Archive of Our Own ^beta

UA must've been really desperate to fill their gap if they had to hire newly retired ex-pro hero Hawks as a substitute teacher. 

Retirement was a strong word, his handlers told him often. Sure, his wings would take months to grow back fully, and that wasn't even counting how long it would take for the rest of his injuries to heal, but he was young. He had time to spare, time to bounce back. He would make it back up there.

Hawks didn't want to make it back up there.

He must've been drunk when he signed the papers UA sent him. He wasn't in the right state of mind to be around children, let alone impart valuable wisdom upon them. All he wanted to do was lie around in his apartment that he didn't pay for and be useless. God knew he was useless enough as he was, so he thought he should embrace it. But there really was no rest for the wicked, and on an excruciatingly bright Monday morning, he found himself at the UA gates. 

His ID picture, gratefully, did not include a picture of him as he was. The Hawks in his ID picture - a fresh, bright eyed twenty - wouldn't look twice at him now.

The Hawks in his ID picture was an idiot.

He entered the classroom, and the whispers around him died down. He was still wearing an eyepatch, his wings were more or less skin and bones, and his foot dragged behind him in a cast. He looked like shit. Of course he needed graveyard-level silence for his entrance.

"Midnight used to teach you Modern Hero Art History, right?" he asked when he made it to the front of the room, leaning heavily on the podium. He could tell that they were still uncomfortable referring to her in the past tense. Hawks was all too used to it, but he softened his tone just a little. They're still children. "Well I don't know anything about that, and I definitely can't teach it as well as Midnight could, so I'm not going to try."

They nodded, the students. All somber and funeral chic. A few of them were wearing black ties with their uniforms. And still, they looked to him with a faint glimmer in their eyes, ready to learn. Even Tokoyami was looking at him as if he were a real teacher, rather than a broken shell of a hero sent to the countryside to live out his dying days. 

"Since we're not learning that, what do you guys think I should teach? I'm all ears." He thought about it a little on the commute (train, since he couldn't fly). They had English and literature and math and science already, not that he was ever great at any of those. They had hero courses in fighting and training, not that he could do much of either of those things. All he could do was tell war stories about battles he fought, and he knows they've heard enough of those. They've lived enough of those.

He sees students on the battlefield, struck down by intentional attacks. He sees flashes of them in fits of consciousness. Every time he opens his eyes, there's only more bloodshed, only more students. He stops opening his eyes, soon enough.

"On second thought," he said before any of them could pipe up with ideas, "I have a better plan. For the rest of the period, you guys can do whatever you want. It's a free period! Do your homework, study, talk to your friends, nap, whatever. You don't get many breaks, do you?"

"No sir, but shouldn't we be learning something with our time?" a blue haired boy asked, a little louder than Hawks' sensitive hearing was ready for. He tried not to wince, but he could tell that the boy noticed, because his face crumpled a little. "We all appreciate a break, but since we're first years-"

"Since you're first years, you should be resting most of all," Hawks cut him off. "You have two more years before you're out of here. Second year will be full of trial internships, and third year with managers and companies and public appearances. For now, you will rest."

He could tell that some of them were restless. Maybe they wanted him to say a few words on Midnight's behalf. He wasn't there for the funeral, having been incapacitated at the time, but he didn't know much about her anyway. A few rumors here and there, none of them particularly savory. It didn't feel right for him to talk about her to people who knew her better than he ever did.

Maybe they wanted a distraction. This was their first time in school in a week, and he doubted that they thought of anything but the battle since it ended. His distraction of choice, of course, was alcohol, something he had never had the opportunity to indulge in before. Even after he was of legal age, his handlers would have sooner put him on heroin, since at least he would be able to work on it. They let him have his booze now, however.  As they were still too young for that - fifteen year olds on the battlefield - he had nothing to give them.

He had... nothing. 

He spent the rest of the period staring at the ceiling, periodically looking back around at the students to see that they were still alive. A few times, he excused one of them to go to the bathroom, tears already spilling over in their eyes. Some of them didn't bother leaving at all, just put their heads down on folded arms. And what did he, golden number two hero Hawks, do about it? He looked back up and pretended not to see it. It's more merciful to them, not to expose their weakness.

It's easier for me, to not have to face my own.

He didn't expect to bump into Eraserhead in the teacher's room, but by the time he processed his presence, it was too late to leave. The man looked absolutely terrible, no sugarcoating whatsoever. 

"'Lo, Eraser," he said dumbly, watching the man drag himself to the coffeepot. "Didn't think we'd ever be coworkers, huh." His half-joke fell completely flat. They both knew why Hawks was a teacher now, and it wasn't anything funny. If he didn't look like shit himself, he was sure that Eraserhead would have snapped at him. Instead, he didn't even look over.

"How were they?" he asked, voice a low rumble. His eyes stayed trained on his mug. It was bright pink, with a fishnet design. Hawks realized a second later that it was probably Midnight's mug. "The class, I mean."

"They're coping," Hawks supplied weakly. "They're making it through." Somewhat. They have no other choice.

Eraserhead nodded. "They're strong kids." But how strong can they be? When will they crack? "I believe in them." How much is your belief worth? Who are you trying to convince?

"They're strong," Hawks agreed, Hawks lied. "Your kids. They'll make good heroes."

Eraserhead didn't respond to that, which was deserved. Neither of them could positively think that far into the future. Neither of them could truly face the fact that, for all good and bad, the kids already were heroes.

"Sir, are we having another break today?" the blue haired kid asked, and Hawks met his eyes. He had a good amount of respect for the kid; he was the only one who had spoken up the day before, and he was the only one speaking up now. 

"We are," he replied. "What's your name, by the way?"

"I-Iida Tenya," the boy said, only stumbling a little bit. Hawks had a sudden revelation. Iida. That's Ingenium's name. He looks the same as him, too. No wonder this boy is more composed than the rest of them. He's been through it before.

He was about to say something about Tensei, maybe mention one of the patrols that they went on, but bit his tongue. He doesn't want to hear about the days when he could use his legs now that he can't. Is it my place to bring up those memories to him, right in the midst of yet another tragedy?

"Yes, another break," he said instead, and Iida gave him a tense nod, sitting back down.

There were fewer criers this time, and he felt guilty at the pang of relief he got from this. They're healing quickly. No, they're pushing it down. Saving it for a rainy day. They have psychologists at this school, right?

He dismissed them dismally, not meeting any of their eyes. 

"How are they?"

"They're... doing their best."

"And how is their best?"

"It's..."

"I know. I know."

He got through the rest of the week without breaking down in class. The blue haired boy every day without fail asked if they were learning, and the answer was always the same. Break day, break day, break down day, build back up day.

By Thursday, the criers learned to keep their tears in. By Friday, he heard someone make a joke. They're healing. But he couldn't help but feel like they were plants in a dark box, growing towards a single speck of light. Sure, they were growing, but bent, misshapen, twisted.

On Monday, however, something changed. He got two new students.

"Midoriya, Bakugou, welcome," he said, noting the two empty seats now filled. They too were bandaged and lethargic, but their presence lifted the spirits of the whole class. Until that moment, Hawks hadn't known that there was a possibility that they would die. 

"Lemme see your notes for this class," he heard Bakugou ask the girl beside him, who quickly responded that they hadn't taken any. Bakugou looked right up at Hawks, catching his eye, and nodded, as if to say I see what you're doing. Knowing the little that he does about Bakugou, Hawks expected him to start raging about how this class was wasting his time, or at least give him the stink eye. Instead, he stuck his headphones over his ears and closed his eyes.

When Midoriya stood up to use the bathroom, he winced. Hawks couldn't imagine how much he had been healed already by the hospital staff, and still it wasn't enough. He shouldn't have been in school at all, and yet there he was, notebook on his desk, ready to take notes that could never protect him from what was out there. How could they teach English class, literature, math, science? What could they teach these kids that would protect them out there?

He joined them for once at their hero training. It was technically his lunch break, but he had to see. He needed to know that they were being properly prepared for what's out there. Don't be an idiot, Keigo. This is UA we're talking about. The top of the top. They're taught by All Might, and Eraserhead, and other experienced pro heroes.

He sees blood, so much blood. Sinking between the cracks in the rubble, pooling around him in a steady strem. He sees flames, shooting out from all directions, and he sees angry red flesh turning black under the heat.

He joined their hero training. Eraserhead looked surprised to see him, but then waved him over to stand beside him.

"We know what we're doing," he said, like he could read Hawks' mind, but he didn't sound offended. Rather, he was almost trying to convince him. "Just watch." 

Hawks watched. The students first started in one on one matches, as they apparently usually did. He expected Bakugou and Midoriya to sit this one out, since they still had their hospital wristbands on, but they sparred too, just as aggressively. If his handler was watching, she would say that these were markers of a good hero in training: fighting through the pain, not taking too much time off, keeping it all in. All of it just gave Hawks a bad taste in his mouth.

They moved on to rescue training, and Hawks was on alert. The students were split, with half of them acting as victims in dilapidated buildings and the other half playing heroes to save them. He could see rubble, crushing limbs, crushing whole people, burying them alive. 

He dug his claws into his hands and forced himself to stay in place. Nothing good would come from him wigging out in the middle of what was apparently normal training. Best case scenario, he would just make a fool of himself.

Then one of the buildings collapsed suddenly, with the frog girl inside, and he couldn't help but launch himself forward.

If he had his wings, he probably would've made it there in time, or at least had some of his feathers do the job for him. But he didn't, and Eraserhead's grip on his arm, sudden and iron-strong, kept him in place. The building fell, but no one moved. And a few minutes later, the "rescue team" of fifteen year olds - the boy with the tail and Tokoyami - used their quirks to get her out. It was as though all of it was normal, except for the fact that the girl emerged with her arm bent at a weird angle.

"Her arm is broken," Tokoyami declared, helping her walk on unsteady legs. "I'll escort her to the infirmary."

She's not crying, Hawks realized hazily. She's wincing, but not crying. Her arm is snapped in half, how is she not crying? The rest of the class too looked unconcerned, maybe a little sympathetic of her plight, but not too worried. He even heard a few talking lightly about their own experiences of broken limbs during training. 

"They're strong," Eraserhead murmured, and he didn't sound proud. He sounded sad.

When Iida asked the next day if they were learning, Hawks decided on the spot that the answer was yes.

"I don't have any curriculum, so don't judge me," he said, distributing loose leaf paper. "This is more of an assignment than a lesson. You have all period to do it, and it's more for your benefit than anything. There's no minimum word count, or proper format, and you won't be graded on it."

They stared at him expectantly, a few of them blankly.

"I want you to write down why you want to be heroes. Not why you wanted to be a hero when you were five, or why heroes are great. Just why you want to be a hero. If there are multiple reasons, write them all. That's the assignment."

They stared a bit more, then looked down and start writing. He could see some of them writing quickly, while others, wrote halting sentences interspersed with periods of thought. Some of them took ten minutes to start at all. But by the end of the lesson, he had twenty sheets of paper on his desk, and based on some of their expressions, he knew he got them thinking.

This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to be teaching them, not making them want to quit heroics entirely. If UA knew what I was doing, they'd fire me on the spot. He forgot, at some point, that he never wanted to be a teacher at all. I should go back to giving them a break every day. At least that was somewhat helpful to them. I should throw all of these papers out now.

But he didn't. He sat at his desk, in the office loaned to him that wasn't his, and read through them all. And at the end of the day, he had a plan.

"Do you ever want to stop teaching?"

"You're asking that question ten years too late. I'm a teacher, through and through. I've never doubted it once."

"But since you've been a teacher for so long, you know that it's different now. The world out there is getting worse and worse, especially for heroes. Don't you worry that someday the danger will come to them before they're prepared?"

"You're a pro hero. Should you be saying things like this?"

"That's why I know best of all. I know what it's like out there, and so do you, Eraserhead."

"Then to that I say that I worry every second of every day. But the only thing I can do to keep them alive is to keep teaching them. If I stop, then that's just as bad as giving them over."

"But then the responsibility wouldn't rest on you."

"I would still feel it."

He started the appointments the next day. One by one, he called each student out of the room to discuss their paper. And he started each one with a simple question.

"Do you want to be a hero?"

Half of them answered with quick agreements, spoken on impulse. A quarter of them hesitated before agreeing, and a few more gave a half-hearted yes. 

One of them gave a no. 

"Then why do you go to hero school, Todoroki?" Hawks asked, even though he knew the answer. He worked alongside the answer, once upon a time. Todoroki didn't answer that, just cocked his head to the side, like the answer was so obvious that he didn't need to say it.

"I do like helping people," he said in a small voice. "But I don't get the same rush as Midoriya or Bakugou. It's more of a pressure on me to jump into danger than it is an impulse. When I don't feel like doing hero work, I feel like I am betraying someone."

"Have you told your dad that?" Hawks asked, tapping his claws on his knee.

"Once. He told me I was being selfish, and wasting a good quirk. He told me I owed it to the world to become a hero."

He sees himself, standing before a room of people, blood still under his claws from when he took the robber down. He hears them tell him that he's going to be a hero. He doesn't hear them give him a choice.

"That is... horrible," Hawks said. "I definitely encourage you to talk to someone about this. If not your father, then perhaps Eraserhead. You shouldn't have to stay in this school and pursue a career path that could kill you just because you were told to."

Todoroki nodded, and then his face clouded over. He asked to be excused, and Hawks let him go.

He had many other interviews with the other students. Most of them were steadfast in their convictions. To those, he only educated about the risks of the job, and they took them in stride. Of course they did. They already know all of the dangers, they saw them with their own eyes. They experienced them in person, on the battlefield, weaving around the bodies of their dead-

The indecisive ones were the most difficult.

"So you wanted to become a hero because... you wanted girls to like you," Hawks said, facing Mineta. He tried not to let the disgust show on his face. He knew a good number of pros just like this boy, and they were fine heroes. Not great, but fine. 

"Right," Mineta responded, shifting in his seat. 

"And you still want to be a hero?"

"I'm... not sure." Well you could die for not sure, so choose wisely. Hawks crossed and uncrossed his fingers rhythmically.

"Look," he said placatingly. "I'd like you to go home and really think about if this is what you want. You've now seen what real battle is like, and what comes from real battle. It's up to you to decide if you really want to stay."

"So you don't think that my reasons for staying are strong enough?" he asked. 

No. Not at all. In this business, definitely not, especially now. "That's up to you to decide."

A few days later, he heard from Eraserhead that Mineta decided to switch out of UA and pursue a different career. Hawks wasn't remorseful, not at all, but he did feel a little guilty that he didn't tell Eraserhead first about what he was doing.

"I didn't want-" he started, and the man cut him off.

"You did the right thing, in my opinion," he said tiredly. "I didn't think Mineta would last very long anyway."

"Then why didn't you expel him in the first place?" Hawks had to ask. At this, Eraserhead looked pained. 

"We need all the heroes we can get," he finally said, and Hawks felt that hit right in his chest. They can't afford to expel a student. Even if the student doesn't really want to be a hero, or doesn't have the right priorities, they need people. They need fighters.

"I understand," he said, leaving the room. He wished he could be mad, but it was only the truth. He was still waiting on the part where it would set him free.

 Mineta's replacement was a boy named Shinsou, who's cold eyes suggested that he'd seen much different things than the rest of the students. He hadn't been there for the battle, but he looked like he knew what it was like to lose. When Hawks gave him the assignment, he returned the paper with a single sentence written in thick black ink.

I want to be a hero so I can save the people who need saving.

The next day, he was called into Principal Nezu's office to "chat." 

"Are you enjoying your time here, Hawks?" he asked, offering him some tea.

Hawks shook his head at the offer. "It's different than hero work," he said, which was the truth. It wasn't a real answer, but it was the only appropriate one he could give. I can't tell if I'm making the students more miserable or if they're making me more miserable. They were good kids, all of them, but they were pedigrees being trained for the big show, and not everyone left that show.

Nezu hummed, and Hawks could tell that he knew what he was omitting. He never liked talking to Nezu. It always felt like he was being toyed with. "I suppose that's true. Now onto the real business. Are you trying to make students quit UA?"

It was exactly what Hawks expected, yet he still fumbled for an answer. "No, I just- If they don't want to be heroes, I don't think they should be here."

"But they wouldn't be here if they didn't want to be heroes, would they?" Hawks' mind flashed to Todoroki. Not necessarily. "They all went through rigorous testing to be here."

"But they didn't know what they were signing up for," he replied. "They didn't know anything about being a hero besides for what they saw on TV. I feel that now that they have real experience, they should be thinking their choice over again. I don't want them to quit, but I don't want them to stay if they don't want to either. They should know that they have a choice." One that I never had.

Again, it felt like Nezu was probing into his mind and playing with his thoughts. "Is it not better to have pro heroes who got experience early on? Surely that will help in their training-"

"Like it helped Midnight? And Crust? And countless other pros?" Hawks interceded, scratching his nails in his palm. He wanted to pull his hair out, to reach across the oversized desk and grab Nezu by the collar and ask him how many lives a peaceful future would cost. How many of them he would watch march to their deaths for the sake of the possibility of a day of rest.

Eighteen year old Hawks became a hero because he had no other option, no other skills. Twenty three year old Hawks kept fighting so that one day, no one would have to fight anymore, and heroes would be obsolete. Twenty four year old Hawks wondered if they would ever reach that point.

"We found a replacement teacher," Nezu said, like he didn't hear anything he said, and Hawks blinked. "They will start this Monday. I do thank you for being a substitute teacher for this long. Your payment has already been sent to your agency."

Figures. I'm surprised I lasted this long. Do nothing and UA looks the other way, but make the students think about their own lives and it's time to go.

"Thank you for my time here," he said, pasting on a tight smile. "I will make the rest of the week count."

"Enjoy the rest of your day!" Nezu chirped, and Hawks felt his eyes on his back the whole way out of the office.

"Did you hear? I got sacked."

"Are you surprised? I've worked here for years and I still wouldn't try what you did."

"What can I say? I had nothing to lose."

"Your job. And you did."

"Small potatoes. I'll spend the rest of my retirement actually retiring."

"I'm sure. I hope you see Nezu's perspective, even a little bit."

"Why?"

"You know more than anyone that nothing is black and white. I'd hate for you to think poorly of UA because of your time here."

"Are you being sarcastic, Eraserhead?"

"At this point, it's anyone's guess, including mine. I just say what comes to mind."

"I'll miss our fun conversations."

"You have an odd definition of fun."

"So I'm told."

"So you have one day left, right? What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, Eraserhead? I'm going to teach, of course."

"This is a little abrupt, but this is my last day as your teacher," he told the class on Friday morning. "I know I haven't taught you, well, anything, but I hope you took something from this about being a hero."

They stare, the students, not unfriendly-like. If he had to describe their faces, he'd say they were impassive. Maybe a little confused that he was leaving just as suddenly as he came.

"I figured for my last day, I'd talk to you all about my experience as a hero." Back when I was one. Thinking about his past put a sour taste in his mouth, but he wanted to share it. 

"Thank you for teaching us all this time, sir," Iida said, standing up by his seat, and Hawks wanted to ruffle his hair and give him some fried chicken and send him to a school where he could become a good businessman and live to his eighties with full function of all of his limbs.

Instead, he said, "Thank you, Iida," and sat down at his desk. "These stories aren't particularly inspirational or happy, but they're real, and you kids deserve to hear them."

They kept staring, and he cleared his throat.

He told them about the first time he went on patrol with Rumi, which was also his first major run in with property damage. They caught the villain, but an entire apartment building was destroyed in the process. He told them about the pain in the tenants' eyes, watching their home get wrapped in yellow tape.

He told them about bad press, which they were just being introduced to, but didn't know the full extent of. He told them about people calling him cocky, uncaring, narrow minded, and those were the vanilla ones. The unofficial posts in the corners of the internet were always so much worse. His handlers used to use them as motivation for him to do better. They never made him do better.

He told them about being tortured, more than once, and having to cling to the faint hope that he would either escape or be saved, otherwise he would lose his mid. He told them about saving others from similar fates, seeing their wild eyed insanity after only a few days missing. He told them about his recovery, and how some people never made it that far. 

He told them about sidekicks, partners, even interns lost. He didn't tell them the statistic of 5% of heroes starting at eighteen not making it to twenty five, but he knew that they knew it. They had to know it. One out of twenty. 

He told them about career ending injuries and retirement, permanent retirement, at forty five, with just wrecked joints and weary limbs if you were lucky. He told them about loneliness, as much as he knew at 24, and he watched them absorb it.

"You all know the good parts about being a hero," he said at the end, voice rough with overuse. "I have a thousand happy stories about being a hero, a million about saving people and getting thank you notes and going to parties. Everyone knows those stories. But you should know them all, since you're dedicating your lives to heroics."

He coughed, scratched his neck. Maybe I'm laying it on the death a bit thick. These are kids I'm talking to. If they're going to be heroes, I should send them off with a blessing.

"I know you all," he finished. "I've taught you for three weeks now, and I've seen you work. Whatever you do, you will make your teachers proud, and you will make me proud." His words weren't empty, even if they were uncharacteristically optimistic. He could see heat in them. Maybe not the strong flames that had been burning there before the battle, but embers all the same.

The students stared, eyes softer now, emotions leaking through. He could see Midoriya wiping his face, and most of the students had glossy eyes. But he was most surprised to see Iida blinking hard, lips pressed together.

"We will, sir," Iida's strained voice rang out. "We will make you proud."

The bell rang, and class was dismissed. As the students filed out, whispering amongst themselves, he felt the tiniest glimmer of relief settle into him.