Chapter Text
0.5
Aizawa isn’t a bad teacher - he’s not, really. He cares about his students and he pores over lesson plans and marking for hours every night and pays special attention to the strengths and weaknesses and nuances that his children are absolutely riddled with. Aizawa is attentive and compassionate and loyal -
And he’s tired. All the time, he’s just so fucking exhausted.
It’s been like this since high school, ever since he started working towards his goal of becoming an underground hero. He very rarely did any hero-work during the day, stumbling into his apartment (and into Hizashi’s arms) at the crack of dawn after a full night of gruelling labour. Aizawa is a night owl by nature, but his sleep schedule has been permanently shifted and his few years of teaching hasn’t helped that at all.
He’s not like Hizashi - he can’t slap on a smile and buzz with faux-energy and when it comes to sleep, if Aizawa is tired enough to do so without lying awake for hours, he just...will.
And sometimes that urge hits him during class.
He doesn’t like that aspect of himself; admittedly, Aizawa is overflowing with self-loathing, so he’s not sure how much of it is actually rational dislike. Nevertheless, he’s not content with his sleepiness, no matter how aloof he tries to seem, particularly with his newest problem class.
Luckily, there are members of 1-A that are more than happy to keep him awake.
It’s only a few weeks into the new school year and Aizawa has gotten a pretty good picture of his class. Midoriya and All Might definitely have something going on and Aizawa itches to theorise with someone about that as soon as the topic is brought up. Bakugo is in desperate need of anger management classes. Iida is absolutely nothing like his older brother and the stark difference is so explicit that Aizawa wants to laugh every time he catches the kid’s eye (he can’t, of course. He has an image to maintain).
So, it’s no surprise that it’s Bakugo who wakes him up for the first time.
It’s a Monday morning and Aizawa barely had enough time in between his drug bust Sunday night and the first lesson to shower, brush his teeth and redress to look less bedraggled for his class. He’s not slept for over 48 hours and his eyes burn so bad that it’s torturous not to just close them, just for a moment as his students start to filter in.
He jolts awake when something bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap. “...huh?”
Cheeks flushing, Aizawa glances up at his class. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep for, but the class that stares back at him is settled down and quieter than Aizawa has ever heard them.
Aizawa glares, hiding his red cheeks in his scarf and huffing when no-one is able to meet his gaze. The thing that hit him in the face, he realises, is a crumpled piece of paper and he frowns at it in confusion; he pinches it between two fingers, unfolding it as he rubs insistently at his eyes. They still hurt.
‘Wake the FUCK up,’ is emblazoned in English upon the scrumpled sheet. Or well, an approximate of it. He’s never seen so many spelling mistakes in such a short sentence, what is Hizashi teaching these kids?
“Who threw this?” he asks lowly. Suddenly, there’s something very interesting in the classroom - on the floor, the ceiling, out the window, anywhere, really, that isn’t Aizawa. Even Iida is looking straight ahead with a tight, pained expression, like he wants to tell the teacher desperately. Aizawa is glad that he shares that with Tensei, at least - he isn’t a fucking snitch.
“‘Wake’ isn’t spelt ‘w-a-c-h-e’. Whoever threw this is an idiot-”
“You take that back, old man, or I’ll kill you,” Bakugo explodes and the room erupts in chaos.
Fucking typical.
All Aizawa wanted was a nap.
1
The second time it happens - well, not quite the second time, but definitely the second time that sticks in his mind - it’s right after the USJ.
Aizawa wakes in painful increments, muscles locking immediately as agony flares behind his eyelids. He chokes on his own saliva, spluttering frantically as he tries to blink his eyes open. There’s something beeping a frenzy and it echoes arounds his skull.
“-ensei? Aizawa-sensei!?”
“Mid’r’ya,” Aizawa gags, arching his back against the bed - a hospital bed, oh. He was certain that he was going to die at the USJ. He would have been alright with it if it meant saving his students.
It reminds him suddenly of Asui and Midoriya kneeling in the water and the villain closing his fingers around the girl’s face and...
“Midoriya,” Aizawa repeats, trying to move to scrabble for the young boy, but his arms are stiff and he can’t see-
“Come on,” Hizashi says soothingly, and when did he come in? “Let’s give Eraser a little bit of space.” Aizawa tries to swallow his panic, forcibly relaxing into the bed. It hurts and he’s reflexively arched his back, frozen in intense, all encompassing pain, but he’d die before he lets Midoriya out of his sight (metaphorical, at least, considering he still can’t see).
“No!”
It’s only the fact he’s known Hizashi for over a decade that he can tell that he’s halted in his tracks. His hand is probably against Mdoriya’s back, between his shoulder blades and his brow is likely furrowed in concern; maybe Midoriya doesn’t know that it’s Hizashi. His voice is distinctive, sure, but he’s probably not got his hero costume on. Aizawa loves him with his whole heart, but he’s particularly fond of his husband when he’s got his hair down.
So here they are, Hizashi frozen above his bed, Midoriya close to crying and- oh, shit. Embarrassingly, so is Aizawa.
“Sho-Eraser,” Hizashi says tightly, “perhaps you ought to get some rest?”
“The Problem Child can stay,” Aizawa says, his voice muffled and raspy. He wants to lift his hands up to clarify to Hizashi, but he still can’t move his arms and he still doesn’t know why. He just hopes that Hizashi is wearing his hearing aids.
“Are...are you sure?” Hizashi asks softly, but he can already hear Midoriya dropping heavily back into the chair besides him. He resists the urge to reach out for him by a fraction - he isn’t sure he even could move to touch his student.
“Yes, Mic,” he grits out, expecting Midoriya’s sharp gasp.
“P-Present Mic?! B-b-but, but- your hair!”
Aizawa snorts and it makes his chest feel like a piece of foil that’s just gotten quite violently crumpled up. He’s not sure if it’s pain or something else, something like...fondness. No. That wasn’t it. That was probably it.
Hizashi gasps dramatically as Midoriya stutters through his apologies at any offense he might have caused, devolving into his typical mutterings. He lets the two babble together incessantly for a while, almost back to sleep when he hears Midoriya’s mumblings quiet and Hizashi soothing him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat in concern and hizashi’s hand slips around his ankle, fingers smoothing subtly over the skin there, like he doesn’t want Midoriya to see.
“Mi-” Aizawa cuts himself off with a sharp, agonising cough. It wracks his chest and he moans weakly. “Mic. What…?” he asks, trailing off as the ache in his chest, his arms, his head, everywhere, begins to build. He’s questioning the way Hizashi and Midoriya both quieted, which he figures he can tell.
“You were making some pretty awful noises there, Eraser,” Hizashi explains and Aizawa grunts, absolutely mortified.
“Yeah, I have two of the most talkative people in the world in here with me,” he says, surprised that he’s actually able to get the words out without crying out pain. Hizashi makes a squawk of offense, sounding not unlike the parakeet that he so often looked like.
“Hey! Tell us how you really feel,” he cries, flopping into one of the uncomfortable chairs besides Aizawa’s bed. He manages to turn his head towards the sound, trying for the millionth time to open his eyes. Instead of black this time, he can see blurry spots of white and grey. It’s something new, at least.
“Alright,” he says gruffly, “I have never been so glad to be medicated in your presence, Mic.”
“Please tell me Aizawa-sensei isn’t your favourite teacher, little listener, he is quite clearly a heathen in the flesh,” Hizashi says, folding his arms with a petulant pout. Midoriya chuckles involuntarily, and Aizawa is soothed by the sound. He was starting to get worried at being unable to hear him.
“Well, I-”
“No, please, don’t answer, you’ll only encourage him,” Aizawa implores him and Midoriya laughs shakily again.
“He’s obviously not gonna answer, Shouta, he doesn’t want to offend you,” Hizashi says snarkily and Aizawa stiffens at the use of his first name as much as he can in his current state. Hizashi keeps talking, barrelling through his joke as if he hasn’t even realised. “I’m obviously his favourite, aren’t I, Midoriya?”
“I-I- you’re a great, you’re a great teacher, Mic-sensei,” Midoriya starts, fiddling with his fingers nervously. “Well, you’re a little loud.”
The sharp crack of Midoriya slapping his own hand over his mouth echoes through the room and Aizawa is almost immediately overcome with laughter. He doesn’t think his class has ever heard him laugh, not properly, at least, so he’s expecting Midoriya’s shocked inhale of breath.
“Don’t laugh, Shouta!” Hizashi screeches and it just makes Aizawa laugh louder. It comes out stuttered and awkward considering his injuries, but it makes Hizashi glow. He’s missed the sound of his husband’s voice.
“Does that not...hurt him?” Midoriya asks quietly, glancing at Hizashi in concern. Hizashi’s spluttered guffaw replaces Aizawa’s laughter when it dies down and Midoriya feels even more out of place. He’s not used to this side of Aizawa-sensei, nor even the sight of Mic-sensei with his hair down and in a pair of sweats and a hoodie, but Aizawa seems to notice and he’s relaxing before he even realises he is.
“The fact that I’m laughing? Are you saying that because I’m injured or because I’m me, Problem Child?” Aizawa says raspily and Midoriya mumbles something back nervously. He’s not sure why Aizawa being so...intense and almost scary puts him at ease more so than him laughing, but it does. He guesses it’s because he’s used to it.
Aizawa is about to speak again when a wet cough bubbles out of his throat. Hizashi swears quietly and stands to get the nurse. Aizawa shakes his head furiously (which just hurts, to be frank), his cheek hitting something cold. He can’t really feel it, he’s probably covered in bandages. He doesn’t know, he hasn’t seen himself yet. “Huh?”
“Er...it’s water.”
Aizawa is confused. He opens his mouth and a straw is slipped between his lips. He sucks on instinct and then keeps going, registering how absolutely parched he is. Midoriya keeps his hand perfectly steady as Aizawa drinks his fill - he’s careful not to drink too much. He’s been in a hospital bed enough times to know how much his body can handle after waking up after days (he assumes it’s been days considering the anxiety that practically pours off of Hizashi).
“Thank you, Problem Child,” he says and his voice is much less gravelly than before. “...why can’t i see?”
It’s a question that’s been on his tongue since he’s been woken up by Midoriya’s rambling but he’s tried to swallow it down every time he’s enticed by it. He remembers the fight at the USJ in snippets, but every time he thinks about it too hard, the heart rate monitor at his side blares and he wants nothing less than a nurse or doctor to come in and pester him. He’s been ignoring it so far.
“W-w-well, sensei,” Midoriya starts and then stops abruptly. Aizawa grinds his teeth.
“We’re not entirely sure you want to know,” Hizashi says tentatively and rubs his ankle bones again. Aizawa tries to twitch it out of his grip, but his entire body is still so stiff. Hizashi’s huff tells him that he’s noticed it, though.
“Just tell me,” he snaps, feeling helpless and infuriated. He has a right to know what the fuck is going on with him-
“They think you might not be able to see...or use your Quirk. The nomu broke a lot of bones in your face, particularly around your eyes, and both your arms and Shigaraki decayed your elbow-”
Aizawa tunes out the rest of Hizashi’s rambling, breath catching in his throat. It explains why his arms are so numb and immovable and why he feels so insanely medicated and-
And, God, why he can’t see.
“His heart rate is getting really low, Mic-sensei,” Midoriya whispers, sitting up in his chair. Aizawa hasn’t moved or spoken since Hizashi gave him the news and it’s scaring him a little. He doesn’t learn the word for it - dissociation - for a while, but he can assume from context clues that Aizawa isn’t quite...here. He considers getting up and giving the hero some space, not for the first time, but the sudden, sharp rise of Aizawa’s hair freezes him in his seat. The resulting strangled moan makes him gasp in concern.
“Shouta!”
“I th-think it still works,” Aizawa says quickly, like he doesn’t want to speak for too long lest he’s interrupted by his own sob. “Move the bandages - there’s bandages right?”
“Yes, but Shouta,” Hizashi starts, standing up and moving round the other side of the hospital bed so he can reach for Shouta without Midoriya in the way. The teen is pretty much completely ignored, but he doesn’t even notice, so panicked at the way Aizawa is trying to get his unresponsive arms to move to his face to tear the bandages away himself.
“I need to know if I can see,” he hisses and Hizashi sighs from above him, wringing his hands together. “Take them off.”
“Just for a moment,” Hizashi sighs, and then the bandages are being pulled down over his nose. It hurts because every inch of his face is tender and sore, but it’s worth it to blink his eyes blearily open and gaze up at the ceiling. He winces at the bright lights and immediately Hizashi is shading his eyes with his hand. He hums in appreciation and waits for his vision to adjust.
The second that Hizashi takes off his bandage, he knows that he can see - he doesn’t know how well, but he can see and the pain is so worth it for the all-encompassing relief that seeps into every one of his pores. Hizashi’s face starts to come into focus, a mess of flyaway blonde hairs and dark eyebags and stubble and-
“You look awful,” he whispers and Hizashi laughs desperately.
“You can see?”
“I can see,” he says quietly, overcome with emotion. He feels choked by his relief and he can tell from his still spotty, blurred vision, that Hizashi isn’t doing too hot either. He doesn’t want to stop gazing up at his husband and doesn’t want to deprive him of it either, knowing how much calm Hizashi is drawing just from the sight of his eyes. But, he turns his head stiffly and yes, Midoriya is still there.
Aizawa is silent as he takes him in. The last time he saw Midoriya was at the USJ when the child - they’re children, God - was battered and bruised and terrified. It hurts to think about him, about the way he failed them all, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.
“Is Asui…”
“Oh! She’s fine, Aizawa-sensei! I think she mentioned she would be dropping by later today?” Midoriya says hurriedly, swinging his legs. His feet don’t even reach the floor when he’s sat so far back in the rickety plastic chair. Aizawa hates his job.
“...good,” he says softly, and it’s definitely the morphine or codeine or whatever it is that he’s pumped full of that makes his tongue loose, because he follows it up with, “I’d have been happy to die to keep you two safe.”
Hizashi clenches his teeth together to stop the sob from bursting out. He wants to kill his husband for making him feel this way, God, he’s such a bastard. He isn’t going to let him out of his sight for months the moment he’s discharged.
“I-I-I don’t, I don’t think...sensei, we don’t want you to die!” Midoriya stammers and Hizashi gives him a look that demands he leave and soon. “Maybe I should give you some time to rest, sensei.”
He’s stumbling out of his seat before Aizawa can complain and his vision is cut off by the bandages being hastily replaced as he watches Midoriya scramble to his feet. “Midoriya,” Aizawa says just as Midoriya reaches the hospital room’s door. He turns on his heel awkwardly.
“Y-yes, Aizawa-sensei?”
“Tell your classmates they’d better not be slacking just because I’m not in class right now,” he says rather than anything sappy and sentimental like he’s tempted too. He doesn’t want Midoriya thinking he’s an imposter or something.
“Yes, sensei!” Midoriya says with a bow, sounding the way he does when he’s promising something deeply important, like the way he sounds when talking about becoming a hero. Aizawa trusts that his class will be just as motivated as they were with him when being taught by whichever sub they have - not that Aizawa is expecting them to be without him for long. He can’t keep them safe in a hospital bed.
The door slams and immediately the room is filled with Hizashi’s harsh sobbing
“Fuck, Shouta,” he gasps through the tears, carding his fingers through Aizawa’s hair. Aizawa breathes in deeply, not wanting to fall apart anywhere but home, especially when anyone could walk in at any point.
“I-I know,” he says shakily and he’s pissed that he can’t hold his husband through his tears. “I know, ‘Zashi’, it’s okay-”
“It isn’t, you have no idea-” Hizashi retorts angrily. His fury fades as quickly as it comes. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. Aizawa’s heart breaks for him. “When I saw you...Shouta, I thought you were dead.”
“I’m not,” Shouta says breathily but Hizashi still shakes his head. He can see him just a little through the bandages that Hizashi hasn’t managed to cover his eyes up with completely. He’ll have them taken off when he’s discharged, probably. Hopefully.
“But I thought you were. You weren’t moving and you were covered in blood and, and, I thought I’d lost you.”
“You haven’t, I’m here, I’m right here,” Aizawa whispers. “I’d hug you if I could, songbird,” he says, trying to comfort his husband, but he just cries harder, fresh tears spilling onto his flushed, red cheeks.
“I can’t, I can’t,” Hizashi gasps, hands shaking as he brings them up to cup Aizawa’s bandaged face. “I can’t do this without you, you know that, don’t you?” Aizawa makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, arching his back off the bed. “Promise me this won’t happen again.”
And Aizawa can’t.
“I...they’re my kids, ‘Zashi,” Aizawa says, near silent, as if the quieter he says it the less impact it will have.
“And I’m your husband,” Hizashi says.
They’re left at a standstill for a moment, before Hizashi speaks again.Aizawa hasn’t even processed how he feels about what he’s just said before he’s fixing it. “I...I know you have to protect them. I know...I know it doesn’t mean you don’t love me or-or you don’t care about me or…” He sounds like he’s forcing himself into rationality and he’s doing a better job than Aizawa probably would have if they were in the same situation.
“I do love you, songbird,” Aizawa whispers, pressing his covered cheek against Hizashi’s palm. The atmosphere in the room is still tense, though, like they’re arguing. Are they?
“Yeah...yeah, I know. I just...you scared me.”
“I’m going to be fine,” Aizawa soothes him, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. He still doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone but his husband and a hospital room isn’t exactly the most private location. “I’ve been through worse.”
Hizashi laughs without any humour. “Oh, yeah, like what?”
Aizawa smiles shakily, even though he knows Hizashi won’t be able to tell he is. “Well... your singing, of course.”