Chapter Text
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Aizawa staggered in, snow caking his capture scarf and eyelashes... This coldness hurts t like a storm.. The wind howled behind him, dragging icy air and flakes across the concrete floor. His knuckles were split. Blood from a shallow cut on his temple was already freezing.
The first thing he saw was his class.
Iida was shouting evacuation routes, arm slicing through the air. Uraraka had civilians floating past dangerous debris. Todoroki sealed off a fissure with a wall of ice. Bakugo was blasting fallen beams out of the way, yelling at Kaminari to “quit lagging and MOVE!”
Good. They were handling it. Leading. Protecting.
Aizawa’s shoulders dropped half an inch. He stepped further in, eyes sweeping the room, counting heads through the swirling snow.
Then he stopped.
No green. No muttering. No frantic green lightning cutting through the white.
Aizawa’s head snapped up. “WHERE’S MIDORIYA?” he shouted.
The whole class froze. Commands died mid-sentence. Even Bakugo went quiet.
Then Momo stepped forward, shaking. Not from fear — from the blasting cold that bit through her hero costume. Snow clung to her hair.
“He… he went north, sensei,” she said, voice barely holding steady. “Leading the villain away from the village… He’s fighting the villain, sensei.”
Sho stopped. Stunned.
The snow kept blowing in his face, but for a second, Aizawa didn’t feel the cold at all. Just that familiar, gut-punch dread that only one problem child could cause.
“Alone?” he said, voice low.
Momo nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “He said… he said it was the only way to buy us time.”
Aizawa was already turning back to the storm.
---Aizawa didn’t say another word to the class. He couldn’t.
He spun on his heel and tore back through the double doors, back into the white. The blizzard swallowed him whole. Wind sliced at his face, each gust like knives. The cut on his temple stung as ice crusted over it.
North. Momo said north.
His boots punched through snowdrifts, capture scarf whipping behind him like a tattered flag. Visibility was nothing — just endless, howling white. Trees were black silhouettes that vanished as fast as they appeared.
“Problem child,” he growled, pushing harder. His lungs burned with every breath of frozen air. “Always running off. Always playing hero.”
He squinted, desperate for any flicker of green. Green lightning. Green hair. Green anything that wasn’t this cursed, endless white.
Nothing.
The dread in his gut twisted tighter. He knew that kid. Knew how far he’d push himself. Broken bones. Blackwhip tearing his arms apart. One For All at 100% if he thought it’d save someone.
Aizawa’s hands curled into fists.
“You better not die on me, problem child,” he muttered under his breath, voice lost to the storm. “Pls don’t… not you…”
It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a threat. It was a beg. Raw and quiet and real, ripped out of him by the cold and the fear.
He ran harder, deeper into the snow and coldness, chasing a green spark that might not be there anymore.
Because if anyone could find Midoriya in a blizzard, it was Eraserhead.
And if he was too late—
No. He shoved the thought down. He wasn’t too late. He _couldn’t_ be.
---
Aizawa kept running.
Trees blurred past, their branches heavy with ice. He ducked under a fallen trunk, vaulted a jagged sheet of frozen debris. Even furious and terrified, he was Eraserhead — careful, calculated. One wrong step in this storm and he’d be buried too.
His breath came in sharp, visible bursts. Every muscle ached from the last fight. Didn’t matter.
Then — color.
Not white. Not gray.
_Green._
Faint, flickering through the snow like a dying firefly. Aizawa’s heart slammed against his ribs. He surged forward, boots sliding on ice, scarf lashing out to catch himself on a tree.
Closer. The green flared again. Lightning, arcing and wild.
And there he was.
Midoriya.
Soaked, shivering, blood running from his lip and freezing before it hit the ground. His right arm hung at a wrong angle, but Blackwhip was wrapped around a massive figure — a villain easily twice Aizawa’s size, with arms like glaciers and breath that turned to snow.
Deku was buying time. Dodging. Redirecting. Every hit he took, he gave the villain another reason to focus on _him_ instead of the village south.
“MIDORIYA!” Aizawa’s voice cracked through the storm. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the others?”
Deku’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide at the sight of his teacher, and for one second, the fear broke through the One For All focus.
“Sensei—!” He ducked a massive fist of ice, skidding back. “I had to,” he shouted, gasping. “I needed to buy them time to help save others.”
He didn’t stop moving. Couldn’t. Green lightning popped around his legs as he launched back in, landing a Delaware Smash straight into the villain’s jaw. The crack echoed.
Deku landed hard, clutching his side. He looked back at Aizawa for half a second, green eyes fierce and apologetic all at once. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let him reach them.”
The villain roared, ice forming across his knuckles again.
Aizawa’s capture scarf was already unwinding.
---Aizawa didn’t hesitate.
His capture scarf shot out, wrapping the villain’s arm mid-swing. “Eraserhead,” the villain growled, recognizing him even through the storm.
“Down,” Aizawa snarled, yanking hard. The villain’s quirk sputtered out as Aizawa’s eyes flashed red. Ice stopped forming. For three seconds, he was just a big guy with frostbitten fists.
That was enough.
Deku moved on instinct. “Now!” Green lightning tore across the snow as he shot upward, leg cocked back. “Manchester Smash!”
The impact shook the trees. Snow cascaded off branches. The villain stumbled, but didn’t fall.
They fought like that — tag team. Aizawa erasing, binding, creating openings. Deku hitting hard and fast, using every quirk he had to keep the villain away from the village. For a minute, it worked.
Then Aizawa blinked.
One second. That’s all it took.
The villain’s quirk flared back to life. A pillar of ice erupted from the ground, catching Aizawa square in the chest. He flew back, slamming into a tree with a sickening _crack_. Snow exploded around him.
“SENSEI!”
Deku was at his side instantly, dropping to his knees. “Sensei, are you—” His hands hovered, scared to touch, scared not to. Blood was on Aizawa’s temple again, mixing with snow. “Please, talk to me—”
He wasn’t looking behind him.
The villain’s shadow fell over them both.
Aizawa’s eyes flew open. He saw it — massive ice-covered fist already swinging down at Midoriya’s exposed back.
“MIDORIYA!” he shouted, voice raw.
Too late.
The blow connected.
Deku was launched like a ragdoll, right off the snowy bank.
_Crack._
The frozen lake shattered on impact. Frigid water swallowed him whole. Green lightning flickered once under the surface — then went dark.
The only sound was the wind. And Aizawa, scrambling to his feet, already running for the broken ice.
“PROBLEM CHILD!”
---
Aizawa hit the edge of the broken ice skidding.
He dropped to his knees, one hand slamming into the snow to keep from sliding into the black water. Steam rose where the lake was exposed to air. It was _cold_. The kind of cold that kills in minutes.
“Problem child,” he choked out, eyes scanning frantically. “Where are you—”
His capture scarf was already in his hand. Ready. Waiting. He leaned over the jagged hole, careful not to put his weight on the cracking edges. Can’t fall in. If he went under too, they were both dead.
Then — movement.
Deep under, barely visible through the murky water.
_Green._
Faint. Flickering. Sinking.
Aizawa’s heart stopped.
He didn’t think. He _threw_.
The capture scarf shot down into the freaking water, cutting through the surface like a spear. It wasn’t made for this. The fabric would soak, weigh him down. Didn’t matter.
“Come on,” he hissed through clenched teeth, arm straining as the scarf went deeper. “Grab it, kid. _Grab it._”
For one awful second, nothing.
Then he felt it.
A tug. Weak. But there.
Midoriya had it.
Aizawa braced his legs against the ice, ignoring the way it creaked under him. “That’s it,” he growled, pulling. Hand over hand. Muscles screaming. “I’ve got you. I’ve _got_ you.”
The green light got closer. Closer.
He could see him now — limp, eyes closed, hair floating around his face like seaweed. But his fingers were locked around the scarf.
Aizawa roared and _yanked_.
---Aizawa hauled back with everything he had.
Ice shattered under his knees as Midoriya’s body broke the surface. Limp. Soaked. Blue-lipped. Aizawa dragged him onto the snow in one motion, scarf still wrapped around the kid’s wrist like a lifeline.
“Deku,” Aizawa said, shoving his hair back, hands already on his face. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Nothing.
No shiver. No muttered apology. No stubborn green eyes.
Just stillness.
Aizawa pressed two fingers to his neck. Snow hit his own face and melted, but he didn’t feel it.
No pulse.
Not breathing.
The world went silent except for the wind.
“No,” Aizawa said. Flat. Denial. He ripped his gloves off with his teeth, slammed his ear to Midoriya’s chest. “No, you don’t get to—”
Water. Silence.
He sat up. Tilted the kid’s head back. Pinched his nose. Started compressions.
“One. Two. Three.”
His voice was steady. His hands weren’t.
“Four. Five. Six.”
He breathed for him. Once. Twice. Back to compressions.
“You don’t get to die on me, problem child,” he snarled, pushing harder. “Not after all that. Not after you saved them. _Breathe._”
Snow soaked through his pants. The villain was gone — fled or forgotten. Didn’t matter.
“Breathe, dammit!”
He kept going. One cycle. Two. Three.
No gasp. No cough. Just the awful _thud_ of his palms against a chest that was too cold.
“Please,” Aizawa begged, voice breaking for the first time. “Midoriya. Izuku. _Please._ Not you. Not you.”
He went back to compressions. Harder. Faster.
_Crack._
He felt it. A rib. Maybe two.
He didn’t stop.
“Sorry, kid,” he choked out. “Sorry—”
Then—
A wet, ragged _gasp_.
Midoriya’s whole body seized. Water poured from his mouth as he choked, then coughed, then _breathed_. Shallow. Reedy. But there.
Aizawa froze.
Another gasp. Then another.
Green eyes fluttered open, unfocused, terrified. “…S-Sensei…?”
Aizawa’s hands were still on his chest. He couldn’t move them. Couldn’t speak.
He was alive.
He was _alive_.
Aizawa let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It shook the whole way out. He slumped forward, forehead pressing to Midoriya’s freezing, wet hair.
“Don’t you ever,” he whispered, “do that again.”
---Midoriya coughed again, water and snowmelt spilling from his lips. His whole body trembled, violent shivers wracking through him.
Aizawa didn’t move from where he was braced over him, one hand still fisted in the front of Deku’s soaked hero costume like letting go would make him disappear.
Slowly, Midoriya tried to sit up. His arms gave out once. Twice. On the third try, he managed, swaying. His vision swam — everything was white and blurry and _cold_.
“S-Sensei…” he rasped, blinking hard. The world tilted. He grabbed at Aizawa’s sleeve to steady himself, and that’s when he saw it.
Red.
Soaking through Aizawa’s torn sleeve, dripping down into the snow. The ice pillar had done more than just knock the wind out of him. A jagged gash ran from his elbow to his wrist, deep, still bleeding despite the cold.
“Sensei you’re hurt,” he quivered, fingers hovering over the wound like he was scared to touch. “Your… your arm is bleeding…”
He stuttered, teeth chattering too hard to form words right. “Y-You got hit… b-because of me… I-I’m sorry, I—”
“Stop,” Aizawa cut him off. His voice was rough, but not angry. Just exhausted. He shrugged out of his capture scarf — still dripping — and wrapped it tight around Midoriya’s shoulders instead. “Worry about yourself, problem child.”
But Deku wasn’t listening. His blurry eyes stayed locked on the blood. “You’re hurt,” he whispered again, like saying it would make it less true. “You shouldn’t have… you came after me…”
Aizawa grabbed his face with his good hand, forcing their eyes to meet. His fingers were freezing, but steady.
“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “I did. And I’d do it again.”
The wind howled around them. The lake was already refreezing at the edges. And somewhere out in that white, the villain was still out there.
Aizawa looked down at his bleeding arm, then back at the kid shivering under his scarf.
“We need to move,” he muttered. “Now.”
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