Through A Marble
A Boku no Hero Academia oneshot.
Summary: Shouta Aizawa was a man that screamed attachment issues; but when his students are put in danger at the USJ, Aizawa must protect them even at the cost of his own life. They are his first priority after all—but so close to the edge of death, can he really save them or die trying?
Warning: Character death mentioning, minimal gore, semi-serious themes, and small dosage of HizashixAizawa.
They were his first priority.
They had always been his first priority, even if it meant dying.
Everything compacted in his visions, colors diluting one another to make the world a muck of useless sensory inputs in his brain. But he saw red. Dark, dark red.
At first, he mistook it for the ground, the seedy red blanching his memories. He had ran across it, he had knocked enemies onto the surface; but this red was different, a dark luster making it glisten against the muted colors around it.
Lines began to wobble. Is he blinking? The world slid, left, right, faded and returned in a sudden flash. It burned.
Blood. It was blood, he could comprehend, but blood from what?
He squinted, tried to pick apart the shapes that were melting into blobs. Green and yellow. Tsuyu Asui.
The world stitched itself together again in a fast stroke like throwing paint on the canvas to make a masterpiece.
"I can't believe you're a teacher Shouta."
Not now, not now.
Izuku Midoriya was beside her, what he assumed to be Mineta cowering between them—
He blinked and all three are gone, dissolved in shadows.
He's moved!
Fires raged in distant corners. A bird offhandedly peeked through the windows, watching the events inside the glass. They were in a marble, trapped, a reflection of fear and terror and pain. Aizawa's eyes were touched by the blood that surrounded him.
Shigaraki halted his assault, turning back to face him; but someone cut the strings to fabric, allowing it to unravel in sections. The background first faded, creating a silent cacophony of its own. Shigaraki bled into the blackness of his clothes, a menacing shadow on the abstract canvas. But the children were crystal clear, mirrors for the terror he felt inside himself, but he would never show it.
They were his first priority.
They were always his first priority, even if it meant dying.
He choked on the word, "Run."
His enemy said something, whatever it was consumed in the water churning in his ears. His eyes ached but not as bad when his hair was twisted in one meaty fist. He kept one eye on Shigaraki, always watching, egging the kids to run.
Dammit…!
Midoriya was up, moving to punch him. His free hair goes limp, but he's prepared to use his quirk again to save Midoriya from being injured Shigaraki—
There was crying in the distance.
Damn memories.
The impact of his head against the ground was just one of many; but it was like beating a drum so hard you burst through the cover and it could no longer produce a noise in its altered state. Everything became like running sand, and he tried so desperately to catch it all before it faded away, but it all slipped through his fingers.
The first impact stole the sound. Midoriya was shouting, he knew he was, but it all became a silent horror movie. He wished he could get up and leave the theater. He didn't want to know how this one would end.
A metallic taste clanged against his tongue, and when he swallowed, it formed a hard lump in the back of his throat. He tried to cough it up, but the second impact slackened his jaw and the muscles keeping his head up. It took away all his movements but not his sight. His sight, the very thing that made him Eraserhead, remained intact in case the children needed him.
Don't hit him, you idiot. Take them and leave. Find a group. Escape.
The third impact made everything dim, halted everything in its tracks. No thoughts would move. He couldn't even be certain if he was still breathing or not. He didn't comprehend the weight shift or the sudden plume of dust and debris in his line of vision.
Everything looked like that pale, oblique color, a world trapped in a marble.
He faded into it, became one with it, as his blood mixed with the dust on the ground and the screams of children go unheard by the one who protected them the longest.
And then suddenly, there was sound.
"You? A hero? Don't make me laugh."
He jolted up, his body obeying the command to move. He was sitting in a pile of rotting leaves, the black of his clothes fading into reds and yellows and browns. It was dark out, street lamps his only source of light. He wasn't surprised in the least by the voice. He always heard the seeds of doubt being planted.
"You'd be useless as a fighter. You're too scrawny. No potential."
His fabric was gone, his goggles also lost in the sea of growth around him. He slowly stood up, searching for the voice. All he heard were birds. This was probably one of the many parks he walked through in the dead of night, searching for crooks amongst the shadows.
"You wouldn't be a hero. You'd be a cheat, a fake and a dreamer. Get a different hobby kid."
He didn't care very much for the venom behind the words. But then he thinks of Midoriya, of that purple haired kid in general studies; of heroes that almost couldn't be.
"It shouldn't be others who decide who a hero is," he replied, shoving his hands in his pocket. Was this an illusion? Where were his students? "But the individual who decides by their actions and choices to be a hero."
His expression doesn't change, even when he heard laughter.
A laughter he recognized.
"Shouta! That was good! See, I told you you'd be a good teacher!"
"You didn't tell me anything Hizashi." He tred forward carefully, testing the ground hidden beneath the leaves with each step. His eyes felt so tired.
"That's not true! You just don't remember!"
If he thought hard enough about it, the leaves could be a nice pillow if he collected enough of them. He started to kick up a pile.
"Taking a nap," he mumbled softly.
"Shouta, you can't sleep."
Now that made him pause; and as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't sleep. Not when Shigaraki and that bird-brain beast were around. It felt like his weight was dragging him down though, a soft voice saying, "come to me, just for a little while".
"Where are the students?" He asked the nighttime air.
"I don't know."
Aizawa sighed, "There isn't much I can do right now then."
"Don't go to sleep. We can't lose you."
"Aizawa-sensei!"
He could feel grit against his fingertips. He slowly curled his fingers into fists.
"Well, I'm tired Hizashi. You can wake me up later…"
He plopped down into the leaves, but it felt much warmer than he expected. The hot breath against his neck doesn't startle him, the familiar arms weaving around his waist. Just this once, he would let him. He was too tired to fight back.
"Please, Shouta…" Hizashi begged, nudging his cheek with his own. "Don't leave us like this…"
He was getting irritated now, a cat that's been prodded too many times for the enjoyment of the humans. He grunted and tried to get comfy, but the English teacher poked his side hard.
"Shouta."
"Why do you keep saying it like I'm going to die."
Hizashi was still. He slowly turned to face him, meeting with uncharacteristic tears he would never see in person.
"Because you are. You're going to die. So wake up. Please."
"If I was dying, I'd be in hell right now. Oh wait, I might already be."
Hizashi's voice sunk right to the core. "This isn't funny. Please."
"All Might! Go!"
"His power, he's so strong!"
He could hear his students voice with more frequency. He wiped his arms when he felt slime cascade down them. His hands wipe away clean.
They were his first priority.
They were always his first priority, even if it meant dying.
He hopped up, searching for an exit. Hizashi watched him, quieter then he would be if his mouth taped shut.
He blinked, and everything tasted like blood again. His world constricted, yellow panting laps around the scene; but then everything expanded again, to the dark and dreary night of this place, wherever it was.
"All Might is there," he told Hizashi. "That's good at least… someone needed to protect the students."
Hizashi frowned. "Someone was protecting the students."
"I was just doing my job."
His friend dropped it there.
All Might, as powerful as he was, could fail against Nomu, particularly concerning his condition. If Shigaraki kept buzzing into the fight like the little fly he was, the odds would be stacked against the number one hero and his number one enemy: his time limit. If he could wake up, take Shigaraki or even the black portal guy out of the battle…
"Detroit Smash!"
He latched onto the soundbite, focusing all his power on it. All Might's bellow flooded the air as if he was standing right next to him. His fingers twitched, and he felt the ground he was laying against and the blood that was beginning to stick between his fingers; but it made holding onto the world slick, and within seconds he was snapping back into the fake reality like a rubber band returning to its original state.
"I can't hang on long enough to be over there Hizashi."
He turned back towards his friend, but he was gone, the only sign of his presence being the imprint of a body on the leaves. Shouta Aizawa was alone, stuck on a shelf high and out of reach.
But at least the students were protected.
They were his first priority.
They were always his—
"Let's move Aizawa-sensei, quickly. We need to get him to Recovery Girl as soon as possible."
They shouldn't be worrying about him, they should be saving themselves. He was the expendable variable.
"Here, lay him down quickly."
Recovery Girl. If she was there, the other teachers must be as well. The students would be safe.
"Why isn't he waking up?"
He shook his head at Midoriya. Because, he thought, haven't you learned yet? She isn't called Miracle Girl.
"These things take time. He's pretty banged up."
He could feel her soft hands along his arms. Her fingers paused at his wrists, skipped to his neck, and he closed his eyes and counted his own heartbeat along with her. A steady pulse.
"I… can't find a pulse."
He couldn't hear the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he moved forward, snatching at their voices again.
"W-what…?"
"His injuries may be too great."
"Where is he?! Shouta!"
"Present Mic, please. Calm down."
So, this was it. He really was dead. One of the few times he would make the news would be a report on how he lost his life protecting the students at the USJ-
His face appeared like a virus on a screen.
Shigaraki.
His attitude led Aizawa to believe he would be the first to run away when things went south. Rationally, he could assume at that very moment he used his portal friend to make an escape when the rest of the UA staff arrived. He couldn't be certain what triggered his arrival at the USJ at that day, but he could be certain about one thing: he would be back. And he would appear where the students were.
His students.
Shouta Aizawa's first priority.
"Tch… I guess no nap for me. Those kids are going to work me to death…"
"There's no way he's gone. Check again!"
"Present Mic."
"Check again!"
He focused hard on the noises around him again, grappling with them to pull him back to where he belonged. He squeezed his eyes, the faces of his students pulsating by in blurs.
He inhaled a sharp breath, dust causing him to wheeze. The pain shot straight down his arms, the ones he could see when he opened his eyes that were bent out of proportion.
But the colors began to run, like he was squinting at the world through a marble. He was losing his grip again. If he blinked, it would all be gone.
"Shouta!" Hizashi's voice was ringing as always, but his eyes weren't focused on his pacing form.
The students of class 1-A were gathered together a few yards away, injuries assessed, police questioning them one by one; but their eyes were plastered on him, waiting, expecting something.
They were his priority.
They were always his first priority.
He couldn't go dying on them yet.
His tongue wouldn't operate at first, lulling whenever he tried to use it, but eventually, he worked up to a few words.
"All… safe...?"
Hizashi kneeled to his level, "What was that Shouta…?"
He hacked up some of the blood impeding his speech. It made talking a little easier.
"Are… all safe…?"
"Yeah… yeah, you can rest easy Shouta… all of them are safe."
He slowly closed his eyes. He would rest easy now; and when Shigaraki and his gang of idiots returned, he would be the first one to fight them back again. Until his dying breath—only that wasn't completely true.
He would fight until he was close to death, but he would never lose to it; he still had to make sure this class of heroes graduated in one piece, especially Midoriya. He wasn't an expendable person.
He may be a terrible hero, more of a vigilante than a person a child could idolize; but being a hero wasn't something Shouta Aizawa took pride in.
He preferred being a teacher anyway.
You are all my first priority… he thought in his lull, so close to sleeping, but almost fearful of tipping over its edge. And there are very few people I can say that about.
A foreign curve dragged the tips of his mouth upward.
I'll be around for a long time coming. So you better be careful Mineta. I still have plenty of time to expel you.
So. Surprisingly, this ended up as a happy ending. If you know me as a writer, most of my things are sad and angsty, but I almost felt bad for planning to kill Aizawa in the end. I hope you enjoyed!
I was considering writing a fanfic about Aizawa's recovery from the USJ incident. Would you be interested in reading it? Let me know.
-Soul Spirit-