Or, Aizawa gets mother-henned by a concerned Class 1-A

Chapter 1: Regretting Blinking

He didn't ever think blinking would be something he started to hate. He had to remind himself that for his own record he actually didn't hate blinking… yet. Nothing could truly ruin the relief of just closing his eyes for a moment (or an hour); but he was coming quite close to it. Coming across some villains on patrol with "flashy" Quirks wasn't unusual. It was just that it was never usually this literal. Sometimes, Aizawa used the term in the most literal sense. Aoyama's Quirk fit the descriptor quite nicely, in fact. "Flashy" was an adjective that the kid embodied.

And God, if Aizawa didn't avert his gaze half the time the boy was shooting that thing off in training just to spare his eyes the strain of the blinding beam of light. He was going through more eye drop bottles this year because of it, he knew it. He was absently rolling said bottle in his fingers. He could hear a storm far out—still at least an hour away—and the wind had started to pick up. His hair was, by proxy, flying away from his face and he wished he could enjoy the feeling of the wind on his face, but he couldn't. The attempted mugger stuck beneath him was a constant reminder that he was stuck waiting.

The street had been quiet. It was usually quiet around 2 am, there weren't many bars in the area, and typically it was one of the quieter streets on his route. Not much happened, most people were very sparsely distanced, and typically headed home after their own late shifts. He'd been cutting through as the last bit of patrol before headed home when he'd spotted a woman walking with her face in her phone, seemingly following directions, and the looming figure in an alleyway ahead of her. He'd already started that way, capture scarf in hand, when the mugger had grabbed at her purse, knife in his own hands.

The woman hadn't even had time to scream before Aizawa had dropped down between them like some demon in the night. The initial shock, and scream, of the mugger (he'd landed closest to him) was plenty of leeway for him to yank the purse strap from his grasp. The woman had cut and run immediately. Aizawa found he couldn't blame her—it wasn't a great neighborhood to begin with and anyone dropping down like discount Batman was either a Pro, a vigilante, or someone who had just been on a rooftop and not instantly snapped their legs on the way down so they could handle themselves.

Aizawa turned towards the would-be mugger. The knife was pointed at him now, the hand a little shaky. The man had no obvious Quirk—so mutation was out and that meant his Quirk was in—and was only slightly stockier than Aizawa himself. Easy three shot KO. Aizawa figured, however, given the time and that he was exhausted, that talking him down as a first attempt was probably a better idea.

"I think you know you're not getting out of the alleyway," Aizawa said calmly. He set his hands in his pockets just to emphasis his point. No need for his Quirk just yet. The guy wasn't Villain League material by a long shot, so either he was Quirkless, had a very weak Quirk, or he wasn't at all confident in it. The man didn't respond, just raising the knife higher. Aizawa flicked his gaze up to his face, making eye contact. The man froze, maintaining that eye contact, even as his face contorted into unsure fear.

At first, Aizawa thought that perhaps he'd actually managed to stop someone's brain from functioning with his red eyes. They glowed, ever so slightly, in the dark even without his Quirk active. But instead, the man's look of desperation turned into a wobbly smile and he choked out a laugh. Aizawa had half a mind to drop kick him right then and there. But, that laugh was a little out of character for this guy, he thought. And the knife was still shaking between them. Aizawa flicked his gaze away from the man's eyes and towards the knife, fully intent on knocking it from his grasp to get it on the ground, and then kick it away.

The world exploded.

More accurately, his head exploded in pain, and the brightest flash he'd ever experienced assaulted his eyes. To his own credit, he reacted better than he'd expected. He had taken an initial step back—a purely irrational fight or flight response he couldn't stop—before planting his feet firmly in the concrete. He heard the shuffling of quick footsteps trying to bypass him and shot his capture weapon out. It coiled around a solid body and he heard the knife clatter to the ground, followed by a strangled gasp.

He yanked back, his free palm hitting the back of a head. He kicked the man's feet out from under him and pushed. Both fell forwards into the concrete. The mugger hit chest and then face, Aizawa landing on top of him, dropping into a seated position on his back. He huffed, slowly turning his head this way and that. He cracked his eyes open to check his visual ability. If it were bad enough he'd have to call for a ride—it was painful and too bright.

Aizawa shut his eyes again with a hiss. The man mumbled something beneath him. He ignored him. He tired a second time, his headache exploding across his skull when he did. He bit back his hiss this time, alongside a shudder, and started to dig around in his pocket for his phone. Out of sheer habit he tried to glance down at it to read the contacts, just as easily as if he were still waking up, and his eyes were immediately assaulted by searing pain. He squeezed them shut. He pressed the back of his wrist to the space between his eyes and breathed through a pained groan. The perp mumbled again and Aizawa kicked him with his heel.

He would hear about that later. For now, he wanted to get home, like he was supposed to do almost an hour ago. He'd never been more grateful for speed dial. His eyes felt like they were blistering every time he tired to open them.

He was starting to hate blinking.

He bit his tongue to hold down the sounds of pain. He wasn't even sure he could still see until he could get to Recovery Girl. He didn't think so. He was done entertaining the idea of masochism, however, and so he wasn't about to try again. He hits what he hopes is the right button and waits for the speed dial to connect. It was done after two rings. There was a large yawn on the other end and then a smaller second yawn.

"Hey! What's up Shou~? You're usually home by now."

"Mic… I need you to come pick me up. Track my location. Now."

Yamada was silent on the other end for a beat. Aizawa heard him fighting his covers the next second. "Are you alright?" he asks. The sound of keys jingling. "You sound…"

"I'll explain when you get here," Aizawa says quickly. He clacked his phone shut and sighed. The perp, his arms pinned by Aizawa's free hand even though they were trapped under the capture weapon, turned his head.

"It's temporary—" he says quickly. Aizawa slipped the phone back into his pocket. He gripped the man's hair and shoved his face back into the dirt.

"It had better be," he warned.

He was beginning to see that he started to get… agitated when he couldn't see. He'd practiced being blinded plenty of times before. It was useful for when rooms were pitch black or the night was darkest. He could still move around with his practice. Pretending to be blind and being blind (with a healthy dose of Satan's favorite pastime: pain) were two completely different things, however.

As a pro he should have been more prepared. He should be taking it easier. His heartrate was pounding in his chest. His breathing was constricting. It took him an ungodly long time to realize he was panicking. It wasn't exactly the same panic he felt at the USJ. That was combined with the need to protect, protect, protect. It wasn't exactly the same as at the training camp, either. That did share some sense of uselessness, though. Perhaps not as heavy, given his students weren't being actively targeted or hunted as far as he knew, but he still felt helpless… towards himself.

Logically, he could probably find his way home. He knew the area well enough. He pushed the thought from his mind, however. He prided himself in a few things. Firstly, that he produced capable, competent, and careful heroes. Any who didn't meet his cut were expelled. Any that lacked the potential or who proved they lacked what it took, he expelled. They didn't make it to graduation. Secondly, his abilities as an underground hero. His logical mind. If he didn't have to babysit a mugger, he could have found his way home eventually.

He could have used his other senses to navigate the area until he was at his apartment again. He could have, but that meant leaving this asshat alone. And Yamada probably would not let him live it down if he did. He'd be hearing about it for months.

He heard a car pulling up, stopping right in front of the alley. He angled his head towards the sound. A door opened and he heard Yamada's incredulous voice.

"There you are!"

"Don't look this one in the eyes," Aizawa says first. "Blinding type Quirk."

Yamada stopped short of him, and he just knew him well enough to know that he was gaping. "A-are you…? Are you?!"

"Headache."

"Sorry… but… are you?" Yamada asks, much quieter this time.

"Yes," Aizawa deadpanned. The mugger made more muffled noises. Aizawa pushed his face deeper into the dirt. "It'd better be temporary."

"Uh, I think you're suffocating them…" Yamada says sheepishly. Aizawa loosened his grip and the man shot his head up for air. He took a few breaths before speaking.

"It is!" the mugger shouted, successfully turning his head to face Mic and assure him as well. "It'll wear off, I swear!"

"How long, exactly?" Aizawa asks. He clenched his fists.

"I-It's a day for every second of eye contact…" the mugger says slowly. Aizawa paused a moment. Yamada just stared at the man, dumbfounded, for a moment. Finally, Aizawa seemed to come back to his senses. He promptly slammed the man's head into the dirt.

"Sh—Aiza-! Eraser!" Yamada screeched. He came up, as if intending to tear the man off the mugger, and Aizawa somehow, somehow, fixed him with a withering glare. Yamada stopped short, throwing his hands up, even though logically he knew that Aizawa couldn't see him at all.

"This mother fucker may have blinded me for a month," Aizawa growled. Yamada started to sweat. He had heard Aizawa growl so few times he could count them on one hand.

"I understand," Yamada says hastily. "But, perhaps murder is not what should go on your record?"

"I wouldn't kill him."

"Okay, get off him, let me load this dead weight into the car," Yamada ordered.

Grievous bodily harm wasn't exactly much better of a charge against a hero, after all. And he was pretty sure he just knocked the man out with that head slam. Aizawa tilted his head back down at the man and gave a gruff sigh.

"Could've had so much potential," Aizawa grumbled, finally getting up.

Yamada hefted the man up by the capture weapon, dragging him to the car. Aizawa helped him load the man into the back and then got into the passenger side, ducking his head a little lower than necessary to avoid hitting it on the roof of the car. Yamada sighed heavily, getting into the car himself. The drive to the police station was silent. Once Yamada carried the mugger inside—still out cold, or perhaps pretending to be, he couldn't be entirely sure—he waved over an officer.

"This one's got a Blinding type Quirk, don't make eye contact," he says, snagging the end of the capture weapon and pulling it as he dropped the man. The comedic roll as the weapon loosened and then spun him out would have normally gotten a smirk from the Pro. "I'll come back later for the full report, I still have business in the car."

Yamada bowed gratefully to the officers. He would have stayed, normally. Some of the greener officers were starting to recognize him. He'd left Aizawa in the car with a promise not to take long, though, and he wasn't looking forward to being suplexed for taking too long. He hastily beat his retreat, practically racing back towards the car, and slipped into the car with a hefty slam of the door.

"Okay, next up, Recovery Girl—"

"I'd rather go home—"

"And then I take you home."

"I'd rather go now."

"After we see Recovery Girl," Yamada stressed. Aizawa would have glared at him, quite viciously, if he could bring himself to open his eyes. Yamada took the moment to smirk smugly at the man.

Seeing Recovery Girl was the last thing that Aizawa wanted to do for three reasons. Firstly, it was the ass crack of dawn and she was going to kill them. Secondly, his "injury" wasn't fatal or even grievous, and she was going to kill them. Thirdly, he was in a bad mood, she'd be in a bad mood for being called in for this, and she was going to kill them. He groaned, sinking down into the seat and rubbing at his eyes. The burning sensation had since subsided, but he had the sneaking suspicion that if he tried to crack an eye open, he'd sorely regret it. The temptation was strong.

He could hear Yamada dialing a number on his phone and grit his teeth.

"..Chiyo—ah… I'm sorry for waking you, but—no, but—well, no, but—! CAN I FINISH?!" Yamada yelled, his Quirk shaking the car windows. Aizawa swatted harshly at his arm. "Ow!"

"If he's hitting you, he's fine!" he hears Recovery Girl shout on the line. He couldn't exactly disagree with that line of thinking. He could defend himself just fine, blind or not. The line then promptly went dead.

Aizawa woke up to warmth and comfort. He was immediately suspicious. Taking into account his previous night, he recalled the mugger. He recalled slamming the prick's head into the ground. He recalled Yamada having to come pick him up, Recovery Girl shutting him down with savage efficiency, and then almost tripping on his way up the stairs because he'd foolishly tried to refold his capture weapon while making his way up the steps. In his defense, he at least hadn't run into any walls.

He cracked an eye open.

The immediate blast of pain—and a world of blinding white—sparked an intense migraine right behind his eyes. Aizawa didn't shout or yell out in pain. Rather, he growled and threw an arm over his eyes as he squeezed them shut tight. The darkness immediately started to turn the pain from burning to prickling. Yamada shuffled beside him, pulling his bicep into a hug. He let out a tired hum in his half-awake state. The sound drew Aizawa back to where he was.

He rubbed at his eyes, massaging the pain away. Yamada grumbled something beside him. He thinks he hears "7 am" somewhere in there, but he honestly couldn't be bothered to think of that for very long. If it was really that late they'd be late to the school. Aizawa swatted at Yamada's thigh, getting a grunt.

"Get up. You have classes, too."

"Five minutes."

"Five seconds."

"You're cruel."

"I'm logical."

Yamada snorted. He gave Aizawa's arm another squeeze before he pushed himself up to shower. Aizawa rolled, literally, out of bed to change first. He sauntered into the kitchen, wrapping his capture weapon around his shoulders, to make breakfast and stopped. It was probably a bad idea to try and cook, wasn't it? He preferred to eat something before he started at the school, but coffee would be good enough.

He made his way to the coffee maker and paused again. Had he left the coffee in the cabinet or the drawer? Did they have any filters left?

He sighed heavily, resigning to sitting at the counter until Yamada came out. The boisterous man came into the kitchen with a good morning that grated at Aizawa's ears before he paused, took in the man before him, snorted, and started the coffee. From what he heard, the coffee was in the left cabinet and the filters in the drawer. Aizawa cursed himself out. He could have figured that out. Getting his coffee once it was done and relishing in the delicious drink of both God and Satan, he was already in a far better mood. So long as he had coffee, he could survive this. He just needed coffee.

Yamada hoisted him up from his seat, only halfway through his cup, and Aizawa just hummed as he was dragged out the door. He had his phone, his ID, scan card, capture weapon, and a half full cup of coffee. His paperwork was already at his desk awaiting him (not that he had much to do with it, but he'd figure that out later). He was set for the day.

It was at the stairs that he stopped, hearing and feeling Yamada as he stopped short and almost fell to the ground at the sudden halt in momentum. One look at Aizawa's face was enough to tell him that the man was holding onto a very strong conviction that he would not be going down the stairs that morning. Certainly not with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Yamada sighed heavily, holding Aizawa's hand instead, and gearing him towards the elevator.

Getting him into the car was met with similar uncertainty at any descent or change in location. If he'd not known that Aizawa was hardly a talker, Yamada would try to argue that something more was wrong. Instead, he didn't remark on the previous night at all until they'd reached the exterior of Recovery Girl's office and he knocked once before forcing the door open.

The woman looked up at them and Aizawa could almost feel her smirking at him. Ass.

"How's your sight?" she asked, shuffling towards him.

"Hellfire."

"No change," Yamada corrected.

Recovery Girl dragged the darkly dressed man to a bed for him to sit on. As he got comfortable, finishing off his mug and forcing it on Yamada to refill at the earliest convenience, he could hear Recovery Girl dragging a chair over to hop onto. She did just that, her cane clacking on the metal, and lightly tapped his leg. It was a silent question if he was ready or not and Aizawa just grunted. She took that as a 'yes'—because she'd known the man for about as long as Yamada and had learned how to read him very well by this point—and smacked a healing kiss right on his cheek. Aizawa's frown only sent Yamada into a giggle fit.

It took only a few seconds, maybe five, before Recovery Girl whacked Yamada with her cane and addressed Aizawa as if she hadn't just bruised the other man's kidney.

"Okay, open."

Aizawa was not a prideful man, but he'd sooner deny knowing how to read than agree to doing that after the last two instances, and have the woman see him possibly cry like a child. But; he also knew that she'd just force his eye lids open if he took too long and that somehow seemed worse. He tentatively cracked an eye open after a long, pregnant pause.

The pain was instantaneous. Aizawa snapped the eye shut, bending over to rub at them, and certainly not because he was fighting his body about the benefits of the fetal position. Yamada deflated next to him, looking forlornly at the man. The blonde turned to Recovery Girl, who was frowning.

"Well, I can't heal all Quirk effects," she conceded. They'd known that, but optimism when it came to her Quirk was not uncommon. "Is it only when you open your eyes? Does it affect them in the dark?"

"Haven't tested it in total darkness," Aizawa admitted. "Car and alley did the same thing."

She hopped from her chair and fished around in her desk. Aizawa pressed his fingers at his eyes, the pressure feeling rather relieving. When she came back, she pushed something into his arms. "Wear this, just in case your eyes start to open."

Aizawa felt the fabric out, finding the ties at the back. A sheath of fabric that would fold over his eyes, press his lids down, and keep them closed. Hadn't these been developed for eye surgeries to replace the bandages? They were incredibly sterile, and for that he was incredibly grateful, but he sighed regardless.

"How long?" he asked dejectedly.

"Until it wears off. Have a fun month," Recovery Girl said, patting him on the leg. Aizawa somehow still managed to glower with the same ferocity as he always could even with his iconic dark eyes hidden behind his lids.

Yamada waited, shifting his weight, as Aizawa tied the fabric back, lifting some of his hair so that it covered the knot in the back and was less uncomfortable being bunched under the fabric. He slipped off the bed and reached out. Yamada slid his arm into his grip and guided him out of the office, bidding Recovery Girl a good day as they made their way towards Nedzu's office. The second Yamada had taken the turn, Aizawa groaned.

"You have to tell him," Yamada says.

"He already knows."

While that was undoubtably true—and terrifying in Yamada's opinion—they still had to hear the principal's decision on how Aizawa's teachings duties were being handled. Obviously, they'd both concluded he wasn't going on patrol any time soon. While Aizawa could handle most of that on his own just fine, Yamada had threatened to scream, Quirk included, if he dared to try. Given his current state, Aizawa had made it clear that he was opposed to the "deal" on principle, but he'd relented.

Yamada had never felt more dirty in his life but necessity demanded the underhanded tactic.

Aizawa didn't even react when the door slid open before Yamada had the chance to knock. He was far, far too used to this by now. He fell into one of the two seats available, blessedly always in the same exact spot every time, and Yamada took the other. Aizawa couldn't see it, but Yamada was looking at him with an unnerved expression at how easily Aizawa had managed to find the chair and sit in it without even knocking his shins on anything as he made his way towards it.

"Aizawa, how are you feeling?" Nedzu asks, sipping his tea.

"Hell."

"So, nothing much has changed," Nedzu adds cheekily. Aizawa grunted at him. Nedzu turned to Yamada next.

"Yamada, I've prepared a schedule for substitutes to rotate Aizawa's class. His lesson plan is of course included."

"Oh, thank you—"

"No."

Nedzu and Yamada both turned to Aizawa. Yamada with a strike of fear. Nedzu with curiosity. Aizawa had leaned his head back, but his frown was apparent. Yamada leaned towards him, stealthily trying to slip the file off Nedzu's desk. Aizawa's hand shot out and halted it. Yamada started to sweat.

"…Shou—"

"No one is going to handle the lesson plan well enough," Aizawa said bluntly. He turned towards Yamada. "No offense."

"…none taken," Yamada mumbled, feeling very offended, but he knew how seriously Aizawa took his lesson planning when it came to his hero classes. The man was meticulous, and yet somehow just equally flexible if something were to happen, and he couldn't rightfully blame him for assuming that many of the staff wouldn't be as adaptable.

"So, what would you suggest?" Nedzu asks instead of trying to argue with the man. They both relied heavily on logic and reason for their arguments. On the rare occasion that they hadn't already come to the same conclusions, their arguments could extend for hours, and frankly, that was something best left for after school hours rather than before classes were set to start.

"I'm teaching my classes, blind or not," Aizawa stated firmly, setting a finger on Nedzu's desk just to emphasize his point.

"What if we allow you to supervise?" Nedzu countered.

Yamada flicked his eyes nervously between the two. He was never one for their mental matches. It was a simple conversation, all things considered, as it wasn't as if they were discussing a topic that was rather difficult to follow (he secretly hated those days because he was lost by the third sentence between the two), but it felt like a mental chess match all the same. He wouldn't dare try and speak, knowing full well that a simple squeak, if his Quirk slipped out, had the threat of bursting Nedzu's teacup. And he rather liked living.

"I get to interject if they start to mess up the lesson."

"Of course."

"And I can throw them if they really mess it up," Aizawa added. It was a stretch of a request—well, a demand, really—but Nedzu only seemed to smile wider.

"If they think that you wouldn't, they clearly don't know you," Nedzu says cheerily. He hummed, tapping at the file with his paw. "You can supervise the substitute teachers while they teach your class in their free periods."

"…Acceptable."

"Excellent~!" Nedzu tore the file from under both men's hands, handing it to Yamada. "Please review this with him on your way to his class, Yamada. The first teacher scheduled is actually you."

"Great!" Yamada squeaked, his Quirk slipping out just enough that it rattled Nedzu's teacup. He had never bowed, squawked an apology, and snatched Aizawa out of the room so fast in his life.

As they walked down the hall, with Yamada letting Aizawa walk unimpeded until they had to turn, and only then lightly brushing his arm so that he knew for a fact the corner had passed him so he could turn unimpeded, Yamada flipped through the file. Nedzu had planned it out and scheduled it for a month, but a cursory first pass at a second month was also included. The man really did try to think far ahead of his peers, didn't he?

"So… looks like it's me until my English class. Midnight—" Aizawa sighed. "—then it's Power Loader, Ectoplasm, Snipe, All Might…"

"Of course, he slotted him for the Hero Classes," Aizawa mumbled. Yamada sighed, scratching his cheek.

"Well, it looks like he did switch it up some, where he could," Yamada says. "If nothing else, just to shake it up a bit. Sounds like him."

"It is him," Aizawa groaned. Yamada stopped him at the class door. He closed the file, tucking it under his arm.

"You were going over stealth tactics today?"

"Hagakure excels for obvious reasons," Aizawa said, leaning against the wall while he could before he'd have to contend with explaining this to the class. "But, smoke, lasers, heat signature… it's not full proof. They need to know all the ways they could get spotted and how to prepare for that."

"You're the best teacher here," Yamada gushed. Aizawa shoved him. How the man knew where he was precisely to get his arm rather than his chest he would never know, but he'd be damned if he wasn't impressed.

Aizawa pushed the door open, waltzing in and falling into his seat effortlessly. Yamada followed after, striking a pose.

"Gooooooooood morning, LISTENERS~!"

There was a confuse chorus of greeting back at him before the class fell silent again. Of course, there was a handful of students that either man expected to ask the first question, and it was Bakugou's turn this time, apparently.

"The fuck is wrong with him?" he asked.

"Language," Yamada warned. It was useless, but it was habit.

"Blindness Quirk. Deal with it," Aizawa said flatly. Yamada realized with a sinking gut that he'd forgotten to get the man his second coffee cup.

"I'm the sub~!"

"He's being supervised."

"I'm being the best substitute you have on your roster is who I'm gonna be," Yamada promised. Aizawa couldn't see the pose he made, but the snort from Ashido was enough to tell him he'd made a particularly ridiculous one.

"… why can't any day in this class be normal?"

He wasn't sure, but he felt the same both spiritually and heart felt. Aizawa let his head fall to the desk. The mugger should have just killed him.