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The Heroics Faculty have rapidly had to adjust to the presence of Midoriya Izuku in their midst, and they have found that they don't truly mind. Particularly when the kid so clearly needs the quiet and safety of the room, away from too-familiar spaces and his class who have died in front of him or who he has killed, whose blood have been on his hands time and again-
So, yes, the Heroics faculty are now becoming well-used to the teenager's presence, and they don't blame him at all for needing the break. They just do their best not to trigger him.
(None of them had missed how, a few weeks ago now, when Hizashi had tripped over, slipping on a dropped pencil and sprawling backwards, falling with a thud to the ground, crying out, legs splayed at not-right angles, both Izuku and Shouta had instantly snapped. They had surged forwards from across the room, pale enough that their rose and silver scars had stood out like sunsets and stars in the worst ways, pulling Hizashi up, something wild in their eyes, shoulders pressed together as though to protect the air behind them from some foe unseen.
They had calmed down, or begun to, at least, the moment that Hizashi was on his feet and speaking to them both, wincing over the hard fall but blatantly alright. And none of the faculty had dared to push then, in that moment, but they had known that what they saw was not what Izuku and Shouta had seen.
They knew with how Shouta had shamelessly run a hand down Hizashi's side, all the way down to his knees, and with how Izuku had pressed a steadying touch, too-firm against the underground hero's back, a reassurance and pressure and grounding point.
They knew with how careful Hizashi was. How calm he was, laughing off the blatant hurt of falling so hard on his tailbone with, even whilst he met Shouta's eyes, squeezing each of his family's shoulders with hands far steadier than theirs. How he spoke rapidly but calmly, no panic or stress to his tone, only assurance that he's alright, really, just slipped like an idiot on a pencil that someone left behind, honestly-
So, yes, the faculty has long-since seen the realities of what those damned loops have meant for their colleague and student. They have done their best, based upon that, to keep even the seemingly-innocuous things that now seem to present an issue away from the pair wherever possible.)
And the faculty like to think that they've been doing a fairly decent job. They don't loom in either Izuku or Shouta's peripheral vision, they do not talk about the USJ, they try to avoid mentions of any specific things that they know the two experienced, things like being thrown into fountains (Cementoss, in particular, has to resist the urge to tell one of his own frankly hilarious patrol stories involving a fountain, one that he usually tells at least once a month because it's a damn good story, okay?) or being in burning buildings.
But a lack of triggers does not guarantee complete mental stability or contentment. It doesn't mean that Izuku or Shouta are guaranteed to have good days, or to not flinch at fast movements or reaching hands, even if the hand is only reaching for a paper on the edge of a desk.
As such, it's a bit of a given that when either of them come in to nap, there are the occasional nightmares of some sort. And today, it's not entirely a surprise, nor is it the first time, that the kid who has come in to nap with Shouta in sight has started to fall into what must be one of said nightmares, all shifting eyes and twitching fingers, the moue of distaste, the tension of too-tight limbs.
Nor is it a surprise that Shouta is the first one to notice. (The way that the two are attuned to each other is... It's remarkable, and frankly a little terrifying, in a sense, because it shows all too well some level of what they must have gone through together, the reliance upon each other, to have been able to even learn such depths of each other, to have such an awareness of breathing and emotions and the tiniest of movements. How, sometimes, Izuku will step up to Shouta before they themselves even think that anything might be wrong, will pass him the apparently-shared knife that is typically on Izuku's person but they all knew to belong to Shouta first, and tap a little rhythm onto whatever solid surface is available, a wall or desk most likely, something that isn't a breathing rhythm but which is the same every time all the same that is the sound of Izuku's dying heartbeat because it is a miserable sound but it is their sound now, familiar and aching and grounding.)
The teenager, curled up on the faculty sofa that Shouta most often occupies, the one tucked into a relatively safe corner, the underground hero's desk nearest to it, is twitching, silent to a disturbing degree beyond how his breathing is settling into something ragged, grating in the way of paper tearing sharp and slow and scraping. He isn't okay, that much is obvious.
And before even Nemuri or Hizashi or Snipe can pick up on those tiny differences, Shouta is rising slowly to his feet, leaving his paperwork, halfway through a form, to go and slink close to the teen, footsteps just-audible and his pace perfectly casual. (It's normal, to him, his usual gait, and they all know why he's walking in exactly his normal way-)
Then he's beside the sofa and crouching down, already speaking, a low litany of words almost too indistinguishable for the other heroes to pick up on and understand. Neither Hound Dog nor Nedzu are here to offer enhanced hearing, after all. He reaches up and does not touch the teen, but he does grab up his capture weapon, piling it into his hands and pulling it over his head, then setting it down in front of the kid, close to his face but carefully not against his throat or where it could get tangled around him. The teachers, for the most part rather subtly because they're heroes and for all that a lot of them are a flashier sort, they are not stupid nor incapable of said subtlety, watch on as their colleague starts to wake the teen up gradually, with less jaw-tense breaths and tight-twisting holds upon the sleeping bag that he has stolen with no effort or even true 'stealing' at all. Shouta practically gave it to him with all of an eyeroll.
But now the kid is waking up, in tense shoulders and a hand coming up to clench at the capture weapon, the other abruptly lashing out to fist in the front of Shouta's jumpsuit, the heel of his palm pressed right over the hero's heart, digging in what must be painfully, and none of those watching miss the slight flinch from the man when all of this happens.
But equally they don't miss how he leans into that touch, how he presses his chest further into the hand, lets his heartbeat thunder against the kid's palm.
"Hey, Izuku."
"Shouta?" The word is blurry, slurred, and followed up very quickly with a lurching curse,
"Shit." He's trying to shove upright, or onto his feet, clearly still a bit wild-eyed regardless of the relatively calm wake up, clutching at the capture weapon like he's going to try and use it-
"Oi," Shouta tacks on, more forceful now, words heavy as he goes on,
"We didn't break, Problem Hero."
"Shit- I-" Izuku falters, drags in a blatantly deep breath, gaze clearing at least a little more.
Then he sags back, not removing his hand from Shouta's chest but certainly lightening the pressure of his touch, rolling out his own shoulders somewhat, letting the capture weapon fall and pile into his lap,
"Yeh, we didn't break, Shouta. We didn't break." It earns him, to what the faculty can't actually see but could probably predict, a toothy-edged, soft-centred sort of grin.
"And language, kid."
"Oh, fuck off, Sensei," the kid huffs, still mostly breathless, and not at all vehement or very genuine. It's difficult not to laugh, from across the room where they're trying not to pay too much attention, and no help is likely to be needed.
"Not until you're alright, Problem Brat," Shouta returns, caught somewhere between oh-so soft and just that bit more teasing, tugging and pulling until Izuku is smiling,
"You're such a sap, Shouta."
"Don't call me out when you're just as bad," the hero huffs, shrugging a little messily. But now Izuku is beginning to grin in earnest, even with his hand still pressed to Shouta's chest, fingers curled delicately in so that there's no fingertips to press wrong-bad-bloody,
"Says the man who literally-"
"Right, Izuku, shut it. I'm absolutely willing to bribe you with a spar later, but shut it," Shouta retorts, and the entire faculty struggle not to snicker at the notable flush colouring just the very edges of his cheekbones.
"Deal."
Shouta narrows his eyes, immediately suspicious that the kid might have been angling for a spar already, but shrugs after a moment anyway, because it's not like he doesn't also enjoy their spars. He's willing to let the kid attempt to sneak his way into arranging them. And he also has little doubt that Izuku would manage it even if Shouta wasn't willing to be arm-twisted into things. His hero's far too clever, what can he say?
For now, however, he just swipes his wrist along the kid's temple, silver against dawn-pinked gold, no fingertips to tug or remind of worse things, a simple affection before the man is pushing back to his feet, offering Izuku one last look, lingering but not heavy, and returning to his desk.
The teen, for his part, reaches down to fish through his schoolbag, pulling out their current Literature text, and sets to finding his most recent page. He's still tired, admittedly, but he certainly doesn't intend to go back to sleep right now, so he might as well do something calm for the time being.
Later today, he and Shouta will set themselves up in one of the many school gyms, Hizashi there to grade and keep half of his attention on them because sometimes, when they get caught up in adrenaline and the rhythm and the heart-rush blur of a fight, it's easy to go just a little too hard, too harsh, too far. After the first time they'd gone to Recovery Girl with a fractured wrist for Shouta and pretty severely bruised ribs for Izuku, neither of which had they stopped sparring for at first, it had been pretty quickly decided that they needed a third pair of eyes with them, just to be on the safe side.
Today, they are content to start off light, simply slipping into slow, gradual movements, mock-blows as they slide their feet, settle their breathing, sink into the rhythm of warm hands and sharp elbows and catching feet.
Things speed up, bit by bit, in blinks and breaths and a palm strike that lands heavier than any of its predecessors, in a knee that comes up to knock aside a punch, Izuku throwing himself backwards in the same movement, hands on the ground even as he pivots, his other leg lashing out to try and catch Shouta in the side except the man is also moving, is lurching backwards half a step with bent knees that allow him to shove straight forwards again-
Izuku's shin collides with his shoulder, but it isn't the vicious blow to the ribs that he was hoping for, and Shouta is reaching out, all a crush of blows, palms and the edges of his hands and the bony flat where elbow meets forearm, an onslaught of blows that Izuku has to spin away from, regaining his footing with several glancing hits that hurt but don't do too much damage, because he has balance and Izuku has the chance to retaliate once more. To be able to meet Shouta blow for blow, spinning and circling and striking until they're both sure to have bruises by the time they sit down for dinner, but that's alright because whilst neither of them are grinning, too focused for that, they are still enjoying themselves, the rush of adrenaline and movement a familiar thing that may not always be safe but is always theirs. Always known.
Neither of them miss how Hizashi stands up to stretch at some point, clearly done with his marking and perhaps a little concerned that they're falling too far into harsh blows that have their bones creaking (it is odd but certainly explicable how their strikes do not seem to feel real, in a way, how the damage done is nothing but a mere half-second's attention and an awareness that they've taken a few extra hits to one particular area so that it may now affect their stances or strength slightly; they have fought through worse and dealt far worse, and they are safe, now, aren't they? They're together, at least, with no monster or cruel man-), so they begin to slow their movements once more. A vicious elbow strike becomes a just-sharp nudge, a kick becomes something more of a push-back. They slow, they settle, they keep their breathing steady, all until Izuku has a punch pulled just short of Shouta's throat, and the hero has a foot hooked around the kid's knee, an elbow within an inch of his sternum.
They both take a deep breath, and draw away until they're upright once again.
"Thanks, Shouta." The hero shrugs a little, leaning down to stretch out his legs and back a bit; they get more stiff nowadays than he would like if he doesn't fully and completely cool down.
"I should probably thank you, Izuku, for actually making me work hard."
"You always work hard," Izuku dismisses, stepping over to bump shoulders with Hizashi and accept the bottles of water and strawberry milk he's offered, returning the blond's smile without hesitation.
"Whatever. Drink your water." Izuku rolls his eyes at the underground hero but does exactly that all the same.
Over his head, Shouta and Hizashi exchange fond glances. This kid, honestly.
~~~
From over the cameras, Nedzu watches on. He observes the movements, the breathing that is in sync more than it's not, the way that they know the others' strengths and weaknesses and the tiny little idiosyncrasies of the way they fight and move and so much as breathe.
It is rare that he sees this sort of shared combative instinct exhibited, even in his near-two decades of teaching heroes. Those who grew up together, perhaps, or a few pairs and trios who trained together religiously from their first year to their third. Trauma bonding is a truly remarkable thing. Of course, Nedzu would never wish such suffering upon any of his staff or students, particularly two that he is relatively fond of, or as close to it as he can be (it's possessive and protective and something softer running beneath it all-), and yet he cannot deny that it has had a rather impressive implication on the purely analytic level.
That being said, he really must push the two more firmly towards regular therapy sessions. Honestly. The two of them are so very stubborn. Perhaps if he enlists Hizashi-kun and their own care for each other, he will make some good progress.
Regardless, Nedzu certainly will not be taking no for an answer. Perhaps he could bribe them with the chance of sparring to help the rest of Class 1-A train, even, he could certainly interfere with Toshinori's lesson plans or simply allot a lunchtime or after-school gym slot...
There is much to think about, much to plan. Nedzu's staff and students, as always, shall be in the forefront of his mind whilst doing so.
It's admittedly a little odd to see Shouta blatantly relying upon someone.
He's always accepted mugs of coffee when he's blatantly tired, or snacks when he runs out of nutrient pouches. (Which, admittedly, is a very rare occurrence, but it's a blatant indicator of being over-stretched when he does so.) He will, on occasion, accept some help with grading, albeit normally only because somebody is already halfway through stealing a stack of the more simple marking, things with quantifiable check-offs rather than free-form essays. Sometimes he even actively asks for assistance of some sort on an investigation, if any of the other faculty have a speciality or skill or patrol area that seem of good use.
But to see him actively seek someone out for something when it isn't, to his own mind, necessary, is frankly remarkable. Not necessarily entirely positive, given the context, but certainly something that could be twisted into a positive down the line.
For now, however, they simply observe from a distance as they watch Shouta hunch his shoulders, take two deep, shuddering breaths, and get his phone out to send a text or two off. It's halfway through lunch and Shouta has been blatantly on-edge for hours already, in his free periods or the times they pass him in the corridors, and now. One of his knees is bouncing, very slowly and slightly and deliberately.
"Shou?"
"Yeh. Thanks, Zashi." There is no particular meaning to the exchange obvious to anyone else, only weighted glances. But the acknowledgement from Shouta appears to be enough for the blond, because he offers one of his small, soft smiles, the ones that the other teachers know to be a Hizashi expression rather than a Present Mic one, before returning most of his attention to his own computer.
And none of them were fully expecting Izuku to turn up at a blatantly quick pace, knocking very briefly upon the faculty door except he's already coming into the room, knife in hand and a faint frown on his face.
"Shouta." It's a simple, flat word, not even a call or an acknowledgement. Either way, the underground hero is on his feet immediately, not moving forward, not sitting straight back down, just standing there, too-still, not even breathing.
"Silly man," Izuku chides quietly, somewhere between fond and heartbroken, even as he presses their knife into Shouta's hand, coming to stand next to the underground hero, shoulder to shoulder.
"I'd tell you to hush, kid," comes the response, perfectly calm except for how he's dragging in rough air around the syllables because he hasn't taken a full breath in a little bit too long already.
"But I'm obviously too amazing for that," Izuku returns, nudging the hero more firmly.
It's funny enough that several of the teachers can't help but snort quietly to themselves, albeit it's also a little bit relieved. Shouta, even if he is still not right, is blatantly better already. It's remarkable and nothing short of disconcerting how one of their students can elicit that fact.
But the faculty certainly don't blame either of them for that fact; it's far too bitterly logical of a result for that sort of reaction. No, they can only accept it, and support them both through it all.
(It's an unbelievably odd dichotomy, to see this child who is exactly that, who is a student, but who is also trusted as an equal by one of their colleagues; one who is mature and intelligent and traumatised in a way that speaks of horrors on par with if not beyond what they themselves have seen.
And Shouta, who sees them all as equals in various ways, yes, but who is ultimately someone who is very much adamant about both the fact that their students are still children, people who have to be protected, and that they need to be taught how to healthily deal with the bloody world they're being pulled into, that they do not know the truth of what they are putting themselves forward to, and that many fifteen year-olds simply are not suited to such a profession, well, he clearly sees Izuku as an equal too.
So, suffice to say, he isn't normally someone who advocates for giving their first years any more responsibility or direct experience than necessary, not until they've had some proper combat and medical training at the very least.
But he is clearly and undeniably trusting Izuku with far more than he would even a third year, and some level of that is blatantly a personal one, but to some degree it is also a pure trust thing, a faith in Izuku's abilities and intellect and judgement. So, yes, it is remarkable indeed.)
"That handwriting isn't yours," Nemuri comments, blinking over at Shouta's desk. The underground hero just looks over at her for a second, blinking heavily, then shrugs.
"No, it's not."
There are a few laughs from throughout the room, well used to how deadpan Shouta is and just how hilarious that can be. Equally, though, they're collectively a bunch of nosy parkers and they all know it, so there's no shame to how Ectoplasm leans in a little closer as well,
"Who's handwriting is it then?"
"Kid's," Shouta returns shortly, casual as you please, completely and blatantly ignoring the curious looks he gets in return. In fact, when several more people try to look at the papers, admittedly staying at their desks for the time being to do so, trying to peer at them, to see what they are.
"Well, ya sure a' focused on 'em."
"Izuku knows the class and their Quirks probably better than I do at this point, so we're taking full advantage. His notes are beyond detailed, and he knows enough about physical and Quirk training that he's been helping me formulate more individualised plans. The hellspawn are clearly going to need it."
"Are you going to go in with extra training for them?"
Shouta sighs at that, leaning back in his chair to roll out his shoulders, letting his pen go and eyes slip closed. (He looks exhausted. And the rest of the faculty are used to that, not to mention are accustomed to their own varying issues with sleep, but this is a marrow-deep weariness, something strained and pulled and tugged. They can see the conflict in his every breath.)
"I don't know yet. Maybe," he admits, and it truly does feel like a confession with the wariness, the weariness, that it is wreathed in,
"I want to try and limit it for the time being, but I would also rather know that they were supervised, if they did try to push themselves too far because they feel they need to do more. I also don't have the therapists' initial assessments back yet, so I think a lot of it will depend on that fact."
"That's fair, Shouta. If you need a second set of eyes at any point-"
"Thanks, Nemuri. I'll have to see."
"She's not the only one you could ask, either," Ectoplasm offers, accompanied by several other nods or murmurs of agreement, and they're all glad when it loosens some of the tension lining Shouta's figure.
(Hizashi, however, is the only one who truly knows what a relief it is to Shouta that he isn't alone anymore. He isn't the only adult, the only qualified hero, who has to deal with the situation. It isn't him and Izuku alone against a bloody trap of a world. And whilst they certainly still have each other, that is no longer all that they have, a fact for which both Izuku and Shouta are glad for. Or, really, that everybody is.)
"But, hey, Midoriya must be pretty bright with analysis if you're letting him contribute so heavily to your planning," the woman goes on, and Shouta shrugs a little bit too casually in return.
"He came up with or made pivotal suggestions towards most of our strategies. A lot of the ideas that worked best were his."
"Oh?"
"That's really impressive," Thirteen adds on, and Shouta nods in an agreement that's far more obviously proud of his student than they normally get to see,
"It is. He noticed the vulnerability of the Nomu's brain first, and tested out how best to take advantage of that. He did all the calculations for Shigaraki's rate of disintegration, which I wouldn't have even thought to do in an actual mathematical way, but it gave us a reliable point at which to understand how long we could afford to get hit, both in general, and in relation to specific points like ribs or throat. Then he related that back to my Quirk, so we were able to fairly accurately figure out when and for how long I could blink or look away before we were getting into lethal territory. Took some getting used to, but it was doable. Knowing that you have one and a half seconds if his hand is on your throat is more helpful than you might assume, if you can spend the first second keeping someone else alive."
"Damn," Nemuri whistles, and she is far from the only one looking impressed.
(None of them choose to highlight the fact that Shouta willingly just gave a decent level of detail on part of the loops and their fighting within that. That he just admitted how few seconds it took for a wound from Shigaraki to be lethal... Well, it's more than they've probably heard in any one sitting other than the debrief.
Somehow it doesn't surprise any of them that it would be when it's actually about Izuku.)
But Shouta only shrugs, a little overly casual, now, his own admission likely catching up to him a bit,
"Yeh, he's clever. Got a better head on his shoulders than we did at his age," the man tacks on with an exasperated glance in Nemuri's direction. She simply cackles, and the conversation moves on from there.
But the faculty won't forget both how soft their colleague is for Izuku, nor how intelligent the teen clearly is, even outside of academics. Nor how casually horrific their experience was.
There is obviously a lot of trauma and discontent and general negativity around the sudden bonding of Izuku and Shouta. Not in their bond itself, because the closest it gets to negative is their admitted co-dependence, something that they fully intend to work upon once they're more settled and steady in general, but a lot of the surrounding factors, from the nightmares that keep them awake to the inevitable misunderstandings with their friends and families.
However, there are also a lot of very positive things indeed.
One of the main ones, as far the faculty as a whole are concerned, is the absolutely adorable and only sometimes-teased way that Shouta clearly just cares so very much for Izuku, and in such a soft way, at that.
Because, sure, they're used to Shouta being at least a little bit soft on Hizashi (it's found in the way that he will always get the blond a coffee as well as himself, that how it's always made is exactly how Hizashi likes it; they know that one of the bookmarked and recent searches on his laptop will always be the Put Your Hands Up radio show; it's in the soft glances and the drifting fingertips across the back of shoulders, although of late the latter has been replaced with feet nudging calves or the brief rest of a wrist upon a shoulder-) and has been closer with Nemuri than most others, and he's had the occasional student that he will help with extra training to get over-powered Quirks under control or to help with specific issues, but he has never had someone like Izuku before. A student and friend and hero all in one, an equal but one that he is incredibly fond of.
Because Midoriya Izuku is a cute kid, all freckles and rose-gold embellishments and mostly-long curls that tumble around his face akin to ivy, a smile that is surprisingly bright for the shadows in his eyes. He's also a very traumatised and very mature kid, don't get them wrong, but that doesn't take away from how cute he is.
Nor from how fucking adorable it is to see Shouta passed out on his usual sofa, and Izuku just come in to the faculty office to do nothing but wave vaguely in Hizashi's direction before promptly flopping down on the same sofa, forced by virtue of the actual size but also probably his own choice to sprawl halfway on top of the man, eyes already closed without a thought or hesitation.
And Shouta doesn't even wake up, or not completely so at least.
Sure, he grumbles a bit, a brief scowl as he shifts and murmurs, but he doesn't so much as open his eyes. His not-crushed-by-a-teenager hand comes up to settle vaguely somewhere on Izuku's back, patting clumsily a few times. It has Izuku mumbling something utterly incomprehensible but rather notably warm, settled and content.
"Rough night last night?" Vlad asks, a low mutter for Hizashi, who only shrugs a little in return, gaze soft as he looks over his husband and the kid draped over him.
"I think so, yeah. Got back from the show to them both sleeping upright on the sofa at like one this morning. And then Shouta got an early call-out for an emergency raid a few hours before our alarm, so not the most settled night." There are various commiserations to that, every single one of the heroes familiar with how some night just never seem to settle for long, even if they don't have any night terrors or the like to deal with.
But it's lunch time now, and apparently both of them are taking the chance to catch up on some sleep. It's honestly rather sweet. Particularly how, maybe ten minutes later, Izuku snuffles, head turning just enough to be able to bury his face properly in the coils of fabric-alloy. (Hizashi is the only one who is familiar with the soft-rough-worn texture, or with the scents of coffee and soap and cats, with an underlying hint of citrus but now pomegranate too, all of it adding up to their home, their little bundle of family, something beyond comforting.) And it's made all the sweeter with how Shouta turns slightly, curling in closer to Izuku without quite pushing the teen off of him or the sofa, that hand still braced somewhere around the small of the kid's back, keeping him close and in place.
"They're sweet, aren't they?"
"They are," Hizashi agrees, almost unbearably fond. It has several more of the faculty exchanging their own rather soft, if also perhaps slightly exasperated, glances. Honestly, the lot of them are just damn soft for each other. It's almost laughable. Then again, with how genuinely sweet they are, it's frankly rather hard to begrudge. No, the most they can do is tease their colleagues about it sometimes. (They wouldn't dare to tease Izuku about it, because they really don't want the kid to start feeling awkward about getting the sleep, comfort, and quiet that he so clearly needs. If he needs the faculty room and happens to make Shouta very soft in the process, then so be it.)
"Almost cute enough to make it easy to forget the chaos."
"Almost," Thirteen agrees, laughter in the single word.
"To be fair, the entire class is hellish," Vlad adds on, only a little bit annoyed. It's enough for a few eyerolls, but for most of the faculty to snicker at least a little.
In their defence, many thing about 1-A are absolutely chaotic, and at times veritably demented. It just so happens that Shouta and Izuku are the most chaotic of them all.
For now, however, they are calm and sweet, no Cheshire smiles or casual flipping of a knife to be seen, and the faculty are perfectly happy to leave them to it.