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Bloodied bandages are nothing new.
In his line of work, Aizawa’s seen them on too many heroes in training and colleagues alike, each one equally convinced their sacrifices were necessary. Too many instances where they’ve believed their bodies were sacrificial enough to jump into battle and fight or train recklessly, not caring what came after.
Midoriya is no different. He’s stubborn and reckless in all ways that remind him too easily of Yagi, but he’s also brilliant, smart enough to at least understand the consequences. It’s why at first he couldn’t understand why he’d made the rash decision to leave U.A. and fight alone on the outside, costume nothing more than a worn yellow scarf and a fraying green suit. Relying on quirks alone is always dangerous, and even more so in his situation.
He was—still is—a child.
He could see everyday that the vigilante work was carving him down faster than he’d predicted. By now, he’s either realised and chose to ignore the repercussions coming or is oblivious to how much it’s breaking his body. Every crimson stain, every tear and scrape, it’s another reminder that one day, he may not be fast enough to stop him.
Izuku hisses as the gauze peels away, the sting sharp enough to blur his vision momentarily. He tries to laugh it off, but it dies in his throat when Aizawa places a steady hand against his shoulder.
“Hold still.” he commands.
The words are simple, however, the weight behind them left no room for argument. Aizawa’s keen eyes track the bloodied bandages with the same focus he gives a battlefield, every movement he makes precise and deliberate.
Izuku swallows nervously. “I’m fine, really—”
“If something had happened to you…” Aizawa cuts in, voice dipping softer than Izuku had ever heard it.
He didn’t finish the sentence, choosing to instead reach for fresh bandages in his med kit. The silence said more than words could, though.
Izuku sits there, guilt twisting knives into his chest and squeezing a tight vice around his heart. “Sorry.”
Aizawa rubs the alcohol wipe over his wound. “I’m not mad, kid.” he assures, throwing the wipe off to the side. “I’m worried. You’re still a child, a student. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stay out here and fight battles that aren’t yours.”
As he wraps the fresh bandage around the wound, Izuku protests. “Muscular was my battle. I fought him once, he should’ve stayed locked up and—”
“And that was All For One’s fault. Not yours.” Aizawa overlaps, finally looking up. “You should be relying on us to fight with you at least, not fighting alone on the streets. That’s what gets you killed.”
That’s when he sees it. The bags under his eyes that somehow seem heavier, darker. His capture scarf, a weapon made of a malleable alloy, is torn at the seams, stained with the blood on Izuku’s hands, despite Aizawa’s continuous insistence that it isn’t any of his fault. He doesn’t know—unless All Might had told him in private after he’d left U.A—about the fact that Izuku’s quirk is practically the entire reason the League of Villains has been attacking their class so frequently.
Some may argue not all of the blood is on his hands, or none at all, since this quirk is part of legacy, passed down from user to user until it reached Izuku. This started because All For One yearned for his brother’s quirk and couldn’t take it in time, going after user after user until he found Izuku, a U.A. student still learning how to be a hero.
All For One doesn’t care if he’s still a child.
All For One doesn’t care for anything except the chance of stealing that quirk.
Izuku shakes his head reluctantly. “I can’t risk putting others in danger again. I’ve relied on you again and again and all it’s done is get people injured, or killed, or both. You in the U.S.J. attack, Todoroki and Iida during the internships, Ragdoll and some classmates at the camp training, Mirio during the Overhaul Raid. The list goes on, Sensei.” He abruptly stands, jostling Aizawa’s hands from where they’re still applying the bandages. “It’s better if I fight alone. That way no one gets hurt. The League will go after me. That’s better for everyone.”
“You can’t seriously believe fighting alone is the better option.”
Izuku doesn’t respond. He just stands on uneasy feet, eyes staring at the stained concrete slabs beneath them rather than his teacher’s expression.
“Midoriya, you’re a good kid, and an even better hero, believe me.” He stands, hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder once more. “But even the best heroes cannot fight their battles alone. Let us help you. That’s all I ask for.”
Sighing, Izuku sits back down on the wooden crate. Holding out his arm, he allows Aizawa to finish wrapping the bandage around the deep wound. With care and precision, he applies the dressing tape, ensuring the wound will stay covered, before resuming his gaze to Izuku.
“Do you promise to call if you find yourself in another situation where you can’t handle it alone?” Aizawa asks, voice calm and words carefully picked out.
Izuku nods, flexing his arm.
“I need a verbal response, Midoriya.” Aizawa presses, standing again, knees cracking with the motion.
Izuku meets him, pushing the crate away as he stands. “I promise, Sensei.” He looks away, staring at the night sky and the way the moonlight beams into the mouth of the alleyway, stars sprinkling the dark canvas looming above them. “How do I call, exactly?”
His mentor rummages around in an inside pocket before retrieving something. “By pressing this.” It’s a small device, a circular device with a raised bump. “It’s a panic button. The support course made it for us. Just press this button and it’ll send a help message to All Might, Tsukauchi, Nezu and I. We’ll be right there if you call out for us.”
Izuku takes the device, running it over with his fingertips. “Thank you. Aizawa.” he addresses, slipping the button into his utility belt.
“Good. Now keep it close. Don’t lose it under any circumstances, got it?”
“Got it.”
Aizawa gives a curt nod, and for the first time in weeks, Izuku feels the weight on his shoulders ease.