Archive of Our Own ^beta

If there’s one thing Aizawa Shouta trusts, it’s his gut.

There aren’t a lot of certainties in a life like his – hero work, teaching, molding the world’s most altruistic, hyperactive, gifted teenagers into what could essentially be considered child mercenaries… it definitely pays to be sure of yourself. One bad decision and you have a dead kid and a broken family on your hands.

Not that it’s so drastic all the time. Just– lately. Crises aside, this batch of first-years will undoubtedly be the death of him.

The more time he spends with his students, the more overwhelming it can be. Did Yaoyorozu always squint at the blackboard, or did that just start? Does Shoujii just prefer torn undershirts or does he not have access to quirk-adaptive clothing at home? Was Ojiro’s cough getting better or worse?

He can’t always tell. And that’s the worst part of it. 

Uncertainties.

But even so, sometimes being uncertain is preferable to the alternative – the feeling of helplessness that has him tied to his bed right now, wide awake at whatever ungodly hour of the morning. It’s been hours of tossing and turning, and he can’t sleep a wink. 

Because he’s pretty damn certain that there’s something going on in the home of one of his students.

What exactly that ‘something’ is? Couldn’t tell ya. It’s a hunch more than anything. The kid hasn’t said a word to Shouta in days - hasn’t said a word to anyone, really. He just sits there in the back of the class with those dead eyes, trying his best to blend into his surroundings like he’d prefer not to exist at all. Shouta had thought that two weeks was enough time for the kid to come out of his shell after the sports festival, but he hasn’t. Not even a little bit. He puts on that blank face and keeps his distance, probably assuming that no one will pay close enough attention to notice.

To Shouta, though, it’s obvious.

Todoroki Shouto, for all of his perceived panache, is a child that’s drowning.

He’s not the first, and he certainly won’t be the last. And yet, it’s strange – unlike most troubled students Shouta has involved himself with in the past, Todoroki is not failing quizzes. Todoroki is not lashing out, or slipping, or anything of the sort. He’s just– 

The kid’s just fucking miserable. 

Not that he even has any sort of ‘happy’ Todoroki baseline to compare to – he’s always been so damn stoic. But maybe it’s because Shouta recognizes that barely-there look on his face, that generally colorless apathy that bleeds from him all day until the last bell, when he walks from Shouta’s classroom with tense shoulders and a bowed head. Like he’s walking to the damn gallows.

And then he arrives in class the following morning, looking no worse for wear besides the dark circles under his eyes. It’s amazing, really, how well the kid plays it off, whatever it is. He’s never sick, or hurt. He never misses homework assignments. Hell, his physical strength and technique sometimes look even more impressive than they did at the beginning of the year. He’s getting better. Stronger. Faster. By all accounts, most people would say he’s thriving.

And yet, regardless of it all, Shouta sees right through it.

Because every time Todoroki braces himself and clenches his hands into fists when any adult says as much as hello, Shouta sees himself. Fifteen. Drowning.

Hizashi stirs in bed beside him, lightly pulling on the duvet. Sometimes it feels like he can hear Shouta’s thoughts, how loud they are. They’ve spoken about it plenty – kids in hero school tend to hold the world on their shoulders until it comes crashing down on top of them. They’ve had the guest room done up for years – just in case one of their hundreds of teenagers over the years might turn up in need of a place to stay, or an ear to listen.

Educators of the year, Kayama would say, in that sarcastic lilt of hers. You two really love them, don’t you?

Honestly though, it’s more for his own peace of mind than anything. Did he always plan for the worst? No. But in a job like this, you can never be too prepared. 

Shouta would like to think that if there was an adult he trusted when he was a teenager, an adult who was as reliable as he’s trying to be now, his childhood might have turned out a bit differently. He knows, intimately well, the complexities and hardships of having a rocky home life – especially when everyone else’s family seems so very normal and idealistic. Regardless of the circumstances of their private lives, Shouta wants to be there for his kids. It’s his job to care. It’s his job to be their safety net, catching them in his arms when they fall. It’s not noble, or admirable. It’s just… it’s what’s necessary to raise up future heroes.

That’s why every single one of his students has his cell phone number, and he’s confident that all of them would use it, if they needed to.

At least– almost all of them.

He yawns, his jaw clicking like it always does as he turns over. No use staying up all night thinking about one student when he has to teach 20 of them in the morning. Nothing can be done now, anyways. All he can do is give his students the tools to succeed. 

Now, what they do with those tools? 

Well, that’s up to them.

Shouta wakes with a jolt at the sound of his cell phone buzzing away on his bedside table. He rubs his eyes to see the screen better after snatching it to bring it closer to his face, squinting in the low light.

It’s a number he doesn’t recognize. Probably hero work, then.

It happens often enough – some purp with a quirk that interferes with questioning or restraint will be brought in with the rest of the riff raff the police picked up during the night. They call, usually in the evenings, to see if Shouta can pop in for an hour or two to lend them his time, and his quirk. 

He slides his thumb across the screen, sitting up in bed as he presses the phone to his ear. His eyes are barely open, and he yawns into the back of his hand. Tsukauchi will certainly owe him a beer or something for calling this late, that’s for sure.

“What.”

“... is– is this Aizawa?”

Shouta’s heart just about stops as an icy sensation cascades down his spine. Eyes wide and muscles tensed, he’s suddenly very awake.

“Todoroki?”

The line is silent for a while. There’s background noise though, coming from the other end – staticky, constant. Rain? 

“Hello?” Shouta tries after a solid ten seconds of silence. Was he imagining the kid’s voice? Not out of the question, but–

“... Sorry, I– uh…”

There’s no mistaking it – that soft monotonous tone, almost drowned out by the ambient sounds around him.

“Todoroki? What’s wrong? Where are you?” Shouta urges, flinging the duvet off of himself to sit at the edge of the bed. “Hello?”

The silence continues. Hizashi cracks his eyes open, and upon looking at the expression on Shouta’s face, he sits up too.

He presses the phone harder into his ear, trying to hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“... Sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“But you did. Talk to me.” He strides to his dresser and pulls out a sweatshirt to put on. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I– I shouldn’t have called. Goodbye. Sorry.”

“ Todoroki, do not hang up this phone,” Shouta snaps. “Where are you calling from? This isn’t your number.”

Hizashi grabs a jacket too, and they make their way out of the bedroom. He grabs the car keys off the kitchen counter and stands by the front door, waiting for his student to give him any information whatsoever. The house is silent, besides Shouta’s uneven breathing and the sound of rain pattering against the window panes.

So it is raining then. 

“Sorry. I don’t, um–” he pauses. “I don’t know where I am.”

“Where are you calling from?” Shouta repeats. “You’re outside, right?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I found a phone that accepts coins. I don’t have mine.”

Payphone. Outside. One in the morning. In the rain.

Shouta could scream.

He rubs a hand on his forehead. “Alright. I’m coming to get you. Are there any signs near you? Could you read them to me?”

“Yeah.” He heaves a shaky breath, one that Shouta can hear even over the rain. 

He reads off his surroundings as Shouta hastily scrawls whatever he can hear onto a napkin until Hizashi gives him a thumbs up and a nod in recognition. They put on their shoes and lock the door, walking down their driveway.

“Alright. I’m on my way. Stay right where you are.” Shouta says, sliding into the passenger seat as Hizashi starts the car. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” the kid answers quickly. “I just don’t know where I am.”

“That’s fine, Todoroki.” It isn’t fine. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes. I want you to stay on the line with me until I find you.” Let’s hope he has enough coins for that.

“Okay.”  

There’s a long pause over the phone as they pull out onto the main road. The sound of windshield wipers waging war against fat raindrops fills the silence between them.

“I can, um– ” his student begins, after a long moment of hesitation."I can probably find my way back by myself, actually. I shouldn't have bothered you. I’m sorry. You can– you can turn around. It’s fine.”

Shouta’s stomach flips. “Todoroki, don’t move,” he orders, trying damn hard to walk the line of being stern but not angry. “I’m glad you called, kid. There’s no need to apologize, alright? Just stay right where you are, and keep talking to me.”

“Okay. …Sorry.”

Mic snorts. Shouta sighs.

It took only a short while to get to his general area. Mic’s lived in this city his entire life, he knows these streets well. They slow down through the city blocks, squinting at each sidewalk through the heavy rain to try and find a red and white head. It’s the middle of the night, on a weekday. The city looks empty.

“What’s near you?” Shouta asks his student, his nose almost pressed against the car window. “Anything noteworthy? Restaurants? Street signs?”

“There’s uh– a storefront, with a blue awning. It says Shop n’ Stop on it.”

“We’re close,” Hizashi says to Shouta. “A block or two away.”

They round a corner, and finally, they see him.

A child, soaked to the bone, standing by a pay phone with his back to the street.

Shouta hops out of the passenger side before the car even comes to a stop, and jogs up to the kid. 

“Todoroki!”

He jumps, spinning around with a tense look on his face before recognition settles in. He hangs up the phone and swallows.

The pouring rain patters loudly against the pavement as he looks at his student. His red and white hair is soaking wet, sticking to his forehead in messy pieces. The white tank top and track pants he’s wearing are completely soaked through, weighed down by the water. 

“Come on, the heat is on in the car,” he says, ushering the child towards it. He opens the door to the back seat and motions for Todoroki to get in. 

The kid stands there, unmoving. Shouta’s sweatshirt is already saturated with water from standing out here for just a few seconds. He shoots a confused look at Todoroki when he hesitates to get in.

“I’m all wet,” he says, tilting his head. “Won’t it ruin the seats?”

Shouta scowls, shaking his head. “How polite of you to think of my car’s interior upholstery. Now please get in the damn car.”

The kid does, after a moment. Shouta gets in the front seat too and slams the door, reveling in the dry, hot air blowing from the vents. 

Shouta turns in his seat to face backwards. “You okay?”

The kid is stone-faced, as always. “Yes. Sorry about this.”

“What did I say about apologizing?” Shouta ties his own wet hair up, out of the way. “I’m glad I could find you.”

He just nods. He’s not shivering, or fidgeting at all. His hands are clasped in his lap, and his posture is straight. Like a doll.

“...Wanna tell me what you’re doing out here at this hour?”

Mic starts the car, and pulls off from the curb. The kid’s eyes widen, just slightly. “Where are we going?”

“Our house is nearby. We’ll stop there and get you some warm clothes,” Shouta answers.

“That won’t be necessary,” he urges. “I have to go home.”

Shouta knows where his students live. They are miles away from the Todoroki estate – no wonder the kid was lost.

“Our house is on the way. It wouldn’t hurt to dry off, don’t you think?” Shouta tries. He needs to get the kid alone – no way is he getting off that easy without at least some sort of explanation for what happened tonight.

“I have to go home,” Todoroki says again, as if they misunderstood him. “My quirk keeps me warm. It’s fine.”

“We’ll get you home, Todoroki. We just gotta make a quick pit stop first,” Mic pipes up, watching the kid in the rearview mirror. “I left my license at our house. I shouldn’t be driving without it. Sorry kiddo.”

But– he definitely didn’t leave his license. Shouta watched him pick up his wallet on the way out the door. 

He smirks. How lucky he is to have Hizashi on his team.

The kid seems to take that, thankfully. He sits back against the seats, spending the rest of the short ride staring out the window in silence.

Finally inside the apartment, Todoroki stands in the middle of their living room. His hands are clasped together in front of his stomach, his elbows bent and held close to his sides. Looking like a wet kitten, his eyes travel around the room.

“I have a few extra gym uniform pants in the closet,” Shouta says, lighting a fire in hearth after shedding his wet jacket at the door. “I’ll grab one for you, and a spare shirt. Why don’t you have a seat.”

“No thank you,” he says. “I’m fine. I need to go home.”

Shouta levels him with a disdainful glare. “Humor me for a minute, will you? Sit.”

The kid swallows and sits down gingerly, on the very edge of the couch. As if the thing would swallow him like a monster if he sat any further back against it.

Rummaging around in the guest room closet, Shouta finds at least a few things that will fit him (he swears these first-years get taller every year). When he enters the living room again, the room is warming up nicely. He walks towards the armchair opposite the couch Todoroki is sitting on, and watches Hizashi walk over as well from the kitchen, holding three steaming mugs in his hands.

He sets them down on the coffee table, handing one to Shouta.

As he turns and hands the other mug to the kid, his hand stops, mug halfway outstretched. The color drains from his face, and those green eyes widen as he gasps.

“My god–” he stammers. “Oh, Todoroki– why didn’t you say anything?”

Shouta’s gaze shoots up from his mug to meet Todoroki’s eyes across from him, who’s looking back and forth between Shouta and Hizashi, nervously.

“About what?” Shouta asks.

“It’s fine,” Todoroki says, looking up at Hizashi with wide, pleading eyes. “I promise, it’s fine–”

Shouta stands up, feeling his nerves tighten like knots in his chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. “What’s fine?”

Hizashi’s face drops as he looks at the kid, and it only serves to make Shouta more anxious. He squats down in front of the chair and lowers his voice.

“That– is definitely not fine, bud. Can you stand up for me?”

His husband’s voice is smooth and soft – the voice reserved for hero work. The voice reserved for when things are really, really wrong.

“Mic,” Shouta snaps, sick of being out of the loop. “What are you talking about?”

Todoroki shakes his head, looking panicked. “Nothing, it’s fine, I’m fine–”

Hizashi stands up, and turns towards Shouta with a grimace on his face. He heaves a breath.

“His shoulder is out.”

Shouta’s heart drops to the floor, taking with it the air from his lungs. He turns to look at the kid and– 

Jesus Christ. He’s– he’s right.

His left arm is hanging slightly lower than his right, his clavicle sharp and protruding next to the rounded bulge of bone where his deltoid should be.

Shouta can feel the muscles in his own shoulders tighten reflexively, as if they themselves remember every time Shouta’s dislocated something from his capture weapon mishaps in his early years. Todoroki’s just sitting there, looking– looking fucking guilty about it, like he just got caught skipping school, or– or cheating, or whatever other mundane little mishap that is certainly not on par with an injury of this severity.

“Todoroki,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. “Remember when I asked you, outright, if you were injured? This is something you need to open your mouth and speak up about, kid. I don’t understand why you didn’t–”

“It’s not an injury,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s… it’s an unfortunate circumstance.”

“An unfortunate circumstance–”

“Shouta,” Hizashi says, placing his hands on his chest. “Can I speak to you in the bedroom? Now?”

He pushes Shouta backwards, all but forcing him into their separate room, and shutting the door behind them.

“Dammit –” Shouta hisses. He grabs two fists of his hair as he paces around the room, trying to corral his racing thoughts.

“Shouta,” Hizashi says again, calm and quiet. “We need to put it back in.”

“I know. I know. Dammit.”

“I’d suggest taking him to a hospital, but I don’t think he’d be keen on that–” he continues, running a hand through his long blonde hair. “He looks like he’s about to bolt out the door already. I know how to set it back in place. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

There’s a buzzing, pulsing frustration that’s barely being held back in Shouta’s throat, one that makes it hard to even speak. Not only was the kid roaming the streets of Musutafu in the middle of the night – he’s also walking around with an arm hanging out of it’s damn socket.

He’s not angry at the kid, of course. He’s angry at himself, for not even noticing that his own student was standing there in agony – all because of that stoney face he’s gotten so damn good at masking with. Todoroki didn’t feel like a dislocated shoulder was something worth telling his teacher about. Is it a lack of trust? Or does the kid truly believe that he should handle something like that completely on his own?

He’s not sure which one feels worse. He was worried about the damn car seat, Shouta remembers – and this is the current state he’s in.

Shouta heaves a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “I think I know where my old sling is.”

“Good,” his husband responds, nodding. “He’s gonna protest. Are we actually bringing him home tonight, or do you think that’s a bad idea?”

Shouta considers it for less than a second.

“No. He’s staying here.”

Hizashi bites his lip like he’s about to disagree, but Shouta forges on.

“It’s 2 in the morning, Hizashi. He has school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, and the kid is not the one I’m worried about, babe.”

He shakes his head, knowing deep in his stomach that his husband is right.

“I know you don’t like the guy, but Endeavor needs to know where Shouto is,” Mic continues. “You should at least call him, let him know that we have him.”

“I need to talk to the kid first – figure out what’s happening here.” He moves to open the bedroom door. “I’ll grab the sling, you get the pain-relievers. We’ll fix him up and then have a chat with him.”

Hizashi nods dutifully. “Never thought I’d be thankful for how many times you’ve popped out your shoulder with that damn scarf of yours. I’m an expert by now,” he says, with a sly smile. “Ready?”

Shouta cringes, remembering how painful that injury is as a grown man, let alone a teenager. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They get the arm back in.

The kid was a trooper, as Shouta knew he would be. He barely made a peep when Hizashi maneuvered his arm back inside its socket. They gave him some medicine afterwards, and an ice pack, a sling, the whole nine yards to hold him over until Recovery Girl can take a look at him in the morning. Though, if given the choice, the kid would be having none of it. Hell, it took almost ten minutes of convincing to even get him to allow them to help. If Shouta hears 'No, I’m fine' from him one more time, he might start ripping his hair out.

Even as he sits on the couch in his now dry clothes looking remarkably small, he holds himself with a kind of careful composure. Who he thinks he’s kidding, Shouta’s not sure. It’s as if he’s pretending he wasn’t just laid out on their kitchen island, biting down on a towel and squeezing the life out of Shouta’s hand ten minutes ago.

Nevertheless, the arm is back in. Now, it’s story time.

“Weightlifting.” Shouta repeats, his tone flat and sarcastic to convey his disbelief. “You dislocated your shoulder while… weightlifting.”

“Yes,” he answers.

“How does that happen?”

Todoroki looks away. “My father has me on a new fitness regimen. It involves weightlifting.”

Shouta narrows his eyes.

It’s not a completely implausible excuse. He’s seen some freak accidents in the UA weight room from his time spent teaching, but all of them were the result of a student not knowing how to use the equipment correctly, or intentionally goofing around.

Neither of which seem likely for Todoroki – a child hand-trained by one of the top pro heroes in the country, and his class’s resident stoic.

“Paint the picture of exactly what you were doing for me.”

He looks down at his arm, rubbing his thumb across his new sling. “I was doing shoulder presses on a bench and my arm just–” he shrugs before remembering not to, wincing. “Fell out.”

Okay. Okay. That’s– well, not implausible. Again. But still– that’s a rare occurrence. A freak accident. Something that would only happen to a generally healthy person under very specific circumstances, like if the weight was too heavy and the muscles surrounding the joint were extremely overworked, and–

Oh, shit. That’s probably– oh, god dammit.

There was– there was one Monday afternoon, last week during a practicals lesson – god, Shouta could kick himself now – where he had the inkling of a thought that Todoroki looked a little bit… off. Not as fast, not as explosive in his movements as one would expect a teenager to be after a weekend at home, spared from the rigors of first-year conditioning for a few days. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was – it’s not like the kid was injured, and he certainly didn’t seem sick. It was more like his body just wasn’t keeping up with him, for whatever reason.

It’s so obvious now, what that reason was – he was sore.

He’s been sore, probably for weeks now. Overworked by this mysterious ‘fitness regimen’ his father is drilling into him, only to come into school the following day to do more intense conditioning via the UA curriculum, which is structured around vigorous physical training to whip first-year students into shape as quickly as possible.

It’s honestly surprising he didn’t injure himself sooner, with a workload like that. 

Shouta just inspects the kid, who’s staring into the fireplace. He looks tired. He looks uncomfortable. His hair’s still wet, falling in pieces on his forehead. It’s like every single muscle in his body is being held tense. Shouta wonders if he’d deflate like a balloon if he let himself relax at all.

A flash of lightning appears outside the window, followed by a loud crack of thunder very shortly after. The sound makes him jump, and a grimace flicks across his face for a singular second. He sits up straighter on the couch, tearing his eyes away from the hearth.

Shouta swallows around a lump in his throat. “Tell me more about this ‘fitness regimen’.”

Todoroki exhales, and looks into the fireplace again. “I need to go home.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

He doesn’t meet Shouta’s eyes when he says it, but that’s alright. The sass is nothing new. He teaches teenagers, for christ’s sake. Usually when there’s sass, there’s something beneath it worth digging for.

“Alright, let’s try a different question,” Shouta says calmly. “Does this fitness regimen also involve long walks in the middle of the night? Without your phone?”

Frustration flickers across Todoroki’s face, gone in an instant. 

“No. That was– something else.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

The kid’s clamming up. Shouta has to make a move before this whole thing is locked behind steel doors.

Fuck, kids can be difficult.

He heaves an exhale, staring into the fire too. He really doesn’t want to break this news to him, but– 

“I’m gonna have to call your dad, kid.”

Now that? That gets his attention.

His eyes snap to Shouta’s face, eyebrows lowered. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Shouta answers. “You were roaming the city in the middle of the night. I was the one who found you, and thus I need to let your parent know where you are. The last thing UA needs right now is a student reported missing, or a teacher slapped with a kidnapping charge.”

His eyes get wide. “No really, that– won’t be necessary. He already knows I was out.”

Shouta scowls for a moment, those words giving him pause. 

“You expect me to believe you had permission from Endeavor to be walking around at 1:00 in the morning?”

“Yes,” he says, with a little more bite than he’s used to hearing from the kid. “And are you going to exaggerate like this when you talk to him, too?”

Shouta raises his eyebrows. “Exaggerate?”

“You said it was 1:00am when I called you. It wasn’t.”

Shouta almost laughs. Oh, this poor unfortunate soul, thinking Shouta of all people would misremember that particular detail.

Though the more he thinks about it – thinks about why the hell that would be the hill Todoroki chooses to die on – another question ignites in his mouth.

“Todoroki,” he starts. “What time did you leave your house?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he snaps, obviously getting frustrated, which can only mean Shouta’s asking the right questions. “I told you I didn’t have my phone. I don’t know.”

“Give me your best estimate.”

The kid frowns, exhales. “A few hours ago, I guess. The sun was setting, so around 7 o’clock, maybe.”

Shouta blinks, leaning backwards to fall back against the couch as he scrubs a hand over his face.

Todoroki’s working hand balls into a fist in front of him, obviously peeved by his teacher’s reaction to that piece of information. “What ?”

Shouta exhales heavily. “Do you know what time it is right now?”

“Is this supposed to be some sort of game?” the kid snarls, his voice acidic. “What’s it called again? 10 questions?”

“20 questions–” Shouta corrects, and he’s only volleying that sass back to his student because he couldn’t help himself. Through the defensiveness there, he’s gotten his answer, whether Todoroki meant to give it to him or not.

He holds his phone up, showing Todoroki the time.

2:16am.

The kid’s face turns white as a sheet. Impressive, considering how pale he already looked after standing in the rain all night. His eyes widen again, and he parts his lips as if he’s about to object. But instead, he turns his head swiftly towards the clock sitting on the mantle above the hearth.

….Which can only mean that Todoroki doesn’t trust Shouta to show him the correct time. 

Clearly, the kid does not consider Shouta to be someone he can rely on to provide accurate information. Todoroki can’t be blamed for that though – they don’t know each other all that well, considering. He’s only had the kid as a student for what, a month? Two months, now? Shouta would’ve done the same damn thing, at that age. And with a personal file as thick as Todoroki’s, well–

Shouta’s not going to pretend that he knows the inner machinations of his mind. It’s not like they speak on a regular basis. Shouta wouldn’t trust a damn thing any adult said to him at Todoroki’s age, let alone one who holds a position of authority.

But it’s okay. He’d rather have a relationship of one-sided distrust than no relationship at all. He mentally dog-ears that page of this interaction to consider later, stifling the twang of guilt he feels about how quickly the kid looked for secondary confirmation.

After realizing the clock on the mantle is correct, Todoroki practically deflates. The fight he was putting up earlier leaks out of him as he sits back, curling his working shoulder in and bowing his head so that his hair covers his eyes.

Shouta’s forced to look away. It’s like – it’s like looking in the mirror, fifteen years in the past.

“I’m sorry,” the kid says in a bitter voice. 

“For?”

“Calling you when it’s so late. I shouldn’t have.”

Shit. That was not what he meant to– shit.

“You can call me for anything, kid. You know that. That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” 

“I’m saying you were out by yourself, at night, with no phone, for six hours –” Shouta says gently. “Injured, no less. If I were your parent, I’d be worried sick.”

God, he’d be a mess. He’s already a mess, and this isn’t even his fucking kid.

Biological, at least.

But then Todoroki starts looking towards the door, biting his lip in the silence, giving Shouta a little too much time to piece together why exactly he hasn’t gotten a missing person report for a minor that never came home. A minor who seems to have the full, undivided attention of the number two hero at all times. A minor who does not seem like the type to make a dramatic run away.

The details slot into place neatly, all at once. The picture of his student’s night suddenly goes from grainy to high-resolution, and Shouta’s chest lurches.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him.

“You said your father knew you were out,” Shouta says softly. “I’m going to guess it was his idea. Not yours.”

The kid closes his eyes, breathing out an exhale of defeat, frustration, who knows. He leans forward to rest his good elbow on his knee too, rubbing a fist in his eye.

God, he looks tired. This is the culmination of what Shouta’s been watching for weeks in his classroom – morning after morning of Todoroki coming in perfectly on time, stiffly walking to his desk, and trying his damndest to stay awake all the way until lunch. 

The kid presses the meat of his palm into his eye. His voice is quiet when he speaks again.

“If I tell you, will you take me home?”

Shouta bites his lip and the unintentional confirmation Todoroki just gave him, and considers it for a moment.

“How about this – I’ll call him after we’re done here. If he picks up, I’ll bring you home. If he doesn’t, I’ll leave him a message and you’ll stay here.”

Todoroki shakes his head. “No, I can’t stay here. I’ve already caused you too much trouble.”

“If I’m offering, it’s no trouble. You need time to rest, kid. We have a spare room for this exact purpose.”

He tilts his head to the side. “For me?”

“For you, your classmates, anyone who might need it.”

The kid doesn’t say anything. He stares into the fire again, taking a deep breath in, then out.

“He was angry with me,” he begins. His voice is soft and a little bit scratchy. “He’d been telling me for days that my form was wrong so he was irritated that I injured myself. He told me to find a hospital on my own, one far away from the house so they wouldn’t recognize me.”

Shouta tries damn hard to keep his face from reflecting the deep red rage clawing up the inside of his chest, securing footholds in each rib like rungs of a ladder.

The kid continues after a short pause, still not looking in his teacher’s eyes.

“I was annoyed, so when I left I forgot to grab my phone. And then I got lost, and – yours is the only number I have memorized, so… here we are.”

How the hell could someone who calls themselves a pro hero force their child to find care by themselves? 

After what happened at the USJ, all the parents of 1-A got extensive correspondence from the school after the infiltration by the league, detailing what precautions should be taken for their children, just in case they are targeted a second time. There were recommendations for buddy systems, check-ins, location tags, private escorts – everything Nedzu and the rest of the committee could think of to keep the students safe. Shouta doesn’t even like letting the kids ride the subway alone on the way home from school, let alone moseying around the city at night. 

Shouta assumed that the parents would welcome these precautions, and most of them did. You’d think a pro-hero who’s borderline obsessive about his child would be one of the ones who followed the rules.

Shouta shakes his head.

“Listen to me,” he begins. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you for calling me to come get you. I’d bet that was hard for you, but you did it anyway. And I’m grateful for that.”

Todoroki just nods, staring somewhere on the floor in front of him.

“As for the rest of it, I’m not going to lecture you about your father’s actions, as disagreeable they may be. It’s not like you had a choice. But I will say this –”

Shouta pauses, and the kid looks him in the eyes finally, waiting for the rest of it.

“Your health is precious, Todoroki. Yes, you may be the child of Endeavor, but you are a child all the same. You deserve rest, and safety, and– proper medical care. Do you understand me?”

He nods again, with that blank look on his face.

Shouta leans forward. “You were injured because your muscles were not given enough recovery time between periods of exertion. It has nothing to do with strength, or technique, or anything of the sort. You need rest and fuel after a workout, or else you risk injuring yourself in the same manner. It’s not something you can just fight through, kid.”

Todoroki’s face still doesn’t move. It’s not like Shouta was expecting tears or yelling or any type of reactivity like that, but it doesn’t even look like he’s–

Like he’s listening.

“.... I take it you don’t have much of a say in your–” he gestures vaguely, “-after school schedule.”

Todoroki looks down again, blinking slow and tired. His head shakes back and forth ever so slightly.

“Tell you what,” Shouta starts again, backing off before treading too deeply into murky waters. “Next time you feel too sore to be at your best in class, let me know. I’d be more than happy to let you sit out a few practical lessons, considering.”

“No–” Todoroki pleads immediately, surprising Shouta with his urgency. “No, please, that’s not– I’ll be better next time. I’ll be better, I promise – please don’t–”

Shouta frowns, his stomach swooping unpleasantly with guilt. Todoroki’s wide eyes look at him desperately as he grabs a fistful of his pantleg.

And just that reaction – the panic in his voice, the immediate instinct to shield himself from a perceived consequence by rolling over and appeasing – it’s so much more telling about the Todoroki household than any highly redacted personal folder sitting in a filing cabinet at UA.

“I’m not punishing you, Todoroki.” He says gently, trying to keep the pained scowl off of his face. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I–” he starts, blinking. “No. I don’t– I don’t know. I– please don’t take me out of class.”

He breathes out, trying to dislodge the ache that sits heavy in his chest. Though it’s worth noting that Todoroki obviously enjoys his classes enough to fear being taken out of them, it doesn’t make Shouta feel any better.

“You have my word,” Shouta quietly offers, at a loss for what else to say about it. “I just think it’d be good for you to get some rest, is all.”

Shouta can hear Mic fussing around in the kitchen. It was nice to give them privacy, given that his husband is not particularly close with Todoroki since he’s not his homeroom teacher, but Shouta wishes he had his help. Hizashi has this knack for keeping the mood light, even if the subject of conversation is heavy. It works wonders to keep kids from checking out of a serious discussion. Shouta wishes he could mimic his husband’s boundless easy-going energy – maybe Todoroki wouldn’t be so on-edge.

Oh well. No use dwelling on that when he has more pressing matters at hand.

The cat decides then that it’d be a good time to hop onto the arm of the couch Todoroki is sitting by, gazing at the kid with her royalty-like disdain. He freezes for a second, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“Her name’s Kemuri,” Shouta provides. “She usually sleeps right where you’re sitting.”

Kemuri wastes no time stepping onto Todoroki’s lap, looking at him as if she were offended at the lack of pets she’s getting.

Todoroki stays still. “Should I sit somewhere else?”

Shouta shakes his head, and smiles. It’s interesting, if not slightly endearing – the kid snaps when pushed by humans, but is willing to sit on the floor to keep the damn cat happy. Ridiculous.

“No, kid. Humans get priority seating. She might curl up on your lap, though. Hope you’re not allergic.”

“I’m not,” he answers, and some of the tension flows out of his muscles like he’s sprung an air leak. “I like cats.”

Hm. Kemuri to the rescue, then.

“Well in that case,” – Shouta stands up, stretches his back – “Let me go make that call. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He turns towards the hall leading to his and Hizashi’s bedroom, but–

“Aizawa?”

He pauses, turning to face the kid again. “Yes?”

Todoroki looks him in the eye for a few seconds, and Shouta’s struck again by just how young the kid looks. It’s easy to forget, when he’s just a few inches shorter than Shouta, and so damn serious all the time. He’s stronger than some professional heroes already, practically a machine with his incredibly strong quirk – but as he looks up at his teacher, absently petting the grey, fluffy cat in his lap, he just–

He looks like a kid. Todoroki Shouto, the fifteen year-old child.

“Thank you,” he says. “For helping me.”

Shouta’s mouth twitches up at the side, and he nods. 

“You helped yourself, kid. I’m just doing my job.”

“You’ve reached Endeavor. Leave a message. My secretary will get back to you if it’s worth my time.”

Shouta curses under his breath, hangs up before the beep, and tries again.

“You’ve reached Endeavor. Leave a mess–”

“God dammit–” he curses, hanging up once more, and trying one more time. Did the man really put his work phone down as the emergency contact? Or does he have a secretary for personal calls too?

Four more rings go by, and he’s greeted with the same gruff voicemail greeting. He sits through it, pacing around his bedroom.

The line beeps. Shouta stops, and breathes in.

“This is Aizawa Shouta, your son’s teacher,” he begins, trying his damndest to keep the bitter anger out of his tone of voice. “I thought you’d like to know, Todoroki, that your child called me on a payphone to come pick him up from uptown Musutafu at 1 o’clock this morning. You can imagine my surprise, given the strict instructions the faculty had hand-delivered to you about the safety precautions that need to be taken for your child.”

He paces around the bedroom, gripping the phone too hard as he takes a shaky breath. 

“He was standing in the rain with a dislocated shoulder, Todoroki,” Shouta hisses, keeping his voice to almost a whisper. “He’s staying with me for the night, since I can’t get a hold of you. If you’d like to explain yourself, meet us at the school before the first bell. I’d be more than happy to discuss this with you.”

“Oh–” Shouta chuckles bitterly. “And bring his uniform, too. I know how much appearances matter to people like you. Goodnight.”

He hangs up.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Four kittens?”

“Our old house was bigger than the place we have now, so we fostered them,” Hizashi answers, pulling up to the teacher’s parking lot. “We kept Kemuri, and the rest have been adopted by other families. Remember the windows, Eraser?”

“They loved the windows. Sun spots to go around.”

The kid smiles from the back seat, and Shouta returns it in the rearview mirror.

“Ever had a pet, Todoroki?”

He shakes his head as Mic finds their spot and puts the car in park. At the reminder of home, Shouta guesses, the kid’s face returns to its typical vacant expression as he fiddles with his sling, like he’s been doing all morning.

Waking up with a student in his house had been decidedly less awkward than Shouta had imagined it would be, especially given the circumstances. He’d half expected the kid to either jump through the bedroom window during the night and return to roaming the streets, or wake up with the same sour mood he’d tried to use last night to avoid the questions and the discussions.

Neither of those things happened, though. Todoroki woke up on time, the three of them had breakfast in only slight social discomfort, and had a mostly pleasant car ride to the school. Despite the shoulder, Shouta would almost venture to say his student looked relaxed. Maybe even well-rested.

“Well,” Shouta continues, getting out of the car and shutting the passenger side door. “If you ever need a cat to pet, I’m sure Kemuri could fit you into her very busy schedule.”

Those owlish, heterochromic eyes blink at him once the kid has stepped out as well. “...She has a schedule?”

“Oh you know,” he answers, walking towards the front gates. “Breakfast, then a nap, then playing, then a nap, then dinner, then a nap.”

He smiles again. With how seldom he does it Shouta almost wants to start counting them. “Sounds nice.”

A polished black car pulls up at the front gate, and Todoroki stiffens. The smile falls from his face, replaced by a set jaw. Endeavor, clad in a black business suit, exits the passenger side of the car and stands with his arms crossed as Shouta, Mic, and the younger Todoroki approach.

“Endeavor,” Shouta starts, standing tall. “Good morning–”

“Shouto, would you care to explain yourself?” the man interrupts, paying no attention to either Shouta or Hizashi, focusing his ire on the child between them. “Whatever stunt you were trying to pull with this little sob story – burdening your teachers and disobeying my orders–”

Shouta steps forward, ready to respond, but the kid beats him to the punch.

“Disobeying you? You’ve got to be kidding,” he snarls, and Shouta can’t help but feel a bit surprised as he steps forward, squaring up to his father, sling be damned. “The only reason I had to call Aizawa-sensei was because of your damn orders.” 

The flames surrounding the pro’s face flare. “You watch your mouth, you little–”

“That’s enough,” Shouta snaps, glaring at the pro who should certainly know better than to argue with a child like this. “Mic, take Shouto to Shuzenji. I’ll catch up before the first bell.”

Endeavor’s glare deepens, but he doesn’t protest. The kid huffs in frustration before he turns towards the school and starts walking, Mic following behind.

Once they’re out of earshot, Shouta turns back to the elder Todoroki, who looks furious.

“Did you bring the uniform?”

His icy blue eyes narrow, and he lets out a humorless chuckle. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve, Eraser, threatening me over the phone. Like a coward.”

“I never threatened you, I simply stated facts. If you don’t like it, I suggest you take better care of your child,” Shouta answers with a bored shrug, watching the man clench his jaw. “Just a suggestion.”

Endeavor shakes his head. A small, knowing smile appears on his face after a moment, a sinister looking thing. He crosses his arms. “Do you have children, Eraser?”

Shouta’s lip curls, knowing exactly where this question will lead. “No. Not yet.”

“Hm,” he answers with a smirk. “Then I don’t think I’ll be heeding any advice from the likes of you. You have no idea what it means to raise children, so kindly keep your little ‘suggestions’ to yourself.”

He can feel his own blood pressure rise, and he tries his best not to react with anger. He has to end this conversation quickly – students will start arriving soon, and the last thing he needs is to be seen arguing loudly with a top-ranked hero.

“As Todoroki’s teacher,” he begins, voice level but still laced with hostility for good measure, “I have a vested interest in keeping him happy and safe, and an obligation to act when he’s neither.”

“How noble,” Endeavor retorts, rolling his eyes. “The next time you decide to kidnap my child I’ll be sure to tell the police about your little obligations.”

“I’m sure the police will be just as interested to hear about a severely injured kid roaming the city alone because his father told him to, out of some misplaced sense of punishment,” he shoots back. “The next time he comes into my classroom injured, you can be damn sure I’ll be filing a report.”

Endeavor’s hands clench at his sides, his teeth bared and flames raging as they billow in the morning breeze. Students are slowly starting to gather outside the gates, and he looks around as he realizes this.

“Now,” Shouta says, reaching out a hand. “Uniform, please.”

The man angrily opens the door to the back seat, and tosses Shouta a grocery bag knotted at the top, containing the UA uniform. After that, he turns back to the passenger side door and grabs the handle to get back in the car.

“Todoroki,” Shouta says, before the hero’s driver can pull off.

He turns his head, and says nothing, glare still on his face.

“The home training is overkill. UA provides plenty of physical conditioning, I can assure you. The kid is exhausted. Give him a break.”

Shouta doesn’t want to be antagonistic. It’s much easier to teach when a healthy relationship is fostered between teachers and parents. He needs to make it clear that he is not coming from a place of arrogance, but from a place of concern for Shouto. 

The look on Endeavor’s face tells Shouta that that particular bridge might have already been burned, despite his best efforts to build it.

“I will do what I think is right for my son,” the pro answers after a moment. There’s some venom there, though his voice is calmer than before. “I can provide him with instruction that you cannot. He does not need to be babied.”

“Getting injured will get him nowhere,” Shouta argues. “You know as well as I do that injuries compound.”

Endeavor scoffs. “He’s a child, Eraser. They bounce back much more easily than adults.”

“Exactly my point,” Shouta growls. “A fifteen year-old should not be worked to death like this.”

He rolls his eyes, checking the large, gaudy watch on his wrist. “If we’re done here, I have places to be.”

Shouta heaves an exhale, and shakes his head. “Fine. You can rest assured that I’ll be paying close attention to him from now on.”

He scoffs, and enters the shiny black car once again. Shouta can’t see his face through the dark tinted windows as his chauffeur drives away, and maybe that’s for the better.

The morning breeze flows through his hair as he watches the car drive away down the road. His dark bangs fly forward to cover his face, and it suddenly feels like he himself is a teenager once again, arguing with his own father before school, trying to logic his way out of a punishment that was never derived from reason or fairness in the first place. 

It’s a never ending battle, he realizes. Children will always be at the mercy of whomever is raising them. Some parents will forever see their kids as property, not people. It’s a product of society, one that Shouta by himself is powerless to change completely. He’s not sure where he’d even start. 

But as he turns and sees Mic put an arm around Shouto’s shoulders as they ascend the front stairs of UA, and his student responds to the touch with a small, comfortable smile – Shouta feels confident there are some things that he does have the power to change, after all these years.

Life is full of uncertainties. But becoming a person his kids can rely on so that they don’t have to live through the same hardships that he did?

That’s a choice that Shouta will always make, because his gut tells him it will always be the right one.

And if there’s one thing Shouta trusts, it’s his gut.