Chapter Text
Average day. Average class period with their homeroom teacher, Aizawa. Average tired call for quiet so that class could begin. Everything began normally, running as smoothly as a day in the life of Class 1-A could. Except for one small thing.
“Midoriya, since you finally decided to join us, you can hand back last week’s tests.”
Izuku cringed as he deviated from his course, heading up to the podium instead of trying to sneak to his desk after squeezing in a few minutes after the bell. He’d been having lunch with Yagi-sensei and hadn’t noticed the time until the familiar chime knocked him into high alert.
Being late to Aizawa’s class usually warranted some kind of punishment, and Izuku tried to avoid getting on his teacher’s shitlist as much as possible, since he was already a frequent name there by nature. He was fine with passing back the tests, it definitely beat detention in terms of punishments.
“Sero, since you can’t seem to pay attention, come pass out today’s homework packet.” Aizawa’s eyes missed nothing.
He heard the tall boy let out a small groan at being caught, and he appeared at Izuku’s left as Aizawa handed him a stack of last week’s tests. Kaminari’s was on the top and it was covered in red ink.
He was turning away, ready to head towards the blonde’s desk to deliver the test, when he heard a small sound of pain from behind him.
“Ah, shit. Papercut. My bad, Mr. Aizawa. Damnit, that’s really deep—”
He whirled back around, staring at Sero, who was holding his wrist with one hand, the other slowly oozing blood out of a long cut across his palm. Aizawa was regarding him with a tired look in his dark eyes, a noticeably streak of red that was darker than his usual grading color on the packets in his hand.
“Go take a few minutes in the—” Aizawa started to say, but was interrupted.
“I-I can fix it, Sero!” His voice was shrill and wobbly, even as he tried to put on a brave face, his gaze fixed on the long cut across the boy’s palm.
“You sure, Midoriya? It’s not actually that bad, it just looks nasty. I can go clean it up myself—”
“It’s fine!” His voice was too high, and he tried to bring it down a few octaves as he flashed a weak smile, feeling his stomach churn. “Really, I’d be glad to—”
“Not necessary, Midoriya. Let Sero—”
“I insist!” Izuku interrupted Aizawa again. Risky, dangerous, practically begging for one of the teacher’s usual glares that brought out the red hidden in his dark eyes, but he could feel sweat starting to bead on his temples. Do something, do it fast. Help him! Don’t just stand there!
Aizawa opened his mouth to end the situation, but the confused expression that tinged his face only grew stronger when Bakugo , of all people, stood up from his desk and marched to the front of the classroom.
“Just let Deku plant one on Tapeface and then we can all get back to our fuckin’ class,” the blonde boy growled, but Izuku saw him make eye contact with Aizawa and some kind of understanding flash between them. “I can pass back the tests and Shitty-Hair can do the packets.”
Kirishima sighed at the nickname but stood up obligingly, also making his way to the front of the classroom. Kacchan was surprisingly gentle as he took the tests from his grasp, his red eyes flashing and his permanent scowl in its usual place.
Aizawa gave the slightest of nods to Izuku, and all eyes expectantly turned towards Sero, ignoring the two boys who were passing out papers in favor of watching the commotion.
“You’ve got my full permission, dude. Quirk use, trigger use, all that jazz.” The black-haired boy flashed a hesitant smile at him, which he tried and failed to return.
It wasn’t like the thought of using his healing factor on someone else was making him lose it. He’d gotten used to using his Quirk from all of the time he spent helping Chiyo out in the hospital wing, and he’d even healed a few of his classmates before. It wasn’t really an anxiety issue, not anymore.
The consenting to his Quirk’s trigger mechanism wasn’t an issue either. He’d been very adamant to uphold an old friend’s advice about using her Quirk on other people. Express consent . But Sero was a chill guy, and he’d proven it by knowing exactly what Izuku needed him to say before he would use his Quirk. It wasn’t an issue here.
It wasn’t even the blood pooling in Sero’s palm as he waited, a bit of discomfort showing on his face as the seconds crawled by. He’d gotten plenty used to seeing way worse injuries than papercuts, way more amounts of blood than the meager wound could produce. It didn’t bother him very much anymore. It wasn’t the issue.
The issue was that Izuku had been in a situation so, so similar to this before, and it had caused upheaval in his whole life for years. Being asked to pass back papers, a papercut, even Kacchan speaking up, calling him Deku , was bringing back the memory of that day in elementary school, where it had all gone to hell for him.
“R-right! Okay, here goes!” Sero obediently put his uninjured hand out, and Izuku carefully lifted it, pressing a swift kiss to the back of the boy’s hand. The usual pink sparkles flared to life, and both of them watched intently as the cut on Sero’s hand knit itself back together, vanishing like it had never been there.
Sero let out a breath and flashed Izuku a smile. “Hey, thanks man. Mr. Aizawa, I’ll go run and wash my hands and then be right back, I promise.” He turned as soon as Aizawa gave him a nod and exited the classroom, shooting the class a big thumbs up.
Izuku stayed where he was, not trusting his legs to keep him standing if he tried to head back to his desk. The world felt like it was spinning, the classroom coming in and out of focus in his vision. His stomach churned harder, like he was going to be sick, and his fast, short breaths didn’t help matters—
“Midoriya. Come.”
It was Aizawa’s voice. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and his legs moved automatically as he was guided towards the door. He felt too sick to protest, just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Aizawa paused at the door frame, staring at his students. “Class rep, have everyone read over their tests. Try to answer any questions you have amongst yourselves.” He shut the door quietly behind them, and steered Izuku a few feet down the hall, out of earshot of the classroom.
“Midoriya,” he said, squeezing his shoulder a bit. He sounded far away, like his voice was coming down a tunnel. “Try to control your breathing. Count the seconds, alright? In and out, try to make each one longer than the last one. Breathe. Do it with me.” He began taking exaggerated breaths in and releasing them just as loudly. “You’re not doing it. Come on. With me.”
Izuku finally remembered that he had control over his body, even if he felt entirely disconnected from it at the moment. Tears were running down his cheeks, even though he hadn’t realized he was crying. His legs were shaking, his head felt numb, but Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder was steady as the homeroom teacher continued his guiding breaths.
He did his best to slow his frantic gasps, hiccuping several times as he inhaled and exhaled, trying to match the man’s rhythm. He slowly realized his whole body was shaking, not just his legs. The world was still spinning in his head, but the longer he focused on his breathing the less dizzy he felt.
It could have been a couple minutes, or it could have been half an hour. Izuku had no idea how much time had passed since Aizawa had guided him out into the hallway. His breathing was finally back to an acceptable level, and he felt more steady. He reached up to brush the tears from his cheeks and rub his nose, feeling guilt and shame start to creep up on him.
“You had a panic attack, Midoriya.” It wasn’t a question. Aizawa’s dark eyes peered at him through his curtain of black hair, the white scar under his eye shining like a crescent moon.
Wordlessly, he nodded, tucking his chin to let his head hang in embarrassment. He heard a rustle and blinked as Aizawa’s eyes once again fixed on him.
The man was squatting in front of him, making it impossible for Izuku to avoid his gaze. He looked perfectly comfortable, balancing on the balls of his feet, and clearly had no intention of going anywhere. “Midoriya.” The teacher’s voice was surprisingly soft as he spoke. “Are you alright?”
Izuku tried for a laugh, but it sounded more like he was choking. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb class time.” He blinked back more tears, feeling a lump in his throat as his teacher stared at him.
“Class time can continue without us. What I asked was if you were alright.”
“Yeah, totally fine now. I’m really sorry, I promise I’m okay now. We can go back and I won’t waste any more of anyone’s time.” Izuku decided not to try for a smile, knowing it would come out as a grimace after his failed laugh. He bit his tongue and tried to project his okay-ness to his eyes instead.
“If you feel comfortable sharing, I’d like to know what triggered your panic attack.” Aizawa didn’t seem to be willing to drop the subject. “If it’s something that can be avoided in the future, I’d like to know about it.”
He shook his head, immediately regretting it when he felt dizzy again. “No, no, it was all my fault, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Midoriya.” Aizawa’s tone was firm and authoritative. “You’re one of my students. It’s part of my job as your teacher to worry about you— especially you, since you’re such a magnet for trouble. It’s fine if you’re not comfortable talking about it with me, but something in that room triggered a strong panic attack and I’d like to prevent that from happening to you again.”
His eyes were usually totally unreadable, but Izuku could swear he saw concern there. He’d known his homeroom teacher for months now, had been through life or death situations alongside the man, had fought for his life beside him, and had learned so much about becoming a Hero through him. He’d had quiet moments with the teacher before, but this was different.
Aizawa was worried.
Izuku chewed his lip, fighting back the urge to cry. He hated that he’d made the man concerned, hated that he’d had a breakdown over something so silly and trivial. He had to fix this, and that meant…
“When I was little, there was an accident at school. Kacchan and I were asked to hand back papers, but I got a papercut. The teacher tried to help me, but she ended up… she touched my blood, and Kacchan basically took the whole situation under control…. But…” He brushed tears from his eyes, unable to keep them back. “That’s how we found out. About my blood. What it does to people.”
Aizawa nodded, letting him take a breath before continuing, listening in silence.
“It was… God, it was terrifying. I didn’t know what was happening. Months earlier my mom and I found out about my healing ability and we thought that was the extent of it. She knew I was Chiyo’s grandson so it made sense to just assume… but that day, my teacher was totally paralyzed, and it was all my fault.”
“That was the day someone told you you had a Villainous Quirk.” The man’s voice was quiet, low, neutral. His expression gave nothing but a blank slate. His eyes showed the truth. Understanding, concern. Something that might have been bordering on regret.
“N-no, not exactly. But, I mean. It was all my fault.” Izuku tried not to sound like he was on the edge of a breakdown, the waterworks gearing up for a full workout.
“Was it Bakugo?”
The question caught him off guard. He stared back at his teacher, still squatting in front of him, opening his mouth with no words coming out.
They stared at each other in silence for a few minutes before Aizawa sighed and rose with cat-like grace from his crouch, stepping close to once again set a hand on his shoulder. Those dark eyes pierced through him as the man spoke.
“You know I don’t like repeating myself, so I expect you to listen and remember this.” He waited a few seconds, until Izuku nodded, before continuing. “You are more than just your Quirk. Your actions, the intentional ones, will always show who you really are, far more than accidents from your childhood or what others say about you. You obviously strive to become a good Hero, even if it’s detrimental to yourself, and some would say that that’s the sign of a true Hero in the making.”
He squeezed Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re not a burden, you’re not Villainous, and you’re not in the wrong here for having emotions. You’ve had trauma from a very young age and you’ve lived in nothing but stressful situations for the past few years and especially the past few months. It’s normal to have times where things get to be too much.”
“If taking those extra few seconds to heal your classmate helped you overcome some of that trauma, then I’m proud of you for taking that step forward.”
Proud? Izuku stared up at his teacher, blinking away tears that threatened to spill over from the man’s words. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Aizawa talk that much about anything other than school subjects. He had no idea his teacher was so… genuine.
“If you ever need a minute or feel like you’re going to start having an attack, just give me some kind of sign. We’ll work through it.” Aizawa was almost smiling. “Do you think you’re ready to go back in?”
“Uh. Yes. Yeah. I’m ready.” Izuku’s mind was reeling. Had that been what had prompted him to insist on healing Sero’s hand? Some kind of internal desire to overcome his past, to fix a similar situation to the one in his past where he’d had no control?
He started to make for the classroom door, but Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder held him back. He looked curiously at his teacher, wondering what it was that made the teacher stop him. “Mr. Aizawa?” He asked.
“There’s always bandaids in my desk,” the teacher said quietly, dark eyes unreadable once again. “Even if it’s not a papercut, you don’t have to ask.” He finally nudged Izuku towards the classroom door. “Go rejoin the class.”
“You’re not coming?” Izuku stared incredulously at the teacher. It wasn’t like him to leave his students unsupervised for long periods of time.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to go find out why it’s taken Sero twenty minutes to wash his hands.”
The dark-haired teacher set off down the hall, hands already pulled at his capture weapon, and Izuku smiled in spite of himself.