Chapter Text
Aizawa stared at the blank wall across from the bed.
He’d woken up a while ago, but visiting hours were long since over. Mic had come again today. Aizawa was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep after only a few minutes. It was hard to keep track of time.
He was just so tired.
So, so tired.
His eyes never left the wall. The blank wall that had nothing on it, but was empty and white and void of all thoughts.
Aizawa hadn’t even heard Mic when he’d visited, not really, just vaguely registered his presence. Smiled at his jokes. Told him he was fine.
All lies.
The quiet beep of machinery reminded him that time was passing and he should do something.
But what was there to do?
He was lying in a hospital bed.
Useless.
Just another corpse to be rescued from a battlefield. A burden.
Aizawa breathed in the stiff, sterile air.
What was he still alive for?
Why had he survived?
Aizawa stared at the moonlight barely filtering through the hospital curtains.
He used to be able to make it out better. If he’d been in this room a week ago, he probably would have been able to make out the particles of dust hanging in the air, drifting…
Aizawa had always taken good care of his eyes. Never anything else, really, but he’d always done everything he could to make sure his sight was the best it could be.
And now it wasn’t.
Aizawa could make out the outlines of the sterile hospital equipment around him, and he knew Mic had left a huge lion plushie in the left corner, along with balloons from Midnight, even though she knew Aizawa had always thought those were stupid.
Part of him knew he should thank them. Part of him was glad they cared.
The other, far larger part, just felt empty.
So very empty.
Aizawa stared at the wall. He tried to paint events across its canvas, to remember if there was something, anything he could have done differently…
The wall remained blank.
Nothing.
Aizawa reached for the cup on the right nightstand, his fingers fumbling a little as he almost missed the handle.
Damn it.
That had been on his right side, he should have been fine, he should have been able to see it, so why…
Deep breaths.
They kept saying it would take time. He’d have to make adjustments.
Aizawa picked up the mug, slowly bringing it closer and drinking a sip of water. He turned slightly to look at the table as he put the cup back down, and his shoulders sagged in relief when it touched the flat surface exactly as he’d expected.
Small victories.
A deep ache began to form in his right temple, one that Aizawa was all too familiar with, but that now had a new cause to form.
Overuse.
Aizawa closed his eye.
How could he teach if he couldn’t even pick up a damn cup? If he couldn’t even walk?
How could he still be a hero?
He couldn’t.
It had been his life’s purpose for so long, and now…
Now he had nothing.
He could still help strategize, Aizawa supposed. He could help teach at UA, just not with heroics. But none of those would happen soon.
Not with the way he was.
Aizawa sighed, slowly opening his eye once more.
He knew he had to fight the emptiness. He knew that.
But it was always there, waiting, eating away at every emotion, every thought, everything, chipping away until there was just… nothing.
And this damn wall didn’t help.
Aizawa shifted to the edge of the bed, turning his head back and forth as he moved in order to let his good eye focus and gauge the space. Then he reached out to grab his wheelchair, grinning when his hand closed around the armrest on his first try. He pulled it closer.
Cautiously, Aizawa dangled his left leg off the bed, then put some weight on it, balancing with one hand on the wheelchair as he turned, then shifted as he moved to sit down—
His thigh landed on the left armrest, and Aizawa hissed in frustration and pain as he adjusted, moving to the right a little before collapsing in the chair.
Another victory.
Aizawa sat there for a few seconds, relishing in the fact that he’d managed it alone. Mic kept insisting on helping him even though Aizawa said he could do it. This had been his first chance to try without anyone else hovering over him—every other night he’d been hooked up to pain meds.
Aizawa reached down, letting both hands rest on the wheels before backing the wheelchair up a few inches.
He could do this.
Slowly, he turned the wheelchair to the right, always rotating his head and giving his brain time to adjust to the different amount of input.
Slow and steady.
When Aizawa reached the hallway, though, he froze in surprise.
Hawks.
The younger hero was in the middle of the hallway in a matching hospital gown, clearly on his own night escapade.
Aizawa tried not to think about the bright red wings that used to span across the hero’s back.
“Well aren’t we a pair.” Hawks’ voice was quiet and derisive as he crossed the few meters between them, then leaned forward with a secretive smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Aizawa snorted. “Of course you won’t. The first question they’d ask is why you were out here to begin with.”
Hawks leaned back with a shrug, “There is that. Had to stretch my—”
His smile fell.
“Well, I had to go on a walk, I guess.”
Aizawa regarded Hawks’ somber face as the hero stared at the motivational poster hanging on the hospital wall, his golden eyes unfocused. “Where are you planning on going?” Hawks blinked, then turned to look at him in surprise. Aizawa gestured down the bleak, empty hallway. “I’ll admit, I don’t exactly have a plan. I just wanted to see how well I could maneuver on my own.”
“They haven’t let you out of there yet? It’s been a week.”
Aizawa shrugged. “Mic takes me out some. Midnight’s done it once.”
Hawks shrugged, then winced at the movement. The hero sighed. “The vending machines are down this way. We can grab a snack at least.”
“Sounds good.” Aizawa pushed at the wheels, slowly making the chair turn. Hawks waited until Aizawa had it pointed down the hallway, then started walking, letting Aizawa set the pace.
Not once did Hawks reach for the handles.
Aizawa appreciated it.
The hero’s hands constantly trailed along the wall or tapped against his side, his eyes always moving to gauge their surroundings. Aizawa focused on keeping the force of each push even as he rolled down the hallway. The two turns were difficult, but Aizawa managed. And then he could see the vending machines in the distance.
When they reached them, though, Aizawa realized a problem. “I don’t actually have any money with me.”
Hawks laughed. “I’ve got you covered, it’s cool.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dude. I was the number two hero. I may be forced into an early retirement, but I can afford an extra snack or twenty.”
Aizawa sighed. He’d pay him back later. For now, Aizawa reached up to punch the buttons, frowning when his finger hit the wrong one.
Damn it.
Slower. Focus.
Hawks didn’t say anything, though, his fingers tapping out a pattern against the machine as he looked down the hallway, creating the illusion that he wasn’t paying any attention to his companion’s fumbling.
Aizawa wasn’t fooled, but he did appreciate it. More carefully this time, Aizawa moved his hand over to hit the back button and then enter a different letter. Hawks’ expression was unreadable as he reached over Aizawa’s right shoulder to rapidly pinch in another code and then swipe his card.
Aizawa bent down, pushing back the flap and feeling around for the snacks before he grabbed them and pulled them out. Aizawa held out the chips to Hawks, who grinned as he grabbed them, then hopped up onto a chair, perching on it in a crouch. “Man, I can’t wait until they let me out of here. I just hate staying cooped up in a room all the time, you know? How much longer do you have?”
Aizawa shrugged. “They’d release me into another person’s custody starting tomorrow, but I don’t want to burden anyone. I’ll probably stay until the doctors are reassured that I can move around without being a danger to myself. I’ll still have to come back for physical therapy and to get fitted with a prosthetic eventually, though.”
“A prosthetic will be nice.” There was a hint of longing in the other hero’s voice, but his expression remained carefree as he licked licked crumbs off his fingers. “Any clue when that will happen?”
“None.” After the failed mission, there were a lot of requests for prosthetics from heroes and civilians. Aizawa doubted he would be high on the doctors’ list. After all, even with a prosthetic, Aizawa couldn’t keep working without both eyes. “When do you get out?”
“Depends.” Hawks’ expression was blank again. “The doctors think my wings will grow back.”
“That’s good, right?”
Hawks fidgeted in the chair, toying with a chip for a few seconds before responding, “I think they’re wrong.”
Aizawa stared at the hero. He had seen that dead expression so many times before… “You sure you’re not just giving up?”
Rage. Hawks’ eyes blazing with anger. “Like hell. I don’t think they’re growing back because I can’t fucking feel them. They’re just… gone. It’s like I know I should feel them but it’s not there and every time I try to move them it’s like I actually am but at the same time there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, like I’m reaching for something that I know should be there but when I grasp it the only thing there is air.” Hawks knuckles were white around the bag. “I could always feel them before this. Always.”
“Sorry.” He’d overstepped.
Hawks—no, Takami, sat there in silence. Aizawa bit into his licorice, not really sure of what to say.
The light flickered above them.
“With my quirk, I could feel every feather and instantly know where it was. Whenever I didn’t have all my feathers grown in, it was like there was this information lag and nothing would happen at the right speed. It drove me insane. But now it’s not just a lag. It’s all just… gone.”
Ah. “Like your brain can’t process at normal speeds, so you’re constantly having to learn tricks to help it compensate, and even those don’t work.”
“Exactly!” Hawks looked up at him, golden eyes dancing with joy. Then they dimmed, his shoulders sagging. “It’s nice to have someone understand, but I kind of wish you didn’t, honestly.”
Aizawa nodded. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence again. It was kind of nice to have silent companionship after dealing with Mic and Midnight’s constant rambling. Aizawa had never figured Hawks would be the silent type, yet…
He looked over at Takami, wondering how much of his talkative nature and open facial expressions had been an act.
Aizawa had taught a lot of students with avian quirks. The more predatory the bird was, the quieter the student tended to be. It had always puzzled him about Hawks, but sitting next to Takami… “Why do you act talkative?” And cheerful, probably, though Aizawa wasn’t as certain about that one.
Golden eyes shot up to meet his. “Why do you think it’s an act? I’m in a somber mood right now and don’t feel like talking, that’s all.”
“Takami. You’re retiring.” The blonde winced, the chips inside the bag crunching as his grip tightened. “You don’t need to fool people anymore.”
Unblinking eyes evaluated Aizawa. “That may be. But what makes you think I’m acting?”
“People with quirks like a predatory bird tend not to be very talkative. I thought you were an anomaly, but your eyes and facial expressions haven’t been moving almost this whole time, and when they have moved it’s been with fake gestures. Like you’re trying to act out the motions of normal reactions. It could be depression, or it could be because of your avian quirk, or it could be both. I’m betting both. You’ve dropped the act because you’re depressed.” No surprise there, really.
Takami finally blinked, then looked off to the side. “People find my lack of facial reactions unnerving. The Commission told me I should be more human-like.”
They’d done what? Damn it. Aizawa closed his eye, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve always hated the part of the job that was obsessed with appeasing the public. Working with All Might has shown me both its necessity and its pressures, yet…” Aizawa opened his eyes, looking over at Hawks. “If it means condemning part of your own nature, fuck that.”
Takami laughed. It was soft, breathy, and derisive. “I guess I can do that now. I honestly hadn’t thought about it.”
“Understandable.”
Those unblinking golden eyes were evaluating him again. “You don’t think it’s unnerving?”
“No.” Aizawa had never understood people who had issues with quirks. Mic was scared of insect-like quirks and it thad taken him forever to work past that and be able to look those students in the eye.
It was irrational.
Takami hopped off the chair, throwing his wrapper in the trash. “Well, you’re one of few, then. We should probably head back, though. The night nurses will probably check our rooms soon.”
“You know their schedule?”
“Learned it the first few nights because I was going insane stuck in that room, not knowing any of my surroundings…” Hawks shuddered, fingers tightening around the wall’s ledge. “I’m a paranoid guy and used to having information from all the rooms around me at once. I don’t know how people can deal with only knowing what they can see.”
“We use context clues to fill in the gaps we can’t see.” And now Aizawa had to rely on those clues even more. He tried not to think about that, instead pushing himself down the hallway back toward their rooms.
As they reached the corner, Aizawa slowed down, reaching out to touch the left wall so that he could better gauge where it was before he started to turn. He could feel Takami’s gaze on him, but the other man never offered to help.
The silent support was nice for a change, rather than the noisy worry Aizawa usually received. When they reached Aizawa’s room, Takami waved goodbye and Aizawa honestly figured that would be it.
Except the next night, Aizawa woke up to his door slowly opening and Takami poking his head inside the room. “You awake?”
Aizawa grunted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. It’s not like he’d really been sleeping that well, anyways. “What is it?”
“The nurse shift just switched, so now’s the best time to go walk around.”
Oh. That did sound nice, actually. Mic had wheeled him around earlier today, but as usual he’d been too concerned to let Aizawa do it himself. “Sure.”
“Awesome!” Takami smiled, but it was the kind that Aizawa had seen before in interviews. The smile that never reached the hero’s eyes. “I’ve tried Miruko’s room a few times, but she’s always sleeping.”
Carefully, Aizawa shifted in the bed, swinging his leg over the side and slowly reaching out to pull the wheelchair over from where Mic had left it. He did a little bit better this time, his leg only brushing against the wheelchair’s side. “How’s Miruko doing?”
Takami frowned. “She’s… Well, she’s Miruko. She’s still determined to be a pro, even with prosthetics.”
Aizawa nodded as he turned the chair, then focused on rolling forward as best he could, almost bumping into the chair Midnight had pulled out, but Takami moved it.
Aizawa frowned.
“Sorry. I didn’t think there was enough space for you to fit through.”
So his depth perception had been off, then? Aizawa sighed, his shoulders sagging a little before he pushed himself forward again. “Thanks. It will be a difficult road for her, but others have done it. Like Ectoplasm.”
“Yeah…” Takami held the door open with one hand, the other rubbing at the back of his neck. “They keep saying it’ll get better, that I shouldn’t lose hope and cut myself out of the gig, but it’s hard to believe them, you know?”
“Yeah.” Losing both an eye and a leg at the same time… there was no way Aizawa’s life would ever be like before.
Takami let the door close behind him, then nudged at the closest wheel. “So why the wheelchair and not crutches?”
“There’s less risk with my depth perception and balance this way.”
Takami hummed under his breath. “I guess. I just figured you’d prefer the crutches.”
“I would. It does make sense to wait until I’ve adjusted more to my new vision, though.”
Another hum. “Hopefully you’ll have a temporary prosthetic by then.”
“Hopefully.”
The rest of the trip was spent mostly in silence. Takami led the way to a different vending machine this time, his hands and eyes constantly moving as they walked. Aizawa now realized why—Takami was desperately trying to catalogue more information. Just how much information had he been receiving from his wings?
As Aizawa was lost in thought, though, the younger retiree bought him a snack again before Aizawa could even protest.
And every night for the next three days, the pattern repeated itself. Occasionally one of them would comment on something one of the doctors had said or something that had been particularly difficult, but for the most part they simply wandered the hallways and then ate a snack in silence.
It was nice.
“I’m being released tomorrow.”
Aizawa looked over at Takami, startled. He hadn’t mentioned release dates since the first night. “That’s great.”
Takami shrugged, letting out a shaky breath. “I guess.”
“You don’t want to be released?” With as stir crazy as Takami had been, Aizawa had assumed he would jump at the chance.
“I do!” Takami groaned, tilting his head back. “I just… I can’t feel anything! Everything’s so empty and I don’t know where everything is and I can’t…” Takami closed his eyes. “Everyone thinks I’m being ridiculous. I have scars, but other than that I’m still healthy. I still have extra sharp vision, so I shouldn’t complain. But…” His voice trailed off and he groaned again in frustration.
Aizawa could understand. “It doesn’t change the fact that sensory information you were receiving is suddenly gone.” Aizawa was all to familiar with that. And with the lives they’d lived… “It half feels like this can’t be permanent. That it’s a temporary effect of a villain’s quirk and that if we could just defeat them, then our senses would return.”
“Exactly!” Takami’s head snapped up, wide eyes staring at Aizawa. “That’s exactly it. Though…” Takami’s voice drifted off and he stared at Aizawa for a minute. “The Commission keeps saying I’m safe, but I know the League wants me dead. I know they’d kill me the second they have an opportunity and my wings are gone and I can’t feel anything or know where everything is or who is in the next room or—”
“Come to my place.” The words were out before Aizawa had even thought them. Oddly, he didn’t want to take them back, though.
“What?” Takami was staring at him in shock.
Aizawa had never liked the Commission. They had said Hawks had been spying, but they had never gone into details at the meeting. Apparently Hawks had been in deep. And now that Takami wasn’t useful, the Commission was abandoning him.
“As long as I’m not living alone, the hospital will release me. And you need a place to stay that the villains won’t suspect, right? We’ve never been known associates, plus only Mic, Midnight, and Nezu know where I live.” Aizawa shrugged, “And I owe you for all the snacks.”
Takami was still staring at him like he was insane. “I just told you the League will try to track me down to finish the job, and your first thought is to invite me to live with you? Neither one of us is in any shape to fight if they show up.”
“They won’t. If the League can find us there, then nowhere is safe.”
Takami’s face never moved, but somehow he radiated pure incredulity.
Aizawa sighed. “Look, as much as I don’t want to burden Mic or Midnight by living with them, I really want to be out of here, too, alright? You’d be doing me a favor.”
Silence. Takami’s head tilted to the side, evaluating him, and then golden eyes finally blinked. “Alright.”