Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a simple outing. A training exercise outside campus, a breath of fresh air from the rigid schedule at U.A. High. But, as if it were some cursed tradition, Class 1-A barely had time to relax before chaos came knocking again.
The first wave of villains appeared from behind the treeline, masked and coordinated. They didn’t go for brute force immediately—no, they had a plan. A dense, grayish smoke burst forward from one of them, curling through the air like a living thing. It wasn’t thick enough to choke, but it clouded their sight and dulled their senses, like a fog creeping into their heads.
Momo was the first to react, sharp eyes narrowing behind the veil of smoke. She could feel something was wrong. Just as she turned to warn the others, another villain emerged—fast and calculated—and aimed a second attack straight toward her.
But Aizawa moved first.
His scarf lashed out like lightning, and his body shifted just in time to intercept the blast. It wasn’t fire, ice, or wind—it was something stranger. A pulse of energy, almost invisible, but the moment it hit him, his whole body jerked. His eyes widened for half a second, then dulled, his knees buckling slightly.
“Sensei!”
The cry came from more than one student at once, panic threading through their voices.
Momo clenched her teeth and snapped into action. “Someone take out the smoke user! Quickly! And someone else—distance attack! Hit the one who targeted Aizawa-sensei!”
Bakugou didn’t wait for a second order. With a loud “Tch—dammit,” he exploded forward with Satou right behind him, both aiming straight for the source of the smoke.
Sero, Jirou, and Kaminari moved instantly, instincts honed by training kicking in. Sero fired his tape in a clean arc; Jirou’s heartbeat echoed like a drum as her earjacks pulsed sound toward the villain; and Kaminari sent a well-timed burst of electricity. Together they disarmed and immobilized the man responsible for hitting Aizawa.
As the smoke began to dissipate—thinning as the man generating it was subdued—the entire group turned back toward their teacher.
“Got him!” Kaminari shouted, but the celebration was cut short when everyone turned back toward their teacher.
Aizawa stood where they’d left him—but barely. His posture was loose, slack in a way that was completely unnatural for him. His scarf hung limply from his shoulders, his eyes open but… unfocused.
“Sensei?” Jirou called softly, stepping forward.
He didn’t answer.
“Aizawa-sensei!” Sero’s voice was louder now, urgent.
He didn’t fall. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even blink.
His eyes were open, but unfocused. His expression blank. He looked… gone.
Kouji took a cautious step closer. “Are… are you okay?”
Nothing.
No twitch. No sigh. No glare. Not even a grunt.
Kaminari waved a hand in front of him. “Hey, are you—can you hear us?”
Still nothing.
“What the hell is going on?” Bakugou barked, appearing again with soot on his face and smoke trailing behind him.
“He’s not responding,” Momo said, voice tight. “He’s not reacting to anything. Not me, not any of us.”
Hagakure’s voice trembled. “Is he… is he okay?”
“No way he’s okay,” Ojirou muttered, stepping closer, tail twitching nervously. “It’s like he’s… somewhere else.”
Koji made a soft, worried noise. Aoyama’s usual glitter was gone, replaced with wide, worried eyes. Even Mineta, usually quick to complain or panic in a different way, stayed unusually quiet.
They surrounded him instinctively, forming a loose circle around their teacher. None dared touch him yet—he looked fragile in a way none of them had ever seen. His eyes were open, but his gaze was distant, almost glassy, like he was staring past them… or like he didn’t even see them at all.
And the longer he stayed like that, the more uneasy they all became.
Before anyone could decide what to do, new voices carried across the clearing.
The entire group turned sharply, shoulders tense, until they spotted three familiar figures running toward them. Shinsou, Kirishima, and Todoroki slowed as soon as they saw the cluster of students.
“See?” Shinsou muttered, half-breathless. “I told you—no reason to worry. Aizawa-sensei is right there.”
But the moment they drew close enough to see the expressions on their classmates’ faces, their relief evaporated. The circle of students didn’t look reassured—they looked shaken.
“What’s going on?” Kirishima asked, scanning their faces. “Why do you all look like that?”
Momo’s voice was steady, but tight. “One of the villains’ quirks… it hit Aizawa-sensei. He hasn’t responded since. Nothing we’ve tried works.”
Bakugou scowled, arms crossed. “It was some kind of mental hit. He’s just—staring. Like he’s gone.”
The three new arrivals immediately turned to look at their teacher.
Aizawa was no longer standing. His knees had given way, lowering him to the ground until he sat heavily on the dirt. His arms hung loose at his sides, his head tilted forward slightly, and his eyes… they were empty.
Unblinking, unfocused, lost in a place no one else could reach.
A ripple of unease moved through the students.
Todoroki froze. His heterochromatic eyes widened, breath catching in his chest. Instinct surged through him, sharp and primal. The scent burst out of him before he could stop it—bitter, acrid, the scent of an Alpha in distress.
“Todoroki?” Jirou’s voice cracked as she noticed it. “Why are you—what’s with that smell?”
Others turned toward him, startled. It was unusual for Todoroki to show anything so openly, much less lose control of his scent.
Todoroki’s jaw tightened, his gaze never leaving Aizawa. “He’s… he’s having a drop.”
Silence crashed over the group.
“A… a drop?” Hagakure whispered, almost afraid of the word.
Todoroki swallowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ve never seen it in an Omega this strong before, but… I’ve seen my mother like that. Once. She looked exactly the same.” His voice dropped lower, heavy with certainty. “His body is shutting down. His instincts… his bond to himself… they’re collapsing.”
“What the hell does that even mean?!” Bakugou snapped, but the edge in his voice sounded more like panic than anger.
Momo’s lips parted, shock plain on her face. She was an Omega too, but she had never experienced anything like this. She could feel the faint edges of his scent now, frayed and broken. It made her chest ache.
Around them, whispers of uncertainty broke out. “What do we do?” “How do we stop it?” “Can he even hear us?”
Aizawa, unmoved by the noise, only sat there with his blank gaze and trembling hands. His breathing was shallow, uneven, as if even that was starting to slip out of his control.
Todoroki’s fists trembled slightly at his sides. “I… I don’t know what to do. The last time I saw this, my older siblings were there. They told me what to say, what to do, how to help her. But I never learned it myself. At home… they didn’t teach us that. Most bonded pairs already know what to do, but—” his voice broke off, frustrated. “It’s not something we were ever taught directly.”
“Same,” Bakugou muttered, arms tight across his chest. “We were just told if it happens to your mate, everything can go to shit real fast. That’s it. Nothing useful.”
Kirishima scratched at his neck, looking uneasy. “Yeah… nothing practical. Just warnings.”
Shinsou’s jaw was tight. “My education was the same. Fear tactics, no instructions.”
Jirou gave a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re all supposed to just ‘figure it out’ if it happens. Great system.”
The Betas glanced at each other, uncomfortable. “We only know the general idea,” Ojirou admitted. “Names. Symptoms. But never in depth.” Hagakure added softly, “It’s not something schools talk about.”
Momo’s lips parted, her usually calm face drawn tight. “I knew it could happen. I’d heard of it. But I’ve never seen it. My family told me it wouldn’t happen to me—so they skipped teaching me what to do.” Her voice wavered, Omega instincts pulling at her as she glanced toward her teacher.
They tried everything: calling his name, touching his shoulder, shaking him gently. But Aizawa didn’t respond. The only reaction came when someone brushed too close—he released a faint, pained noise from his throat, a broken sound that sent Todoroki reeling back with a shudder. The Alpha’s scent spiked again, sharp and bitter, worsening the weight of the moment.
The group froze, fear pressing in like a storm cloud.
And then… thunder cracked faintly in the distance.
A sharp tang of ozone filled the air, prickling against their senses. Heads whipped around, eyes searching- they landed on Midoriya.
He stood a few steps away, the faint shimmer of electricity sparking around him like static, his freckles stark against pale skin. His scent was sharp, cutting through the haze like lightning through fog. He smiled reflexively when everyone’s eyes snapped to him—then faltered, nose wrinkling as he caught the scent of the situation.
“What’s… going on?” Midoriya asked carefully, scanning their faces.
Todoroki swallowed hard. “I think… no. I’m pretty sure. Aizawa-sensei is dropping.”
Midoriya’s expression hardened immediately. He didn’t hesitate. Within moments he was kneeling in front of Aizawa, hands rising to cradle his teacher’s face gently but firmly. His thumbs brushed against Aizawa’s temples, grounding, steady.
“You’re right,” Midoriya said, voice steady, eyes flicking to Todoroki before returning to Aizawa. “This is a drop.”
His words cut through the air, weighty and sure.
“Is anyone close to him?” Midoriya asked quickly, eyes darting across the circle of students. “Bonded? Family? Has he ever perfumed any of you?”
The silence that followed was answer enough. A few students shook their heads.
Midoriya exhaled sharply through his nose. “Alright. Then step back. Give him space.” His tone had changed—firm, commanding in a way few of them had ever heard from him.
“Take the villains to the police,” he added. “Now.”
Ojirou, Mineta, and Aoyama reacted first, scrambling to drag the unconscious villains away, grateful for a task, for something to do that wasn’t staring at their collapsing teacher.
The others lingered for a moment, exchanging uncertain looks. But Midoriya’s presence—calm, controlled, determined—made them obey. One by one, they retreated, leaving the green-haired boy kneeling in front of Aizawa, thumbs still steady on his teacher’s cheeks, grounding him against the void.
“I’m sorry, Aizawa-sensei,” Midoriya whispered suddenly. The apology caught everyone off guard—why was he apologizing?
Before anyone could ask, Midoriya’s voice rose, firm but careful. “If any of you are sensitive to Omega scents, step back now. If you stay, don’t approach him, and don’t let anyone else come near.” His green eyes swept over them, clear and commanding, leaving no room for argument.
Then he turned back fully to Aizawa. His hands trembled only slightly as he leaned closer. “Sensei, I’m going to take off your scent patches. It’s to help you. Once you’re a little more stable, I’ll get you back to U.A., to the dorms. You can stay in the nest as long as you want, as long as you need.”
Without waiting for permission, Midoriya carefully peeled the patches from Aizawa’s skin. The effect was immediate. A wave of scent burst free, sharp and acidic, bitter and broken—dead, where once there should have been warmth. Not the grounding mix of coffee, strawberry, and chocolate that Aizawa usually carried, but something hollow, burnt-out.
Several of the students flinched back instinctively, their own instincts urging them away from the raw, collapsed scent of an Omega in freefall.
Midoriya didn’t move. His jaw clenched as he peeled his own scent patch away, slow and deliberate. The air shifted again.
His pheromones spilled out into the clearing, steady and unyielding. They radiated safety, calm, protection—a shield against the void. His scent was still tinged with the softness of youth, still carrying that faint note of “pup” that clung to him no matter how hard he trained, but it was steady, strong, and grounding.
The effect was immediate. Aizawa stirred faintly, his blank stare breaking just enough to let out a weak breath. His hand lifted—unsteady, trembling—but it reached.
Midoriya leaned forward, guiding the movement until Aizawa’s arm rested against him. Then, gently, he lowered Aizawa’s head against his own shoulder, tucking him close to the curve of his neck.
The embrace was firm, steady. Midoriya’s arms wrapped securely around his teacher, holding him as if anchoring him in place. His pheromones pulsed steadily, calm and protective, surrounding the older Omega in a blanket of stability.
Aizawa barely reacted at first. His body remained slack, but the faint movement of his arm, the smallest shift toward Midoriya’s scent, and—most importantly—the deeper rhythm of his breathing, steadier and fuller than before… those were good signs. Signs that he wasn’t completely lost.
The rest of the students stood frozen, stunned. They had known Aizawa was dropping—falling into the depths of a pheromone-induced collapse—but they had not expected this scent. The raw, bitter, broken essence emanating from their teacher was shocking.
Their gazes flicked to Midoriya, catching the faint trace of his own aroma mingling with the air—soft, protective, and surprisingly firm. Most had assumed, from his appearance and sharp will, that he was entirely Alpha, despite the subtle traces of Omega in him. They had not expected the lingering note of “pup” in his scent. Not now. Not here. That childlike, young note should have faded long ago. Yet it clung to him, grounding, steadying.
And then, slowly, Aizawa moved.
His arms shifted, wrapping cautiously around Midoriya, tentative at first, testing. His hands were slack, unsteady, but determined. Step by step, he leaned forward, guiding Midoriya to sit on his lap, as if he were trying to envelop the boy, to anchor himself through contact.
The aura of death, sharp and acidic, seemed to weaken slightly as Aizawa adjusted, though the bitterness, the acrid sting, and the fractured scent still lingered. His body was still in the throes of the drop, but he was… better.
The group barely breathed as Aizawa spoke. One word, low, almost a whisper, carried clearly: “Pup.”
The students’ eyes widened.
Midoriya’s response was immediate, steady. “Yes,” he whispered back, granting access, giving Aizawa permission, opening the path for a deeper connection to his gland in the neck.
The subtle shift in scent—the flow of pheromones, the protective and calming influence—intensified. The older Omega’s body relaxed slightly, moving closer, embedding Midoriya into his lap, seeking the security, the grounding he could no longer maintain alone.
Suddenly, Ectoplasma appeared from seemingly nowhere, materializing with his usual calm presence but a sharp edge to his voice.
“Why did your classmates call for help?” he asked, scanning the group quickly.
Momo moved without hesitation, positioning herself close to Aizawa as she explained. “We… we don’t know exactly what happened. It could be a quirk that triggered the drop, or it could be something else entirely. Sensei just… collapsed, and we couldn’t reach him.”
Ectoplasma’s eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the scene—the frail posture of Aizawa leaning into Midoriya’s arms, the calm, steady aura of the boy stabilizing him.
“Do you know if Aizawa sensei's smell is stable enough right now?” Momo asked cautiously, still keeping her gaze on Aizawa.
Ectoplasma blinked, visibly surprised. “I—No. My quirk… it doesn’t respond to secondary gender effects at all. Whatever stage or secondary classification Aizawa is, it has no effect on me. I can see what he’s doing, but I can’t tell stages or secondary genders.”
“Wait,” he said, lifting his hand and speaking into his communicator, calling for another pro hero to join them.
Momo didn’t move her eyes from Aizawa. The older Omega, still weak and unstable, subtly tried to shield Midoriya with his body, pulling him closer, while Midoriya remained perfectly calm, his hands steady, maintaining the delicate balance that kept the teacher from slipping further. He glanced briefly around the clearing but didn’t move otherwise.
Moments later, Ectoplasma reappeared, now with a more urgent tone. “Vlad has a truck ready. You’ll ride with him, along with some members of Class 1-B who are already in the vehicle. Aizawa will be transported in the U.A. van.”
Momo’s voice was quick, firm, and precise. “Midoriya is the one keeping Aizawa-sensei stable right now. He’s the only one who knows how to reduce the drop. Any movement or interference without him could make it worse.”
Ectoplasma’s gaze softened as he nodded slightly. “Understood. We’ll make sure nothing happens until he’s secured. Everyone else, keep your distance.