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Some things in life were inevitable.
Hunger, thirst, waving back at someone who wasn’t waving at you in the first place- there were numerous experiences, emotions, and states of consciousness that were universal in the human experience.
Government-mandated therapy, Class 1-A reflected, was probably not one of them.
“Sorry, but this is out of my hands,” Aizawa told the class, not looking very sorry at all.
“Does the Hero Commission really think that some shrink singing a kumbaya spiel for four hours is going to make us emotionally adjusted?” asked Shinsou with a scowl.
Aizawa shrugged, helpful as always. “Just stay after class tomorrow, gremlins. Get ready for some bonding time.”
Todoroki’s eye twitched. His idea of ‘bonding time’ was staring at a wall while his siblings and father screamed at each other. This, in hindsight, was probably a realistic set of expectations for what was about to go down.
The shrink in question was a pleasant-looking woman with kind eyes, an empathetic outlook, and a cheery disposition.
These would all be dismantled over the course of the afternoon.
She greeted the class after the following bell the next day, laughing at Kirishima and Iida’s aggressive replies, both of them nearly tipping out of their seats in their efforts to make her feel welcomed.
“I know some of you might be nervous,” she opened with, her gaze open and understanding, “but therapy can be a really healing process! Hopefully, by the end of this, you’ll feel closer to your peers and more secure in your sense of self.”
Kaminari, who had never had a single thought, ever, nodded like he was an expert in self-reflection. He liked to take Buzzfeed quizzes. He’d be fine.
She had the class move their desks to the walls, and Sero called out a lilted, “I need some big, strong boys to help me move these!” like he was a choir teacher from Hell. The class burst into laughter and shot their arms into the air. Sero assessed each raised hand with extreme concentration before deciding that Uraraka was definitely the biggest, strongest boy for the job. Her quirk did make the task, like, ten times easier.
Bakugou, petulant, pouted about this decision and refused to help move any more desks.
Eventually, the therapist corralled the students into a misshapen circle in the cleared-out room, everyone sitting criss-cross applesauce.
“Let’s go around the room and say one word that describes how we’re feeling at the moment, alright? Something easy to kick off the conversation.” The therapist motioned to Bakugou and asked, “How about you help start us off, Bakugou?”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “Bloodlust.”
“Oh,” said the therapist. “That’s not really what I was-”
“Hungry,” said Kaminari, unprompted. He wilted and leaned against Sero’s side. “God, I’m starving.”
“Ooh, ooh! Me next!” Hagakure shouted, overlaying the therapist’s gentle attempts at redirecting the conversation. “ Totally screwed for my math test-”
“That’s not one word,” Bakugou snapped, because he had followed the rules, thank you very much.
“ Constipé,” mourned Aoyama with a sniffle. Making a sound of sympathy, Uraraka began to pull out an assortment of Tums and laxatives from her pockets, Iida staring on in mild worry.
“The honesty is great-” the therapist broke in, only for Todoroki to send her reeling back with, “Pregnant.”
While the therapist recuperated, Jirou began to scream, “NO MPREG ON MY FEED- GET BACK!” which was probably the most appropriate reaction to Todoroki being an inconsiderate shit, but the rest of the class chose to ignore whatever the hell he was trying to do with that choice.
“Focused,” said Midoriya. Then his face crumpled under the weight of his sins and the possible answers to the simple question. “No- energized! Inspired!”
“Those are all just Sims emotions, Midoriya, you cheater-”
“Hey!” he exclaimed, hurt. “I did not cheat-”
“Aw, look,” Uraraka cooed like the sadist she was, “he’s turning as red as his shoes!”
The class, barring Bakugou, who was Bakugou, and Todoroki, who was Todoroki , turned to fuss over an extremely flushed Midoriya, poking at his cheeks and giggling. Embarrassed but secretly pleased, Midoriya covered his face with his hands to hide his grin.
“Why red, by the way?” Shinsou asked. Midoriya looked at him with a confused expression, so Shinsou clarified, “Why are your shoes red? Why not, like, orange?”
“Oh,” Midoriya murmured, looking sheepish. “Well, I developed my-”
“I’ve never had an orange,” said Todoroki, and the class stared at him in exasperated awe.
“How are you real?” asked Jirou.
Bakugou snarled like the feral house pet he was and snapped, “What, are they too good for you, fuckin’ silver spoon?”
“I bet you had a private chef,” Uraraka chimed in, a smile that reeked of malice and terror unfurling onto her mouth.
“My father would literally starve me as punishment,” Todoroki replied, and Midoriya looked faint.
“ I bet Half-n’-Half’s delicate stomach wouldn’t be able to handle citrus,” Bakugou continued on, either taking what Todoroki said as a joke or just electing not to acknowledge it.
“Only the best for Mr. 1%-” Uraraka sing-songed, and her and Bakugou shared a look that solidified their alliance, Uraraka with a deep-rooted hatred of rich people and Bakugou with a deep-rooted hatred of Todoroki.
“Says the girl with a lactose intolerance. Do better,” Todoroki said.
Uraraka pouted at an unrepentant Todoroki, but pulled out Lactaid from inside her bra and smacked it on the floor in front of her. “I know no God.”
The therapist was beginning to realize that maybe she was a bit out of her depth.
Getting the rest of the class to cough up an adjective proved to be challenging, considering the fact that Tokoyami spiraled into a poem (whether it was improv or pre-written was unclear, but the damn thing took eight minutes for him to recite) about the properties of the human soul and something about 9/11, Gerard Way, and 50 Shades of Gray ; eventually, however, the class went all the way back to Bakugou.
Because the therapist was actually a very nice lady with an impressive list of degrees, the class did, despite their wack-ass execution, attempt to discuss every one of her topics. This, of course, meant that the people in Class 1-A who wanted to speak could, and the rest of the class was forced to listen.
Usually, the mutterings and rambles of the more eccentric of their peers went ignored, but the therapist made sure to acknowledge and reflect on everything said by every student.
Everything said. By every student.
And Bakugou wasn’t even allowed to hit anyone.
“And that’s why,” said Aoyama, who was in the middle of his eighth round of the macarena, Momo showering him with Monopoly money, “I think Tokoyami has the nicest arms in the entire class. They’re so firm.”
The therapist, lips pursed, didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t get her hit with a harassment charge, so she settled with, “Thank you for your input, Aoyama.”
“He’s right,” Hagakure agreed, voice suddenly dreamy. “He has the arms of one of those male Youtubers that have cooking channels. You know, the ones that just show their hands and forearms while they cook. Yummy.”
Aoyama tittered. “The food or the arms?”
Tokoyami blinked at them, utterly baffled. Hagakure’s sleeve suggested that she was fanning her face. “Why not both?”
“Bakugou has manly arms,” Kirishima chimed in. Bakugou gave him an incredulous look, and Kirishima reached out to grab his bicep. Over Bakugou’s ensuing scream, he added, “They’re always super sticky, though.”
“ Sticky?” Ashido exclaimed, intrigued, and Kirishima nodded sagely.
People started to reach towards Bakugou curiously, but he rolled himself into a backwards somersault and landed in a squat, ready to rumble. “I’m not sticky; you’re sticky.”
“Bakugou, monsieur,” Aoyama purred, “your quirk necessitates hyperhidrosis. We’ve all seen your pit stains.” He sniffed, tipping up his chin. “They’re infâme.”
“ Oh,” said Shinsou, just to be a dick, “ that’s why your hero costume’s top is black. What the world can’t see can’t hurt them.”
Uraraka stared at Bakugou critically for a moment, who had a vein throbbing dangerously on his temple. After another second of consideration, she turned to Midoriya and asked, “You hung out in his room growing up, right? Was it musty?”
Bakugou yowled like a goddamn cat and said in a booming voice, “ My hygiene is FUCKING FANTASTIC-”
“Um,” said Midoriya, wondering whether the dizziness and sudden urge to vomit meant that he had eaten something bad or if he was actually going into septic shock.
“Midoriya’s probably pretty clean,” Asui said, a finger poking into her cheek. “I mean, he’s kept those sneakers in mint condition all year, kero.”
Midoriya, choking on his tongue, managed a, “ PleASE-”
“ WHY do I have to spend my time DEFENDING MYSELF TO YOU SHITS!” Bakugou shouted, and the laugh he let out afterwards sent chills crawling across the room. “ Deku? That fucker and his RANCID iPad? He used to sit there, watch hero videos, and salivate. You don’t think that screen was fucking CLOUDY? IT WAS. His hands were ALWAYS STICKY. So, FUCK you. Deku was the type of fucker to keep damp Cheetos in his pockets.” He reared his head back and roared, “ VILE!”
Ashido gagged. “ Yuck.”
“ Kacchan!” Midoriya yelped, indignant. “I did not-”
“Cry about it.”
Midoriya, weeping, replied, “I already am-”
Aoyama, still unconvinced, opened up his mouth to say something equally as damning, but Bakugou interrupted him with a blunt, “Keep your trap shut , Lumiere.”
“But I can’t stop twinkling!” Aoyama exclaimed, shooting them a smile that gave the class very much sleep paralysis demon vibes.
“More like ‘can’t stop TWINKing ,’” muttered Shinsou, which, coming from him, was pot meeting kettle.
The therapist, who at this point had been blocked out from the majority of this shitshow, tried to grasp at the smallest semblance of control. She noticed Tokoyami looking pensive, and resigning herself to another vague quote that probably belonged on a Pinterest post with a melancholy background, decided to derail the conversation while she still could.
“Tokoyami?” the therapist asked, smiling pleasantly at the beaked boy. “Do you have something to add?”
Tokoyami nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pitch pipe tuner. The class watched on, confused.
The boy delicately placed his beak over the mouthpiece. And blew a G note.
The class sat in befuddled silence for a moment, before, startling everyone, Jirou burst into tears.
“What did you do?” Kaminari demanded, looking at Jirou sobbing into her hands in horror. Tokoyami tucked the pitch tuner back into his pocket and did not reply. Beside Jirou, Kirishima placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and tried not to grimace at how snotty her sobs were beginning to sound.
“He Pavloved her!” Momo accused, which caused a lot of murmured discourse to break out around Midoriya and a lot of awkward, confused silence to sound out around Bakugou. Bakugou, to his credit, hissed, “You dumbfucks,” in response to Kaminari, Kirishima, and Ashido’s blank expressions. His army of himbos would never cease to exhaust him.
“Jirou? Is there something you want to talk about?” asked the therapist, who wrongfully assumed that Jirou was distressed over some traumatic event the conversation had triggered rather than the simple fact that Jirou would experience embarrassment about her middle school Tumblr page even when beyond the grave.
“Actually,” the therapist said when Jirou just continued to cry, “let’s open up the floor here. You all have been through events that most adults would never be able to recover from. On top of that, you’re still expected to come to school everyday and perform your best in preparation to be the moral compass of today’s society.”
“It can be stressful,” the therapist continued, scanning her eyes carefully over the group of fidgeting teenagers, “to live up to the expectations of being a hero. You must feel like you have to be perfect and noble 24/7, right? Sometimes, that can be stifling.”
Asui ribbited and leaned forward on her wrists. “So, what? You think it would be easy for one of us to snap?”
“Like when Iida tried to murder the Hero Killer,” Todoroki said, nodding like he expected everyone to have come to that conclusion.
Ashido choked on her own spit, hacking into her hands. Todoroki’s head tilted to the side. “Bless you.”
“He
what-?”
Kaminari burst out with, looking at Iida with something like baffled reverence. “You know, I thought
Bakugou
would be the one out for attempted murder-”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Bakugou said calmly. “I HAVE CLASS , UNLIKE FOUR EYES AND FUCKING BIPARTISAN BRAIN OVER HERE-”
“‘Roki, that’s, like, kinda hypocritical,” Hagakure pointed out, and Todoroki looked down at his arm with wonder when an invisible hand patted his wrist. “You did threaten to kill those villains back at the USJ if they didn’t give you information.” Her arms waved furiously. “They were begging for mercy and everything!”
Todoroki thought on this for a moment, and the class watched raptly, desperate to see some kind of epiphany.
There wasn’t one. Todoroki simply thought, decided this information was irrelevant, and said, “If anyone here is a murderer, it’s probably Kouda.”
Kouda went shock-still and painfully pale, and the class turned on Todoroki in an instant.
“APOLOGIZE!” Ashido wailed. “He’s never done a SINGLE thing wrong, EVER.”
Todoroki pointed at Kouda, confused, and said, “But he sacrifices animals all the time-”
“TODOROKI-!”
“No,” said Kouda, and the class’s attention shifted onto his voice, “he’s right.”
“Kouda-” Ashido gasped, shaking her head.
Kouda shifted in his seat and lifted up his hand, where a ladybug was trailing up his palm. “During the final practical exam, I set a hoard of bugs onto Present Mic. Some of them… some of them were killed on my command.”
The therapist was enthralled, leaning forward in her seat.
“And I kept thinking,” Kouda continued in his soft, lyrical voice, the rest of the class stunningly still, “about how I would feel if my life was ended like that. It was just trying to live, and I… I led it to its death. How would I feel?”
A cold hush fell over the room as Kouda looked down at his lap.
“But, like,” Kaminari began, cocking his head to the side, “you wouldn’t feel anything, though. Because you’d be dead. So…”
There was another moment of strained silence.
“Jesus Christ, Kami- really?”
“Hey! I’m just saying-”
“No, this is good!” the therapist said, grinning. “Here we go! Getting into some heavier topics: the line between right and wrong, the ethics of quirk usage. While we’re delving deeper into our psyches,” she went on, “I also wanted to briefly touch on the disappearance of one of your classmates- Mineta Minoru?”
The class went suspiciously tight-lipped.
The therapist made a sympathetic noise, convinced that the class was probably just shaken up about the loss. “I understand that it must be hard dealing with the loss of a classmate, especially since there aren’t any new leads.”
Bakugou leaned back on his hips, stretched, yawned, and cracked his neck.
More silence.
Kirishima looked at Bakugou, blanched, and resolved to say nothing on the matter.
“Do any of you want to share any fond memories you have of Mineta? Sometimes,” the therapist murmured, her tone one that would be appropriate if the class was quiet because they were uncomfortable and not because they literally did not give a shit that Mineta was gone, “especially with disappearances, it can be hard to find some sense of closure. There are always those ‘what if’s.’ But we can still remember the good times.”
No one, not even Aoyama, who had taken the time to answer every previous question with too much enthusiasm, spoke up.
Todoroki, in the wake of the silence, let out a half-assed scream. It fell flat, and was more a brief exclamation of the word, “ah,” than anything, but it caught everyone’s attention.
The class’s eyes traveled to the floor, where water was dripping onto the carpet. Todoroki wiped his damp right hand on his pants and snuffed out the flame that was in his left with a fist.
“My water broke,” he said, and the class broke into pandemonium.
Jirou immediately began shouting again, pointing her finger at him with a betrayed expression as Asui held her back.
The therapist opened her mouth, paused, and then shut it again. By that point, Todoroki had been lowered to the floor by Kaminari and Sero, both more than eager to play along. Each boy gripped one of his hands.
“ Breathe, Todoroki !” Kaminari shrieked, and Aoyama pulled out a fan from who knows where to start fanning at Todoroki’s clearly not perspiring forehead.
“ We need a doctor!” yelled Ashido, her eyes zeroing in on Bakugou, whose face went pinched and sullen at the attention. Her smile grew. “Bakugou, you’re good at everything, right?”
“ Baku-bro, we need you!” Kirishima pleaded, nudging Bakugou forward.
The blond stomped his feet. “IMMEDIATE no.”
His friends all grabbed onto his clothes and whined up at him, Todoroki offering up a meager, “Ow. My contractions. Ow, ow.”
“Make the shrink do it!” Bakugou countered, but when they looked to the Commission-assigned psychologist, she was still struck speechless and temporarily immobile. Bakugou scoffed, eyes going a bit defeated.
“Please, please, please-please-please-” Ashido begged, dropping to her knees and tugging at his ankles.
Reaching his limit, Bakugou caved with, “FUCK! Fine! Move , assholes!”
Todoroki, in birthing position, watched Bakugou sit down in front of his knees and nodded at him solemnly. Bakugou, who had one too many experiences in spotting sit-ups during public school P.E., repressed the urge to put his hands over Todoroki’s feet (and preferably pick him up by said feet and swing him into the nearest wall).
They sat in silence for a moment before Todoroki lifted his feet off the floor and asked, “Am I dilated?”
Bakugou slammed his face against Todoroki’s knee. This, of course, triggered Todoroki’s reflexes, sending his foot straight into Bakugou’s windpipe.
Wheezing and teary-eyed, Bakugou began to plot the disappearance of a second classmate.
It was then that Todoroki looked up almost pleadingly at Midoriya, eyes going wide and round. “Call my father. He’ll want to see this,” he said. Kaminari choked on a laugh, disguising it as an elated sob.
The Pro-Hero Endeavor answered the phone like all middle-aged people do: the phone held close, almost tucked under his chin, and the angle zoomed uncomfortably close. The man squinted at the camera and shouted, “ Shouto? What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m in labor,” Todoroki said with a straight face, completely relaxed as Bakugou screamed, “ WHY AREN’T YOU PUSHING?!”
Endeavor squinted even more. “ What?”
“I’m in labor.”
“Huh?”
“I’m in-”
“ Shouto? Shouto, can you hear me? I can’t see myself in the corner anymore-”
“You have to press the camera button at the bottom, you turned off your camera-”
Endeavor tapped at the screen with his brow furrowed, his massive thumbs covering the majority of the screen while he struggled with the mechanics.
“ONE, TWO, THREE-” Bakugou yelled, and Todoroki screwed up his face, “PUSH!”
To the side, Uraraka and Shinsou were in a literal fistfight over godfather privileges, both of them collectively deciding that Midoriya would be the godmother.
Uraraka flipped Shinsou over her shoulder, pinned his arm behind his back, and bonked his head. The battle was won.
In the meantime, Endeavor had figured out Facetime, but was still helplessly confused about what was going on. “ Shouto? Is this a play?”
“You’re going to be a grandpa,” Todoroki informed him, leaning to the side so his father could see his face. He held his hand out expectantly to Momo, who primly dropped a baby doll into his palm. Todoroki then proceeded to shove it down his shirt until the head barely crested outside the fabric.
Kaminari cried out in delight, “ We can see the head!”
Endeavor, who would never claim to be ‘with the kids,’ hoped this was a new… what was it again? Ah, yes, a trend. He decided he did not like trends.
Midoriya, who was going blue with how little he was breathing while holding the camera, tried to screen record the momentous occasion so he could show All Might later. Instead, he accidentally clicked the button that turned the camera back to being front-facing.
Midoriya Izuku, his eyes lit up with a crazed glint of fear, and the Number One Hero, his eyes the only discernible feature on the phone screen with how close he was to the lens, stared at each other for a solid thirty seconds.
And then Endeavor said, “ Boy from the Sports Festival.”
“Endeavor,” returned Midoriya, trying to disguise how frantically he was clicking at the button that would reverse the camera.
“I hope you’re not distracting my son with this nonsense-”
Todoroki announced, “The baby has been born.”
The camera reversed. Todoroki sat, Aoyama fanning his face, with a plastic doll in his arms. Endeavor fell silent.
“Aren’t you happy?” asked Todoroki. “It’s one more child for you to ruin.”
The therapist, who had been watching the display with a detached sense of fear, brought a trembling hand up to her face.
“We,” said Endeavor, interrupting himself with a cough. “We will discuss this at dinner next weekend.”
Todoroki rocked the doll in his arms and said nothing.
“Literally what the fuck,” said Jirou, and the Facetime call disconnected.
And with that, the group therapy session came to a close.
In the aftermath, the class all moved the desks back to their previous locations, Todoroki plopping his newborn onto his desk unceremoniously.
“There are a few of you,” the therapist announced as the class stretched their aching limbs, “that I want to speak with a bit more in a one-on-one setting. After talking to your principal, teacher, and all of you, I’ve compiled a short list.”
The class collectively deflated.
“If you hear your name, hang back for a few minutes,” the therapist continued. She cleared her throat and immediately said, “Todoroki,” which was fair.
Bakugou’s delighted snickering was given a swift death with the follow-up of, “Bakugou, Midoriya, Shinsou, and Iida.”
“You know,” said Kirishima, peering into Bakugou’s face, “that scowl is kinda impressive.”
Bakugou scowled harder.
-
Shinsou wanted to ascend into space and suffocate. It was a fucking Rorschach test . The therapist had a stack of ink splots on sheets of paper, to which she cheerily held up to the sullen student.
When Shinsou saw the splotch of color, he realized that the only way he was going to get out of this quickly was to play by the Therapy Rules.
Thus, he said the literal blob of paint looked like, “A boy with fog over his mouth.”
Gleeful, the therapist probed him on his choice, and Shinsou made sure his responses were all Traumatic and Profound. He was a goddamn therapy MVP.
“And what led you to come to the conclusion that your quirk was ‘evil?’” she asked, jotting down notes on her pad of paper.
Shinsou scoffed and tilted his gaze up to the ceiling. “I mean, the muzzle sent a pretty clear message.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you- it’s never acceptable to treat anyone like that, much less a child,” the therapist consoled him, though Shinsou’s answering nod was distracted.
“Tell me what your thought-process is right now, Shinsou.”
With eye bags that could weigh down a balloon, Shinsou smacked his lips together. “Woof.”
The therapist blinked. And stared.
-
“It looks like vomit,” said Todoroki, sending a cautious look to the therapist. When she nodded encouragingly, he seemed to gather a bit more courage. “I used to vomit a lot as a kid.”
The therapist made a considering hum. “Tell me a bit more about that.”
Todoroki looked her dead in the eyes and said, “It usually happened after my dad would sock me in the stomach.” And then he made a duck face, fingers raising in a peace sign.
-
“It’s a vagina.”
There was a moment of silence. A large object toppled to the floor. The therapist raised a brow, expression pensive. “A vagina?”
A low, choking sound came from the lump on the floor. The object in question was, in fact, Iida Tenya, who seemed to be slipping into an almost comatose-like state, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing.
“Is something about vaginas distressing to you, Iida?”
Iida screamed.
(From the hall where they were waiting for Bakugou, Kaminari and Sero glanced at each other with wide eyes. Muffled, gutted screaming emanated through the walls, interspersed with wracking sobs.
“What is she doing in there?”
Shouji, his expression indecipherable under his mask, patted a deliriously giggling Jirou on the back. Some things were best left unsaid. )
-
The therapist held up a vague blob-like figure and allowed Bakugou a moment to examine it. “Now, what do you see in this image?”
Bakugou grinned, sharp and spastic. “Those are Deku’s intestines.”
“Oh?” the therapist said idly, looking at him in interest. “Why… ‘Deku’s’?”
“Because that’s what they look like when I imagine tearing them out of his stupid goddamn gut! ”
“... I see,” she replied after a moment, the bright gleam to her eyes beginning to fade. “Is Deku a villain?”
“What?” Bakugou snapped before comprehension flooded his face. “Fuck no, he’s a slimy little shit in the hero course.” His lips turned down into a more fierce scowl than usual, and he muttered, “Shitty Deku couldn’t even be a villain right if he tried.”
“And why is that?”
Bakugou gawked at her. “Because he’s DUMB. And USELESS. He’s a quirkless freak-!”
“Quirkless?” the therapist broke in, her Freudian muscles beginning to stretch.
Taken aback by the interruption, Bakugou paused in his tirade and slumped in his seat. “Well, not anymore. I guess. BUT I HATE HIMMMMM-!”
As he burst into a garbled cry of rage, the therapist nodded to herself, jotting down, ‘Projection? Quirkless status a representation of his own perceived impotence? Erectile dysfunction?’
Yes, she thought to herself, the picture was slowly starting to become clear.
-
“It’s All Might!” Midoriya said. The therapist, despite herself, was taken aback.
“Really?”
Midoriya then proceeded to go into a seven-minute rant about color theory and All Might’s costumes over the years. He gushed over All Might’s dependability, kindness, and bravery, only taking breaths when absolutely necessary.
“Midoriya,” said the therapist after a moment of thought, “is your father present in your life?”
Midoriya squeaked.
Gottem.
-
“How about we talk about what happened to your brother, Ingenium? That must have been a difficult time for you,” the therapist suggested.
Sniffles broke the ensuing silence, and the therapist peered down at the mound of Iida.
“I can’t believe I said that,” he mumbled, his glasses discarded by his side. “How disrespectful-”
“Iida-”
He began to whisper furiously to himself, swiping his arms with such momentum that he spun around the floor like a tipped-over wind-up toy.
“Iida, your brother-”
But Iida did not answer. He just kept on gyrating.
-
For a TAT, she showed Midoriya a picture of a boy sitting at a table by himself, head hanging low.
“Tell me about this boy, Midoriya. What is he doing? What is he feeling?”
“Um,” Midoriya hummed, thoughtful, “maybe he’s at lunch? At school?”
“Why is he alone?”
The boy lit up with excitement, thrilled that he knew the answer. “Because he’s a quirkless loser that everyone hates! He’s sitting alone because if he tried to sit with someone else, they’d laugh at him or tip over his lunch or spit on him. It’s easier for him to sit alone. When you’re alone, the only person who can hurt you is yourself.” He tilted his chin, closed his eyes, and flashed her a sunshine grin. “Did I do it right?”
-
“That one looks like steam.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Todoroki rubbed at the edge of his scar, brow creased. “Itchy. Hot. Unloved.”
“Who hurt you?” asked the therapist, steadily growing more unkempt. She ran a hand through her hair, pieces spilling from her formerly neat bun.
Todoroki let out a considering hum. “You want that in MLA or APA?”
-
“Midoriya, you seem to have some strong opinions on the quirkless,” the therapist noted, face carefully neutral. “Why do you think that is?”
“Because…” Midoriya began, sending her a weird look, “they’re useless? Doesn’t everyone think that?”
The therapist paused for a moment and licked her lips. “But why do you think they’re useless?”
Midoriya looked at her like she was a small child worthy of pitying and told her, “I mean, I think I’d know. I’m quirkless.”
The therapist blinked at Midoriya. Midoriya blinked at the therapist.
“What?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Is that… a metaphor?”
Midoriya’s jaw dropped. “ Oh. Oh no. I forgot.”
A couple things were going on in the therapist’s brain, but the thing she ended up asking was, “What’s your hero name?”
“Deku. Why, did Kacchan mention me?”
“Oh,” said the therapist. “Oh, Jesus.”
Midoriya thought that was a pretty apt description of his life thus far.
-
“So, I heard you have some trouble with interacting with fire.”
Todoroki shrugged.
“Okay, okay,” the therapist said with a tight smile. “We’re going to try this thing called systematic desensitization, alright? What that means is we’re going to make a list of things starting from the least scary to the most scary that have to do with fire. Then, I’ll have you go into a meditative state and we’ll run through some hypotheticals.”
Nodding, Todoroki reached for the paper she held out for him and awkwardly held it in front of him.
“So, for something that’s not so scary, you can use fire to cook food, right? Do you like s’mores?”
“Yeah,” Todoroki replied, lips pursed in thought. The therapist nodded excitedly and jotted it down.
“That’s great! Campfires are super fun- you can hang out with your friends, tell scary stories… what do you think about that?”
Todoroki twiddled his thumbs against the paper. “Um… I like toasting marshmallows?” The therapist nodded, and he continued, “My friends like the smell.”
“What about you?”
“Not really,” he replied evasively, shaking his head. The therapist made a questioning hum, so he clarified, “It reminds me of how my brother smelled.”
The therapist, still holding out hope that this wasn’t going to spiral into something that would make her want to cry, asked, “Does he smell like firewood?”
“No,” said Todoroki. “I just mean that’s what it smelled like when he burned to death in the house.”
The therapist squeezed her eyes shut. “Mhm. Right.”
Todoroki’s eyes went shifty. “Um. Are you okay?”
With a small whine, the therapist dropped her head into her hands.
-
When Aizawa returned to the classroom to speak to the therapist, he knew just by looking at her that his Hell Class had been, well, hellish.
“These kids,” said the therapist, lip wobbling, “are all unstable.”
Aizawa blinked. “Yeah.”
“No, no, I mean- they’re-” the therapist broke off into a broken, strangled sound, and Aizawa nodded in understanding.
“Yeah.”
“And you teach them every day?” she asked, expression concerned.
Shrugging, he said, “For now. I contemplate retirement in every waking moment.”
He patted her on the shoulder as he passed her, only to stumble over something on the ground. Bending down, he picked up Todoroki’s baby doll by the ankle and held it out in front of him like it was a dirty piece of laundry.
The therapist took one look at the doll and began to cry.
Aizawa idly nodded to himself. Sounded about right. “Someone went into fake labor?”
The therapist sniffled. “Mhm.”
“Was it Todoroki?”
“ Mhm.”
“Figures.” There was a slight shuffling sound, and Aizawa produced a bottle of ibuprofen from somewhere within the folds of his capture weapon. “Have a headache?”
Rubbing at her nose, the therapist took a couple of tablets, downed them, and left the room.
‘Bonding time,’ had he said? Aizawa snorted. It was so hard to be this fucking funny.
“Shou?” Hizashi called from the doorway. “You ready to head home?”
Aizawa took one last look at the room before shutting off the lights. When he looked at Hizashi, the other teacher grinned at him, the two falling in step beside each other.
“So?” he asked, grin stretching wide across his face. “How was it?”
Exhausted, Aizawa hummed. “Fine, I think.” They kept walking down the hall. “Todoroki gave birth.”
Hizashi nodded, only having processed the first sentence of Aizawa’s response before chirping, “That’s good- wait.”
Hizashi stopped in the middle of the hall, brows shooting up.
“ What?”
Aizawa kept walking.
“Wait- hold on a minute, stop walking so fast-!”
Hizashi’s quick footfalls and shouts echoed down the hallway. Against his volition, a small smile began to creep up on the corners of Aizawa’s mouth. Those damn kids.
Maybe retirement could wait.