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It's a heinous Quirk. An insidious one, cruel in some ways but perhaps kind in others. For Izuku though, it's nothing short of awful.
Because it forces the target to spill their greatest secret. Via hallucinations. Or rather, via hallucinated memories that twist and turn, nothing to be seen or shared, except he can very much hear them, whispers of heart-break words that he hasn't technically heard in years. (Except in nightmares and flashbacks and the moments when he screams the words to himself-)
And now, with his friends fussing over him and his teacher restraining the villain, Izuku can barely hear them. His tongue feels loose, something bile-slick creeping up his throat and he- he needs to speak, needs to get it out, because he can hear the words of so many people in his ears, explosion-punctuated. (Swan dive- Better off- Deku- Off a roof- Next life-) It hurts.
"Deku, are you-" Izuku flinches. Part of him knows, logically, that it's Uraraka talking, that she sounds worried rather than angry, but her words are overlaid by dozens of others and each is another thorn, thick around his heart, and Izuku gasps away from it all, stumbling back.
"Midobro-"
"Deku-"
"Problem Child-" The voices are overwhelming, shoving him further under the blistering current, and he's not sure if he's breathing or thinking beyond the words ringing in his ears.
But he still hasn't said anything, and it grates on him. His throat is swelling with the words, and he doesn't want to say them but he needs to, vision swaying, the past screaming in his ears-
Then there's one voice, louder than the rest, ricocheting through Izuku's ears:
"Take a swandive off of a roof, Deku. Maybe you'll get a Quirk in the next life."
He doesn't know who or what he's talking to when he opens his mouth to reply then, because the people that should be his friends are blurring shadows, ones with red wings and reaching fingers and caramel-bitter burns, and there's something hot and leaden in his marrow, sparking plasma in his veins,
"You think that after all I've been through, something like that still hurts?" His snarl falters, shatters a little more, but he keeps on breathing, keeps on talking even through the agony, the anger, the fact that he's speaking to ghosts he can't see,
"You'd be right. Every single time I was told to die, or to disappear, to get a Quirk in the next life, it hurt more. It just- it all just compounds, you know? It's- what's the word, I can't- Exponential. It's fucking exponential and I can't forget it."
Suddenly, Izuku feels empty. Cold. The overwhelming everything that had tidal-swelled through him, all of the pain and rage and need-to-speak, drains away almost instantly.
It leaves Izuku feeling distant.
There are hands on him, and he's shuddering under them, trying to get away, to get safe because touch means hands and hands mean hurt and he-
"Izuku." He knows that voice. It's a teacher's voice, but it belongs to a hero as well, and an underground hero at that, so part of him does begin to relax. All the same though, there's something still uncomfortable, uncertain, lingering through him because Izuku has a vague sense of the whispers still lingering in his ears, shadows clinging at the back of his eyes, and he isn't sure how to think past them.
"Izuku, I need you to breathe. Can you breathe in, two, three, four, five. That's it, hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five. And in, two, three..." There are numbers and a callused hand pressing his palm to a steady rise-fall heartbeating warmth and Izuku- Izuku still can't think around the memories pressing in, but he's maybe-almost starting to breathe and he's not floating anymore. No, he's crashing to the ground instead.
He's being held. It's not tight or harsh or burning, it's just warm and firm, his ear pressed to a heartbeat, and there are callused hands branding more warmth against his back, fingers beating the same breathing rhythm along his spine, and stubble catches against his curls, a safe voice rumbling away against him.
Then the words truly begin, Izuku eventually registering them, taking them in, holding them next to his heart with trembling hands.
"Kid, nobody should be expecting you to forget trauma. Particularly repeated, long-term trauma of that sort. Here and now isn't the time to go through it, but I need you to know that you deserved better Izuku, understood?"
Now see, Izuku hasn't been told this before. His Mum has always hugged him and looked after him and apologised, but he's never told her the full truth and she has never dared to ask. Because she's never known how bad it was, because he's hidden as much as he could, kept his panic attacks to two in the morning and his starburst scars under clothing. So to have somebody that he actually trusts tell him this, tell him that he's allowed to be hurt even now, that he didn't deserve to be hurt in the first place... Even if Aizawa-sensei doesn't know more of the circumstances, it still has something gentle and warm kindling to hesitant life in Izuku's chest, ready to flare up further.
Despite all of this, despite the words that had spilled themselves over his lips in oil-slick splurges only minutes before, Izuku can't find it in himself to reply.
Aizawa-sensei seems to understand though, to some degree at least, because he only falls into something rumbling and wordless, almost akin to a purr and, despite the noises beyond his hero, beyond the tiny bubble of almost-safe, Izuku lets himself sink into it.
If he slips into unconscious as well, then that element is beyond his control. Aizawa tightens his grip as quickly as possible, catching the kid before he can collapse to the ground, and adjusts his grip until his Problem Child is laying in his arms, head lolling against the man's shoulder. Within a few breaths, a scarred hand latches into his jumpsuit, bloody fingernails lost into black fabric, and a tiny whimper makes itself known. Damn, this kid. This brave, traumatised kid; he needs more help than Aizawa had ever theorised, and the hero curses himself for that now, but at least, for all that watching the kid try to keep words back, eyes wide with terror and hands shaking with sparks, had been terrifying and awful and just plain-old uncomfortable, there's something far more sad to this. Because sleeping, he looks calm and sweet and content. Like nothing bad has or could happen to the kid, except Aizawa now knows even more differently than before today. Some very horrible things have happened to his Problem Child. And from the sounds of it, a fair number of them were pre-UA, were pre-villain attacks and school rivals.
Despite the unpleasantness of all of this, Aizawa has the rest of his class around him, safe and unharmed, and his kid in his arms. He needs to make more of their therapy sessions mandatory, and have some serious conversations with Izuku in particular. But right now, the villain is in custody, none of the class are physically injured, and he knows some of what he needs to address with his Problem Child.
He's got a place to start, and a kid that has survived to this point. Aizawa can, and will, make sure things only get better from here.