Chapter Text
Aizawa agrees to chaperone a snack run primarily because his head is killing him. Convenience store lights have a decent shot of making it worse, but the high-pitched wheedling of his class will definitely make it worse, so Aizawa prefers his odds this way.
Besides, a night where most of his class seems content and calm, not a villain in sight, the worst injury among the group being a paper-cut Ashido got flipping through magazines with Aoyama...Aizawa can stand a short walk to keep an evening like that going.
Soon, people are shouting snack preferences while Midoriya, who already had a pen in hand, scribbles them down.
“Ah, Deku, spin the pointer thingy so I can move!” Uraraka calls. She’s part of the group currently playing an increasingly competitive game of Twister, and she had called this from amid a confusing forest of limbs.
Midoriya looks uncertainly from his notebook to Aizawa. “Um, do you want me to come?” He holds the list out in Aizawa’s direction.
Aizawa squints at it for a moment. “I’m only paid to decipher your handwriting during school hours.”
“Right,” Midoriya squeaks, looking genuinely apologetic, as though his penmanship was a devastating character flaw. Even when these kids relax, they don’t relax. “Someone else take over the board, I’ll help with the snacks!”
They walk in silence, which is fine by Aizawa. Midoriya has his hands in his pockets and shoots him nervous glances every now and then, and Aizawa can practically hear the gears turning in his head - is he supposed to be talking? Is he doing something wrong by staying quiet? There are patterns with these kids - some of them act like they’ll shrivel up and die without constant conversation, and others seem to view it as a dangerous operation filled with potential pitfalls. Aizawa doesn’t play favourites, but he seems to end up with a lot of the first category in his life - a little quiet is nice.
They arrive at the convenience store and Aizawa notes that a couple of the lights overhead are broken and dark - all the better. He holds a basket as Midoriya mutters to himself, glancing from his list to the shelves, slowly filling the basket. Silently, Aizawa notes the number of exits, number of other people in the store, the security systems at the doors - trying to brush these thoughts off has become more taxing than just going through the list, and a one kid per teacher ratio is no guarantee of safety.
They make it through checkout and most of the walk back without incident when Midoriya finally speaks.
“Thanks for walking me. You didn’t have to.”
Aizawa shrugs. “No one leaves campus by themselves after dark.”
Midoriya nods. “I know. I just...uh, thanks.”
Aizawa hums. Something about the quiet and calm of the evening gives him a rare urge to be reassuring. Usually his charges have so little fear that he’s concerned about actual deadly consequences, but honestly, 15-year-olds shouldn’t need to worry this much over a teacher taking ten minutes to walk them to the store.
The words fall away as they approach the UA gates and see a figure in a heavy jacket facing the intercom panel.
“-appreciate that you’re doing your job,” the figure seems to be saying. “But this is my child, and I’m not gonna be in town long.”
Midoriya stops walking before Aizawa can tell him to, and he’s briefly impressed by this new streak of caution. The figure puts his hands in his pockets, irritated, as a tinny voice says something inaudible in response through the intercom. He sighs and turns his head, catching sight of the two approaching. A strange, almost practiced smile spreads over his face (early forties, plain, unscarred - no one Aizawa recognises).
“Ah,” the man says. “I guess I don’t need to get inside after all! Hey there, Izuku. Long time, huh?”
Aizawa spares the kid one quick glance - he’s frozen, bag hanging limply in his hand. Aizawa turns his gaze back to the stranger. “Can I help you?”
“Well, sure,” the man says, giving Aizawa another careful smile. “I came to talk to my son, take him for a coffee or something...I think there was a mix-up with the records over in the office, because they really didn’t want to let me inside!”
His voice is light and jovial, as if trying to draw them both into his version of events - hey, isn’t it nice that I’m here to see the kid? Isn’t it great that we just happened to run into each other outside the gates like this? Aizawa can’t recall any mention of Midoriya’s father in his school records, but he knows the approved visitor list for each student in his class, and this man definitely isn’t on it. That combined with the way his polite, eager to please student still isn’t speaking puts Aizawa immediately on edge.
“Visits to students are pre-approved,” Aizawa says, clipped and professional. “And they don’t start at this hour. You’ll have to come back another time.”
The man frowns and tilts his head to Aizawa, his body language still deliberately welcoming and cheerful - as if eager to give Aizawa every opportunity to stop disappointing him. It’s unsettling and familiar. “Sure, I’m sorry if I’m stepping on protocol here - high schools sure are a lot more secure than in my day! I really just wanted to talk to Izuku real quick. What do you say, kid?”
Aizawa silently bristles. Get around the guy saying things you don’t want to hear by appealing to the kid, because who’ll say no to a child who wants to talk to his father? Aizawa knows he leans towards paranoia, but he really hates that this guy is between them and the gate right now, that they aren’t having this conversation with a wall between this stranger and his student.
Midoriya goes to speak, and has to swallow and start over. “D-does my mom know you’re here?” he asks quietly.
‘My mom,’ Aizawa notes. Not just ‘mom,’ like a kid might say to another member of the family.
“I was gonna check in with her later,” the man replies easily. That’s a no, then.
“Ms Midoriya would have told you that you can’t just show up to campus and walk off with a student,” Aizawa says, cold but calm. “I’m sure whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow, when we can confirm-”
“Hey, I have ID right here,” the man interrupts, fishing a wallet out of his pocket. “I think we got off on the wrong foot - I’m Hisashi Midoriya.” He holds out an ID, which Aizawa glances at and doesn’t take. The name matches. “I just want five minutes with my kid - you really can’t make an exception? We can talk out here, even.”
Incredible, how he can give an air of being reasonable while also refusing to take no for an answer again and again. Aizawa knows that trick well, and he’s never been proved wrong for being wary of people who use it.
“I-” Midoriya starts. “I don’t-” He looks up at Aizawa and Aizawa allows himself a few moments to look away from Hisashi, confident for now that he reads as manipulative and untrustworthy but not imminently dangerous.
The kid’s eyes are showing a thinly-veiled panic that again strikes Aizawa as unsettling and familiar. He looks like someone who needs help and has learned not to ask for it too loudly, too openly. For just a second Aizawa is fifteen again, never asking for anything from adults in his life because at least then he was passively ignored rather than actively denied. It lets you pretend, for a while, that maybe if you asked, help would come.
“Sorry, Midoriya,” Aizawa says to his student, brushing away the memories. “Rules are rules. We’re going back to the dorms, and we can discuss visitation over the phone tomorrow.” Guilt and relief play over Midoriya’s face, and for a moment he looks very young.
Aizawa puts a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder and moves the two of them slowly but surely towards the gates.
“You really can’t give me 30 seconds? I just want to talk-”
Someone who feels the need to state over and over that they’re harmless doesn’t win any points with Aizawa. In his experience, there was usually a reason the potential for harm kept being implicitly raised.
“No,” Aizawa says, still walking, letting the silence after hang in the air. People like Hisashi Midoriya lived on those uncomfortable silences, on the pressure they exacted - to be reasonable, to say something to mitigate the awkwardness of refusing, to be drawn in further and further into a conversation you never wanted to have. Aizawa took a quiet pleasure from throwing courtesy out the window when it came to people who only ever used it as a weapon.
“Izuku, come on,” Hisashi tries as they cross the threshold of the gates. “It’s been years and I - I just want to find out how you've been.” He lets his voice fall, projecting just the right amount of disappointment.
Midoriya tenses under Aizawa’s hand but keeps walking. He turns back for just a second, doubt and guilt still lining his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles, then speeds up. They leave Hisashi Midoriya behind - Aizawa notes that despite his insistence, he knows enough not to try and cross the threshold to UA without permission; another reason his routine about just not understanding the rules about visitors rang false. He knew what lines he could and couldn’t cross without consequence.
It’s only when they turn a corner and are out of sight that Midoriya starts shaking. Aizawa squeezes his shoulder once before taking his hand back, not wanting to crowd a scared kid now that the need to physically guide him has passed.
“It’s okay,” Aizawa says evenly. “He takes one step inside and security will deal with it. He won’t get near the dorms.”
Midoriya shakes his head even as tears form in his eyes. “No, it’s - it’s fine. He’s not - you don’t need to worry. He’s not...he’s not dangerous.” Something about it feels rehearsed, like he’s said those words to himself over and over - or Aizawa’s still shaken from those flares of memory from his own childhood, and he’s reading things into Midoriya’s tone that aren’t really there.
“Either way,” Aizawa says finally. “No one comes to see you on campus unless you want them to. The number one hero doesn't get through those gates unless I say it’s okay.”
Midoriya gives a tiny smile. The bag from the convenience store rustles as he trembles.
“We can stop a second,” Aizawa adds, holding out a hand for the bag. Midoriya eyes it for a moment, visibly debating whether this is an acceptable moment of weakness, whether refusing will lead to a worse one later. He hands over the bag and tries to scrub the tears from his face.
“It’s - it’s fine,” he says again, but he pauses and leans against a nearby wall, breathing hard.
Aizawa glances around campus as Midoriya tries to regain composure - usually much less effective than trying to calm down, in Aizawa’s experience, but Aizawa can’t control what goes through his head. He finds a quiet, peaceful night. Suspiciously peaceful, after he’s enjoyed it once only to have it interrupted by someone who dredges up memories of Aizawa’s own past and makes one of his kids tremble in his own home.
“I’m really - it’s really fine,” Midoriya tries again. “I’m not t-trying to make out like he’s a monster or anything.” There’s something horribly earnest in his eyes, like the most important thing to him is that Aizawa knows he wasn’t trying to imply he has it worse than he does. Aizawa knows that one, too.
“Doesn’t have to be,” Aizawa says, voice deliberately level. It doesn’t make it easier, is the thing - recognising these patterns makes him less able to talk Midoriya through it, not more. Aizawa knows how to be Aizawa when he’s detached, blunt, reasonably objective. This version of him helps no one. “He doesn’t have to fall below a particular benchmark before you’re allowed to be upset, or to not want him around. Someone doesn’t have to be all bad to be bad for you.”
Midoriya’s eyes overflow with tears again, and he stares down at the ground, breathing starting to even out. “He just-” he starts, eyes focused on nothing, struggling to describe the shape of something he can barely even see. “I just don’t want to see him.” It’s a small, vulnerable voice that makes something in Aizawa’s chest hurt.
“Then you don’t have to.”
Midoriya gives a shaky nod and straightens back up. “Wh-what will happen tomorrow?”
“We’ll deal with that tomorrow,” Aizawa replies. “But you won’t have to see him again."
Midoriya nods, but doesn't seem especially reassured. Either he doesn't believe him or - Aizawa remembers a litany of fears no one else would see, things well-meaning people offer because they don't understand all the ways they could make things worse.
"And you won’t have to take the blame for him not being allowed to see you," Aizawa adds. "As far as I'm concerned, this is your choice. When he’s in earshot, it’s just paperwork and procedures getting in the way.”
Midoriya looks up at him with surprised relief, as if a weight has lifted that he never expected to be free of. “How did you…” he says softly, then shakes his head and breaks off. “Yeah. Yes, please, that would be good.”
Aizawa nods. As they walk side by side, Midoriya breathes a little easier still. In the silence Aizawa sorts through plans, worries, memories - he’ll need to speak to Inko Midoriya and get some background tomorrow. Probably best to nudge Yagi, as well, and suggest he checks up on the kid - Aizawa knows he doesn’t come off as particularly approachable, and he doesn’t want to do more harm than good by trying to force Midoriya to open up to him.
He has a quiet moment of bitterness, trying to match up his student, whose determination and kindness had been inspiring the whole class since day one, with that irritant at the gates trying to push and press and cajole his way past people’s boundaries.
“Thank you,” Midoriya says quietly, breaking through Aizawa’s thoughts. “For - for not letting him in. For everything.”
One day, Aizawa wants to learn how to fix these problems too - to be someone who can fix the intangible for his students, instead of just putting the tangible, pragmatic things in line and hoping it's enough. To do more than just keep the wolves at bay and hope it gives them enough time and space to tend to their wounds. One day he wants this kid to not be surprised and grateful for every ounce of kindness he receives.
“It’s what I’m here for.”