Izuku has always joked about dying. He's skirted death so many times that he's taken to calling himself immortal. He won't be for long, of course, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there.
Literally.
This must be some sort of punishment for making too many jokes. Izuku would like to apologize to whatever deity up above he's offended this time. He might not mean the apology, but there's not much else he can do to make up for it at the moment. Give him a break, dammit, he's not having a very good day.
The explosion has Izuku flying back, his back hitting the hallway wall with so much force that he ends up smashing right through it as if it's nothing more than wet paper. He hits the ground hard and chokes, inhaling a lungful of dust and ash when he tries to force the oxygen back into his lungs.
It's like a chain reaction. There's multiple clicks in the distance, and then Izuku sees stars as the building is wracked with more explosions. Bombs,his mind helpfully inputs. They're fucking bombs.
Oh, he's on fire now. That's fun.
Heat races up his arms and legs, singeing some of his hair as it reaches his neck and head. The flames make quick work of his uniform, and a scream tears its way out of his throat when another bomb goes off right next to him, this time sending him face-first into the neighboring wall.
Izuku slides down, eyes wide and unseeing. He can't—he can't breathe anymore. It's too hot in here. Way too hot. Now if he were in a better state of mind he'd make a joke about how smoking hot he is, but this isn't the time.
He tastes copper on his tongue, and then there's something wet staining the only remaining parts of his school shirt. It has to be blood seeing as he has a fucking piece of metal lodged into his side, the exposed end of it cutting straight through his bicep and exposing the muscle.
Fantastic. The day he finally gets healed and this shit happens.
Extract takes a sledgehammer to his skull, and Izuku screams. He doesn't know what the hell is happening, he doesn't know what to do, what he even can do.
There are people approaching from outside the building. A lot of them. He can feel them all thanks to his piece-of-shit traitorous quirk. There must be twenty of them out there. They were all waiting for him, which means they had this all planned out from the start.
This is why they stopped following him so abruptly the other night. You give someone the illusion of freedom, and then take what you want from them anyway; it's the oldest trick in the book, and Izuku thought he countered this. He had plans to leave the entire fucking country in just a few hours time—but he was still too late. He should've known freedom wouldn't come so easily.
This is his mistake, and now he's paying for it. No, everyone will pay for it. Missy will pay for—
His heart leaps into his throat. Missy.
White-hot pain rushes through his body immediately after he tries to move. He can barely breathe, so maybe moving isn't the best idea. The pipe in his side is limiting him, and it's not like he can just pull it. If it struck something important, that might be the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.
"Mi—!" Ash flies into his mouth and he chokes. His chest feels like it's cracking, and the blood that fills up his mouth becomes the only thing protecting him from swallowing more debris. He tries again, but this time he can't even get the first syllable out.
No. He can't lose her. He can't—he can't handle it. This is his own fault. He should've never taken her in. Should've never put her in harm's way like this. And it's so unfair that Izuku feels his eyes start to burn, and it's not just because of the fire raging around him.
Another explosion rocks the earth, and then the floor gives way beneath him. He drops like a rock, One for All humming through his veins instinctually, as if to help. His power can do nothing, though, and when he lands the world slips away from him for a brief couple seconds. When he comes to, he's on his side, the pipe now lodged further inside him with a huge slab of concrete crushing his lower half to the ground. He's a couple floors down now, and when he gathers up enough strength to tilt his head and look up, he sees that the uppermost floors have all caved in from the middle, revealing a large hole that allows him to look straight through.
Missy, please. He chokes back something sharp in his throat, face tightening. Please, god.
Izuku, despite his many jokes, has never been very religious. That's not something his father ever focused on. And yet, at this moment, he finds himself praying to whoever can hear him. He doesn't want her to die. It'd be too cruel. It's not her fault he's a walking time bomb.
As he reaches out with his mind, trying desperately to find something that might help, he realizes with delayed relief that the people around him are disappearing. They're flickering out, like stars too old to sustain themselves. They're... leaving? He must be wrong. Has to be. Is it a warp gate? Perhaps it's Kurogiri, but then why doesn't he feel him?
No. This isn't like All for One at all. His father wouldn't leave him to die like this. He's too prideful. He'd want to kill Izuku himself, or at the very least take him back and break him. But the attackers' quirks are dying out, so that means they're gone. Which doesn't make sense in the slightest.
The ringing in his ears is faint now, and all he can hear is the fire blazing around him. His mind feels hazy. Every breath is a stab between his ribs, and red and orange embers float past his vision almost delicately.
He tries to call out again, but a cackling board falls next to him and sends up a cloud of black smoke and ash, clouding his vision.
Is he dying? If there's anything he's learned from all those bootlegged movies, it's that death usually comes in a flash of light; it's supposed to be a comforting presence against the darkness, not whatever this is. He didn't think it would be like this.
And as the cloud clears up, he sees a figure standing precariously near the edge of the top floor, looking down. The fire illuminates the figure's build, casting a dark shadow across its face and body. White eyes find his, and another spike is sent through Izuku's heart once he feels that familiar intensity and bloodcurdling power.
Ah. His follower is back yet again.
Jagged tendrils billow out behind his keeper, and Izuku swears he sees something limp being held in one of those shadowed hands, but then the figure disappears before he can make any sense of it.
His shock lasts half a moment. Then it hits him at once. All of his attackers are gone now. He can't feel them anymore. He's safe.
Safe from them, at least. From everything else? The odds aren't looking to be in his favor. But then again, when are they ever?
The building is starting to collapse around him, and the weight of the situation is slowly starting to dawn on him. Oh, how quickly things can start falling apart.
Missy couldn't have survived for this long.
The mere thought hurts him worse than any of the numerous wounds he's sporting right now. Something so fundamental to his very being has just been torn away, and the lack of it is like boiling water down his spine. His quirks are slipping away from him, his grip on reality being held by a single thread. Is this how it feels to be blinded?
He forces himself onto his back, spine twisting painfully since his legs are pinned down, and his eyes settle on the blackened ceiling above. Everything is fuzzy. He can barely hear correctly. He feels like a radio with a connection that keeps breaking up, and the result is this staticky feeling worming its way into his mind. His hand curls briefly around his throat, if only to make sure he's not already dead, and when it comes away it's sticky and warm.
And then he's pulled underwater, and Izuku can't swim, so he does the next best thing. He drowns.
Not literally—although maybe, he thinks, just maybe, that might be for the best. Water floods his lungs, mixing with the ash, and the worst part is it actually doesn't.
But it does. He feels the insatiable burn, and bubbles race one another to break the surface when the remaining air is forced from his lungs. Izuku does not break the surface.
He can't.
I'm so sorry, he thinks, but it doesn't sound like himself. I'm sorry for not being enough, Tsukauchi. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Izuku drowns in an ocean of smoke and debris, and not for the first time does he wish things would end quicker.
His eyes have long since fluttered shut by the time the cracked device on his arm lights up, the signal finally coming back on, but only for a moment.
A moment is more than enough.
Emergency Protocol 'Last Resort' Initiated.
Password: 'dadzawa'.
Shouta is in the middle of tying up the latest Petty Criminal of the Week when he gets the call.
It's currently a little past twelve in the morning. Patrol today doesn't end until one, his shift having been shortened due to the Sports Festival—which is why he's confused as to why someone's calling him on his personal cell when his patrol hasn't ended yet.
All of his friends and coworkers know not to bother him while he's working unless it's an emergency.
He fishes out his phone after handing the criminal over to the nearest police officer. "What is it? This better be—"
"Aizawa. Where are you right now?"
The hero immediately tenses up, jerking the phone away from his ear to stare at the caller ID, as if to make sure he's hearing this right. Detective Tsukauchi rarely sounds this urgent.
"I'm a few blocks away from the courthouse," he replies, already taking to the rooftops. "Where do you need me?"
"I need you to head towards City Hall. It's an emergency. I've already sent two units there under suspicion of villainous activity."
His voice gives way to panic, and Shouta jumps to the neighboring building, mapping out the route in his head. "Do you have anywhere more specific?"
The detective laughs something dark. "Trust me, you won't be able to miss it."
Oh. This can't be good.
"Tsukauchi, what's happening?" There's a beat of silence, and Shouta feels his throat tighten up unexpectedly. "Tsukauchi!"
He sounds reluctant. "I got a text a few minutes ago. An abandoned building is on fire and nearly under collapse. We think it must've been a bomb of some sort. Multiple ones."
A bomb. Which means this was probably planned, not accidental. Suspicion of villainous activitysounds way more plausible all of a sudden.
"Is there anyone in it? Any surrounding buildings at risk?"
"There's just one person inside, and it's not close enough to the neighboring complexes to be an immediate danger," Tsukauchi says, and Shouta feels himself start to relax, only to grimace when the detective continues with a pained voice. "I got a text from the kid's AI. That's the only reason I was notified of this so quickly."
It's almost funny how he immediately knows who he's talking about. "Rabbit's already on the scene? He should be resting right now, not—"
"Shouta, he's the one in the building."
Shouta's heart seems to freeze in his chest, eyes bugging out while he nearly propels himself straight off the edge of the roof he's on. It's only by the grace of his capture weapon that he manages to right himself and make it to the next ledge, because fuck, Tsukauchi's never called him by his first name before.
Fear, so cold and sharp and blinding, runs through his veins and leaves him trembling. "What?"
"We're on a time limit. It was his AI who contacted me, not him, so he's most likely unconscious. You need to get there before the building collapses on top of him. I already called your agency's hospital; they have a bed waiting just in case."
Just in case. Just in case the boy is already dead. Just in case Shouta doesn't get there fast enough. Fuck. Pull yourself together.
"Got it. Anything else I need to know? I'll make sure to—" He cuts himself off with a noiseless gasp, mouth gaping open.
He's still about a mile away from City Hall, but Shouta can see it. The building itself is fairly huge, and even from this far away the orange and red flames that are spreading to the lower floors are still very prominent. It's a blazing inferno—a beacon of light against the dark sky. Shouta recognizes it as the apartment complex that closed down years ago around the time he graduated from UA. One of his mother's friends used to live there.
Shouta tries to push away the emotions threatening to boil over. Why is his student in an abandoned building at this time of night? And, more importantly, how did he get caught up in this supposed bombing?
A smaller, nastier voice at the back of Shouta's mind tells him that he does know, that he knows exactly how and why this situation is occurring. With everything he knows, it's not hard to take a guess. But that's something he can stress over later—he has a kid to save.
The hero is a blur of dark fabric when he shoots closer to the scene, Tsukauchi having already hung up. His heart is pounding out of his chest, his breaths shaky and uneven. The building right next to the one on fire only goes up to half its height, so Shouta will have to use his scarf to slingshot himself up to the top floor. It's easier to work his way down that way.
It's probable that the bomb was triggered at the very top, so Rabbit—no, Midoriya must be there. His student. His kid.
He has to go faster. He has to make sure he won't fail this time—
Shouta trips over something soft, and he lands on uneven ground, knees digging into harsh gravel. He curses at his clumsiness and moves to get up, as he can't afford to waste any more precious seconds, when he suddenly sees it.
A body, limp and unmoving, is crumpled up near the edge. Its torn clothing is stained crimson, and Shouta nearly gags at the overwhelming stench of death that surrounds him on all sides. He throws a quick glance around, something heavy dropping into his stomach once he takes in the other dead figures spread out on the rooftop. The space is eerily silent with nothing but the cackle of flames in the distance.
He forces himself to his feet, leaving the bodies behind. He recognizes some of them by their pale, frozen looks as he passes, and a shudder runs through him.
Those haunted faces don't belong to just villains. There are heroes among them, Shouta can tell.
The closer he gets to the fire, the less the bodies appear. He can see more limp figures littered on the buildings surrounding the scene, leading Shouta to believe that someone (or something) must have stopped them from getting too close. The growing puddles of blood next to the bodies are fresh.
Horror settles under his skin, and he doesn't hesitate in sending his capture weapon wrapping around the railing of one of the upper balconies. Midoriya, what have you gotten yourself into, kid?
He yanks himself up the rest of the way, not sparing the heroes and police far down below a second glance. He doesn't have time to lay into them for being so fucking useless.
He crashes through a window, and okay, maybe there could've been a better way for him to enter, but he doesn't have much time to work with at the moment, so you can kindly screw off.
Shouta ducks his face into his scarf to avoid inhaling most of the smoke, and his eyes burn from the heat and intensity in the air. He has to make this quick, or else he'll have to be rescued, too. He stumbles around blindly, waving his hands to try and see past the dust and debris.
"Midoriya!" He shouts, praying he can be heard over the roaring of the flames. "Kid! Are you in here!"
He coughs, an acrid taste filling his mouth, and the distraction is almost enough to send him plummeting straight through the gaping hole in the middle of the floor. Shouta steadies himself and peers down the opening, calling out for the boy again. This part of the wood must've caved in due to too much pressure, resulting in a sort of avalanche that stopped near the base level.
He could be buried under all that.
Shouta shakes himself and scans the different floors, or at least what he can see of them. The fire is close enough to bite at his back now, and Shouta moves closer to the edge. He has to be here, he has to be okay, he has to be alive—
His capture weapon shoots up and wraps around one of the strongest points in the ceiling the moment he catches a glimpse of dark green, and Shouta uses it to slide down to one of the lower levels.
He can't exactly drop like a rock unless he wants to risk sending the building into even more chaos. It could collapse any second—he has to go. They have to go.
Shouta feels suddenly light-headed when he comes to a stop right beside the mess of smoldering green hair. He lurches forward, boots splashing in the blood that sits in a puddle on the ground. Blood that should not be pooling out of his kid's body, he thinks. That's something he does know.
The spike is what gets his attention first, that and the large slab of concrete that pins Midoriya's legs to the floor. And his face...
There's soot and ash all over his student, combined with a multitude of gashes and cuts. His eyes are shut, and there's no sign of life other than the faintest rise and fall of his chest, though that could just be a trick of the hero's mind.
"Kid!" Shouta taps his cheek, doing it again with more force when he gets no response. His fingers find his way to the boy's neck, and he could probably collapse in relief once he feels the strong, steady pulse beneath the skin. Not dead yet.
It takes a good ten seconds for Shouta to move the concrete, his steel-enforced capture weapon doing most of the heavy-lifting. He's actually kind of glad Midoriya isn't awake right now to feel this, as he knows that would've hurt like a bitch.
But now for the hard part.
He crouches down and carefully slips an arm under the kid's back, the other under his knees. The spike shifts when Shouta lifts him up, and he winces in sympathy. Please don't wake up now. Wait a little longer.
In a more ideal circumstance, Shouta would be able to leave Midoriya where he is until on-site medical professionals could deal with the pipe lodged in him, but there's not much of a choice here. He can't take the piece out himself, obviously, so this is how it must be for now.
But even with the fairly large piece of shrapnel inside him, Midoriya doesn't weigh that much at all. For someone so powerful who maintains decent muscles, Shouta expected the kid to weigh more. And as he rushes them to the nearest balcony, planning to go out the same style he went in, Shouta can't help but wonder when the last time the boy ate a proper meal was.
A darker part of him would almost rather stay ignorant.
There's a high-pitched groan, and then the boards above them are breaking apart. Shouta can do nothing but tighten his grip on Midoriya as he jumps, the wind whipping at his face and cheek. The building is still roaring and cackling, and there's more crashes from inside, signaling more avalanches.
They land roughly on a neighboring building, this one free of any bodies, and Shouta forces himself to control his nerves. They made it out, but with Midoriya's condition there's no telling what's going to happen next.
Take him to your hospital. You know what you're doing. Calm down.
It's a good thing he got his student out, as the heroes seem to have called in more backup to help control and put out the fire. None of them, however, look the least bit concerned that there might have been someone in the building. They would've left him to die.
Shouta forces himself to run faster, glancing every now and then at Midoriya's face to see if there's any changes. His student doesn't stir, and he can't decide if that's good or bad.
He still hasn't managed to wrap his head around the situation, as just fifteen minutes ago he was doing his patrol like any other day, and now he's carrying a dying kid to the hospital, a ton of revelations coming to light.
"Problem child," he mutters, readjusting his grip when Midoriya's head falls into the crook of Shouta's neck. "You've got some explaining to do once we get out of this one."
It's a blessing that his agency's hospital is just around the corner, which is probably why Tsukauchi said he would already have everything prepared.
Shouta drops down to the sidewalk, ignoring the screams that come from the few civilians out at this time, instead kicking open the glass doors to the walk-in center. It's not the ER or hero section, but it'll have to do.
"Sir, visiting hours are—oh, shit!" A boy with cotton-candy hair begins, only to break off upon seeing what Shouta has in his arms. His hand slams something on the side of his desk, and the door to the back room immediately slides open.
Everything is a blur after that.
A team of doctors meet him halfway, all ones that Shouta is familiar with and could probably pick out by name, and then he's following close behind them after he places Midoriya on the rolling gurney.
"The pipe is deep—it could have hit close to his heart," he hears one of them say, and those words are all it takes to send Shouta down a spiral. "He needs it removed, now. Intake assessment first, as quickly as possible, then prep him for surgery."
Surgery. Surgery.
Someone ushers him back when he attempts to follow them, and he finds himself standing in the middle of the pristine, too-clean hallway with blood staining his dark clothes and hands, dripping rhythmically onto the floor. Antiseptic burns his nose, and he's brought out of his momentary daze when a nurse comes by with wet wipes to help him clean off.
Shouta can only nod in thanks when she leaves, semi-dry hands fumbling for the phone in his pocket. The first person he calls is Recovery Girl, but he's pleasantly surprised when Chiyo informs him that she's already on her way. Nezu apparently told her to pack her supplies and bring it over.
He makes a note to thank the principal for his creepy, all-knowing ways.
Shouta sits down in a chair directly adjacent to the wing they took Midoriya in, and then he calls Hizashi.
God knows he can't do this alone.
But after all that's said and done, when his husband has promised to be there in less than twenty minutes with an emergency overnight bag for him, Shouta has nothing else to do to pass the time.
So he thinks about every little thing that's led up to this event, and he waits.
When Izuku wakes up, it takes him a while to even notice it.
It's a funny thing, living after dying. Living after being so sure that the last thing he'd ever see would be the fiery embers of his father's hatred. But in the end he didn't die at all, though that's not how it feels.
He only realizes he's alive when his eyes blink open and focus on the people crowded around him. They're all in white and blue and black scrubs, and it takes Izuku a good ten seconds to process why that could be.
Oh. They're doctors. He counts the ones he can see and comes up with six. Or maybe it's seven. He doesn't know.
Another few seconds go by. They must've realized he's awake by now, since he can see their mouths moving but not emitting any sound. This is bad. He doesn't have a plan. He doesn't know what's happening, and he also doesn't know what the fuck is going to happen.
But that's not his problem. He's not going to stick around long enough to find out.
The memories hit him all at once, steeling his resolve, and then he moves.
Well, tries to. Izuku's entire body is numb, and he can't even move his own mouth to form words. He manages to tilt his head, and that's when he notices that he's been stripped down to his underwear, and that the pipe is still in his fucking side.
Are they trying to get it out? Is that what this is? A surgery? His stomach drops, and the world around him sharpens when a light shines in his eyes. They must've already taken his blood. They can see all of his scars, all of his wounds.
Which means they know. They know about Rabbit, they know about everything.
A fresh wave of panic hits him, and he starts struggling again. This time, he manages to move his arms and legs a little, lashing out with the faintest hint of One for All cackling across his skin. He can't come up with any more than that, though. It hurts to try.
"Hey, kid!"
"Son, stop moving."
A hand grabs his wrist and gently pins it to the table, and Izuku hates how hard it is just to break free from the doctor's grasp.
"Why isn't he still under? He shouldn't be awake!"
"He said he has a high metabolism, so keep pumping—!"
They're talking as if he's not there, and really, maybe he isn't. Not mentally, at least. He can still taste the ash in his mouth, still see the figure looming over the edge from high above. Still remember the anguish of not being able to find—
Liquid fire is injected into his bloodstream.
It hurts, god it hurts. It spreads from his arms to his neck and down to his toes. It's hot, it's hot, get it out of him, please, he's sorry, he said he was sorry, stop it, he won't ever do it again, he promises. Just get it out.
He tries not to break his promises. His father knows this. They should know this, and yet they're all just standing there while his entire body erupts into flames, the scorching heat peeling back his skin and taking knives to his flesh.
Wait. Please. Please. Please. Not this again. I was good.
Izuku thinks faintly, at the very back of his boiling mind, that if he goes unconscious one more time today, the void he ends up floating in will just stop taking him in altogether. He doesn't like that ocean of nothingness, no. He's not a fan after being exposed to it all his life. A better alternative to that would be not waking up at all.
Death can't resent him forever. She can't keep giving him a taste of hell only to yank him back up when he learns to get comfortable in it.
He's getting too tired.
Toshinori is smart. He knows this. The world knows this. He wouldn't be the number one hero if he wasn't.
Being smart, however, is not the same as being intelligent. Because as of this moment, with Toshinori sitting on a small plastic chair in a hospital he's never been to before, staring at his sound-asleep successor as he tries to fight off his latest infection, the man has never felt more dumbin his life. And coming from a man who's tried to Detroit Smash an entire typhoon away, that's saying something.
A student who gets the correct answer on a test can be described as smart, but a student that solves the problem from a different perspective or by using other means and resources to do so can be described as intelligent.
At least, that's what Gran always used to say.
One isn't better than the other, of course, but the fact still remains that Toshinori doesn't fall into the intelligent category, or else he would've fucking seen the signs.
"Rabbit," he mutters, testing the name out on his tongue, wincing as he hears it echo in his ears.
He still doesn't quite believe it. The words that Nezu cheerfully threw at him over the phone don't make sense to him. They can't be true, can't be possible.
Midoriya Izuku, his boy, his successor, just can't be the snarky vigilante that's been terrorizing Japan for upwards of a few years now. There's no way.
But even as he thinks this, Toshinori knows it's true. Not only is there solid proof in the form of whatever device was on the kid's forearm, but Aizawa himself even confirmed it. And as scary and questionable as his coworker can be sometimes, Toshinori still trusts his judgement wholeheartedly.
How the younger man figured it out in the first place is a mystery, though not one Toshinori is willing to ask him about.
But if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't care that Midoriya is a vigilante. He doesn't care that his successor has been breaking the law for so long that the no vigilantism clause has become more of a suggestion than anything set in stone. What really concerns Toshinori is everything else.
Midoriya is, for one, homeless. He doesn't live with his father like he told Toshinori, and nor does he just forget to eat sometimes in lieu of his busyness. The kid probably didn't even have any food to eat in the first place.
What this all means is that Midoriya lied to him. Straight to his face. On multiple occasions.
It hurts more than Toshinori is willing to admit.
The pieces have fallen into place. The more he thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes. The bags under the boy's eyes, the way he would limp or favor one side during training, even though Toshinori knew for a damn fact it wasn't because of their sparring matches. How light Midoriya is despite having pretty decent-sized muscles, and then there's the obvious skill he showed in hand-to-hand combat even on the first day they tried it together—it's all pointing to the idea that he's Rabbit, a homeless vigilante who has somehow managed to survive this long with the whole world against him whilst also going to a school for heroes.
It's so absurd to think about that Toshinori can't help but laugh, though it holds none of the usual warmth that always seems to come out when he's around the boy. He drops his head forward and rests a large palm on Midoriya's bandaged hand, wondering for the nth time since Nezu called him how things could've escalated this far. If Toshinori had known half of what he knows now, he wouldn't have let the boy out of his sight, and thus none of this would've happened.
He wonders what his mentor would think about all this, and he finds himself praying he hasn't disappointed her yet again. He wouldn't be able to take it.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He rumbles, more to himself than anything. He knows Midoriya probably can't hear him with the state he's in right now. "I would've helped you, my boy."
And it's the truth. Toshinori would've been upset, sure, but he never would have pushed him away. He'd never dream of it. Hell, harboring a wanted criminal and becoming an enemy to the government honestly wouldn't have been a big price to pay in exchange for Midoriya's safety and happiness.
He would've gone that far in a heartbeat, but now it seems that option has gone down the drain. And the uncertainty of what will happen next is almost unbearable.
"I wouldn't take it personally," Aizawa says, and Toshinori does not jump out of his skin and squawk at the sudden presence of his coworker in the decidedly not-empty-room, thank you very much. He flushes, wanting to ask just how long he's been leaning against that wall for, but the man continues before he can get a chance. "He's lied to just about everyone. For good reason, too."
Toshinori frowns, turning his attention back to the injured boy, gaze lingering on his wrapped chest and stomach—a result of hours of surgery and multiple healing heroes. "I fail to see how there can be any reason good enough to excuse this."
He gets a grunt, and then Aizawa is walking closer to peer at his student as well. "I hate to say it, but for once I agree with you."
Does he, though? Toshinori knows that the other hero doesn't express his emotions as clearly as most people do, but he still can't help but be baffled at how Aizawa is holding such a blank face at a time like this. He doesn't look like someone who carried a near-dead teenager out of a collapsing building just hours before.
Toshinori could be wrong, though, as he's obviously not nearly as good at reading people as he thought he was.
He rests his hand back on Midoriya's, pointedly ignoring Aizawa's unimpressed stare at the action. He knows the boy can't feel or even accept the comfort Toshinori is trying to give him, but it can't hurt to try. And besides, he's doing this for himself, too. He needs to feel that his protégé is really here and alive, not just some figment of his imagination.
He clears his throat. "And what of his cat? Have we learned anything new?"
"They still haven't found the person who dropped her off, but the vet made sure to save some of the blood found in her fur. They think it might belong to whoever did it." Aizawa dips his face into his capture scarf and shoves his hands into his pockets. "I personally don't think it'll lead anywhere, but it's not like there's anything else they can go off of."
Toshinori nods, satisfied with the answer. Missy was the second thing he asked about upon arriving at the hospital. He knows how much the cat means to Midoriya, so finding her and ensuring her health was at the top of his priority. Now, you can imagine everyone's surprise after learning that a cat fitting Missy's description was dropped off at a nearby Veterinarian's office just an hour after Aizawa found Midoriya.
The secretary couldn't catch a glimpse of who did it, having been too worried about the soot-covered feline in front of her. The cat wasn't injured too badly, it seems. She had just a few scrapes and cuts from the initial explosion, so it didn't take very long to heal her, but for now she's being kept at the Vet's office until someone can pick her up.
Toshinori never thought he would be this relieved over an animal's well-being before, and yet here he is. He's begun to realize a lot of things about himself since Midoriya came along.
"The meeting at UA starts in an hour," Aizawa states, eyes closed with his head thunking back against the wall, voice as monotone as always—though now Toshinori can detect something deeper in those words. He just can't put his finger on it. "If you want to make it on time you should leave now. I'm sure you of all people want to be there to make sure nothing bad happens."
Toshinori's brows furrow, confusion lining his features. "You're not going?"
Aizawa just snorts. "Someone has to watch the kid, All Might. You heard what he did during surgery, now imagine how much more panicked he'll be once he wakes up, especially now that he's restrained."
Toshinori was so consumed in his thoughts earlier that he completely forgot about the thick black straps pinning the injured boy to the table. There's four of them—one that goes over his chest, one that rests over his hips, one for his knees, and another for his ankles. Toshinori was appalled when he busted through the doors and saw them, but no amount of demanding saw to the restraints being removed.
"It's cruel," he spits out, that earlier anger coming back tenfold. "Young Midoriya is not an animal that needs to be restrained. He's just going to struggle harder this time."
Aizawa lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "They've deemed him a flight risk, and with such a powerful quirk it's only protocol to strap him down to prevent him from hurting himself or others. But that doesn't make it right."
No. No it does not. The only thing Toshinori can say is at least the doctors compromised with them: if Midoriya shows signs of being less volatile and more compliant the next time he wakes up, the straps will be allowed to be removed. It sounds simple enough, but it's hard to predict what Midoriya will do next at this point. No doubt the boy is as lost and panicky as everyone else. He might lash out again.
The hero stands from the uncomfortable chair, his joints popping as he goes. His hand retracts, but he hesitates on moving further, not wanting to leave his successor but also not wanting to miss the very important meeting at UA that'll determine Midoriya's fate.
And it's not that he doesn't trust Aizawa to watch over him carefully, it's just that it's hard to trust anyone right now after all the information they've learned.
The underground hero must sense his gaze on him, as dark eyes flutter open and glitter in the hospital lights. "He'll be fine, All Might. You act like I'm going to kill him the moment he wakes up." He tilts his head in consideration, a wry grin appearing on his face. "Actually, with all the shit he's been hiding from us, that might save us all some trouble."
Toshinori balks, forcing himself to simply wave goodbye and take his leave after one last glance at his successor. He can only hope that last part was a joke, as it's hard to tell with Aizawa sometimes.
But it's too late to worry about that now. He has a meeting to attend.
Shouta waits in Midoriya's room for thirty minutes, just playing cat games on his phone and grading papers with the occasional call from Nemuri or Hizashi, before Chiyo texts him to come to her office. He immediately gets up and makes for the room three doors down the hallway, already knowing what this is about.
The surgery was a success overall, besides the whole waking up in the middle of it part, so Shouta isn't too worried about the damages that particular wound will leave Midoriya. His other injuries were taken care of after, so he's fine there as well. The boy just needs a few more healing sessions and he should be set to leave.
But that's not the major problem at hand. The problem is that Midoriya obviously has a ton of other issues that no one is really paying attention to. Issues that look to have been going on for awhile now, and yet haven't been talked about before now.
Chiyo said she'd do an extensive check-up over Midoriya, and when Shouta found out about it he'd asked if he could be there for the results. As the boy's homeroom teacher, Shouta thinks he has a right to know what the hell's wrong with him.
Which leads to now, with Chiyo shuffling papers and binders around to try and clean up her makeshift workspace. She sets a few more things aside before collapsing in a chair, clutching what looks to be the results of the tests in her hand.
Shouta gives her a few moments to recover, watching as she sits up a little straighter and smooths out the papers.
"You might as well sit down, this is going to be awhile."
Her voice is grim, and Shouta sinks into the plastic chair opposite of her. He can already tell this isn't going to be good.
"Midoriya has multiple health issues—all of which are being supplemented by his quirk. Some completely, others partially." At Shouta's blank look, she continues. "When I say this, I mean that the only reason he appears healthy is because his quirk is ensuring that he is. However, as you can imagine, there are many problems that have arose because of this." She takes in a deep breath, rubbing her forehead tiredly, air passing between her teeth.
Shouta is struck with sudden gratitude for the woman. She hasn't gotten a break from using her quirk in days. Nezu called her here in the middle of the night without warning, and Shouta has yet to hear a single complaint from her. In fact, she seems more calm than anyone else would be in this situation.
"It is very subtle," she notes, catching Shouta's eye as if to make sure he understands. "I doubt many others would have noticed it if they weren't specifically looking for it, but the boy also has a very high metabolism due to his enhancements, so he heals at a slightly faster rate than normal humans, though not quite fast enough to be considered a true regenerative aspect. At least, not one that he'd have to register for."
He frowns, hunching forward in his chair. "So he can heal himself? To what extent?"
Chiyo shakes her head. "To say heal is to assume he gets fully recovered, which he doesn't. You've seen the scarring on him, Shouta. His x-rays indicate multiple past fractures and breaks, most of which are from blunt force trauma, not necessarily continuous pressure. A majority of those breaks, it seems, healed incorrectly."
Shouta crosses his arms, taking in her words like water. "Incorrectly," he echoes drily. "I should've figured saying as he doesn't like hospitals. I'm sure he thought he could tend to his injuries by himself."
"That's the way it looks as of right now. But the problem is his healing isn't exactly some grand quirk—it is merely a result of a boosted metabolism, which means that although his body has its own way of stitching itself up, it doesn't exhibit proper care or treatment needed to help him fully recover. Infections and diseases, for one thing, are still things he's highly susceptible to. A high metabolism won't exempt him from those threats."
The hero looks troubled, and Shouta catches on quickly. "He's healing in all the wrong ways," he finishes. "So his quirk is basically putting a bandage on a gunshot wound and calling it a fix."
"Unfortunately so. It works in the moment, and as long as the bandage is changed every so often normal functions will remain, but in the long run things will only prove to get worse."
It's not used to make sure he's safe, Shouta realizes with a start. It's used to make sure he wins the battle in that moment.
He curses, the weight of her words falling onto his shoulders like a boulder. "How do you fix it?" He asks, and he winces at his own desperation. "All of the stuff you said you found, I mean."
"We'd have to undo the healing that's already taken place, starting with re-breaking certain bones so I am able to fix them properly. Only then will his quirk factors be of use to him."
Fuck.
They sit like that in silence for a moment, Chiyo looking over the papers and Shouta running his hands through his hair—a nervous tic he thoughthe'd gotten rid off after high school, but it appears not.
He swallows past the lump in his throat. "What else is wrong with him? It can't be just that."
"I'll start with the health issues his quirk does not fully supplement, or the ones that are too severe for it to correct. The most basic one would be bad quirk control. His enhancements are maintaining Midoriya's body in such a way that it causes an imbalance in his nervous system, making the control over his own strength very difficult. It seems he also has vast reserves of power which only amplifies this difficulty."
Shouta grinds his teeth in mild frustration. There were so many signs pointing to the truth, and yet he still missed them all. It was only a few weeks ago that he managed to put some of the pieces together, which is completely unacceptable. Too late. Far too late. I could've prevented this if I had just looked a little deeper.
"That's not the worst of it, I'm afraid." Her voice brings Shouta out of his thoughts. "He also has some trauma on his growth plates which has me concerned. This is directly involved with his own bodily health. His malnutrition and lack of sleep is making his body frail, thus making his cells work twice as hard for only a fraction of the usual outcome."
For a second, Shouta thinks he's misheard her. "Malnutrition?"
"Don't act so surprised!" Chiyo exclaims, giving the younger hero a sharp look. "The boy looks dead on his feet, Shouta, and I know you've noticed how small he is. His sugar levels are way below average, and it looks like he hasn't had a proper meal in months. It's an easy enough fix, though, and if addressed soon won't be a problem in the future."
She looks up at Shouta, giving him a moment to grasp what she's saying and to interject or ask questions if he chooses to. He stays silent, his mind drifting to the meeting he knows his husband is at right now. He knows one of them had to be there, so he's not complaining, but at the same time he can't help but wish Hizashi could be here beside him.
"One thing I need you to note," Chiyo says slowly, her serious gaze grabbing hold of Shouta's and not letting go, "is that this malnutrition doesn't seem to be a new thing. His body is used to this, almost. The trauma on his growth plates, as I mentioned, extends back several years." She shakes her head. "Which might be why he's so small, you know. Everything else about his body points to the idea that he should have grown a little by now, but he hasn't. He's almost unnaturally short for a boy his age. And, taking into account his muscle mass and BMI, underweight. Do you catch my drift?"
It extends back years. Meaning this has to have been going on for longer than Midoriya has been homeless. He wasn't eating correctly when he was with his guardian, and nor was he being treated right.
Neglect?
Yes. Shouta understands what she's saying very well.
Chiyo turns her eyes to the paper once again. "The last is his body's dependency on his quirk for maintaining his health. His enhancements are making up for a deficit in nearly every necessary thing, from calcium to Vitamins A, D, and C. It's extensive. Like I said before, this also goes into his eating and sleeping habits. He might not actually feel like he's hungry or tired, so it may be more difficult to notice how destructive he's being to himself. That's also an easy enough fix, but I do expect some trouble."
"I'll take care of it," Shouta interrupts, nodding. I can make him eat and sleep, at least.
"And I'll hold you to that," she threatens, pointing her cane at him. "This could work out better than expected, but even so, there's always a chance things could go downhill straight after this. What I can do is give you basic dietary and nutritional supplements to help his body start maintaining itself once he's discharged."
"Okay," Shouta breathes, looking out the window briefly before letting his eyes close. "That's not too bad."
"It will take a while, and it will be difficult. The poor boy's entire body will be thrown out of whack, and no doubt he will become sick, frail, and weak during the time his body takes to adjust. His hormones will be imbalanced for a while, but at the end of it he will ultimately be healthier. And not to mention perhaps have better quirk control."
Chiyo had held Shouta's gaze during her explanation and now sits waiting for him to respond, though she's not rushing him at all. They both know it's a lot to take in.
The silence stretches on and her eyes gain a dark light of understanding. "It wouldn't be the worst a hero has lived with, though, and it won't be the worst to come. He's just going to need a lot of support."
Support, huh? Midoriya's parents are out of the question. That doesn't leave many other choices.
Chiyo stands, folding the paper and moving back to her desk. "You're not obligated to do anything, Shouta. He's alive and functioning well enough at the level he is at—for now, at least."
She opens a drawer, and Shouta follows her movements with his eyes.
"If there is one thing we know as heroes, it is that life is suffering. We live as tools for a greater good, nothing more, nothing less. But, if you do intend to be there for him," she pauses, turning to Shouta with a paper labeled Dietary Plans in hand, gaze heavy as it lands on him. "You must commit to it. You make your choice and that's that; don't give false hope and don't build something you plan on destroying. It's far crueler than continuing to stand by as you have been doing."
She passes him the document, eyes softening. Shouta doesn't know quite when it got so suffocating in here. His throat feels tight all of a sudden.
"He's a good kid, and he'll be an even greater hero," she says, like it's an undisputed fact, "he just needs someone to guide him back to the light."
He clutches the paper tighter and watches the woman leave with his mind reeling.
It won't be until later that he realizes he never asked her about the boy's blood results.