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c-c-cherry · 5 months ago

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Febuwhump Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

(My Hero Academia)

My first (and hopefully not last???) contribution to febuwhump! Aizawa gets thrown around so much in canon and I can't be the only one to wonder what happens during those moments in between. Ao3 is on the fritz this week so I thought I'd cross-post for once lol

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Read on ao3 for more specific tags!!

Art for it is HERE!!

cw: vomiting, (past, canon) character death, general suffering (its febuwhump you get the drill)

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No One, No Way, Nowhere

Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

Word count: 7121

He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior. Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn’t going away like it was supposed to. After confronting what’s left of Shirakumo, Aizawa finds it impossible to close his eyes.

Aizawa could feel his own breath, hot against his face. It stuck to his hair like sweat, making contact with the frigid air of the facility, that was too air-conditioned for a human to stand.

It was all he could hear, aside from the roaring in his ears, growing louder by the second as he tried to shake the sound that Kurogiri had blasted their ears with. While heavy and laboured, he knew he could still breathe despite the sensation that shook his shoulders, despite everything today.

He sat kneeling on the bathroom floor, somewhere in the decrepit basement that held the remains of what used to be their comrade. He didn't bother to lock the stall door—Aizawa had made it painfully clear that no one was to follow him in. The harsh air of the investigator's facility bit back against his eyes, causing them to sting even more than when his quirk had been activated minutes prior.

The world still felt as it did back there. Not even the feeling of the air had changed. The sound around him was muted, exposing his ears to nothing but echo. The area behind his eyes throbbed painfully, making it impossible to hold his head up any longer. Aizawa blamed the blurriness of his surroundings on overusing his quirk, even if his sight had never morphed the room into shapeless blobs like this.

He breathed deeply, intentionally pushing the air out of his lungs as if he'd forgotten how to do it naturally. When a muffled, desperate noise cut across the still air, Aizawa couldn't help but press a hand to his mouth to avoid making too much sound.

He couldn't believe what the hell he just saw.

That thing wasn't something he knew. Aizawa refused to believe it. It wasn't something he could recognize in the end. It was something reanimated, manipulated, disgusting, it—Jesus.

He swayed forward as the image, that split second of recognition, forced its way back into his head. Aizawa pitched forward and let his hands find the walls of the bathroom stall, pressing against the sides until his knuckles turned red, then white. He attempted to prop himself up to no avail. His stomach churned urgently, how it felt whenever he had too much to drink or not enough sleep.

Aizawa's eyes begged to close, but he knew if he took his sights off the bathroom wall, images of what just transpired would flood back to him again. He couldn't do that again.

He thought he'd gotten past this grieving stage. It had taken him a long time to undo it and suppress it. Aizawa always thought that dead meant dead. That was how the world worked, even with quirks. It wasn't fair to defy that truth and open things back up so tastelessly. Not after so long. Not after the tragedy had long been put to rest.

Aizawa's chest jumped painfully as he gagged, his mouth filling with saliva instinctually. He swallowed it down, ignoring the sour taste and the shiver that wracked his body in response.

They were monsters. Whoever did this to his friend was a monster. More monstrous than any Nomu. More hideous than what Shirakumo had been turned into. They couldn't just let him rest? Hell—after everything, Oboro wasn't allowed to rest?

He was going to be sick.

Aizawa couldn't control his movements. His stomach convulsed against his brain's better judgement. He shivered, attempting to breathe through it as watery lines of cold sweat trickled down his face and the back of his neck. Everything in his body just wanted to reject itself, rid itself of what he'd seen and heard and felt today. With a full-body shudder, the man choked again on a gag stuck in the back of his throat. Then, with enough silence to fool a whole room, he emptied his stomach with nothing more than a handful of coughs.

It was quick, silent, without much struggle. The noise of it splashing into the toilet bowl echoed through the line of empty stalls and sinks, but Aizawa couldn't hear it over the sound of his ragged breathing. His face felt undeniably wet as he bent down and spat the taste out of his mouth. Round two came out quicker as if it knew Aizawa had somewhere to be later. After the third round, he flushed the toilet, slumped onto himself and let his breathing regulate.

Aizawa knew he should feel better after something like that. It had been a long time since something left him disgusted enough to vomit. But sitting here, his body curled up against the wall like crumpled-up foil, things felt far from okay.

His feelings—whatever feelings he had left to show today—felt like they'd been pulled out of him against his will, brought up like another thick ribbon of vomit. The investigators had used him to crack some code, something that would help him get revenge on whoever had done this, but…

"Aizawa," a familiar voice came from outside and a hand knocked on the bathroom door. He tensed up, waiting for someone to enter. They never did. "You good, bro? We should get going."

He could recognize Hizahi's voice, trying his best not to sound as concerned as he did. Aizawa knew what those words really meant. Underneath it all, Hizashi was asking if he had to come in and see if he'd done something stupid. Aizawa recognized the same tone in his voice every time he landed in the hospital.

Bringing someone into this, even someone he knew would understand…it felt too much to bear. He just wanted to forget this, but he couldn't.

"Yeah," Aizawa called out gruffly, trying to make this voice sound steadier than it was. "Yeah. Fine."

After everything they'd seen, he told Mic and Torino to give him five minutes. Five minutes, and then they could drag him back to school. He just needed to fix up his eyes. He needed to compose himself before returning to Hizashi's car and pretending nothing happened.

Pulling himself shakily off the floor, Aizawa blew his nose, still running from the pressure released upon spilling his guts. He washed his mouth out, then his hands. Finally, he applied a few drops to his eyes and pocketed them later. He didn’t bother looking at his reflection.

Hiding strategically behind his hair and readjusting his capture scarf, Aizawa pushed the door open as determined as he could muster. Sure enough, Hizashi and Torino stood a few feet away. For once, the blond was silent as he trailed along next to him. They both had a lot to think about.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now to you, but I'd consider that a miracle," Gran Torino finally broke the silence. "It's not the one we all hoped for, but the fact that we could get him to talk at all was an incredible breakthrough."

Neither of them could respond to that. Aizawa felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, mingling with the cold sweat stuck to his skin like glue. Thinking about it made him want to vomit again.

"So, what?" Mic's voice was so low that it was hard to hear. "What now?"

Torino kept walking, as grim-looking as the rest of them. It was as if he never witnessed their outbursts earlier. Treating them like adults when they both felt like such kids.

"There's only one thing we can do from here," the older man stopped at a pad of numbers, typed in a series of them, and stood back as the large metal doors screeched open. It was comforting to know that everything he'd seen today was contained to this series of hallways. "We listen to what Shirakumo told us."

That wasn't Shirakumo, Aizawa wanted to say. He kept having to remind himself. These people should be locked up for even assuming that such a thing could still be Shirakumo. They had no idea what he was like back when he was Shirakumo. They couldn't take that purple-shadowed amalgamation and stick the name of a martyr onto it.

"I don't want to be called out of class again unless there's something else to show for it," Aizawa snapped out instead. He could feel his skin prickle and tried to imagine Hizashi's hand on his arm from before, something that now felt strikingly absent. "Don't waste my time."

I'll continue the investigation myself if no one else shows competence. That was what Aizawa knew he should add to that, but he just couldn't. Promising something like that right now would be a death wish. This entire ordeal was going to kill him, and just after he tried to lay it all to rest.

The elevator took them up to ground level. Hizashi didn't call him out on his harsh words like he had before they saw what they'd seen. He didn't tell Aizawa to calm down. There was no reason to be rational now.

"We'll be in touch. I imagine we'll be out on the field later this week," Gran Torino nodded in their general direction, barely bothering to look at them as the two wandered into the parking lot like a pair of zombies.

The passenger seat of the car was cold. Aizawa had to swallow back the taste in his mouth as the vehicle jerked to life. Within minutes, they found themselves back on the freeway in bitter silence.

"A miracle," Hizashi finally muttered. It was venomous, ready to strike at anyone who disagreed. His hands gripped the wheel like it was someone's neck. Someone's neck. Even after all these years, they couldn't shift the blame onto anyone specific. "What a load of shit. Torino's old, but he's not senile enough to forget that miracles are supposed to be fucking happy."

Aizawa turned and looked out the window instead. He couldn't look in Mic's direction anymore. They never spoke about it like they should have when it first happened, and he wasn't ready to do it now.

"And now what? They want us back to teach?" Hizashi continued under his breath. Hearing him below top volume was unnerving. "How do they expect us to train kids to fight things like that? When the hell did that become part of the job description?"

The blond laughed with disbelief, almost manic. Aizawa curled in on himself and viewed the reflection of the man in the window. He didn't want Hizashi to look at him. Didn't want anyone to look at him.

"We signed up for it," he said gruffly, but— Jesus—did they really? Was this really in the books when they first became teachers?

"Yeah," Mic laughed breathlessly, "Sure. Whatever, Aizawa. I'll have no problem conjugating verbs while thinking about the state of whatever we saw in—"

"Watch it," was all Aizawa could snap in the end. He could feel the tension in the car grow tenfold as his friend fell into silence, and fuck, bickering with Hizashi was always so awful when it was over something real. Watching the man get serious was like watching the sun crash out of the sky.

"Take a nap," Hizashi's hand dug into his shoulder, and Aizawa felt the need to shrug it off. "Until we get back, at least. You need it."

Aizawa didn't have it in him to argue, not even to tell him to fuck off. He let his head fall numbly against the cold window instead, allowing the frost to seep the rest of the warmth out of his body.

As if he could sleep after seeing something like that.

~~~

Aizawa knew what shock looked like. He had years in the industry to get accustomed to it. He'd seen it on the faces of civilians and in the unspoken body language of his past students. It stuck to the faces of Pros despite how tough they all seemed in tense moments.

He was forced to identify it in school and then trained to act on it in the field. When he enrolled as a teacher, mandatory courses and workshops on ensuring your students coped adequately with exposure to dangers became trivial.

Aizawa had seen enough shock to recognize it in himself, too. Or he thought he did. The USJ and Eri's rescue did a number on him, but even that eventually floated to the back of his head. He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior.

Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn't going away like it was supposed to.

Aizawa wasn't quite sure what was happening now. Was this was a new development that would stick with him forever? Or maybe things had felt like this his whole life, and he was just noticing it now. It felt endless, the feeling of watching a hollowed out version of himself.

Aizawa was used to feeling detached. It was necessary for his work, but something about this felt painfully different. His hands barely felt like his hands now. The reflection looking back at him looked foreign, too old, too unfamiliar. His work after seeing Kurogiri felt more like a series of computer commands than any kind of mission with substance. Everything about him felt aimless. He couldn't tether himself back to solid ground. He couldn't even pretend to.

Maybe he had more in common with Nomu than he thought.

You're sickening, he told the person in front of him, the unrecognizable him. Comparing yourself to those things? What right do you have even entertaining that?

After a day of carrying out orders like clockwork, saying the things he was supposed to say and plotting a well-deserved revenge plan with the other Pros, Aizawa couldn't help but feel like the rug that had been pulled out from under him wasn't even close to being back beneath his feet.

It could be a delayed response, he kept telling himself. That was entirely possible. He'd seen prolonged effects of bad moments in his students all the time, especially within this batch of first years. Midoriya and Bakugou faced off against one another over issues that happened years ago. Kirishima got a faraway look in his eyes when he watched Ashido in combat. Even the class reps had their rocky moments of self-consciousness and blinding rage.

But this kind of a prolonged response from a Pro? An employee? A mentor? It was unprofessional, even at its best.

Aizawa didn't get it.

All they had in there with Shira—no, Jesus, Kurogiri—was a conversation. Nothing more than that. A conversation with something horrific, yes, but nothing compared to the other things they'd faced. Mic seemed angry but still just as functional as before. Why was this happening to him? Why now?

Pushing through it or taking time off seemed like a viable solution. In fact, Aizawa was sure Nezu would have forced him to take a few days to himself after going through something so awful, but it seemed impossible to think about now. Not when the mission to find out who'd done this was already underway.

It didn't take them long to zero in on the hospital, to find a name and a face. It wouldn't be long before Mic could blow the monster's brains out, and Aizawa could strangle it with his scarf until it turned blue.

Aizawa knew he should feel invigorated, finally allowing himself some kind of closure after years of grief. Hizashi couldn't wait for revenge, so why shouldn't he? Instead, he sat over his computer, watching confidential emails flood in about the operation. More and more Pros outside of UA had been copied to it.

He suppressed whatever feelings he had with blue light, his bed in the other room still made and untouched since the night before. He would read about the finer details of the operation over and over. He would stare at the unfinished profile of the man they suspect made the Nomu.

If his eyes began to close, he would feel around in his desk drawer for eye drops and apply them. Rinse, repeat. Sleep wasn't going to happen just yet.

"...Aizawa."

The man nearly jumped out of his chair as a cold hand tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from whatever harrowing thing kept him glued to his screen. Aizawa thought of the worst first. Early ambush, Nomu, another dead friend. He spun around, lack of sleep already filling him with irritation and misplaced adrenaline, ready to separate himself from whatever force had locked onto him.

It was only when his eyes strained in the half-lit room that—no—nothing was coming back to haunt him, after all.

"Eri," he breathed out, trying to keep his expression neutral rather than… whatever he was showing. "You snuck up on me."

Eri looked up at him, hand still gently gripping his shirt's sleeve. She was always so quiet, even when sitting and playing in her room. Aizawa preferred the silence compared to some of his wilder students. He knew she did, too, at least for now. Mirio suggested putting a bell on her to ensure no one tripped over her, the way she loved to sneak up behind them.

"You've been here a long time," the girl ignored his previous comment. She pointed over to his computer screen. "What is that?"

Aizawa's heart nearly fell into his stomach as he flipped back around, head running through all the graphic evidence he'd been looking into all afternoon and how he was going to make the poor girl doubly traumatized. He was lucky it was nothing. An email from the Endeavor agency.

He sighed into his other sleeve.

"Work," he spun the chair around slowly, bending down to her level. "I've been working. Is there something you need from me?"

"It's dark," she said quietly, "But you aren't sleeping."

Aizawa felt the pounding in his head far more intensely than before. It used to be light out, he realized. The sun had nearly set, leaving the room in a dusky, half-lit glow. Eri was always a little too observant.

"I'm doing some research for my next job," he said. The girl looked confused, and he realized she was probably too young to know what that meant. "I'm trying to know more."

"Oh…" she looked down, thinking about it. Aizawa watched her carefully before she looked back up and stared right at him. "You didn't go to bed yesterday. I wanted water in the middle of the night, and you were awake. And you didn't fall asleep today like you always do."

Aizawa blinked unexpectedly, a bit of moisture coming back to his eyes. He supposed she was looking for a bit of reassurance from the blip in her everyday routine. "I've been busy. But everything's okay."

"Did you get hurt?" Eri stood her ground. "Heroes get hurt sometimes. Lemillion said it."

Aizawa shook his head, trying not to chuckle. "I'm not injured."

"What about here?" standing on her tip-toes, Eri leaned over and pressed her finger into his chest. Dragging it slowly, it landed right above his ribcage. Aizawa's shoulders tensed suddenly as he realized she was trying to find his heart. "When it hurts here a lot, I stay awake, too."

Her words pierced him more than he expected. His mouth felt dry. Eri wasn't supposed to worry about him. That wasn't her job. The fact that she understood something at such a high emotional level was both impressive and heartbreaking, and Aizawa felt sick thinking about it. Before he could reply, the door opened wider.

"Eri, Aizawa's working in here, remember? What did I say about going in without asking first?" A sunny voice accompanied by a pair of big hands came up behind her, hoisting her several feet in the air. The girl squirmed under Mirio's grip, eventually falling limp as he stuck her on his shoulders. The blond looked over at Aizawa, his smile too big for his face. "Sorry. I was in the bathroom. She's been wanting to come in here all afternoon."

She was really worried about him. Aizawa didn't like that for a number of reasons.

"Thank you for looking after her today," he crossed his arms as if trying to hide whatever part of his heart that Eri could see. "She'd be pretty bored with just me today."

"It's no problem at all," Mirio let Eri situate herself on his shoulders and reached up to hold her dangling hand. "Big day coming up, right? All the teachers have been talking about it."

"An understatement," Aizawa's head throbbed with each word, and he was grateful to be sitting down. He wanted to put more eyedrops in, but…hadn't he just done that?

"Lemillion says a big hug can make anyone feel better," Eri inserted herself back into the conversation. She still had her eyes locked on him. "Lemillion…can you tell him? Please?"

Mirio tilted his head to the side playfully.

"What's that? Does Mr. Aizawa need a hug?" he looked up at Eri and laughed, not noticing the frustration growing on her face. "For the sake of UA's future, maybe we should both volunteer!"

"Very funny," Aizawa tried to deadpan, brush it off, and return to his work. But now, with the funny feeling of dread hanging off his arms, shoulders, and face, he couldn't help but feel it in his heart, too.

~~~

Aizawa knew he should be preparing his body more for this moment.

People were counting on him out there. His quirk was needed more than anything. They needed it to have a fighting chance with who they were up against.

He'd received special orders, classified instructions that blurred and warped on the paper when he looked at them. There were places he had to be. Times he needed to memorize. He couldn't overuse Erasure for anything unnecessary, had to save it for the pivotal moment he was sure to contribute to in a matter of days.

His allies instructed him to protect his eyes twice as much until the day came. He had to rest his body and ensure he wouldn't burn himself out before the battle began.

Aizawa would have taken the opportunity to sleep in an instant. The room had started to tilt at an angle, and his head pounded incessantly. He knew he needed to give his body a break.

If only he could close his eyes without wanting to rear his head and vomit.

Sleeping was a no-go until that dreadful feeling let up—if it ever let up. For now, Aizawa found himself in the staff room. it was empty, as everyone else scrambled off to prepare for their anticipated confrontation with the Liberation Army.

The students and teachers participating in the fight found themselves on the field, coaching themselves and others on what to do in every conceivable scenario.

Aizawa was alone, pulled away from his students. They required him for "bigger things," meetings with Endeavor and the Hero Commission and whoever else had been recruited to take these people out. He stared down at his stack of papers, trying to lie to himself that he was being productive when he could barely lock his eyes on the words.

"Aizawa. Hey there."

Correction. He was almost alone. It seemed he'd forgotten that one teacher at UA couldn't participate in the fight.

"All Might," he greeted the man without turning his head, not bothering to straighten himself out and sit up. The staff was used to his informal, exhausted posture. The former symbol of peace was no exception. "You're not out training."

The older man stretched his arms above his head as he crossed the near-empty teacher's lounge. Aizawa should thank the man. Toshinori covered the classes he should have taught when he was pulled into the investigator's facility. He wondered if the man knew how important that was. There wouldn't be a solid attack plan like this if it weren't for that.

"I'm giving them a breather. Letting them escape my iron grip," Toshinori laughed to himself, and Aizawa couldn't help but think it was ironic that All Might himself was teaching people about taking breaks. "Handed them off to Cementoss for the more endurance-level activities. Not much I can do in that department anymore, right?"

The man flexed whatever was left of his bicep and laughed again, a chuckle that quickly became a wet, crackling cough. The imagery of blood spilling out of the man's mouth didn't usually phase him, but this time, it made Aizawa visibly wince, his shoulders instinctively closing in on himself. He shook it off and tried to focus on the list of commands he'd barely been able to memorize.

"Right," he muttered.

Aizawa felt the world catch up with him late as he turned his head and watched a blurry version of the hero on the other side of the room.

All Might didn't seem to notice his colleague's off-ness. Instead, he chose to cross the room, over by the coffee machine that Aizawa knew was there, even if it blended messily into the wall when he tried to focus on it. He strained his eyes at the golden silhouette insulting his eyes instead.

"And what about you?" Toshinori asked curiously, "Last time I checked, you're supposed to be recharging your battery. I didn't expect anyone to be in here with everyone out preparing."

Aizawa knew he couldn't use any kind of usual excuse. Prep work, mission planning, debrief, lunch break…none of that mattered until the League was dealt with and things could lull back to normal. He winced again as All Might flicked on the second set of overhead lights. He could hear the noise of a spoon clinking against a coffee mug. He blinked. His eyes felt painfully dry, like they could shrivel up and fall out of his head.

"Reviewing instructions," he answered slowly. He tried to keep that monotonous tone in his voice. It was unexpectedly difficult.

"What, for the ambush?" Toshinori, coffee presumably in hand, came closer. Aizawa tried not to flinch away as two blonde strands of hair poked over the back of the couch, peering down at the page in his hand. "They handed those out the day they located the hospital. You still haven't looked at them?"

God damn the man for being so nosy. He couldn't even fight this battle. Why did Toshinori have to know every detail about the operation? He bit back whatever honesty he had for the man and tried to say something less damaging.

"I can leave if you don't want company," Aizawa tried to squash the waver in his words.

There was a momentary pause before Toshinori put his hands up defenselessly. "No—no, I don't mean it like that. I don't mind at all. I guess I'm just surprised."

"Surprised," Aizawa repeated tiredly, like a robot. He'd run out of filler words, so he had to take them from someone else.

"Normally, you'd take up any offer to get some sleep."

The energy in the room shifted quickly. Something about those words felt loaded, but he couldn't bring himself to read between the lines.

Aizawa paused, straining his eyes to focus on the man as he rounded the side of the couch and sat down next to him. Toshinori kept his distance, but something about this felt off. Everything felt off. He wasn't himself. How would he aid in this ambush if he wasn't himself?

"I've slept more than enough," he lied through his teeth, hands falling into weak fists. If he wasn't careful, the papers he held in front of him would crumple. And then a lot more would crumble after that.

"Sure, sure," Toshinori offered him a wry smile. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, they're making mine feel dry."

The world tilted again, and Aizawa tried not to let the secret slip that he could feel the earth rotating beneath him. The retired hero was speaking again, and he snapped himself out of this disorienting feeling by forcing himself to respond.

"What?"

"I said you look like you're ready to fall over," a quick pause before, "Seriously, when was the last time you slept?"

The roaring in his ears was back. Aizawa ignored the cold sweat that gathered on the back of his neck and swallowed. He'd get up and leave if he trusted himself to walk, but right now, he couldn't tell if he was swaying or if the rest of the room was. His eyes burned.

"Everything's under control," he forced out, even though that was far from the truth. "I'm doing what's been asked of me to ensure this runs smoothly."

"You don't have to spit out whatever lines you're feeding to the Commission," Toshinori pressed, uncharacteristically hard for someone who barely knew him. "Sleep is important—even more so for someone like you. If you need someone to look after Young Eri, I'm sure we can arrange for—"

"Everything's under control."

Aizawa meant it as an end to their conversation, a plea for the man to stop prying or else he would discover something he didn't like. Because everything was not under control. It unravelled like a spool of thread, too thin and wispy to pick up and fix.

Aizawa considered getting up, but where would he go? Eri was already worried enough, and only so many places at UA felt so secluded. A part of him thought he could make it to his feet, even if his body felt stuck to this couch like a magnet. Toshinori's slim figure remained silently next to him. Neither refused to move.

"I know what happened with Kurogiri."

And just like that, the world began to spin out of control again. Aizawa had gotten used to the shaky ground he now stood on, but this was so much more nauseating. The couch felt like quicksand. It pulled him in, crawling up his back and filling his nose and mouth.

Aizawa shifted his eyes to All Might, who stared into his mug. He looked guilty. He always looked so fucking guilty over every bad thing that happened.

"Sorry. I probably should have started with that. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, if at all," Toshinori set down his coffee and shifted over to Aizawa, whose body threatened to turn away. "I got a call from Gran Torino after it happened. I don't know the full details about the interrogation, but I know enough."

He felt an endless pit in his stomach now. Any minute now, he would start to choke on his own breath.

"Just hearing about it makes my stomach turn," he muttered, and Aizawa stared forward, out the window and off into space. All Might shuffled closer, trying to catch his gaze. His warmth did nothing to shatter the cold he could feel down to the bone. "I'm sorry you had to go through something like that."

None of this is your place to know, he wanted to snap back, among a million other things. I don't want to hear what you have to say about sacrifice. I don't want a speech about not giving up. I want to be left alone. I don't want to be left alone. I don't know what to do. I don’t know what I want.

Exhaustion took over any motivation to be angry. It took away motivation to be anything at all. No matter what fleeting thought came to mind, Aizawa couldn't do anything but try not to sway with the earth. The sky on the other side of the window looked hazy.

"Torino sounded worried about it on the phone. After seeing you now, I think he has every right to be."

That monster that Shirakumo had become tried to say his name. Shouta. He almost heard it. It sounded so painful, horrifically human. His heart rate climbed until he could barely mask his breath, coming in and out of his mouth unnaturally. Everything felt surreal, and he refused to blame it on the days of sleep he'd missed.

"Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago?" a low, gentle voice pierced through his thoughts, "I can still teach people, even if things are different for me now."

Had he really said that? It sounded wise. Something a teacher would say. Someone who had everything under control.

"Yeah," he forced himself to speak. It was painful doing so. The blurred room had a mind of its own now, his vision swarming like a watercolour painting, just like before. "I said it. What's your point?"

Toshinori was silent for what felt like too long. Then, an alarming and unexpected hand fell onto Aizawa's back. He inhaled sharply as the hand touched the back of his shirt. It sent a shudder down his entire body, one he wished he could control.

"I don't want to overstep," He could almost see All Might's sunken, sombre smile just outside his periphery. "But it feels to me like you need a teacher more than anyone else right now."

That declaration shook him like paper in the wind. Aizawa didn't like feeling 16 again when he was well past 30. The sensation was suffocating. He was an adult now, yet he couldn't stop thinking about how defenseless and childish he felt back when everything first happened.

As if on instinct, Aizawa reached for his eye drops with a trembling hand, cursing to himself as he realized he'd already gone through his other bottle. He couldn't do anything right. He hadn't done anything right this entire school year.

"Your eyes are in pretty bad shape," the voice attached to the hand on his back spoke up again. Aizawa could feel the man's fingers twitch, an unexpected warmth passing over him. He suppressed the urge to shiver again. He felt so cold. "If you don't sleep, at least let them close. Just for a few minutes, and hear me out on what I have to say."

The soft, authoritative voice blanketed over his thoughts. Aizawa's body felt like static as he fought over whether it was a good or bad idea to plunge his sight back into darkness. He kept seeing things that weren't there when he closed his eyes but his retinas couldn't take much more light. It burned to keep them open.

Finally, he hunched forward and stopped fighting it. Aizawa thought it would take everything in him to keep them like that, but the temporary relief it brought to his head was like a drug.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander back to Shirakumo, but that felt impossible now. It wasn't just that face anymore, the one he saw in the purple smoke. It was the building. The weather that day. The last expression he saw on his friend's face. Aizawa breathed in a little too harshly, as if even closing his eyes was too torturous.

"You can't be thinking straight, thinking you can rush into battle like this." Toshinori's hand was still pressed against his back. Aizawa kept his eyes closed, lids screwed shut a little too tight. "So tell me what you are thinking."

Aizawa couldn't help another strained, shaky exhale. He wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore—if he was saying anything at all.

"I think it should have been me instead," he choked out roughly, trying and failing to steady his voice. The silence afterwards was deafening, as if he'd revealed his most coveted secret. It had to be obvious, the way he held himself. Aizawa hadn't stayed alive all this time for his own sake.

They both sat there, letting the air fill the gaps between them. Aizawa regretted putting that thought into words.

"I know what it feels like to see someone come back from the dead," Toshinori finally said. Aizawa let his hands find his face and he redirected his breath into his palms. "I've seen it in enemies I thought were gone. Enemies that came back and continued to hurt others. For that, I'll never be able to forgive myself. It felt like I failed my only job."

Dead is supposed to stay dead. Thinking that was the only way to cope with grief. Losing all hope of seeing them again was a part of the process, and now everything had been turned on its head. Dead is supposed to stay dead. Aizawa felt like he'd been screaming that since the interrogation, but no one seemed to understand it.

"But…I see it in the kids, too." Toshinori’s hand moved over to Aizawa's shoulder. It felt strangely solidifying, both his grip and his unexpected words. "I see people who are gone come back to life in the students we teach. It's like I'm staring right at them sometimes." He paused. Aizawa could hear the smile in his voice. "I know you see it, too. It's one of the twisted perks of staying alive this long."

Toshinori laughed softly at that, and Aizawa felt something wet drip onto the palms of his hands. His eyes were just recovering moisture. This wasn't anything more than that. He still found himself sniffling in response.

"Don't apologize for being alive." The space between them grew smaller, and Aizawa could feel an arm sling around him, loose yet confident in his motions. "You said that to me too, Aizawa."

If Aizawa were in any other state, he would have strangled him for violating the five-foot barrier of aura he exuded. Instead, he brought his sleeves up to his closed eyes and let his breath grow wet and unsteady.

"I know you're hurting. It's not hard to see it now," Toshinori's half-hug felt surprisingly strong for his current form. "I know it's unfair that people expect you to move on from what you saw so quickly. You deserve more time to grieve instead of dealing with all these loose ends. I wish I could give that to you now, but I can't." the man looked away for a moment as if he couldn't handle saying that last part. "I'm so sorry for not being that anymore."

Those words felt more like an apology to the world than just him. All Might sounded disappointed that he could no longer prop everything up on his shoulders, and Aizawa hated how good it felt to have his thoughts spoonfed to him from another source. It helped him think less. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to drift, ignore how he felt and what he'd seen.

"No matter what's right, avoiding sleep will make everything feel worse."

Aizawa couldn't do anything but nod thickly. He hated being wrong, but everything this week repeatedly proved otherwise. He sniffled again. His sleeve was getting wet.

He really needed to pull it together.

"I want to," Aizawa finally said, not moving from his position. He thought to get up again but a part of him knew that would be difficult. The previous symbol of peace could ward off Shirakumo's ghost with his presence now, but that wouldn't last once he got up and stumbled to his room. "But I don't know if it's possible."

He didn't like how his voice sounded hanging in the air. It pathetic and desperate. He didn't know why All Might of all people had been the one to make him break. Despite the man's insecurities, he still had the aura of a hero. A protector.

"If you fight in this state, it won't just be you who dies," Toshinori spoke, "I don't think your body has much of a choice."

He could barely handle closing his eyes. Exhaustion transformed into panic again. He couldn't go back to his room. He couldn't worry Eri or Hizashi or any of his students, who were undoubtedly much braver and more passionate than he could ever be.

Aizawa couldn't stop himself from admitting how he truly felt.

"My mind says otherwise."

Toshinori was still for a moment, and just like that, he seemed to move without thinking. Quickly and ungracefully, he lifted both arms out and wrapped Aizawa in a tight hug. It was a proper one that squeezed his chest and stomach into one and forced his head to rest in the place between the hero's chest and neck. Aizawa couldn't hide the trembling in his shoulders, letting his head fall onto the man's chest. His eyes swarmed with tears, and he blinked, his scarf catching them as they fell.

This sight would have been unseemly at any other time, but Aizawa couldn't find it in him to care. It felt like his chest had been ripped open and exposed, and he couldn't help but fall limp like Eri had the other day under Mirio's care. He was good at being quiet—silent with everything he'd ever done—but the way his breath shook him and the rest of his upper half felt strikingly loud.

When Toshinori broke the hug, Aizawa found the courage to look up and finally meet his eyes. They were teeming with guilt…or maybe it was more like understanding.

"I'm here for awhile. If you try again, I'll make sure you aren't disturbed," Toshinori said, as if to really say, I'll be here to protect in whatever way I can.

It was so like him. All Might's state of mind hadn't changed much with the loss of his body.

Aizawa couldn't argue. He was no stranger to napping in untraditional places. He wrapped his arms around himself, head falling forward into his scarf. The world still spun beneath him, even with his eyes closed. Right now, it seemed less like quicksand and more like…nothing. Open air. More neutral than before.

"Did I ever tell you what happened to those water filters I ordered for delivery? UA security thought the delivery guy tampered with them. Said they could be bombs or poison. I could only use them if I went out and bought them myself…I asked what difference it made if I bought them in person instead of online… you're not gonna believe what they said…"

Aizawa knew what the man was doing. It was painfully purposeful. Filling the room with mindless words instead of the obvious. You only have so much time left before leaving for Jaku Hospital. People are counting on you. You need to think more about living for your own sake. You need to sleep now.

Like always, All Might's actions somehow spoke louder than his words.

As he finally drifted off, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Eri was right.

___

If you got this far, thank you for reading!! As always, my ask box is open for any thought/requests :)

#febuwhump 2025 #febuwhump day 6 #febuwhump #mha #my hero academia #bnha #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #whump #hurt/comfort #sleep deprivation #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #c c cherry's fic #have not cross posted in so long idk what to even tag #just someone help this man out genuinely poor guy #angst

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