Chapter Text
If you asked Aizawa–Yamada Shouta, he would say that life is going pretty good.
His most problematic group of students have long since graduated from UA and gone on to become incredible heroes in their own right. Every time he's reminded of the fact, Shouta can never quite stop the proud little feeling that worms its way into his chest; he smiles every time he sees a successful news story featuring one of them.
Hizashi would say he's going soft in his old age.
Shouta would beg to differ.
He's still Eraserhead, despite being down an eye and a leg. Still the no-nonsense homeroom teacher of class 1-A.
So what if the kids—his kids—visit for mealtime after patrols, even though they were all old enough by now to make their own food. And so what if he had all their numbers saved in his phone. Just because they'd graduated didn't mean he had to cut all contact. Plus, his collection of 'best teacher' coffee mugs make sense. They serve a function, don't they, and it would be rude to throw away a gift.
The mess of childish scribbles hung up on the fridge—all drawn by Eri—serve a purpose, too. It was only logical to encourage her artistic abilities alongside her academics. The beaming smiles and hugs were just an added bonus.
Besides, those kids had all been through so much, it was only fair to cut them some slack here and there.
...Okay, so maybe he was going soft, but it didn't have to mean anything!
It was just... nice, seeing things go right for a change.
All for One and the Paranormal Liberation Front were both no more; arrested, reformed, or dead. And to be honest, fighting regular criminals was a tad underwhelming after facing that utter shit show.
Hizashi and Nemuri were much happier now too, ever since the three of them had been able to break through to Shirakumo. The poor man still had a lot of catching up to do, after essentially being in a coma for over a decade, though he was slowly but surely regaining his memories.
Shouta had missed his old best friend.
It seems like Sushi had too, as the little cat had recognized him straight away. In the beginning Shirakumo had gone over to Nemuri's apartment nearly every day to cuddle with Sushi, though these days it was only a few times a week.
For the time being he was staying with Shouta and Hizashi while he got back on his feet. They had a spare bedroom so it really wasn't a problem, though Hizashi had gone and filled it up with clothing for their revived friend. Thankfully, Shirakumo took it in stride.
He'd only spent about the first week sleeping in 'his' bedroom, however, and now most nights he joined Shouta and Hizashi in their bed instead. Shirakumo had always been a tactile person, and after so many years it seems he'd become rather touch-starved, tending to seek out physical contact whenever possible. Luckily Shouta has become well-versed in handling physical affection, seeing as Hizashi was the same way.
Eri was absolutely enamored by her newest uncle, and Shirakumo had quickly become just as smitten with her. It made Shouta happy to see them getting along.
It was an odd thing, having so many people now that he cared about. So many people that cared about him in return. He's come a long way from the scrawny teenager who'd convinced himself that companionship was unnecessary.
Shouta's pleasantly surprised to have been wrong.
So, yeah. Like was going pretty good.
He's jolted out of his thoughts by a scream ringing out through the night.
Right, he's still on patrol. Best not get distracted.
Shouta pushes up from his crouch, boots quietly striking the rooftops as he runs in the direction of the scream which, by now, had gone eerily silent.
It had been a quiet night thus far, uneventful, and only a minute ago he'd been considering heading home early... but that could wait. Right now, someone needed his help.
There. Down in that alleyway.
Keeping himself low, Shouta peers over the edge of the roof and spots a loose ring of people in the alley below. Trapped in the center was a single unlucky bastard in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Their attention is all focused on one another, not the hero lying in wait just above.
Perfect.
With his goggles already in place, Shouta drops down to land directly on top of the main villain; the one who'd moments ago had a knife pointed in the face of their victim.
They go down with a grunt as the impact knocks them out cold.
In the next instant Shouta's on the move, capture weapon flitting out to snag two more of the villains, still stunned motionless from his abrupt entrance. He slams the two of them together before flinging them towards the other end of the alley.
His luck runs out then as the remaining villains snap out of their stupor, one in particular—a burly man with a kangaroo mutation of all things—making a lunge for Shouta.
He jumps back, narrowly avoiding a smack to the gut from the guy's tail.
The wide swing had knocked him off balance however, so Shouta's able to dart back in and knock him out before he can try again.
By now, his element of surprise was long gone.
All the villains he hadn't yet taken out charge all at once in an effort to overwhelm him.
Shouta grits his teeth as he weaves in and out of the mess of quirks, bodies, and weapons, his gaze flitting from person to person. Keeping track of so much information had been difficult enough back when he was in his prime, but now with his depth perception near-nonexistent he has to pay all the more attention to his assailants.
At the same time he has to keep track of the victim, who seemed to have collapsed and was now lying worryingly still on the pavement behind him.
He has to make sure none of the villains get too close to them.
Swipe, dodge, strike. Repeat.
He's tired. His eye stings with the urge to blink.
Shouta doesn't blink.
He throws his capture weapon out to snag a villain's ankle, and grunts as he swings around to toss them, his overtaxed muscles screaming in protest. He can rest after this, take a nice hot shower to soothe those aches.
Not yet.
Gaze fixed firmly on the next villain to charge him, he dodges backwards—
Shnk–!!
Shouta gasps a punched-out breath, all the air knocked from his lungs as something cold and sharp sinks into his side from behind.
Shit.
He sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth, but when he reflexively tries to jerk away the ColdSharpPain twists deeper, holding him in place. It curls inside his ribcage and punches a ragged cry from Shouta.
"What's the matter, hero~?" a voice sneers in his ear. "Didn't see me?"
A hand clamps around his upper left arm, easily slicing through the fabric of his jumpsuit when Shouta again tries to jolt away.
"Hold still, won't you?" the voice continues, sickly sweet as it puffs against his ear. "I promise to be gentle~"
Shouta's eye widens, and he kicks out blindly behind him.
The villain retreats with a hiss, but the pain in Shouta's side increases tenfold as whatever had impaled him disappears with a concerningly wet sucking sound. His breaths rattle unnaturally, and in that exact moment Shouta knows that something is very, very wrong.
He feels nauseous.
But he couldn't stop to analyze the feeling, having to dodge the wild swing the villain takes at him now that he's free. As he moves, burning hot bile unexpectedly rushes up his throat, forcing him to swallow it back down lest he throw up.
Ugh, Hizashi is never going to let him live this down.
He'll be lucky if he's allowed out of the house without a bodyguard for the next month.
Whirling away from another swipe, Shouta bares his teeth as he catches sight of the shiny claws protruding from the villain's hands, dark and dripping with blood.
His blood.
The clawed villain grins madly at him, eyes wild with bloodlust.
"Aww~ Don't be like that, hero!" they croon, licking the blood from one claw with a... frankly disturbing noise. Shouta bites back a shudder. "I just wanted a little taste~"
Shouta grits his teeth. "I'm not on the menu," he snarls breathlessly, activating Erasure to reduce the villain's claws to nothing before he lashes out, kicking the fucker into the side of the building with enough force to nearly crack the old brickwork.
He spares a moment to ensure the villain was without a doubt unconscious before he turns, Erasure still active, to see that the remainder—those that hadn't already been knocked unconscious or fled—have returned to their earlier victim.
Oh, no the fuck they don't.
Snarling, Shouta throws himself forward and sends them scattering.
He forces himself to move faster, to hit harder, frustrated with himself for getting injured like this. It didn't feel like the kind of injury he could just brush off. He'll probably have to go to the hospital, which will stress his overworked husband out. Hizashi had enough on his plate as it was. Shouta hates making him worry, hates how weak and inadequate it makes him feel.
He's sure that by morning everyone that knows him will have heard about his injury and subsequent trip to the hospital.
His former students will probably all try to visit him to make sure he was alright. His friends might, too. The news will most definitely stress out Shirakumo, and Eri... Shouta still remembers the sound of her heart-wrenching sobs the one time she'd caught him getting home from a patrol gone wrong.
He never wants to hear his daughter cry like that again.
So, this time he'll head straight for the hospital, so he won't risk her seeing him covered in his own blood again. All he had to do first was finish this fight.
Shouta lets his frustration spur him on, managing to take out the last few villains in record time.
Fucking finally.
Once he's sure they're all out for the count, he stumbles back a few steps, breathing heavily. He fumbles for the phone in his tool-belt to call in the altercation.
But he doesn't manage to dial even a single number.
He's only just grabbed hold of the phone when a wave of vertigo sets his vision swimming. The whole alleyway tilts on its axis, sending Shouta reeling into the nearest wall with a wheeze. He barely even feels the rough brick catching on his hair and jumpsuit as he slides down to the ground.
Then the nausea from before returns with a vengeance, and Shouta gags, before sputtering and keeling forward.
His throat burns as deep, guttural hacking coughs are dragged from his lungs. Bile, searingly hot and sticky, forces its way up his throat. This time he's unable to swallow it back down before it splatters against the pavement.
With one hand Shouta scrabbles for purchase on the side of the building, dull nails chipping against rough and unforgiving brickwork. He can't catch his breath.
Black spots dance at the edges of his vision, and Shouta wonders faintly whether he'll pass out.
Several agonizing minutes later however find him slumped over, still conscious, his whole body wracked with tremors and tears streaming unbidden down his face. His mouth hangs open as he gasps for breath.
And with wide-eyed horror, he realizes it wasn't bile after all.
This is... fuck, it's worse than he thought.
The blood was frothy, something that Shouta had never seen before. It drips from his mouth and his nose, runs down his chin, staining his once-grey capture weapon red. The panic that seizes him only makes it that much harder to catch his breath.
He needs to call for help.
Now.
Though he'd dropped his phone when he collapsed, luckily it hadn't fallen far. He's able to grab it without moving too much.
Even that small amount of motion felt like too much.
His hands shake as he fumbles with the device, blood-smeared fingers slipping on the smooth plastic, but eventually he was able to press the side button three times in a row. That activated the emergency feature all heroes were required to have, sending his coordinates to the nearest police department to let them know he was in need of immediate assistance.
...Hopefully they'll be here soon.
With that done, Shouta desperately tries to staunch the blood still seeping from his wounds.
He could feel it running down his back, his jumpsuit completely soaked through, fabric sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Every little movement brought with it a fresh wave of pain and nausea.
Yet no matter how much he twisted and turned, he just couldn't seem to reach that spot on his back. He can't inspect the wound, can't know how bad it really is...
At the very least he was able to wrap the claw marks on his left arm. He loops some of his capture weapon around the wound and pulls, so tight his vision spots. He couldn't do as good a job with the other wound, but he was able to wind the rest of his scarf behind him and haphazardly tie it around his chest—that, too, made it ever harder to breathe, but hopefully it would stop some of the bleeding.
As for the internal bleeding...
Shouta chokes on a shuddering breath, gagging on molten blood as it floods his mouth and dribbles down his chin.
"Fuck..." he rasps.
His vision wavers at the edges, distant sounds of nighttime traffic barely reaching his cotton-stuffed ears, but he forces himself to remain conscious by pure will alone.
He just has to... no, he needs to stay awake until help arrives.
He needs to.
He—he needs, he wants... he...
Shouta wants Hizashi.
Phone still in hand, Shouta squints blearily at the cracked screen—did it break when he dropped it? He can't recall—clumsily tapping at it to get to his contacts list. His fingers leave smears of blood on the screen.
He taps on the contact at the very top of the list, knowing exactly which one it was.
The smiling face of his husband greets him.
"H'zashi..." Shouta mumbles, pressing at the call button as he tries and fails to suppress another cough. A mist of pink blood splatters over the screen and his already bloodstained hands.
He could hear the dial tone ringing though, so he tries to hold on, nearly sobbing as another sharp wave of pain rolled over him.
Ring... ring...
Click!
"Hey hey!" Hizashi's voice crows. The sound, tinny and distorted as it was over the cheap phone speaker, was still enough to bring a tired smile to Shouta's face.
"You've reached the one and only Yamada Hizashi, yeah!"
"H'za—" He coughs wetly, clutching at his phone in shaking hands and cradling it close. Like a lifeline. Sounds were growing distant again, and it was all he could do to just keep his eye open and focus on Hizashi's voice.
"I can't come to the phone right now, so make sure to leave a message at the beep~"
...Beep.
"Za... shi..." Shouta chases after the little voice, urging it to understand. He takes in a gulping breath only for more frothy blood to come bubbling up in place of the words he means to say. Another shuddering inhale. "M-messed up—did'n mean to. Hurt..."
Why wasn't Hizashi saying anything...?
Maybe Shouta was mumbling again; Hizashi doesn't like that, can't hear him when he speaks so softly. He just needs to speak up, then surely he'll be heard.
He doesn't—he... he really doesn't want to be alone right now.
When had his eye fallen shut again?
No, no... he needs to focus. Focus. This is important. It feels important.
Shouta can only just make out the picture he'd set as Hizashi's contact; he was in their living room, his hair pulled up in a messy bun, a goofy grin on his face and one of their cats in his lap. His blonde hair shone like the sun, burning the image into his retina, yet he couldn't look away.
He was beautiful.
But he still wasn't responding, and Shouta is so very tired.
"'m sorry... 'r you still th're...?" he asks, blinking dumbly at the blur of light inches from his face.
His body feels warm and fuzzy along the edges, gentle waves of CalmTiredRest lapping at his consciousness. He can't quite remember why he'd been so afraid before.
"H'zah... shi?" Shouta tries again.
No response.
"I..."
Shouta swallows thickly, body growing more and more slack by the second. He can only just feel the pull of his hair catching on the sharp edges of the bricks as his head finally slumps low enough to rest on the oddly warm pavement. It's softer than he'd expected.
His thoughts begin to wander.
"Broke m'uh phone 'gain..." he mumbles indistinctly. His agency won't be happy about that; it's his third broken phone in as many months. He'll probably need a new jumpsuit and scarf too, since these ones have been soiled. Can't wash them, Hizashi hates getting blood in the washing machine. He doesn't want Eri to see all this blood anyways.
Oh, Eri...
"Dunno if 'm gonna make it t' Eri's p'rent-te... teach'r confr'nce nex' w-week..." Shouta gulps down a wet, hiccuping breath, fingers twitching against his phone where it was held in a loose grip. "Sh'kumo can't do it, he's g-got... oth'r plans... Need t' take... Eri..."
All he could make out now was the light of his phone screen. Yellow and white.
...What was he doing again?
Oh, yeah.
"H'zashi...?" Shouta tries to move his head, but it was so heavy.
Ah, his eye has fluttered shut again.
He can't convince himself to pry it open again though, so he simply relaxes with a lazy yawn. "Z'shi... 'm so t'red."
A nap sounds nice...
That's okay, isn't it? Just... a quick nap.
Shouta can't remember ever being so tired before in his entire life, and all the aches and pains he was so used to enduring now felt distant. The glow of Hizashi's picture warms his face. Comforting.
Just a quick nap won't hurt.
Exhaling, Shouta murmurs one last thing, before he's finally pulled under.
"L've you, zash'... Be home... soon. I pr'mise..."
.
.
.