Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku has had a bad day. It's already a grey-laced week, with nightmares but also a wonderful study night with his friends, so he's managing whilst definitely not thriving, too little sleep and too much work, and then he got caught in a villain attack on the way to school. Of course he did. It wasn't like he was half-asleep on the train, already sleep-deprived and grumpy, that acidic bubbling under his skin from his Quirk simmering, reacting to his overwrought emotions, and he fighting to keep it restrained enough to not light up in supernova sparks. He'd really like to not attract attention to himself this morning. His UA uniform already does that enough, although luckily the bulky hoodie he's thrown on over the top covers up a lot of it. 

But hoodies can't protect him from villains like they can from attention. So when Izuku joins the crowd flooding off of the train and onto the platform, one a few stops away from UA because he kind of wants the fresh air both to wake up and to get away from the worst of the crowds, he only gets to the ticket scanners before someone ahead starts shouting something about a barrier. In fact, there are a dozen other voices clamouring alongside theirs, but even they fall silent at one single person's shout, an amplified voice echoing through the already-loud space to silence every single person,

"Everyone freeze, else this kid dies!"  And, turning, Izuku finds that half the crowd are cowering or ducking down, the other half trying to look at the apparent villains like him, and there is a small group of four people - half and half split between men and women, at a glance, and one has some sort of speakers punctuating their cheeks - bunched loosely together in the centre of the platform. One - not speaker-girl, but one with dark nails and darker hair - has a gun to the head of a little boy, his mother sobbing and furiously beating at the man restraining her from racing to try and get her kid. Shit. Izuku really isn't awake enough for this.

But by the same token, he's too much of a hero to not intervene, so he steps forward a little, raising a timid hand,

"U-uhm, you could swap me for the kid if you want? His mum clearly wants him back."  He's very glad for his baggy hoodie right now, because dark slacks are pretty indistinct, and without the blazer or his hero uniform making his identity more obvious, his face is also pretty forgettable. Plus he's tiny in comparison to the woman apparently in charge of the four, who considers for a moment before shrugging.

"Whatever, brat, so long as you don't give us trouble."

"O-okay."  He puts the years-learned stutter firmly back into his voice, twisting his exhaustion and rising adrenaline into something fearful, static-shuddering, like he can't quite believe his own actions, and he picks his way through the still crowd towards the four. 

"We've got you all trapped anyway, and the next train isn't due for another ten minutes. You'd better all start handing over your wallets and non-electronic valuables, understood?"  The woman waves her gun with the words, and some of the people closest by start to nod and fumble for pockets and bags, even as Izuku stumbles up to the villains, keeping his head ducked and letting the fatigued tremble start to spasm at his fingers once more.

"Aw, you scared, kid?" The taunt means nothing to him, not in comparison to the sight of a little boy being released and allowed to sprint back over to his frantic mother, who clutches him close to her with a teary glare for the villains. It would almost be a sweet sight, if not for the overall situation.

Speaking of the situation, there's a hand wrapping around Izuku's neck - he's silently glad it wasn't his bicep lest she pick up on just how strong he is - and he's being tugged closer and around. Her perfume is something cloying and floral, a little too similar to Midnight-sensei's but clearly cheaper and far more heavily applied, and it catches at the back of his throat. There's a laugh, deeper than expected, from behind and above him in response. The slight sway of said laughter has the lady's fingers digging into his throat a little bit tighter - and wow, he really could've done without the reminder of Shigaraki nigh-on managing to strangle him in a different public place several months ago - and then he notes that her nails aren't simply pointed, dark acrylics like he thought. No, there's something unnaturally cool and slick to her nails. Like they're Quirked somehow. Maybe her power is used through her nails, or she might simply have a mutation, but either way having them to his throat cannot be a good thing by any stretch of the imagination.

Either way, Izuku can't do nothing, and he very carefully took note, whilst walking over, that none of the other villains have guns in their hands nor any lumps under their clothes that would suggest hidden arms. There might be some knives, and Quirks can always be deadly, but he can only fight those directly and as they make themselves apparent. Until then, he needs to assess the potential danger for the civilians and dammit, he's far too tired for this today.

Then he notices that the villains are about to start dispersing from their clump, to approach the edges of the crowd that have given them a wide berth, and if they get in amongst the civilians before he takes them out, that only leaves more room for hostages and therefore injuries or casualties and-

He twists, leg flying up, and feels his throat sting even as his steel-toed shoe slams into the underside of her chin, sending the woman holding him flying backwards, colliding into speakers-girl. Izuku doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate, before he's darting forwards again, jabbing one of the men in the nose on his way to  jump and twist. With sparks waterfalling from his body, concentrating around his legs, Izuku swings his legs around the taller man's neck, locking his ankles, because he'd notices that his throat had started to glow, something an odd green-yellow, and he does not want to give the man a chance to use what looks to be a long-distance Quirk, particularly not if it's airborne and they're in an enclosed space, so he keeps his ankles locked and squeezes. There's a choking sound, cut off. Then the glow that had been reflecting dully off of his uniform slacks gives out, flickering once, twice, and it's gone. The man's consciousness doesn't follow all that long afterwards. By now though, even as Izuku springs off of the knocked-out villain's shoulders so as to not tumble to the floor with him, the other three are staggering to their feet with varying levels of success.

It's the speakers-girl that Izuku chooses to prioritise. Percussive attacks in an underground space can't be good news either, honestly, and a sweeping kick has her leaping back, still a bit disorientated from initially being knocked back, and he dodges her punch. 

He doesn't manage to dodge the sound wave that her palm strike - dammit, there are speakers on the underside of her hands as well - blasts against the side of his face, near his ear because of how he deflected the physical blow, and now his ears are ringing viciously, overwhelming the undertones of shouts and crying and screaming from the crowd. There are glinting lights of what must be some people filming the altercation, yet Izuku can't quite bring himself to think about that when he's darting forwards again, focusing on his balance more than he'd like to have to. A flip takes him over straight over the woman's head, and he crashes his heel into the back of her head, pivoting even as he is sticking the landing, leg sweeping low yet again, and then she's on her back, eyes glassy and half-conscious, groaning. 

"You're a fucking brat! What the hell?"

"I'm a Provisionally-licensed hero," he snarls in return, and jumps forward. The nails-woman doesn't seem to expect him to sound so angry - neither does he, honestly - and her eyes widen in perfect time for him to knee her in the solar plexus. Even as she doubles over, spittle flying out of her mouth and over his leg which, quite frankly, is disgusting, he brings a palm up, striking her under the jaw and snapping her head back. And, before she can even tip over onto the ground beside throat-man, Izuku is whirling away, eyeing up the largest villain of the group, a man who has nothing but silver-glowing eyes to show for his Quirk.

"Want to give in and stop using your Quirk now?"  It's less of a challenge and more of a grumpy request. Izuku really doesn't want to keep on fighting. It's so much effort today.

"Fuck off," the man spits, but he doesn't charge forwards. Well, Izuku doesn't mind taking the initiative. Not if it gets this over with sooner. In a flurry of toxic-blood light he appears in front of the man, already spinning to slam a roundhouse kick directly into the side of their ribs, and they crumple to their knees, silver eyes flickering. A knee to the temple - Kami, this man is bloody tall - has those glowing eyes sliding shut, completely dim, and then all four of the villains are semi-conscious and in pain at best, barring the two that are fully unconscious. At least it's over with.

Then the entire station bursts out into noise again. Phones are slipped away or pulled out, and realisations start to be made:

"We can get out!"

"My phone works again!"

"I've got service!"  Izuku hadn't even realised that everybody had lost phone reception, but perhaps that makes sense given the combination of being underground and whatever Quirk-barrier the silver-eye guy had put into place, and explains why no other police or heroes had arrived yet.

"Has anyone called the police yet?" Huh, case in point.

"I'm late for work!"

"Get out of the way, I'm a nurse!"

"Is anyone hurt?"  It's the last two yells, louder than the general hubbub, that make Izuku look down at himself, trying to figure out exactly that. His neck stings, long lines of pinprick pain shooting down through his chest, his arms, and right up to his hairline, grit at the back of his eyes. Definitely a Quirk, dammit. But by the same token, he can move, he can think, and Recovery Girl and Aizawa-sensei are at UA, so it's going to have any adverse effects then there's probably nowhere better to be than at school, right?

With this in mind, Izuku starts to drag the four villains into a pile, flails with what to do with the gun before eventually swaddling it up in the scarf he had tucked in his bag for the predicted cold snap tonight, making sure he doesn't touch it directly himself, and turns to talk to the nurse and off-duty police officer that have approached him.

"Hey, sweetie, are you alright?"  He nods immediately, trying to remember how basic politeness works,

"Thank you, Miss, yes. I've got a few scratches but that's about it, and I'm a UA student, so I can ask Recovery Girl to check me over properly once I get to school."  It's only a possible lie. It depends if Aizawa-sensei forces him to go to her or not.

"If you're sure?"  She presses, and an irrational flare of aggravation flashes through him, starting right at the base of his throat and rising iron-hot-bitter into his mouth. But he keeps the words at bay, and only smiles at her instead. Although he is rather glad when the other lady, who introduces herself as a name he instantly forgets but also as an off-duty officer, takes over the conversation then:

"I can stay with these four whilst you head off to school, if you'd like. I'll just need your contact details for a statement to be taken later today, which I can try to make sure they won't pull you out of classes for if you'd like."

"Really? That would be brilliant, thank you Miss."  The woman nods, and sets to double-checking that all four of the villains are disarmed, and that they're not about to get up or use their Quirks and the like whilst Izuku pulls out his notebook, reluctantly tearing a page out from the back, and scrawls down some of his contact details. After a fraction of hesitance, he lists UA's main contact number and the fact that Eraserhead is his homeroom teacher on top of his personal details. Then, after another second, he jots down his Provisional Licence number. No point inviting some sort of repercussions for using his Quirk like they nearly got levelled with post-Stain.

"Is this everything you should need?" he asks, holding out the piece of paper for the police officer, and she runs over it briefly before nodding and smiling,

"That should all be fine, thanks. Feel free to leave now, my colleagues' ETA is only two minutes, and then we'll have this lost properly restrained. They shouldn't be waking up before then."

"Thank you again," he manages, trying not to sound too fed up for all that he can't manage his usual cheeriness, and bows to hide his lack of enthusiasm, before hurrying away.

Not even ten minutes later, he's slowing down in the corridor that Classroom 1-A is at the end of, trying to regain his slightly beleaguered breathing because, dammit, he really is tired. And the cuts on his neck are still hurting something awful. Not to mention that there's something creeping over him, shadows layering over his shoulders, and he can feel that the fresh air has utterly failed to help his mood or exhaustion like he hoped it might, and on top of all of that he's late, still wearing his hoodie, and no doubt looks like an absolute mess. And oh shit, did he remember to hand the gun over to the police officer? He's really not sure he did and if it's still in his school bag-

He slides the classroom door open without a thought, and gets twenty people staring at him for it. 

The attention immediately has something rearing in his chest, molten-hot and defensive, and he nearly snaps at them all. But a deep breath has him pausing, and he drags all of his focus onto Aizawa-sensei because he's safe. Their hero.

"S-sorry I'm late Sensei, there was an attack on my platform."

"An attack, Problem Child?"  That nickname doesn't usually grate on Izuku, because he knows just from the light in the hero's eyes that isn't for singling Izuku out or degrading him or scolding him: it's exasperated, sure, but there's something like fondness there as well. Today, however, those two simple words have his heart stuttering, staccato-certainty lurching and fracturing before struggling to resume normality once more.

"Y-yes," he replies, ducking his head again. He's not sure if he's tearing up or glaring or both.
"Four villains, kid as a hostage at gunpoint. I dealt with them."

"Always you, kid, huh?"

And for some reason, that's too much for him, and something in Izuku snaps, just a little.

He shoves the cracks under another layer of exhaustion though, nearly sighing with it, and simply nods. Aizawa-sensei does sigh, and the sound grates in Izuku's ear like metal against metal, something familiar but not quite pleasant,

"Do you need Recovery Girl?"

"N-n-no, Sen-Sensei," he manages, not quite sure where the stutter is coming from, and he can just make out the scrutinising look that he gets for the dismissal, Aizawa-sensei undoubtedly trying to ascertain if it was true for himself, before the man nods,

"Alright. Take these," he tacks on, to Izuku's idle surprise, and offers up a small packet of wet wipes and a nutrient pouch from beneath his podium. Scurrying forwards, Izuku takes them both, noticing that there's blood all over his right hand] from hitting that one guy in the face, and he makes haste to his seat, not quite able to look up and have to fake a smile for his friends.

He spends the rest of homeroom half-listening to his teacher, and otherwise cleaning the blood off of his hand. At one point Yaomomo passes a small compact mirror over to him, and he manages a wan smile in thanks as he accepts it and starts to work away the swipes of rusty stain from his neck. The collar of his button-up is hopeless, but at least his hoodie isn't dirtied up particularly, he notes, even as he slides it off. He feels less safe without it on, more exposed and raw-nerve nervous, but he's in UA, in class, so he must be safe. He just needs to calm down. Think logically like Aizawa-sensei rather than stupidly heart-over-head like he so often does himself.

"Problem Child, go see Recovery Girl at break regardless of how you feel, understood?" The direct address has Izuku startling, flinching further back into his seat, but he manages to ignore the blond spikes directly in front of him and the sick-slick whirling in his chest to murmur a soft affirmative to Aizawa-sensei's demand before the teacher leaves the class.

Izuku's day doesn't get better from there. In fact, it gets worse. The scarf-wrapped gun is indeed still in his bag, and he wants to go to the faculty room to give it in but he also doesn't want to get in trouble for holding it for so long and he just doesn't know how to not get shouted at over the whole mess, so he figures he could maybe keep a hold of it until he sees the police to make his official statement later today; the lumpy thing gets shoved further and further down in his bag, padded more by his hoodie, and he carefully keeps his bag settled closer to him than usual, not wanting it to get too close to Kaachan's explosions, just in case something goes wrong. Knowing his luck today, it probably will.

As it turns out, things do go wrong, but luckily not that. No, instead he gets a surprise test in physics with Thirteen-sensei; Recovery Girl scolds him for getting hurt at all, regardless of the fact that he managed to not get shot whilst also keeping the civilians from getting shot; and then lunch is a double-whammy. Not only have at least four random people posted videos of him taking down the villains this morning, which has other students standing up to stare at him, whispers of 'Deku' through the lunch hall, but Izuku also realises that his bento somehow came open during the fight, so it's made a mess in his favourite furoshiki cloth. Sure, his friends try to share their food with him, but he doesn't want their pit- doesn't want to inconvenience them, so he only accepts an apple and some crackers, which really isn't enough with his levels of exercise and Quirk demands, but they don't know quite how much energy needs, because he keeps his ridiculous number of protein bars, high-nutrition snacks and his own nutrient pouches a secret, kept to his dorm room and stolen moments throughout the day. No point making them think he's even weirder than he already is.

So he's hungry, still exhausted, and there's a rising knot of heat from his guts, spiralling up to his neck and tightening his throat, by the time they get to Heroics that afternoon.

Then, to top it all off, he's paired against Kaachan. Bakugou. Whatever. And it isn't just a straight sparring session; it's an evasive task, where one person pursues and the other runs, both allowed to use their Quirk, but offensive manoeuvres are meant to be a final resort for the runner. And, of course, Izuku is the runner. Aizawa-sensei levels him with a questioning look at the pairing, a check-up, and normally it would make Izuku feel warm inside-out, reassured that his teacher is looking out for him against Bakugou, but today it does the opposite. There's frost down his back, lava in his stomach, and his scars prickle with electricity because he hates being pitied. Detests people knowing his weaknesses, knowing that he's so fucking pathetic when it comes to Kaachan that it's ridiculous-

Suffice to say, Izuku really, really isn't happy about this pairing, but his adrenaline is already racing and everyone is waiting, so he doesn't even grace Aizawa-sensei with an acknowledgement, and starts jogging to the close-by entrance of the cityscape, trying to loosen up his tense muscles. They're already aching, wrung-out, and his mind feels the same, but he begins to try and formulate a plan anyway. He and Kaachan are of similar speeds, but Izuku is better in tight spaces. That being said, the radius impact of explosions ricochet through enclosed spaces, and he's already got that awful earache from this morning, which really doesn't need the help of concussive explosions. It can't be helped though. Not really. So Izuku does some final stretching at the entrance way, ignoring the huffing and grumbling and small explosions from several metres behind him (just out of reach, but still far too close, too much of a threat), and promptly stands, ready to sprint as soon as the starting buzzer sounds.

Then he's moving.

It's a calculated thing for the first ten seconds, trying to head for the industrial area where masses of scaffolding and skeletal constructions will facilitate his manoeuvrability advantage without trapping himself with the blond, but then the second buzzer goes through straight him, and something in Izuku's mind slips out of place, adrenaline roaring through him. It's not lion-proud though, no, it's more chaotic, uncontrollable, a river rushing through rapids, and he suddenly realises that he feels bad. 

However, this is a school exercise. So the greenette pushes past the whirl of emotions in his mind, and forces his body to react despite the Atlas-weight dragging at every bone, and he twists in between some of the scaffolding. Behind him, a familiar voice roars an insult, all expletives and that damnable name, and Deku loses another inch of his coherency. A kick has some of the metal pipes and joints collapsing behind him, raising a cloud of dust that muffles the curses of his pursuer, and for a moment he can breathe. Until he's plunging into shadows, foot slipping on his next hold, and then his shoulder is slamming into a wall, the sky a greyed-out blur above him that reminds Izuku far too much of middle school ceilings, seen through the haze of smoke and cruel laughter, and he has to focus on the still-lingering sting of his throat and the new ache of his shoulder to ground himself, staggering back onto his feet. The solidity of his iron-soled shoes remind him of where he is, when he is, but the grey laces contradict that directly, and for a long second, no breathing, all he can do is think that he maybe should've swapped them out for white this morning. He certainly would have if he'd known how today was going to go.

The heat of an explosion washes over his back, sending Izuku stumbling forward a pace, and he can't hear the comm voice in his ear, although they're saying something, over the noise of his own body and Kaachan.

The too-close attack though, not to mention the unobstructed view of crimson eyes, actually the same colour as the villain lady's from this morning, and that has Izuku's sight swimming, dimming and monochrome and blurring, but he's moving so it's fine. His Quirk buzzes around him, comforting, and he darts away, forcing himself not to hunch over in case it hampers his movements, escaping into the rabbit-warren of beams and metal and half-built concrete walls. It takes nearly two minutes of darting around, half with his Quirk and half without for stealth's sake, until Izuku ends up huddling into a corner, awareness bleeding into memories. His back throbs with heat, and despite that he isn't convinced that he's actually injured or just remembering old injures, and for some reason that thought has him angry.

He's so fed up of getting hurt by Kaachan. He knows that he deserves it, he's been taught that for over a decade, but so much of him still screams and rails and wails against that because, really, what did he do? He was Quirkless. He was a Lace, not a Perf or Thread or Cuff or even a fucking Track, and look where it landed him. Red shoes, grey laces. Scars and trauma and so much repressed emotion that he wants to throw up. There's a voice in his ear that isn't his own, but he can't decipher the syllables, can't string them into actual words or sentences or meaning, so he grabs the awful thing out of his ear and throws it onto the ground, grinding it under his heel with a growl that ripples through him, the outburst of anger a cool balm to his roiling emotions. 

Within another two breaths though, the tiniest bit of coherency creeps back in, tail-between-legs remorse, because Izuku registers that he just destroyed his communication device. UA property. His link to Aizawa-sensei and the class. He- What has he done?

Fear sinks into his bones, static-sharp and digging heavy heels into his marrow, the familiar feeling of being stepped on, ground into the floor like what he just did to a measly piece of metal and plastic, and Deku abruptly realises that he isn't breathing. There are nails in his coffin and sanity and throat, and his lungs aren't shifting but his heart is racing, and everything feels blocked out and too much all at once, because he's so tired, but his emotions are refusing to settle which means that his breathing is refusing to settle and he can't have a panic attack, not now, not when there are cameras and everyone else and Kaachan. 

Because the universe hates him, that's the moment when Izuku pushes himself up onto unsteady feet, and slow, menacing steps filter into his hearing, and there's a shadow - one not cast from his own mind - looming through the half-open space that he'd hidden himself away in.

"Deku..."  It's a grating growl, the rumble of an approaching tank or lorry, low and heavy, familiar, and it has Izuku shuddering, breaths juddering again, because he hasn't been breathing but now his body is trying, fighting, and failing. Izuku knows he isn't safe. He's just a Lace, just a Deku, and he's not safe.

He doesn't know what to do, not really, but he's always been able to run, so that's exactly what Izuku does.

He shoves his Quirk through his body, and the percentage must be whack because his bones almost feel like they're melting, acid-buzzing, and he darts away. An explosion clips his elbow, and even through his costume the heat and blast and pain shriek along his arm, another notch of spiralling, and he pushes himself faster, further, needing to get away with all of his being, and the word is purely storm cloud grey and blood-rust red around him, a blur of panicking haze, and part of him is angry, wants to punch Kaachan or himself or a wall, but most of him is so tired of not feeling safe, is so tired overall, and all he can think about is that the only thing that was safe in his dreams last night was Aizawa-sensei's back, hair flying and capture weapon writhing as he jumped down to face dozens of villains for the sake of their class, and De- Izuku seeks that out, seeks out the thought of a Track that has always been an encouraging idol, someone unreachable but who represented a goal that might just be an attainable for a Lace like Izuku. The world of heroes had been Izuku's only escape for so fucking long, and that hasn't changed, only warped, and in this moment, where there's so many shadows, veiling and weighted, overwhelming him, he can do nothing but move and try to find hope through the mess of fear and frustration.

So Izuku is scattering sparks through the cityscape, palms scraping up as he throws himself from building to scaffolding to building, shoulders and knees and hips cracking into ledges and outcrops, but nothing breaks so he keeps on going, heedless of the explosions still following him beyond the fact that they sustain his too-alert state, keeps Deku ticking over in his head, fists clenched and scars solar-flaring. 

Abruptly, he's at the outer walls of the cityscape, and he vaults straight over them, a knuckle popping as he does so, and there's a scream from behind him, indignant fury, that only spurs him on further, faster, acid-frost-needles waltzing down his spine in staccato bursts, and he takes half a second to orient himself, to find the observation room, and then he's off again. 

What feels like a blink later, Izuku is stumbling to a stop in the massive observation room. 

Izuku blinks up at their teacher, something hazy and dark in his eyes, something sick-bitter-twisted and hurt,

"Sen'ei, you'a- you'a Track hero, you're safe."  Everyone picks up on the capitalisation there, and not a single one knows what it means. Who or what is a Track? Why is their teacher one?

"Kid, what's wrong? Was there a problem with the exercise?"  There's a near-worried edge to the man's voice, and he reaches a hand out, hovering above Izuku's shoulder but not touching, not yet, and Izuku can't bring himself to lean into it. In lieu of that, he skirts around the man, putting his back to a corner - with one vent opening above him that he knows he could get into quickly and where Kaachan would struggle to truly follow - and the hero between him and the rest of the room. His hands are trembling, and he's still not breathing properly, and he can't settle, not when he can still hear explosions and Bakugou must be close to bursting into the room. 

"Sensei- Sensei, he's gonna do it again," he can't even think straight, vision circling and tunnelling, everything twisting around and through him,
"His Perf Quirk fuckin'- it fuckin' hurts, Sensei, and I can't- I'm not like 'im."  He's slurring now, shoulders hitching too much to let him have anything like steady words. The teacher turns to him though, and Izuku needs him to pay attention to their surroundings, to Kaachan, not-

"Okay," Aizawa intones, confusion thick beneath the steadily growing concern, but he briefly takes his attention away from Izuku because the blond is bursting into the room, snarling and panting with explosions still popping from his clawed hands.

"Kirishima, Satou, Shouji, Sero, keep Bakugou out until he's calmed down. I believe Problem Child may have been hit by a Quirk."  Assigning four of them to it is probably overkill, but Aizawa could really do with lowering his Problem Child's blatant fight or flight instinct right now.

"Problem Chi-"

"Sensei, please, no'- not today." That's the most coherent he's heard the kid all day, and the teacher takes a little reassurance from that fact, even as he starts to slouch his posture more, trying to seem as unassuming, as unthreatening, as possible.

"Okay. Would you rather I call you Midoriya or Izuku right now then?" And Aizawa doesn't know it, but something in Izuku relaxes then. It's not a complete thing, yet it's a start. Enough for the teen to force himself to breathe more steadily at least, trying to reboot his systems so that he doesn't just collapse with how sunspotted his vision is right now. The hero, for his part, begins to exaggerate his own breathing, and Izuku notes this more obvious movement without particularly meaning to, and is helpless to how the sight of it prompts his own breathing to smooth out a tiny bit, second by second. Even upon registering the sight of most of his class, all watching on, and none of them are Laces like him, are they?

"They might not be, but is that a problem, Midoriya?"  Oh, so he talked aloud and on top of that he never did answer the hero, did he? Fuck. He's just a stupid Deku, isn't he, just annoying and dumb and-  No, now isn't the time for this. Not with everyone watching him.

"S-sorry, Izuku is- is good."

"Thank you, kid. And what's this about Laces and Tracks and all that?" Izuku stiffens then, falling backwards against the wall, and he's blatantly terrified for half a second, eyes darkening over, before he reaches up, grasping his curls too-tight and harshly,

"N-no. No. Secret. Gotta be secret t'be safe."  Aizawa resists the urge to step forward, to try and help, because he's fairly sure that doing so would just make things worse right now,

"That's concerning, Izuku, I'm not going to lie, but if you want to wait until we're completely in private then that's an option."  Something in that must have been the correct thing to say because the teen pauses the rocking motion that he himself didn't even to realise he'd started, shoulders thumping rhythmically against the wall but now slumping back against them, eyes going hazy instead of so heavily shadowed. Somehow it almost isn't an improvement.

"I- dunno. Guess'o."

Aizawa isn't quite sure where to take that line of thought anymore, so he abandons it to be picked up later instead, and turns his attention to more immediate issues,

"Alright, kid. Alright. Can you tell me what's mostly bothering you right now? Why you're so distressed?"  The hero is starting to sound a little panicked even to his own ears, because nothing here is right or adding up, and it's not improving.

"I-I'm so fed up Sen'ei. It hur's."  Well, that might be a start at least. Not a pleasant one, but some beginning point is better than none.

"Physically?"  Except Izuku scowls at that, 

"No!" He cries, getting frustrated once more, fingers trembling with his Quirk and exhaustion and just everything right now.

And that, of course, is the moment when Bakugou stomps back in, no Quirk in sight or hearing but countenance still overall threatening. The four other boys following him all look rather sheepish, but seem satisfied enough that the blond isn't going to completely flip.

Which must be why he immediately bites out an angry question,

"What the fuck were you running for, shitty coward? You-"

"Bakugou, if you cannot-" But Aizawa is far overwhelmed by Izuku taking a half-step forwards, abruptly furious, gaze flaring supernova bright,

"Fuck off, you perf-quirked bully! I- I fucking hate you, with your Perf quirk and your rich parents and your fucking ego-"  There are gasps and whispers and alarm throughout the room, nobody quite knowing how to deal with the fury from their sunshine heart,

"Mido, what-"

"You- You don't know," he gasps out, and his voice begins to fracture upon his tongue, sharp and cutting along the inside of his mouth,

It hurts so much, and it's never stopped hurting. Not since he was four years old.

"Izuku, kid, something isn't right here, and I don't want you to say anything in front of the entire class that you would rather keep priva-"

"He di'n't keep things private. Tellin' everyone I was a Lace even though I'm menna be a Perf now, an', an', and it's too much Sensei, 'cause he always gets away with everythin'! He hurts me!"

"You bastard! You know you were a fucking useless Deku, of course I did! And what the fuck you calling me? Some perf? What the hell's that even mean, anyway?"

"It means you could tell me'a fuckin' take a swan dive jus' for a Quirk."

There's silence then. It's frosty stillness, nobody speaking or moving, not even Aizawa-sensei, until the hero gathers a deep breath, needing to know that it isn't true, that something in that was an exaggeration or a lie because surely not, their relationship has never been the best possible, has never seemed quite as healthy as he's tried to push it to be, but something of that extent is so far from what he'd expected of Bakugou, of the boy he defended to the media,

"Izuku, he told you what?"

"Doesn't matter now. I still don't," he draws a deep, shuddering breath, messy and hitching yet his eyes are blazing steadily now, fierce beyond the words that keep on nearly failing him,
"You didn't expect me to actually do that... Did you?" There's no answer. No, there's just an awful silence, and Izuku laughs, twisted with thorns that catch on his own throat,
"No. No, you didn't. Fuckin' perf-Quirked bastard, always so sure you're right, that you know everythin'. You don't know how close I came."

"Kid."

"Sen'ei, you're a Track," he spits the word, yet somehow it's almost fond, a dichotomy that makes the end result harsher than anything purely angry could have been,
"You could almost understan'. Almost."

"What if I listen, kid? What if I really tried?"  He's not quite pleading with his Problem Child, but he's closer than he'd normally like it to be. In this awful moment though, it almost feels inadequate.

"Mm. Maybe."  Something else seems to be overtaking the greenette now, eyelids fluttering and words slowing down from the vitriolic rush of moments before, his frustration boiling over to leave nothing but blatant exhaustion. 

It's not only his words, his voice. Izuku slides down the wall, right to the floor, fingers finding twist-handholds in his hair once more, tugging and pulling, all of it too tight and utterly disregarding himself, and Aizawa can't stand for it. Even less so after the last revelations.

"Hey, hey, kid, gentle on yourself for me, I'm going to touch you now - kids, clear out, change and back to the classroom - Izuku, this is Aizawa-sensei, and I need you to help me right now, understood? I need you to grab my hands for me, there you go, can you..."  He keeps on talking, trying to soothe the kid, and is more than relieved when his brief order is obeyed silently, without further protest. A few students linger a few moments longer, but a single glare over his shoulder, albeit one that's a far cry from his usual formidable look, has them moving on, their concern more than blatant. It's understandable really, however it's also the last thing that his Problem Child needs right now. No, he needs people who can be strong for him but not overwhelming, understanding without being overbearing. It's a hard balance to strike. But Aizawa has dealt with distraught teenagers before, both those under the influence of a Quirk or not, so he has a fair chance of getting that balance more or less right.

"'m so tired Sensei. So... so tired." Oh, how those words hurt to hear. But they must hurt even worse to say, Aizawa is sure, and it makes his own reply all the easier, all the more logical,

"Then take a break, kid. Rest. I'll be here when you wake up, I'll make sure you're safe, and everything else can be dealt with another time. There's always tomorrow, so long as you're here to see it, understood?" There's a pause then, a hesitance, before the kid nods with a tiny, jerky movement, expression softening further, a gentle downward slope to his mouth and eyes focused upon his own hands, now twisting loosely atop his lap. The hero, after a few quiet breaths, reaches over once more, callused fingertips hovering above the kid's scarred knuckles, a silent offer. And he nearly smiles, as much with genuine happiness as relief, when after several painful seconds, one of those small, scarred hands moves to be palm-up, fingers flexing slightly. But he just about manages to restrain himself to a soft not-scowl instead, and settles his hand atop Izuku's, giving the kid room to decide what should happen from there.

The answer, for a while, is apparently nothing. The kid's fingers twitch and tremble against the base of his teacher's palm, but he doesn't move other than that, breathing beginning to truly calm down for the first time in probably twenty minutes, if not longer, and eyes dim, dull. Heavy eyelids and thick eyelashes drift the entire time, tides shifting up and down but never quite settling.

No, before the kid can truly fall asleep or wake up, not sinking into either, he shifts his hands again, both of them clasping around Aizawa's with an abrupt strength and certainty that honestly startles the man, but he follows the movement easily, shuffles forwards to accommodate how his Problem Child is dragging his hand forward, clutching it close to his chest, and this results in the hero kneeling half-beside, half-in-front of the kid. That realisation, knowing that the slight heat he can feel is from their proximity, Aizawa adjusts his position slightly more, just enough to oh-so gently nudge their sides together. The movement, the beginnings of affection, is thankfully taken well and even reciprocated, with Izuku listing more heavily against him, head lolling to pillow upon the hero's shoulder. Aizawa finds that he rather likes being able to follow the rise-pause-fall-repeat of his Problem Child's breathing, and he doesn't question himself long enough to think before he's looping his spare arm around the kid's shoulder, drawing him that final bit closer.

It's like that, holding his Problem Child close despite how numb his legs are already growing, that Aizawa lets the kid fall asleep against him, and promises to himself that he will look after this aching child as best he can. Izuku more than deserves it.

(Aizawa has a lot to deal with here. He needs to get Bakugou into anger management, needs to put through the forms to make sure he and Midoriya stay separated for the most part, but with both of their support systems rooted in 1-A he doesn't dare move Bakugou down into 1-B. Equally though, the blond is being banned from training for two weeks, just as a demonstrative warning that such things aren't acceptable, in the past or the future. The lesson seems to sink in, judging by the actual apology that gets offered to his Problem Child only a few days after the training ban is rescinded.

As for Izuku himself... Aizawa has mandated that he attend a month of therapy, with an evaluation of how helpful it will have been at the end, and the hope that the kid will stay in therapy. Further than that, he's been talking to Problem Child himself. Going for extra Quirk training, analysis training, Quirkless sparring; all times for the kid to unwind and offload with a safe adult present - a Track he trusts - so that he has options and places to go. Healthy outlets. If, down the road, that also leads to Problem Child having a spare key for his flat, always carrying spare treats for the Yamazawa cats, and knowing both of their favourite drinks and snacks, then that's hardly a bad thing. There are more and more days with black laces than white or even grey; things get better, gradually, in fits and starts that sometimes shift backwards but overall improve all the time. And the eventual adoption papers would have to agree.)