Smoke Eater - Part 1
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.
Happy Hispanic Heritage Month!! 🥳❤️🔥 You guys really warmed my heart with all the excitement for this story. I'm very happy to bring you the first chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint! 😘
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 4,000
Warnings: Tense situations, brief mention of claustrophobia, and a good old-fashioned meet cute.
Part 1: "Class and Style"
Come on, come on, come on!
The toe of your heeled foot tapped on the floor as you, once again, waited for the elevator to make its slow climb back up to the 22nd floor.
In your hand was a tray carrying two steaming lattes: one small, plain hazelnut, and the other a venti caramel frappe with all the sugary bells and whistles. Complete with extra whipped cream, because your boss was a goddamn child.
I shouldn’t even be getting his coffee, you thought sourly. This is his assistant’s job!
And if this elevator didn’t climb any faster, having to stop at Starbucks during your meager lunch break for your boss’s morning fix would make you late for a very important sales meeting.
“Let’s go, Betsy. Come on,” you muttered. “You can do it.”
Yes, you’d named the contraption that usually managed to carry you all the way to your correct floor. When she wasn’t broken down for maintenance.
The four walls of the narrow elevator shook and creaked as it cleared the 20th floor. You inhaled sharply, but resisted the urge to grab the inner guardrail. This thing was old, just like the rest of the building.
But then, Betsy screeched and made an abrupt stop.
You were woefully unprepared. You slid in your heels and gasped—both at the jolt, and at the hot lattes tipping out of your hand and down your blouse and skirt.
Shit!
You didn’t even have time to wince at the scalding hot coffee, as you nearly rolled an ankle in the spillage. Luckily, you were able to grab at that guardrail. You sucked in relatively even breaths as you realized what happened…
The elevator stopped, but not on your floor.
“Oh, God…” you uttered, staring up at the red, digital “21” above the metal doors. It was blinking, but not moving. Just like you weren’t moving. Which meant…you were stuck.
Okay, not a big deal. You’re fine, you thought, trying to calm yourself. All you had on you was your phone, your ID, and your credit card. You’d decided to leave your purse in your desk, since you were just walking across the street.
But that was okay! Because you still had your phone…
“No service. Of course,” you muttered, raising your phone high to try and get a bar. This elevator was a dead zone, and it always had been. Fucking hell…
So you did the only thing you could think of.
You shouted for help.
You pressed the emergency alarm, several times.
You could hear it blare and echo outside of the chamber of the elevator, but no one seemed to hear you. Your work building was huge, made up of several departments and hundreds of employees here at Savage & Co. There was always plenty going on, especially in the middle of the morning.
Maybe no one could hear you.
“All right. Don’t…don’t panic,” you told yourself. Even though your heart was beginning to pound.
You finally pressed the “Call” button outlined in red. You didn’t know if it worked; half the floor buttons on the console didn’t even light up anymore.
But to your relief, the sound of a phone line ringing echoed through the small speaker. After a few rings, someone answered.
“Fire Department.”
“Oh, God. Yes!”
With a hand on the rail, you managed to kneel down next to the speaker. Your free hand brushed a strand of hair away from your dewy face. There was no AC in here, and you were starting to sweat. Thankfully, the rest of your hair was pulled up into a clip.
“I’m stuck in one of the oldest elevators known to man,” you told the disembodied voice.
“Sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”
You gave them your name, along with the address of your company’s building. The voice promised that they were dispatching a until to come and get you out soon.
“How soon is soon?” you asked.
“…About forty-five minutes, give or take.”
Jesus Christ.
You baked inside Betsy for close to an hour. While your makeup slowly melted, you found a corner of the ground that wasn’t covered by a coffee puddle, and you pressed the alarm button at random intervals. Still, no one seemed to hear it. You used the empty coffee tray to try and fan yourself.
Your phone was also useless. You tucked that along with your credit card into your bra for safe keeping. You’d definitely missed your meeting about the prospective Zimmerman account—one you and your coworker Josh were competing to nail down, as the top performers in the sales department. You couldn’t even catch up on your emails.
Damn it, Nick’s gonna chew my head off, you thought. But then you frowned, your brows furrowing. Well, it’s his fault for not maintaining this damn building. And for ordering a damn caramel frappe! What is he, a 12-year-old girl?
Your skirt was still sticky on the side. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the metal wall and closed your eyes. Ah, well. At least I’m not claustrophobic.
“Fire Department!” called a man’s voice from above. “Can you hear me down there?”
You gasped and opened your eyes. Your gaze raised heavenward, and you called out to the voice.
“Hello?!”
“Ah, we found you. You okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”
“Y-Yes…” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, no. I’m not hurt.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “You’re stuck between two floors, but we’re gonna get you out, all right?”
“Okay.” You sucked in a shaky breath and grabbed the rail so you could get back onto your feet. “I’m stuck on the 21st floor right?”
“Well, in between 21 and 22. Hold on one sec.”
You stood there with bated breath, just waiting for something to happen. You heard tools whirring, felt the elevator shutter for a moment, but it didn’t budge. Until you heard a thump on the roof. You looked up, but of course you couldn’t see what was happening.
Until a square patch in the roof was unscrewed and drawn back, revealing a firefighter in almost all his gear: wearing a gray shirt tucked into navy pants, red suspenders, black boots and gloves. All he was missing was a jacket and a hardhat.
He did wear a harness, and he held another one in his gloved hand, as well as a charming, almost boyish grin on his face.
“There you are,” he greeted.
You didn’t know if it was the lack of AC, or his ridiculously handsome features, but you felt your face heat up further.
“Uh, hi,” you said, very eloquently. You offered a smile back. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet, but we will,” he said, still with that grin as he lowered the second harness down to you. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”
You gave it to him as you took the harness.
“Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t have this on your bingo card today, did ya?”
You snorted in response. “Not even in my fortune cookie.”
It earned an amused look from him. Then he proceeded to instruct you on how to put the harness on around your waist and shoulders and clip the straps together.
“Okay, good. Now tug it, make sure it’s tight enough,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. You obliged him.
“Perfect.” He nodded, before crouching down and lowering his hands through the compartment. “All right, now. Just take my hands. I’m gonna pull you up.”
You looked up at him, then and at the narrow escape hatch with uncertainty.
“It’s okay,” he said, noting your reluctance (and your white-knuckle grip on the guardrail). “It’s perfectly safe.”
“Yeah, I doubt anything about this situation is safe,” you replied wryly. You glanced at the elevator’s metal walls. Even now, they groaned under Dean’s shifting weight.
“I mean, I’m sure you’re strong and all,” you said, with a vague gesturing hand at him. You couldn’t quite tell from your limited vantage point, but Dean could barely fit his broad shoulders through the hole he’d opened up. He was probably a big guy.
Still, you didn’t like the idea of your legs dangling in mid-air.
“I’m a woman, but I’m still a full-grown person,” you said, your brows beginning to furrow in worry. “People are heavy, and this thing is rickety as hell, and that’s a really tiny window…”
“All right,” Dean gently interrupted. He looked like he was trying hard not to chuckle, and you didn’t appreciate it…even though you were biting your lip, trying not to smile too (more in embarrassment).
“I promise you, the line’s got you,” he said. And he tugged on the sturdy rope that connected to your harness.
His eyes met yours directly, firm and assuring. They were green, you noticed, even in this fluorescent lighting.
“More importantly, I’ve got you. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you fall,” he said, with what seemed like every conviction in the world. “Just take my hands.”
He leaned in further so you could reach him.
…And damn it, you believed him.
Staring into his eyes, you found the courage to suck in a deep breath and release the guardrail. You reached up and let his hands curl tightly around yours. You gripped him right back.
“All right, pull up!” he called back over his shoulder.
You couldn’t see them, but you heard the voices of other firefighters as they slowly retracted Dean’s harness line as well as yours. When he was able to plant his feet on the roof of the elevator again, you held your breath as he pulled you all the way up as well.
You lost a heel along the way though. It fell off your foot and hit the bottom of the elevator below.
“Woops,” Dean said. His arms wrapped around you, and he held you securely against him when your heel (and bare foot) also met the elevator roof, a bit awkwardly. You both peered back down through the square hole.
“Want me to get that for you?” he offered, with another one of those grins.
Now you knew you were blushing. Stop it!
You shook your head as you clung to his arms. You felt the strength in them, and it steadied you, along with the easy way about him that said he was more than comfortable with the perils of rescuing trapped women from old-ass elevators.
“Don’t even worry about it,” you told him. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”
Dean chuckled then. “I hear ya. Let’s go, then.”
He glanced up and called out to a “Benny” and a “Gordon.” You assumed they were the men securing the harnesses that held you and Dean.
“Okay. You ready, sweetheart?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” you replied with a nod, even as you bit your lip again at the endearment. Usually when men called you sweetheart, (like your boss), it was like nails on a damn chalkboard.
But somehow, it didn’t seem so sleezy coming from the charming fireman.
You craned to looked up at his face. He was much taller than you, even with half your heels. Dean met your eyes again, and for a moment, you were tense. The elevator shaft was dark and cold, but the light from the open doors of the floor above allowed you to see his face, decorated lightly with stubble, and his brown hair that spiked to one side.
Your mouth parted, though you didn’t have a clue of what to say next…
You were saved when the lines went even more taut, and the firefighters on the floor above brought you and Dean all the way up to the 22nd floor. He helped you reach out to a bearded fireman, who supported your arms and carried you out of the elevator shaft, onto solid ground.
A small crowd had formed in the lobby. Zachariah the CFO was there, along with the building manager, and your friend Andréa, who looked both worried and relieved to see you. And even your boss, Nick, came forward to meet you once Benny and Dean helped you take off the harness.
“You’ve had a busy morning,” Nick drawled.
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “You could say that.”
Technically, he was everyone’s boss: Nick Savage, CEO of Savage & Co. He’d inherited the company from his father. However, Nick believed his one sad year of college business classes made him an expert on running your sales department with a firm hand.
“Well, it’s good to see you’re all right,” he said. Though his eyes glanced down your stained, white blouse, down to your bare foot. His gaze made your spine prickle. And not in a good way.
You crossed your arms on reflex. “I know I missed the meeting—”
“We recorded it. You’ll be able to watch it later, take notes, all that good stuff,” he said, his head tilting in that lazy way of his. He gestured at you with a finger. “But, uh…once you’re done cleaning up, think you could nip back out and get me that coffee? Since, you know, you’re kind of wearing it.”
Behind you, the team of firefighters discreetly watched the scene while packing up their gear—some with curiosity and bemusement, others (namely Dean) with a subtle frown.
You were livid.
But you managed to keep it down, just beneath your skin, as you bent down and took off your remaining heel.
“I’m requesting the afternoon off as personal time,” you informed him with (mostly) all due professionalism. There was a fire in your eyes, however, that not even you could tame.
“But don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll still land the Zimmerman account by Friday.”
You turned and dropped your shoe into a nearby garbage can. You didn’t want to be reminded of your boss every time you saw the coffee stains.
Before you left, you stopped in front of Dean and the other firefighters.
“Thank you very much for all your help,” you said, giving them all a smile. Your gaze lingered on Dean, who smiled back at you and nodded, his hands resting on his belt.
“You got it, sweetheart.”
Your lips twitched. Then you continued on your way towards the exit door, to the stairwell. You shoved it open and walked bare-footed up to your office to get your purse.
You’d left Nick silently fuming in the middle of the hall. You knew there wasn’t too much he could do with an entire crowd of witnesses.
He soon huffed and let your behavior roll off his back, as he became distracted by Zachariah and the building manager asking about the last time the elevator was properly serviced.
Meanwhile, Dean and Benny shared an amused look as their team rolled out.
Damn, Dean thought, remembering how you’d stopped in your little storm out, just to thank them. And how you’d held your head high as you walked away on bare feet.
He could admit, you had both class and style.
“Really, Grandpa. I’m fine,” you insisted.
Now in the comfort of your own home, and in your pajamas after a nice hot shower, you stirred a pot of chicken soup for your Grandpa George. He eyed you from the kitchen table with a measure of suspicion.
“Well, it’s lucky for you we’ve got a responsive Fire Department,” he said. “In the sleepy little town I grew up in, you’d be lucky if the whole damn building didn’t cave in before somebody got to ya.”
You shot him an amused look.
“Thanks. Makes me feel better about stepping into an elevator ever again.”
George seemed to consider the prospect, but he soon waved a vague hand.
“Ah, you’ll be fine,” George said, waving a hand. “Even if one of the cables snapped, you’d have three more holdin’ you up. And it should only need one cable to support the compartment, make sure the whole thing doesn’t fall to the damn ground.”
Your grandfather had been a technician for sixty years, so he knew a little thing about commercial building maintenance. However, right now, he wasn’t making you feel any better about your somewhat perilous experience. You paled a bit at the thought of cables snapping, leading to a long, Tower of Terror-style drop.
Except there’d be nothing to catch you at the bottom.
“It’s okay. I’ll just start walking up all 22 floors up to my office every day,” you said, smiling wryly. “I’ll finally have thighs like Wonder Woman.”
George laughed, though it soon ended on a cough. You eyed him with a frown as you ladled out a bowl of soup for him. You went over to him, both to set down the bowl in front of him and rub his back.
“Still with that cough. I don’t like it,” you said. “I’m making an appointment with your doctor.”
George shook his head and grabbed his glass of water.
“Just something caught in my throat.”
“Mhmm,” you replied. He was the absolute king of downplaying. It used to drive your grandma nuts.
You sighed and raised a hand to your forehead. An ache was building behind your eyes. Or maybe it had been there since you left work early today, and you were just now realizing how tightly wound your spine was.
“You okay?” George asked. You read the concern in his eyes and tried to relax your face from its scrunching.
“Yeah. Just a tension headache.”
“Hmm. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about me, and more time taking care of yourself,” he pointed out. “You had a stressful day. Why don’t you go relax? Or better yet, go out! Go see your friends. Get in a bar fight. Something productive.”
A grin curved your lips as you raised a brow.
“A bar fight would make me more productive?”
George grinned up at you. “Well, at least it’d get you out of the house.”
You pursed your lips. There was a reason you didn’t go out very often, and your grandfather knew it. You were the only one who could watch out for him now, even if he didn’t think he needed it. Your mouth opened to reply, but before you could, your cell phone rang through the house.
For a moment, the two of you stared at one another. Until George raised his brows.
“You should get that, huh?” he said.
You narrowed your eyes at him, despite your small smile, and you raised a finger as you went to get your purse over in the living room.
“We’re not done, old man,” you said over your shoulder.
“Oh, believe me. I know,” he grumbled, delving into his soup with a spoon.
Meanwhile, you fished your phone out of your purse and answered. A genuine, if tired smile graced your lips. It was your best friend, Andréa. She worked with you at Savage & Co., over in Marketing as a graphic designer.
As fate would have it, the two of you were hired on the same day five years ago. She’d invited you to lunch that day, and from then on, you two had been rocking through corporate life like Thelma and Louise—if Thelma had been a Greek artist and Louise had been a sarcastic saleswoman.
“Hey, Dre,” you greeted.
“Hello, my love. Congratulations for surviving your near-death experience, and getting to serve Nick Savage a bit of humble pie,” she teased. “I thought you were going to lobby your Prada heel at his head.”
You huffed and plopped down on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table.
“First of all, let’s not be too dramatic. I was stuck in an elevator, not a Chilean mine shaft,” you said wryly. “Second, you really think I would throw away Prada? Even if it was coffee stained… Those were just my $30 Steve Maddens.”
And yet, they had been your most comfortable heels. Maybe you should just find some sensible flats in the back of your closet and be done with it. But you liked the height and confidence that a nice pair of heels gave you—especially in that office filled with “Mad Men” wannabes.
Every male on your sales team thought he was Jon Hamm in a room full of George Costanzas.
Nick Savage was the worst out of all of them.
You dealt with it, however, and sometimes even thrived on being the only woman on the team. Mostly because you needed your job.
It paid well enough, but most of it went into the upkeep of your grandparents’ old house, and for the past few years, their extensive medical bills…
“Still, at least you got a Mission Impossible-style rescue out of it,” said Andréa. Her tone turned both leading and flirtatious. “Tell me you got that fireman’s number. Dear God Almighty, what a Grade-A Hottie.”
You chortled through your blush at remembering Dean, the firefighter who saved you. You could admit, he’d been one fine specimen of a man.
“Grade-A Hottie. What are we, in middle school?” you retorted. “Besides, he was just doing his job.”
“Ugh, you’re so pragmatic it hurts,” your friend lamented. “You really need to live a little, while you’re still hot and firm.”
You laughed fully at that one. “Yeah, I think taking the stairs from now on will help with the ‘firm’ bit.”
Just like the strength of the firefighter’s hold had been. You’d felt entirely secure after he’d pulled you up on the elevator roof. His arms had reassured you even more than the harness, if you thought about it. (And your face heated up further at said thought.)
“I do wish I could say thank you again, somehow,” you mused out loud, not really thinking about who exactly you were talking to.
“Oh, yeah?” Andréa said. You could practically hear her mischievous grin. It made you slightly nervous. “Well, it’s not unheard of for a grateful civilian to stop by a firehouse. You could bring him lunch or something!”
“Ah, I don’t know about that,” you said. Your instinct was to withdraw inward at the thought of putting yourself out there like that. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him while he was at work.
“What’re you talking about? Firefighters love food! Believe me, my cousin Meg is a paramedic,” Andréa said. Then she gasped. “Oh, girl. I have the perfect idea for you. Why don’t you bake something for the whole firehouse? That way it takes some of the pressure off, but you still get to see him.”
You became more contemplative then.
Bake something, huh?
Now, that you could do. Andréa knew all too well that the one thing that could get your gears turning was getting your apron on, as baking was your ultimate hobby. It made you feel creative, and damn-near stress free…
And her idea wasn’t too shabby, the more you thought about it. It was something kind that you knew you could do. And more than anything, you really did just want to say thank you, one more time.
You smiled.
“Okay. I think we have a plan.” However, your smile soon fell. “Wait, I have no idea what firehouse he works at.”
“Hmm, my cousin might know,” Andréa said. “Let me reach out to her…what’s his name again?”
“Dean,” you replied. Another small smile reached your lips, against your will.
“His name was Dean.”
AN: Ah, the first chapter! Launching a new story is always so exciting! 🥰 What did you think of the reader and Dean's first meeting?
Also, feel free to imagine Mark Pellegrino's "Nick" for this (I am). He didn't have a last name on the show, so I created one for this story, as he's going to be an important antagonist throughout.
And just so you guys know, my knowledge of the inner workings of fire departments and law enforcement will largely come from my own research and being a huge fan of procedurals, like Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Law & Order, etc.
Yes, aspects are fictionalized on those shows, but a lot of it is rooted in real-life protocol and stories. All the love and respect for creator/executive producer Dick Wolf. 😂
...Oh, and the elevator scene was inspired by true events. (Yes, I've been stuck in an elevator before. 🫠 Two ridiculously hot firefighters pulled me out, but by then I was melting from the lack of AC, had no makeup, and was dressed like a female!Dean, plaid and all lmao.)
Anywho...
Next Time:
“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”
“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.
He chuckled a bit. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”
“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”
Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you.
Keep Reading: PART 2
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Class 1-A with a fem! Quirkless reader! Cold, reserved, yet polite and soft spoken when talking, S/O may as well be an Ice Queen. Growing up alone with no love in exchange for massive training and tons of combat experience in illegal underground rings, making her one of the strongest students. Also, she has countless scars and burn marks all over her body from neck to toe, which she conceals by wearing scarfs, gloves, winter clothes. Class 1-A and some teachers reactions?
Characters: Class 1-A, All Might and Aizawa (really brief Recovery Girl and Nezu)
Genre: General, Minor h/c if you really squint, minor angst if you squint really hard + HCs
CW: Abuse (briefly stated but no in-depth descriptions + physical aftermath talked about), F!Reader (uses the girl's change room but other than that nothing else), all relations are platonic
a/n: Hi anon! Thanks for the request (only took me forever lol), hope you like it :)
Honestly, everyone thought that you were either cold or that the extra layers had something to do with your quirk. Both were plausible conclusions and there had been no other indication it could be some other reason. However, within the first week, the quirk theory was debunked.
Of course, this bred questions upon questions. How the hell did you pass the entrance exam quirkless? And just what are you capable of doing out of the field?
When the opportunity was presented, many not so subtly hinted at you to join the first round of the exercise. Finally, they’d get to see what you can do! Come the end of your round let’s just say they easily understood why you passed the entrance exam and never questioned it again.
This also left them with their final - and only - conclusion that the bundle of clothes you wear is due to you being cold. A few ask if you’d like them to turn the heat up so you could take off an article or two, though you always decline. So be it, they don’t push.
Midoriya has tremendous respect, adoration and idolization for you. Whether he lets it be known or not really just depends on the day. After all, you made it to UA quirkless, the one thing he thought was unachievable. Hell, the whole class may have some ounce of respect for you, seeing as the achievement is inspiring.
They all care very little about your personality or how you first come off. Deep down you’re nice and kind and polite and that's all that mattered to them. You’ll come around eventually, most do.
It's the girls that find out about your little secrets first. Concealing 101 and you trip up; a rookie mistake while changing after class. Shocked and horrified gasps are all you need to hear to know you've let one of the nastier scars show.
Whether you tell them the truth, just some of it or none at all, most will be on the verge of tears. No matter what you say though, they all know that tremendous pain is linked to that mark and insist on reporting it to the police. No accident would leave those scars. And if not the police then at least Mr. Aizawa or All Might (of course, none force you to take this step. They know it's not their place).
Regardless of how much your story was told the ladies all silently agreed to never let slip what they saw that evening. Unfortunately, everyone else knows by the end of the week; another, similar mistake regarding a looser shirt on a warm day slipping down just right being the cause.
It’s more wide-eyed looks than a verbal reaction. You're tossing between running or letting things play out naturally. However, given how your body is locked in freeze mode you don't think you have much of a say. Only when the looks of understanding, curiosity and sympathy (or is it pity?) register are you able to get to your feet. You're making a beeline down the hall and to the safety of your room where no one can see the darker parts of yourself. Unfortunately, it all comes to a crashing halt (literally) when you run into Mr. Aizawa.
Even though he was able to stop you both from falling over the wind is still knocked from his lungs. There’s a quick scolding on the tip of his tongue, something about no running or watching where you’re going, but it quickly dies off when he sees what’s got everyone silent.
The scars are one thing, they’re marks he’s seen often on both himself and others. No, what really has his heart dropping to the pits of his stomach is the branded insignia etched into your skin. He knows it far too well but it’s also something he never thought to see again.
Coming to his senses a mumbled, “…be careful next time," is what leaves his mouth instead, carefully letting you go to walk off to your room. Whatever the Pro Hero was going to say to everyone before doesn't come, instead, he too turns back the way he came. There are some things he has to think about about.
Sleep didn't come easy that night, Aizawa's mind plagued with memories from years ago. He knows that you can't save everyone, it's not always possible, but he could have sworn he and a few others rescued all the victims from the underground ring case. If you slipped under the radar then just how many others did he and his team miss?
There’s a mix of rage and guilt swirling in his chest as he finally drifts off. Aizawa knows what went on in that illegal organization and to think you went through more than you had to because of his negligence? He’ll be kicking himself for it for a while.
Come morning - a weekend thankfully - there were a few ways Aizawa thought to approach this. One was to relay this information to the other Pro Heroes, the ring could still be happening for all they know. The second option was to call you into his office in the dorms and talk with you. Of course, the second option was what he went with.
The room was thick with awkwardness; you, unsure why you'd been called in, and Aizawa was unsure where to begin exactly.
"That symbol... I know, (L/N)." Your teacher didn't have to say much more for you to get where the conversation was heading. He asked if there were others still out there and if there were if you would share their location and any names you might know. Though, he paused in his onslaught upon seeing you curl into yourself.
"Sorry. I just..." want to help. To stop the monsters that do these things to the innocent.
He gives you a moment to calm down before asking if it was alright to continue. Aizawa went slower with his questions, fetching you some water to sip on throughout and staying quiet as you spoke until you were done.
He's a man that gets straight to the point, and at times a man of few words, but he knew that no words would be able to convey how grateful he is or how proud he is that you told him all you could. Even if you couldn't or didn't tell much, it doesn't erase how brave you are for trying.
You have yet to gain your hero license but already you're saving lives. "Thank you."
With your permission, Aizawa told the other Pros that he felt should know. All Might was one of them. He took the news harder than Aizawa did, having worked on the case as well, but he was the one that proudly and confidently stated that all victims had been saved. That every villain was apprehended and that no one else was to be harmed because of them. What a joke - he sees now what a liar he was.
The former number one apologies to you. Full on “I’m sorry... for failing you...” because that’s what he believes he’s done. And in some ways, that's what he did. While others got to go home to whatever families they had or live better lives, you sat chained to a cold and lonely routine, unable to leave the side of the group who used you for their own personal monetary gain and sick entertainment. But perhaps, another part of you wants to forgive, because you too know that the operation was huge and that there are always those few that aren't found. Who are you to hold it against them when they obviously did all they could? Besides, it's not their fault for being deceived - told by those they caught that they had everyone, that there was no one else to catch.
When you were advised that Recovery Girl might be able to patch up and ease the more prominent scars, you weren't sure what to do or say. Still, you figured it wouldn't hurt to go and see her. The moment the little old lady peeked at your skin her smile faded. Before, she had kept a conversation going with you but now she continued her examination in silence. She'd been told what to roughly expect but she couldn't be prepared for the sheer volume of it all.
As soon as the old woman finished she told it to you straight: "I'm sorry dear. At best I can give you something to allow them to fade but I make no guarantee that any would disappear." Despite the news, you thank her and leave with the cream and ointment she prescribed.
Nezu asked for you to visit him a few days later. While keeping his cheery tone he told you that if at any point you couldn't complete an assignment, accommodations would be made for you. After all, he wishes for all UA students to be safe and succeed - you included. (And perhaps it's because he too understood a fraction at least of what you'd gone through. He knew the trials it takes to get back on your feet and that there is no easy, straightforward path.)
Your friends encourage you at times to shed the scarf or jacket you wear around the dorm, assuring you that your scars don't scare them and that they won't judge you for them. While old habits are very hard to break (especially when tied to something traumatic, something that each of your classmates understands is hard to unravel) there are times when you can let yourself breathe just a little easier and stay cool during the warmer months. In these times, it's the little achievements that go a long way.
The whole class makes it so that they watch their tones and movements - they don't want to accidentally bring forth a memory. Half the class already was pretty quiet but it's students like Bakugou that you can really see the change in. Anyone can see that if you're around his voice isn't as loud compared to before, or that there are fewer and fewer times his hands will pop with mini explosions. Midoriya, Mina, Ida, Uraraka, Denki and Kirishima become more aware to tone down their own voices as well, knowing that they can get pretty loud at times. Shouji watched where his extra limbs were and Tokoyami instructed Dark Shadow to not creep up on you.
Todoroki will sometimes randomly come up to you and share a tip or two on how to care for your burns (both long-term and for any more recent ones should there be any) while Midoriya tells you how he personally maintains his scarring.
There was only once that everyone collectively told you that you could talk to them if you'd like. A few pointed out that if you were told repeatedly then you might be inclined to not reach out, hence their decision. Teachers, classmates, whoever, you could talk to them if you want or need to. Each of them would be there for you no matter what and they want to make that clear. Whether you reached out or not is up to you.
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