12. Stay Here

In all his life, Izuku never imagines he'd ride shotgun in any of his teachers' car. Ever since he was diagnosed quirkless, he had experienced first hand how cruel people can be. Children, yes. His classmates, hell even his best friend, turned on him and became bullies.

Adults are no better.

If anything, they're worse. Kids, as much as they could hurt him with silly words and weak shoves, held no real power over him. He'd never really fought back, not because he was scared – at least, not in the beginning – but because fighting was bad, because he didn't want to hurt anyone, and also because he still had hope, deep down, that they'd realise he was still worth something and be friends again.

Yes, bullies suck. He's had to get used to protect his stuff: his backpack, notebooks, lunch, money, etc. He became lonely, and while he still had desperately wished for a friend, he grew to stay on his guard as soon as he found himself not alone in any one space.

Teachers are worse. They've never really hurt him, physically, except on a few rare occasions. They don't insult him, they don't laugh or spew disgusting rumors about him and his quirklessness, they don't shove or trip him in the halls.

But they have authority.

It's not much, at first. And the first teacher who treated him differently after his diagnosis didn't do so out of malice. Out of concern, in fact. During recess, Izuku was not allowed to go on the playground with the other kids. Miss Yamato has always been super kind with him, but she always had him sitting on the bench beside her while he watched his friends play.

Things snowballed from there. That year, he couldn't participate in P.E. class. Nor the next year, or those following. Other teachers started to question his learning capabilities when he started asking questions in class, even if it was purely out of a desire to learn more. Then he went ignored whenever he raised his hand in class, so he stopped altogether. He was accused of cheating, once, twice, so many times he's lost count. He got held back after class for detentions, because of things he never did or said, simply because they chose to believe other children, bullies, over his own honest words.

He failed classes, obligated to spend summer in remedial classes. He got suspended for provoking other children, disturbing class, and arriving late. He was called to the principal office several times in the course of a single school year. Sometimes, he went completely ignored, like he was a ghost. Either not worth the teacher's time or… already seen as another dead quirkless kid. A statistic. A number on a page filled with thousands of others. A few teachers never even bothered learning his name, calling him Deku because all his classmates did, and because it was fitting.

He figures his extremely bad past relations with teachers is the reason why he's silently obsessing over the fact that he's currently sitting in the passenger's seat of his homeroom teacher's car, even as he knows he really should be focusing on seeing his mom again. He can't help shooting sideway glances at Aizawa-sensei as he weaves through morning traffic.

The man looks wound up. Though his posture screams relaxed and confident, one hand on the steering wheel and the other loosely grasping the shifting stick, Izuku spies tension in the man's shoulders. It's hard to spot under his hero gear, but with the capture scarf laying on the backseat instead of around his neck, he can see the taut line of muscles under his teacher's coat with the way his shoulders are bunched up slightly, as if he's constantly bracing for impact.

There's a tightness around his eyes too, as dark eyes expertly take in their surrounding, spotting each movements of cars, pedestrians and other potential dangers that surround their car as he drives them to the precinct. The eyes shift, to the right, and Izuku suddenly finds himself staring into them. It only lasts a second, though, Aizawa-sensei bringing his attention back to the road.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Izuku startles when the man breaks the silence, and he finds himself flushed red, both in embarrassment at being caught staring and caught thinking about the man himself. He flounders, shifting nervously in his seat, and stammers out a squeaked "N-nothing!" whipping his head the other way, towards the window, to avoid crossing the other's eyes again.

Aizawa-sensei hums dismissively, letting the conversation drop just as fast as he started it, and Izuku pinches his lips, feeling out of place. He's always been… shy, with any adults, but especially around authority figures. Nervous would be a more appropriate term. He's always had a hard time answering even the simplest questions without becoming a stuttering mess.

Somehow, with Aizawa-sensei, it's even worse. A part of him trusts his teacher. He always have the best interests of his students at heart, and doesn't hesitate to call on Kacchan for his violent behaviour, which is already more than anyone's ever done even thought it's not solely for Izuku's benefits. Still, he finds it extremely hard to speak to him. Perhaps, he thinks, it's because he respects him, and basically worships the hero, too, and fears one day to get on his bad side because of his weird stalkerish mutterings, or to lose whatever little worth the man sees in him because of a mistake.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, but thankfully it's not long before Aizawa-sensei pulls up in the police station's parking lot. Upon entering the precinct, his teacher guides him past the row of plastic chair, past the registration des with a brief nod to the officer manning it, past a door and into a hallway, then into a specific room, the door closing silently behind them. It looks to be the employees' break room, judging from the couch, somewhat comfortable-looking chairs, and the long table in the middle of the space. There's a small kitchenette area, with microwaves, a fridge, and a coffee maker, towards which Aizawa-sensei beelines, clearly familiar with the appliance as he doesn't hesitate to start a brew for himself.

There's no one else in the breakroom at the moment, so Izuku hesitantly settles down on the couch when his teacher instructs him to take a seat. He sets his backpack on the ground, squeezing it between his legs in his insecurity. He watches silently as Aizawa-sensei pours himself a cup of fresh coffee and turns around to lean against the counter, cradling the ceramic mug with both hands.

"As I said," the man starts after blowing on the burning liquid in a mock attempt at colling it down, "I have a case I'm working on with a colleague. I'll only be one hour, two hours top, with the detective in a nearby office, but you're gonna have to stay here in the meantime." Izuku nods, and Aizawa-sensei takes a tentative sip. He grimaces slightly, but Izuku doesn't know if it's because of the scalding temperature or the taste. He didn't see him ass any milk or sugar, he can't imagine it being appetizing. "You'll be fine here on your own?" Izuku nods under the man's scrutinizing stare, but his teacher still looks sceptic. "Three doors down the hall, to the left," he ends up saying after a beat of silence, "if you need me." He picks himself up, mug in hand, and goes for the door. He stops just after opening the door to shoot him a warning glare,

"Stay here," he orders pointedly, to which Izuku scrambles to reply with a small "yes sir!" Seemingly satisfied that he won't cause any trouble, Aizawa-sensei swiftly takes his leave.