Work Text:
Aizawa initially thinks he must have heard wrong. From Uraraka's confused "What?", he is not the only one.
"Deku, you can't just say things like that," Uraraka argues weakly.
Midoriya shrugs his backpack on. Says evenly, unconcerned, "It's true."
Aizawa isn't eavesdropping. Most students have already gone home for the day, but the classroom isn't by any stretch a private setting. He should say something. As a teacher, it is in his job description to say something.
Aizawa doesn't say anything. Midoriya ambles out of the classroom. Uraraka trails awkwardly after him. The moment passes in silent foreboding.
It nags at him later in the staff office. To Hizashi, he says, "One of my students is prejudiced against quirkless people." The words feel strange.
Hizashi is writing comments in the margins of english essays, only half paying attention. "That Bakugou brat?" he assumes.
"No," says Aizawa, equally surprised.
Hizashi looks up. "I thought the rest of your class was pretty tame. Well," he hedges, trailing off. Aizawa rubs at his face to stave off the inevitable migraine.
The next day, Uraraka is oddly reserved and visibly droopy. Aizawa feels a pang of something akin to regret. As class is about to let out for the day, Aizawa tells Midoriya to stay after.
Midoriya does, fiddling with his pencil case and not meeting Aizawa's eyes. His classmates filter out with worried glances.
Aizawa motions for Midoriya to come forward, towards the teacher's desk and blackboard. Midoriya gathers his things and aquiesses. Aizawa watches him fiddle with a backpack strap, eyes wide and uncertain, head tilted at an angle that approximates eye contact.
"Discriminatory language is frowned upon in UA," Aizawa explains, "And in the hero industry as a whole."
Midoriya's brow furrows minutely. He opens his mouth to say, "Um," but does not continue.
Aizawa sighs. "This includes touting eugenicist beliefs against groups of people in a biological minority." Midoriya's face remains still and uncomprehending. Aizawa rubs at his own. "Quirklessness is not a disease. I strongly suggest that you not refer to it as such."
He hears Midoriya breathe out a soft "Oh." They both stand, suspended in uncomfortable silence.
"Look," Aizawa says as he straightens himself and faces Midoriya again. The boy's pupils are blown wide and his face is pale. "I'm not mad. You're not in trouble. All I need is to know that this won't happen again. Understood?"
Midorya whispers the word "...Understood," like it might physically wound him, and scampers off quickly when Aizawa flaps his hand dismissively.
Aizawa assumes that will be the end of it.
Unfortunately, judging from the classroom atmosphere over the course of the next few weeks, it is not.
Aizawa observes passively as an increasing number of his students turn tense and quiet. It could have nothing to do with Midoriya, but with Aizawa's luck? It's unlikely. Midoriya hasn't let himself be caught saying anything else that could be construed as out of line; meaning Aizawa can't do anything until Midoriya slips up, or one of his peers comes forward with a complaint. Aizawa prays hedonistically to a god he doesn't believe in that neither of these will come to pass. He doesn't have to deal with what he doesn't know for sure is happening. They can work it out amongst themselves.
Instead, the issue comes to a head the on what had been an otherwise uneventful Thursday afternoon.
Clumps of students are trickling in from lunch. The main conversation topic is a wildly branching, heated thing about what defines a 'useful' quirk. Aizawa catches snatches of half-formed arguments about blowing bubbles versus altering your own tastebuds as he absentmindedly marks wrong answers on a pile of quizzes. It's the sort of innocuous, mundane topic that he's come to expect as a home-room teacher to a handful of hero-hopefuls.
And then Ashido says, "God, I would die if all I could do was blow bubbles. How boring is that?" and Midoriya replies,
"At least you'd still have a quirk."
The tone Midoriya uses stills Aizawa's hand, and he glances towards the group in time to see Uraraka go very still.
Ashido does not appear to notice the tension and asks guilelessly, "What do you mean?"
Midoriya answers. "I mean at least you wouldn't be quirkless," and he says the word 'quirkless' like Bakugo might say 'worthless extras'.
Aizawa grimaces and Uraraka's fists clench. "What's wrong with being quirkless?" she demands. Aizawa is absently proud of her.
"Nothing, I guess, if you don't mind being a waste of space," Midoriya says, too easily.
Aizawa's knuckles turn white around his pen.
He has always believed students should fight their own battles, that teachers should be available for guidance if requested and reprimanding if someone's going to get physically hurt. Adults overstepping and over-involving themselves only prevents personal growth. He's still at war with himself trying to decide if this is a situation he should get involved with directly by the time he realizes he's allowed it to go too far.
Kirishima, frowning, says, "That's not cool, Midoriya."
"You're only saying that because you think you should, not because you actually disagree," Midoriya explains calmly.
Kirishima's mouth gapes.
"Midoriya, don't," Uraraka warns. Midoriya turns on her next.
"Would you be friends with one?" he asks. He sounds like he hasn't yet figured out that they're fighting.
Uraraka has no such delusions and stands taller, stands her ground. "Of course I would."
Midoriya's answering smile is soft and condescending. It's objective novelty disquiets Aizawa. "You only think that because you've never met one."
"How can you say that? They're people, Deku. They're human beings."
"Are they, though?" Midoriya muses, and Aizawa realizes with an unpleasant jolt that he's missed his queue by a mile. He'd say something and remove Midoriya from the situation if he weren't as gobsmacked as the rest of his students.
Bakugou of all people beats him to the proverbial punch.
"Shut the hell up you goddam nerd," Bakugou growls, marching towards the center of the storm.
"Kacchan," Midoriya says, hands raised pacifistically and a mean glint in his eye, "I think we both know that the best that a quirkless can do is give up on this life and hope for a quirk in their next."
"I DIDN'T FUCKING MEAN IT LIKE THAT!" Bakugou screams with a vicious abandon Aizawa hasn't seen since the first week of classes.
Midoriya tosses his backpack to the ground. It bumps roughly against a student desk. "I'm saying you were right! And now you're mad about it!? Just can't win with you, can I!"
Bakugou roars, Midoriya growls. Bakugou charges wildly, Midoriya sparks green; Aizawa steps in and twists his capture weapon against Bakugou's raging limbs, his back to Midoriya.
"Midoriya!" Aizawa says sharply, not taking his eyes off of Bakugou, "Hallway. Now."
Midoriya hesitates in angry silence for a few tense moments before Aizawa hears him walk away. Aizawa glares at Bakugou. "You, stay here. I'll deal with you later. Kirishima?"
Kirishima bounds forward, activating his quirk and locking his arms around Bakugou's shoulders. "Got it!" Aizawa nods his appreciation even as Bakugou screams inarticulately. He follows Midoriya out into the hallway.
They don't speak on the walk to the staff office, and Aizawa tries to think straight through the rage bubbling in his own head.
They stand together near Aizawa's desk in mutual angry silence. As has become the norm, Aizawa is the first to break it.
"I expected better from you, Midoriya," He says harshly, wanting the disappointment to sting.
Midoriya looks down at his hands in an avoidant rather than repentant way. "How so?" Midoriya asks lightly.
God, he hates children. Aizawa next takes a stab at being a good, understanding adult.
"Is this personal for you? Did a quirkless person hurt you, somehow?"
Midoriya looks him dead in the eyes. Laughs and says, "What could they even do?"
Aizawa stops breathing for a second because Jesus that's insensitive. Where is he supposed to go from there? Where can he even start?
"Midoriya," he says sharply, not quite imploring, "You need to stop."
"Nothing I said was untrue," Midoriya challenges. Then adds, "Is it against the rules to tell the truth, now?"
"It should be against your own morality to suggest people should kill themselves!"
"Not people," corrects Midoriya, "The quirkless."
"Jesus, Midoriya-"
"The thing about hate speech laws," he continues, "is that they protect the individual. It's not for groups. Did you know, in Japan hate speech laws were primarily put into place for people of different nationalities? It's not for biological defections. It's not to protect feelings; it's to prevent violence. Plus, you know, even though it's a fineable offence no one ever gets fined? To even qualify there has to be a threat against life or livelihood. Sometimes slander also counts, but that definitely never gets prosecuted. Besides; to be slander it'd have to be a lie. Wouldn't it?"
Midoriya eyes him like a challenge, and the moment feels like a tipping point, like something important.
"Why the hell would you even know all this?"
Midoriya shrugs. "You should always know your rights."
If Aizawa has to play this game, then goddammit he'll play this goddamn game.
"Threat to life," Aizawa points out, voice calmer than he feels, "You told Bakugou that quirkless people should die."
"What?" says Midoriya, playing at confusion, "No, I said they were better off dead. Which is true."
Aizawa wants to strangle the kid and has to settle for the back of his chair. Where the hell is this coming from?
"I expect a five-hundred word apology-"
Midoriya interrupts him with a huff of a sarcastic laugh and an eye-roll. Seriously, what has gotten into this kid?
"Apology to who? Do you see any quirkless around here? They wouldn't even be allowed in the building."
Aizawa sees red. "Get out." he spits, "Right now. I won't listen to this anymore, and you're not welcome back in class for the rest of the day. I'd make you write that essay, but it sounds like you have and the lesson didn't stick. This isn't over, Midoriya."
Midoriya shrugs. "It never is."
The boy turns and leaves swiftly.
In the aftermath, Aizawa grinds his teeth with the need to do... something. To assign a month of detention, some other kind of punishment. Anything to make the boy think twice about this hateful regurgitated rhetoric.
Midoriya's too young to have formed these kinds of ideas on his own, and that thought sticks. Sticks and swells and festers.
The following weekend, Aizawa drops by the Midoriya residence unannounced. This ends up requiring an embarrassing amount of effort and several underground contacts he abuses to suss out a time when Midoriya (Izuku) won't be home.
Midoriya (Inko) recognizes him on sight and is a gracious, if tentative, host. She invites Aizawa to come in and sit down and then immediately begins boiling water for tea. Aizawa tries to imagine hateful quirk-based eugenicist propaganda coming from this gentle, well-mannered woman. It's a challenge.
As Inko busies herself in the kitchen, she prods him gently with nervous questions. How are Izuku's grades; they're good. How Izuku is fitting in; well enough. How are Katsuki and Izuku are getting along; depends on the day.
Inko removes the water from heat, pouring into two mismatched teacups. She joins Aizawa at her table. Aizawa receives his tea with a soft word of thanks, making sure to keep his attention off of her while she readies herself.
Eventually, "I hope Izuku hasn't been causing any trouble?"
Inko asks this as though the conclusion is forgone. She avoids eye contact the same way her son does.
Aizawa considers discussing the way her son has been systematically destroying his body with a quirk he clearly didn't train with when he was younger. He think about how Midoriya has the ability to de-escalate nearly anyone and any situation, but instead chooses to rile them up; on purpose. Aizawa wallows internally about self-destructive tendencies and a painfully obvious lack of understanding concerning one's own limits. If any of his students are going to give him a heart attack before he turns 40, it'll be Midoriya Izuku.
Externally, Aizawa asks, "Does Izuku have some sort of... painful history involving quirkless people?"
Midoriya Inko looks at his face, shocked. "You mean, you don't know?"
And if that isn't a loaded statement. Aizawa braces himself.
He finds his own preparedness woefully lacking. He departs from the Midoriya residence with tight chest and hot face.
Monday comes. For the second time in less than a month, Aizawa tells Midoriya to see him after class.
Aizawa is seated at his desk, elbow deep in pretending to grade papers by the time Midoriya scuttles forward. They stare each other down warily. Aizawa puts down his pen, pushes the papers to the side. Folds his hands together to cover his nerves.
"I paid a visit to your mother this weekend," Aizawa says frankly.
Midoriya's face filters through a series of quick, heavy emotions. The prevalent ones are shock, horror, betrayal. He settles on humiliation. "Oh."
Aizawa waits for Midoriya to say something else.
By now he really should know better. Midoriya stares at the wall behind Aizawa and doesn't budge, mentally or physically.
Aizawa sighs. Doesn't know what to say. Asks, "Why didn't you say anything?" It's a stupid question. They both know it.
Midoriya shrugs testily. The muscles of his jaw tighten, prematurely clamping down on any possible replies.
Aizawa wishes he had the same capacity for softness as his coworkers. "You should tell them."
"Why," Midoriya scoffs. That single syllable contains more bitterness than Aizawa had known Midoriya possessed. "So they can hate me too?" Aizawa stares as that takes all of a minute to sink in. The information he's always had, the interactions he's seen since the beginning of term, shift into place.
Shit. Bakugou Katsuki. Attended the same middle school. "Childhood friends", Aizawa had written on Midoriya's observation sheet all those months ago. The situation that nearly turned into a fistfight only a few days before.
Aizawa hasn't had his foot this far down his throat since his own high school days. Then he remembers the past month. Every conversation he and Midoriya have had on this very topic bubble to the surface with painful clarity.
God damn it. If Aizawa could time travel and bite off his own tongue, he would.
"They wouldn't hate you," he says. It sounds hollow in the blinding light of his own realization. Then, because he's an idiot and can't help himself, "They're your friends."
"They wouldn't be, if they found out," Midoriya says with sureness, with exhaustion. His eyes close tightly. "Quirkless don't have friends."
It's like he's simply regurgitating information from a textbook. Sounds like something he's been groomed to say.
Aizawa imagines a Midoriya half his size and age hearing the words; to his face? behind his back? God, what a mess. Aizawa looks towards the ceiling for strength. Again, he doesn't find it.
"No one's going to think any less of you," he tries.
"They are," Midoria says tiredly, eyes still closed to the world. "They will."
"Okay," Aizawa relents, pushing an angry hand through his hair. What is he supposed to do with this? What he had thought was a minor hang-up is a trauma that runs deeper than he could have predicted; he should have predicted this. He finds himself again, hilariously unprepared. "Okay. You don't have to tell them. And I won't say anything. For now. We'll just... play it by ear."
Flabbergasted, Midoriya says, "You're not going to expel me?"
Bewildered, Aizawa replies, "Why would I expel you?"
"Oh, um," Midoriya looks at his shoes and scuffs them against the tile. "No reason. I guess."
The silence turns heavy and palpable.
"Do you need a... hug?" Aizawa offers for perhaps the second or third time in his entire life.
Midoriya laughs a wet, very nearly a cruel sound before cutting himself off. "Wait, are you serious?"
"...yeah."
"I mean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or..."
Aizawa waves him off. "You're already crying, it's too late for that."
Aizawa stands and holds out his arms openly, awkwardly.
"I'm not crying," Midoriya sniffs, glancing at the invitation. "...I mean, if you're sure."
"I'm sure."
Midoriya steps close enough that they could be touching if either of them moved. Aizawa shifts closer. Begrudgingly, slowly, lightly, he places his arms around the smaller, shaking frame. He pats twice, painfully unsure of himself.
To no one's surprise, Midoriya is much better at hugs than Aizawa is. Midoriya starts crying in earnest. The snot getting all over his shirt should wash out just fine, and Aizawa tries not to think about it. He rubs his hands up and down the boy's shaking back in a motion he's seen on TV.
"It'll... be okay," Aizawa recites, wondering how he got this far into life, into teaching without being prepared for this moment. "You'll be okay." Aizawa tries patting again.
Midoriya grips back tightly and mutters "...Yeah."
They'll be okay.