Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku rolled to the side, dodging as another shuriken struck the brick beside his head.

It let out a solid twang. Ducking down, wincing, Izuku glanced over. The man—Poker Face, some villain who barely even made the list—grinned at him. There was a sharp look in his eyes, a sort of sharp smirk as he dropped into a fighting position. Izuku crouched, prepared to lunge forward. For a split second, he looked Poker Face over. The man shifted on his feet. He was about to attack—

Izuku sprang in first, throwing a punch. He was already turning for the next strike. Snarling, Poker Face went to attack him. His shuriken flashed in his hands. One of them went for Izuku’s face. Dropping down, he bent back. Another twist, a kick to Poker Face’s, well, face. The man barely sidestepped. Izuku punched him in the face. Under his fist, bones crunched. Poker Face reeled back with a shout. Then, he sliced at Izuku’s face. A long, thin line of pain cut along his jaw. Ducking, Izuku twisted. He kicked Poker Face in the gut.

Poker Face went staggering back. We can work with this. Okay. His Quirk lets him make razor-sharp cards. He’d good at short range and long range attacks. How do I manage to twist that to my advantage? I don’t have Aizawa with me, I have to handle this on my own. So how do I?

Again, Poker Face threw a shuriken. Again, Izuku dodged, ducking under it. It struck the wall. Little bits of brick scattered. “Come on, little hero. I’ve seen you fight.” Poker Face teased. Triggering Float, Izuku launched back, used the building behind him as a brace. Again, he glanced around. If he could find something to use against Poker Face—“Don’t you want to have a bit of fun? I won’t tell anyone. We can just play a round of cards.”

Creating a whole deck, Poker Face threw the cards towards Izuku.

He must be making these somehow. Is it from his lipids? Frowning, Izuku dodged the cards. These ones exploded. The shockwave sent him rolling to the side. The world flipped.

Throwing a strand of Blackwhip out, Izuku grabbed a random light pole and yanked himself down. He had to get himself righted. If he could—

Something sliced across his cheek.

There was an explosion by his face.

Rolling through the head, he slammed into the wall. The world went white. Pain shot through his face. He was pretty sure he heard something crack in his head or neck. Izuku turned, looked for Poker Face. There was smoke everywhere, dark clouds billowing up where he couldn’t see anything. Not good, not good, where is—

Something drove into his chest.

“Aizawa, we have a problem.”

“I know, I know.” Running through alleyways, praying that he made it in time, he held tight to his capture weapon in case he needed to use it. There was too much destruction to the buildings and surrounding light poles for him to use his scarf and pull himself forward. Running was his only option. “Do we have any cameras on the situation?”

“Not yet.” Hizashi warned. “The cameras have all been destroyed in the area, or they’re obstructed by debris. Some of them are up, they should be usable, but there’s too much smoke right now.”

“Was Midoriya still on his feet when the feeds were still active?” He asked quickly. This was meant to be easy. This was meant to be a solo patrol, done by the students for the first time. It was meant to be safe—Aizawa had set up Midoriya, Shouto, Bakugou, and Yaoyorozu up at select areas of the city. He’d been jumping between them constantly. They’d picked an easy city, where there wasn’t a lot of crime, because his students were barely into their second year. Sure, they’d dealt with worse. They’d had the USJ, they’d had the Training Camp, the four students out on patrol had all been a part of Kamino (yes, he knew about that). But just because they’d had to deal with things didn’t mean they should deal with them.

“From what I could see, yes.” There was typing on the other side of the line. Clearly, Hizashi was moving from one camera to another, scanning through quick feeds. “I think he’s still fighting, too. I keep getting glimpses of that lightning of his between the smoke clouds.”

“Good.” It wasn’t perfect. Knowing Midoriya, he would fight until he broke himself or until he got knocked out. “Have Bakugou, Yaoyorozu, and Shouto arrived back at the rendezvous?”

“They have.”

“Make sure they stay there. If they can hear me,” he paused long enough for the words to process, “I will expel them if they come and interfere. Also, Mic, how far is backup?”

“ETA three minutes.”

Fantastic. Aizawa gritted his teeth, running out into a smoky street. It was choking, cloying. Covering his face with the capture scarf, he glanced around with burning eyes. Fixing his goggles in place, he kept moving. He couldn’t see Midoriya. He couldn’t see Poker Face. Tilting his head to the side, listening, he glanced around again. Alright, Shouta. Think.

Someone sprang out of the smoke.

Turning, Aizawa grabbed the person. He caught a glimpse of green curls, green eyes, blood slicing through freckled pale cheeks. “Midoriya.” He hissed.

Blinking, Midoriya jolted back with a gasp. His eyes were wide. There was a bloody slash across his chest, soaking the fabric around the cut with dark, reddish-brown. “Aizawa.” He whispered. Even as Aizawa looked at him, he was using Float, hovering above the ground. One of his legs was held at an awkward angle. There was more red, more slices along his shoulders, his throat, his neck. Even with just a cursory glance, Aizawa could see he was favoring his right leg. He wasn’t sure if he could see what the injury was. He knew it was there, he didn’t see any blood, but—

“Midoriya.” His eyes darted to Midoriya’s head. There was blood running from above his hairline. “You’re bleeding.”

“I—I’m fine.” Midoriya said, despite the hazy look in his eyes. “He has a Quirk like Momo’s. Uh—Creation, but with cards instead. They can—they can explode. They—” His eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped forward, still floating.

Grabbing him, Aizawa felt the weight sink into him as Midoriya crumpled. His student’s head rested against his collarbone. “Easy, easy, Midoriya.” He murmured to him. Brushing a hand over his student’s head, his hair, he found the cut. It was a long, thin thing. It almost looked like a rather nasty papercut. Settling him on the ground, Aizawa sighed, “Get some rest, Midoriya, and don’t move.”

Turning to that injured foot, Aizawa pulled out some bandages. Carefully, he pulled off Midoriya’s shoe, pressing around the ankle. Like he thought, definitely wounded—a fracture. At least it’s closed. He thought, wrapping the kid’s foot. (There were quiet footsteps behind him, coming closer. Carefully, Aizawa settled his free hand on his knife as he finished that little bit of first aid.)

“Aww, are you the teacher?” A voice asked behind him.

Swinging, Aizawa slashed his blade through the air. Eyes widening, Poker Face sprang back. He hit the ground, there was a card being thrown at Aizawa’s face. He sliced through it, dodged to the side and ducked as the two pieces hit the ground. They burst into sparking firecrackers when they hit the ground—too bad that he had those goggles.

A kick to Poker Face’s ribs, a twist to punch him once, twice in the face. The villain raised his hands, blocked against the punches pitifully. Really. This was someone who clearly had only ever trained his Quirk and expected people to bow down to him. As Aizawa fought him, adding in blocks and feints when Poker Face threw clumsy punches of his own, the man stumbled further and further back. He kept giving ground. A lot of ground. Still, the more distance Aizawa got between him and Midoriya, the better. Once back-up arrived, then he would hurry back to Midoriya—

“Eraserhead!” A hero shouted. Then, someone leapt in—Jaguar, a newer hero with a minor shapeshifting ability. Tackling Poker Face, she dragged him into the smoke with a snarl, lips peeled back from sharp fangs and spotted turquoise fur smeared with soot. Her partner, Clock, set a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder. “Go get to Deku. He needs your help.”

Clock set something in his hand—a medical kit. Then, turning, Clock gestured above his communicator. A small gold clock formed, he hit something—and then he was gone.

Turning, Aizawa ran back through the streets. Midoriya was awake now. Struggling to stand, he whipped his head around. The haziness in his eyes had worsened. Shouldn’t have left him. Didn’t have a choice. Deal with the consequences later, Aizawa thought, running in to grab onto Midoriya. Whipping around, his student met his gaze. There was blood running into one of his eyes. Blinking furiously, he dodged back again. Lightning sparked along his arms, down his leg. He was still favoring his right ankle, quite badly now.

“Midoriya. It’s okay.” He started, holding up one hand. Eyes flicking down to the medical kit in his hand, Midoriya continued to back up. His brows furrowed. That caution shifted, changing from something distrustful to—

Midoriya lunged at him.

Triggering Erasure, already regretting it, Aizawa sidestepped his student. Without his Quirk, Midoriya stumbled. Aizawa grabbed him, wrestled him to the ground and flipped the medical kit open. Under his weight, Midoriya’s ribs buckled.

Fuck, Aizawa thought. He blinked. With a scream, Midoriya threw an elbow back. He struck Aizawa in the chest. The hit sent him flying backwards. Rolling, he caught himself. Midoriya scrambled back. He gasped. His hands went to his mouth. Doubling over, Midoriya choked and coughed. Blood dripped between his fingers. Swearing, Aizawa triggered Erasure again. Midoriya stumbled again. His eyes went dull.

Crumpling to the side, Midoriya hit the ground.

He apparently woke up as he slammed into the concrete. By then, Aizawa had the oxygen mask from the medical kit already, was running over—because if Midoriya was coughing up blood and his ribs were broken, he might have punctured a lung with said broken ribs. Aizawa wasn’t about to risk it. “Midoriya.” He started, hurrying to his side. Dropping to his knees, he grabbed the kid. Kicking out, Midoriya yelped. “Come on, kid, I’m trying to help you,” Aizawa growled out with gritted teeth.

He wrestled the kid into his arms, one wrapped around Midoriya’s stomach. As much as he hated it, that wound across his chest came in handy. The kid had lost enough blood he was getting woozy. He still fought him, though, whimpering softly. He shoved at Aizawa’s hands, his shoulders, murmuring in a weak voice, “Don’t—please—don’t, I’ll be better, I promise—”

“Easy, easy, problem child. It’s just me.” Aizawa murmured, securing the straps over Midoriya’s face. Whipping his head around, the kid cried out. The top of his head collided with Aizawa’s jaw. Black spots sparked across his vision. He blinked through the pain.

Green eyes met his. Blinking, Midoriya shoved at his arms again. He was panting, wheezing raggedly now. “Please—” He kept speaking, lips forming words. Whatever it was, Aizawa couldn’t quite make it out. The kid didn’t have the strength.

“I know, I know. You’re going to be okay.” He murmured to him. Still, Midoriya stared at him. His lips peeled back in a grimace. He squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering.

Hushing him, Aizawa glanced at where Jaguar and Clock were fighting Poker Face.

The first day he was back in class started with Kacchan whacking him upside the back of the head.

“We can’t even take our eyes off you for two hours without you getting hurt, you shitty nerd?!” He demanded, red eyes narrowed. “Do we need to put a leash on you?”

Sitting in her seat and looking politely offended, Momo huffed. “He does get into more trouble than the rest of us. I’m sure someone in the Business Quirk has done the calculations.”

Face flushing, Izuku ducked his head. “Sorry, Kacchan.”

“Don’t apologize! Try not to die! Dumbass.” Whacking him again, scowling at Shouto when he grabbed his wrist, Kacchan turned back to Izuku and continued, “That’s it, no more solo patrols for you! We’re teaming up!”

“I thought you wanted to team up with Eijirou.” Izuku argued, looking at him. A pause. Kacchan’s face shifted, mouth twisting.

Then, he yelled, “Then the extras can join our hero agency! I don’t know, they’re their own damn people. The more people to watch over you, the better, you idiot!”

(“I think Katsuki’s a little bit upset,” Ochako commented behind her hand to Mina, who nodded.

“Just a little bit.”)