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Everything has been a blur for Shouta since he and Hizashi got knocked off the deck by Shirakumo by Kurogiri. The adrenaline pumping in his veins was the only thing that kept him steady enough to try and talk the villain into helping them just a little bit more. It took every ounce of strength in him not to break, when he heard the way Zashi was talking about Kurogiri. As though he’s nothing but a mindless Nomu. As though he was never anything more. As though calling him a corpse, a carcass, a villain, would change the fact that it was Shirakumo’s eyes looking back at them.
He shudders, remembering the way they caught sight of their friend’s face, sunken and gray, partially hidden behind the purple fog, but it was undoubtedly him. Somehow, by some miracle, Shouta’s words were enough to influence whatever little remained of Oboro to surface, to help his friends, one last time. Some deep-rooted instinct in Shouta’s bones tells him this is indeed the last time.
He manages to make it to the Command Centre, where Tsukauchi and the rest of the evacuated population are taking refuge, and informs everyone about Kurogiri’s warp.
“Every able-bodied hero needs to be on evac guard duty!” He commands, as uninjured heroes, few as they may be, begin stepping in to help. He guides them to the main entrance, and remains in contact with Mic.
“How many?” He asks, while simultaneously trying to make sure all the non-hero civilians are being safely evacuated too.
“20 so far.” Mic replied over the comms. “The warp seems stable, at least for now.” If it were anyone but Shouta, they would miss the slight quiver in Hizashi’s voice.
“Alright,” Shouta replied. “I’m slowly sending the rest.”
While the heroes and civilians are huddled near the exit, waiting to leave, Shouta turns to look at the screens in front of Tsukauchi that are showing the status of each battle taking place across the region. An array of terrains, heroes fighting villains in each little window of a screen. He steps closer.
“Eraser, how sure are you about Kurogiri’s warp gate?” Ectoplasm’s voice tears his attention away.
He stops for a moment, considering. He remembers the tears; despite the downpour they were undeniably tears that streamed down Kurogiri’s face.
“He’ll hold it open until we’re safe.”
After all, this is still Oboro Shirakumo of class 2A. His body may be disfigured, his DNA tampered with, and his mind hijacked by the League of Villains, but his unbroken spirit, his desire to protect and preserve, still shines. Shouta has known this ever since they spoke to him at Tartarus. The way Kurogiri unflinchingly declared that the safety of Shigaraki Tomura was his utmost priority and duty. Shouta didn’t need to see a face, to know that that was Shirakumo.
“Mic, what’s your status?” Shouta speaks through the intercom.
“Most heroes have been deployed. Heading back in to aid with evacuation.” It is evident to Shouta that Zashi doesn’t want to spend any more time with Kurogiri than is necessary.
With most of the heroes and civilians still underway, it’s an unspoken rule that Shouta and Hizashi will be the last ones to go. He doesn’t want to spend a lot of time thinking about Shirakumo Kurogiri, so he turns his attention back to the screens.
Bloody, ruined battlefields. Debris and bodies scattered everywhere. The camera quality, despite being surprisingly high, doesn’t quite capture each tiny detail, but from the looks of it, heroes and villains alike are injured. Heroes? Shouta grimaces. Mirio, Nejire, Tamaki, Monoma, his class 1-A, they’re not heroes. They’re just kids.
With the adrenaline of battle slowly wearing off, the horrifying reality of the situation settles into his gut like poison.
They sent kids out onto the frontlines.
The intercom, the voices of the other heroes being evacuated, Tsukauchi’s communication, it’s all muffled now. All Shouta can think about are these students. These kids. The Big Three, who quickly made a name for themselves as the most dynamic power trio in UA, were nothing but children with hope in their eyes when they first arrived. This was one of the first batches he taught. He remembers how much Tamaki struggled in finding his place in the beginning. His previous class 1-A, that he expelled and re-enrolled later. Some of those students are probably also lying unconscious ~or dead~ on these battlefields somewhere.
His class. His current class. The visuals on the screen send chills down his spine as he remembers. Bakugou, his student, his kid lying in a pool of his own blood, unconscious, dead, unmoving. He saw this kid grow from a stuck-up bully to a powerful, honourable hero. And now, he's not even sure if this kid will see another sunrise.
He tries justifying the chaos, that this is what battle- no, all-out war, looks like. But all he can see are the bodies. Mirko, with half her limbs ripped off, still fighting and smiling. Tamaki and Nejire, unleashing an attack so powerful it could shake All-Might, only for it to do nothing. Bakugou, transcending the boundaries of his quirk, breaking every limit he had placed upon himself, only to fall, and not wake up again. Uraraka’s fight with Toga Himiko, leaving them both on the ground. He can’t even tell if the girl is alive anymore. He swallows thickly at the painful realisation. She’s so happy all the time. So bubbly and cheerful, always trying to help others out and make them smile. God, that girl loves smiles.
The screens show the aftermath of the fight between Todoroki and the villain Dabi, who is supposedly his brother. Shouta’s stomach lurches at the thought of the Todoroki family, and what will become of them now. He can’t believe how much of this battle he’s missed, as his eyes dart around wildly at the stats and coordinates of each battle. Not even the strongest pro-heroes, not even All Might, has been able to stop this monster.
Hawks. Hawks has lost his wings. Shouta’s heart is pounding unbearably hard. Everywhere he looks, someone he cares about is hurt, clutching a wound and crying in pain, or worse, not moving at all. And we’re expected to rally these people to fight more? His world narrows until there’s nothing to see but this horror. There’s a plan, he knows there’s a plan, he made it, for fuck’s sake. But his vision is darkening at the edges. What if it’s not enough? What if we’re too late? What if we’ve already lost by the time we get there?
He sees Midoriya, his beloved problem-child. His body breaking, and tearing itself apart as he tries to fight Shigaraki alone, far away from the support of any heroes or classmates. Shouta’s fingers curl into a white-knuckled fist, nails digging into his palms. He’s their teacher, he’s supposed to be there for them. He shouldn’t be safe and sound on the sidelines while his kids get hurt and die. This is wrong, this is all so fucking wrong!
“Eraser?” Shouta hears Ectoplasm’s voice call out from somewhere in the distance. “You’ve spaced out, what’s going on?”
“I-” The words barely form as his breath hitches. He can’t bring himself to answer, can’t bring himself to respond, to look away, to look at anything but this massacre. He wants to grab hold of the passage of time, and somehow choke this timeline to death. He wants, no, he needs to stop any of this from ever happening. He needs to save his kids from this pain, to save Nemuri from her fate, to save a great hero like Sir Nighteye, to save Eri from all the suffering she has endured. This has always been Shouta’s problem. He just wants to save everyone. But he can’t. Just like he couldn’t save Oboro.
Inexplicable fear blooms in Shouta’s chest, unfurling and growing into something larger. He grips the wall to his left, trying to ground himself. He can’t let it show, not here. Not when they still need him. The thought sends another painful jolt through his body.
“Eraserhead?”
They need him, and he can’t do anything. He presses a hand against his chest, as though it will help steady his rapid heartbeat. Instead, he only realises it isn’t even under his control. None of this is under his control. He’s trapped, trapped in the terror of his own helplessness. Paralysed with fear at the sights he’s witnessing. He tries to suck in a deeper breath, but it catches halfway as though an invisible hand is wrapped around his throat. The more he tries to focus, the worse it gets.
He has to move, he has to get out of sight. Ecto is already expressing concern, he can’t afford to distract them. He casts a fleeting glance at the line for the exit, realising it hasn’t even been a few minutes. In the torture-chamber that is his mind, it feels like it’s been an eternity. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know why this is happening now of all times. It’s not like he hasn’t seen worse. Has he though? His thoughts are racing, practically tripping over each other. His wide eyes dart around once again across the screens, that now seem to be taunting him by showing him exactly what he can’t change. His friends, his fucking students have been dying and there’s nothing he can do, and he can’t breathe and the room is too small and the air is too thin and he has to fucking move-
Shouta takes an unsteady step along the wall, knowing there’s a corridor that he can disappear into without worrying anyone else. Someone is calling out his name, but his senses feel like he’s drowning, like he’s been waterboarded. The next few steps towards the corridor are harrowing, as the voices in his head grow louder. He barely makes it away from everyone’s line of sight.
Before he can take another step forward, his bad leg gives out and he stumbles, catching himself against the wall. His hand is digging into his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as though it’s a lifeline, and he’s hyperventilating. He can’t breathe, but he feels the air rushing in and out of his lungs like sand slipping through his trembling fingers. A warm, steady hand grasps his shoulder, and he flinches.
“Shouta!” The hand refuses to budge. “It’s me, Shou, it’s Mic.”
Present Mic. Hizashi is here. Shouta feels some semblance of composure return to him at the mere thought of Zashi, his sweet, sweet Zashi being at his side.
He looks up, vision blurry, to see the blond hero, whose face is etched with worry. “Come on, Shou.” He gently rubs his shoulder. “They need us out there.”
Shouta manages to suck in a breath, and rasps out, “Zashi. I-I failed. I couldn’t protect them!”
“Stop it. Please, stop talking like this war is over.” Hizashi shakily helps Shouta to his feet.
“There’s no way we can save them!” Hizashi isn’t even sure if Shouta is talking to him, or to himself. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, as they often are when he’s having flashbacks. He has to stay calm in this situation, there’s no way to tell how long Kurogiri will remain on their side.
“I understand what it must be like to watch your students suffer this way, but-” He hesitates, gripping both of Shouta’s arms tightly. “There’s no time for this.”
Shouta shakes his head, unable to form words. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t-”
“Snap out of it, Eraserhead!” Hizashi cries, and the utterance of his hero name seems to do the trick.
Shouta’s eyes return to reality. He’s still breathing erratically and Hizashi has no way to know what’s going on in his head. His hand is clawing at his chest as though his heart is fighting to escape, so Hizashi does the only thing he thinks will help. He pulls his friend towards himself and closes the distance between them. It is then that Hizashi realises Shouta’s entire body is trembling as though he’s in shock. He rubs his back. “Come back to us, Shou.” He whispers as Shouta’s arms clutch at Hizashi like an anchor. “Breathe.” Mic feels Shouta trying to copy his breathing, the calm, even rise and fall of his chest. “I’ve got you. We’re going to do this.”
In a few moments, Eraser’s erratic breathing slows down, and the sounds and sights of reality come back to him. He’s in Hizashi’s arms, a place where he’d like to build his home, his kids are still alive and trying to fight, and they need him. He pulls away shakily, staring into Hizashi’s sparkling eyes.
“Hey,” the blond says softly. “I’ve seen you recover from worse, Eraserhead.”
Shouta nods, his chest still heaving, stomach forming knots over this… closeness. He breathes, slowly, steadily, and replies, “I know. I’m sorry. I, uh, I just-” He stutters.
“Couldn’t handle the sights?” Hizashi smiles sadly, knowingly. “I know, buddy. Which is why we have to move.”
Shouta Aizawa stares out to the main exit, vaguely making out the form of Kurogiri’s warp gate with an ever-growing pit in his stomach, but also a newfound determination. A reminder of the hero he is, the hero he’s supposed to be.
Eraserhead.