Work Text:
“Alright - you ready?”
Toshinori gave a tired nod. He was sitting in Chiyo’s office, arm propped up on a table next to his chair. It had been weeks since he had been released from the hospital following Kamino Ward and, in his opinion, it was long past time for the thick cast on his arm to be taken off.
Recovery Girl picked up the small saw resting on the table next to her, motioning to Toshinori that he should move his arm. He lifted it up from the table, holding the limb away from his torso. Recovery Girl gently positioned the cast with one hand before turning on the saw and digging the edge into the plaster. She gently worked her way along the outside of his cast, carefully cutting through the thick material. Occasionally she would go over a cut twice when it hadn’t gone all the way through the first time. She was more careful at the rounded end of the cast, where his hand rested.
Chiyo gently shifted his arm away from his torso and began to work her way back up towards his armpit, neatly cutting the cast in half. When she reached the lip of the plaster she carefully looked over the long cut she had made before pursing her lips in satisfaction.
“Alright, now we push it apart -” Recovery Girl picked up a tool from her bedside table and inserted the end into the cut. She squeezed the handle, the ends of the tool separating and gently pushing the halves of the cast away from each other. A low crack snapped as the plaster broke apart. After she had worked her way entirely around the cast she set the tool to the side. “Help me with this.”
Toshinori raised his left hand and helped Chiyo to gently pry the cast apart. With a final tug the cast fell to either side of his arm and he was free.
“Here,” Chiyo said, motioning to the half of the cast he held in his hand. He gave it over, eyeing his arm while Recovery Girl set the halves to the side. The medical personnel who treated him after Kamino Ward had wrapped his arm in bandages before applying the thick plaster of the cast. The fabric had changed from it’s original white to an off-yellow color, some portions of it discolored with old blood.
After setting the cast onto a small table Chiyo walked over and slowly began to unwrap his arm, carefully easing it off his tender skin. As the last of the bandages fell away his eyes widened. “. . . oh.” His voice was quiet.
Chiyo looked up and her eyebrows pinched together. “You didn’t know how badly your arm was damaged, did you.”
He shook his head, continuing to stare at his limb.
The rubber-capped ends of six pins could be seen working their way up his forearm, trailing uniformly from his wrist and along the outside bone of his arm to his elbow. Five pins mirrored them on the other side. Various thick lines of raised scar tissue, crisscrossed by black stitches, ran disjointedly from the back of his hand to midway on his upper arm. His knuckles were a sickly purple, silver scars highlighted against the discolored skin. Surgical marks colored his fingers. His forearm had healed crooked, the blow he took from All For One dealing too much damage for the surgeons to completely heal. The ring and pinky fingers looked bent, their joints twisted and out of alignment with his noticeably warped wrist.
It looked . . . mangled.
Toshinori blinked and eyed the back of his hand. Recovery Girl sighed and removed the cotton balls that rested around the pins and stitches, the dried blood having long turned brown.
Her voice was quiet. “They had to wire your fingers back together and repair all the tendons in your hand. The cartilage in your wrist was crushed. Your elbow had to be reset.” She discarded the cotton balls and began to gently pat at his arm with a sterile cloth that had been resting nearby, removing some of the built-up dead skin and easing muscle stiff from disuse. “You broke your collarbone, cracked your shoulder blade, tore your shoulder joint and managed to dislocate it, too. All in that fight.”
He tried to move his fingers. They twitched against the surface of the table and a deep ache shot up his arm.
Chiyo saw him wince. “Don’t try to move around too much until you can get it under some warm water - that’ll help with the stiffness and start waking up the nerves.”
“. . . yeah.” Toshinori’s eyes fell and he sagged a bit in his chair.
“I don’t know if this will help, but they put plates in your arm. It might be warped, but it’s chances of breaking again are very little.” Chiyo turned to the side and grabbed a small pair of scissors and a tweezer. “Alright - stitches first.”
Toshinori couldn’t feel when she cut the stitches and pulled them loose, the scar tissue too thick and his nerves too damaged for him to really register anything beyond an occasional light tug. This part took some time - his arm had required a lot of intensive surgery. Eventually, though, Chiyo pulled the last stitch free and set her scissors off to the side. She gently picked up his arm and eyed it, looking over the stitch marks and occasionally lightly running a finger over a scar. She was careful to avoid jostling the pins.
She looked up. “How much of that could you feel?”
Toshinori shook his head. “Not much, honestly. Just a pull every now and then.”
Recovery Girl nodded. “It might take a while for your nerves to heal, and even then it might stay numbed.” She sighed and picked up a pair of pliers. “Ready to get the pins out?”
Toshinori tried to give an enthusiastic nod and gently gripped his forearm with his left hand. Chiyo gave an encouraging smile and went back to work.
She started with his outer arm, working her way towards his elbow. The first few pins slid out cleanly and easily, not catching on any of the new scar tissue or healing bone. That all ended when she reached the fourth pin, which she had to twist slightly in order to work it out. He didn’t start bleeding from the leftover marks until she reached the seventh pin. Recovery Girl resolutely pressed a gentle kiss above the bleeding puncture and moved on. Toshinori couldn’t feel the regular itch of her healing quirk as it closed the injury, purple scar tissue quickly covering the wound.
Eventually removing the pins started to hurt, and as Chiyo gently worked the ninth pin free Toshinori had to grip his left hand around the armrest of the chair and clench his teeth against the deep ache. A few minutes later she pulled the last pin from his arm and gently placed a final kiss over the puncture.
“There,” she said, leaning back and wiping at her forehead with satisfaction. “Let your arm get some air for a while before you clean it, alright?”
“Sure.” He winced and lifted a long cotton sleeve from the bedside where it had been resting, gingerly slipping it over his unresponsive hand and carefully scooting it up to his shoulder. The end of the sleeve was lined with elastic that would hold it in place. The other end was open, the lip hanging down over his hand. The fabric rested strangely over his scars, wrinkled over the warped skin. He sighed and pulled his arm closer to his chest, gently cradling the frail limb.
“Alright, you know what to do.” Chiyo gingerly took the remains of his cast over to a large trashcan. “Be gentle with your skin. Feel free to wash it with warm water and mild soap a few hours after you reach your apartment.”
“Yes, Recovery Girl.” Toshinori resisted the urge to scratch at his arm.
“They fitted you for a brace while you were hospitalized,” Chiyo continued, pulling a black support brace out from a nearby bag and walking back over to the chair. “You can fiddle with the straps all you want. I also want you to keep using the sling until your arms builds back some muscle. I’m going to trust you with your own physical therapy - you’ve had enough broken arms that you know what to do and what to avoid for now.”
“Mmmm.” Toshinori gently took the proffered brace with his left hand, turning it over to get a good look. There were three straps that would hold it in place around his forearm and one smaller one that would tighten around his palm. He looked up. “Thank you, Chiyo.”
She gently patted his shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem, Toshinori. Just be careful. I don’t want to see you back under my care anytime soon.”
Toshinori smiled and slipped the brace into his bag. “For the record I never actually plan to end up here. It just happens.”
Chiyo snorted and waved her hand. “Whatever you say, All Might. Now, you should probably get home.”
Toshinori rolled his eyes and slipped the sling around his neck, gently resting his arm in the padded fabric.
He gave a little wave as he shuffled out of the infirmary, Chiyo making scooting motions with her hands as he closed the door. As soon as the latch clicked the small smile he wore fell from his face. The hallway was blissfully empty and, as he shuffled towards the nearest set of doors he allowed himself a rattling sigh.
His arm hurt. It was a pain he was familiar with, after all the months he spent hospitalized after the injury to his side. But it was annoyingly present, an itching feeling scratching along his skin and a deep ache where the pins had rested in his limb. Chiyo had only used her quirk on his skin, closing the bleeding pin wounds. The bone would have to heal itself alone.
He eased the edge of the sleeve back, gently working at his scarred fingers with his left hand. The warmth slowly eked down to the bones in his palm. Toshinori gave a grateful sigh as the knots in his fingers loosened. He gently rubbed his wrist, noticing the way the scar tissue caught on his bone and pulled at his joints.
His right hand was shaking.
I knew I wouldn’t walk away unscarred. From the looks of it, I was lucky to be able to keep it at all. His brow furrowed at the thought. Ah, well. It’s not like I’ll be doing any more fighting, so this shouldn’t matter. It’s fine.
He closed his eyes and shifted his weight from one leg to another, rubbing at his palm.
Toshinori eyed his arm the next morning, getting a better look at the warped limb as he rested in the teacher’s lounge.
He had cleaned it last night, using a soft washcloth and copious amounts of warm water to ease the layers of dead skin off his arm. Without the extra mass the dead material had offered, his arm seemed even more skinny than it had when his cast removed. The dark scars contrasted starkly against his pale skin, the veins and tendons easily visible in his frail arm.
It’s weak . . . won’t ever truly heal. He sighed and gently ran his fingers over the new scars. His hand twitched against the table, only a muted sensation making it’s way through his damaged nerves. Some of the stiffness had faded since getting the cast removed, and Toshinori tried to pull his fingers into a loose fist. His two forefingers and thumb responded well, though the tips were unwilling to bend. His pinky and ring finger hardly responded, only slightly curling at their joints before coming to a stop. Dammit. It’s so useless . . .
An alarm went off on his phone and he silenced it, stiffly standing and gingerly slipping his arm into the brace. The padding and support helped the aching in his wrist and helped to stabilize his weak fingers. He fumbled with the clasps a bit before he had them tightened down to his satisfaction. Then, with a resigned sigh, he rested his arm back in the sling and went to his class.
“Hey, All Might got his cast off!” Kirishima sounded excited.
His students turned towards him as he walked through the doorway, their eyes falling to his arm. Some of the ones closest to him winced when they saw how discolored his fingers were, but for the most part they seemed happy.
Toshinori gave a little wave, the fingers of his weakened hand twitching against the material of his shirt. “Recovery Girl took it off last night, yes.” He walked over to the desk and put his materials down. “Is Mic not here yet?”
They all looked at each other. “He ran in, said that he’d be right back, and ran back out, like, two minutes ago,” Jirou said, pointing at the stack of papers thrown haphazardly across the front desk.
“Oh.” Toshinori blinked. “I wonder if he forgot something.”
A skidding noise echoed through their door and Mic all but dashed into the room, another pile of papers gripped to his chest. He looked at Toshinori, his sunglasses hanging from one ear. “They wouldn’t print fast enough!”
“Ah.” The corners of Toshinori’s mouth twitched.
Mic cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Alright, class,” he quipped, gently rearranging his papers and placing them with exaggerated carefulness on the desk. “Time for some English!” He threw his hands up, his fingers clipping the edge of his askew sunglasses.
The room echoed with quiet laughs as Mic adjusted his glasses, Toshinori suppressing a chuckle as he held out a stack of papers for for the students to take.
“Today it’s just practice for tense changes,” Mic said, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Feel free to work with someone else, but remember - you won’t be able to work with your fellow students for the test!”
Toshinori leaned against the large desk at the front of the classroom, gripping the papers with his good hand. “Since this is your last class of the day, as soon as you complete the worksheet you’re free to go.”
“Alright, listeners . . .” Mic held his hands up, pointing at the clock. “Begin!”
Most of the students immediately got into groups, their chairs scraping across the floor. Toshinori smiled and closed his eyes, resting against the wooden desk. He rubbed at his upper arm, trying to work some warmth into the stiffness above the sling.
Mic joined Toshinori at the desk, gently leaning against the polished frame. He trained a critical eye at the older man, peering at the fingers that poked out from the sling and brace.
Mic grinned and gave a thumbs up. “No cast? Good for you!”
Toshinori nodded and kneaded at his shoulder. “I’m glad to be out of it.”
“I hear ya, buddy. How bad was it?” Mic crossed his arm and cocked his head. The quiet chatter of the students filled the background.
“Not terrible, only eleven pins and some stitches.”
Mic’s eyebrows furrowed in sympathy. “Geeze, man. Ouch. Aizawa was hurting for days after he got his pins removed, and he didn’t have that many in even one of his arms.”
Toshinori shrugged. “It wasn’t all that bad, actually.” He flexed his fingers. “They plated a lot of it, which might be why there were fewer pins than I expected.” He gave a laugh and rubbed the back of his head. “It got pretty busted, I guess.”
“Um?” Mineta raised his hand, a question on his face as he looked up from his worksheet. “What do you mean when you say ‘plated?’” Iida shot the student a glare and opened his mouth, perhaps to reprimand Mintea for listening to a conversation between their teachers when they were supposed to be furthering themselves by working on their English skills.
Toshinori waved a calming hand at Iida. “Plating is where they take some strips of surgical steel and screw it to the bone. The ones I got are permanent, and will help support my arm when it’s done healing.” He gently ran his fingers over his hand, feeling the dip when they fell off his brace.
“. . . dude. That is so manly.” Awe sparkled in Kirishima’s eyes.
Toshinori shrugged, suddenly aware of all the eyes that turned towards him and focused on his sling. He fidgeted with a strap on his brace. “Well, ah . . .”
Mid picked up on his distress. “Alright, alright, class. We all know All Might’s a tough cookie, but I’m gonna need you to focus on your work, yeah?”
Toshinori gave Mic a grateful look as the students laughed and turned back to their work. Mic shot him a smile and a thumbs up.
Soon afterwards they started finishing their worksheets, coming up and placing their papers on the front desk and waving at them both as they left the classroom.
Eventually there was only one student left, hunched over their paper and muttering to themselves.
“Midoriya?”
Izuku’s head shot up and he looked at the clock, his eyes widening. “Ah, I’m sorry! I was just trying to figure this out and got sorta lost. I - I’ll pack up, sorry -”
“It’s fine.” Toshinori turned to his fellow teacher. “I’ll handle this, Mic.”
“‘Kay. See you back at the dorms, Midoriya.” Mic flashed a smile and a wave, walking out the door with the sheets of paper packed under his arms.
Toshinori shook his head and walked over to his student, pulling a chair closer to the boy’s desk so that he could peer over the paper. “Alright, so what are you having trouble with?”
“These ones here,” Izuku said, gesturing to a line of words that filled the side of the page.
“Ah, I see. These tense changes are always a little strange. So here’s what you do -”
The two of them worked for quite some time, going over rules and ways of memorization. Eventually Toshinori slipped out of the sling, letting it rest on a nearby desk as he helped his student.
“So here you would put an ‘a’ in the middle, right?”
“Yes, well done!” Toshinori smiled and leaned back in his chair, gently rubbing his hand through the brace.
Izuku shot him a grin and kept working. The boy bent over his paper, mumbling under his breath as he went over the last few exercises.
Toshinori felt his eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiled, entertained by and proud of his student. He had to bite back a hiss when a twinge suddenly ran up his arm. He slipped out of the brace, setting it to the side next to the sling. He gently began to run his left thumb along the scarred palm, trying to ease the ache.
He didn’t notice Izuku looking at him until the scratch of pen on paper faded away. He looked up to see the boy focused on Toshinori's arm, worry pinched between his brows.
“Young Midoriya?”
Izuku jolted in his seat, eyes flashing up to look at his mentor. Toshinori blinked and gave an encouraging smile. “Not the prettiest recovery I’ve ever had, that’s for sure.”
Izuku rolled his eyes, fiddling with his pencil. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it, my boy?” Toshinori leaned back in his chair.
“It’s just . . .” Izuku blinked and fidgeted in his seat. His voice was a whisper. “You’re like me.”
“Hmm?”
Izuku stammered and turned away, though he did hold up his right hand for Toshinori to see. The scars were older, now, than they had been. They had turned from purple to silver, but Toshinori could still see the faint ridges they left on his skin where they coiled around Izuku’s hand and arm. The deformed fingers were knuckly and bent.
My fault. If I had been a better teacher, those wouldn’t be there.
“I guess - what I’m trying to say is that, uh, you know. Both our arms look sort of the same? A-and I know that you can be a little self-conscious sometimes, and it’s not that I like having your arm hurt like that . . .” Izuku took a deep breath. “I’m just saying that . . . uh . . .”
“I’m like you.” Toshinori’s voice was quiet. He grinned when Izuku stammered and blushed, the boy reaching up to cover his face.
Toshinori knew what it was like to see yourself reflected in something or someone you admired. Izuku’s scars had been gained from his own inability to teach the boy about One-For-All, true, but they also came from Izuku’s personal determination to help young Todoroki during the Sports Festival and his drive to save Bakugou when the boy had been abducted at the training camp. While Toshinori would always take personal responsibility for what had happened to his student, the scars were hardly marks to be looked down upon.
Suddenly his own arm was less a indication of weakness and lost strength, and more a badge of the sacrifices he made being a hero.
He reached out to ruffle Izuku’s hair with his good hand, a sincere smile on his face. The boy looked up when he felt Toshinori’s hand on his head, green eyes peeking above his fingers.
Toshinori felt warmth in his chest as he said “Yes, I suppose I am.”