and loud. Shouji signing to Koda and Shinsou, Satou smiling at Sero while Sero talks. Aoyama twirling with Mina and Jirou. While the rest watched the dance in fascination, like kindergardeners.
His eyes land on his- no, not his. Not anymore. Near the window perched on the sofa, was Momo. Dark hair catching the light. Pen moving across her notebook with that effortless grace. Laughing at something someone said.
Shouto stopped breathing. Actually stopped. Like his lungs had simply decided to quit.
He suddenly turned to leave, deciding he isn’t doing this. Can’t do this.
Aizawa’s POV:
Shouta tracked where Todoroki was looking and then noticed. Of course he noticed. Said nothing. Simply stood beside him, close enough that his shoulder nearly touched Todoroki's.
Then the kid turned, causing Shouta to grab his shoulder and spin him right back around with a fond shake of his head.
“Take your time.”
Todoroki's breath hitches, his fingers twitching toward the door handle before he pales, his hand dropping back to his side.
“I can't. Aizawa, look at them... they're happy. They've moved on.”
He shakes his head, backing away a step as his eyes fixate on Midoriya and Bakugo's profiles.
“If I walk in there, I’m just bringing the war back into their lives. I’m a ghost they already buried. Let's just go to Nezu's office. The dorms aren’t my home anymore, I have no right to trespass to ruin their mood..”
He turns to walk from the entrance of the 3-A dorms,
A sharp whistle from down the patio. High-pitched, deliberate.
Hawks stood leaning against a wall, grinning for the first time since the interrogation room.
“Too late for that too, buddy. Nezu's already called the class in. Said something about a "special guest speaker." Real cryptic little bastard.”
As if on cue, the sound of a mostly collective sigh, followed by the occasional slipper scraping and students filing towards them echoed from inside the dorm. Footsteps in the gengahn. Getting closer.
Shouta didn't grab Todoroki. Didn't block him from leaving. Just shifted slightly. Barely enough that his body was between Todoroki and the approaching students. Casual. Instinctive. A wall that could be walked around if Todoroki really wanted to.
“They moved on because they had no choice. Doesn't mean they stopped missing you.”
Then Midoriya rounded the corner. Green curls, freckles, those beautiful emerald eyes that never missed anything—and they missed nothing right now.