Archive of Our Own ^beta

The monitors in the room glowed with fire and smoke. Even through grainy feeds, the destruction was unmistakable. Entire blocks of Kamino crumbled beneath the clash of the two titans.

Aizawa stood stiff beside Nezu’s chair, his eyes locked on the central screen where All Might and All for One traded blows. Every shockwave rattled the helicopter where the reporter was sheltered, shaking the camera and kicking up clouds of grit and sparks.

“His form is slipping,” Vlad murmured under his breath. His tone was clinical, but his knuckles were white on the edge of the table, trembling ever so slightly.

Present Mic’s foot tapped incessantly against the floor. “C’mon, Yagi. Don’t give him an inch. Don’t–”

“Focus.” Aizawa’s voice was low, but it carried a distinct sharpness. His eyes widened as the camera pulled out, refocusing on something almost peripheral to the clash of legends. A frozen ramp, jutting like a blade from the chaos. Figures climbing, flying outward.

His stomach lurched.

“That’s–” Mic leaned closer. “Holy crap, those are the kids.”

They were. Iida, Midoriya, and Kirishima sprinted up the slick incline with their quirks, silhouettes clear against the fires. The ice ramp could only mean one thing: Todoroki stood at the bottom.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “Idiots,” he hissed.

“Resourceful,” Nezu corrected mildly. His paws folded neatly. “They’re closer to rescuing Bakugo than anyone else at the moment.”

The ice crunched under Iida’s armored feet as he powered upward, Midoriya and Kirishima running beside him as they flew off the ice and into the air. The heat from the battle pressed at them from below, scorching the air itself.

“Kirishima, now!” Midoriya shouted, throat raw.

The hardened boy shouted for his friend below, reaching out his hand.

Bakugo’s face appeared, teeth bared. He launched himself with a deafening blast, palms crackling. His hand shot out, wild and desperate.

Kirishima stretched, eyes blazing. “Got you, man!”

Their palms collided, grip locking like iron. For a heartbeat, triumph surged through them all. Bakugo was here, safe. They were going to make it–

Shouting from below. A villain–Compress–rocketed toward them. No, no, no. They were so close.

Mount Lady suddenly appeared, blocking the villain’s approach with her face. They could still make it!

Midoriya saw it first. His blood went cold. The marbles Compress had thrown, still hurdling toward them, an unknown danger. They’ll hit Kirishima. They’ll hit Iida. Bakugo–

His body moved before he could think. He shoved forward, slamming his friends forward to push them out of the line of fire.

Impact.

A shard of concrete spun upward like a bullet and punched clean through his shoulder, exiting in a spray of blood. Another projectile smashed into his ribs with the crunch of breaking bone.

Midoriya gasped, air gone, as the world snapped white with pain. His body convulsed, limbs going slack. One for All crackling out. For a sickening movement, he was weightless.

“Midoriya!” Kirishima’s scream cracked through the air.

Iida twisted, engines roaring as he lunged, catching Midoriya around the torso before gravity could pull him down. The boy’s weight sagged against him, limp. Hot blood soaked into his uniform.

Kirishima’s arms trembled as he held onto Bakugo and Midoriya, veins straining in his neck. “I can’t–dammit–”

Below, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu rushed around the battle to where their classmates might land. Yaoyorozu was already creating strips of fabric and bandages, hands shaking violently. “We need to find them and put pressure on that wound–now!”

The feed shook again, distorting from smoke, but the image was clear enough. Aizawa’s entire body was rigid. He saw it all–Midoriya getting hit, blood splattering against the ice, the kids screaming.

Present Mic swore violently, hands fisting in his hair. “No, no, no–”

Nezu’s calm broke, just a hair. His ears tilted back. “This is… regrettable.”

Aizawa’s voice was a rasp. “Regrettable?” His fists clenched so hard his nails bit skin. “They’re children, Nezu.”

Vlad cleared his throat, but even he sounded strained. “It might not be that bad. They retrieved Bakugo.”

“At what cost?” Aizawa snapped. He should have been there. His eyes burned into the screen, tracking every stutter of Midoriya’s shallow chest.

Mic’s voice cracked. “Shouta…”

“Don’t.” Aizawa’s voice was low, venomous. His heart hammered against his ribs, but his body betrayed nothing but coiled steel. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

“Keep running!” Iida’s voice shook as much as his legs as he thundered down the streets, Midoriya cradled in his arms like a child, trying to get to the meet-up point they’d agreed on with Yaoyorozu and Todoroki. The boy was frighteningly light, his head bobbing against Iida’s shoulder.

Kirishima stumbled alongside, still half-hauling Bakugo. His face was pale under the grime, mouth working soundlessly.

“Shit,” Bakugo muttered. “Damn idiots.” His grip was white-knuckled, his face twisted, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes burned holes in Midoriya’s limp form.

They turned a corner, almost colliding with the other duo in their haphazard group. Todoroki and Yaoyorozu took just a moment to stare in shock before leaping into action.

Yaoyorozu pressed fabric into the bleeding wound, her hands already slick with red. “We need a hospital. Now! If an artery–if–”

“Don’t say it!” Kirishima snapped. His voice cracked, breaking high.

Another roar split the sky. All Might and All for One clashed again, shockwaves rattling the streets. For one frozen instant, the kids saw it–All Might’s gaunt frame, the monstrous silhouette of his enemy, the crumbling skeleton of Kamino collapsing under their battle.

Gods at war. And they were just kids running beneath their feet.

“Stay awake, Midoriya!” Iida shouted as the boy’s head lolled to the side. “Just a little longer!”

Alarms blared in UA’s conference room as feeds cut out. Aizawa’s eyes didn’t move from the corner screen showing the children’s escape.

“They’re headed for the perimeter,” Nezu narrated softly, though no one asked. “If they can keep ahead of the villains–”

“They won’t hold if Midoriya bleeds out before they reach help,” Aizawa bit. His throat felt raw, and his eyes burned, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

On-screen, Todoroki conjured another massive wall of ice to slow any pursuit.

Mic finally broke the silence, slamming his palm on the table. “Nezu, we can’t just sit here and let them bleed out!”

Nezu’s eyes flicked to him, then to Aizawa. “Your students have proven resourceful before. Do you trust them?”

Aizawa’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. His nails dug crescents into his palms. The word yes hovered, bitter and sharp.

Instead, he growled, “Patch me through to one of them.”

Yaoyorozu’s phone rang, just as she pulled it out. Static crackled before a voice cut in, harsh and sharp. “Status.”

Relief and panic surged at once. Yaoyorozu nearly sobbed into the comm. “Sensei–he’s hurt badly–Midoriya. We can’t stop the bleeding.”

“Calm down,” Aizawa snapped. The edge in his tone froze them, forced air into their lungs. “Yaoyorozu, keep pressure on the wound. Don’t lift it. Todoroki, cover their escape until you’re out of range. Iida–”

“I’m carrying him, Sensei,” Iida choked. Blood dripped down his arm with every step.

“Then don’t stop moving. Do not stop for anything. Get him to a hospital.” A pause, harsh breath. “... I’ll meet you there.”

The hospital doors slammed open, students stumbling inside covered in soot and blood. Nurses froze for a heartbeat in the chaos already around them before surging forward.

“Critical! Puncture wound, multiple fractures! Likely lung perforation.” Yaoyorozu cried out, her voice breaking. She was covered in his blood to the elbows, her new and fun outfit now gruesome.

Iida laid Midoriya onto a stretcher, an oxygen mask clamped over his face, IVs rammed into his arm. His head lolled, blood still seeping from under sodden bandages.

“Wait–please–” Kirishima reached, but a nurse shoved him back. The doors slammed shut behind them.

The kids stood frozen in the antiseptic hallway, breaths heaving, blood caked on their skin. None of them spoke. Bakugo’s hands twitched at his sides. His teeth ground audibly, but he said nothing.

An hour later, the ER doors burst open again–not with doctors, but with a man in black. Aizawa stormed down the hall, hair hanging in dark tangles, capture scarf dragging like a shadow.

The students jerked upright, eyes wide and some red-rimmed.

He didn’t look at them at first. His gaze locked straight on the operating room doors, sharp and unyielding. When he finally turned to them, his face was stone. “Report.”

Voices tripped over each other. Panicked fragments, apologies, sobs. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He absorbed every word and comforted his kids.

Then, finally, he exhaled. His shoulders sagged, fractionally. His eyes softened as they flicked to the still blood-stained floor.

“Damn problem child,” he muttered to himself.

But when his hand lifted, it was steady as it landed briefly on Iida’s shoulder, grounding him. “You did the right thing. All of you. He’s alive because of that.”

The words rang hollow in the sterile hallway, knowing later their teacher would unleash hell on them for going out on their own. But the grip was real, unshakable.

The hallway had emptied hours ago. Machines hummed behind the operating room doors, steady and impersonal. Aizawa hadn’t moved from the hard plastic chair outside, his scarf coiled around him and his eyes gritty from watching sterile walls instead of feeds filled with smoke. He had sent the others to be checked on and picked up after an hour, despite their protests.

When the door finally opened, a nurse stepped out, pale but composed. “He’s stable. Still weak, but awake enough to talk for a few minutes.”

Aizawa was on his feet before she finished.

The room smelled of disinfectant and singed cloth. Midoriya lay half-propped on the bed, shoulder swathed in layers of gauze, oxygen tubing threading across his face. The monitors beeped slowly and steadily.

Midoriya’s eyelids fluttered. “S-Sensei…?”

Aizawa stepped closer, the relief sharp enough to sting. “Don’t move. You’re full of sitches and painkillers.”

Midoriya tried a faint smile, lips cracked. “D-did… Did we get Kacchan back?”

Aizawa exhaled through his nose. “He’s safe. You kids got him.” A beat of silence, softer now. “At the expense of half your blood volume and several bones.”

Midoriya’s laugh came out as a breathy rasp. “Worth it.”

“Problem Child,” Aizawa said, but it lacked heat. He dragged a chair to the bedside, sitting heavily. “You scared the hell out of everyone, kid.”

Midoriya’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling, eyes glassy with exhaustion. “Sorry… I didn’t think. I just saw Compress’s marbles…”

“I know.” His voice dropped, rough. “You never do when someone else is in danger. You shouldn’t have been there, kid.”

Midoriya blinked slowly, as if that were almost funny. “Guess that’s… kind of my thing.”

Aizawa rubbed a hand over his face, fatigue rolling off him in waves. “It’s going to stop being your thing if you keep ending up in hospital beds.” Then, quieter, “Rest. We’ll talk when you’re not drugged so you can properly understand the situation.”

Midoriya’s eyes slipped shut, but a small, content sound left him. “Okay, Sensei.”

Aizawa watched until his breathing evened out again, the monitor’s steady rhythm syncing with his own pulse. Only then did he lean back, muttering to the quiet room, “Don’t make me watch you die next time.”

The boy didn’t hear him, but Aizawa said it anyway.