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Class 1-A, now 2-A, was still reeling from the events of the previous year. The final battle had left scars. Not the kind you can erase or hide. The kind that stays with you until you break. And that's exactly what had happened to their class, who had been on the front lines of the fight, even without being professional heroes.
And while counseling centers and therapy sessions had become mandatory for all students, this wasn't the case for the professional heroes, who could only attend if they felt like it.
And it was fair to say that their teacher hadn't attended a single one.
Aizawa had always been a force of nature. They had never seen someone so seemingly apathetic yet so devoted, caring, and protective of them. And yet, he was ruthless with himself. It wasn't uncommon to see him return from patrols with countless injuries or cuts, yet he refused to see Recovery Girl for treatment. Aizawa rarely let people get close to him in general.
So he always took care of himself. When he remembered.
Over time, the students of Class 2-A had forged a strong bond with him, allowing them to treat him when he couldn't. Even more, he would completely abandon grading papers for an evening to stay with them during their movie nights or share meals with them when he wasn't out on patrol.
More than a teacher or a mentor, Aizawa Shota had become like a father to them.
And they had become his problem children.
Together, they formed a family. And families protected each other.
That's why, that evening, as they watched Titanic together for the twentieth time that year, they grew worried when Aizawa still hadn't returned from his patrol two hours after it was supposed to end. At first, they thought their teacher had probably encountered a tougher villain and that his arrest was taking longer than expected. Or that he'd run into others along the way and, even though his patrol had finished, had intervened. Or that Inspector Tsukauchi needed to speak with him about a future mission.
But two hours and a call to Tsukauchi later, they still didn't know where Aizawa was.
Until Jiro started hearing footsteps coming from outside the dormitories. Then a groan of pain that they would have tried their best to stifle.
“Guys, I hear someone outside the dorms. It’s probably Mr. Aizawa…”
All eyes turned to her.
“But?” Bakugo asked, sensing the “but” coming.
“I think he’s hurt.”
That was all it took for the students to spring to their feet as one. They abandoned their movies and soft blankets. Worry for their teacher was overwhelming. The front door creaked open, making them all stop abruptly.
So much so that Shota almost tripped over his own foot. Shoji caught him before he fell, his arms gently embracing his teacher to prevent him from falling. Aizawa seemed barely able to stand. Shoji could feel him trembling and hear his shortness of breath. Their teacher was in very bad shape.
Momo and Tenya were the first to react.
“Go get a basin of water, the first aid kit, and some clean towels!”
Sato approached Aizawa and Shoji. He put an arm around Aizawa and together they carried him to the sofa. Gently, he was set down and the remaining students held back a small cry at the sight of Shota's condition.
His legs were holding up reasonably well, if you didn't consider his left ankle, which was definitely broken. But otherwise… Blood was seeping through his jumpsuit, soaking the sofa with red stains. His right hand was broken, he had a cut on his upper lip and nose, but most of all… a horrible, bloody wound along his right eye, extending from the top of his eyebrow to the scar the Nomu had inflicted during USJ.
He looked like he'd just come back from a battlefield.
Momo signaled to Tenya to help her remove the top of the jumpsuit to get a better look at the damage. And it was even worse.
His ribs were undoubtedly crushed, and a wound stretched down his waist, blending into any previous scarring. They'd already seen Aizawa shirtless by accident when, on their way to the gym, they'd stumbled upon their teachers doing exercises. To say they were surprised to see how muscular Aizawa was was an understatement. He might have looked slender, but his muscles were solid, defined, and powerful.
So it was frightening to see him covered more in blood than clothes.
Izuku, Ochaco, and Tsuyu returned with the equipment Momo had requested, panic still etched on their faces. They had almost gotten lost too many times for second-year students. They placed the first-aid kit, the basin of hot water, and the clean sheets on the living room table, awaiting instructions from their vice-president.
“Ochaco, help me clean his wounds. I need to see clearly to stitch him up.”
Quickly, she grabbed a clean sheet, soaked it in hot water, and began to work. And just as quickly, the water turned red. The blood seemed to flow endlessly. No sooner was it removed from their teacher’s body than a fresh stream of blood arrived.
“Izuku, take a compress and apply pressure. We need to stop, or at least slow down, the bleeding.”
He obeyed immediately. The three teenagers’ hands were covered in blood. Kirishima also began to help, taking a compress to slow the bleeding on their teacher’s face. He would probably need stitches there too.
The bleeding gradually subsided, and as his wounds began to heal, Momo took out a needle and thread. She gave a sharp nod to Sato and Shouji, signaling them to hold their teacher on the couch while she stitched him up to prevent him from moving too much. They practically rushed over, knowing that with the blood Aizawa had already lost, the situation was somewhat critical.
Shouji positioned himself at Shota’s head level. He leaned forward slightly and placed his hands on his shoulders, hoping to hold him still enough so Momo could stitch him up neatly. Sato decided to hold his feet. She simply nodded before beginning.
And, without any anesthetic on hand, Shota arched his back and cried out. Bakugo, who was nearby, grabbed the first thing he could find, a t-shirt, and stuffed it between his teacher's lips, muffling his cries and preventing him from biting himself. It took Momo fifteen minutes in total to stitch the gaping wound on his waist.
Shota seemed to alternate between consciousness and unconsciousness. The pain overwhelmed him but also constantly brought him back.
“I’m sorry, Sensei. Just ten more minutes and we’ll be done.” Only a groan of pain answered her. Shota had absolutely no strength to speak or even stand up.
She changed the needle, obviously sterile, and took a new thread. Then she approached her teacher’s face and breathed deeply. If Aizawa had suffered for his waist, it would surely be worse for his face.
“Hold him tight, Shouji, it’s going to be worse.”
Shouji pressed his hands a little harder on Shota’s shoulders. His heart was pounding. Then, when Momo could, she inserted the needle through his skin. And the reaction was immediate.
The next few minutes were hell for the students in the living room. Most of them covered their ears or tried to concentrate on their studies or their phones. When Momo placed the needle on a dirty gauze pad, it was a relief.
All that remained was to wrap him in bandages and put him under a blanket. Momo went to wash her hands, leaving Kirishima and Toru to bandage Aizawa, hoping he would sleep long enough for Recovery Girl to treat him thoroughly the next morning.
When she returned to the living room, Aizawa was buried under the blankets, and although the pain persisted, he seemed much more at peace than he had been a few minutes earlier. She wasn't surprised to see all his classmates lying on the floor or in the armchairs, watching over their teacher.
"We'll have to get Recovery Girl to come tomorrow."