Chapter One

He doesn't know when he wakes up.

He more fades into consciousness, unable to do much else besides breathe and listen to the steady beeping noise beside him. It's rhythmic, almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but it doesn't, and slowly, he regains feeling in the rest of his body, awareness creeping into every limb and crawling up his skin.

And with it, comes the dull ache of pain.

Then there's the realization that he doesn't know where he is, that although he can't open his eyes, something feels inherently wrong , and Todoroki can't immediately place what it is. All he knows is that he isn't where he should be, and not being where he should be is a cause for concern. The realization doesn't hit him all at once, but rather seeps into him until finally, finally , he has enough strength to open his eyes.

There's two things—blinding, horrible white, and the distant sound of a voice humming quietly. He gasps, the rhythm of the beeping speeding up, and his eyes burn as they try to adjust. It happens in a split second, and his eyes fall on a scene he'd never, not once in a million years, thought he'd see.

He's in a hospital room. He's hooked up to more wires than he can count. Almost everything is blinding white and bright blue light seeps in from the uncovered window. It's clinical and impersonal, and it stinks of a scent he immediately recognizes as antiseptic. His entire body aches distantly and he can't—for some reason, he can't think . It's like there's a fog, blocking his thoughts, making him slow, and he's starting to panic, his breathing coming fast, as his eyes fall on the open space to the side of the bed.

This can't be happening. There is no way.

Sitting in a pair of chairs against the wall is Yamada Hizashi—his English teacher —and fast asleep on his shoulder, looking dead to the world with a mop of black hair covering his face, is his fucking homeroom teacher . There is no way this is happening, with Yamada's eyes are on him, looking at him over a pair of normal eyeglasses, and Todoroki can only watch with speechless horror as he goes to shake Aizawa-sensei awake.

This can't be happening. This can't.

His breathing is coming fast, and the beeps from the machine next to him are growing quicker, the intervals between them shorter, and before he knows it, his chest feels tight, like it's closing in on him.

"Todoroki."

He isn't looking at them anymore, instead sitting bolt upright on the bed, clutching at his chest, staring down at his lap, but he hears Aizawa's voice, and it does nothing to calm him.

This can't be happening.

------

When they got home, something was different.

Hizashi knew it, and he was sure that Aizawa could feel it. Getting Aizawa in the house was a chore in itself. Hizashi's voice came out weak and shaky as he tried to prompt Aizawa into going inside. He'd stood outside the parked car, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, the scarf around his neck blowing in the wind, staring up at the dark sky with what Hizashi could only describe as a desolate expression. It was in times like these, times when Hizashi was alone with Aizawa, that Aizawa stopped bothering to hide his emotions.

He looked empty. There was no other way Hizashi could interpret his expression. And Hizashi couldn't blame him. He'd had his own crying fit. Leaving that kid at that house, seeing his father very nearly attack Aizawa, being forced to realize that Todoroki Shouto, the kid that they'd spent an entire evening with and the kid that Hizashi had become undeniably attached to in the span of that evening, had resigned himself to living a life of horror with his violent father—it had all weighed on him, and Hizashi had broken down holding Aizawa.

And now—well, now he had to be strong again. Because if he wasn't, he wasn't sure what Aizawa would do. So Hizashi stared at Aizawa, watching him as Aizawa stared up at the sky in the cold, winter night, looking horribly empty , and then he slowly took Aizawa's wrist in his hand and pulled at him, urging him inside. Aizawa went, and didn't argue.

The street behind them was empty, though lights were on in most of the houses that lined the road. The front of their own home greeted them, with its large windows, the curtains having been drawn, and the snow-covered front yard, a stark reminder that they were adults with lives and jobs and not the eighteen year-olds Hizashi felt like again. He pulled Aizawa forward, up the path to their house, pulling out his keys and unlocking the front door as he helped Aizawa onto their porch.

Getting him inside didn't take much work, and soon enough, Hizashi was locking the front door behind them as Aizawa leaned on it. Wordlessly, Hizashi glanced around their house, flipping on lights that flooded the main room. They lived in a lofted duplex and shared a very well soundproofed wall with their neighbors. The main room consisted of their kitchen, dining room, and living room, with a bathroom, the master bedroom, and an adjacent second bedroom off to the side. Upstairs was the loft, as well as a third bedroom that Hizashi had repurposed to keep sound equipment in so he didn't bother Aizawa when he was working on music.

Hizashi had to stop a second, his fingers hovering near the light switch.

Their house was set up perfectly to take someone else in.

The spare bedroom was kept clean and organized and was right next to the master bedroom. It would take no preparation to get it ready for someone. None at all. There was even a small nightlight that Hizashi had plugged in for the nights when Aizawa had trouble sleeping with him. Aizawa cleaned that room whenever he cleaned the rest of the house, and they kept the door open to keep the room aired out. There would be no effort required in getting their house ready for someone else.

They could've easily taken Todoroki in. He could've been safe. He could've been here with them. Even if all the kid would want to do is sleep and seclude himself, that was still better than when Endeavor had put his hands on him right in front of them and made it clear that Todoroki Shouto was in no way safe with him.

"You want a drink, Shouta?"

He knew better than to offer anything else. There was no way Aizawa just wanted to sit down and relax with him or want to do the things they normally did together. Honestly, Hizashi didn't want to, either. Sitting on the couch and watching some inane movie or trying to beat Aizawa in a game of chess did not sound attractive or even plausible right now, and part of Hizashi just wanted to numb the pain he felt and make the visceral images of being at that house go away.

Aizawa turned his dark gaze to him and for the first time since getting in the car, he didn't look completely empty. He still clearly wasn't all there, but there was something in his dark, tired eyes, and Hizashi breathed a sigh of relief that Aizawa wasn't lost for the night.

Aizawa ducked his head into his scarf, closing his eyes for a moment as he leaned on the door, "Sure."

"Go sit down and I'll make you something," Hizashi told him, not waiting for an answer or reaction from Aizawa before stepping away. The kitchen was just off of the entryway, and their house had an open feeling to it, with no walls between the kitchen or any part of the main room. He heard Aizawa shuffle behind him, and as Hizashi walked into their brightly-lit, pristine kitchen and opened the cabinet above the stove, he could hear Aizawa breathe a sigh as he threw himself onto their couch.

Hizashi was deciding what to make Aizawa when he heard a meow, a jingle, and the telltale sign of their old cat climbing down from one of her many cat trees to greet Aizawa. He paused, standing on the tips of his toes to reach into the cabinet, and ducked his head to the side to see her rubbing against Aizawa's legs as he bent over to scratch between her ears, looking a little more at ease than he had earlier.

Maybe it helped a little to be at home. Even Hizashi was starting to feel his nerves calm slightly, but they left a certain reality in their wake that Hizashi didn't want to face.

Looking away from Aizawa, Hizashi picked what he wanted, looking up occasionally as he mixed something for Aizawa. After knowing him for so long, he knew better than anyone that Aizawa was picky about the things he ate, and alcohol was no different. With the exception of a couple things, Aizawa pretty much hated anything straight. Instead, Hizashi usually mixed drinks for him, since Aizawa was also more prone to getting sick from drinking anything undiluted. He supposed he was lucky that Aizawa had a tendency to eat like a toddler and there was always more than enough juice at hand for Hizashi to mix with flavored vodka.

He poured himself a glass of straight whiskey, and made his way over to Aizawa.

Aizawa had their older cat on his lap, and she had apparently missed him almost as much as Hizashi had missed having Aizawa at home, because she was rolling around on his lap and letting him rub her fat belly. He glanced up at Hizashi, and Hizashi wordlessly handed him his drink and flopped down on the couch next to him, shrugging off his own coat and discarding it carelessly on the floor on top of Aizawa's.

"Thanks," Aizawa's voice was quiet, almost matching the volume of the cat purring loudly on his lap. Hizashi let himself smile at the sight of her rolling on Aizawa's lap, kneading her paws into his legs, and watched as Aizawa took a long drink of what Hizashi had handed him. There wasn't even a grimace, and Hizashi prided himself in being able to mix Aizawa's drinks well enough that he didn't even react to the burn of the alcohol anymore. He followed suit, and he had a distant appreciation for the way the whiskey stung on his lips and throat as he downed his own glass.

Aizawa leaned forward, setting his down on the table, and then sat back, dropping his arms to his sides and staring up at the ceiling. The cat on his lap gave a disgruntled meow, but quickly gave up on getting him to pay attention to her again.

"We should've done something," Was all Aizawa said.

Hizashi set his glass on the floor, and he turned his body towards Aizawa. There was a burn starting to settle in on his chest, and he leaned back, too, resting his arm around Aizawa's shoulders on the back of their couch.

"There was nothing we could do," Hizashi said the words that had been on his mind since leaving that wretched house, the words he'd spent the last hour obsessing over and trying to find some loophole in, a loophole that would allow him to turn the car around and get that kid back.

"We could've brought him back here."

Hizashi smiled, and it was something bittersweet, " Kidnapping , Shouta."

Aizawa didn't say anything, closing his eyes.

Hizashi leaned in a little more, able to feel the heat radiating off of Aizawa's body as he did so, "We would've lost our licenses, Shouta. He would've had us fired."

"I could go back to school and get a teaching license," Finally, Aizawa did look at him, dark eyes focusing on him, and Hizashi could see almost a hint of amusement in them. "That's what you need to teach normal high school, isn't it? It can't be that hard to get."

Hizashi snorted, drawing his fingers through the ends of Aizawa's dark, bushy hair, "It is when you've been arrested for kidnapping a child. You really wanna teach normal high school, Shouta?"

Aizawa didn't miss a beat, "Sure. If that's what it takes."

A silence fell between them, and Aizawa finished off the rest of his drink before sitting back against Hizashi's arm with another sigh.

"But it wouldn't fix the problem," Aizawa told him, voice dropping in volume again as he ran a hand through their cat's long fur. "He'd be taken away again as soon as they found out about the kidnapping. It'd be useless."

"You think like a vigilante sometimes," Hizashi commented softly. He continued to draw his fingers through the messy ends of Aizawa's hair, working out the small knots he found there.

Aizawa didn't even shoot him a glare at the playful jab, instead letting his eyes fall shut, "The law takes far too long with these types of things. I almost wish he'd attacked me when I talked to him so we'd have some sort of case."

Talked to was a bit of a stretch. It was easy to remember, and part of the reason Hizashi wanted another drink, easy to remember the way Aizawa had been in Endeavor's face, the harsh words he'd spat at him, and the way Endeavor had gotten far enough into Aizawa's personal space that he'd used his quirk on him and scared Endeavor off.

He knew the only reason Aizawa stopped. He'd seen it, too—Todoroki Shouto's shocked face staring at his homeroom teacher from where he'd been shoved into the house behind his father, the wide mismatched eyes of his, the worry written all over his expression.

Hizashi leaned down, pressing his forehead against Aizawa's shoulder, murmuring into his sweater, voice muffled, "If he'd attacked you, I have no doubt you would've broken him. Or killed him."

It wasn't something he'd normally say to Aizawa. Aizawa had always had a bit of a violent streak when it came to taking people down, especially those who threatened the people around him. With Aizawa, things were a bit different, with his status as an underground hero, and he was allowed for more leeway with how far he took things. He could get violent and harsh with his targets, but never, never , had Hizashi seen him get the way he had with Endeavor.

After all, Aizawa was intelligent, especially when it came to battle tactics. He was a good hero because every step he took was calculated down to the very slightest instance. He was conscious of everything. And Aizawa had just lost all that back at the Todoroki household, and had acted more irrationally and emotion-driven than Hizashi had ever seen. The image of Aizawa pressing himself into the space of a far larger, taller, and more impulsive man was something that Hizashi would never get out of his mind.

And he knew with every fiber of his being that Aizawa was completely capable of beating that man until he was half-dead. Or entirely dead.

"Maybe," Aizawa told him.

Hizashi inhaled deeply, pressing his face into the material of Aizawa's sweater, "Maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe."

------

He can't stop.

He realizes that it's counterproductive and that he really should be calm, but there's nothing Todoroki can do to stop himself. He's well aware that he's hyperventilating, and he dissolves into a fit of painful coughing that shake the hospital bed as his lungs burn and beg him for air. He can't breathe. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe—

Is he dying? He has no idea.

There's someone at his side, and there's a hand at his back, but Todoroki can't even begin to process who it is. Distantly, he hears the door to the room swing open, and suddenly there's more people, more people than Shouto can count and—no, there's something wrong, because he really should be able to count them. He's not a small child. Why can't he figure out how many people are in the room?

His breathing stalls, hitching, and Todoroki feels the bile rising in his throat as he chokes on his own breaths and dares to raise his head just a bit.

He doesn't recognize anyone except his teachers. Aizawa-sensei is at his side, and even in the moment, Todoroki can figure out that the hand at his back is his, and he doesn't startle away from his touch like he wants to. Yamada is there, too, and there's doctors, dressed in white lab coats and talking, talking, talking, but Todoroki can neither count how many of them there are, nor can he understand anything they're saying.

He takes another shaking, straggling breath, and coughs again, trying to swallow the bile threatening to burst from his throat. He doesn't want to vomit, not in front of his teachers and these doctors, and he refuses to let it happen.

There's a high-pitched sound, and there's only a moment before Todoroki realizes that it's him whining, and he feels hot tears at the corners of his eyes as the shame washes over him.

There's more talking, voices he can't understand. A couple are familiar, but the others aren't. He tries, he really does, but it doesn't take long before Shouto jolts forward and vomits onto the blankets on the hospital bed.

And then, the world starts spinning to a stop.

Things come into focus, and his breathing starts getting more shallow. He's hunched over, and it feels a lot like when he used to throw up because his father would overwork him again and again. He keeps his head down, and the room is silent for a moment, and the last thing Shouto wants to do is look up and meet the eyes of any person in the room.

He's horribly ashamed, and if he could die right here, right now, he would definitely choose to.

A voice he doesn't recognize speaks up first, "Todoroki-san, why don't we change those blankets?"

His first instinct is to look up, but Shouto forces himself to keep his head down. He doesn't even want the chance of catching Aizawa or Yamada's expressions. He's already ashamed enough that he wants to sink into the floor and die, and he doesn't think he can really take much more.

"—His stitches," He just barely catches Aizawa-sensei's voice, and he doesn't even catch his full statement. His voice is low, and Todoroki recognizes it in an instant, and he really, really wishes he didn't.

Todoroki feels someone tugging at the dirtied, now smelling blankets, and he lets them, drawing his knees into his chest as the blankets are taken away from him, wrapping his arms around his legs. He feels a lot more vulnerable uncovered, given that he realizes now that he only has a hospital gown on, his legs bare, and he's a little grateful for the socks covering his feet. He shivers, cold, and what he presumes to be a nurse coos some reassuring remark at him that he doesn't pay attention to.

He's only paying attention to the conversation between a doctor and Aizawa, and he still refuses to look up, staring down at the bare, stark-white bedding.

"We'll check his stitches," The doctor's voice is different, more confident and louder than Aizawa's. He doesn't recognize it, and he tries to remember where he could've ever met this man before, and all he comes up with is fog, fog, fog, and what feels like a brick wall in his head.

"It looks like he might've torn them when he sat up," Aizawa's tone is gruffer, more what Shouto's used to, but there's something odd in it, something he can't quite place— "Or when he threw up. Regardless, it needs to be redressed."

"Shouta—"

—Concern? Is that it? Is that the word for it? It's in Yamada's voice, too, as he silences Aizawa, and Todoroki shakes the thought. Aizawa's never been anything but stoic and strict. There's no way he'd be concerned.

No, there is. He's heard this before in Aizawa's voice. Multiple times in one day.

Todoroki shivers, as if the cold weather from the foggy memory can reach him here.

"Aizawa-san, you should really take care of yourself," The doctor's voice is a little softer, not as proud and confident. "You're still wearing the same bloody clothes you came in here with. At least go home and change."

The response is immediate.

"I'm not leaving."

Bloody clothes—?

No, wait. That isn't right. He can remember something . It'd been cold, really cold. There'd been a snowstorm. A bad one. And—he'd been at the dorms, waiting outside, because his father was supposed to pick him up and take him home. But he'd never come. And he hadn't stayed at the dorms.

He hadn't stayed at the dorms because Aizawa-sensei had made him come back inside. And after that, he'd brought him along to dinner with Yamada. And then—

Todoroki remembers being in the cold again, and listening to his teacher talk, and a car ride and his house and—his clear memories cut out there, and nothing is more distressing in this moment—not even the fact that he'd just thrown up on the bed in front of all these people—than the fact that all he can remember is being out with Aizawa and Yamada and not much else.

He remembers a lot of that, too. He remembers being scared and nervous at first. He remembers hitting Aizawa in the middle of a crowd. He remembers talking. He remembers feeling warm, feeling strangely happy. He remembers that small strip of paper Aizawa had given him, the one with his personal phone number written on it, and the promise he'd made to his teacher. And he remembers the promise his teacher had made to him.

He has no idea why he's here.

His head throbs, and his body aches and distantly, he can feel a wetness on his side. He almost robotically lifts his arm, and immediately hears a sharp intake of breath from the man at his side. There's a hand at his arm, fingers wrapping around his elbow and forcing him to keep it raised, and Todoroki's head is too foggy to do anything but look up to see Aizawa staring down the doctor on his other side.

"I told you he opened his stitches."

He doesn't try to pull away. He just stares up, dazed, and he realizes that even if he wanted to, he doesn't have the strength to pull out of Aizawa's grasp.

He's angry. Todoroki can hear it in his voice, and his dark, usually tired eyes are narrowed at the doctor he stands across from. Todoroki coughs, his voice bubbling in his throat as he struggles for his automatic response to seeing an authority figure angry with him.

"Sorry—"

It comes out half-intelligible, half of the apology lost in his throat. He's not even totally sure the others can understand him, because what does come out is hoarse and croaked and mumbled, and he partially expects to be reprimanded for not speaking clearly. His side hurts , and the dull throbbing around his ribs is getting stronger, and he can feel a definite wetness in that area.

He looks away from Aizawa and down, seeing blood soaking the material of the gown right where it's starting to hurt more and more. Aizawa's grip on him softens, and he hears Yamada say something to him, telling him to be careful, and he feels like Aizawa's dark eyes are burning holes right through him as Todoroki trembles, staring at the blood stain on his hospital gown.

"What's—What's—" His words sound a little more understandable, but they still run together and Todoroki has no idea how to voice the rest of his question, and he can't take his eyes off of the growing spot on the thin gown.

Is that his blood? He assumes so, but it certainly doesn't feel like it at all.

"I'll redo the stitches," The doctor speaks again, but Todoroki doesn't pay him much attention. His arm is still being held above his head, and Todoroki can't stop shaking. There's something horribly, horribly wrong, and he can't place it, but it has to do with him being here. Maybe him being here is the wrong thing. No, that doesn't feel right, either. It's something else, and his side burns like his skin is being split apart, and Todoroki can't grit his teeth and take it enough to hold back the whimper that rips itself from his throat.

"I need you and Yamada out of the room, though."

"I'm not leaving."

"Aizawa-san," The doctor's voice turns more stern, as if it's Aizawa being lectured rather than doing the lecturing. "The detectives need to talk to Todoroki and I need to redress a wound. You don't have to leave the hospital or even the ward, or even this goddamn hallway, but you need to leave the room. I don't want to pull this card, but I have every right to force you out of here."

There's a long moment, a moment of silence between them, and Todoroki doesn't have to look up to know that they're all focusing on him . Aizawa-sensei lets go of him, but Todoroki keeps his arm up, looking at the blood on the gown with wide eyes still. It can't be his blood—he doesn't remember getting hurt. He doesn't remember coming here. He doesn't know why he's here and more importantly, he doesn't know why Aizawa-sensei and Yamada are here.

He's been in the hospital before, rarely. Things happen. That's what he's always been told. But his father or one of his father's associates has always been with him. Never… this. He has no idea why his teachers , of all people are here. It isn't their job to be here.

He remembers Aizawa-sensei's words, repeated to him that night, that Todoroki was his responsibility even outside of the classroom.

—Is that why he's here, in the hospital with him?

"Fine," Aizawa finally says, and Todoroki hears him hesitate at his side, staying close to him. "But I'm not leaving the ward."

Todoroki ducks his head, shame washing over him again and again, wanting to shut off the rest of the world and slip back into the calm sleep he'd been in before he'd woken up in the hospital. Distantly, he hears more discussion, and for a moment, there's a hand at his back again, before Aizawa-sensei finally leaves his side, and the hand is gone when he goes.

He raises his head, almost automatically, and his eyes focus on Yamada wrapping an arm around Aizawa's waist, and he watches them leave.

It doesn't escape him, even in his confused, ashamed state, that neither of them are wearing the same clothes Todoroki remembers them in, nor is he able to ignore what is undeniably dark blood stains on the back of Aizawa's grey sweater.

He doesn't know why he's here, but something is incredibly wrong.

------

The world was starting to get a little hazy, and the burn in Hizashi's chest was growing pleasantly and rooting itself in his head by the time he made a third drink for he and Aizawa. The alcohol was finally starting to set in, and Hizashi was more than grateful for it, because it numbed out the edges of the images continuously playing in his head. Aizawa seemed to have no qualms against getting drunk tonight, either, and it was a clear indication that they both wanted to not feel the things they were.

They talked a little more about it, mostly going back and forth about some fantasy situation where they hadn't left Todoroki at his house. Neither of them necessarily wanted to forget what had happened just hours before, but the alcohol made the emotions far less intense and took the edge off, allowing Hizashi to finally relax.

This time when Hizashi walked back into their living room, though, things were a little different.

Aizawa was sitting hunched over on the couch, looking over an open book he had on the table in front of him, staring intently at it. Hizashi didn't have to look long before he realized that Aizawa had gotten one of the photobooks they kept in the bookcase with Hizashi's music and language books and Aizawa's multitude of cat magazines. He stopped, holding his and Aizawa's drinks, and it was clear to him in that moment that Aizawa wasn't looking at their wedding photos or photos from the last time Hizashi had dragged him away for a vacation.

Hizashi forced himself to regain his composure and sat down next to Aizawa, setting their drinks down on the table before wrapping an arm around him and resting his cheek on his shoulder, looking over him at the page Aizawa was looking at.

"How old were you?" He asked.

Aizawa hummed, not turning to look at Hizashi, but relaxing into his hold, "Four, probably. Maybe younger. Looks like around the time I developed my quirk. I hated wearing that eyepatch."

Hizashi snorted, looking at the photo Aizawa motioned to with his hand. It was one in the upper corner of the first page of the spread, and right there was Aizawa as a child—a toddler—looking away from the camera, sitting on the dirtied floor of what Hizashi assumed was the apartment Aizawa lived in as a kid. His hair was still long, even more unruly than it was on Aizawa as an adult, looking like it was a mess of knots and tangles, and one of his eyes was covered with a white medical eyepatch.

"What about that one?"

Hizashi leaned forward, pointing at the photo just below it. It looked similar, almost, but Aizawa had a short bowl cut and he was staring up at the camera with tearful eyes and an incriminatingly red cheek. He supposed that that was before Aizawa learned not to cry.

In contrast to the picture, Aizawa laughed, "My parents cut off all my hair. I don't remember why. They were probably mad for some reason."

Hizashi didn't think it was as funny as Aizawa did.

He looked over the rest of the pictures quickly. Aizawa didn't deal much with this particular photo album, and Hizashi assumed because it was full of his childhood photos. He rarely ever caught Aizawa looking at it, and it was usually right after something had happened that reminded him of his childhood. He couldn't blame him—the pictures were depressing. Aizawa wasn't smiling in any of them, and in most of them, he wouldn't even look at the camera. Hizashi knew for a fact that Aizawa could smile for photos, because the rest of the photo albums Hizashi had made had a lot of pictures of him smiling. In these, though, Aizawa just looked consistently upset, and he more often than not had marks and bruises littering his exposed skin.

The backgrounds of all the photos were always dirty-looking. Aizawa's childhood apartment looked like it had never been cleaned and it was more cluttered with things than anything Hizashi had ever seen before. It was no secret to Hizashi that his parents were hoarders, but seeing it so bad when Aizawa had been so young was depressing. That coupled with the fact that there was never anything a kid should have—no toys or books or anything remotely fun —made the photos even worse.

"Hizashi," Aizawa's voice drew him from his staring trance, and he looked where Aizawa was pointing. At the bottom corner of the first page was a photo that was a little better than the others, and was enough to bring a small smile to Hizashi's face. This was really the only photo he liked of Aizawa when he'd been this young. He was still frowning and looking away, but it seemed to be more from embarrassment and bashfulness than anything else, judging from his blushing red face and the full pout on his lips. He was standing with his hands balled into fists, wearing a sweatshirt long enough to be a dress with the hood pulled up over his head, sporting cat ears and a cat design, a small, fabric tail hanging behind him.

"Cute," Hizashi sang, leaning in closer. "We should get you one that fits you now."

"Embarrassing," Aizawa commented, reaching forward and downing most of the drink Hizashi had brought him. He glanced back at him, though, a slight grin playing on his lips, "I'd probably still wear it."

"You'll wear anything I buy you, Shouta."

He was relieved that Aizawa was finally starting to relax. It looked like the alcohol was beginning to set in for him, too, with the way Aizawa's body was becoming more and more pliant and loose, and with the way he'd given Hizashi what was almost his normal, playful grin.

Hizashi dropped his gaze again, and looked over the child version of Aizawa. That kid was different—so different—than the man who sat at his side. He didn't have to ask to know that, as an adult, Aizawa was happy. He knew he was, even if this year had been the most stressful year he'd taught. He loved Aizawa, and he knew that Aizawa loved him.

That kid in the book though—he was completely different. He remembered Aizawa in high school, how much his parents had broken him, to the point where for what felt like months , Hizashi's new friend hadn't shown any emotions, until Hizashi's affection and presence had wore him down and he'd finally accepted him. And then, then Hizashi had realized that he was Aizawa's first friend ever , because Aizawa was all over him, and Hizashi never again doubted that Aizawa liked him, even if he didn't show it in the most normal of ways. The kid on the page in front of them looks sad and hurt, and it's right now, looking at these photos, that Hizashi could understand how this had resulted in high school Aizawa.

"I wanted to just be alone my entire life," Aizawa said, quietly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone until it was almost as if he was talking to himself and not Hizashi. Still, Hizashi listened, and hung on to every word that Aizawa said. He was leaning forward, still, hair partially covering his face as he stared at the photos in the book. "I don't remember ever trying to make friends. Other kids just automatically left me out. I was fine with it. After everything else, I just wanted to be alone. I thought if I was alone, then that would be my choice, and I'd have control over whether or not I interacted with people."

"Being alone your entire life sounds terrible," Hizashi told him softly, not wanting to break Aizawa out of his musing. "Sounds lonely."

"I thought it was best. I didn't have to worry about being isolated if I did it myself," There was an almost bitter tone in Aizawa's voice as he reminisced, and Hizashi knew it wasn't directed at him. "All I ever wanted was control. I didn't think I needed anything else. I was fine being alone forever. I didn't realize that I needed other people."

"You didn't realize you needed help, either," Hizashi almost didn't want to say it, but it came out anyways.

Aizawa didn't even hesitate, "No, and I made a mistake in that. I regret it, thinking that way. I could've avoided a lot."

Aizawa never talked much about his past, even to Hizashi. Most of what Hizashi knew came from the few times he'd observed Aizawa with his parents, or the more graphic images that he'd refused to put in the photo album and had suggested they burn to ashes. Some came from his occasional questioning of Aizawa. Aizawa rarely spoke freely about his childhood, though, and Hizashi knew it was for a few reasons, the biggest being that Aizawa just didn't think it was practical to dwell on it. He didn't see any reason in recounting or thinking back to it. He just forced himself to move on. And that was his choice. Aizawa had and needed control, and because of that, Hizashi refused to push.

But right now, he almost did want to push more.

Hizashi let the silence fall between them. Somewhere, the bell on their old cat's collar jingled as she bounced around the house. Outside, the wind blew at their walls, howling quietly.

"He reminds me of you," Hizashi finally whispered, terrified of what would happen if he spoke those words normally.

Aizawa let out a long breath, "I know."

It was different, now. Aizawa lived here, with him, in their own house. It was just the two of them and their two cats, an old lovey cat and a young skittish one. They had friendly neighbors, neighbors who frequently invited them to dinner. They lived in a good neighborhood, one where kids could play in the streets and one with a near zero crime rate. It was the exact opposite of what Aizawa had experienced as a kid.

He'd grown up in poverty in a district where nobody had cared at all about the crime rings, where no one was safe or happy and where nobody had ever bothered to help him. He'd lived in an apartment—an apartment that Hizashi remembered seeing a grand total of one time —and hadn't even been allowed to have a bed. He'd grown up knowing nothing but clutter and violent, uncaring people.

Hizashi knew that Aizawa and Todoroki were different. Todoroki's family was affluent, whereas Aizawa's hadn't even been on the radar. Their differences were purely superficial, though, and the kid that Hizashi had taken care of today had reminded him so much of Aizawa in high school that it'd been almost surreal. The kid had the same reactions, the same expressions, the same instincts , and never in his life had Hizashi ever wanted to see that on anyone else ever again.

Maybe that was the reason he'd gotten attached to him tonight. Because he'd seen this before. Because the person he'd known fifteen years ago had told himself that he was fine being alone and isolated his entire life because of what was happening at home. Because he didn't want to see Todoroki regret something for the rest of his life the way Aizawa regretted not leaving sooner.

There was a breathy, still bitter laugh from Aizawa, "I'd rather there not be another me running around."

"You're a good guy," He ducked his head into Aizawa's shoulder again. He knew what Aizawa meant, though, unfortunately.

"I gave him my phone number. I told him to contact me if anything happens."

There was a wave of relief that hit Hizashi as soon as he processed the words from Aizawa. He almost wanted to smile. He'd suspected that Aizawa had probably done something , but he'd hadn't had much of an idea what and had only guessed from their conversation before they'd walked Todoroki up to the doorstep of his house.

"I wonder how long it'll take…?" He was definitely starting to feel the alcohol in his system, and it put a slight affliction on his words.

Aizawa turned to him, staring at him with a hard, calculating gaze before he spoke, "I'm not entirely sure he will."

"Shouta," Hizashi let his eyes slip shut as he tightened the grasp his arm had around Aizawa's shoulders. "That kid respects you more than anything. He'd probably do whatever you asked him to. Have some faith. Don't be a pessimist."

He almost expected Aizawa to laugh at that, but he didn't, and instead he got a quiet sigh, "Alright."

------

Todoroki stays quiet after Aizawa and Yamada leave.

As embarrassed as he is to have them here, he suddenly feels a lot worse with them gone. The pain from the open wound on his side burns, and it hurts even more when the doctor Aizawa had been talking to pulls up the gown and rubs something on it. It stings, and he fights to not squirm, only barely managing to keep still. The doctor says something to him, his voice soft and reassuring, but Shouto pays no attention to it.

The hospital room is set up so he can see out into the hallway. There's a large viewing window next to the glass door, with curtains pushed to the side, and when Todoroki's eyes wander up, he sees that Aizawa and Yamada haven't gone far. They're right outside, standing in the hallway, and talking with two people Todoroki just barely recognizes. He can't see much, but it's hard to mistake someone with a mutant quirk that gives them a cat head, even if the person beside Detective Sansa is the much more plain-looking, easily mistakable Detective Naomasa. He doesn't know them well, and only barely recognizes them, but seeing them speak to Aizawa and Yamada strikes a fear into him that he wasn't sure was possible.

He's desperately trying to put the pieces together.

He has no idea why he's here, but it can't be good if two detectives are here. He remembers the doctor telling Aizawa that they had to talk to Todoroki , too. Not just Aizawa and Yamada, but him . He's never talked to law enforcement without his father around, and he has no idea what to say, given that he doesn't remember a single thing besides being out with Aizawa and Yamada.

Part of him doesn't want to remember anything else, because something happened, and what he remembers is that he was actually happy with his two teachers. It'd been weird, given that they were his schoolteachers , but Aizawa and Yamada had talked to him like a person, and they hadn't even hesitated in taking him in for the night. They'd given him a choice, too, a choice of going back to his father's or… going back with them…

Todoroki stares out the viewing window, watching the four adults in the hallway interact, Aizawa with a usual sour expression on his face and the two across from him and Yamada nodding and jotting down notes.

In that moment, he knows one thing: he'd made the wrong choice.

He hears the doctor beside him cut the suture used for his stitches, and he drops the gown back onto Todoroki's side and stands up, finally drawing Shouto's attention towards him. He looks up at the man, squinting at him slightly. He's plain looking and regular, like any doctor he'd imagine, and he wears a gentle smile on his face.

"Eraser hasn't left your side since you got here. I had to kick him out to take you into surgery."

Todoroki narrows his eyes further. He tries to find his voice, the bright lights in the hospital room blinding his vision. His words bubble in his throat again, and he coughs, feeling his lungs constrict painfully as he does so. Finally, he's able to murmur out something quiet and more intelligible. His voice is hoarse and not much more than a breathy croak, but it's something .

"What—Why am I here? Why is he here? Why are they here?"

The doctor actually seems to understand him, and his gaze softens on Todoroki. Shouto needs to know, because he has no idea why he's sitting here in this hospital bed. He closes his eyes and drops his head, touching his forehead with his hand, feeling bandages there, wrapped around the circumference of his head. He doesn't even have the ability to feel surprised that he hadn't noticed earlier, because all his energy is focused on clearly this damn fog in his head and figuring out how he got here.

"The detectives are going to answer most of your questions," The doctor tells him, speaking slowly to him. "But Eraser and Mic brought you in. At least Mic does what I tell him to. Eraser… He's a stubborn guy."

The doctor laughs to himself. Todoroki doesn't really think it's funny. He falls silent when Todoroki keeps staring at him, not saying anything.

His doctor's voice falls again, "You're pretty lucky they got you here when they did."

He doesn't like this at all.

Todoroki stays quiet, but the doctor reaches out and pats his leg, and Todoroki's body has every intent in the world to jump back against his sudden touch, but his limbs won't move, and he just ends up breathing in sharply. He doesn't protest when he watches the doctor catch the eyes of the two detectives outside and motions for them to come inside. Todoroki wants to vomit again when they move towards his room, and the blanket that the doctor pulls over his lower half doesn't calm his slight shaking.

As humiliated as he is right now, he almost wishes either Aizawa or Yamada were in here with him. Maybe then he'd know what to say. Yamada would probably be more likely to help him. He has no idea what to tell these two, and he doesn't want to talk, especially not after hearing that last comment.

But there's nothing he can do to stop it, and before he can even process the words to say, the two are stepping through the door to the hospital room, and the doctor is reaching to pull the curtains over the viewing window.

He fixes his gaze on Sansa and Naomasa, doing everything he can to keep up his normal unaffected, neutral expression. He has no idea if it's working or not, given that he can't control a lot of his body right now and his head hurts with all the fog clouding over it. Detective Naomasa only gives him the small smile he'd seen him give the other kids at the aftermath or the training simulation, and behind him, Sansa holds a notepad of paper and what Todoroki knows it an electronic recorder.

"Hey! You remember me from the incident a few months ago, right?" Naomasa's voice is cheerful and horribly loud, and it fills up the entire room with forced joy. Todoroki fights to not cringe and duck his head at the sound of it, but it grates on his ears, and it's loud and he just wants it to go away. Naomasa doesn't seem to notice, though, and gives him a polite bow as Todoroki's eyes search over him, "Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa. You can call me Naomasa. This is my partner, Detective Sansa. He'll be taking notes."

"Okay," It takes a moment, and Todoroki tries his hardest to understand his words, but there's so many of them for him to go through that it leaves his head spinning. "I'm Todoroki Shouto."

His voice still comes out strained, but he forces himself to speak as clearly as he can.

"Good," Naomasa says, and Todoroki squints at him. Was it a surprise to him that he knew his own name…? That's strange. There's not a lot that can make people forget their names or other important stuff, besides a—

Besides a brain injury.

Even like this, he knows how bad that is.

"We're going to ask you a few questions," Naomasa tells him, speaking slowly like the doctor had. "Try to do your best to answer them. It's alright if you don't know."

"Okay," Todoroki replies, almost automatically. His head—it's injured. He can figure out that much from the distinct throbbing and the bandages wrapped around it and the fog that slows down everything he tries to take in, especially the detective's words. His head injury, however bad it is, must be why he can't remember much after being taken back home by Aizawa and Yamada.

"I want to know what happened to me, though," He says as Naomasa opens his mouth, probably to ask his first question.

Naomasa's face falls a little, "If you don't remember, we'll tell you at the end of our interview. I can promise you that, okay?"

"Okay," Todoroki repeats. That's good enough for now. Anything to lift this confusion that he's been stuck with since he woke up in this horrible place.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Todoroki thinks. He thinks hard , as hard as his mind will let him think, and he still comes up with the same thing over and over again.

"Just—my dad forgot to pick me up from the dorms. So I spent a bunch of time with Aizawa-sensei and Yama— Mic-sensei . Or maybe he didn't forget? Maybe he just never came? I don't...I don't really remember, sorry."

He feels guilty, because he knows that that's not the answer that the detectives want. He looks down at his covered lap, glancing at the tube stuck into his arm with fluid going through it. He wants to pick at the bandage on his hand, but he doesn't even have the energy to do that much.

"They dropped me off at home. There's nothing else. I don't remember. What day is it?"

Todoroki glances back up at Naomasa when he asks the last question, seeing his lips twitch downwards into a frown. Behind him, Sansa is scribbling on the notepad. There's a long pause, and Todoroki almost doesn't expect an answer, but he's momentarily grateful when he gets one.

"It's been four days since you've been brought in. Your medical team had you drifting in and out of consciousness for the last day or so before they decided to fully wake you up earlier today. We figured now is the best time to talk with you."

Four days—?

He's been asleep for over half a week? He's been here for over half a week? No, that can't be right. His father and his father's associates aren't here. They would be if he's been here for that long. There's no way they would've left him alone, no way at all. Does his father know he's even here ? God, he was going to be pissed when he found out, and Shouto really doesn't want to deal with that.

He can't say anything more before Naomasa moves on, "Can you try to remember what happened after you went home?"

"I can't—"

"Just take a moment and try," Naomasa's voice is calm and would be soothing if it weren't for what he's asking Todoroki to do. Again, he finds himself sort of wishing Aizawa and Yamada hadn't been forced out into the hall, because he has no idea what to do or say or what this guy wants from him. He really just wants to know what happened and then be left alone to sleep. His eyes are getting tired, and his mind is slowing down even more with the small amount he's had to process so far.

But he obeys Naomasa, and sighs, letting his eyes fall shut and he tries to think, tries to break through the cloud of horrible mental fog blocking his way.

He'd been in the car. Yamada had turned on the radio and it'd been playing the ending of some holiday fundraiser. Nobody had talked much on the ride to Todoroki's house, not Yamada or Aizawa or Todoroki himself. He remembers the drive up, of Yamada having to stop at the gate, and then he remembers Aizawa-sensei talking to him again after getting out of the car.

That phone number—Aizawa's phone number. He'd made a promise to Todoroki that he'd treat it like an emergency if Todoroki ever contacted him.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," He'd said.

Mistake, mistake. He'd made a mistake in going back home…?

Going back home instead of taking their offer to spend the night with them had been a mistake. But he isn't at home now. He's in the hospital. He can't understand. Something happened, and he knows he's on the verge of it, but he just can't come across it on his own.

They'd walked up to the front door and—

"Aizawa-sensei got into a fight with my dad," He says quietly, not opening his eyes. There was a little yelling, he remembered, mostly from his father. "No, it was an argument. Not a fight. They argued. My dad got scared, I think, and slammed the door on him and Yamada."

He recalls Aizawa using his quirk on his father. Was it by accident? It seems like it, from what he recalls. He doesn't think Aizawa is the type of person to so obviously start a fight. He doesn't actually know if Aizawa could win a fight against his father. His dad is strong , and he doesn't really want to consider the possibility of them getting into an actual fight.

"After that?"

Todoroki is a little lost, wandering through muddled memories that he only half-remembers. None of them are even fully formed, and he's only stumbled into them because he's forced himself by giving the timeline of coming home out loud. He can hardly make sense of any of it, and he wants to leave it alone and not say anything else, because the isolated images and sounds in his memory are overwhelming to the point where Todoroki feels himself shaking again.

It hurts. A lot.

"I don't know—I went to my room. I think I was probably there for a few hours? I don't know, I don't know. He was trying to be nice to me. He asked me something, I think it was about school? Teachers—it was about teachers, and I just wanted him to go away ."

He covers his face and tries to open his eyes. It's an effort. Even keeping his hands covering the scarred part of his face seems to drain the energy from his limbs and make him more exhausted. He takes in a long, shaking breath, and tries his best to regain his composure.

His voice isn't anything more than a whisper, "He asked me who my favorite teacher at school was, and I should've known better."

He'd snapped at his father. He'd told him to leave him alone. But that hadn't been what had set him off. It'd been Shouto's answer, and Shouto hadn't really had an answer to that question until that night.

"There's really nothing after that," He says, because there isn't. Everything else is blank. There's nothing. Just blank memories until he'd woken up here, in a hospital stinking of antiseptic. He knows he probably should've lied, should've told the detectives that something different happened, because it's becoming increasingly obvious that someone put him here, and he's starting to realize exactly who that person was.

He watches Sansa put down his pen, and Naomasa leans in, a slight smile on his face.

"You did good," The plain-looking detective assures him. "I can keep my promise and fill in the rest of the gaps, if you'd like."

Finally.

"Sure," Todoroki answers, taking his hands away from his face. He wants to hear this. He needs to. He needs someone to confirm the only thing in his thoughts now.

Detective Naomasa glances back, and Sansa wordlessly hands him the pad of paper in his hands. Naomasa flips back a couple pages, to a page where an official-looking paper full of neat handwriting is stuck between the pages. Shouto can't make sense of a single word of it, even though he knows he should be able to.

The detective takes a deep breath in, looking over the paper at Todoroki before he begins reading from it.

"At 6:12 in the morning on December twentieth, the precinct received an emergency call from Aizawa Shouta, also known as…"

------

By midnight, Hizashi and Aizawa were sufficiently drunk.

That was to say, not completely drunk, because getting completely drunk was always a terrible idea, but drunk enough that Hizashi was able to completely relax and Aizawa was able to not be a depressed bundle of nerves. Aizawa didn't try to do any work, and instead he and Hizashi flipped through the photo album, Aizawa sometimes making comments about things as Hizashi prodded him with water to drink. They both knew their limits, and Hizashi watched Aizawa's intake closely, since he was so prone to getting sick from drinking.

Eventually, the Aizawa in the photo book started getting older, and the frequency of photos taken went down. Hizashi had his arms slung over Aizawa, pressing against his shoulder, humming quietly as Aizawa continued to look at the pages and Hizashi watched over his shoulder.

"Here's my first day in middle school," Aizawa said at one point, motioning to a photo of a very unhappy-looking Aizawa in a middle school uniform.

"Cute, even back then," Hizashi laughed, drunk enough to actually find humor in it. "You kinda look like you hate that uniform, though."

"I did," Aizawa told him. "It was tight and horrible. My teachers hated that I never wanted to wear the summer one. Actually, I think the teachers didn't like me in general. The only teachers who ever liked me were in high school."

"The homeroom teacher liked you so much , Shouta," Hizashi even found it in himself to tease Aizawa, leaning in close and rubbing his cheek against Aizawa's unshaven scruff. "So much that you still let him lecture you for hours and climb around in your scarf."

"He's my boss. What am I supposed to do, walk away ?"

Hizashi let out another small laugh and hooked his chin over Aizawa's shoulder again. Aizawa leaned into it a little, and Hizashi watched as he breathed a long, tired yawn.

That was his cue.

"Hey babe, you wanna try to get some sleep?"

It had been a week or so since Aizawa had been home and even though Hizashi had spent a couple nights with him in that terrible dorm apartment, nothing really compared to holding Aizawa against his chest in their own bed in their own bedroom in their own house. That was all he really wanted after tonight, and he was more than happy to prompt Aizawa into going to bed, especially given how horribly sleep deprived the other man looked.

Aizawa looked at him, dark eyes tired, and yawned again before answering, "Sure."

"Finish your water and then we can go to bed," Hizashi smiled, privately, getting up. He hesitated, though, not immediately making his way towards the kitchen. Instead, he leaned down, closing his eyes, and brushed his lips against Aizawa's. Aizawa sighed against him, against his skin, and Hizashi gave him another smile when he pulled away.

Hizashi did the dishes while Aizawa finished off the water he'd brought him. They'd each ended up with three drinks, though Aizawa's had been significantly watered down, and by the time Hizashi shut off the lights to the kitchen and returned to Aizawa, the other man was laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"Feeling alright?" Hizashi asked, offering his arms to Aizawa.

Aizawa let Hizashi pull him up, and Hizashi held onto him for a long moment as Aizawa slumped against him, mumbling out a response, "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

Hizashi brushed a hand through Aizawa's long hair, "I know. Let's go to bed. We can start dealing with the case stuff tomorrow. For now, let's just...sleep."

Aizawa didn't argue at all with that, instead letting Hizashi pull him into the master bedroom. They got ready together, Hizashi helping Aizawa into pajamas. They brushed their teeth and Hizashi combed out the knots in Aizawa's hair, and washed his own face and changed clothes. It felt like it all took too long, but eventually, Aizawa crawled into bed and Hizashi collapsed on the mattress beside him. It felt like any other day, getting ready for bed in the bathroom together and actually lying in their own bed, and it was hard for Hizashi to remind himself that today had been a strange, upsetting trainwreck, and that Aizawa hadn't actually been home for a week.

Aizawa set his phone on the bedside table next to Hizashi, and Hizashi didn't miss the way he turned on the volume beforehand, and then rolled over towards the wall the bed was pushed up again, where he usually slept. Hizashi shifted himself towards him, drawing Aizawa close into his arms, feeling him breathe against him as Aizawa pressed into his chest.

They fell asleep like that. Hizashi woke up once, a few hours after going to bed, feeling completely sober, and forced another glass of water down his throat before returning to bed and again falling asleep with Aizawa in his arms.

He thought everything was fine. By the time morning rolled around, they were both sober, though dead asleep, Aizawa getting what felt like the first restful sleep in weeks. Hizashi had a plan—they'd start getting a case together in the morning, after he made Aizawa breakfast, and maybe they'd take a trip down to the police station and talk with the detectives there. They'd spend the holidays together. Hizashi's parents were scheduled to come stay with them in a few days. They'd work together on this case and do every damn thing they could, and they'd be able to do something about the situation Todoroki was in. Whether that was simply getting him out of there or fully taking him in, he didn't know. But he'd be safe.

After all, Hizashi was an optimist. And he'd told Aizawa earlier to not be pessimistic.

But none of that happened.

They never worked on the case. The case was barely even opened. Hizashi's parents never came out. They never went to the police station to talk with the detectives. And Todoroki wasn't safe.

None of that happened because Hizashi was woken up just after six in the morning to Aizawa's phone ringing and to Aizawa instantly launching himself over Hizashi to get to it.

"Todoroki—"

He didn't do anything at first. There was a beat, a beat of complete silence as Hizashi lay still, the phone silenced by Aizawa picking it up. He couldn't hear anything on the other end. There was silence. Horrible, horrifying silence that filled every corner of the room.

The next thing he knew, Aizawa was violently shaking him and yelling as loud as he could at him.

"Hizashi, we need to fucking go ! Wake up! "

------

"At 6:12 in the morning on December twentieth, the precinct received an emergency call from Aizawa Shouta, also known as Eraserhead, detailing that backup was needed at the residence on record for Todoroki Enji, also known as Endeavor, and Todoroki Shouto. He didn't provide much information other than it was a critical situation and that enforcement was needed as quickly as possible. The precinct sent a few cars of enforcement and contacted local emergency services to send medical help. Aizawa Shouta and Yamada Hizashi arrived at the scene first."

There's so many words, and yet, Todoroki hangs on to every one of them. His breathing is picking up and just like earlier, the machine at his side starts beeping at faster intervals. His chest feels tight and suffocating again, but he doesn't say anything.

Naomasa pauses, and looks at him, but doesn't comment. He only continues reading off of the paper in his hands.

"When law enforcement and medical arrived, Todoroki Enji, the perpetrator of the attack, had already been…" Naomasa pauses, and clears his throat. " Effectively subdued almost entirely alone by Aizawa Shouta. The decision was made at the scene by officers that excessive force was being used against the perpetrator, and were faced with the choice to either subdue Aizawa or step between him and the perpetrator. Yamada Hizashi, however, was able to talk him down, and it was revealed to officers and medical at the scene by both heroes that the perpetrator's son was unconscious and appeared to have a severe head injury, among other less life-threatening injuries."

He wants to throw up again, but nothing comes up this time.

The detective reads on.

"Todoroki Shouto was taken to the nearest hospital by ambulance and his condition was deemed critical. Yamada Hizashi agreed to drive with law enforcement to the hospital, but Aizawa Shouta adamantly refused to leave the victim's side. Both heroes suffered burns on exposed skin and Todoroki Enji was transported to a different hospital's trauma unit, where his condition was described as critical, as well, and later downgraded to serious. Aizawa and Yamada were both described as in fair condition, though needing treatment for burns. The victim was diagnosed as having a traumatic brain injury with hemorrhaging due to repeated trauma over the course of a few hours."

He wants to—

He doesn't know what he wants to do.

Cry, die, vomit, make him stop reading, somehow tear out the tubes in his body and run out of here…?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. This shouldn't be happening at all.

"Officers were able to get a statement from Aizawa Shouta when the victim was taken away for surgery. An informed decision was made to not reprimand him for excessive force, given the special circumstances surrounding the event. It is worth noting that Aizawa Shouta opened a case against the perpetrator just hours before the incident took place, and he and Yamada Hizashi had been looking after Todoroki Shouto before the incident. Aizawa stated that an agreement was made between he and the victim that if anything were to happen at home, he would contact him. Phone records show that the victim contacted Aizawa Shouta at 6:10 in the morning, just before the call was placed to the precinct. Aizawa Shouta appears cooperative with law enforcement. Yamada Hizashi was also interviewed, and his story matched with his spouse's."

------

Hizashi had to force Aizawa into the car.

There was no reasoning with him like this. Hizashi had to pick Aizawa up and throw him into the back seat of their car, and he'd been lucky that it'd been such a short distance, because Aizawa was stronger than him and able to pry Hizashi's grip from him if he really wanted to. But somehow—and Hizashi didn't really even know how —he was able to throw Aizawa in the car, lock the doors, and take off screeching down the street.

They'd taken the long way home the previous night. Hizashi nearly doubled the speed limit now and they made it there within minutes. Aizawa was pissed , yelling the entire way at Hizashi to let him out of the goddamn car, and Hizashi knew it was useless to try to tell him that going there on foot would take even more time than going by car. Aizawa had lost control of himself the previous night at the Todoroki household, but that was nothing compared to now, and Hizashi couldn't even begin to judge him when he was seeing red with every fast, reckless turn he made on the icy, empty streets.

He was well aware that he was risking crashing the car every time he went around a corner or pressed harder on the gas pedal, but he'd be damned if he wasn't getting to this kid as fast as possible.

He didn't know at what point he'd started crying, but as he tore up the road to the enormous house Endeavor had himself and his son secluded in, Hizashi found himself having to wipe at his eyes multiple times just to see the street in front of him.

------

"Todoroki Enji was taken into custody as soon as he was conscious. He's currently still undergoing medical treatment, but he will be imprisoned as he awaits trial. A protective order was granted to Todoroki Shouto against his father, and temporary custody has been transferred to Aizawa Shouta and his spouse, due to petitioning by him and already in-place agreements due to a housing situation provided by the school."

He's hearing about this—about his own life—second hand, and that alone is enough to make Todoroki's head violently spin. The detective hasn't stopped until now, lowering the paper, the report, in his hand, and looking at Todoroki with a soft, sympathetic expression.

There's a million questions he has, but none of them will fully form in his head. None but one, one that was stuck in his head even before the detectives came in.

Lucky , the doctor had said.

"What would've happened if—"

He doesn't know how to phrase the rest of it. He doesn't know who to blame for coming to his apparent rescue. If the medical team hadn't been there? If Aizawa-sensei and Yamada hadn't arrived when they had? If Aizawa hadn't done what he had to his father? If he, Shouto, hadn't placed that call in the first place?

The detective doesn't ask him to finish his sentence, though. He seems to understand, "There's every possibility that you may have died. With the severity of your head trauma, any more time notspent getting you treatment could have been fatal. You made the right choice when you called Eraser. You did exactly what you should've."

"Is he going to get in trouble?" He blurts out his next question, and it fills him with absolute dread . Naomasa has specifically called whatever Aizawa had done 'excessive force', something that was drilled into their heads by Aizawa himself to never use when they became heroes. There was a line for heroes, and law enforcement didn't seem to like when it was crossed.

"Eraser? No, not at all," The slight smile is back on Naomasa's face as he speaks to him. "He may have been excessive, but we decided not to report that he was doing anything wrong. With the way things were, I think anyone would've done the same thing in his position."

The next question is obvious. Logical.

"And my dad?"

There's a pause.

"He's going to get in a lot of trouble. He might be a high ranking hero, but there's a lot of evidence against him, and we don't tolerate things like this here. I don't think Eraser or Mic would ever let your father get off easy, anyways."

"Is he alright?" Todoroki prompts. "My dad."

Another slight hesitation.

"Eraser did some… lasting damage to him, but treatment is evidently going well and he'll be in prison within the next week or so."

Shouto lets another silence fall between them. He drops Naomasa's gaze and stares at the IV in his hand again, the fluid flowing freely into it. He has no idea what it is. A brain injury, Naomasa had said. That was serious, or it at least sounded like it. He can't think properly and everything is blurry and foggy and earlier he couldn't count the people in the room or read the words off of the report Naomasa had. It's serious, he decides, and that only causes more fear to bury itself in his chest.

If he can't do any of that, he's terrified he'll lose his place at UA. If he can't do anything properly, why would the top hero school in the country want him?

"What about me?"

The words fall from his mouth in the otherwise silent room, and he wants to take them back immediately after he says them. Part of him doesn't want to know, while the other part of him has to know. He says it without affliction, without emotion, remembering to keep himself stoic and neutral, just as he had his entire life. He's gotten good at it by now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

"You'll have to stay in here for a little while," Naomasa sounds like he's dancing over his words, as if he's trying not to offend Shouto. "I'm, uh, not a doctor, so I don't know how long, but the hospital here is pretty advanced and everything, so they should help you regain cognitive ability. That's… really all that we have to ask you for right now. We're going to go ahead and let you rest now."

"Okay," Todoroki says, not looking back as they get up to leave, wishing him goodbyes and get betters, and he only leans back in the hospital bed and tilts his head up towards the ceiling. He hears the door swing open, and he knows exactly who comes back in the room, but he doesn't even have the willpower or dignity to meet the eyes of the two heroes who'd saved him.

------

"I'm going to kill him ."

It was the only thing on his mind. He'd stopped yelling at Hizashi, and the only thing that was left was his anger towards Endeavor. Aizawa didn't feel anger a lot, let alone intense anger, and the most he usually got was irritated or annoyed at the kids in his class misbehaving. He'd always done everything he could to not put emotion into his work, and yet, somehow, here he was, seeing nothing but red, wanting to strangle Todoroki Enji until he was blue in the face and begging for his goddamn life.

"Don't, Shouta," He barely heard Hizashi's words, because Hizashi unfortunately chose to say them the moment he stopped the car at the Todoroki house. He was out of the car before Hizashi said anything else, and he'd barely had the forethought to grab his weapon from the house and now—

He's going to kill him.

Aizawa didn't bother with niceties or giving Endeavor the benefit of the doubt. He broke into the house with practiced ease and recklessness, and the scene in front of him was something that made him stop dead in his tracks. Hizashi was behind him, and he heard Hizashi's sharp breath as he stared out into the house, into what they caught this wretched man in the middle of. There was blood everywhere, and Aizawa was going to kill him .

He didn't hesitate beyond that. There was yelling and more blood, insults that Aizawa was too far gone to care about, and before he knew it, Hizashi was pulling him off of Endeavor, and telling him that if he went any further, the police were going to handcuff him . Hizashi had grabbed his dark hair and forced his head to the side, making him see his bloodied and broken student, and that was what it took to make him stop finally.

The anger that he hadn't killed Endeavor dissipated, and Aizawa knew there were more important things to worry about. He was a teacher and a pro hero and definitely not a doctor, but even he could tell that Todoroki was just barely hanging on.

He read the report later, after being interviewed. 'Excessive force'. Aizawa still had Endeavour's blood on him. He had burns all over his skin from him. The detectives who'd interviewed him had skirted around the issue of whether or not Aizawa had actually tried to kill Endeavor, and Aizawa was more than content to not discuss it.

His answer would almost certainly get him into a world of trouble if he did.

He'd regrouped with Hizashi afterwards. Unlike Aizawa, Hizashi had showered and changed and had actually gotten proper medical care for his own burns.

"You really should let them treat you here," Hizashi had told him as they sat, waiting for news, any kind of news. Hizashi had handed him a cup of fruit and water, telling him to eat to keep his strength up.

"I'll wait for Chiyo," He was stubborn, he supposed, but Aizawa typically refused medical treatment from anyone he didn't know unless he had critical injuries. A few burns, though painful, were nothing he couldn't handle. He'd expressed as much to the doctors here, but they'd insisted, so he'd had them call Recovery Girl to the hospital to treat him.

Hizashi's fingers were bandaged from where he'd taken the worst of his burns. Aizawa felt a pang of guilt looking at them.

He didn't speak. Aizawa Shouta was a man of few words, and actions always spoke louder than words. He slumped over, leaning his head on Hizashi's shoulder, and breathed a long sigh. The sun was rising through the windows of the ICU ward of the hospital, painting the sky in pinks and yellows, and Aizawa alternated between watching the sunrise and watching the clock above the nurses' station, counting every minute as it passed.

Hizashi eventually leaned his head on Aizawa's, and they sat in the small, clinical ICU waiting room, Aizawa with an unopened container of food in his hands and Hizashi with bandaged burns all over his body, both of them with newfound temporary custody over Todoroki Shouto.

------

"He needs some rest," He hears the doctor tell the other two in the room.

"We'll let him sleep," That's Yamada's voice, speaking softly in his usual almost melodic tone. "Don't worry, we won't let anyone bother him too much."

"Use the call button if anything comes up."

With that, the door opens and closes, and Todoroki is left alone with his two teachers.

God, he'd been so stupid . If he just hadn't said what he had to his father, hadn't snapped at him, he wouldn't be in this situation. But he'd said something to set his father off, and he'd caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people, and now he's stuck in this hospital, in this bed, hardly able to move around much due to the pain, not even able to think or do normal things because his head is fogged up.

He grits his teeth, and forces himself to look at the other two in the room.

They're in the same spot Shouto had seen them in earlier. Yamada is flipping through some magazine and doesn't notice him, but Aizawa-sensei sits up, arms crossed, and immediately catches his eyes. There's no hiding now, because Aizawa's looking straight at him, and Todoroki can't drop his gaze. Instead, he notices things he'd been too distracted to notice earlier.

The front of Aizawa's sweater is far more bloodstained than the back of it, and he remembers the doctor saying that Aizawa hasn't willingly left his side at all. There's a small burn, red and white around the edges and half-covered with a bandage, at the edge of Aizawa's jawline, just barely creeping out of the scarf he wears around his neck. Yamada's fingers are heavily bandaged, as is one side of his neck, and there's no doubt in Todoroki's mind that there's burns under there, too.

"I'm sorry," Is all that comes out.

"Why?" Aizawa immediately counters, his usual expression not changing in the least.

"You guys were injured because of me."

"It's a burn. A few burns," Aizawa tells him simply. "You don't think I've had someone burn me before? It's nothing."

Yamada's looking up at him now, too, having tucked the magazine under his chair.

"Why did you help me?"

He needs to know, because no one's cared enough to do anything about it until now. Or maybe they'd just been too afraid of his father.

"Because you called me," Aizawa answered him. "I made a promise to you, didn't I?"

He did. Shouto remembers that part clearly at least. Still, it continues to baffle him.

"Where am I going to go now?"

If his father's in prison and his mother is indefinitely in the hospital and his sister isn't prepared to take him in, there's really nowhere for him.

"You can either come home with us, or I'll find you a foster family."

Aizawa-sensei says it like it's the most natural course of action, like it's the most rational one. There's no way Todoroki can miss what he's offering, and a mixture of fear and something else entirely roots itself in his chest. It's weird, and he can't really imagine it—two of his teachers, his high school teachers taking him in. At the same time, though, he remembers the strange warmth he'd felt the day they'd taken him in for a few hours.

"You're serious…?"

Finally, Aizawa's expression does change, and his lips pull upwards into the odd smirk he's gotten used to seeing on his homeroom teacher's face, "We wouldn't have asked for temporary custody of you if we hadn't been serious about taking you in. Have some faith in me."

Todoroki lays back as much as he can, ignoring the burning in his side and head, and shuts his eyes, "I'm tired."

"Sleep, then," Aizawa tells him. "You don't have to decide now."

He wants to decide now.

In reality, he's made up his mind. But he doesn't say anything. He lets himself drift off, having gotten permission to sleep. His head buzzes and hurts and there's a lot to take in still, and he's not even sure that he's gotten it all, but it's enough for now. More than enough.

Somehow, he feels safe here, even if it is confusing and horrible and even if he does hate hospitals. At the very least, maybe there's two people who care about him. Maybe.

------

Hizashi takes to looking through his phone as Aizawa watches over Todoroki. He hadn't wanted to step into their conversation, as it was something that Todoroki had to specifically clear up with Aizawa and not with him. He looks through his newsfeeds, his emails, his social media accounts, and the exact same thing is all over them. Eventually, Hizashi glances up, seeing Todoroki fast asleep in the hospital bed, tubes and wires attached to him, and he frowns at him.

He checks to see that Aizawa's still awake, and Aizawa's dark eyes meet his.

"So," Hizashi eases out. "When are we gonna tell him about the media?"