Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a rumor that was whispered through the halls of U.A, murmured throughout the different classes with worried glances and wearily discussed behind the rim of coffee mugs in the teacher’s lounge. Class 1-A diligently ignored the whispering, the odd looks, the bold questions. Aizawa assigned detention to whoever even seemed like they were about to ask. 

There were murmurs that sounded in class 1-A, sometimes, when too long of a silence settled over the room, yet no one could pinpoint where the voice was coming from, even when everyone remained silent. Objects would be left overnight only for the students to return to things moved around, possessions in spots where they weren’t before. A soft tapping noise was perfectly common to hear during lecture, during studies. 

Some of the students attempted to reach out to the noises once, twice, three times before under the watchful eyes of Aizawa. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. 

The class of 1-A seemed almost split in half when asked if they believed their class was haunted. The number of believers only seemed to grow whenever other students checked in, never shrinking. Kaminari was the first to give in to the idea, and although some laughed at the thought, others seemed to agree, Shinsou in particular. They were the ones to try communicating first, having dragged a reluctant Sero and Kirishima with them. 

According to the group of four, a recording ready for evidence, it had worked. Objects had shifted slightly when requested, murmurs stopping and starting as questions were asked, the tapping noise that haunted lectures being directed wherever someone gestured. It managed to convince others to go with, on the next trip. Nothing came out of it, not a single response. Not giving up, they tried again, armed with an EMR for voice recognition and a camera propped up on textbooks, Aizawa calmly sipping coffee as he watched with mild interest. 

That session made even Aizawa a believer. No one was left out of the group after that. 

The longer they stayed in the classroom, the more they learned of certain habits. If someone were to walk into the furthermost corner from the door, they would find the air colder than everywhere else, chills flowing down their spines like icy water. No other area in the room felt this way. If someone were to attempt to leave anything sitting on the desk at the very back right of the room - around the same area of the cold chills - then it would most certainly be shifted somewhere else come morning. Yaoyorozu had arrived to her classroom many a time, ready to pick up what she had left, only to find it had been moved - Aizawa’s desk or a neighboring desk the most common locations. If silences stretched too long, uncomfortable or contemplative alike, a voice sounding doubled over would murmur for a while, as if to fill up the emptiness. Aizawa had grown used to an insistent tapping appearing and disappearing at random during lectures, the sound resembling a pen against a desk or nails against a window. 

They debated attempting to reach out in other ways, and Mina had bravely suggested writing small notes of greeting and questions on the chalkboard. Iida in particular seemed against the idea, and debates lasting all their free time were often. 

Unsurprisingly, the first to decide an answer to such a question was Shinsou, who stood up in determination one morning during one of the class’s many debates and marched to the blackboard, picking up the chalk and writing a quick hello friend. When Aizawa arrived, he politely asked for the note to be left, and the students went home with bated breath. 

There had been nothing. Disappointment had flooded the hearts of the students, but none of them quite gave up.

Sometimes, on particularly dreary days, the atmosphere of the room would feel like a physical weight pressing down on their shoulders and chests, and the temperature would feel like someone left the window open during a snow day. Yaoyorozu, Mineta, Tokoyami and Todoroki would have to be moved up front, seated on the floor, otherwise they would be too pale and too alert the whole day. The murmurs would be a constant, distorted presence regardless of silence or not, and the tapping would appear and disappear at random instead of just during lectures. The students and Aizawa would try and power through the dour atmosphere the best they could but it was nearly impossible to focus. 

Aizawa, losing patience, formed a scolding expression. We are trying to have class and the students can’t focus, he stated flatly to the room at large. Please reign in your temper.

The room was still cold, but the murmurs and tapping stopped completely. Palpable relief radiated off of everyone as they continued with class, but it didn’t last when the next day they arrived and there was no sign of the presence other than the cold, chill inducing corner. The students, after Shinsou guessed what had happened, were quick to reassure that it was fine, there was no harm done, but nothing they did or said got any sort of response. When Aizawa walked in, the students quickly explained what they arrived to, and Aizawa sighed in clear exasperation. 

I wasn’t meaning permanently, nor everything. You were only being extreme yesterday and I asked you to reign yourself in, not grow silent. You may hover as you please.

A quick, somehow cheerful sounding tapping resonated near Aizawa’s desk, soft murmurs floating in the air before both noises vanished. The room felt lighter, happier. The day resumed as it usually did. 

Again, under Aizawa, the students tried communication with the presence, the EMR settled along the desk and a camera propped up. They finally got a name and age - the latter of which caused the heroes to flinch in sympathy. It admitted it was 12, and Aizawa in particular looked nauseous at the fact. They were talking to a child. A dead child. 

The name, however, seemed to make Bakugo hover closer to the EMR, as if he could see the kid just by staring hard enough at it. Izuku. They got Izuku to clarify that yes, he was in fact male, and he sort of had an idea of why he was seemingly trapped here. 

“W̢͠͞a̢͠n̷̨̕͟͞t̸̸͝͞͠ed̷̢̡ ̢͝t̵̛͠o̢҉ ̶̸͟b̴̸͜e̷ ͘-͘͢҉ ̴̧h̛͘͡e̸̴͜͟͟r̵̸̴̡͢o͟͠͞ ̸̵̢͢-͏͏̸̧͞ ̡͢͟w̴͏͟͏h̴͏e̷n̨̧̛͠͝ ͏̢-̸̴̕͢͢ ̶͘͢ģ̛r̡̢e̷͞w̸̢̡̨ ̵̶̡̧͏up. W̵͏̴a̷̵̧͞͏n̢̡͟͡͝t̡̡̡͢ȩ̷̡͟͡d͢ ̷͘͝-̷͢҉̸͢ ̴g͞҉͞ǫ̢ ͟͡t̨͜͟o̸̡ ͠-̷̴̧̢ ̛҉U̷̶̢͘.̸̧͢͜A͞҉̴͘͝. J̛͘͏u͜͡͏͢m̵̢̡̛p̕ȩ͝d͝҉̸͜͏ ̴̴̕͝-̷̷ ̸͝r̴̢͞o͡͠͏̡o̡҉̨f̸̨̢ ҉̢-̶̸̨ ͟͜s̡̢͜͠ą̶̸d̨͜͟ ҉-̢͟͞ ͟͏l̸͡o͝ņ̷̕̕e̡̛͞͞l҉̶͜͜y̸̷̸͘.”

They did their best to greet him at the start of every day when they walked through the classroom door after that - a cheerful hello, wishing him a good morning, asking how his night went - and also did their best to include him in conversation, however briefly they managed. Cheerful tapping and soft murmurs would be their only response, but the class of 1-A understood the gestures were appreciated regardless. 

Another EMR session, but this time secluded from most, found Aizawa at his desk, a hovering, watchful figure and Bakugo settled next to the chilly corner, goosebumps prickling his arms and legs. No camera was positioned. It was just them. Bakugo didn’t plan on anyone else hearing anyway. 

The first words he actively spoke to this hovering presence were I guess you didn’t make it the way you intended, huh nerd? A long, tense silence followed, and Bakugo played back the recording. 

"Ǹo҉ ͘-̷ bųt͘ ͘-̕ got̴ - śeę you!"

It was the clearest Bakugo had ever heard his voice from the EMR. It tore at his heart. 

His seconds words were simply I’m sorry.

"Don̸’̛t - ̢K̛ac̷c̸han ͝- ̸ne̕ver ͡- b͟lamed̢ you ͏- w͜a̕n̢t̸ - ͘K̨acc̡h̷an͠ ͘- h͡a͝ppy."

Some tears were shed that afternoon, tucked away in a lonely classroom with a forgotten childhood friend, and a long overdue conversation was had. Aizawa never commented, not once, even as Bakugo sobbed over the stupid fucking machine that shitty deku was forced to use as a microphone. Even when he got caught in a loop of I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry and all the EMR had to say was "I ̵f̧orgive ̛you͏”, clear as day, as if that erased everything. Even when that brought more tears.

Bakugo ended that session with a hoarse goodbye, tucking the EMR away like a long-lost treasure, and leaving the classroom in silence, except for the soft tapping of fingernails against a window pane.

Chapter Text

Aizawa wasn’t exactly sure why or what caused it, but class 1-A had an extra student that nobody but himself and his class knew about.

The teacher knew without question that the students were a lot more open-minded than he was about the whole thing. It made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t exactly put his finger on, but his students seemed a lot more inclined to interact with the presence. Privately, he hoped they had the common sense to leave it be. 

He should’ve known his class had no such thing.

He thought about bringing it up to principal Nedzu on more than one occasion, but he had a feeling the little mouse creature wouldn’t believe him, and even if he did Aizawa doubted there was much he could do, so he took the circumstance with as much grace as he was able. Aizawa wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job or not, whether his students could sense his unease every time the twisted, doubled over speech faded in and out as he attempted to seem as unbothered as possible, or when a tapping that seemed to come from nowhere floated about the classroom like an unspoken threat.

He stayed behind in the classroom for as little as he could get away with. The mutterings turned to whispers, flickering in and out, doubled over. The weird air about the place set him on edge, making him glance over his shoulder, expecting someone to be there. No one ever was.

When his students proposed doing a session with an EMR, Aizawa offered to supervise, partly out of worry - he knew his students well enough to know they’d just do it anyway - and partly because he was morbidly curious to see what would come about, even as his sensible side screamed at him that he would regret it. 

He indeed regretted the decision, almost immediately. 

What he discovered during those sessions made him sick to his stomach. Maybe just the thought of a dead child haunting his class made him upset in general. Maybe the thought was a stark reminder that no matter how hard he strived, saving everyone just wasn’t possible. Maybe it was both of those things and something else. 

On days when the students had dispersed and Aizawa was the only one left in the room, the voice would lower from its usual muttering into a soft whisper, the noise not unlike wind rustling through leaves. It was still mostly indecipherable, but it did seem pointed, as if addressing the teacher in a more respectful manner. He didn’t know what else to do other than let the kid do as he pleased, filling the silent room with his aimless chatter. It wasn’t as if Aizawa would demand him to stop anyway. Not when the kid wasn’t bothering anyone and, most importantly, had nowhere else to go. 

Aizawa could never quite bring himself to address the presence on purpose. He phrased his questions as him simply thinking out loud, but the kid didn’t seem to mind, tapping and muttering away in reply even though Aizawa had no idea what he was saying. He would listen regardless, hoping to be some kind of soothing presence for his unexpected ward. 

Sometimes he delayed leaving as long as he could, knowing the poor kid was going to spend the rest of his day and night alone in an empty room, and he would think out loud to himself and quietly listen to the nonsense the air spat back out at him in response. Sometimes Aizawa left as soon as he could, going as far as rushing to pack up his things. The kid always seemed just a touch sadder the next day, a little less talkative, but Aizawa couldn’t take having to face him every day, knowing he couldn’t - and didn’t - save him. If only he had been there. If only he could have talked him down, told him there were people who loved him and would miss him and he could reach his dreams if he just lived one more day. 

If only.

After Bakugo’s session with the EMR, the puzzle wasn’t finished per se, but he knew he at least had more of the pieces. 

He asked Bakugo about it only once, and he tried to tread as lightly as he possibly could. Bakugo had been oddly soft spoken, simply claiming he was someone he knew that had taken his own life at a young age. He didn’t seem inclined to say anything further and Aizawa refused to push when he looked so uncharacteristically downtrodden. 

On weekends he had paperwork to finish and the students had the day off, Aizawa would occasionally sit in the seemingly empty classroom instead of his office. The kid would greet him with what Aizawa assumed were cheerful, particularly loud mutterings before falling silent, and he would take a seat at his desk. He didn’t openly speak, but that didn’t stop the presence from chattering on and off regardless, a cold chill creeping in from the one specific corner of the room. Aizawa never complained. He would only grit his teeth against the biting cold and steady his shaking hand as he wrote. 

This particular weekend, however, had him visiting a friend of a friend. Naomasa. 

He asked if there was ever a missing child report with the name Izuku. A file turned up shortly after. The pages wrote a clear, woeful story of a boy named Izuku Midoriya. Diagnosed Quirkless at age four and bullied relentlessly for it and his strange behavior, muttering incessantly to himself being one of many, Aizawa noted bitterly. He ended up taking his own life by jumping off a rooftop. 

Bakugo Katsuki. Midoriya’s main tormentor, admitted to goading the boy into taking his own life. Midoriya’s mother never pressed charges, and instead he was placed in anger management therapy and then general therapy after that. 

Aizawa could do nothing but stare holes into the paper in disbelief. Yes, Bakugo was hotheaded, yes he had a temper, but never in a million years had Aizawa ever suspected the blonde to be capable of saying such things. 

No wonder he was so repentant. 

Aizawa excused himself and left with a weight on his chest that was hard to breathe around. There was no reason to talk to Bakugo about it now - the situation was long dealt with and Bakugo very clearly felt remorse. Trying to scold him now would be redundant and would most likely do more harm than good. But his thoughts kept circling him, insistent and repeating and tearing at his heart. 

Why was no one there to save him? Why was he all alone? Why did no one offer the suffering child a hand?

He went back to his classroom instead of going home, papers tucked under his arm. Muttering greeted him - and fuck did that have a whole new meaning to it - as he quietly organized his things and sat down. 

Aizawa paused. The entire room seemed to pause with him. He made a snap decision. 

“Hello Midoriya. It’s nice to meet you.”

Childish laughter echoed around the empty corners of the room, the window panes rattling in their frames as the lights flickered and buzzed. As much as the spectacle set his hair on end, he couldn’t help but smile warily at the sheer excitement the actions held. 

If he couldn’t be there for the kid then, Aizawa would do his best to keep him company now. 

It was the least he could do.

Chapter Text

When Aizawa asked him to fill in for the afternoon, he hadn’t expected this would be his experience. 

The second he walked through the door, Hizashi realized it was noticeably colder in the room than it was in the hall. The second thing he noticed was the off and on, inhuman murmurs, coming through the walls and sneaking through the cracks and seams of the building as the students talked amongst themselves. The voice made him freeze just in front of the doorway, and it took someone - Iida - calling his name for him to snap out of it. The class fell silent at the presence of a teacher, and so did the voice. 

Hizashi barely managed to make it to Aizawa’s desk before the door slid open again. Kaminari rushed in the door three minutes late, greeted the empty air with heya Izuku in a hurry, and made his way to his seat, out of breath, as a tapping sound seemed to come from Kaminari’s desk. Kaminari only grinned, not a touch of concern in his features as he sat down. Hizashi was too confused to scold him for his tardiness. 

He did roll call. Izuku wasn’t on the list.

Hizashi may be silly at times and enjoy joking around, but he was a pro hero for a reason, and knowing how to put two and two together was naturally expected of the profession. These kids weren’t telling him outright, but the way they behaved spoke volumes. 

Especially Bakugo. He was behaving strangely. 

He started the lecture. The room felt odd in a way he couldn’t describe, like something was there that wasn’t supposed to be, a weird energy lingered in the air, making the hair on his arms and neck stand on end. No matter how many times he scanned the classroom for the perpetrator, he couldn’t find anyone that was tapping a pencil or pen, and certainly no one that was standing up to rap their fingernails against the window’s glass. Hizashi expected Bakugo to lose it and demand whoever was making the noises to shut the fuck up, but he did no such thing, behaving as though the noises weren’t there at all. No one else seemed concerned as Hizashi tried to keep his unease as subtle as possible.

The muttering flickered in and out like a changing radio. No one he could see was speaking, but they were certainly acknowledging it. He could tell Shinsou and Kaminari were splitting their focus on the whispering and his teaching, and when a particularly clear phrase was spoken, they pulled out a separate notebook to jot down their guess on the words. Bakugo himself seemed more intent on listening to the disembodied voice than Hizashi’s own, which was an odd sight considering the kid’s seriousness when it came to his studies. Asui’s eyes flickered around curiously, as if wondering where it was coming from, occasionally looking to the windows when they made the slightest creak.

Yaoyorozu, Todoroki, Mineta, and Tokoyami, despite the room being pleasantly warm, shivered in their seats every once in a while. Hizashi asked them more than once if they would like the heat turned up, but all of them declined, throwing amused smirks and smiles at him, out of all the responses.

What was most interesting, however, was the response his joke got. 

Hizashi enjoyed making people smile, and considering the almost somber atmosphere of the classroom, he figured throwing some jokes around would lighten the kids’ moods - and his own - at least a little. 

He made a simple joke, one he figured the more soft-hearted girls of the class would probably find enjoyable. There was a brief pause, then someone  - no, some thing - giggled, the lights briefly flickering as if they would go out. It sounded younger than a high schooler, and it made the class stiffen in surprise. Hizashi tensed, ready for whatever was about to happen next. 

The class, however, quickly became ecstatic. 

Uraraka and Yaoyorozu gasped, some of the boys laughed breathlessly in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and Bakugo grinned sharply, amused. They talked to each other quietly, laughing and giggling themselves now, and Hizashi had to quiet them down again so he could finish the lecture. The childish response shook him. It sounded young. 

After the lecture was done, he gave them free time to start on the homework, and they grouped up immediately. Some groups - most notably the ones including the class rep and vice rep - diligently started on the worksheet in between chatter. Some only pulled out the worksheet for show, not that Hizashi was surprised. Bakugo got to work, keeping to himself, an earbud in to listen to music. 

Izuku’s name was being brought up again, Hizashi could hear it in multiple conversations. This time the response was decently loud muttering, overlapping and talking over itself, seemingly made up of more than one voice. It seemed to be responding to the occasional prompt from the class, and even though they clearly couldn’t understand what was being said, the students reacted positively to it. Hizashi bit his tongue against scolding the students otherwise - if they were this content with interaction then Aizawa most likely condoned it. He wondered if that was a good idea. 

When Shinsou asked the presence if it thought Hizashi’s joke was funny, amusement coloring his tone, murmurs and laughter was the response. Hizashi shivered. 

When class was over, everyone talked to their friends as they packed up. They threw their backpacks on, saying goodbye to Izuku - Bakugo in particular seemed almost sad to leave, grumbling a soft later nerd before reluctantly departing - and leaving the classroom one by one. The muttering resounded until everyone had left, as if replying to each and every goodbye it received, then silenced as abruptly as it had begun, making him clench his teeth in discomfort. Hizashi knew it was still there, hovering, maybe watching.

He packed up his things as quickly as he could without being obvious. Hizashi approached the door to leave, but just before he stepped through he heard a whisper, right behind him, indecipherable but undeniable. 

No one was there when he looked over his shoulder. A chill climbed up his spine and made goosebumps prickle at his arms and legs. 

He left the room and firmly shut the door behind him, taking a moment to soothe himself and gather his wits before marching down the hall with purpose. 

Aizawa had some explaining to do.

Chapter Text

The worst thing about this whole situation, Katsuki thought, was the fact that he couldn’t understand the fucker anymore. 

Deku’s ramblings and tangents weren’t new to him, and the way Deku used to talk a mile a minute like stopping would bring forth consequence wasn’t new either. Admittedly, Katsuki tuned him out most of the time - he regretted it now, why did he do that when he had so little time to hear him stupid stupid stupid - but other times it was nice white noise to listen to. When he was much younger, he made a game out of how much of Deku’s jargon he could decipher, unbeknownst to his friend. 

It didn’t matter how hard he listened now. There was something wrong with his voice, something missing or broken beyond repair. A clearer than normal word or phrase would crop up on occasion during class or study time, almost an actual voice, and Katsuki would jolt in his chair, alert and listening and begging to make sense of any of it, but by the time he was paying attention it had faded away, back into static. He needed the stupid fucking E-thing to get anything comprehensible out of him. 

Not only did Deku haunt the classroom, he also tended to haunt Katsuki’s dreams as well, now that he was exposed to Deku’s voice again. Nightmares of Aunt Inko sobbing, of the funeral, of his own uncontrollable sobs and screaming at the uncaring walls of his room until his voice was gone. 

He thought he’d put everything behind him going into U.A, and hearing the little shit’s voice again on that first day made him wonder - terrified and confused - if he had finally gone insane from guilt. Thankfully he wasn’t the only one visibly shaken by the disembodied noises, and Katsuki slowly began to guess what was going on, dread welling in his gut and making bile rise to the back of his throat. Every day, forced to sit in class and try to pretend he wasn’t listening to his past childhood friend mutter to himself. 

Sometimes Katsuki wondered if Deku came back just to spite him, but he’d remember his apology and Deku’s response and reason that he wasn’t anywhere close to “bratty”, let alone spiteful . Part of Katsuki desperately wished he was. That the little ghost would throw shit at him, make him freeze in class, scream nonsense, so Katsuki could claim he had the higher ground at least somehow . 

But no. Of course not. 

Deku reached out to anyone that would listen. He muttered in response to questions meant for the teacher, whisper in student’s ears when they were trying to study (Katsuki wondered if he knew to be quiet somehow or if it was just a coincidence), and even going as far as to tap on the desks during lectures, a habit Deku picked up when people began to ignore or talk over him - when Katsuki began to. It was a plea for some kind of acknowledgement. Something. He barely got anything, in the beginning, the class desperately trying to deny what was right in front of their faces. Even Katsuki himself. They all tried to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, and looking back, Katsuki wondered why he had been so afraid. Deku was too softhearted to do much of anything dangerous, it didn’t matter if he was alive or dead.  

As ashamed as he was to admit it, he wasn’t the one to reach out first. Kaminari and Shinsou were the ones to break the spell.

Sparky tentatively acknowledged the theory that their classroom was haunted. Back then, some still laughed at the idea, claiming Kaminari was being, well, Kaminari. But Shinsou latched onto it, and in no time at all, they begged an EMR reader off of Tokoyami and began to reach out, Kirishima and Sero being talked into it as well. 

The group of believers only grew after that first experience. It wasn’t until Kirishima begged him that he went along, and he really, really wished he hadn’t. 

They asked Deku why he thought he was stuck in the school. 

“ W͠an̡̨͠t̛͟e̡d͘ t͢͞ó ͟b́́e͠͡ -͘ ͏̧́h̴ę͠r̴͢o͜ ͢-̡ ҉ẁ̧͘h̛͞͞en̵͝ ̛͝-̨͢ ̧͟g̶̢re̷w̨ ̢u͟͡p, ” Deku explained, voice cracked and glitching every word or so. His voice was painfully familiar. “ W̵̨a̢͢ņ̛͟t́͠҉ȩ͞d̸͝ ̧̀-̕͟͟ ̵̵g͢o ͞t̨̡o̷͢ ̡-̀͢ ̨̀U͢͜.̧͏A.̸ ͏J̨͞u̧͡͡m͜͝ped̶̢ ͘-̛̕͟ ŕó̷͘o̕͟f҉ ̸-͢͜ s͜͞a̸̛͢ḑ͘ ̵Ì͟͝ ̴͠-̢͏́ ̀͟I t̷͘h̢i̷n̢͡k̛.̴ Lo͠n͜e̡ly̛҉.̸̨͟ ”

Katsuki powered through the rest of the session, then left to the bathroom. He threw up everything he’d eaten that day. 

Katsuki often stayed with Aizawa after classes, curled up in the nearly freezing corner of the room by ponytail’s desk, the machine sat next to him. He would talk, pause, stop the machine to play back the words Deku spoke but he couldn’t hear, and repeat until Aizawa was ready to leave. He would talk about Kirishima and how his behavior confused him, then Sero and Kaminari, then Mina. He would talk about the shenanigans his classmates - his friends - dragged him into, and how he got kicked out of a supermarket (when Katsuki played back the recording to hear his response to that particular experience, all it was was laughter. Katsuki’s heart warmed). He would talk about his hero training, how All Might was as a teacher - a conversation Deku was oddly quiet through - and how Aizawa was as a teacher, loud and slightly teasing, getting a glare from the man in response. 

Sometimes he found himself apologizing and not much else. It was always taken with kindness and patience, no matter how many times he repeated himself. Sometimes he just let the silence stretch to let Deku speak, only doing so himself when he warned Deku he was stopping the recording. The sentences were choppy and slightly broken, but it was easily understandable with practice. He was thankful he could make it up to the nerd by listening now.

I promise , I’ll make you proud, he whispered to the little machine settled in his lap. His body was curled around it in a protective shield. I’ll become the number one hero, for me and for you.  

I know you will, it whispered back in the ensuing silence.

Chapter Text

Toshinori could admit his faults. He knew when he was slacking or lagging behind, so it wasn’t hard to admit to himself that the class of 1-A confused him greatly. 

Not the students. No, it was the classroom .

He would walk through the door just after class started, just barely catching the soft murmurs of an oddly echoey voice before a heavy silence would suddenly crash down, weighing on the room’s atmosphere like a ball and chain being dropped in water. It was oppressive, suffocating, as if the very air itself had a substance and weight that it shouldn’t. 

The students would drop whatever they were doing to stare at him. Some curiously, some equally as bewildered as he was, and one or two accusing, suspicious gazes. 

It was silent, cold, but Toshinori would never label those moments as still . 

The classroom itself was never still. 

The people in that room were settled in their seats, and there were small movements the students made, yes. Flipping through books, writing things down, heads tilting up and down as their attention switched between him and their own work. 

But something wasn’t right. 

It was the feeling of someone watching him, a pair of eyes he couldn’t see biting into his figure and making the baby hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. A feeling like something was about to happen that made him set his jaw to keep from clenching his teeth. 

The room was a paradox. Empty, but full of noise, containing a story that wasn’t within his grasp. A deafening silence. 

Bakugo watched him teach, his eyes lacking any sort of respect or praise kids his age normally had for him. Instead, he looked suspicious, wary, and the more classes he had inside the classroom instead of out in the training grounds, the more that behavior - that wary, uncertain gaze - seemed to spread to the rest. 

They started greeting an Izuku as they came into the classroom out of nowhere, cheerful and peppy, but there was never any response. They seemed confused, murmuring to each other and throwing glances about the room, asking one another is he not here? and where is he? Toshinori never understood what they were talking about. There was no Izuku on the roll call list he had, after all. 

He started a lecture about proper positioning when landing from a particularly high jump, going into how Quirks could help your land tremendously.

Half of the students were very clearly not listening. Bakugo wasn’t even attempting to hide the fact that he was passing notes to Shinsou, who was seated right behind him, looking almost upset. Todoroki was more focused on the slightly flickering lights, Uraraka kept sharing confused frowns with Jirou, and Kirishima was even fully whispering with Sero, gesturing about the room and occasionally pointing at him. In fact, multiple students were pointing at him, and Toshinori couldn’t help but feel secluded somehow. 

Something had changed, although he wasn’t sure what. 

He called for free time so they could get their work done, and the students split off into their usual groups. Their worksheets laid untouched in front of them. They seemed much more enthralled with calling out to this Izuku , repeatedly getting no answer, and - oddly enough - growing genuinely concerned when Bakugo calling out was also unsuccessful.

He gently chided them to focus. They listened with no small amount of  reluctance, and Bakugo sent him a harsh, infuriated glare before following suit. 

The window panes rattled softly, and he watched them out of the corner of his eye. 

Toshinori mentioned Quirklessness in that classroom once. 

He never did it again. 

It was a passing comment, neither derogatory nor praising, just a neutral statement of fact. Quirkless kids tended to have smaller builds. That’s all that he said, and the room seemed to breathe . The window panes shivered in their frames, creaking with an unseen pressure. Vibrations shook the very foundation of the room itself, desks rattling and lights flickering as if it was on the cusp of a power outage. The class as a unit shivered from the almost unbearable cold that blasted through the room, an invisible A.C that didn’t have an off button. Unintelligible cries and shouts rebounded off the shaking walls, desperate, begging, and near tears. 

Toshinori was just about to order the students out when it stopped, the room returning to its paradoxical silence. Just like that, it had never happened, and the students were left shaken and afraid, clutching their desks and holding down anything they could grab to keep things stable. 

Uraraka looked on the edge of tears, and all of them looked pale or upset to some degree. 

Bakugo looked especially pale and a little green. His hands were shaking horribly, even with his white knuckled grip on his desk, and a far away look made his eyes seem glassy. 

Toshinori soothed the class as best as he could and called the principal. Nedzu claimed he saw and felt nothing, but he would keep an eye out. 

He sent Bakugo out into the hall to catch his breath, asked anyone else if they would like to - to which Kirishima nodded and rushed out - and hesitantly finished off the lesson. 

He skipped the section on Quirklessness. The class had free time afterwards. 

Bakugo didn’t go back to class. Kirishima grabbed his and Bakugo’s backpack for them and left, saying quick goodbyes to everyone else - along with Izuku . 

Toshinori could admit his faults. He could admit the name sounded familiar, but he didn’t know why . 

All he could do was stew in his thoughts as he packed up, having the irresistible urge to glance over his shoulder every couple of seconds, expecting to see someone watching him. There was no one. 

The oppressing weight of silence leaned heavy on his back as he exited the classroom. Strangely, it felt almost like something pushed him out.

Chapter Text

Mei was never one to back down from a challenge. It didn’t matter how tall of an order it was - if someone asked her to make something then she would do her damndest to get it done. At the very least, she would make sure they couldn’t say she didn’t try. 

When the blonde kid from the Hero Course asked her - none too politely - if it was possible to build something that interacted with the dead, she brushed him off as a little insane. It was an odd question, to be sure, and she figured he was just humoring the rumors that spread across the school. Besides, it had nothing to do with Heroics and it wasn’t a part of her set of babies. Mei politely told him she had no idea and she wasn’t interested, and to her surprise he left it at that. But then a second kid from the Hero Course asked her, with red hair, sharp teeth and a hopeful smile. 

Then a third. Then a fourth, until she was sure every student from class 1-A had visited her at least once. Then repeated visits from students who had asked her before, begging her to at least try. 

It was Iida Tenya who ended up convincing her, in the end.

Iida and her had stayed in contact after their initial meeting, when he came to ask with a round-faced girl and pleading eyes. Granted, she hadn’t exactly planned for them to get close, but she certainly wasn’t complaining, after all he was good company, someone who happily lended her an ear and gave her ideas she wouldn’t have thought of otherwise. 

He was the last one to ask, reluctant and careful. He is a little kid , he would murmur to her, oddly subdued, staring at his hands settled in his lap. His name is Izuku, Mei, and he is stuck there. He tries talking to us all the time. Please, we just want to hear him.

Well, she wouldn’t let him say she didn’t try. 

Mei did some digging, settling Iida and the blonde kid down to hound them with questions. She asked what they had been using up until this point to communicate and how well it was working, and when they told her, she asked for it. 

The blonde kid looked downright offended at the idea, and Iida explained the EMF reader wasn’t either of theirs and they would ask for permission. They came back two days later with the object held in their palms like a forgotten treasure, and when she took it from them, she was gentle. 

With Iida hovering nervously about her shoulder, she got to work taking it apart to see how it ticked, unscrewing the back and picking at wires, testing the material to figure out what it was made of. The blonde was tense throughout the whole process, grip tight on his forearms like he had to stop himself from taking it back. When she clicked it all back together and screwed in every bolt into place, she gave it back to him instead of Iida. His relief was palpable. 

Mei told him it would still work right as rain. She also told them both that she would be coming after class tomorrow to test it out herself. Iida beamed at her, cheerfully saying she would like how sweet Izuku was while bowing and thanking her over and over. She got a grumbled thanks from the blonde before they both left. 

She pushed the papers and scrap metal from her latest project away. There was something more important. 

She stayed at U.A late, as late as she could until Power Loader kicked her out. At home she researched late into the night of the people who came before her, the success and failures alike. She felt prepared the morning of. 

When she walked into the doors of class 1-A, Iida loudly greeting an Izuku - with many chopping motions, as was his style - Mei instantly understood where the rumors and quiet gossip stemmed from. 

Indecipherable murmurs that talked over itself greeted them, tapping coming from Eraserhead’s desk, the man himself looking unbothered. A lingering cold spread through the air and stemmed from a location she hadn’t figured out quite yet. 

A chill unwillingly climbed up her spine, her mouth going dry, and goosebumps formed on her arms and legs. Not a single one of the regular inhabitants seemed alarmed by the voice, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they excitedly hoped that she would be successful. 

So she grit her teeth and bared the awful feeling, cheerfully greeting the kid as well and settling down in the group of students currently lounging on the floor. The desks had all been pushed against a wall, the only one still in its proper position being Eraserhead’s, and the EMF reader was settled on the floor with them, turned on. 

I’m Mei , she said to thin air, feeling a bit silly but refusing to show it. I’m gonna need you to answer some questions, it’ll be easy as pie!

They waited a moment in silence. Iida paused the recording and played it back, a voice talking in the earlier silence, actually legible. 

“ Hi͟ ̡̕͞-̡ ̧͝ņ̴͡ic͜͞e̵ ̡̛-͞ ͝m̡e͝ę́t̨̨ ̛͢͡y͜o̢ư̸ !͜͠”

Her heart squeezed at the young, kind voice that pushed its way through the static, and she had to swallow hard to clear her throat. Her brain - on autopilot - was already racing through the kinks and bugs. Glitchy , she thought to herself, unreliable. Small speaker doesn’t help either.

Mei asked the kid all kinds of questions about how the EMF operated for him and what was easier to do. The insight was helpful and his answers were much clearer than she was expecting, and she jotted down his more important responses on the notepad she brought with her. 

“ Ę̴a̢s̨͘i͏e̷̷͜r̡ ̶́̀-̶̢̡ t̀a͏l̢̧̀k͏ìn͏g ̡̀͟-̧͡ ̨́͟p̷̢͝ư̢s͟͝h̵i̢n̕͢g͟͠ ͏̛st͘͠u̸̵͞f̢f́͘ ͡-̸̶́ ̷̵t͠o͟o͜ ̴̀͟h̡a̶̧͝r̴͢͞d!̀̕ ” His voice was exasperated, as if he had tried many times and had given up entirely. “ ̶̵Ń͜o̷t͡ ̴͜͝-͘ ̨e͘no̡ug͞͝h̷́͠.͜ ”̷

She asked what wasn’t enough. 

“ Str͝en͘͠ǵt̛h̢! ̸T͡͠oò̴͞ ̷-́ we̶̶a̢k҉͏ ̸ça̵͘n̕’̡͜͡t̸ ̢͞-̶̢̛ h́́o͡ĺ̴d́͠.͝ ” 

The Hero students cooed sadly, doing their best to soothe the upset twinge to his tone, but instead Mei jot that down. So physical things were out of the question then…

When the session was over and they turned off the EMF, they asked her - with reluctance - if she wanted the machine to tinker with. 

Creating an entirely new machine from scratch was a pain in the ass when there was one right there, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for it. Not when the girl with black hair and a big bust hovered over it protectively, nervous, or how the blonde’s jaw clenched at the idea alone, or how the purple haired kid shot her a defensive glare. Mei told them to keep it and she would figure something out. 

Even so, she left the classroom filled with hope and ideas. She took a detour to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee, then hunkered down in her own classroom. Mei took a minute to get her breath back and process what she had been witness to, then got to work with no further delay, notes, references and scrap metal strewn about her workspace in her usual organized chaos. Power Loader took one look at her project and decided to stay later than normal that day and every day after that. 

It took her three weeks. Three weeks to rebuild the EMF reader from scratch, as well as tweak the design for easier use on Izuku’s part. A softer, more flexible metal, just in case, a bigger - and better quality - speaker to counter balance as much glitching as she could, a better mic and larger range to pick up the voice with no sound to speak with, and antennas were placed at the top of it, following any kind of odd energy so they could not only hear the kid, but have a rough estimate of where he was at any given time. 

The Hero Course students visited her regularly during the process, chatting with her as she worked and thanking her every visit or two. Mei was ecstatic to have so many people interested in her work for once and embraced the attention with open arms. Power Loader never complained about the distraction, and Mei happily explained her process to the first willing audience she’d had in a while. The Hero Course students did seem genuinely interested, nodding along and asking her further questions. Iida continued to hang out with her as well, sometimes with others, sometimes by himself, sitting and talking with her as she bent metal and connected wires. 

When it was finally finished, Mei wiped the sweat from her brow and desperately hoped it worked. She knew how close the class was to the little kid, and she couldn’t imagine how disappointed they would be if this failed. Hell, she would be disappointed too at this point. 

That evening, she walked into the classroom - heya Izu! missed me? - her bookbag on her back and grinning wide. The Hero Course as a whole stared back at her with hope. 

She took out the new EMF and set it down on the ground, clicking the button to turn it on. It automatically began recording. Mei told Izuku he was free to mess with it, warned him to be careful, and quietly explained what the new features were to the rest of the class. The antenna shifted abruptly to Mei’s left during the explanation, then slowly wandered to the right. She felt a chill down her back. The class watched the antenna move as she explained with wide eyes, their gaze flickering about the room as if they would suddenly be able to see him. 

She warned the kid that she was turning off the EMF, and she did so, playing it back. 

Her own voice told Izuku to do what he wished. A voice replied, still fuzzy, but his sentences were no longer chopped up. 

“ O̶-̛Oh,҉ ͢um̡.͟.͡.Ok̕a̷y! ” 

She noticed the blonde’s eyes water, his breath stuck in his chest as he stared at the new EMF with nostalgia filled eyes. His body gravitated towards the little machine, protective, quiet. 

The Mei from a couple minutes ago started her explanation, and she heard a sigh of frustration as she talked. His voice was a murmur, and she was pleased to know the mic was able to pick his voice up. 

“ I...̶I̶ st҉i͘ll c͢an͘’t ̨m͢ơv́é ͢i͢t. ” There was a brief silence, followed by the soft creak of the antenna as they shifted. His voice spoke again. “ Is̷ t̛his.̀.̧.? O̸h, c͟l̀e̛ver! ” 

Mei was impressed he figured out the use so quickly - she had to explain it to everyone else. Earlier Mei finished her explanation, and he spoke one last time. 

“ ͟C-̨c̛a̕n͡ ͠thèy̕ h͡e̡ar̴ ͡m̕e̶.͢..̸? ͠Pl̶ea̶se h͏e̷ar ̨m̀e̸.̸..p͢ļea̛s̢e̴...I҉ d͏o͞n’̀t̀ ͜w͘a̛nt͟ ̕to͏ ̕be̢ ̕by͝ ̧myse͏l͢f a͟ny̛m̛o̴r̀e.̨.It’҉s s̢cąry. ̕ ”

Mei’s tongue felt too thick to say anything, but before she could properly pull herself together, the lights flickered wildly. Cheerful, almost excited giggles and tapping of the windows echoed about the room. It felt warm. 

Quickly, she clicked record once again, hoping to catch any of Izuku’s celebration. She recorded for the couple of seconds the lights fizzled and popped, then played it back, heart beating painfully in her chest. 

“ Y͞o̴u h̀e͝a̶r ͞me! ̢You͡ h̢ea̸r͟ m҉e̢!̀ ̕Heĺlo!̶ Y҉ou͝ ̵h́ea͢r me̵! ͘H͞ello͏! He͞l͟lo! ”

His rambles and giggles flooded the EMF, and Mei couldn’t help but grin and laugh with him. His child-like excitement was contagious, not to mention the relief she felt herself. 

Mei turned to the Hero Course students to gauge their reaction. Two girls were squealing to each other - the black haired girl with a big bust and a girl with round cheeks and brown hair - laughing and looking a little teary eyed. A rocker chick and a purple haired guy with tired eyes grinned to each other with excitement. The blonde looked to be trying his hardest not to explode, the redhead sitting next to him laughing and cheering with a second blonde, a black haired guy, and a pink, alien looking girl. 

She risked a glance over at Eraserhead. He was smiling, but it was muted somehow. Sadder. Mei understood. 

The Hero Course thanked her profusely, bowing and grinning and laughing. Some were already asking questions to thin air and waiting on pins and needles as Izuku gave his silent reply, the lights began to flicker all over again in the excitement. 

Iida asked her if she would like compensation - smiling and chopping - and Mei reassured their reactions were compensation enough. The redhead cut in and told her if she ever needed anything to ask one of them, followed by a dozen whoops and hollers of agreement. 

Mei walked back to the Support Course classroom, her bookbag significantly lighter. Her heart soared when she could still hear the Hero Course’s laughter from down the hall. 

She would have to visit them again sometime. They were an interesting bunch, for sure.

Chapter Text

The new EMF reader had become a permanent staple to the class as a whole, even to Aizawa. The class wasn’t surprised at all to find that the man had become just as fond of Izuku as the rest of them had. 

Mei truly was a blessing. A hurricane in human form and a chatterbox with no off switch, but a blessing nonetheless. The new EMF worked like a charm. Izuku was clearer than ever before, and during quiet time - with enough pleading looks and promises to behave - Aizawa would set the EMF reader on his desk, not recording, so they could see the antenna shift about the room like it was attached to an invisible string. Everyone’s attention was split between their work and the EMF, and they had to suppress their excitement and nervousness when Izuku hovered close. 

Some days, if Aizawa was feeling especially soft, they would have free time to themselves during class. Days where they had proper hero training in the training grounds and days where they had free time to chat with Izuku were the students’ favorite. They would all push their desks in a rough circle, put the EMF reader with the person doing the most talking - either Iida, Yaomomo, or on the rare occasion Bakugo - and they would just sit around, relaxing and asking the little ghost any question they could think of while they casually worked on their homework.

Izuku seemed just as appreciative. As soon as class free time would be announced, the lights would buzz and flicker briefly, a clear sign he was excited, and they would laugh and tease as they set up their desks. Aw, someone’s excited for some company .

They would ask Izuku minor things at first. Things like his favorite color and food - those paying attention saw Bakugo mouth ‘Katsudon’ along with Izuku with an exasperated eye roll - and they would teasingly ask who his favorite student was, everyone groaning and laughing in disbelief when Izuku called out “ K̢aach̵an! K̴a͟ac͞han! ” as the antenna moved over to Bakugo. Kaminari and Kirishima jokingly asked for answers to questions they got stuck on, and looked absolutely thrilled when Izuku gave a correct answer, according to the class president. At least until Aizawa immediately banned asking Izuku for help on homework or tests. 

Shinsou, during one of said moments, asked the kid if he knew their names or not, which prompted the entire class to do a roll call of sorts, and Izuku called out Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina, and Katsuki with childish pride in his voice. The bakusquad squealed and laughed with one another while the others pouted good naturedly. 

Bakugo grinned into his palm. 

Their questions would turn serious on occasion. Things like if he remembered his living life, if he was happy where he was. Mina was brave enough to ask if Izuku knew All Might or if something had happened, to the slight disapproval of the rest of the class. But Izuku answered honestly, if not vaguely.

“ We̢ ̢m̴e͢t on͝ce. ̵B́ad ҉męmo͏ri҉e̛s͝ ͜mák̀e ̕m͢e̴ s̛a̵d,̶ um, but I̴ d̢o̢n’̀t̕ no̕t̕ ͟líke him! ”

He wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. The class didn’t push. 

Iida, with a curious smile, asked if Izuku had a favorite teacher yet. When they played back the recording, they all turned to their teacher with swelling hearts. 

“ Aiza͜w̢a҉! He҉’̵s rea͞ll̕y ̢n͘i̡ce, h̨e̴ ͜st̴ays͝ ̀with̴ me ҉when͝ n̶ob̸ody'̕s he̴rè. ”

The new EMF reader was a staple in their classroom. With that being said, there were more than a few close calls with the fragile machine. 

Kaminari, after nearly dropping the thing onto the floor and overcharging it twice , was strictly banned by both Bakugo and Yaoyorozu from ever handling it again. Satou almost crushed it by accident, and Mina almost tripped over it during one of the after school chats. Each time the perpetrator would get scolded about being careful, and each time their hearts leaped into their throats when they thought the EMF had been broken. Relief was palpable in the classroom when it was discovered that the machine was safe. 

Something had to happen eventually, what with so many kids and so many quirks that came into contact with it on a daily basis. 

It was an after school test of sorts. Shinsou and Kaminari were the ones to propose the idea of seeing exactly where Izuku could wander and how far his access to the school could stretch, and when Izuku admitted he had never tried to leave the classroom before out of nerves, he was convinced into trying it out. 

With a supervising Aizawa working on papers at his desk, the students slowly left the classroom with the EMF, starting from outside of the doorway. With the device clutched in his hand, Bakugo checked in, and when a fuzzy Stįl̛l̡ ̧h̵e͞re͘! would come through the recording in response the large group would push farther out into the building. They stretched out into the hallway, down the hall, and down the steps, and only then did they get no response from Izuku. They walked back up the stairs and checked in, Izuku greeted them sheepishly, explaining how i̕t̶ ͞ẃas ͘a ̴tu҉ggi͟n͘g̨ f͠èęli̸ng̀ ͝in͢ ̕my͟ t̵ummy,͞ I c̛óu̡lḑn't ̷walķ! , so they pressed onwards, avoiding the floor below. 

Much to Izuku’s joy, they discovered that he had free rein of the entire floor. As long as he didn’t go down a floor - later they learned up wasn’t possible either - then he was free to wander. They began their long trek back across the building, letting Izuku ramble in excitement to them via the EMF, stopping him to pause and listen every once in a while. Iida and Yaoyorozu took it upon themselves to point out certain rooms Izuku might find interesting or would enjoy. The staff room happened to be on their floor - Kirishima and Kaminari not-so-subtly asked Izuku to share anything he heard in there - as well as the school library. The trip back was peaceful, uneventful.

 When they arrived at 1-A, however, a figure blocked their path inside. It was Monoma, a smug grin painted on his features and his standard pompous air radiated around him. 

The second he caught sight of the EMF, his usual taunts were silenced for a little more...personal ones. So self indulgent, he mocked, pointing to the little machine in Bakugo’s careful hands. Class 1-A basking in the fact that their own classroom is a curse. Just another reason Class 1-B is so much better - at least we aren’t haunted.  

The large group as a whole bristled angrily, staring death glares at the smug blonde as he walked past. They began to walk as well, sneers and scowls on their faces as they grumbled to themselves. Just as they crossed, Monoma managed to catch his fellow blonde off guard and rip the EMF out of Bakugo’s grip, and he backed away quickly as alarmed shouts and panicked expressions spurred him on. He held it close to his face, making a show of inspecting it and ignoring Kirishima desperately holding a furious Bakugo back.

A toy, Monoma dismissed with a scoff, and chucked the thing behind him. It cracked against the ground, the noise echoing around the suddenly very quiet hallway, and the antenna snapped apart from the mechanism, the soft whirring of the machine fizzling away and dying as something inside of it was dislodged. 

There was a moment of total stillness. A calm before the storm, and the storm was Bakugo.

An enraged roar bounced off of the walls. One blast to a distracted Kirishima’s side was enough to dislodge the redhead, and Bakugo ran over to Monoma with pounding footsteps, full-on mini explosions popping and crackling in his palms. Monoma turned as white as a sheet, then he turned tail and ran as fast as he was able. The class watched him go, glancing at each other in a silent question as they disappeared around the corner: should we stop him?

The Hero Course didn’t move for a moment, most of them figuring no, they shouldn’t, but then Iida volunteered to chase after the two - whose footsteps had now been traded with the smell of gunpowder and Monoma’s pain-filled shouts - and sped off. 

Yaoyorozu looked teary eyed as she scooped up the broken EMF and antenna. She handed the pieces to Uraraka, telling her and Kirishima to go to Mei and see if she was still on campus while she explained what had happened to Aizawa, who was already sliding the door open to glare at them, looking ready to give the lecture of a lifetime. 

They hurried to the support course classroom, practically bursting through the doors, and when they spotted a cheerful Mei settled at her usual work station they began shouting all at once, a flurry of noise and mixed words in their rush to explain quickly. Mei shushed them and demanded they explain properly, and when they did, she took the broken pieces and immediately got to work, unscrewing the back cover and taking off the piece that held the antenna in place to scrape out the broken bits of metal still in the cavity.

She worked with the wires, clicking and snapping things back into place, experimentally attempting to turn the device on and off. When it began to whir once again, she clicked it off and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out another set of antenna with a wink in Uraraka and Kirishima’s direction. I made backups, just in case .

Mei attached them in their proper place. She handed it back over, softly whirring, and kindly shooed them out, still reassuring them if they needed anything fixed to not hesitate to ask. They headed back to class, solemn, quietly talking to one another about what had transpired and just waiting for the antenna to reveal Izuku’s presence.

Unsurprisingly, the second they stepped back onto the floor of their classroom was when the antenna bobbed and weaved in front of them, anxious and full of buzzing energy. Uraraka had it record, told Izuku it was recording, and waited.

“ T̡h͠a͢t w̨a͟s so ͏s͞c͟a̧ry! Ca̸n̡ yo͘u̧ hea̛r̀ me̛?̡ W̷hy҉ c҉an’t y҉ou he͟ar ́me͡?͟ W̸h́y̡ di̵d͝ h̷e ͜do ̸th͜a҉t͢?̵ Wh͠o ́w̕a̴s̸ t̸h̴a͏t? W͘h̕e̵re's Ķa͏acha͟n҉?̕ ” Izuku rushed out, desperate and pleading. Uraraka reassured him they would explain a little later when everything was calm, and if he wanted to follow them back to the classroom then she would try and figure things out. The antenna stayed pointed next to Uraraka as the group walked back to the classroom and inside, where Yaoyorozu, Sero, and Iida were talking in quiet voices next to Aizawa’s desk. 

Uraraka approached, asking what was going on. Bakugo’s been suspended for the next three days, Iida explained, adjusting his glasses, Sero muttering disagreements on the punishment next to him. Monoma is currently in Recovery Girl’s care - he will be fine and fixed a little later today.  

Quick, nervous taps resonated from Bakugo’s desk. Uraraka gently set the EMF on the desk and recorded.

“ K̹͍͉̮̦̲̯͐͂͊̈́͊͆a̵͔̖̎͋̎̀͋ͦ̀ä̜̥̜͔́ͅc̩̝̥̰̺̐̾̕h͉͕̮̅͒ͥͯ͗̕͜͟a̤̣͖͖͛̿͗͋̄͗ͦ̂͝n̳̫̦ͤ̇̀̑̆̓̀? K̔͛̆̊̋̋̃̑͏̢͔̻͙̣̥̥̼̗̯͍̥͖̕ą̛͖͎͇͉̫͚̰̭̪̓ͣͭ̽̈́͐͂̍ͩ̎ͯ̍ͦ̃̔̓̕͞͝ͅa̲̰̻̼̱̞̰͚̺̫͍̙̒ͮͣ̀͗̊̈́̊̂̕͘͠c̶̞̣̯͉̣͔̑̿́̓́͢͝͞hͣ̄̓͊͝҉͎͇̤͇̥̥a̸̧̝̘̯͖͚̞͎̿͗ͨ́̀͟͡n̸͌ͩ̾̊̓̑ͭ̑̇͐ͮ͟͏̺̞̭̫̭͕̳̖͔͜͝ͅ?̡̐͗͊ͥ͑̇̂ͬ̂ͬ̉͊ͭ͏҉̶̮̦̭̥̥̺̮̪͍͚̻̥̭͉ ” 

The static grew with Izuku’s increasing alarm. Iida gently explained it again, trying to stress that Bakugo wouldn’t be gone forever, but the tapping abruptly stopped and a silence fell on the room, a crushing weight to the atmosphere as the cold from the corner began to slowly creep its way through. 

Yaoyorozu sighed and turned off the EMF, saying Izuku just needed time. She tucked the machine away in the back of the class and began to walk to the doors. 

There was a flicker. 

The lights flashed for just a second, and in between the moments that they remained unstable and buzzing, the students could’ve sworn on their lives a form was settled on Bakugo’s desk, curled in on itself with hunched shoulders and curly, messy hair. Transparent. Ghostly. 

Their stomachs dropped . No one dared to move. They hardly breathed as they stared wide eyed at Bakugo’s empty looking desk, frozen, chills licking up their spines as goosebumps crawled up their arms and legs. The hairs at the back of their necks stood up, body tense. Waiting. 

Nothing happened. No matter how long they waited, the figure - Izuku - didn’t appear again. They looked at each other cautiously, and slowly, they began to exit the classroom, glancing behind them with every other step.

Uraraka still wished him goodbye. Iida and Yaoyorozu were silent. 

Even with Aizawa’s explanation the next morning, Izuku still wasn’t hearing it. 

Word spread very quickly about what happened, and they asked again and again if Izuku could do it for them too, but they got no real response. He seemed to be focused on Bakugo’s absence more than anything else. There was nothing on the EMF - no voice, and the antenna were still - which made the students think that Izuku was searching the floor for the blonde. When he was in the classroom, soft, slow taps resonated from Bakugo’s chair and desk, pleading and sorrowful, Bakugo’s nickname drifting through the EMF in a tone of a child calling for their older brother and filled to the brim with static. The students tried to pay attention to their work the best they could, but the room felt permanently frozen over, and for the first time in a long time Yaoyorozu, Todoroki, Tokoyami, and Mineta had to be shifted to the front of the room to ensure they wouldn’t be jumpy and irritable.

Even so, Aizawa refused to relent the punishment and held his ground, telling his students that if they minded the cold so much they were more than welcome to bring jackets and coats to class for the duration of Bakugo’s suspension. The Hero Course students were seen for the next three days bundled up nice and warm, even though it wasn’t nearly cold enough for such attire. 

Those three days felt as though they stretched on for weeks.

The morning Bakugo’s suspension ended, the students shuffled in, all fear momentarily forgotten as they cheerfully greeted Izuku and jumped at the chance to lift his morale, attempting to convince him that Bakugo would be arriving any minute. Bakugo is on his way, they said with sympathetic smiles. He’s almost here.  

There was no response on the EMF, antennas pointing in the default position, and the students wondered if Izuku was even there. 

When the door abruptly slid open and the antenna swiveled to face the figure in the doorway, they supposed they had an answer. Iida began recording as Bakugo casually sauntered over to his desk, the antenna following him as he did. 

“ K̡aac͢h͏an ͠i͡s͟ b͟ack͢! ̵H͟e͏’s her͟e҉!̷ ”

The temperature slowly rose, and the students began to remove their many layers of clothing, sighing in relief. 

Aizawa walked in shortly after, and pinned Bakugo with an annoyed glare. Don’t pull that again. It was freezing in here for days.

The new EMF didn’t leave the classroom after the incident. They asked Tokoyami if he would lend his whenever they went exploring with Izuku instead, not daring to risk breaking the machine again. Izuku didn’t reveal himself either, and the class began to settle back into their normal routine.

If Monoma avoided Class 1-A after that, well, it was probably for the best.

Chapter Text

He appeared, hovering and silent and painfully shy, in the corner of the staff room one day out of nowhere. At least, for no reason that Nedzu was aware of, although he had no doubt he was missing quite a few pieces of this puzzle. 

Nedzu wasn’t as unfamiliar with this phenomenon as people might think. There had been many times he walked into a home of a student or a meeting room, unsuspecting, only for there to be whisps floating about the walls, glimpses of faces long past with twisted scars and disfigured limbs. They floated and wandered, stuck in a loop of cries and isolation, trapped in their own heads. Nedzu caught on quickly that he was the only one that could see them, and so he kept the little snippets of the past to himself. 

Usually, they kept to themselves anyway. The most they would do - or could do - was wander to the ceiling to flicker a light, or put a hand through the glass to make static in the television screen. Harmless, easily excusable. 

This one, however, was stronger. 

He floated near the ceiling, tucked away in the corner like he was afraid of getting in the way regardless of the fact that no one could see him. An observer, always listening, always watching. Younger than his students and bone white, Nedzu could barely make out the blood-smeared face in the transparent mist that was his form. Some days he was more opaque but he was never easily visible, with a twisted leg and arms that seemed to have taken some serious damage - perhaps in a fall - and eyes that tracked every breath in the staff room, wide and lifeless but contradictingly alert. 

Nedzu knew he was different. The way he watched the teachers as they conversed was too sharp to be normal, too conscious and aware of his surroundings. His attachment to Aizawa seemed especially strange - as far as Nedzu was aware the man was just as ignorant to the little ghost as the rest of them were. But he didn’t interfere or cause any type of fuss, so Nedzu was perfectly content to let the child do as he pleased. He seemed to get some enjoyment over the banter, and seeing a smile pass over his scarred face was enough to ease some of the ache the sight of a dead child caused him. 

On a rare occasion, he would hover close to the table as Nedzu spoke, wrangling his broken leg into some form of a criss-cross position in the air with his hands folded patiently in his lap. He just...watched. He tried his best to make his staring subtle, gaze pausing just above Aizawa’s shoulder, occasionally Hizashi’s but that was even rarer. The kid wouldn’t go near anyone else. Not even Nedzu. 

Aizawa caught him staring multiple times. He never asked, just smirked to himself with half amusement and half exasperation, and Nedzu knew the man was more aware than he had originally thought. Hizashi would look at him, confused for just a moment before he sneaked a glance at Aizawa and understanding would pass over his face. The rest of the teachers were only confused, looking at the two men with furrowed brows and questioning eyes as the principal would stare at them while he spoke. 

He visited Class 1-A, out of pure curiosity. The effect that small child had over a classroom - and its occupants - was astounding. 

The students seemed aware of the child just like Aizawa, but they curbed their interaction when they realized he was there, most likely thinking he would be upset somehow. They bit their tongues and made their greetings more subtle, more subdued, and Nedzu had to admit if he couldn’t see the kid their ruse might have worked. But he could, and the little ghost was thrilled at every greeting he received. 

He no longer hovered uneasily in the corner, barely fumes. He was more opaque now that he was comfortable, floating about the students’ heads and his form flickering like candlelight in his excitement. His small body buzzed, grew fuzzy at the edges, and the window panes actually rattled in their frames. 

Aizawa threw a casual remark at the boy, subtle enough to seemingly be directed to the chattering students - settle down, class is starting - and the kid giggled but obeyed without a fuss. 

His arms and right leg looked...well, better at least, when he was here, but now he noticed a bone sticking out from the kid’s elbow and shin on his right leg, his wrist looked pretty mangled too, crunched under force and pressure. Nedzu could see freckles pepper the boy’s cheeks, blood just under his nose and the corners of his mouth, and his hair curled at the ends. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen with such a small form. Every breath he took rattled, most likely blood built up in his lungs. 

Nedzu assured he was only there for observation of the classroom and that they could go about their day like normal, and so Aizawa began the lecture. Nedzu watched in his chair next to Aizawa’s desk, giving away nothing. 

The boy would float, grin mischievous and childlike as he brushed the back of necks to make the students shiver, gently batting hair and tapping desks to get some form of attention. He never lingered on one student long enough to be a cause of serious distraction, fluttering around in a blur of smoke, and the students took the teasing with grace. Any silence was met with an uncomfortable frown, and his mouth would blur into an empty crater, distorted murmurs echoing off the walls.  That or he would tap any surface he could reach. 

He would pull back every once in a while for a breather in the further most corner from the door, making the four students in the back shiver and rub their hands for warmth.

At first he seemed to dismiss Nedzu’s attention as coincidence, but the little ghost caught onto his consistent, watchful gaze quickly, and he seemed to be wary instead of excited like Nedzu expected him to be. He hovered next to an unknowing blonde - Bakugo Katsuki, Nedzu quickly recalled - hand hovering over Bakugo’s bicep as if he could alert the blonde to his discomfort, even though his student remained blissfully unaware, face peaceful but focused. It was a stark contrast compared to the little ghost’s concern.

The kid’s unease grew the longer he was stared at, injuries becoming worse and worse, arms and leg twisting and cracking as broken bones strained. Blood began to leak from his nose and mouth, his face twisted into a look of fear and something between pain and upset. His body curled closer to the unknowing blonde, desperate for a shield or any source of comfort. He blurred, window panes rattling softly and lights flickering without the kid needing to touch anything.

Nedzu turned his gaze elsewhere, the sight making him sick. 

Aizawa’s gaze danced around curiously, obviously wondering about the sudden ruckus in his classroom. He turned to Nedzu briefly, silently asking, but Nedzu said nothing.

No matter how stoic Aizawa pretended to be, Nedzu knew this would absolutely break the man. 

The lecture was over quickly after that, and Aizawa assigned homework and called for free time. The students’ gazes traveled to the back of the classroom, and with an approving nod from Aizawa, they grabbed a device carefully tucked away and settled it on Aizawa’s desk, closer to where Nedzu was seated. They flicked a switch to turn it on, and the antenna pointed right at the little boy, although to everyone else Nedzu knew it seemed to point at Bakugo. The blonde wasn’t alarmed in the slightest. He almost seemed smug as his friend group formed around his desk, talking amongst themselves and whispering about an Izuku . 

At least Nedzu finally had a name. 

Izuku’s unease slowly faded as the students reluctantly asked if he was alright, shooting Nedzu concerned looks like they were afraid he would demand they stop. Izuku’s appearance began to heal - however slightly - the more he was talked to. He responded with murmurs as he tapped Bakugo’s desk, mouth blurring, eyes wide. The class relaxed, and chatter began again. 

The kid hovered around the different friend groups, apparently having decided to ignore Nedzu for the time being in favor of listening in to the different streams of conversation. Some pulled him into their chatter, asking questions and opinions. Izuku could only respond with nonsense, and the students all debated whether or not to record with the machine on Aizawa’s desk - he’s been following the antenna, I think he knows already , one whispered - but they ultimately decided against it. 

Nedzu commented on none of this. He didn’t feel the need to. If Aizawa felt as though Izuku’s presence was harmful this would’ve been brought to his attention much sooner, as unbelievable as it may have sounded, and their casual, safe communication was proof enough that Aizawa felt that the little ghost was only a distracting prankster at worst. Nedzu trusted his judgement. 

Besides, he didn’t think he would have the heart to kick a little kid out. Nedzu wasn’t entirely sure how he’d manage to remove a ghost anyway, and he wasn’t interested in learning.

Ten minutes until class was over and Nedzu couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself. Izuku’s wide, lifeless eyes watched him go, and part of Nedzu wondered if he would follow him out of the classroom, but he made it into the hallway without the kid. 

When school was out, he pulled Aizawa aside and asked the man about the little one. Aizawa hummed. Harmless , he said. Apparently Toshinori had an incident a week or so ago with him, but no one was injured. The students have grown very attached to him. He is surprisingly peaceful.

Nedzu left it at that, telling the man outright that he trusted his judgement. Aizawa thanked him, then bluntly asked - with no small amount of accusation in his eyes - if the disturbance was Nedzu’s doing. Not...purposely , was his response. He must be shy. Certainly didn’t appreciate me watching him .

Aizawa asked what Izuku looked like. Nedzu dodged the question, and Aizawa didn’t press, a mixture of curiosity and wariness warring on his face.

Aizawa described the goings on within his classroom for the past month or so after Nedzu prompted him. He described the habits Izuku possessed, how they found out about Izuku to begin with, as well as the adjustments his class and himself had to implement to keep things running smoothly - reassuring Nedzu that the adjustments were minor. He briefed the incident with All Might, suggested that he ask All Might himself what happened if he wanted specifics, then left the staff room without further delay. 

Nedzu waited, patient. 

Izuku showed within minutes, cautious and unsure, and he was back to nothing but whisps and smoke and broken limbs. Nedzu took a moment to gather his thoughts. I didn’t mean to scare you , Nedzu said, and if Aizawa had walked back in it would’ve seemed as if he was talking to himself. As long as you behave yourself, you’re more than welcome here, just like the students.

Either a breath of relief or a soft gust of wind, Nedzu wasn’t entirely sure, but Izuku was more opaque and closer to the tables, comfortable enough in Nedzu’s company to hover and look at every crack and seam of the walls and floors.

It wasn’t much, this slight comfort for the little boy, but Nedzu supposed it was good enough. 

He made sure to say hello to Izuku whenever he saw him in the halls from then on, no matter who was with him or how insane it made him look. Izuku beamed brighter every time, finally excited that someone could see him and he took advantage of the situation freely. Nedzu would drop into the classroom - with the premise of just checking up on things - and would greet Izuku. Instead of becoming afraid, Izuku would wave in a cheerful manner, giggling and pointing frantically with a mangled limb at his temporary prank victim, to which Nedzu would wink at him in a secret wish of good luck. 

Staff meetings became slightly more lively as well, and Nedzu couldn’t deny in joining some of Izuku’s harmless fun. The boy would flicker the lights, making no noise, and as the staff of U.A cried out in surprise Nedzu pretended nothing was happening, even outright denying that the lights were flickering at all. Aizawa joined in shortly after, somehow keeping a perfect deadpan as he insisted nothing was wrong. Izuku watched this all transpire, floating just below the ceiling, laughing and murmuring. 

Nedzu didn’t mean to make a friend out of the little ghost, but he couldn’t say it was a bad thing. Izuku kept him company when he wasn’t with Aizawa, and the muttering, nonsensical voice was soothing white noise when he was drowning in paperwork. 

He only hoped his presence was equally comforting to Izuku. After all, the kid deserved it.

Chapter Text

Izuku hovered, beaming, next to his best friend, eyes scanning over the worksheet Kaachan was diligently working through. The benefit of being in the classroom during lessons was him actually being able to understand the material, and if Kaachan got stuck on a question - a rare occurrence - he would write notes on his paper asking for Izuku’s opinion. He would ask a question or write down a thought at the top, then write ‘yes’ and ‘no’ on opposite sides of the paper for Izuku to tap on. It was surprisingly efficient, and Kaachan’s neighbors picked up on the method and copied it. If Aizawa noticed, he never commented on it despite his rule.

Izuku didn’t mind floating around the classroom, searching for anyone who needed help. It gave him something to do, and on days where the memory of his death made his body pulse with phantom pain and his throat fill with blood, it served as an excellent distraction as well as an anchor. 

It was hard sometimes, staying in the present, but all of the amazing friends he’d found made things easier. They were a comfort, a kind hand stretched out where none had been before, and Izuku took it and held on with a vice-like grip. Even if it was a little late. 

He murmured in the quiet about anything he could think of, feeling the need to paint over the yawning abyss of silence that stretched indefinitely through the classroom. It pulled him backwards, that emptiness, to nothing but a hollow sadness in his chest and dizziness and a silence so loud it made his ears ring. Talking helped, even if he learned quite a while ago that no one could understand. 

I want a notebook, I used to write all the time you know, he said to an oblivious Shinsou, the teen scribbling down any words in Izuku’s warped speech that he was able to decipher. I can’t now of course. I wish I could. You have such a cool quirk. All of you do! I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m gonna check on Kiri, good luck . 

He floated over, talking to him too. Kirishima grinned as goosebumps pricked up his arms, writing down a quick hello before going back to his homework. I wish you would say hi out loud, it’s so quiet in here! Izuku tapped Kirishima’s desk absently. The loud noise was soothing. I could never focus without talking too, maybe that hasn’t changed. Do you know why I’m here? I’m not supposed to be. I want Katsudon. Have you had it? It’s good Kiri, you should try it sometime.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the never ending silence, and Izuku stopped, politely listening as Aizawa told everyone to pack up. Someone sighed in relief, and chatter - blessed noise - swelled through the air and chained him to the present. Izuku’s whole body buzzed, tingling, and the windows rattled softly with relief. 

The worst days, in Izuku’s opinion, were weekends and classes with All Might. 

Weekends were empty hallways. It was days where there was no distraction. Days where nothing chained him down and he floated higher and higher until his ears rang and he couldn’t breathe and the wind roared all around him. It was dark shadows that hid in corners. The whole building echoed to him, expansive and huge, and he felt so small, so insignificant, a Quirkless, weightless kid in a school he could only pretend to be a part of. 

All Might, however, was the opposite. He was too much , too bright and shining and Izuku felt shame. Shame at having given up, that he had left such a man with so much potential grief and guilt if he ever figured out what happened when All Might was only being realistic, only wanted him safe. 

So Izuku suppressed every habit he had, smothered every noise he made and every response he could give to hide his presence as much as he possibly could. His friends called out to him, worried and concerned, and as much as Izuku felt guilty for ignoring them the fear of All Might figuring out what Izuku had done was infinitely stronger. 

He couldn’t push All Might out of there fast enough. The rest of the class didn’t bother hiding their fondness of him, and the more they used his name in front of his idol the more gut wrenching fear he felt at the thought that the man would remember, a heart he no longer had squeezing in his chest. 

Not to mention the man’s talking about Quirklessness. Izuku couldn’t handle it, no matter how hard he tried to rein himself in. Even just a passing comment coupled with the man’s presence was enough to send him spiraling, anger and sadness too much to bare, form dissolving as he kicked and thrashed through painful memories, re-lived his dreams shattered as quickly as his tears fell and broke against the harsh concrete beneath his feet. 

When he gained control of himself, his friends were pale, shaken. 

Afraid of him. 

Izuku secluded himself to his cold corner, body numb, mangled hands over his ears as he sobbed with a voice no one could hear, the others too busy trying to figure out what had happened to call out to him again. Izuku didn’t talk for the rest of the school day. He drowned in self hatred and old habits, degrading himself, cursing his behaviors, cursing the life he somehow still had before turning around and cursing the very idea of hatred itself before looping back into cursing himself for hating to begin with. He spiraled. Not even Kacchan could ground him while he used his bad habits as his comfort blanket, stuffed with barbed wire instead of cotton.

That was before he realized he wasn’t confined to the classroom, however. Nowadays, when All Might threw open the door in his booming voice, Izuku fled. He left to find Aizawa or Nedzu, not wanting to risk losing himself again. 

He never wanted his friends to be afraid because of him and his behaviors. Never. 

Thankfully, the little machine - they called it an EMF - worked wonders for communicating, no matter how glitchy it was. The class would sit in a loose circle and Izuku would hover close to whoever had the EMF at the time, sometimes resting his cheeks in his palms as he listened in on the banter and chatter in between questions. Do you like Present Mic? was eventually decided upon, Izuku patiently waited for them to record, and he spoke in the ensuing silence. 

It felt different this time, this silence. Light, expectant. Crafted with his voice in mind instead of purposely excluding it.

Yes! Yes! he cheered, floating just above a blue haired teen’s shoulder. His glasses were shiny. He’s really funny, he looks kind of like a bird with his hair like that, and that’s funny too!

They warned him they were pausing it, did so, and played it back. It was strange hearing his voice so glitchy and corroded with static, but he wasn’t complaining. As long as they could hear him. 

The students laughed and wheezed at his statement, and Izuku laughed with them, basking in the warmth and sense of belonging sessions like this always brought. More chatter flooded his ears, and if Izuku had a chair to melt into, he would have as the peaceful noise washed over him. 

Finally Izuku could talk freely with his new friends, and he could explain himself, say what was upsetting him and the cause of it if he ever needed to. He was ecstatic, eternally grateful. 

Granted, he would never burden them with his nitpicks, but the thought in itself was comforting. He could speak up if he couldn’t take it anymore, and that...that was more than what he’d had before. 

The best days were just after school, when Kacchan had the time to sit on the floor next to his corner - Aizawa packing up a couple feet away - and just talk to him about anything and everything. At first, it had been about Kirishima slowly warming up to him, something Izuku had been noticing as well and was very excited about - Kacchan was making a new friend! - and when the blonde confided he was confused as to why it broke Izuku’s heart. He said the same thing about Ashido, and Sero, and Kaminari. Izuku did everything he could to encourage his friend, and he saw as days went by Kacchan opened up to them more and more. In his own way, of course. More casual slaps upside their heads, more banter than actual arguing or yelling, helping them with homework and studying. Izuku floated around them all and giggled, happy and warm. He teased them more because of it, admittedly, but in Izuku’s defense it just felt natural going from batting at Kacchan’s spikes and getting maybe an eye roll, to poking at Kaminari or Kirishima’s skin, getting them to shiver and playfully glare around the room suspiciously. It was just too fun, and they had such different reactions. Could you blame him?

Also a first, was Aizawa. Class 1-A’s teacher. 

At first Izuku was admittedly wary of the man’s sour demeanor, but the first time he pulled out a sleeping bag from nowhere and took a nap right on the floor, Izuku simply figured the man was just tired. So Izuku reached out, and Aizawa listened . 

Not obviously, but in small ways. Staying after class with him, thinking out loud for Izuku to bounce conversation off of, gently chiding him when he got out of hand. The moment he was labeled Quirkless was the moment his teachers dismissed him despite his intelligence. Aizawa’s behavior was a breath of fresh air, just like the students. Izuku couldn’t help but bask in the attention he received from both parties. 

Admittedly, Izuku enjoyed playing the occasional prank on some students - not enough to distract them from their studies for too long, school was important after all - but just enough to where he got a reaction. Shifting eyes, raised brows, soft giggles. Harmless, but rewarding.

Todoroki was especially fun. He was so straight faced, and when he actually managed to get the teen to look around the room in bewilderment it classified as a huge win in Izuku’s book. He never got upset, thankfully, just went back to his work with a fond shake of his head as the twelve year old practically cackled. Shinsou was also a common victim of pranks for similar reasons, and it was a full on mini celebration if he managed to get both of them to react in one day. 

A frustration Izuku regularly experienced was his inability to properly move things, and not just because it hindered his pranking possibilities. Upon witnessing a quirk in action from a student, instinct made him impulsively reach for a notebook and a pencil. The action was always pointless. He phased through everything most of the time since his form was so weak. All he could do without difficulty was touch - tapping a desk, tapping the window panes, feeling the ground or sitting on the tops of desks or in chairs wasn’t difficult, and deciding when he wanted to phase through something wasn’t hard either. Only in times of intense discomfort or distress could he actually move things. 

Every time a student left their belongings near his lonely, cold corner, his whole body buzzed with the need to move it. The books and papers felt suffocating being so close, and with no distractions available after school, it only left him with the negative memories of Kaachan and water and too many burns hidden behind stacked books and long sleeves. Unkind words that planted an idea in his head he couldn’t shake off. 

Izuku could touch the books then, to move them even one desk over. But as soon as the source of his stress was dealt with he went back to transparency, to being nothing but whisps. 

He wasn’t sure anyone in the class had noticed before, but after the incident with All Might, Izuku had found scratch marks inside of the window frames, caused by his flailing. 

Izuku wasn’t quite sure that such high discomfort was a fair price to pay to be able to properly interact with the world around him, but it was the only way at the moment. It was similar to his hunt for Kaachan during his three day disappearance. Out of sheer panic - his one source of familiarity and comfort having vanished - Izuku was able to open doors properly to see inside classrooms, old habits of a solid body clashing with his life now. Any other time picking anything up was impossible. Things barely shifted at best. 

But it was okay. He didn’t need to move the EMF to use it, and as long as he had someone to reach out to, it didn’t really matter. He usually had someone to talk to during the school day and a little while after classes ended, and the rest of the time...well, it wasn’t too bad. Nothing he couldn’t handle!

He would stay strong this time. He could do it! It was much better now than it had been before, when he was still confused and begging for an explanation from people who couldn’t see him and getting more and more frustrated until he realized his situation, not to mention the devastation that happened shortly thereafter. Now, with people to talk to? Friends and adults and teachers who looked after him? Piece of cake.

That is, until he was faced with the EMF carelessly thrown over a shoulder. 

His whole world. Shattered, twice now. He couldn’t move, couldn’t mentally catch up with what was happening as Kacchan roared and no one stopped him, as Aizawa stepped out and other students raced to the pink haired girl to get the EMF - his anchor, his voice - repaired. He could only float there, gaping at the spot the blonde kid had chucked the little machine. 

It had never once occurred to him that someone could do that. That someone would want to do that.

Only when he heard Uraraka’s footsteps echo as she ascended up to his floor did he manage to shake himself off, quickly racing to meet her and following her and Kirishima back to the room. 

Three day suspension, Iida said. 

Kacchan. Gone. 

It was the longest three days of his life. His whole world tilted on its axis, his main stability having been ripped from him caused more relapses. He couldn’t feel his arms, he could taste copper, he couldn’t breathe -

Izuku took in as deep a breath as his deformed lungs allowed and tried to fix it. As best as he could. He searched the halls for as long as he could, and settled himself at Kacchan’s desk when he couldn’t. He tried to push through the tugging feeling in his stomach to go down to a lower or higher floor, fighting through the pain of it until he was sure his organs would be ripped out of him, but it was useless. 

Even so, the distraction - the feeling of him doing something - helped. 

He was wandering the halls when he saw Kacchan, day three, making his way to the Hero Course classroom. 

Izuku could have cried. Even just having the blonde nearby felt so, so much better. He could breathe again, a weight lifting off his shoulders. 

He rushed over, hovering, making the window panes nearby rattle and the unfamiliar eyes in the hallway stared holes into Bakugo’s back, but the blonde didn’t acknowledge the other students, just gave a sharp grin to the frightened faces that stared back at him. Izuku felt too thankful to rein himself in, buzzing and happy and relieved . 

The EMF stayed at the back of the classroom, and Izuku didn’t see the unfamiliar blonde out in the hallway again. He would admit he was relieved about that too. Izuku didn’t want to see him, if he was honest. 

Izuku knew the class wouldn’t let the student do that again. They cared for him lots, just as he cared for them, and he knew they were almost as upset as he was about the whole thing. Hearing their perspective later was heartwarming, with how worried they were for him. 

Izuku wished he could hug every last one of them. His friends. They did so much for him, and Izuku was slowly beginning to realize that this had been his goal all along, not the building. U.A, to Izuku, had been the visible goal, something tangible and in-sight that he could reach out to. But this - having friends, talking to others and having Kacchan at his back again - it was all Izuku had ever wanted. It was the people in the building, Izuku slowly realized as time went on, that he had pushed himself for. 

Yes, it was being a hero. But it was never about himself. It was about recognition, it was about being able to hold his head up high and have someone encourage him, push him forward. 

He had that with this class. He had it with Kacchan. 

If nothing else, he would try his best to keep them safe. He couldn’t die twice, after all, and even if he couldn’t move things, he could touch them, and Izuku could work with that somehow. Maybe even improve upon it. 

Besides. Izuku wasn’t sure what he’d do if he lost them. They were all his anchor by now, even Aizawa, and the thought of losing any of them made the lights flicker as if on the cusp of a power outage.

He would keep them safe.

The thought alone felt freeing, somehow, the pressure in his gut finally releasing and letting him breathe easy for the first time in a long while. The walls didn’t feel as suffocating anymore, less entrapping. Izuku felt like he could faze through the roof and touch the sky. He could still save people, even if it wasn’t exactly how he planned it.

Only later, following the class down to the cafeteria expecting a pull in his stomach to stop him, did he realize nothing happened. Pushing it farther, he tentatively phased through the wall. Farther, and farther, and farther out he went from the school, heart squeezing with hope and fear, just waiting for him to be dragged back to the school kicking and screaming. He just kept going.

Nearly a mile away, Izuku sobbed with relief.

Chapter Text

Kendo was just being friendly when she had suggested a classmate bring the hero course an apology gift for Monoma being an asshole. Reiko Yamagi understood this, and even agreed with the sentiment. 

She just didn’t understand why it had to be her bringing the gift. 

People told her she wasn’t the best at socializing - Kendo being one of those people herself - so she didn’t get why she was sent instead. Besides, wasn’t it the class president’s job to do things like this?

She brushed off the thought as she gently rapped her knuckles against the Class 1-A door, the prettily wrapped box of homemade cookies tucked in her other palm. There was no use ruminating on it now, and she was sure once they realized she was here to apologize and nothing more the sentiment would be appreciated. 

The door slid open, Iida Tenya standing straight and on guard was the sight that greeted her. He did his best to be polite in asking her what she needed, but Yamagi could feel the upset and anger he was trying hard to mask. She held out the cookies. Monoma has made a grievous error, she stated. Class 1-B as a unit decided to apologize for his brash and crude behavior.

Iida’s posture instantly relaxed as he grabbed the cookies, thanking her for the gesture. He invited her inside the classroom - class didn’t officially start for another fifteen minutes or so - and she accepted to be polite. Maybe she could spread the sentiment to the rest of the students herself. With how upset they had been, it was probably needed. 

Not everyone was here was her first thought. There were roughly twenty students in Class 1-A, but she counted heads and there were only maybe ten present. Late sleepers, she supposed. 

The next thought she had was that it was cold in the classroom, colder than she expected, considering no one else was acting like there was a drastic temperature drop from crossing the threshold. A chill climbed up her back, but she rolled her shoulders and the feeling was gone.

Iida introduced her to the students that were present, and Yamagi bowed politely, repeating her statement to the rest of them. Some laughed it off, some nodded in thanks, and a few gave her sarcastic quips, unimpressed. She took all of it with grace. Iida set the cookies on one of the desks in the front row and opened the box, stating that she had given it to them as part of her apology. Even the snarky ones warmed up to that, standing up to grab a homemade goodie and nibble on it while they could. 

A redhead grabbed a cookie and rushed back to his seat, looking like he had been in the middle of last minute homework copying. His stride was a little too unstable in his rush, and he bumped into a desk, the cookie dropping from his hand and making its descent to the floor. He shouted in surprise and disappointment, but Yamagi activated her Quirk ‘Poltergeist’ to save the treat.

Something bucked against her Quirk, and she tensed to combat it and maintain her hold. The cookie stopped obediently in the air, quicker than normal, despite the unusual resistance. It floated up and back into the redhead’s hand smoothly.

Yamagi glanced at his face, and she got what she expected: a relieved and thankful grin was sent her way as he rushed back to his seat, more carefully this time.

She frowned, confused. As Class 1-A chatted happily amongst themselves, Yamagi faded into the background to do her own experiments. 

Her gaze shifted to a pencil on someone’s desk. She activated her Quirk, cautious, and a pull in her temple slowly grew in strength as she fought to maintain control and keep the pencil floating. It was like trying to keep a hold on water that was hell bent on forcing its way out of her fingers.

Not leaking, not slipping away. It was pushing with actual resistance.

Yamagi clenched her hands in concentration, a headache blossoming underneath her eyes from the strain. It was just a pencil, why was there so much push back? She had never experienced such a negative reaction to her Quirk before. Was it the room? Maybe someone else’s Quirk clashing with hers? But who?

She had to let go of her Quirk when whatever was resisting finally lashed out, a loud bang resonating through the room from the walls themselves as her hold broke off so quickly Yamagi felt whiplash from it. The students finally reacted with startled yelling and jumping out of their seats in surprise. The pencil clattered to the floor, and she groaned, clutching her pounding head as her vision swam and the irritable buzzing of the lights mocked her. 

They asked her what was wrong, concerned, as their eyes scanned the room for the source of her pain. 

The students flickered, faces shifting into sludge with melting features and too wide eyes. The students that had their bodies turned away from her had their heads in an impossible 180 turn to stare at her. Their pupils were pinpricks, accusing, angry. Restless. They left behind after images when they moved, features blurring together into one black imprint that swallowed her surroundings into a void.

Yamagi saw furious green eyes in the shadows, watching her. 

She blinked. Worried, human faces called her name, the students gathering around desks and around her as they tried to figure out where her teacher was. Aizawa was in the class now, knelt by her where she had curled in on herself with fright, staring open-mouthed at seemingly thin air. 

She stood up quickly, pale and nauseous, and didn’t even bother excusing herself before she ran out the door. Something helped her along, pressing against her back until she crossed the threshold. Yamagi slammed the door behind her, in the faces of the very bewildered students, and bolted to the women’s bathroom. 

She would never step back in that door. Kendo could guilt trip her all she wanted, but she would never .

The sound of the buzzing light  and those dark, twisted faces would haunt her dreams for weeks.

Chapter Text

Nedzu gently turned the page of the book Izuku was reading, the little ghost muttering in a stream of incoherent rambles as he replicated the pictures as best as he could with his broken wrist. Even with the injury, Nedzu could say the kid was doing a great job, hovering just above the table with crossed legs as he stared down at the book. 

Being able to see Izuku and being able to understand him were two very different things. Nedzu heard what everyone else did - garbled and warped nonsense - and sometimes being able to see Izuku didn’t explain any better why he was doing the things he did. The communication barrier was able to be worked around with loose gestures and vague noises, but only communicating that way didn’t sit well with Nedzu knowing there were better options out there. He messed with a few ideas before he realized a pretty simple solution: sign language. 

He could see the kid after all, which meant he could watch his hands. 

Nedzu did his own private research on the subject, and when Hizashi noticed a sign language book resting on Nedzu’s desk one day, he asked about the sudden interest. Nedzu was blunt about his motives, and Present Mic was all too happy to be an even deeper well of knowledge on the topic. For the little listener, he had said with a grin. Having a Quirk like Hizashi’s at a young age no doubt caused problems, and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to learn the Pro Hero was very fluent in sign. 

Nedzu’s Quirk allowed him to learn sign language very, very quickly, and by day three he could classify as fluent. Teaching Izuku wouldn’t be that easy, he knew. 

Well, he thought he knew. The more he taught Izuku the more Nedzu was beginning to realize the kid absorbed information like a sponge . It had only been two days, and even though he was nowhere near Nedzu’s level, Izuku could still sign more complicated expressions than would normally be expected, not only as a complete beginner to the language but also with his age. Granted, it still wasn’t full sentences, but he was getting there.

Nedzu was impressed. He wasn’t impressed often. Dead or alive, potential was potential, and he’d be damned if he didn’t encourage that level of intelligence for as long as Izuku was listening.

Izuku patiently tapped at the table, and Nedzu flipped another page. He went back to signing to himself and muttering. 

Usually Izuku wouldn’t be with Nedzu at the moment. It was still technically class time, but the Hero Course was on a trip to the USJ sight for the day, so Izuku had invited himself in, arms wrapped around himself as he shivered in the quiet of the room, form a little too unstable. Nedzu didn’t have the heart to turn him away. Instead he decided to get in another day’s worth of sign language practice, and Izuku agreed readily, posture relaxing as he eagerly floated over to the principal with his wide, watchful eyes.

He still couldn’t move the pages. At least, not consistently enough to be worth it - Izuku explaining he had a mild breakthrough but nothing concrete - and the action seemed to tire him out relatively quickly. Izuku only wanted to focus on the language anyway, not split his attention with moving things and exhausting himself as well, so Nedzu offered to do the page turning for him, which led them to where they were now. 

It was a peaceful atmosphere in the staff room. Even doing paperwork, Nedzu could say he was enjoying himself. As much as Izuku’s words distorted and warped, a voice not supposed to be heard, it was still an odd kind of soothing, especially having a vague idea of what he was murmuring about. 

The mood was broken by a soft knock on the door. Toshinori let himself in with a sheepish smile. 

Izuku didn’t quite retreat, but he startled, floating up high and backwards until he was tucked away in the corner, whisps, just like the first time Nedzu saw him. 

Nedzu gave his employee a look. That was a peculiar reaction. He would have to look into it later, maybe Aizawa had noticed anything? He should probably ask the Hero Course students too. 

Sorry to interrupt, the man said, and Nedzu saw Izuku shrink in his peripheral. 

Weren’t kids supposed to be ecstatic seeing All Might in the flesh? The kid had eyes and ears on at least this entire floor, Izuku had to have seen All Might deflate into Toshinori at some point, right? Did he just not piece it together?

No. Izuku wasn’t that stupid. 

Wasn’t there an incident with All Might before this? Right, there was. 

I just haven’t heard from Eraser or Thirteen in quite a while, Toshinori continued, oblivious to Izuku’s mild discomfort and Nedzu’s thoughts. I’m not sure if it’s just me overthinking, but, I don’t know. I have a bad gut feeling. I should’ve been updated by now.

That got Izuku’s attention, the kid unfurling slightly from his nervous huddle against the corner to look at Nedzu worriedly. The kid blurred, lights flickering as every window rattled through an invisible storm. The Symbol of Peace looked on-edge.

Izuku quickly finger spelled ‘U-S-J’, then signed ‘where?’ with wide, sharp eyes. His movements were stilted from his broken wrist not moving quite right, but Nedzu got the idea without any struggle.

Nedzu hummed, reaching into an open drawer to lay out a map of the school grounds and its different training facilities on top of his desk as an answer. He wouldn’t stop the kid from going, he couldn’t get hurt after all, and if the situation was bad enough Izuku would come back to report to him. 

Well, he hoped he did. 

Toshinori watched Nedzu unfurl the blueprints in bewilderment, but Nedzu didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, he watched as Izuku floated down to Nedzu’s shoulder - the closest he’d gotten to All Might so far - and scan the layout. The second it made sense to the boy was the second he charged through the wall and vanished. 

Nedzu shifted his attention back to Toshinori with a small smile. It seems you’re not the only one who's worried.

Toshinori gave his boss a mildly alarmed look, but Nedzu brushed it off. 

Toshinori, he said, you have been doing this for years. Trust your gut instinct, whatever it may be. Nedzu crossed his paws on his desk. But before you go, do you recognize the name ‘Izuku’?

Toshinori frowned at him.

Tomura was having an awful day, if he did say so himself.

The brats were scattered, Thirteen and Eraserhead were preoccupied and slowly drowning in goons, and his Nomu stood confidently next to him, waiting on hand and foot for his next order. Kurogiri was entertaining the rest of the brats near the front gate. Everything was going perfectly. 

Except All Might wasn’t here, which was the whole reason he hatched this plan to begin with. 

Tomura went through all the trouble of sneaking into U.A, stealing information and carefully orchestrating this whole scheme, just for the Number One Hero to skip out on his own funeral. 

Today was an awful, awful day.

If the Symbol of Peace wouldn’t show on his own, Tomura would give him a reason to show, and if blood needed to be spilled he was only happy to deliver. 

He watched Eraserhead’s movements, his techniques, gathered as much information as he could to piece together how to slip through Eraserhead’s defenses and crush him. 

He managed one touch. The man’s elbow crumbled to dust. 

It was all Tomura wanted, just to show the “hero” what he was capable of. He called on his Nomu, eyes just pinpricks, and demanded it beat Eraserhead’s body into a bloody pulp. The Nomu obeyed swiftly, and Eraserhead lay incapacitated as his Nomu slammed the man’s face into the asphalt.

Tomura cackled. If he couldn’t have All Might, he would destroy everything around him until he finally decided to come out and play, and he was beginning to hope All Might would take his sweet time. The longer he took, the more opportunity he had to stomp on everything he loved. 

There was a collective pause, like the building and all of its occupants had to adjust for something that shouldn’t be there. The air very quickly felt colder and was only getting worse, chills began to claw at his skin and sink into his bones. Tomura frowned and scanned the area for the source of his discomfort, carefully picking at his surroundings with narrowed eyes.

Someone screamed. 

It rebounded off of the glass ceiling, echoing in an odd manner, somehow simultaneously confined by the enclosed space and free of any physical burden. The air swelled with its intensity as Tomura was suddenly unable to breathe properly in the thick, choking air. The building itself shivered in fright as the screams roared, growing, expanding, vibrating in his bones and making him clench his teeth as a headache shot through his temples and behind his eyes. Tomura’s vision swam dangerously, and he covered his ears in desperation to make it stop .

Tomura forced his head up and opened his mouth to order his Nomu to destroy whatever was making such a horrid noise, and as his surroundings warped in on itself - folding and moving like waves - his vision zeroed in on his Nomu. 

Its eyes were green. It was staring right at Tomura with a single-minded intensity that made him sweat and his stomach drop into his feet. 

It charged. 

Nedzu tilted his head curiously, watching as Toshinori sat on the question for a moment. 

He said no, but it sounded unsure, as if there was something in the back of his mind that disagreed. 

Are you aware of Izuku? In the Hero Course classroom? Nedzu asked, and by the puzzled look on the man’s face Nedzu knew Aizawa hadn’t bothered to inform the man. A regret Aizawa held now, no doubt. Izuku Midoriya is a ghost haunting Class 1-A. We aren’t sure where he came from or why, but he is a very young child. Please be kind to him.

Toshinori stopped. 

Nedzu watched as his whole body seemed to seize, and Toshinori coughed hard in surprise, blood spilling from his mouth as he tried hard to stifle it. Nedzu offered the man a tissue. He took it with shaking hands. Are you alright?

I need to go, he replied, unable to look Nedzu in the eyes. He turned on his heel and rushed out the door.

Nedzu sat, dread making his heart sink as he watched the man flee. 

What kind of a reaction was that?

Tomura flung himself wildly to the right, desperately trying to avoid the attack as the Nomu took a reckless swing at him. His body felt off balance, the world tilted on its axis as he tried to right himself. The Nomu turned again to face him, and those green eyes burned holes into his head as it once again charged. 

He shrieked and scrambled out of the way, flinging a hand out and clipping the Nomu’s arm as it barely missed by a margin. It’s skin crumbled away, but the creature didn’t react to any pain it may have felt, too focused on ripping Tomura’s body to shreds. He couldn’t think clearly, a sick feeling in his stomach threatening to make him spew as the world around him swayed and tilted unnaturally. 

The Nomu backed off just for a moment, gearing up for another attack, and in that moment he felt another presence charge at him, the sound of popping explosions ringing in his ears. Tomura threw his arm out desperately, just to even stop the noise. It was too much, so many things were happening and he couldn’t focus . 

His hand grabbed onto something. Someone roared in pain, and the screaming from earlier sparked up all over again, all encompassing, and Tomura let go to cover his ears with four fingers. 

The last thing Tomura saw was the Nomu lunge , and an extreme, sharp pain blossomed in his temple as the Nomu managed to swing his arm at his head. He barely caught a glimpse of Kurogiri appearing behind the Nomu as his world went dark. 

Aizawa knew two things. 

One, he could see his own body lying broken on the asphalt, unmoving, which worried him greatly for what he felt were obvious reasons. 

Two, the Nomu creature that was kicking his ass earlier was now standing like a bodyguard, shielding himself and a very injured Bakugo from the rest of the students. 

He had no idea where Thirteen was and didn’t know who was safe. What’s more, he couldn’t piece together the change in the creature’s attitude all of a sudden. 

The two villains were nowhere to be seen, a positive in all this. A quick, panicked scan of his surroundings revealed most of his students were present, with only Iida and Tsuyu missing. His stomach dropped when he realized, but he grit his teeth and held on to the knowledge that these kids were competent. Things had seemed to have settled down anyway - again he had no idea how - so Aizawa took it upon himself to try and figure out what the fuck was happening. 

The creature turned its head, as if to check on the two, and its gaze locked on Aizawa. The creature’s body vibrated unnaturally, and it reminded the teacher of the windows in his classroom. 

Wait. The windows in his classroom?

Wait , its eyes were green . They weren’t before, Aizawa knew that. They had been small pinpricks, barely visible at all. 

Midoriya? Aizawa called out, and startled as his voice echoed around his ears, both present but not. 

The creature vibrated again, and a figure stepped out of the creature’s back, rushing towards him with devastated eyes as he cried out. The Nomu dropped like a rag doll, and the students began to reluctantly approach his body. 

Aizawa found himself holding a young child as he sobbed against him. 

I’m sorry, I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry I’m sorry, he choked out, sounding - sounding so fucking young . 

His small hands clung to the sides of his shirt in a death grip, face buried in his stomach. His hair was curly and green, and Aizawa numbly wondered if his eyes were similar. 

Every shaky breath the kid took rattled in his chest, and Aizawa saw bones sticking out of his elbows. 

Aizawa held the kid - Izuku Midoriya - close, trying to give him as much comfort as he could manage while he refused to think about what Midoriya’s injuries meant.

Don’t think about it.

Kacchan, Midoriya sobbed,  finally looking up. He had freckles, and yes, his eyes were green. Blood had settled under his nose and leaked from his mouth. His face was streaked with tears.

 He released part of his hold to point with a broken wrist at Bakugo, who was looking increasingly pale. Kacchan. Kacchan’s hurting.

I know, Aizawa replied, but help is coming . 

He hoped to God he was right as he soothed the child who had a never ending well of tears, clinging to the adult like Aizawa was his only anchor.

Toshinori arrived to nothing but chaos. 

Aizawa’s broken body laid in the cracked asphalt, unmoving and seemingly lifeless. Unconscious bodies of random thugs scattered the building, and the students were gathered around their teacher, looking scared and confused. Bakugo was among the crowd, crouched next to Aizawa as he clutched his bicep with gritted teeth, blood pouring out of the gaping wound. Iida and Tsuyu appeared to be missing, but Toshinori knew Iida had run off to get help, and Tsuyu was looking over an injured Thirteen.

A creature, tall and muscular, sat slumped a few feet away from the large cluster of students. No one was acknowledging the hideous thing other than wary looks every so often. 

Toshinori swallowed his worry, and shoved his lingering, rampant guilt at Nedzu’s and his conversation earlier. 

He couldn’t be Toshinori right now. He had to be All Might. 

All Might approached the students carefully, asking for a brief on the situation which he readily got. He coaxed the students to move closer to the entrance as he mentally counted heads - partly as a distraction from any thoughts he may have and partly because of the necessity. He scooped up Aizawa and led the group of students forward to meet up with Tsuyu.

The medics arrived shortly after everyone was semi-settled, Iida anxiously waiting off to the side. Snipe and Midnight immediately rushed off to capture the creature and thugs when they were briefed on it. Bakugo was coaxed into settling with the medics, Aizawa and Thirteen were carted off on a stretcher to the hospital, and All Might gently suggested the other students head on home to get some rest, to which they agreed, slowly trickling out under the watchful gazes of the Pro Heroes present. 

A freckled face bounced around in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t shake it off. As he watched the ambulance race to fight against time itself, he felt numb. 

Izuku Midoriya. 

He knew he’d heard that name before, years ago. A brave kid with bright eyes and such a hopeful smile. The memories were fuzzy, having been dulled with time, but he remembered. 

A hero crushed a kid’s dream and expected to have no consequences. A kid’s bright eyed hope was thrown away, brushed aside for something more reasonable . 

If Toshinori had gone for something reasonable, All Might and the Symbol of Peace would’ve never existed.

Nedzu’s words rebounded in his head, on an endless repeat. Izuku Midoriya is a ghost haunting Class 1-A.

Haunting. Toshinori knew what that meant, knew what it implied, and Toshinori prayed and hoped to anyone listening that the young, bright child hadn’t done what Toshinori knew he had done.

No wonder the kid had lashed out at him that day. No wonder.

As the pieces slotted into place, Toshinori swallowed the bile creeping up his throat, his heart breaking into a million, fragile little pieces. 

Midoriya wouldn’t let go of him.

As his body was placed on a stretcher with care - wow, that was very surreal to watch - Midoriya only began to cry harder as he came to the realization  that he couldn’t stick close to both Aizawa and Bakugo anymore, and the thought of having to choose was making him panic. His head swiveled back and forth, grip tightening on him but his body jerking as if he was about to race over to Bakugo. The poor kid was borderline hyperventilating, tears mixing with blood as each panicked breath rattled. It was starting to mess with the machines being attached to his body in the ambulance, the screens glitching and malfunctioning. 

Aizawa did his best to calm Midoriya down, but he wasn’t fucking meant for this. That was more Hizashi’s thing, or Toshinori for that matter. 

Go to Bakugo, Aizawa tried to coax, but Midoriya shook his head wildly. 

Being alone is scary, he sobbed. I don’t want to leave you alone.

Then stay with me, he tried again. You’ll meet up with Bakugo a little later.  

Kacchan’s hurting, he repeated, only crying harder. Hurting makes you sad. I can’t leave him sad. I can’t.

Well what the fuck was Aizawa supposed to say to that. His mind raced to find some kind of solution as Midoriya panicked, the ambulance doors shutting as the engine stalled once from Midoriya’s interference, then roared to life. 

Midoriya, he said, getting the kid to back up enough to look him in the eye. Go with Bakugo, okay?

Midoriya let out something between a breath and a sob, clutching his sleeves desperately. 

I’ll be okay, I promise you. Have I ever steered you wrong before? The kid sniffed, shook his head. Go with Bakugo. I’m trusting his safety to you. Can you look after him for me?

He still looked reluctant, but now that the decision had been made by Aizawa instead of himself, he seemed to actually be contemplating it. His green eyes looked at Bakugo, then back at Aizawa. 

Go on, he coaxed, gently giving the kid a small push. The next time you see me, it won’t be like this. I promise you.

Midoriya’s breath hitched and rattled, his eyes welling with fresh tears as his lower lip wobbled, then he raced to catch up with Bakugo’s ambulance. 

Aizawa watched him go, taking a deep breath himself, then he turned and barely managed to get into the ambulance with his body, facing the next couple of long hours alone.

Chapter Text

Katsuki slapped his mother’s panicked hands away from his injured bicep, insisting he was fine . 

He wanted to lay down and sleep for the next two days, and he felt a bit dizzy from the emergency blood transfusion they had to give him, but Katsuki was sure it wasn’t anything a day or two of rest wouldn’t fix. Really, the only problem he had now was the fact that his bicep was branded with the fucker’s handprint. That didn’t sit well with him, and if he ever saw the bastard again he would make sure to blast the villain into outer space . 

His mother wouldn’t quit her hovering, and he was too tired to outright argue with her - something he was sure was only making her worry more - so the second they got home and she demanded he went to bed and rest, Katsuki obeyed. He settled down under the covers immediately, but he resisted the urge to pass out. 

He laid down in the silence, staring up at the ceiling with a flat expression for a while. 

Then it all rushed in. 

Villains had broken into the USJ with the intent to kill. It didn’t matter who, Katsuki knew, it could’ve been anyone.

That hideous motherfucker of a beast that was standing by the hand bastard’s side was burned behind his eyes, with its brain exposed and too wide of a mouth. 

Everyone had been ripped from each other and scattered to the winds. Katsuki was lucky enough to meet up with Kirishima, and the extra eyes and strength helped him calm down however slightly, breathe in deeply and take a second to assess where they were, what was happening. 

Then they heard a scream. It tore through the air and their eardrums. Katsuki and Kirishima had to cover their ears, lest they’d suffer a sharp pain. It faded out eventually, and all it took was a look between the pair before they rushed off for the source. 

Katsuki had approached the scene to see what the villain had called “Nomu” standing there, posture tense and waiting, while the villain himself had seemed disoriented and dazed. Katsuki had seen an opportunity to attack and he took it. The second he had gotten close though, that bastard had grabbed him, and the searing pain as his flesh dissolved and chipped off had rendered Katsuki immobile for a few seconds. The Nomu had taken a swing, and Katsuki was sure, in those couple of seconds, that he was going to die. 

His heart began to pound in his chest, and he clutched his bicep with shaking fingers, his teeth grit against the burning in his eyes as the fear of what he’d just been through finally caught up to him properly. He sucked in a shaky breath and hoped his mother wouldn’t just barge in. 

He lay in the dark, attempting to keep quiet and regain his composure. A soft, quiet tapping at his desk made him jump, and his head swiveled over to the noise as hope made his chest swell. 

Deku was stuck at U.A, right? But maybe...

...Deku?

There was a moment of silence, and Katsuki’s heart sank before a more deliberate tapping permeated above his head and through the wall. Deku murmured for a moment, then quieted.

Relief crashed over him like a wave. He swallowed hard, his eyes burning.

Everything in him wanted to just sit down and chat with his childhood friend. It was a feeling he hadn’t truly had in a long time, but it was there, simmering in his gut and sealing his throat closed. But it didn’t matter, Deku couldn’t speak, too broken and twisted to be heard correctly. 

  I wish you could just fucking talk to me, he whispered, a wave of sorrow washing over him. Please, say something.  

Deku muttered louder, more pointed, clearly an attempt that didn’t work.

Deku, he begged the empty air, wrapping his arms around himself as a few tears managed to escape. His skin itched. Give me anything.

Katsuki waited with bated breath, listening hard for any sound that could count as a word. 

Something flickered next to his desk. He lifted his head, and watched as a pencil floated up like it was attached to an invisible string, angling itself as if someone was holding it. 

Katsuki tore out from underneath the covers and over to his desk, clutching the back of his chair in a white knuckled grip as he watched the pencil quiver in the air, unstable. It wrote out something, then clattered to the desk, still once more. 

Katsuki sobbed, gripping the notebook so hard he crushed the pages as he sank to the floor. 

The pencil had written out ‘I am here!’ in Deku’s handwriting, shaky and barely legible, but Katsuki could recognize it anywhere, the obsessed fucker.

The blonde sat and cried, feeling something gently pat at his back as he let out everything he’d been bottling up.

Tomura couldn’t keep his eyes open. Everything felt sluggish and blurry, like a movie playing at half speed through a dirty window. A pulsing migraine was wreaking havoc on his already tender head. 

The lights in Kamino were so bright. So, so bright.

Hands were touching him, his wrists, briefly against his temple before Tomura hissed in pain, and at the back of his neck. Words were being spoken. Tomura was too tired to listen, too tired to care. 

He fell unconscious.

The day was a much needed blessing. 

They were off from school to recuperate, and Katsuki took advantage of the opportunity. He lounged around and ate comfort foods to his heart’s content, ignoring his father’s gentle reminders about his diet and deafening himself to his mother’s screeching. Katsuki could take a cheat day, and besides, his comfort foods weren’t unhealthy like the hag’s choice of chocolate and sweets. 

Deku was still with him, serving as something of an anchor. Whenever Katsuki called out for him, he would respond in soft tapping or murmurs, and Katsuki wouldn’t lie to himself and say it wasn’t a comfort. 

Very quickly, he found himself becoming restless with so little to do.

Katsuki attempted a game with Deku in order to keep himself from thinking too hard about everything and spiraling into another panic. It was a non verbal game of Shiritori, really. Katsuki kick started the game in his room, tapping the desk and saying to thin air, Shiritori. Desk, before stomping out, walking into the living room and plopping onto the couch. Deku took the challenge as expected, and he felt a tapping at his shoulder. It took Katsuki a minute to get it, but when he did he quietly scoffed, muttering cheater under his breath, but later he obediently tapped twice on an ice cube floating about in his drink. 

The real trick about the game was making sure he wasn’t caught acting oddly by his parents. Deku hadn’t revealed himself to them and didn’t seem like he was going to, and Katsuki understood fully. But that also meant it would just seem like Katsuki was snickering or grinning to thin air, or randomly tapping on any object he got close to, so he had to lay low. Deku wasn’t free of this either, since if his parents noticed a sound coming from an object no one was touching, his mother in particular might burn the house down. It was surprisingly fun, and most importantly, it was an amazing distraction.

 The game was also lightening his mood considerably. There was a point where Deku was struggling to find something to combat his word of cup , but Katsuki realized afterward that it wasn’t the word that was giving Deku issues, it was figuring out how to tap on what he wanted without his parents noticing. 

They were seated at the table for dinner, his parents talking about dumb shit that Katsuki had immediately tuned out in favor of their game. There was a quiet moment, and Deku apparently chose that moment to tap three times on his father’s plate. The noise was loud enough for him to hear, and it made his father lift up his plate of food to check under it for the noise, as well as under the table, confusion plastered all over his face. He ended up sitting down and dismissing it, and Katsuki had to pretend to drink his water to hide his snickering.

His parents seemed to quit their hovering when his mood lightened, and the new freedom made the last bit of tension melt away, in himself and the household. 

Except Deku. He was nervous about something, anxious, Katsuki could tell. His focus wasn’t fully in the game like Katsuki was, his attention would drift while Katsuki figured out what word to play and the atmosphere would go from playful to uneasy, and now more than ever did Katsuki wish he had the EMF thing. When things settled in the house, Deku’s nerves only became more obvious, but Katsuki wasn’t too sure what to do about it other than use their game as a distraction not just for himself, but Deku too.

He wondered if it had to do with Aizawa. They seemed close, and the man had often been a third party to Katsuki and Deku’s after school talks. He was worried about the man too, if he was honest. Aizawa had looked like shit when he was hauled away. At some point he got tired of Deku’s sulking, so once he was safe in his room again, Katsuki tried to tell Deku that Aizawa was a strong bastard and there was no question the man would make it. It wasn’t accepted as quickly as Katsuki hoped. 

He’d visit Aizawa, but he had no idea what hospital he was put in, nor did he know if his parents would let him step out of the house on his own at this point. So he stood strong for his - his friend . He kept his head up, steadfast in his belief that Aizawa would be fine and aggressively pretending that everything was normal. Deku reluctantly followed his example, but he was still quieter than he ought to be.

Katsuki finally went back to school, a scar the shape of that fucking prick’s hand wrapped around his bicep.

The others gathered around each other, checking in on everyone’s health and talking about what happened yesterday. His own little posse gathered around his desk like kicked puppies, asking if he was okay and if the wound scarred. He showed them the handprint with a scowl, and Kirishima determinedly declared We’ll make that jerk regret messing with us! His statement got cheers and whoops, and he agreed wholeheartedly with the statement. The fucker was going down . 

Conversation lasted a little longer until glasses told them all to take a seat, and Katsuki could feel the buzz of Deku’s unease, getting some others to ask Deku if he was doing alright. Katsuki snapped out that Deku was worried about the old man, but he had been trying to say that the bastard would be fine, shooting round face a pointed look. She brightened with understanding and fist pumped the air, cheerfully agreeing. The class joined in with quick optimism. 

Deku still didn’t seem right, and it was finally making Katsuki nervous. If he didn’t have a solid reason to believe Aizawa wasn’t okay, the topic would’ve been dropped a while ago. 

No. The old man was fine, he knew he was fine. Aizawa had too much spite in him to go out like that.

Still, Katsuki waited to see who would be teaching class today on pins and needles. 

He didn’t really think Aizawa would show, so when the man himself walked through the door, covered from head to foot in bandages, Katsuki wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or rally the students to march his ass back to whatever hospital bed he crawled out of.

Deku, however, started to cry. Soft, hitching sobs of relief and nothing else. No moving window panes, no flickering lights, just his crying that echoed around the room. It reminded Katsuki of middle school, of Deku chasing him around with a wobbly, hopeful smile, and Katsuki’s chest clenched as memories rushed back to him. 

Katsuki saw Aizawa look around, as if he was deliberately searching for something, before his gaze zeroed in behind ponytail. He took in a sharp breath of surprise, but when Katsuki turned around to see what Aizawa was looking at, it was just an empty corner. He wondered if Aizawa hit his head a little too hard as their teacher slowly lowered himself into the seat at his desk, taking in whatever it was he thought he was seeing.

I’m fine, Aizawa finally said once he had gathered himself, muffled through the bandages. Almost addressing the corner itself. Do you need a minute?

Deku’s breath hitched and hiccuped as a response, and a quick scan of the classroom revealed that others were starting to get teary eyed themselves at the display of affection and relief. Even Eyebags looked softer than normal, and when Katsuki turned in his seat to scoff at him the purple haired bastard had the gall to simply shrug. 

The students began to soothe him on their own, some talking about what they did on their day off as a distraction while others tried pulling funny faces and cracking jokes. Deku’s crying slowed to sniffles, then turned into quiet, tired giggling. Katsuki was thankful for it. 

There’s no time to relax, Aizawa said, pulling the attention back to himself once he was sure Deku had calmed down. Your struggles aren’t over. The Sports Festival is almost here.

Katsuki tilted his chin up, determination thrumming in his veins. He could feel a similar strength from the rest of the students. 

He had made it through that shit show. How bad could the Sports Festival be?

Chapter Text

Aizawa couldn’t stop staring at the corner of his classroom where a transparent figure floated, eyes drawn to the space like magnets to an electric current. It was a car wreck he couldn’t stop staring at. 

He felt helpless. Frustrated. Sick to his stomach. 

Midoriya, he thought to himself faintly as he watched the boy sob in relief, looked more damaged than he’d imagined, although his appearance was vaguely familiar for a reason he couldn’t recall. His arms looked like a twisted wreck, wrist mangled. Blood escaped his mouth and nose and mixed with his tears, soaking his clothes as he cried his small heart out, and Aizawa mourned the boy, not for the first time. He mourned the loss of this young soul, taking a minute to catch his breath from the horrific sight as he grit his teeth so tightly he thought he heard them creak.

He expected his newfound - almost unwanted - ability to fade or disappear suddenly one day. Aizawa hoped, but that day never came. Midoriya was always present in the classroom, a constant. 

As - happy…? - as Aizawa was for having his curiosity sated, he didn’t want the sight of Midoriya rubbed in his face either. It was hard. The poor kid struggled with every rattling inhale, his wide eyes lacking the natural shine of life as Midoriya scanned his surroundings with an off-kilter clarity. His broken body had to compromise with the movements he wanted to make, and with every struggle Midoriya had to suffer through Aizawa’s heart would squeeze in sympathy. 

He tried to focus his attention on training the students - for the Sports Festival and in general. He threw himself into the work, trying to drown out the feelings of helplessness and regret into hope for the future, the future resting on the backs of these up and coming heroes. Aizawa did the best he could, but Midoriya’s transparent form hovered in his peripheral, damning evidence that it wasn’t possible to save everyone. Suddenly the Sports Festival - once grand and luxurious and such a crucial part of U.A’s routine - felt so...small. So minor next to a small child’s suffering, his life stolen with his tragedy carved into his flesh. 

Midoriya, very clearly, was not having the same issue. He was thriving off of the new attention, floating around the classroom and giggling as Aizawa’s gaze tracked his progress. He flung signs Aizawa’s way, cheerful and expressive, and he wondered if Midoriya had been deaf in his life before. Aizawa vowed to learn sign, at least the basics, but that was hard to achieve with everything on his plate. He saved the project for later.

He was struggling to focus on teaching. Midoriya liked to tease the students - batting at hair, tugging clothes or poking skin - and he especially seemed to tease Bakugo and his group of friends, along with Todoroki. When he wasn’t teasing them, he was checking on everyone else, or hovering over Bakugo’s shoulder looking as content as he was probably going to get. The kid was a major distraction, less to the students and more to himself, but Aizawa knew he would never demand the kid to stop. He was only having fun, but that meant the distraction never went away, and Aizawa was sure this wasn’t something he would get used to - at least not quickly. 

He was even struggling with staff meetings. Midoriya grew peculiarly quiet during those times, staying close to himself or Nedzu, but he was still expressive. Oftentimes Midoriya signed careful words directed at Nedzu - confirming the principal could see the kid - as he struggled to make his broken wrist cooperate with him. Aizawa couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He was caught by Nedzu. Really, it had only been a matter of time. He was asked to stay behind, and the fluffy principal calmly crossed his paws on the desk and asked him outright if he could see Midoriya. Aizawa didn’t hide it, openly stating that yes, he could, and he wasn’t sure why. Nedzu pointed out his near death experience at the USJ - his own brush with death - and theorized it probably had something to do with that. All the while Midoriya hovered, curious, his gaze flickering between the two as they conversed. 

Aizawa resigned himself to the fact that this wouldn’t go away, so he tried to make the most of it. He placed the EMF on his desk and clicked it on. He had all of Midoriya’s focus then. 

Why don’t we give you something to do, Aizawa suggested, monotone. Would you want to help me?

Midoriya beamed, body blurring with rampant energy, and Aizawa watched in fascination as it caused the window panes to rattle. Huh, so that’s what he was doing. 

He gestured to the EMF, and Aizawa obligingly recorded. Midoriya’s warped speech bounced off the walls and reverberated for a moment, his mouth blurring, then he stopped, eyes wide and focused on him with the biggest grin on his face. 

“ Ỳęs͜! ”

The next day in class was a strange one, well, for the students. Aizawa was admittedly enjoying himself.

He recruited Midoriya to help him throughout class time. The kid would float around the room, careful and attentive, and if a student seemed like they were struggling and hadn’t spoken up yet, Midoriya would point to that student so Aizawa could take care of it. He was also recruited to keep an eye out for cheaters, and Aizawa knew to the students it seemed like their teacher was omnipresent. Their stunned and alarmed expressions when Aizawa commented on an aspect of their work he couldn’t have possibly known about, or caught them cheating in a way he normally wouldn’t have was absolutely priceless, and it served to brighten his mood greatly. 

His job was to keep them on their toes, after all, and this just so happened to be a fantastic way of doing such.

After their little agreement was implemented, Aizawa found his focus on Midoriya to be much less of a problem. Instead of spending his time hovering and playing harmless pranks, he was contributing to the classroom, and now when Aizawa focused on him it felt like less of a distraction and more of a necessity, which allowed his attention to bounce around instead of settling in one place. 

Not that it didn’t happen at all, it just felt...more justified, Aizawa supposed.

With his attention sharpened, he was able to take a deep breath and focus on what mattered now - the Sports Festival.

It was true that heroes couldn’t save everyone, but Aizawa could make sure the next generation were as prepared as they could be. If he had to put blood, sweat and tears into making sure there were as little casualties like Midoriya as possible, in both the present and future, Aizawa was only happy to oblige. 

Maybe Midoriya would want to help as well...He’d have to ask.

Chapter Text

Toshinori was avoiding Class 1-A. Shame burned white hot in his stomach because of it, but it was the truth. How could he enter that room knowing what he did? How could he face that poor child?

He had failed Midoriya Izuku, and it was tearing him apart. 

As much as Toshinori wanted to avoid the situation all together, there was a lingering hope, that maybe, just maybe , it hadn’t been his soul crushing words that pushed Midoriya, and he desperately - perhaps selfishly - clung to that hope. Maybe Toshinori was just overthinking things, as he tended to do, right? Maybe Midoriya had a poor heart, or a car crash had taken the boy’s life. 

Anything. Anything else . 

In the end he asked the police to pull up Midoriya Izuku’s file, and being All Might he wasn’t questioned on his sudden interest. Toshinori excused himself, shielded from prying eyes in a secluded room no one was using. He regretted many, many things as soon as he opened the vanilla folder. 

Izuku Midoriya, young and bright eyed, freckles peppering his cheeks with a smile full of hope stared up at him, and Toshinori stared at the picture until it left an after image in his vision. The date of his death was familiar, ringing bells in a way Toshinori knew was substantial, and thinking on it at all dredged up clearer memories than before now that he had a proper face to the name.

It was a fan gathering. It was towards the end, he was trying to slip away from the bustling crowds, he managed to flee into an empty alley and then - and then Midoriya showed up. Clutching a notebook tight, the starry eyes and tense posture of a loyal fan. He had asked for an autograph, awestruck. Toshinori was exhausted, his time running out quickly, but he signed it. He couldn’t say no to the young boy. 

That had been a mistake. 

Midoriya talked. He rambled and raved, stuttering over his words and fiddling with his hands as his gaze darted about the alley, like he didn’t think he was worthy enough to look at Toshinori for long. Even when he got his notebook back - hero notes for the future Vol. 11, Toshinori noted with amusement and intrigue - Midoriya just kept talking , as if he would physically explode if he made himself stop. There was a brief warning, Toshinori’s body seizing, then he lost his form with a burst of smoke and steam. When the air cleared, Midoriya’s confusion had turned into shock which turned into a mixture of horror and heavy concern. 

Toshinori knew this young child didn’t need the burden of knowing the Symbol of Peace was gravely injured. He reassured the boy he was fine, insisted it was part of his Quirk - which wasn’t a lie, per se, it was now it just wasn’t meant to be - and went to send him on his way. 

Midoriya paused, then his gaze dropped to the floor and he - and he spilled his heart out. Begged his idol to affirm that everything he strived for wasn’t for naught, that everyone else was wrong for thinking his dreams were unachievable.

Toshinori stared at the picture on the file, the only thing left of Midoriya as he was meant to be, and swallowed hard. 

He had ripped that dream from Midoriya’s shaking hands and stomped on it. 

But - but he had just wanted the boy safe. He just wanted him safe . He had been so young he - the hero world was a cruel place - Quirkless on top of it? Midoriya would’ve never survived out there.

A harsh voice in his head, quiet but cruel, chimed in. Well what a great job you did, speeding the process up.

Toshinori could taste blood on his tongue, and he braced himself for the coughing fit that washed over him, barely able to avoid making a mess on the rug underneath his feet. 

He couldn’t just leave this be. It was his fault, his wrongdoing, whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t let Midoriya go on thinking that Toshinori was just being a jackass, he couldn’t . He had to talk to the boy, and he made a promise to himself that he would.

Well, he never said when he’d do so, right?

Guilt and shame ate away at what was left of his insides as he sped past Class 1-A’s door. 

He couldn’t face Midoriya yet. There was something he needed to do first. 

With a bouquet of lilies and white roses clutched in his sweating, tight grip, Toshinori walked through the gates of Musutafu’s graveyard. The sky was a clear blue, the grass flourishing under his feet, and the scenery clashed with the worn grey of the tombstones littered about the lot.

Honestly, Toshinori didn’t even know where to start looking for the boy’s grave, but having no plan never stopped him before and it wasn’t about to stop him now. 

A lot of time was spent dawdling about the graveyard, staring at tombstones and attempting to decipher any pattern in the layout of names to make his search easier. He never found one, and his hopes were sinking lower and lower as time dragged on. He was determined, however, and vowed to himself he wouldn’t go home until he paid his respects to Midoriya - properly.

If it hadn’t been for a dark green spec out of the corner of his eye, Toshinori would’ve searched all day long. He noticed a figure standing by themselves, dressed in all black with green hair, and he froze, knowing exactly who it must be.

Toshinori’s heart started pounding, sweat collecting under his arms and down his back. He steeled himself, swallowed the blood in the back of his throat, took a deep, fortifying breath, and marched forward. 

He stopped a respectable distance away and hovered for a moment. A plump, kind woman was stooped low, busy arranging what looked to be her own bouquet of flowers in a terra-cotta pot to her liking. The grave in front of her, brand new and shining, read “Izuku Midoriya, a hero in our hearts”, and Toshinori felt like crying.

Hello ma’am, he said instead, and the woman looked over her shoulder at him. She had a far away look in her eye, like she wasn’t all there. 

Oh, yes, hello, was her response. She shifted one more flower, then stood up to face him properly. A sad, floaty smile rested on her face, and Toshinori got a stronger feeling that there was something wrong with her, like her head was in the clouds and floating to a place where no one could reach her. Can I help you?

Toshinori weakly held up his bouquet, hoping she approved. I knew your son in passing and I came to pay respects. Are you...his mother?

He approached the grave at the woman’s satisfied nod, and he bent down to rest the flowers right in front of the tombstone. 

I am, she said. Midoriya Inko. Who are you?

Toshinori stood and took a good look at her. Deep green eyes and similar hair, he could easily see the resemblance. He briefly wondered if her son’s freckles were from his father.

Would you like to get some coffee with me? Toshinori asked instead of answering. I...want to speak with you, if that’s alright.

Midoriya Inko nodded with no hesitation or wariness, instantly trusting. Toshinori’s heart clenched as she began following his lead, and he had to wonder if the loss of her son had broken her or if she had naturally been like this. Either way, it was unsettling, and Toshinori kept a careful eye on her all the way to a cafe a couple blocks from the cemetery. 

Their talk was enlightening and disheartening, wrapped in a flurry of emotions that Toshinori had no way of sorting through without tearing himself apart to do it. 

Thankfully, the longer the woman was away from her son’s grave the more conscious she became of her surroundings, and the wariness Toshinori had initially anticipated crept across her face. She pressed for more information, but he insisted they should get settled first. 

Toshinori paid for both of their orders. It was the least he could do.

Once they were settled at a table, drinks steaming hot, Toshinori did his best to introduce himself in a way that wouldn’t put her on edge even more so. He stuck to his given name and avoided ‘All Might’ like the alias was poison on his tongue. 

Midoriya Inko asked him how he knew her son, and Toshinori paused. He couldn’t say too much - he wasn’t ready for it - but he couldn’t lie to the woman either.

I met him at a fan gathering, Toshinori ventured carefully. He showed me one of his notebooks. Your son was incredibly observant.

From what Toshinori remembered of the boy’s rambling, that wasn’t a lie. He had been talking about All Might’s attacks and the pros and cons of fighting up close like he did, and regardless of how tired Toshinori had been, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

Inko teared up at that, and Toshinori’s heart shuddered with her inhale.They got to talking, a careful, delicate dance of words to avoid the heavy dread and tension the topic threatened to impose on them. Toshinori mostly let her talk, content to sit back and listen about the personality of a boy long passed.

Inko took a breath, and Toshinori jumped in. How have you been doing, with all of this? I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.

Inko wiped a stray tear from her cheek, a wobbly smile very reminiscent of her son on her lips. It hasn’t been easy, but I have friends that have helped me so much. The house is so...empty now. Quiet. My Izuku was such a chatterbox, it livened things up so much. She laughed, melancholy thick on her tongue. Sometimes I think I can still hear him up in his room, muttering away to himself, but I know it’s only my heart longing for something that won’t ever be, not anymore.

Toshinori’s stomach rolled, the coffee he’d been sipping on bubbling sickeningly as his palms started to sweat. 

She didn’t know. She didn’t know.

His mind raced, quickly trying to weigh pros and cons of a decision he couldn’t back out of. Would she even believe him if he claimed her son was haunting his classroom? Was it a good idea to risk an outburst in such an open place if she called him a liar? How could he tell her? How would he lead up to it? 

What should he do ?

She continued on with the conversation, ignorant to his wild, scattered thoughts. He clutched onto his mug in a nervous grip, smile shaky and crumbling every passing minute. He would hardly remember a single word she spoke to him after that, all of it spinning and fading into one massive blur until they were in front of the cafe and saying their goodbyes. 

At the last minute, as Midoriya Inko began to walk away, Toshinori called out to her and asked her for her number. She gave it to him, insisting they go out for coffee again sometime. 

Toshinori gripped the piece of scrap paper in his hand and stared at it, feeling numb. 

This would not end well. He could feel it.

Chapter Text

Shouto didn’t want to go home. 

The Sports Festival loomed on the horizon. Training - both at home and at school - was becoming tougher, more frequent. It was the hardest they’d pushed themselves yet, training for as long as they had to in order to work out any kinks and cracks in their armor to come out on top, and the stress of it all was weighing on him. Every movement caused his bruises to pulse in complaint, hidden cuts opening back up each time he bended or stretched wrong. That was before he got to school, and the training he endured for U.A only slathered another layer of bruises and grime onto his skin. 

Shouto wasn’t social to begin with, but he isolated himself even more. Endeavor’s eyes bore holes into his back wherever he went. Everything he did was a constant reminder of what was expected of him, and all of his focus zeroed in on giving his father as big of a middle finger as he could feasibly pull off. 

Not only was all of his effort focused on that, but he couldn’t take having to hang around people that only saw him as Endeavor’s son, an icon, lucky . It made him want to scream in frustration, grab them by the shoulders and shake them and say he’s not who you think he is! over and over until they finally understood , but he couldn’t, and he found himself helpless, struggling to move forward but refusing to turn around.

So he did neither. He stalled for time. He found himself hovering around the classroom after school more and more, regardless of Bakugo’s annoyed glare, waiting until Aizawa had to leave before doing so himself. 

One day, when the thought of going back to the suppressing quiet of his home made his gut clench and his skin preemptively tingle with the feeling of phantom flames, he asked Aizawa if he could stay after for a little while longer than normal. He claimed he focused better in the classroom than at home - which wasn’t a lie - and to Shouto’s surprise the man didn’t question it. Aizawa’s gaze flickered over Shouto’s shoulder, momentarily distracted before he met his eyes again, telling him he would be in the staff room and to get him if he needed anything or when he was finished with his homework. Aizawa left the room, leaving Shouto with an empty classroom. 

Well, seemingly empty. Izuku was gently whispering to either himself or Shouto, the student wasn’t entirely sure which, perfectly content with having a one-sided conversation. 

He meant to do homework, he really did. Shouto had set up a studying spot in his usual seat and was fully prepared for the migraine that was English. But when Izuku started pointedly tapping on his desk and then at the back of the classroom where the EMF resided, Shouto figured he could postpone the migraine for another day. He stood from his seat and walked over curiously, pulling the machine from its storage.

He turned it on and waited a while in an awkward silence. He wasn’t sure how much Izuku had to say, so he just guessed. Shouto warned Izuku that he was pausing - as he’d seen others do - and played it back.

He mentally thanked the support course girl that had fixed the EMF, otherwise this conversation would’ve been a nightmare to understand.

“ Yóu ҉lo̧o͘k ́sa̵d,͝”   Izuku said, voice managing to push past the static. “ I’m ͞so̸rry ͘f͟or ̶slapping ͟your ha͟i̴r ͞to͘day͢.͜ I ̵d́idn’͏t m̷e̛a̧n t̶o͝ ma̡ke yo̕u̵ u̶pset̶. ̴I’m sor͞ry. ”

Shouto sighed. Right, Izuku wouldn’t know. It’s fine, it’s...not because of you, he explained. 

“ Do y͏ou̧ wa̕nt ̶t̢ò t͡al͢k ͡abou͏t ͜i̸t? ”

He paused at that, thoughtful, and in his silence Izuku tapped the table to get him to record again. It took two recordings to get Izuku’s rant in, but they managed.

“ Nobody use͢d t̀ò ̸li̡sţęn͟ ̧to m̸é, ͝e̡v̡eņ ̵tho͡u͘gh I want́e͟d̶ ͜t͜o ́t̀alk,̨ ” Izuku said. “ N̷o̵body’s n͝o͝ti̧ce̴d you҉ ͝b҉ein͘g͜ s҉ad, I ̨th́in̷k,҉ so͘ ́t̴h͞ey h͘ave͝n’͝t ͘listen͡ed͏ t̷o͠ yoù ̶either̸, b͘u̸t I’ll̨ ҉l̡ist̡e̡n҉ ͝if͠ ͝you want ̢t̨o.͜ ”

The words built up like a tidal wave in his throat, and he choked on them. He both desperately wanted to take up Izuku’s offer and pretend Izuku had said nothing at all.

Before he decided, he had a question to ask. Do you know who Endeavor is?

“ The҉ Num̴be͞r Two ̴Ḩe͏ro,̶ ” Izuku replied, hesitant. “ He̕ ͠s͢e̢ems s̵c̶͡҉ąr̶y̶̢͜.̴ Laşţ I̕ ҉k͠new͞ ̸peop̸le ̶did̵n̸’͠t ́l̡ik̶e͝ hi̢m v̷e̛ŗy mu͠ch. ”

That was all Shouto needed. At first he kept the story vague, only giving the bare minimum of an explanation so Izuku could follow, but then Izuku started tapping the table and asking questions.

No one had asked for his side before. Not in so much detail.

The story ended up pouring out of him, the invisible limit to his endurance and patience snapping like a rubber band, and he talked in a rush, desperate to get the words out as if he was draining poison. He talked about his mother, about his siblings, about how his father treated him and how the man’s shadow casted a somber, quiet atmosphere at his house and the strain he was under as the Sports Festival crept ever closer. He admitted how much his body pained him, how much he hurt. How much he hated his old man, and how much he hated the fire he could wield and the promise he made to himself to spite his father. 

When he finally finished, he felt exhausted, and he sighed in both relief and tiredness. 

Izuku spoke in the silence as the small machine recorded, his speech slow and careful. 

“ Ņo͡b̸o̶dy l͏i͘s̢tene͏d͟ to m͜e, ” he began, and Shouto carefully absorbed each word. 

It wasn’t often the dead could speak on their regrets, and Todoroki knew he wouldn’t just offer platitudes and blind reassurances. He could tell in Izuku’s tone. 

“ I was̕ a̕l̕one. I ҉w̶a͟s ̸śc͞ar͠e̶d and̵ şa͏d҉ ͠an͏d̶ ͢did͠ ͟so̴m͞et̨h͟ing̡ ̕I ̶reģret.͡ ̸Ì wo̷u҉l͜d g̢ive͘ ͢anythi̷ńg͘ ̴f͏o̷r͡ ̶a c҉h̨ance̕ ͜to ̴g͞o ҉b҉a̢ck a͘n̷d̀ d̡o͏ th̨ing͞s̵ ͘d͠iffér̨ent͏ly,̢ a̡nyt̶h͢ing. ҉Ha̵t̴e͝ yo̷ur̛ ͝da͢d͟,̵ he ͜de͞se̷rv̕es̨ ̛it, bu͜t̕ ̨d̶òn̸’̀t̴ ͡hate̷ yo̴u̷r͜s̨elf́ t̸o͢o͟. ̸Ìt̵’͜ş ́no̸t҉ ̷fa̷ir. ͝It’҉s҉ yoųr ̵Qu͜i͝r͟k ̵t̨o do w̡h͟a̧t y̡ou̡ w̷a̴nt̶ w̸i̡th it.̨ ̛D́o̧n͘’t͢ h̵a͡t̀e͢ yo̵ur͡self̕ ̷fo̡r͢ l̵i̧v͏i̶ng͏,͜ maḱé it ͜y͜o͏u͠r h̡op͡e ̢i͟nst́e̴ad͠,͝ ̴tǫ ̵d̛ơ ̶bètte҉r͏.̡ ̷To ͜b̶e ͟b͝et͏ter͢! ”

He stared at the EMF as Izuku’s voice faded out, eyes wide as his brain tried to catch up to the advice he was just given. 

The precious, life-changing advice.

Your Quirk . 

He’d never thought of it like that before. He had always seen it as a power forced on him, pressed into his palms by his father’s hands until they warped to fit the flames. Not once did it occur to him that it wasn’t his father’s Quirk. It was his now. His hands were molded to fit fire and heat already, ever since his birth, and his father only added the scars. 

It hit him then, why Izuku would be telling him this, why he reached out at all. Izuku had been paying attention, could tell the difference in his attitude as the Sports Festival crept ever closer, and he had been concerned for him.

Like a friend would.

He couldn’t see through his blurring vision. Shouto wiped his face with his sleeves as he swallowed a sob. 

His world suddenly looked bigger. Not brighter, maybe, but he realized he had more options, and he no longer felt like he was suffocating in his own smoke. A hand had finally reached out to him, friendly, helpful, and Shouto would be damned if he wasn’t going to take it.

Izuku tapped his back quickly, chills shooting down his spine, and Shouto looked back to find that he had mildly set himself on fire in his burst of emotion. He desperately patted himself and the chair down, thankful that the fire alarm hadn’t gone off. 

He sniffed as he stared at his palms, and he blinked a couple times to soothe the burning in his eyes. A gentle brush against his knee made him record again. 

“ Are͠ ̕yo̢u ̸o҉ka͏y͏?̴ ”

Shouto, for the first time in a long time, smiled. I’m okay , he said, and he meant it.

He still had his father to face when he exited the classroom doors, but he didn’t let himself worry about it yet. He curled up next to the EMF and spoke to Class 1-A’s ghost. Izuku helped him come up with ideas to get used to the flames - his flames - starting with the warmth concentrated at the tip of his finger, flickering and tiny. Shouto’s hands shook, but the murmuring of a distorted voice kept him grounded. Izuku’s giggles bounced off the walls, and he cheerfully said through the EMF, “ It̵ l̨o͠o̷k̀s l̵ik̡e͜ ͘a͞ ca͟ndle!͢ ”

In that moment, Shouto felt like nothing could stop him, not even Endeavor. It was his Quirk, and no one else’s.

If his old man had a problem with  Shouto using his Quirk to make the ghost of a kind, helpful child happy - making his friend happy - then the old man could eat shit.

Chapter Text

The class of 1-A was tucked away in a waiting room, listening for the moment they would be called to exit. 

Some, like Kaminari and Mina, were waiting anxiously, unable to sit still as they paced or restlessly stretched off to the side. Some, like Bakugo and Koda, were settled at the table, outwardly calm and patient. Todoroki had his normal stone-like features, unreadable, staring thoughtfully at the rapidly flickering lights as he leaned against the wall.

Izuku was hovering about the ceiling, unable to curb his excitement as he giggled away, the lights reacting to his restless energy. 

Kacchan was about to enter the Sports Festival. They had both dreamed of this moment as kids, whispering to each other in the dark about hero titles and super moves and talking about who they’d want attention from, but seeing Kacchan actually here was a whole new experience in of itself. It sent thrums of energy into his bones that Izuku hadn’t felt in years. 

He was excited for all of them. Pro heroes all over the world would have their eyes on the event, and Izuku was sure each and every one of them would leave their own unique fingerprint. He couldn’t wait to see how. 

He lowered himself next to Kacchan, brushing the back of his neck with a light touch and making the blonde shiver with the cold of it. He shot a smirk over his shoulder anyway, and Izuku grinned wide. He moved over to Shouto next, tapping at his crossed arms. Shouto’s passive face changed to one of realization, and he uncrossed them, a small smile pulling at his lips as his eyes darted around the room, searching. Izuku floated back up to the ceiling, wondering if he should send a similar message of good luck to Mina and Kaminari especially, but Izuku hadn’t interacted with them much and wasn’t sure the message would get across. The last thing he wanted to do was set them on edge even farther right before the event started.

Izuku enjoyed his pranks, but he knew there was a time and place.

The intercom clicked on, telling them to head out. There was a brief pause as everyone gathered their wits, courage and strength, then they stood up from their chairs and straightened their backs. 

Class 1-A walked into the arena with their heads held high, their invisible plus one a silent but easily felt cheerleader.

The stadium was huge, one gigantic circle that stretched up into the sky and was peppered with tiny specs that sat in the bleachers. A platform was set up in the center of the circle, with Midnight grinning widely on top of it, hands settled on her hips. The other classes were already gathered and waiting for them, a mass of students hovering in one anxious cloud.

Class 1-A made their way over. Izuku, however, had spotted the commentator's booth, and he flew up with a childish cackle.

Aizawa had been spotted.

The second Izuku was eye level with the man, his face shifted into a mixture of resignation and subdued amusement. Izuku only waved at him with a giggle, that renewed energy flooding in his veins and making the machines in the room malfunction for a moment. Present Mic fiddled with the technology, muttering under his breath, while Eraserhead gave him the most unimpressed stare Izuku had seen yet. 

In Izuku’s defense, the stadium really was huge and he needed a good vantage point. If he floated aimlessly in the sky it would give him a disorienting feeling of unnatural weightlessness - this was the perfect compromise. 

Hopefully the machines won’t give out while we’re talking, Aizawa stated flatly, still looking at him, and Izuku understood what he said between the lines. If the machines gave out during the festival, it’d cause some serious problems, so keep it under control. Izuku gave the man a slightly cockeyed salute in return and floated by, brushing shoulders with him to make the teacher shudder with cold chills. Izuku giggled, ignoring Present Mic’s wide eyes as he whipped his head around the room for the source of the voice, probably surprised Izuku was there at all.

He turned just in time to see Kacchan walking up to stand on the platform, most likely to make his comment for the class. Izuku felt his heart pound at the sight of his best friend, confident and strong with all eyes on him. This is what they had strived for. Every single student of U.A had worked themselves to the bone for this moment, latching onto this chance to shine. 

Everyone held their breath for his words, even Izuku.

From all the way up in the commentator’s booth, Izuku could see a mischievous grin spread across Kacchan’s face. Everyone do your best, don’t let up, don’t give up, he said. It’ll be all the more fulfilling when I make you eat my dust.

Aizawa groaned, dragging a hand across his face in exasperation as the classes all shouted in a mass of anger and disbelief. Izuku only giggled. Kacchan may have softened, but Izuku still expected worse. His words were almost inspiring.

He stepped down from the platform, and Midnight took center stage, kickstarting the very beginning of the Sports Festival - the race.

Toshinori hovered uneasily by the door leading up to the booth.

He was waiting for Aizawa to take a break, and was posted up near the door unnecessarily early. His coworker wouldn’t have a chance to come down for another hour or so, but Toshinori really, really didn’t want to miss him.

The second Toshinori had joined the students to walk them down to the waiting room, he had felt the familiar chill that Toshinori now recognized as Midoriya’s weighing presence. Toshinori did his best not to raise his voice or talk much at all. Anything might trigger the boy again, and the thought of setting him off was one Toshinori wasn’t sure he could stand. Midoriya had every right to be upset, to hate him, and Toshinori still hadn’t explained himself. He doubted he would be able to talk properly around the guilt squeezing his chest anyway. He had felt out of breath, more on edge and panicky, and he hadn’t been sure if it was his own feelings or Midoriya’s unnatural vibe that was setting him off like that. Maybe a combination of both.

Aizawa knew about Midoriya, that much was clear from how the man seemed to be teaming up with Nedzu in staff meetings lately, and how at ease he seemed with such a daunting feeling weighed on his shoulders. 

Toshinori wasn’t sure how much his coworker knew in general, but he knew to some extent, and Toshinori wanted to quiz Aizawa about how Midoriya normally acted in his classroom. He knew there was a difference, simply based on overheard, worried conversations between students during his class. Maybe getting more insight into his regular behaviors would give Toshinori the advantage - and the bravery - to finally bite the bullet and do what needed to be done.

For now, he had to wait in the empty hallway in front of the booth door, his legs aching and his stomach too nauseous to be hungry despite how little he had to eat that morning. 

His phone burned a hole in his pants pocket, filling him with a sense of urgency. 

Katsuki was having the time of his fucking life. 

The second they were set free for the race was the second he bolted, explosions bursting out of his palms and sending him rocketing forward, wind pushing at his skin and hair, paired with the physical exercise of using his quirk as his muscles braced against the force made his heart pound with adrenaline.

Deku was watching. Somewhere in the crowd, Deku was there cheering him on, but instead of putting him down, the thought made his chest swell with excitement and pride and hope all balled into one blossoming emotion that coursed through his blood like liquid fire. 

He would win this, he had no doubt about it. Katsuki was already miles ahead of everyone else. Well, mostly everyone.

No matter how fast he pushed himself, no matter how many hurdles he passed as quickly as possible, the half and half bastard was still ahead of him. He was a looming presence, the sound of feet skating on ice too far away for Katsuki’s taste. If anyone in the class had any chance at beating Katsuki to first place, it was him. 

He roared with laughter as he soared through the air, another round of explosions pushing him forward. 

Let’s see what happens when ice meets fire that’s not your own, I doubt I’ll be as shy, Katsuki thought, a determined grin curling his lips as he stared holes into half and half’s back.

Aizawa hoped Hizashi didn’t turn and see the smile he was desperately trying to smother. 

Midoriya couldn’t sit still. Even though he wasn’t participating, the kid was ecstatic just to watch, and ever since the race started he hadn’t stopped muttering warped nonsense to himself. The kid just didn’t know what to do with his hands, and every couple of minutes he would shift between the control panel - attempting in vain to mindlessly mess with things - to hovering around Aizawa then Hizashi then back to the control panel. Occasionally he would attempt to sign something, but Aizawa couldn’t make sense of it and Midoriya would give up, at least temporarily. It made a mild guilt gnaw at his stomach, and his resolve to learn sign language when all of this ended only strengthened. What he wouldn’t give to know what Midoriya thought about all of this. 

Aizawa backpedaled from that thought. The last time he had wanted something like that, he had almost died to get his wish. He would really rather not have a repeated experience.

Regardless, the kid was a restless ball of energy, and seeing him so energetic was a new but not unwelcome sight to see. Whatever it was that had caught Midoriya’s interest, he was clearly passionate about it, and seeing the kid beam as Bakugo let out a euphoric cackle had Aizawa ducking behind his scarf to mask his expression.

He was free to focus on Midoriya anyway, since Hizashi would’ve run the show no matter what Aizawa’s excuse was for not paying attention, a bonus for his friend’s extroverted tendencies. Besides, there wasn’t much for Aizawa to comment on that he felt wasn’t obvious already.

Hizashi yelped - dramatically and right in his ear - as Todoroki crossed the finish line, Bakugo right behind in second place. Midoriya inhaled, then whooped and hollered with almost as much force as Hizashi, his voice doubling and slightly rattling. Thankfully Aizawa couldn’t see any pain in his face or posture, only pride and excitement that rattled the glass in front of them to the point where Aizawa worried the windows would burst. 

Aizawa sat back in his chair, content to just watch him. He was just glad the kid was enjoying himself. 

Izuku charged out of the window of the booth, phasing through the glass harmlessly and rocketing to the floor, skidding to a halt right next to Kacchan. His best friend was breathless, a gleam in his eye Izuku was all too familiar with. He rapidly tapped Kacchan’s shoulder, giggling and laughing and cheering for him snatching second place in the first event of the Sports Festival. 

Kacchan didn’t seem too happy at first, but the more Izuku celebrated the more he relaxed, a smirk sliding onto his face and making Izuku’s heart soar. He charged over to Shouto, beaming, and gave him the same treatment, laughing and cheering with lightning quick pokes to his shoulder and arm, even now making it a point to do so to his left side. 

Izuku didn’t expect Shouto to use his left side for combat, not so soon, but he noticed Shouto regulating his body heat and creating a palm sized flame when he needed it, and that in itself was progress. He lasted so much longer with his ice doing that, and Izuku wished with every fiber in his being he could properly encourage him, say he did a fantastic job and to keep his head up high, but he knew it was pointless. 

Instead, he settled for pokes and giggles and hoped that was enough. 

Shouto felt warm. He hadn’t truly thought about the fact that Izuku was going to be with them, watching them. At first, when he had crossed the finish line with a flame tucked close to his chest for warmth, a nasty, poisonous feeling had flooded him, intense and bitter and hateful, but then he heard the giggling of a ghost, hovering around a slowly grinning Bakugo. Izuku rushed over to him as soon as he had finished harassing his explosive friend, poking at Shouto’s left arm furiously and giggling with reckless abandon. Shouto couldn’t stop a smile himself, the harsh emotions slowly fading for a softer, more soothing feeling of peace. He had to remember he was fighting fire with fire - not violence with violence but hatred with warmth. He could be better than Endeavor, and he would. 

Izuku’s giggles faded out, but his moment of clarity didn’t. 

Midnight called for attention, and the second part of the Sports Festival was revealed: the Cavalry battle, painting a ten million point bullseye on his back. 

Ice would always be his primary source of fighting, Shouto doubted that would ever change and didn’t particularly care to do so anyway. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his flames at all, even for non-fighting purposes. 

As Midnight gave them the clear to find their teammates, Shouto’s mind churned. 

Aizawa stood from his seat for the first time in roughly an hour and a half, stretching his arms and wondering if Midoriya would be upset if he left for a moment.

He needed coffee. Any longer with Hizashi’s booming commentary with so little sleep was going to drive him crazy, and Midoriya seemed preoccupied right now with the students, but he still worried about Midoriya coming back to see him gone. What if he was relying on Aizawa’s presence as a source of familiarity with all the noise and new faces? He was just a kid after all, and the last thing anyone needed was for Midoriya to get upset and bust a lightbulb or something similar. 

But he needed coffee. 

He gave himself ten minutes - they technically had a half hour before they needed to commentate on the next event - which he figured was plenty of time to get coffee and come back. Just in case, he told Hizashi that if it got cold out of nowhere, to say Aizawa was getting coffee and he’d be back soon. Hizashi barely raised an eyebrow at the instructions and shooed the tired teacher out the door. 

As he walked down the stairs, he mulled over Midoriya’s behavior. 

It was definitely a positive seeing him behave his age in such a normal way. Being so excited to see his friends participate chipped away at Aizawa’s stone heart, and Aizawa tossed around ideas of small activities the class could do to make the kid as happy. Maybe he could think of something Midoriya could participate in himself, even? 

Midoriya couldn’t do much, admittedly. The things he could actually interact with were pretty limited, but he could certainly touch things. Buttons, maybe? A touch screen?

A touch screen. Could Midoriya interact with his phone?

He opened the door, still partially lost in thought, and almost walked right past Toshinori who was sitting on the floor right next to the door. The man stood quickly, towering. 

Aizawa! Can I speak with you? he asked. 

Aizawa gave him his best deadpan expression. I’m getting coffee, he replied, starting to move. He was on a timer after all.

Ah, yes, may I come with? Toshinori didn’t wait for a response before falling in step next to him. Aizawa kept a groan to himself, steadfastly ignoring Toshinori’s attempt at small talk. Hizashi was already giving him a headache for fuck sake. 

Unfortunately, Toshinori didn’t quite get the hint and kept up his one-sided conversation the whole way to the break room. The second they stepped inside, Aizawa went straight to the coffee machine, thinking about how he would broach the topic of his ideas to the kid. Aizawa wasn’t sure how Midoriya would respond to them, but there was no harm in trying. He poured his coffee and took a sip, patiently waiting for the caffeine to kick in. 

Toshinori knew this was important, knew he had to say something, but his pounding heart was strangling any words that were trying to push past. His palms were sweating, hands shaking as he closed the door to the break room a little too fast to be natural. 

He had been falling apart at the seams to talk to Aizawa before, but now that his coworker was actually here, Toshinori was - struggling would put it lightly. He felt trapped, not knowing how to broach this topic or bring it up in a gentle, not jarring way. 

Toshinori squared his shoulders. He was All Might, what was he doing? All his career he was comfortable with plowing ahead, full throttle. He didn’t need a plan, he needed to square his shoulders and just - go for it. 

He took in a deep breath. Aizawa, I was - I was wondering something about Midoriya.

Aizawa paused from where he was sipping coffee at the counter. He slowly turned, his red eyes glaring and focused. 

I never told you about Midoriya, Aizawa said, tone grave as his eyes glared. How do you know about him?

Well, this was a poor start.

Aizawa had turned to properly face him, hands clutching his mug of coffee. Toshinori felt horribly cornered. 

How do you know about Midoriya, Aizawa said, growing more and more firm. 

As much as Toshinori wanted to lie, he had to be honest with his coworker, not just for his own benefit, but for Midoriya himself. 

I...met him, before. I only realized who was in the classroom a week or so ago.

Aizawa inhaled deeply, and Toshinori tried hard not to squirm. 

You kept this to yourself for a week. It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. How much do you know?

He shouldn’t withhold information, but was it disrespectful to Midoriya, sharing a secret he had no way of approving? Was it detrimental to keep this to himself? 

He settled for being vague instead. Enough, he tried, but Aizawa stopped him. 

Toshinori. His eyes pierced through the dark shadows of his hair, seeming to glow even with his Quirk inactive. How much do you know.

The Symbol of Peace, the greatest hero to rise in decades, shivered from Aizawa’s gaze.

There was a moment’s pause as Toshinori thought about his next move. He ended up sighing, trudging over to the small table with shame and dread weighing his limbs. He took a seat. Aizawa followed his lead and sat down without a word, expectant.

I looked up his file, Toshinori admitted, slowly, having to force the words out of his clogged throat. I also happened to meet him, a couple years ago. At a fan meeting.

At a worn down table, the smell of coffee doing very little to soothe his nerves as his coworker seemed to stare holes in his head, Toshinori walked through the story with his heart beating painfully in his throat, praying he would still have Aizawa’s company to keep afterwards.

The Cavalry battle would start any minute now. As much as Izuku wanted to be right next to the show, he knew his presence was a major distraction, even for those who got used to the chills, and he’d only get in the way. Besides, it would give Class 1-A an unfair advantage, and Izuku wanted nothing more than to see everyone give it their all, unbiased. So he gave everyone a wave goodbye - that went unnoticed, expectedly - and floated back up to the booth. 

Present Mic was settled in his spot, fiddling with the volume and quality of their microphones. It didn’t look like he’d moved much, but a bottle of water was there when it hadn’t been before, resting on the chair next to him. 

Aizawa was gone.

Izuku frowned. He had been there when Izuku had shot like a bullet to ground zero, and the fact that he wasn’t now was off-putting. 

The booth looked smaller without the man’s presence, less friendly. There were more shadows, more noise, machines that blinked bright colors that made no sense to him. Izuku hesitated, not breaching through the glass. Did he want to be in such a confined space? Maybe floating outside was a better idea after all. But what if Aizawa came back and didn’t see him? Would he worry? Izuku buzzed, unsure, blood pooling in the back of his throat as he debated. He looked down, trying to gauge if it was worth floating all the way back to the ground.

So many people were gathered in the stands, talking and shouting, so many faces Izuku didn’t recognize all congregating together. The stadium was huge. He was standing, but nothing was underneath him, and the feeling of falling even when he wasn’t moving made his stomach drop. A sharp pain blossomed in his forehead, his arms and leg twisting and pulsing. A cracking sound echoed in his aching head, over and over.

Izuku looked up to the sky and whimpered, memories flashing in his mind’s eye. He wanted to go home. He wanted Aizawa, he wanted Kacchan.

Hey, a voice said, muffled from the glass, and Izuku whipped around with tears in his eyes, feeling liquid push past his lips and drip down his chin. His arms and leg still pulsed with phantom pain. 

Present Mic was smiling, still fiddling with the control panel. Aizawa went to get some caffeine in him, he’ll be back any minute now, promise. He had to feel silly, seemingly talking to himself, but Izuku was grateful for the familiar noise. Present Mic wasn’t as comfortable for him as Aizawa, but he was still something to latch on to. Come over here, I’ll show you how I use this to talk to my listeners.

Sniffling, Izuku phased through the glass, slowly making his way to Present Mic and hovering over the teacher’s shoulder, tears dripping down his cheeks. 

Izuku saw the goosebumps appear on Present Mic’s arms from his presence, but if he felt uncomfortable he was great at hiding it. A smile stayed on his face as he worked his way through the buttons, offering for Izuku to press one or two if he was able. One button turned on a microphone, the noise echoing static and making Izuku jump, but the minor scare made him giggle afterwards, more attentive as Present Mic clicked a button that dimmed the lights in the room, making the blinking, colorful lights on the machines turn from sharp and harsh to a gentle, soothing glow.

Izuku settled, content for the moment in Present Mic’s company.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, gaze sweeping around the scenery as he pieced together his plan.

Everyone was going to go for icy hot, that was a given, the ten million was too tempting to avoid for most. Katsuki, however, had a different strategy. 

If everyone was distracted by the ten million, then they would be much less focused on everyone else around them, probably assuming - rightfully so - that the rest of the groups were going after the ten million as well. If Katsuki played his cards right, he could catch a lot of groups off guard by ignoring the ten million completely.

He was aware this might only work once. Other groups might catch onto his plan and be more wary, so he had to pick his first target carefully.

His eyes scanned the different groups mercilessly. He was second place, so going after third place and working his way down was probably a safe bet. Eyebags was a group he probably wanted to avoid - and fuck if that thought didn’t sting, but he brushed it off and forced himself to be rational - and avoiding icy hot was also a must, even getting a little too close. The group he was building looked strong, stable, and as confident as Katsuki was in his own group’s offense and defense, it was an unnecessary risk. Icy hot will be alert and ready, and Katsuki didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. 

Katsuki scoffed to himself, ignoring Kirishima’s curious look. He felt like Deku, gears ticking away as he churned out a strategy, even if Katsuki could do it quietly. He’d have to thank the nerd for the inspiration later.

Aizawa seethed as he made his way back to the booth, massaging at his aching knuckles. 

An understandable injury, when he’d just punched the Number One hero in the face. 

The Pro Hero’s mind raced, his experience as the former, as well as being a teacher, fought to pin down exactly what the worst thing about this whole situation was. His Pro Hero side filtered through post traumatic stress disorder symptoms, his teacher side thinking back on Midoriya’s oddly subdued behavior during staff meetings. Both sides ranted over the incident with All Might’s class, and what that meant .

Midoriya had admitted he had never tried to leave the classroom before his students pushed him to. This entire time, a boy with such a horrible, tragic death was forced into a room with not one, but two of his aggressors. All day during class Midoriya had no choice but to be a silent observer, watching Bakugo go about his life, watching All Might tottle around like nothing was wrong. 

Aizawa was rarely furious, but the only thing he could feel and taste and see was rage.

The bullying was enough, Bakugo’s words were too much, the isolation the boy had most likely gone through was pushing the line. 

Toshinori had not only crossed it, but kept fucking walking. Midoriya was still suffering from all of it. 

Every behavior, every habit Midoriya had made so much more sense. Disturbing, twisted sense. 

He took the stairs up two at a time. Now he had restless energy pent up and he had to sit in a booth for another hour and a half before his next break. He grinded his teeth, wishing he had time to turn on his heel and walk all the way back to punch Toshinori again. 

That poor kid.

Aizawa opened the door to the booth. The artificial lights were dimmed inside, the shutters closed to block light from coming in through the glass. The machine lights glowed faintly, and Hizashi’s voice was uncharacteristically soft as he gestured to the control panel in front of him. 

Midoriya hovered over Hizashi’s shoulder, and when he turned around to face the door, Aizawa could tell the kid had just gotten done crying. More blood than normal stained around his eyes and mouth, clothes speckled with blood but thankfully not soaked. His arms looked more broken than normal, leg bent just a little too much in the wrong way. 

Aizawa stood in the doorway, staring at him, taking in every injury on his small body. His heart sank slowly, a stone light enough to take its time heading to the bottom of the sea. 

Midoriya lit up, upon seeing him, and quickly made his way over, voice murmuring and echoing and wrong, clearly relieved.

This was so unfair. Pro heroes saw hundreds and hundreds of unfair and cruel fates, but it never got easier.

See? I told you, Hizashi’s fond voice cut through his thoughts. He was just gone for the moment.

Midoriya hovered close, causing his left side to feel as though it was freezing over, but instead of the playful behavior from before, it was quieter, a child clinging onto the hand of their parent for security and guidance. As Aizawa walked back over to his chair - Hizashi moving a water bottle in his way - he spoke to the boy, as calm and soothing as he was able. 

I should have warned you I was leaving for a minute. Are you okay?

Aizawa clenched his hands into tight fists. They were in a booth suspended in the air, of course Midoriya would panic. Was it a full on PTSD episode? The room looked fine, and Midoriya seemed to be calming down relatively quickly, but the fact that he had gotten upset at all made his stomach clench. Aizawa knew he should’ve just stayed in the booth, Hizashi would’ve been fine getting coffee for him.

Midoriya murmured back, useless words, but his expression had smoothed out into calm. He sent Hizashi a thankful nod as he sat down, and Hizashi grinned and shrugged back, dismissive of needing an apology instead of the apology itself. 

He had a minute of panic, Hizashi said, not needing Aizawa to ask. The room started shaking pretty bad, but not bad enough to knock anything over. I thought it would for a second there.  

The kid stuck to his side even though Aizawa wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting. The scare seemed to have subdued him for the moment, and Aizawa cursed the timing. 

He should’ve sent Hizashi. He should’ve sent Hizashi. He knew better.

Aizawa hoped he would liven back up during the following events and the moment would be pushed aside. He knew it wasn’t that easy, but Midoriya had just gotten comfortable messing around with things. He thought hard about any way to soothe the kid’s nerves, and it didn’t take long for his earlier ideas to surface. Aizawa pulled out his phone. Technically they weren’t allowed to have their cellphones in the booth - the signal might mess with the machines or the microphones - but Aizawa never cared enough to heed the rule. He ignored Hizashi’s disapproving look next to him and opened his notes app, pulling up the keyboard.

I had an idea earlier, but we have to run a test first, he ventured carefully. Can you try and type something? Whatever you want.

Midoriya shot him a curious look, but floated over to his phone anyway, having to look at his phone upside down. Aizawa turned his phone to face him properly, and Midoriya started poking away. At first his fingers simply phased through the phone, but the kid got the hang of it very quickly, and Aizawa watched with blooming hope as Midoriya typed out an excited message, his phone’s screen glitching like a broken monitor. 

‘Hi Aizawa :D’ was the message he was greeted with when he turned his phone back around. He grinned, more and more ideas surfacing. 

He left the commentating to Hizashi, knowing his friend wouldn’t mind. Instead, he sat with the ghost child and typed out different messages back and forth, turning his phone around and around.

Aizawa might have been shirking his duties, but the huge smile on Midoriya’s face was worth every minute.

Chapter Text

Toshinori cradled his bleeding nose, making his way through the bleachers to get to Recovery Girl. Thankfully he was just Toshinori right now, and nothing else was needed of him until the top three were announced. 

He glanced over at the students. The Cavalry battle had just begun, and Todoroki was pulling an impressive display. He was playing very defensively - for obvious reasons - and the flames that stretched around him in a protective circle was making most other groups get cold feet. Uraraka was the exception however, and it seemed that Todoroki was attempting to ward the floating girl off with his ice, only half way successful. 

Admittedly, Toshinori was a touch disappointed the Sports Festival was only for first years. No matter how many times Mirio tried to explain his time with the event, he knew it would never be the same as watching a pupil participate, getting to root for and cheer them on, being a guiding hand for One For All with Mirio just as Nana had been for him. 

Mirio was a fantastic pupil. He was intelligent, determined, creative, everything he needed someone wielding One For All to be. But he couldn’t help the feeling that something was missing. 

Toshinori stopped in his tracks and gave himself a moment to sulk. He was distracting himself from the look that had been on Aizawa’s face and he knew it. Like he was a monster. 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t blame the other for his reaction. It seemed like he had gotten very close to Midoriya, and hearing about Toshinori’s mistake must have been harder than any hero work he’d done. Toshinori debated on how to make it up to him. Not only did he care about Aizawa himself, but If Aizawa kept Toshinori out of the classroom as much as possible, talking to Midoriya at all would be much, much harder. 

He hoped it wouldn’t come down to Toshinori sneaking behind his back. Aizawa would throw him out of a window. 

Shouto activated his left side as soon as the cavalry battle was called to an end, attempting to get feeling back in his right arm. Uraraka had been merciless in her attempts to get to him, and even when she finally backed off, he still needed to defend himself against the slew of other groups that had immediately jumped at his throat. 

His left hand shot to his forehead, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the headband. He had been careful, but he never knew when someone might have tried to strike behind his back. His group set him on the ground. Shouto could see others follow his lead, and some groups nearby whispered anxiously to themselves, unsure of where they placed in the ranking. 

Shouto’s group was called for first, and it may have been unsurprising but it was a huge weight off his shoulders. Bakugo’s group made second - a curious outcome since Shouto hardly saw him - and Shinsou’s group stole third. Shouto was happy for them. 

Midnight explained the tournament and revealed the match ups. Shouto’s eyes skimmed the board, flexing and relaxing his numb right hand in a repetitive motion, the heat from his left side slowly moving to his right. Sero. He glanced at his classmate. As much of a shame as it was fighting someone who knew his techniques, he knew Sero’s as well, so they would have to get creative fighting one another. Sero’s tape was long range just like his own as well. Who knew how that could go?

He smirked to himself. He hadn’t gotten truly excited about fighting since he was younger, and he found the rush of it to be refreshing. Even as he went to exit for the break they had, strategies churned in his head, attempting to piece together his fire and ice in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm him yet. The ring of fire had been purely defensive after all, and Shouto wasn’t itching to use fire in actual combat. Not yet. 

As he went, he glanced at the board one last time to see the first match of the tournament. The names of the candidates stared him in the face, and he hummed, intrigued. 

He tucked away his half formed strategies for the moment, wiggling his tingling fingers. He would worry about the matches later, right now, he wanted to see if he could hunt down Izuku, and maybe a vending machine for some water. 

He had to grab his phone from Midnight too, now that he thought about it. He turned to do just that.

The kid was buzzing above his head, excited all over again, and Aizawa felt relief. 

The phone was the perfect distraction for Midoriya, and the more Aizawa talked to him, the more he was able to relax from his tense, upset state. Present Mic was back to putting his full attention into commentating, Midoriya was cheering in his warped way, and the booth mostly fell back into the easy, peaceful atmosphere it had before. 

Unfortunately, Toshinori’s admission was still an enraging hum in the back of his mind. He had to purse his lips to keep his heaping load of questions to himself - upsetting Midoriya all over again wasn’t worth it. He didn’t think it ever would be, really, but especially now. He would rather quietly stew in his own thoughts than make Midoriya miserable on a day like this.

Midoriya edged closer to the glass, excited, but he seemed to second guess himself. He looked over his shoulder at him, looking unsure, and Aizawa’s heart squeezed in sympathy as Midoriya floated over and hovered above his phone. Aizawa unlocked it for him, and he typed slowly, an unease back in his posture that left a bad taste in Aizawa’s mouth. 

‘Can I go say hi?’ he had typed, but Aizawa knew what he was really asking.

I'll wait for you here, he replied, a gentle reassurance, and it was all Midoriya needed to beam brightly and rocket through the glass, heading straight for the ground. 

Aizawa scowled. He shouldn’t do that, it might trigger him again and no one would have a good time. He watched Midoriya descend, his breath caught in his throat, and he only released it when Midoriya made it to Bakugo, fluttering about the boy as he made his way from where his group was dispersing. He couldn’t make out a lot of details from so high up, but Bakugo looked pleased to have the company. 

You can see him now, right? Hizashi asked, fiddling with a knob Aizawa wasn’t sure actually did anything. He always seems to catch your attention whenever he’s here, and it got me thinking...what does the kid look like?

Aizawa tracked Bakugo’s and Midoriya’s path inside until he couldn’t see them anymore, refusing to meet Hizashi’s eye. 

Young, he said quietly, and left it at that. Hizashi didn’t push, and Aizawa was grateful for it.

He watched from the booth as his students began to move from the stadium floor to the bleachers, clumping together in their usual friend groups as they strolled inside the building and emerged a few minutes later, group by group. Those that weren’t participating in the tournament clutched snacks and drinks, having a much calmer stride as they made their way over to their designated block. Those that were seemed reasonably more tense, growing actually anxious as the minutes ticked on and the break neared its end. 

Even from the booth, Aizawa could see Monoma stroll confidently over to Class 1-A, laughing and taunting as usual, and Aizawa pursed his lips. Monoma had potential as a hero, but his pride and arrogance was greatly handicapping him. Kendo dragged her classmate off, and Class 1-A settled back down from the immediate agitation that had struck his students. 

Vlad really needed to get a hold on the kid, if Bakugo had another run-in with him Aizawa wasn’t sure how it would go.

His eyes tracked Monoma’s and Kendo’s path back to Class 1-B’s bleachers, and immediately, a girl with white hair caught his eye. 

Not because of the white hair, but because of the ghosts constantly hovering about her person, quiet and patient. He remembered the incident in his classroom with her, the horror in her expression and the way she ran out so quickly had stuck with him, mostly because he never knew why, but now that he had his own ghost vision he wondered if she had just been horrified at the sight of a young child being a ghost. Maybe her Quirk had to do with ghosts? Maybe she could actually communicate with Midoriya? Could she hear him? Talk to him? Actually touch him?

Aizawa frowned. He hadn’t been paying attention to the Cavalry battle at all because of Midoriya’s panic, and during the race he hadn’t really noticed her, too focused on Bakugo’s and Todoroki’s push-and-pull of first and second place, so he had no idea what her Quirk actually was. The ghosts around her didn't seem alarmed or upset with being around her, so he figured it wasn’t that bad of a Quirk. 

Even still, he hoped Midoriya avoided her, just in case.

Katsuki scoffed at the insistent slaps to his shoulder, trying to shrug Deku’s never ending enthusiasm off. He was trying to sulk and Deku wasn’t helping.  

It was fucking second, relax, he snipped, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the disembodied giggling bouncing off the walls. 

Getting second place stung. Thankfully, not only was Deku a soothing balm, but being able to tell himself that icyhot won fair and square helped just enough for him to accept the loss for what it was. Besides, he made it to the next round, and now Katsuki had the opportunity to kick icy hot’s ass into the fucking dirt. Fairly, of course.

He was broken out of his thoughts by Deku’s slaps traveling down his arm and to the pocket holding his phone. Katsuki tisked. 

Not now, I want a drink, he grumbled, but Deku didn’t let up. His tapping grew into full on slaps to his front pocket, and with much grumbling he obliged the silent request and pulled it out, stopping in his walk. 

Katsuki opened his mouth to say something snarky, but the words vanished when his phone started operating on its own. It scrolled through his apps, opened the notepad, and pulled up the keyboard. He could only gawk as it began to type for a minute, but then the typing stopped, fiddling with his keyboard until it pulled up options he had never seen before - on his own phone what the fuck - and eventually the entity possessing his device chose a little face to put next to the message.

‘Kacchan!!! Kacchan got second!! ･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+’ it read.

Only one person used faces like that. Katsuki slowly began to grin at the screen, heart hammering as he began to realize what this meant. 

You little shit, he muttered fondly. How long did you know? Huh?

The screen glitched and flickered as it typed. 

‘Today!! Aizawa helped me :DD he’s the best’

I’m the best, he corrected on autopilot as he began walking, his thoughts too busy running a mile a minute. Deku could type , if he could use a phone then he could probably use any touch screen, right? He could talk to Deku on the go now, not just in class, and the thought made him feel warm. It was comforting that Deku could still touch bases with him, no matter where they were. 

Plus, it wouldn’t take a dick year to get responses, and that was definitely a bonus. 

‘You’re the best,’ Deku corrected while he was distracted. ‘Aizawa is a close second’

No way, I’m way better than that old geezer. He barely got out two words of the sentence before Deku typed ‘Kacchan!! (*´Д｀*)’ in response. 

Katsuki grinned, tucking his device close to his chest, and Deku’s laughter echoed beside him as he typed out another sentence.

It wasn’t the same as before, but it was as close as he was probably going to get, and shit, Katsuki would take it.

Shouto sighed, disappointment swelling in his gut as he sat in the section of bleachers that were reserved for Class 1-A, a water bottle clutched in his grip. He couldn’t find Izuku and it put a damper on his good mood. Shouto had hoped he could enjoy Izuku’s upbeat attitude and oddly inspiring pokes, but he guessed Izuku must be with Bakugo - a weird pair for sure but Shouto wouldn’t judge. 

He sat in his seat quietly, watching as the rest of the seats around him slowly began to fill up. Class 1-B was full of chatter and noise in the group of bleachers next to theirs, and Shouto took comfort in his surroundings, listening to the laughter and talking as it swelled the more people gathered around him. An occasional look was thrown his way by other classmates, and he did his best to give them some kind of greeting, however stilted it may have been. It seemed to be appreciated regardless.

Eventually, Uraraka appeared to take a seat. The second she spotted Shouto, she grinned sympathetically and made her way over with no hesitation, and Shouto wondered why.

Missing someone? Uraraka teased lightly as she sat down next to him. Don’t worry, I’m sure Izuku will show up.

Were you looking for him too? he asked.

Now she looked sheepish, picking at her cuticles. Iida and I were, yeah. I was hoping he’d show after the cavalry battle but…

Shouto understood what she meant, and he nodded. He’ll show, I think he’s with Bakugo now.

He seems to really like Bakugo, Uraraka said, leaning back slightly as she rested her hands in her lap. She looked contemplative. Do you think they knew each other?

I think we shouldn’t make assumptions, Shouto replied.

Uraraka blushed. Yeah, you’re right.

There was a strangely companionable silence after that, and Iida ended up joining them shortly after, a flurry of chopping hand motions and questions about their health. Uraraka and Iida got into their own conversation about the first match - Shinsou and Bakugo - and how they thought it would go. Slowly, the bleachers filled with their classmates until Shinsou and Bakugo were the only ones still absent. The noise from their chatter mixed with the natural noises of the stadium was nearly deafening, the crinkling of plastic bags, crunching of food, and carefree laughter blended together into soothing white noise, until even Shouto couldn’t help but relax. The smell of fresh air was especially crisp so high up, and a cool breeze rustled their hair and eased the slight heat from the bright sun. The sky was blue, a couple fluffy white clouds lazily drifting by.

Shouto took in a deep breath. He could smell popcorn from Kaminari.

Someone with vines for hair, clutching her hands in a prayer-like grip quietly approached, a nervous expression on her face. Shouto watched her curiously. She made her way to the steps and stopped. 

Excuse me, she said, voice gentle. I am Ibara Shiozaki, from Class 1-B.

Welcome! someone - Shouto wasn’t sure who - shouted behind him in greeting. You can sit over here if Monoma’s bothering you.

A wave of playful laughter swept their class. Even Shouto felt his lips twitch, Uraraka cackling as Iida turned in his chair to scold the perpetrator. 

That is...not quite the reason, she confessed. I was wanting to offer an exorcism.

All at once, the noise stopped. A stunned, tense stillness descended upon the group as dozens of pairs of eyes stared at her. A bubble formed then, and suddenly Shouto felt as if the tournament was thousands of miles away, and all he could hear of it were murmurs. He stared at her too, stunned into silence. No one seemed to know how to respond to her. 

Ibara seemed to wrongly take the silence as interest, since she kept talking. Your classroom is haunted, after all, she said gently. Her tone of voice hadn’t changed, but it sounded condescending now, as if she was treating them with kid gloves. Shouto clenched his teeth against the anger that hit him in a rushing wave. It must be awful living with a demon in your classroom, but I’m sure an exorcism will cleanse the air and let you all be free once more.

Demon? Izuku? Shouto filed through his memories, of every day he stayed after school to tuck himself away in the classroom, whispering back and forth to the little ghost as they tossed ideas with his fire out into thin air, his advice echoing in his head. Shouto had no idea where he’d be without Izuku’s help, if he had never reached out a helping hand to someone he saw was hurting. Izuku put smiles on his classmate’s faces, made Aizawa roll his eyes in class, had Hizashi laughing with the rampant, echoed giggles bouncing off the walls every time the teacher cracked a joke. 

If Izuku was a demon, he was a pretty shitty one. 

Thank God Bakugo isn’t here, Kaminari whispered, tone a mixture of shock and horror, and that was enough to get the rest of the class in an uproar, everyone shouting and talking over each other. Shouto didn’t speak, instinctually swallowing his anger to keep silent.

“Everyone, that is quite enough!” Iida’s authoritative voice cut through the mass of noise, booming like a gunshot. The class’ protests fizzled and died.

I only offer out of kindness, Ibara sputtered the second she was able. I didn’t mean to offend-

Yes, we know, Iida replied, firm and sharp. But that is also not something that has anything to do with you. Izuku is a part of our class now, and we would appreciate it if you would leave this be.

Ibara gawked at him, her eyes sweeping the gathered students, one massive wall of disapproval. You named the demon…?

He’s not a demon! He’s a kid! Ashido shouted, and the swarm of different voices started up again. Ibara looked very overwhelmed, but Shouto couldn’t muster up much pity for her. His gaze shifted to the sky again, his hands clenching in his lap.

You should go, Iida said calmly, but his voice shook. Ibara turned on her heel and fled back to her class.

An uneasy silence laid over the once peaceful atmosphere like a suffocating blanket. 

We can’t tell Bakugo, Kirishima murmured. We can’t.

The class agreed with him, muted and quiet. They slowly began to converse once more, but it lacked the easy time it held before, weighed down from Ibara’s reasonable but cruel suggestion.

Shouto stared hard at the sky, tense and unmoving. Upon closer inspection, the clouds weren’t white. They were grey.

Chapter Text

Phasing through wall after wall, blind to everything except his goal in his rush to get back to the booth, Izuku made his way as quickly as he was able. He split off with Kacchan once he settled in the waiting room with his water, typing a goodbye and good luck before leaving his best friend to prepare as much as possible. His match would start in only a few minutes, and now that he no longer had the distraction of Kacchan’s gentle nagging, the pressure of being all alone was creeping back up on him. Thankfully the promise of Aizawa staying put was helping him stay calm as he made his way back, knowing for sure that the teacher would be in the same spot he left him in. Aizawa wouldn’t ever break a promise. 

He charged through another wall and had to stop almost immediately after, blinking disorientingly in the sudden, bright light of the sun. Rubbing at his eyes, he glanced around nervously, trying to find some kind of landmark. Instead he found contrasting white and red hair just a ways from him in the crowd. It wasn’t Aizawa, but the Hero Course was just as comfortable of a place, just as safe, and the stands were closer to the action anyway. Izuku made his way over.

Shouto, upon closer inspection the closer he got to the bleachers, was frowning at the sky, looking very distracted. Uraraka and Iida seemed deep in conversation, and many members were glaring over at the group of students next to them. Worry pulled at his shoulders. He floated over to Shouto, gently tapping his friend’s arm, and Shouto slowly relaxed as his head swiveled back and forth, instinctually looking for him. 

Hi Izuku! Uraraka chirped. He could see goosebumps rise on her skin, and he wondered if that was how she knew he was here. She sent a bright smile to thin air, and even though her aim was a little off, it was reassuring all the same, especially compared to the uncomfortable atmosphere of the bleachers. Did you watch the cavalry battle?

Yes! he said back, laughing. He had missed a bit of it in his panic, but with Aizawa’s help he managed to calm down to see most everything else. Everyone had been incredible with their Quirks, placing their mark in the eyes of pros everywhere, just like he expected them to, and he was so proud of all of them. He poked rapidly at Shouto’s left arm, just as usual, and gently poked at Uraraka as well, excitedly giggling. 

Izuku! Sero shouted from behind them, and Izuku turned, beaming. Hey! Did you see us?

He did, Shouto responded for him, rubbing at the arm he had poked, but Shouto was smiling. Uraraka just asked him.

Kirishima, sitting next to Sero, grinned. So that’s why he was giggling, huh? Glad you enjoyed it! Are you excited for Bakubro’s match?

He raced over to Kirishima and gently smacked his arm with both hands quickly, not sure how else to get his point across. Kirishima cracked up at the response.

Izuku laughed too, happy to be with his friends.

Katsuki stepped up on the platform that acted as their ring, eyebags grinning smugly across from him. The rules were briefed for the crowd, then the match began with little fanfare. 

Shinsou opened his mouth to speak. Katsuki grinned, feral, as he charged over to his classmate. 

Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He’d been paying attention to the fucker’s Quirk all semester, and there was no way he’d give him a chance to speak. He came up on Shinsou quickly and led with a strong left hook into a flurry of punches. Shinsou scrambled to dodge them, not expecting Katsuki to push so early, trying his damndest to keep his distance. Katsuki met him, pace for pace, mini explosions crackling in his palms as he slowly forced Shinsou to walk backwards.

Shinsou’s biggest weakness was combat, even with the training over the course of the semester. His Quirk was in no way physical after all, and didn’t give him any physical bonuses. 

As long as he could keep Shinsou’s mouth shut, it was an easy win.

He kept up the pace, refusing to let Shinsou breathe for even a moment. Shinsou was forced to dodge and weave between his punches, backing away as Katsuki pushed forward. When Shinsou refused to move back anymore, Katsuki went on a whim and took the initiative.

He paused just long enough to aim his hand at Shinsou’s chest. He braced himself, muscles clenching, then made his palms boom with a major explosion, sending Shinsou rocketing backwards and flying past the line in the ring. 

Katsuki took in a deep breath, right arm shaking and pulsating as pain blossomed from his palm and fingers, to his wrist, and traveled up his arm. Still, he grinned triumphantly. 

First one down.

Izuku was going wild, but to be fair, it was an impressive display, at least in Kaminari’s opinion.

The kid was whooping and cheering, laughter bouncing off of the floor and leaking into the air, making others laugh and cheer for the sake of it. The chairs shuddered with Izuku’s energy, but Kaminari wasn’t worried. Instead, he grinned with Kirishima, happy to see Izuku so happy. He was so relieved Izuku could come and watch them fight. He wasn’t sure what the kid would do if he was all alone, but even just the thought made his chest tighten with guilt. Thankfully they had gotten Izuku out of the classroom when they did.

Kaminari was snapped out of his thoughts by the giggling growing in volume, sounding as if Izuku was right in his ear. He looked up on instinct, confused and a little alarmed, and he noticed an almost clear figure hovering over Todoroki and Uraraka’s shoulders. It buzzed and flickered like a broken monitor, but he could just pick out the small form of a child. His breath caught and he held it, staring at the figure as it shifted from just barely there to almost comfortably seen. He couldn’t make out much, just fluffy hair and a childlike body. Kaminari froze. The figure turned to beam brightly at Todoroki, and he barely made out freckles spotting round cheeks before the figure - Izuku - vanished.

The energy felt sucked out of him. His heart was a painful, sinking drum in his chest, and he knew the others would be just as upset to see what he saw, so he kept the incident to himself. He watched Todoroki stand and exit for his match, Sero nervously but optimistically following.

It was one thing being told he was a kid, it was another matter entirely seeing it.

Endeavor power-walked through the hallway, his footsteps like a powerful war drum as he searched for Shouto. When Shouto had decided to use his fire was beyond him, and keeping such a decision to himself was far past unacceptable. This whole time he could’ve trained Shouto’s fire, made him unstoppable with his heat and ice, but unfortunately Shouto seemed to think such things weren’t important, given his flippant attitude. Shouto’s reluctance was infuriating at the best of times. It held him back from being the best, from being better than the number one hero, a feat even Endeavor himself was struggling to achieve. Yet he had no problem throwing it all away.

Scowling, he turned a corner quickly. Shouto was heading towards him, his face dropping from the almost calm expression he had before. 

Good. He wasn’t here for games. 

Shouto, he barked. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees, and Endeavor grit his teeth. Childishly lowering the temperature to antagonize him was going to get Shouto nowhere. Avoiding training with your fire is wasting valuable time! Have you no common sense?

Endeavor blinked. 

A black shadow hovered behind and slightly above Shouto, carved out white space where eyes would normally be. It blurred and fizzled with rampant energy, movement inhuman as it twitched and jerked. Chills climbed up and down his back, seemingly spiteing the heat that his Quirk normally radiated. It started moving towards him, slow but steady, reaching out with dripping, broken arms. It harmlessly passed through Shouto’s body as it made its way towards him. Endeavor took a shaken step back, body tensing on instinct. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the black mass of a figure. Closer and closer it crept.

What? Shouto said, clearly bewildered. Did he not see this - this entity? Was it only visible to himself? Why target him specifically? Was this a Quirk?

A chilling, broken scream pierced his ears, and he clapped his hands over them, backing away from the creature as it roared at him in an echoed voice. The noise rebounded in his very bones, making his teeth vibrate. It got quicker, hands claw like as it reached for him, pure white eyes staring into his soul. Mercilessly it screeched, uncaring of his pain, and still Shouto stood there, unbothered except for his growing look of confusion and alarm.

Endeavor let his Quirk flair, heat coming off of him in unbearable waves, but it did nothing to stop the shadow. The second it was within arms reach was the second the roaring reached its peak, hands going for his eyes as the shadow lunged-

Endeavor blinked. It was gone. The hall was blissfully silent, like nothing had been there.

His stomach felt like a never ending pit, heart hammering fast as he looked all around the hall, just waiting for the shadow to appear behind him, but it was empty. His flames stayed roaring as a shudder wracked his frame. 

This had to be a Quirk. Nothing else could inflict such unnatural feelings - Endeavor didn’t feel fear. He made others fear, and the sudden role reversal was jarring.

He tried shaking himself off the best he could, but there were still chills clinging to his skin. 

Are - are you okay…? He snapped his head up to see Shouto, looking conflicted between very confused or very concerned. 

Shouto had seen nothing of that. Not a thing. He swallowed hard. What had he even come to say? An unnatural fear was unfurling, making it hard to focus. His vision swam dangerously. Nausea made bile climb up his throat. 

Go away, a voice whispered. Go away. Go away. Go away.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and Endeavor realized this wouldn’t end until he followed the shadow’s wants for now, he could search for the Quirk user later. He snapped out a shaky We’ll talk later before turning on his heel and taking large strides down the hallway, away from Shouto.

The black shadow followed him. Every time he turned, it just barely peeked out from behind a corner, in a door frame, behind boxes or even other people. If it deemed Endeavor too slow, it would start roaring, a horrid scream that made his ears pulse with sharp pain. He power walked the rest of the way out of the building, to get away from its awful noise if nothing else. 

The second he stepped out of the stadium building was the second the figure vanished. Endeavor lingered just outside for almost twenty minutes, waiting, but it never came back.

Izuku found himself once again charging through walls and ceiling tiles, a desperate race to make it back to the stadium proper before Shouto and Sero’s match began. He had to quickly adjust his route to avoid running into All Might, but he made it outside with no problem, screeching to a halt mid air. He spun in circles, trying to find 1-A’s section a second time without Shouto’s contrasting hair to guide him. It was tougher, but thankfully Tokoyami was his own beacon, and Izuku made his way over.

Kacchan was back now, settled in the very back row of seats, pressed against the firm wall of the stadium’s building with his group of friends. Shinsou was back as well, folded neatly in the same group, and Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari went back and forth between congratulating Kacchan and encouraging Shinsou. He didn’t look too downtrodden thankfully, but Izuku still floated over to give him soothing pats on the back. The student jumped at the unexpected contact, but settled down quickly.

Thank you Izuku, he grumbled, but his slight frown was growing into a smirk. Don’t baby me, go stroke Bakugo’s ego. He’ll keel over if someone isn’t praising him.

Fuck off! Kacchan snapped, looking up from where he held his phone in his lap. Oi, Deku, tell Aizawa next time you run off, I’m getting chewed out because of you.

Oh, right. Izuku had said he was going to come back, didn't he? He had gotten very distracted...He floated over sheepishly, hovering over Kacchan’s shoulder to see the messages from the class’ group chat.

‘I know where he is, he’s in the bleachers with you. That’s not the issue Bakugo, the next time he leaves you on your own you need to tell me. I can’t have eyes on him all the time.’

Izuku reached down to respond, the screen immediately flickering. ‘This is Izuku!!’ he typed. ‘I’m using Kacchan’s phone, I’m sorry I worried you (◞‸◟)’ Izuku sent it. He hesitated, then reached down to type again. ‘I’m with everyone now in the stands, I get to walk with them to the ring while I’m down here. Can I stay? Please?’

The three little dots popped up then disappeared a few times before Aizawa properly responded.

‘Yes you can, but you need to warn me next time, okay?’

‘Yes!! :D’ he texted back, grinning wide. Kacchan grumbled why did you get scolded less? under his breath, but said no more than that. 

Izuku focused properly on his surroundings again, to see the class of 1-A collectively staring at their phones, all shocked and very, very excited. 

You can type?! Kirishima exclaimed, eyes shining. I had no idea! Izuku, that’s great!

Can you use my phone? Can you try? Uraraka chimed in, standing from her seat at the front to race up the bleachers’ steps and into the row just below Kacchan. It’s not a touch screen, but maybe?

Try mine too, kerro, Tsuyu piped up, making her way next to Uraraka at a much calmer pace. 

Me too, Kaminari said, face determined as he waved his phone. 

Iida chopped away with a smile, seemingly unable to muster his firm tone. This is a fantastic revelation, but Todoroki’s match is about to start, he scolded gently. Let’s focus on the tournament for now.

Izuku watched as half the class pouted, and he giggled. Teasingly, he batted at Kacchan’s hair and leaned down to text, the receiving swat harmlessly passing through him.

‘Shouto needs our support,’ he texted. ‘Let’s cheer him on! Plus Ultra!!! ٩(๑>◡<๑)ง’

Free, excited laughter swept the class, students randomly punching their fists in the air and shouting Plus Ultra! with laughter in their voice. Izuku pumped his fists too, shouting the school’s mantra for his ears only. His heart swelled in his chest, throat clogging as the overwhelming joy filled him up until he was fit to burst. 

Shouto could hear the furious and sudden chanting that had broken out from the stands, and one glance revealed it was indeed his class that was making a fool of themselves. Still, the display made him smile wide.

Sero looked incredibly nervous across from him. He didn’t like the look on Sero’s face. Shouto wasn’t the most social, but he knew exactly what would put Sero at ease.

Plus Ultra, he said neutrally. Sero looked surprised at him, then he relaxed, a grin slowly pulling at his lips until he was laughing.

Plus Ultra, his classmate replied, glancing at the stands. 

The match began. Sero, now loose and focused, immediately shot his tape towards him. Shouto made a huge wall of ice in retaliation, ducking briefly behind the cover. He pressed his left side into the ice, creating a burst of heat. A small part of the wall melted, creating water puddles on the ground, and Shouto darted out from behind it to shoot ice into Sero’s face. 

He had to keep Sero from focusing too hard on the ground. His plan would fall apart immediately.

Sero dodged the ice, jerking to the side. He shot his tape on the ground and used his momentum to pull himself toward Shouto, the other arm already shooting more tape at him. It managed to cling to Shouto’s left shoulder, and Sero yanked. Shouto felt weightless as his body went flying to the line of the ring. He let his left side flare and the tape burned, Sero’s hold on him lost, and Shouto created another ice wall to stop his path before he passed the white line, crashing into it a little roughly.

He burned the ice, and water trickled down to the floor. 

Shouto dodged another strip of tape, ducking and weaving and leaving thin trains of ice in his path that began melting almost immediately on the warm floor. 

Sero didn’t have any buildings for his tape to latch on to, but any momentum he could get from shooting himself forward he was taking full advantage of, and Shouto knew aiming for Sero directly as he zipped around the ring was a waste of time. If he could just pin him down, he would win the fight no problem, but he didn’t have a lot of time in between Sero’s brief touches with the ground. His ice on his own was too slow, especially since both he and Sero preferred to keep their distance, but if there was cold water there already his ice would travel just a bit quicker, and that might give him the edge he needed to pin Sero down without getting too close.

Once Shouto felt confident enough with the amount of melted ice on the ground, he watched Sero’s progress. Sero shot forward. Shouto, seeing where his path led, shot ice at him, and Sero landed early to duck behind one of Shouto’s own ice pillars. 

Shouto shot his hand to the floor and let out a burst of ice. It travelled along the cold water in a wave, lightning quick, and Shouto sent the biggest shard of ice he could make and hurled it at the ice pillar. It was weak from Shouto melting it, and it broke off, pinning Sero behind the pillar and sending him flying backwards, forcing him out of the ring before he knew what was happening. 

The second Shouto stepped onto the bleachers was the second he was assaulted with pats to his face. He had to freeze in his trek to his seat, scrunching up his nose and squinting his eyes as Izuku laughed and squealed.

The rest of the class only watched his reaction and laughed, not bothering to offer assistance.

Chapter Text

Kaminari watched as Todoroki finally managed to find his seat. Sero came in shortly after, shoulders low, but the giggles that followed and the shiver that visibly made its way through Sero’s body seemed to cheer his defeated friend up a bit. He made his way over and sat by Mina - you did so great! he heard her cheer - and Kaminari stood to make his way down to the arena, Izuku announcing he was joining him with chills and a soft pat to his shoulder. 

Kaminari took the stairs down in silence. Izuku was a hovering presence over his shoulder, and the image of his small body seemed to stick itself to the forefront and stay there. He tried to focus on the match ahead of him. The name ‘Reiko’ had been on his slip of paper, a vague face in his memory all he could conjure even though he knew for sure he’d properly met her somewhere. He wished he knew what type of Quirk she had to prepare for it. Kaminari only hoped it wouldn’t bite him in the ass later. He wanted proud Izuku pats after the match - hell he wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t half the class’ motivation at this point.

Izuku.

Kaminari let out a gusty sigh, and Izuku murmured to him, words unrecognizable. His heart squeezed. 

He had to say something, especially after what he saw.

Hey buddy, he said, hoping he sounded as chipper as he was aiming for. If you ever need anything or wanna chat, I’m always free, okay?

Izuku murmured again, and he felt the kid bat at his hair, almost fond. His chest loosened, stomach rising from when it had dropped into his feet earlier. Feeling rejuvenated, he squared his shoulders and focused. 

The arena was right in front of him. He stepped out of the safety of the stadium and into the open air, but Izuku didn’t leave, staying by his side. They reached the platform together. 

A girl with white hair stood across from him, looking determined, and with a jolt he realized who it was. That Reiko, the girl who brought them cookies. Kaminari sent her a friendly wave, and she responded. Hesitant, but it was better than nothing at all.

The match was started, and he felt Izuku’s presence vanish as Reiko jumped upwards and soared, eyes sharp.

Kaminari watched her rise, feeling his electricity spark in his fingertips. 

One minute Izuku was hovering peacefully next to Kaminari, about to turn around and float back up to the stands, and the next minute he was yanked backwards, heart pounding as his hands moved on their own to grab the collar of Reiko’s shirt and pull her up. His hands buzzed painfully, a non corporeal entity interacting with a world not meant for his touch, broken wrist straining with the weight of her, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain. His breath rattled in his chest, and he felt as if he was choking on his breath.

He didn’t know she was the one Kaminari had been fighting. Reiko’s name hadn’t been familiar, he hadn’t been paying attention to her introduction, he didn’t know, he didn’t know.

The couple of ghosts surrounding her looked at him with their flat gazes, bewilderment breaching the emptiness in their eyes, the same reaction he had gotten in the classroom. Izuku cringed from the attention, their stares doing nothing for his frantic breathing. An unnatural, forced anxiety was being burned into his skin, racing his heart, setting fire to his hands. 

She was so high up now, the second he let go was the second she could plummet to her death. The thought had him shaking, memories hazy, body fuzzing and losing its shape. 

Wait, if he let go of her…?

Izuku took in a deep, shaky, and rattling breath, used the pain in his hands to ground him as he actually looked at what he was doing. He tried to breathe around his closing throat.

His hands were gripped tightly on her collar, actually moving the fabric and creating wrinkles as his fingers dug into the material. His hands were on fire, yes, but he was actually touching her shirt. Not a poke, not an unstable hold on a pencil that was refusing to acknowledge his hand. His grip was tight, strong, as if he was alive. 

He could use this. Izuku knew he couldn’t back out now or buck her off. This was a tournament, and as harsh as her Quirk was, it was her Quirk, and she was only doing what she could to win, just like everyone else. If he had to grit his teeth and bare it for fairness’ sake, he might as well take the opportunity to see what she was making him do. Maybe, just maybe, it could help his own progress in actually moving things. It was hard to focus with the panic making his head fuzzy, but he could do it. Kacchan’s influence in middle school was practice, the times where he had to attempt to calm Kacchan down on the spot to avoid popping explosions, the smell of gunpowder surrounding him, popping rampant in his ear as Kacchan cornered him into a wall, laughing-

Izuku furiously shook his head. He couldn’t lose himself in memories right now. He fought against the crashing wave of images in his head, trying to pay attention.

She released him slightly. The pain in his hands soothed to a soft pulse as she began to descend, and now that the pain wasn’t taking over he could feel the texture of her shirt. Izuku stared. The fabric was softer than he’d imagined in his head, grains a soothing texture on his skin. The panic slowed, pumped the breaks as Izuku stroked the material with his thumb, completely mesmerized. It had been ages since he felt something like this. He felt something in his chest now too, if he really focused, a stable, solid feeling in his chest that seemed to trickle into his hands. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and focused hard, attempting to coax the feeling down to his legs as well. It was slow, sluggishly circulating through his shins and making its way down to his calves. His legs felt hot, but it wasn’t burning. 

His little moment was ruined when Reiko got close enough to the ground. Izuku felt himself jerk into a straight drop, full speed at the floor. His stomach rolled as he panicked, concentration lost as his limbs flailed, his eyes were wide. He had no control, he couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t fight his body blurring into mist as he lost control in memories and phantom feelings as the ground came up to meet him.

Aizawa gripped the desk so hard his knuckles turned white, his body leaning forward with his want to stop the match immediately.

Midoriya was being jerked around like Yamagi was the puppeteer and Midoriya the puppet. To say the kid was having a bad time would be putting it extremely mildly, and Aizawa’s stomach sank into the floor as he watched Midoriya drop, body fuzzing and disintegrating in a way he had never seen before. 

No one in charge of the festival would believe him if he said a ghost of a child was panicking. No one would understand, and no one would stop the match. Aizawa’s hands shook with frustration and lingering fear. He couldn’t do a fucking thing but sit and watch, throat closing as worry suffocated him.

He hated this. Aizawa wasn’t used to feeling helpless.

Hizashi nudged him, and he jumped, whipping his head around to glare hellfire at Hizashi’s skull. 

What’s wrong? See a villain? Hizashi murmured, tone serious. 

No, Aizawa hissed. Midoriya is being used as a fucking puppet. Hizashi’s eyes widened. I don’t know what her Quirk is, but it’s using Midoriya somehow. He’s panicking. I don’t know what’s happening to him, I’ve never seen it before.

Nedzu knows right? Hizashi whispered quickly. He could call off the match, say it was a false start.

Everyone was watching, they’re going to call bullshit, Aizawa replied, heart sinking with his stomach as Izuku’s unstable form flung Kaminari halfway across the arena. Nedzu approved the Sports Festival but he’s not in control of the matches.

Hizashi cursed under his breath. I’ll tell Midnight, she’ll pause the match.  

On what grounds, Hizashi? Aizawa hissed. 

Hizashi held out his hand, determination etched onto his face. Give me your phone.

Katsuki slouched in his chair, arms crossed as he watched sparky get launched. Flat face and Kirishima were cheering Sparky on, even through the missteps. The girl from 1-B was holding her own for sure, but Sparky wasn’t taking it lying down either. He got close a couple of times, hand just barely grazing her elbow or back before she kept him away at arms length again, and seeing their Quirks try and work around one another was - admittedly - kind of cool. 1-B girl had to keep her distance, but Sparky was dead set on getting as close as he was able. Her Telekinesis seemed to be making things difficult, but Katsuki had to admit he was somewhat impressed. As much as Sparky liked to joke around and take almost nothing seriously, he could hold his own really well.

Just a second folks! Midnight’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the match. Pause right there! We think someone stepped out of bounds, it will be just a moment while we review the tapes. Hold onto your seats!

Katsuki straightened. His classmates muttered in confusion all around him, squinting down at the match. He was sure no one had been sent out of bounds, he’d been following the match pretty closely. Why Midnight needed to bullshit was lost on him. He looked at Sparky and 1-B girl’s faces, but they seemed just as surprised as everyone else. Sparky in particular looked nervous. 

Wait, what? Kirishima chirped beside him. Did any of you guys see them step over?

I mean, Kaminari was getting tossed around, flat face said reluctantly. Maybe his hand went over by accident?

Katsuki scoffed. No fucking way. Neither of them have gotten closer than halfway to the line, this whole pause thing is bullshit.

Kirishima opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as freezing air suddenly suspended over them like a cloud, rattling their bones and making their teeth chatter as a horrible feeling clawed its way up their spines. Kirishima and Pinky paled, and flat face looked worried.  

...Izuku? flat face called out, voice shaking, but just as quickly as it arrived, the feeling vanished with a warm breeze. 

Aizawa stood up from his seat, watching intently as the half static form Midoriya was in made a beeline for the booth. Prepare yourself, Aizawa warned Hizashi, then Midoriya fazed through the glass, a sobbing, warped mess. Hizashi clicked off their microphones, paling. The temperature of the room dropped dozens of degrees, sobs tearing through the quiet of the room. The booth began to shake, the walls and floors struggling through a man-made earthquake, Midoriya’s form warping and caving in on itself like a blurry, crashing wave. Scratches tore from the walls closest to him, and Aizawa recoiled from the panicked shout that tore out of Midoriya’s throat. 

Midoriya, I’m here, Aizawa soothed. It’s alright, you’re safe. Another sob rebounded through the air, echoed and rattled. You’re okay. Do you know where you are?

I̷̕͝͏’҉̴ḿ̵̷ ͠҉̧̡s̕҉̡͞o̧͏r̸͜͏r̨̛͝y̵̢̨͜,̢̡ ̷͢I̡҉̕͞ ͠͏t̸͘͜r̸̛̕͜i̧͜͡͏͞e̸͠d̶͘͏̧ ̸͝I͏ ̵̧̀͟t̵͝r̷̸͝i̢̕e̡̛d̸̴̸̡̛ ̕͟҉I͟͝҉̶͞ ̧̢͞t̵̸̕͘͘r͡i͏̀͟͠͝e҉d̵͝ ̧̕I͜ ̢̢̡̢t̸̛ŗ͝͝į̸̡͘e̴̢͢͡ḑ̸͞,̢̀, Midoriya’s warped voice managed to push its way through his crying, sounding like he was choking. Aizawa’s heart somehow lurched and sank all at once. He spared a glance at Hizashi. His hands were shaking, he looked sick. Aizawa grit his teeth against the wave of nausea and shudders Midoriya’s presence brought on

It’s okay, Aizawa said, tone soft and sad. Its not your fault, it was an accident. Can you take deep breaths?

Aizawa inhaled as smoothly as he was able. Every heartbeat felt painful, chest swollen with sadness and regret as he held his breath. Then he released just as smoothly. Can you do that for me?

I̴̕͢͠ ̵̧͘͝͞w͏̢̢a̶̕n̶̷̕͟t̸̨̀͢ ̨̛͡t̷̕͠o̷̵͠ ̢́̀͢͝g̶̡͘͞o͏̛̀ ̛́͜h̀́o̵̢m̸̶̢͟e, Midoriya said on hitching breaths. I͢҉̶͟t̴͟͠͡ ̀̕h̸̨͝͏ú͘͟r͟͡t͏̴s͘͏.̸͡͏̀   The table rattled on the vibrating floor, another scratch gouging into the wall. 

Aizawa stopped, heart crumbling painfully, then he slowly walked towards the door. Okay, okay. Follow me, and we’ll go home. But I need you to breathe.

B̸̧̀͡҉ŗ͘͡͡e̴͘͠á͢t̸͏̀h҉͢ȩ̵͝҉,̧̢͡ ̵͢b͠r̶̡e̕͟͏̶͜a͠t̶̡̢̀͢h̴́̕e̢̢̛͘,̀ ̸̸̡͢͏b̢̡͠r̸͏҉e̕͢a̸̧t͞͏̧͜͡h͢͏̷̢̕e̵̕͟͢,̨ ̵̨b҉̧r͝҉̸̕e̢a̵͜͡͞t̢̢͏̕h̡̛҉͜ȩ̶̛̛͠, Midoriya echoed, the static cloud beginning to follow him out. Aizawa made his way down the stairs, outwardly calm. Midoriya followed him dutifully.

You’re okay, Aizawa spoke to him. Try and follow me. Deep breath in - Aizawa inhaled - deep breath out. He let the breath go. Deep breath in… He inhaled. Deep breath out. He exhaled. A rattling noise came from the cloud as Midoriya attempted to copy him the best he could, hitching breaths and sobs interrupting. Aizawa coached him as he finally hit the bottom floor and made his way out into the hall. Midoriya was still by his side, close, almost against his shoulder. 

Just breathe, he murmured, watching as his form began to solidify, slowly but surely. We’ll take it slow.

The intercom clicked back on, reverb making the speakers squeal. Both contestants are safe! Let the match continue!

Sparky visibly relaxed at the news, and a newfound determination formed on his face. Katsuki frowned in bewilderment, watching as the two got back into battle stances, and he thought quietly. Did the match pausing have to do with Deku? The feelings they got were only when Deku was upset and they had been worryingly strong. Katsuki dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, sending a message to Aizawa.

‘Is Deku with you?’

Aizawa felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he silently begged for it to just shut the fuck up. Midoriya had finally settled for the most part, form mostly solid but still blurry at the edges. Midoriya’s ear hovered around Aizawa’s chest, listening, quiet sniffles coming out of the curled up ball just above his lap. It reminded him of the USJ, and he internally cringed at the memories. 

Thankfully, he had managed to coax Midoriya into the break room, the smell of coffee still lingering in the air from earlier. He had made his way over to a chair and carefully sat down in it, still talking to Midoriya, and instead of getting upset since they were no longer moving like Aizawa expected, Midoriya had immediately taken refuge in his lap, curling up into a tiny ball with his knees tucked into his chest. His injuries were the worst Aizawa had seen yet, bloody and raw and twisted. Aizawa didn’t move, he just let the kid soak in as much comfort as he could. 

Do you still want to go home? Aizawa asked quietly, the classroom a vague image in his mind’s eye.

To his surprise, Midoriya shook his head. He tapped the pocket with his phone, broken wrist creaking, and only then did Aizawa pull it out, offering the item to the little ghost. Something on the screen caught his eye, and Midoriya’s lower lip wobbled, eyes shining as he looked at Aizawa. He pointed at the phone, asking. 

Aizawa looked. Bakugo had sent a message. Go ahead, he said, in what he hoped to be an encouraging tone.  Midoriya began to type away with slightly shaking hands, then typed some more. A gentle tap on Aizawa’s side told him he was done.

‘No, I wanna stay here. It’s quiet,’ he had typed, meanwhile his phone vibrated with another message from Bakugo.

Do you want my phone for a while? he offered. Any distraction was a good one in Aizawa’s eyes, and maybe having some connection to the rest of the students while he calmed down with someone he trusted would be the best decision. 

Midoriya nodded. Aizawa held his phone next to his thigh so Midoriya could stay curled and still see it, and a pale hand reached out from the safe cocoon of limbs Midoriya had made to type one handed. On and off Midoriya messaged, his phone vibrating in his hand more and more as the students all started messaging Midoriya back and forth. It was bringing a smile to the kid’s face, and Aizawa let out a soft breath of relief. 

He would have to watch over Midoriya closer from now on. He never wanted to see the little ghost like that. Never. 

Izuku wiped the leftover tears and blood from his face, watching as texts came pouring in from the students in the stands. He had meant to text only Kacchan back, but apparently his response leaked to the rest of the class and it wasn’t long until they attempted to cheer him up. 

‘KAMINARI WON!!!’, Sero had typed, followed by others sending messages of excitement. Izuku watched quietly, a smile pulling at his lips at the news. He sent a smiley face and emoji back. He didn’t have the energy to do much else. 

As much as that had been miserable, Izuku still remembered the feeling of solidity in his chest. Right now he was taking a minute’s respite, but the second he was okay was the second he would test out the theory he was loosely piecing together as a form of distraction.

He sniffed. He felt exhausted, and miserable, and his hands still had leftover pulses of pain from Kaminari’s competitor. He had tried to suck it up, tried to make sure he wasn’t affecting the tournament, but he had anyway. 

‘I’m sorry’, he typed in the notes app, feeling his throat clog up all over again, then sadly tapped Aizawa. The teacher looked at it and frowned.

I said it wasn’t your fault and I meant it, Aizawa replied gently. Don’t beat yourself up over something like this.

His heart still felt heavy, but he tried to take in Aizawa’s words. He pulled up the texting app and caught up with the live blog, still floating just above Aizawa’s lap.

‘Tokoyami and Momo are next!! both look nervous’, Sero typed. 

‘For some dumbass reason’, Kacchan added, and Izuku giggled softly.

He’d stay here for a while. Later though, he would give Kaminari and the other winners the patting of a lifetime.

Chapter Text

Kaminari, glowing triumphantly in his seat with a wide grin, watched the fight between Ojiro and Uraraka come to a close. Uraraka had done her best, but Ojiro’s expertise in hand-to-hand combat  coupled with his agility was just too much, and Kaminari couldn’t blame her for the loss that was just around the corner. 

As much as he felt for her, he couldn’t suppress his own grin at his victory. He didn’t think he’d make it past the cavalry battle, in all honesty, but now that he was here he was practically sparking in his seat with excitement, pride in himself filling his chest, both light and dense. Izuku promised pats when he saw them next, and now all there was left to do was keep the streak going - a challenge in itself really. Ashido had beaten Aoyama pretty soundly, Tokoyami won in his and Yaomomo’s match, Kirishima emerged victorious against Tetsutetsu, and Ojiro was giving Uraraka one last jab to the kidney, knocking the wind out of her and making her go down.

Kirishima, Ojiro, Tokoyami, Bakugo, Ashido, and Todoroki. The only match left was Iida and Hatsume Mei, and both of them would be equally as tough to fight. Any one of them could be his opponent next round, and the thought of fighting most of them made him sweat. He hoped he’d get anyone but Todoroki or Bakugo. The second he was against one of them, he knew it’d be over, and he wanted to go as far as he possibly could. 

Everyone knew one of those two would win. Bakugo may have gotten second both times, but it had been close calls. No one knew what would happen if they were to properly fight, and fight to win.

Iida stood with a determined look and made his way down to the arena, Hatsume standing a few groups away and following his lead. The grin on her face made Kaminari wince - she was crazy but she was smart. Iida wouldn’t have an easy time of it for sure. 

Mei was positively thrilled.

The Sports Festival wasn’t for the support course or the Gen Ed students, it was geared towards the Hero course and not much else. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use it to her advantage though. At least a little.

She walked to the arena with sure strides, a winning smile on her lips as the cameras all focused on her and her opponent. She hated to shirk Iida on an actual fight, but it was too golden of an occasion to pass up.

Midnight announced the match, and she began, a mic sprouting from a hidden compartment in her glasses. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” she announced, her voice a sharp knife cutting through the stands and rebounding in the empty air. Her heart swelled with anticipation and excitement, body pumped full of adrenaline as the camera focused on her and her alone. 

Mei’s smile widened into a grin. Showtime.

Katsuki had been content with live-blogging Deku the fights. He told Deku what had happened between Tail and Round Face, and immediately he had given Tail cheerful emojis and Round Face consoling ones. 

Deku seemed tired. Aizawa wouldn’t fucking answer his questions, no matter how hard he pressed, and he wasn’t sure if asking Deku directly what the problem was would be the best call, so all he could do was provide a good enough distraction. It was a trend Katsuki was noticing lately, being forced to sit on his hands and wait, and it didn’t sit well with him. He figured he’d talk to his therapist the next appointment to see if she had any suggestions on what to do. She didn’t need to know about Izuku - he could say it was a random nobody.

As happy as he was to provide a distraction, it was also a bit difficult to live blog when he couldn’t figure out what the hell was even happening. Pink Hair was ducking and weaving around Glasses, every attempt to strike her was cleverly avoided, and she began to show off her equipment like it was a fucking advertisement. 

If Pink Hair had used him like that, he would’ve been seething, and the second it was over he’d hunt her down and fight her on the spot for a proper match. Seeing it happen to someone else, however, was hilarious. The look on Glasses’ face was a combination of bewildered and annoyed, but Pink Hair was completely immune to the glares she was receiving, just trucking along through her showcase as if she wasn’t trying to avoid Glasses’ powerful kicks to her back. 

‘What’s happening now?’ Deku sent him, his phone chirping obediently.

Katsuki texted back. ‘Pink Hair is using Glasses as a human mannequin. she’s just trumpeting her shit instead of fighting’. Then: ‘it’s fucking funny’.

The three dots appeared and disappeared a couple of times. Katsuki looked up, watching Glasses being suspended in the air from the jets on his support items. Pink Hair did jazz hands - lameass - and he could hear a mixture of sympathy and amusement from his classmates. 

I don’t know what I was expecting, Kirishima sighed sympathetically next to him, but it wasn’t this.

Flat Face, Racoon Eyes, and Sparky only howled with laughter to the side of them. 

Pink Hair ended her advertisement with a bow and a quick hop out of bounds, and Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose to hide his grin. 

Round two was about to begin, a sulking Iida being soothed by Uraraka’s comforting words, and Shouto watched intently as the next line of matchups were displayed on the board high above the stadiums. Mei arrived at their bleachers to greet them, cheerful words being traded as she descended the stairs before Iida stood up and began scolding her, but Shouto tuned them out.

He was fighting Tokoyami. He stewed on that for a moment, half formed ideas filtering in and out of his brain, then he moved on. Bakugo was fighting Iida - an interesting match in the works he was sure - Ashido was fighting Kaminari, and Ojiro was paired with Kirishima. 

He stood, determination making him keep his head high as he ascended the stairs to head to the arena. 

Kaminari let out a puff of relief as the next round’s matchups revealed themselves. Thank god he was paired with Ashido. Granted, she was nowhere near weak, but he liked to think they were a bit closer to evenly matched and less like a chipmunk fighting an oak tree. At least he had a chance.

He watched Todoroki leave the bleachers thankfully and sent a wish of good luck to Tokoyami.

Shouto watched as Tokoyami made his way across from him in the arena. Midnight waited for him to get into position, and Shouto quietly hummed in thought. Tokoyami was an elusive one for sure. He didn’t often share details about his Quirk - he was similar to Shinsou in that way - so his strengths and weaknesses were unknown to most, and that list included him. The only thing he was sure about was Tokoyami’s preference for long range because of Dark Shadow, having been keeping a close eye on his match. 

Midnight started round two with a smirk. 

Tokoyami wasted no time. Just like with Yaoyorozu, Dark Shadow came forth and was sent directly towards him, yellow eyes glowing and bright. Shouto sucked from the attack, sending shards of ice at the figure. Dark Shadow  jerked right, smoothly adjusting itself to face him without losing its momentum, and it charged with no pause. Shouto dodged left, then changed tactics, sending ice shards to Tokoyami himself instead, but his classmate was able to avoid it while still operating Dark Shadow.  

Shouto’s mind was a rush of thoughts and clicking pieces, trying to figure out exactly what to do as he dodged and maneuvered around Dark Shadow’s advancements. He couldn’t properly attack Dark Shadow, but trying to attack Tokoyami seemed a fruitless effort. If he overwhelmed him with flurries and shards he might be able to keep him contained and unable to fight, but Shouto needed time and focus to do that, and Dark Shadow was making that plan an issue. 

In annoyance, Shouto flared a warning burst of fire that didn’t leave his body, hoping to discourage it and grab a moment to breathe. Dark Shadow did as he hoped and retreated and did a bit more, shrinking down and wilting from the flames. 

Shouto saw the reaction, and his throat closed. 

Using his left side was - it was a necessity. He couldn’t deny that, and using his fire in baby steps had been a tremendous help with the Sports Festival as a whole. He didn’t regret using it. But he didn’t think he could use it against someone with the same reactions to it as him. Cringing from it, wilting, not simply afraid of losing the tournament but afraid of fire.

Shouto stopped it, snuffed out his left side and wrapped it back up in mental chains until he was suffocating from them. 

Dark Shadow took the moment of distraction and lunged, getting a hit to his gut that knocked the wind out of him and sent him flying backwards. He landed hard on his side, skidding a foot or two, his skin burning from the friction.

Right. He needed to focus. 

Shouto gasped, attempting to suck air into his spasming lungs. Dark shadow made another swift attack, and Shouto desperately slapped the ground, a cascade of ice barreling towards Tokoyami and making him dodge. His focus was broken just long enough for Shouto to roll, getting back on his feet and slowly regaining his breath. A numbness was already creeping up on his right hand, and he fought with himself for a moment before the chains loosened, just barely, just enough to let him regulate his body heat. 

He took in a shaky, deep breath. It was a gut reaction and nothing more, he knew that. Dark Shadow was a shadow. It wasn’t reacting to fire itself, it was most likely reacting to the light it gave off. Even if he kept it close to himself and didn't send the fire away from his body, he could keep Dark Shadow off of him indefinitely. 

He just - he just couldn’t focus on Dark Shadow’s reaction. He had to focus on Tokoyami anyway. 

Shouto squatted, a hand lowering to rest his right palm on the ground. Dark Shadow made another move, and Shouto cut the mental chains away, his fire kindling, swelling, and wafting from his left side. Dark Shadow backed away, shrinking. 

He couldn’t use both sides whenever he wished. It was hard to focus on movement and strategy when all his attention was being sucked away by both of his Quirks. He became a statue, immobile, but if he was a torch stuck in place, Dark Shadow couldn’t get close enough to touch him anyway, and as long as he had some kind of way for his ice to travel - his hand placed firmly on the ground - he could maneuver the ice itself.

Shouto braced himself. Tokoyami was forced to run from the barrage of ice that came his way, but it followed him, chasing his path down until it swallowed his legs, then torso, until only his head was free. The ice crawled from Tokoyami’s chest to the tail that attached Dark Shadow to him until it fully encased it as well.

Midnight rendered him unable to fight, and the match was ended, Shouto the victor.

Midoriya was slowly unwinding from his hunched curl, limbs freeing themselves one by one as Midoriya focused less on safety and more on his phone, and Aizawa held in his relieved sigh. His injuries had healed as much as they were going to, and a smile had been on his face for a couple minutes now, transforming into grins and giggles. 

Aizawa frowned thoughtfully. He didn’t know who the girl from 1-B was, nor did he know what her Quirk proper was, but he couldn’t stand idly by and wait for her to pull Midoriya in again.

The question was, did she even know she was doing it?

It was hard to believe a future hero was aware of not only using a young child, but severely hurting them, mentally or physically. He couldn’t in good conscience slander her like that. He had to believe she didn’t know what she was doing. 

But it was her Quirk, how could she not?

Midoriya giggled softly in his lap, and the unease filling his chest retreated at the sound. He was sitting with his legs tucked under him now, his earlier hunched posture nowhere in sight, eyes wide and focused on the glitching phone in front of him. A small finger would reach out and tap away, one key at a time. 

Aizawa smiled at the kid, something in him relaxing. At least Midoriya had finally calmed. 

Something in his face lit up, a remembered thought bright and shining in his eyes, and Midoriya patted seriously at his thumb. Aizawa hummed, questioning, and Midoriya typed what he wanted to say. 

‘Can you let go? I want to try something’.

Raising his eyebrows in a silent question, Aizawa did as asked, setting his phone on his thigh. Midoriya adjusted, floating up and turning so he was parallel with the device. His cheeks puffed, focused, eyes squinting with the force of whatever he was trying to do.

He reached out to the phone, hands cupping the small device. He lifted slowly, unsteady, and the phone followed his hands, floating higher and higher in the air. Aizawa’s eyes widened as Midoriya exploded with joyful laughter. Attention lost, his phone slipped through the wisps of his hand, and Aizawa lunged forward, snatching it from the air. Midoriya patted furiously at his shoulder, excited, fast mutters indecipherable to his ears.

Midoriya’s joy, however, was not. His face was an ecstatic beam, eyes sparkling with life and emotion for the first time Aizawa had seen. Midoriya paused his pats, focused again, and resumed with puffed cheeks. Aizawa could feel Midoriya’s hands on his shoulder, the pressure from his gentle but frequent pats, his clothes reacting to the force. It wasn’t a vague, cold force, it was a human hand. 

Midoriya could interact with him.

Chapter Text

Katsuki stood across from Tail in the arena, eyes narrowed at his straight posture and sharp eyes. Anyone from his class - no matter who it was - couldn’t be underestimated. Everyone was smart, creative.

He was no exception of course, but he knew he couldn’t slack off. Admittedly, Tail had a lot more karate techniques mastered than himself, and Katsuki wasn’t fighting for only him anymore. Deku was expecting him to go as far as he was able, and Katsuki wouldn’t let him down, not again. The goal was first place, and while Icyhot would be an inevitable issue, he had to make it to Icy Hot to begin with.

The match started. Neither of them made a move, eyeing each other warily, analysing and contemplative. Katsuki had ideas, but without anything to go off of he was a bit at a loss. He had never fought Tail one on one before, and while he had seen quite a few of the moves he made on Round Face, he didn’t know if Tail would even risk doing the same moves on him. 

Tail ended up moving first, quick and light on his feet. He closed in on Katsuki in seconds, and it seemed as though he had paid close attention to Eyebags and his fight since he mirrored Katsuki’s own strategy. He punched swiftly and rapidly, forcing Katsuki to duck and weave around the flurry of punches. The difference, however, was Tail’s incorporation of his feet as well as his fists, and it threw Katsuki off of his rhythm, letting a solid kick nail him in the shoulder and knock off his balance. Tail used the opportunity to strike his side - the same move he’d made with Round Face for the finishing blow - and the familiar stance had Katsuki instinctually blocking, his arms taking up most of the blow. Explosions set off from his palms, and Tail quickly withdrew from the sparks and flames to save his arm. Katsuki took the moment to orientate himself, regaining balance and sending a quick explosive punch straight at Tail’s face. It forced him to move even farther backwards, and sensing the change in strategy, Katsuki pushed forward.

Tail managed to catch him off guard with his kicks, but Katsuki would only make that mistake once.

He couldn’t outmatch Tail in hand-to-hand combat - as bitter of a pill as that was to swallow. The only move he could reliably make was catching Tail off guard with his Quirk. They’d be locked in a stalemate at best if they kept this up, and Katsuki would tire out and lose at worst.

Katsuki braced himself and dodged as Tail sent a couple jabs his way, and Katsuki felt as though the stadium and crowds faded away as his sight zeroed in on Tail, hyper focused. They traded blows, Katsuki just barely managing to match the martial artist’s pace. His arms pulsed from the jabs he had blocked earlier, and the punches to them now weren’t helping matters. He would send a few small explosions when he needed a breather, but it was only for a moment then Tail was back in his personal space. Katsuki was getting frustrated very quickly, and he struggled to keep calm and focused, growing more and more sloppy the longer he was strung along.

Katsuki knew he couldn’t keep this up. He needed an opening - just one.

His wishes were granted when Tail made another move to give a strong kick to Katsuki’s knee to knock him off balance again. He was ready for it. He sent an explosion towards the limb as a punishment for the maneuver, and Tail couldn’t pull back in time, too into the motion to fully stop his momentum, leg getting burned and synged. Tail hissed and yanked his leg back a little too late, and Katsuki took the opportunity for what it was, quickly attempting to mimic Tail’s hand position and posture to use his own jabs against him. He feigned aiming at Tail’s side, and only when Tail went to block the attack did Katsuki shift to a quick throat punch. Tail gagged, gasping, and Katsuki took a step back and punched Tail in the jaw hard with crackling pops in his palms, sending Tail sprawling onto his back, unconscious.

Breathing hard and sweating, Katsuki stood and braced himself for Tail to get back up, only for Midnight to announce that Tail was unable to fight. Katsuki relaxed, wincing at the bruises his opponent had given him, rolling his shoulders. He let out a soft breath of relief. 

He’d have to ask Tail to spar with him sometime.

Izuku floated by Aizawa, hand pressed against the pro hero’s arm.

Not phasing through, but on it, and he could feel the fabric of Aizawa’s sleeve against his palm and fingers. The solid feeling he had experienced from Kaminari’s opponent flooded through his veins, shaky and unstable, but giving his limbs a warm feeling, like he was standing in bright sunlight on a hot day. Not unbearable, but not fully comfortable either. 

Still, he felt calm, no familiar swell of anger or sadness in his chest, growing and growing until he burst. At first his assumption was that he could only interact with things when he lost control and overflowed, but now he was calm as could be and patting Aizawa’s shoulder.

Izuku’s eyes welled with tears, a strange combination of joy and relief and melancholy. He never thought he’d be able to do this again.

Midoriya? Are you alright?  

Izuku let the feeling go, fading out until he felt normal again, and he sighed in relief. Keeping such strong concentration for so long was hard. He poked Aizawa’s hand and the pro hero turned the phone to face him.

‘I’m okay,’ he typed. ‘I missed this.’

Aizawa was quiet for a moment, then he stood up, Izuku floating away to give him room to do so. Do you want to try something with me?  

He tilted his head, curious. Aizawa walked over to the counter, motioning for Izuku to come with, and he obliged, floating over to watch with curiosity as Aizawa arranged a few items in a neat little row on the counter. A mug, a couple of pens grouped together, and a magazine.

Let’s see what you can do, he said. Take this as your own training.

Izuku’s breath shuddered and hitched, familiar daydreams of hero costumes and combat moves flashing through his head, fuzzy and vague, but Izuku didn’t mind. The pleasant feelings made his chest warm and his smile grow.

Instead of pretending, maybe he could be part of the hero course after all.

Aizawa gestured to the mug, hiding his mouth behind his scarf. Try picking this up and we’ll go from there. We need to see where your limits are.

They did a couple tests. They found Izuku struggled with picking up the group of pencils, as well as picking up all of the pages of the magazine. Pencils and pages slipped through his fingers, and they quickly learned he couldn’t pick up two different things at once either - the attempt at grabbing the mug and a pencil had Aizawa sweeping shattered porcelain. The limitations were expected, considering he had just discovered control in his newfound ability, and Izuku was finding himself the most excited and nervous he’d felt in a long time. 

It was one thing talking to his friends, it was a whole different experience being able to interact with them, like a person. He always felt like an outsider, hovering just beyond the class’ friend group, disconnected from cliques and social interactions. They did their best to include him in everything they could, but it just wasn’t the same. 

Izuku buzzed, and the door rattled in its frame. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

Round three had just begun, and Kaminari was sweating bullets. 

He had been proud only moments before - it was a close match but Kaminari ended up victorious against Ashido. He was kind of freaking out. Him being in the final matches had been a goal, sure, but he didn’t think it was an achievable one, just a hopeless daydream and a wish upon a star. But now? He made it.

Kaminari and Sero had taken to live blogging to Izuku while Bakugo was fighting his match - and winning, of course - and he had taken the opportunity to gush about it to Izuku in between rounds, and although Izuku hadn’t responded yet, he knew the kid would be just as excited for him. 

Then round three had been announced, and his heart decided to somehow drop into his feet and get caught in his throat at the same time. 

He was fighting Todoroki. 

It was an inevitability at this point in the rounds. He had hoped to any deity listening that he would be fighting Kirishima - who had won against Iida, the absolute madman - but he just had to be pitted against the class’ powerhouse. Even Bakugo would be better in theory, he was more familiar at least. With Todoroki, however, he was fucked, plain and simple. Even still, he couldn’t find it in him to sulk too hard. Already he was running way ahead of where he thought he would end up, and everyone else’s support and enthusiasm was contagious. 

They stood across from one another, kaminari giving a shaky smile to Todoroki, who nodded respectfully back, looking as calm as ever. Of course he did, what did he have to worry about? Getting sun in his eyes maybe. 

Midnight started the match. He took one step forward, and Todoroki froze his feet to the floor. In another blink, Todoroki had approached with swift steps and kneed him in the stomach, making him crouch low, and Todoroki took the opportunity to freeze his hands to the floor as well. 

There was a moment of silence, and Kaminari’s heart sunk as Midnight called the match. Todoroki stooped low, right side emitting heat as he began to thaw out Kaminari’s limbs. 

Sorry, it’s nothing personal, Todoroki said, halting and awkward, and even as disappointed as Kaminari felt he still appreciated it. I have to win this for someone.

It’s okay, he replied. I get it. I didn’t expect to win anyway, he laughed. 

Todoroki gave him a curious look. I finished it so quickly because I knew you had a chance to win, he said, and Kaminari stared at him in shock. Your electricity and my ice wouldn’t be the best combination for me after all. Electricity and water?

Kaminari felt some of his earlier energy well up within him, Todoroki’s words lifting his spirits. Right! he said, unable to stop grinning. I would’ve given you a run for your money, huh?

Todoroki shook the water off of his hand and helped him up, a smirk on his face. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes as Round Face bugged Glasses for his phone, their chatter floating all the way up the bleachers. 

Izuku isn’t here! she was saying, loud and pleading. He’s gonna be so disappointed he didn’t see the final match, at the least! Please Iida?

He paused at that. She had a point, it had been a while since Deku checked back in or even caught up with the live blog, and he certainly wasn’t here now. The nerd would be heartbroken knowing he missed out on Katsuki’s final match - already he would beat himself up knowing he’d missed the final half of the Sports Festival. 

Icyhot and Sparky appeared at the top of the bleachers, making their way down the steps and back to their seats. Sparky was instantly showered with sympathy, and Katsuki opened his mouth to say something at least a little encouraging, but catching Sparky’s eyes Katsuki figured he didn’t need it. He didn’t seem all that bummed out, and although there was disappointment, Sparky was handling it surprisingly well. 

Katsuki stood and paused for a moment, Kirishima standing and already making his way out of the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time. Instead of following, he went down to the very front seats and dug in his pocket, glaring at the surprised look Round Face sported. 

Here, he said, holding out his phone to her. She lit up and reached for it, but Katsuki pulled it back before she could grab it. Keep your nose in your own damn business, he warned. It’s for recording and nothing else. If I find out you went through my shit, you’re dead. Got it?

Yep! she chirped. Unamused, Katsuki properly handed it to her and she immediately began to work the recording functions, pulling up his camera and aiming it at the stadium. He nodded, satisfied, and turned back around to ext. 

He took the step up to the stadium. Kirishima’s stupid fucking smile greeted him, and he waved cheerfully. Katsuki scoffed and crossed his arms, refusing to look at his smile any longer lest he catch his idiocy. 

Midnight started the match and Katsuki made the first move. He darted forward with a swinging right hook. Kirishima activated his Quirk before the explosion could land, but Katsuki wasn’t bothered. 

Unfortunately for Kirishima, Katsuki understood his Quirk more from hanging out with him and sparring. Kirishima could take a lot, but everyone had their own tolerance, and that tolerance always had some kind of cap, an invisible line you shouldn’t cross or else your strength suddenly leaves you. 

Fortunately, Katsuki was great at crossing that line. He was a tough bastard - he had to be with who his mother was - and Katsuki was ready to push Kirishima’s tolerance as far as he could.

Katsuki braced himself for the strain his biceps and forearms would go through, preemptively gritting his teeth, and Kirishima must have sensed his intentions or noticed his change in behavior since his eyes widened. He wasted no more time. Explosions burst from his palms over and over, pelting Kirishima’s hardened skin with a nonstop barrage. Even when his palms burned and ached, he didn’t relent, and Kirishima had no time to release his Quirk and recharge. Slowly he weathered away at his Quirk. Chips began appearing in the makeshift armor, crackling outward and breaking skin. Katsuki’s forearms felt as though a rubber band had been pulled too tight, muscles straining and threatening to give out on him, but he knew he had one more move to do.

He shifted his stance and leaned into a cracking right hook, a large explosion going off just as his knuckles made contact with Kirishima’s cheek, and his friend fell, bleeding and unconscious. Midnight labeled Kirishima unable to fight and named him the victor, the crowd going wild at his display.

Katsuki couldn’t relish the victory too much, not with the pain scorching through his arms. He kept them away from his torso, knowing from experience if they touched anything it would make the pain ten times worse. 

    Shinsou whistled. Bakugo really was a force to be reckoned with, and as shitty as he felt thinking this way, Kaminari and Kirishima’s quick losses made his own short match sting just a bit less. Sharing the misery, he supposed.

    Uraraka was trying hard not to get too worked up, her focus solidly split between the camera in her hands and her own excitement. Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero seemed torn between cheering Bakugo on, wild and laughing, to shouting empathetic words to an unconscious Kirishima. Shinsou thought the gesture was thoughtful, although pointless.

    He watched with curious eyes as Iida suddenly rose from his seat, putting a gentle but firm hand on Uraraka and Todoroki’s shoulders. I’m getting a call, he said cheerfully. Make sure to record the final match, I would hate to miss it! His friends reassured they would, and Iida jogged up the stairs to exit the bleachers.

    Shinsou met his eyes, shared a brief nod with his classmate, then turned his attention back to the arena.

Shouto watched Bakugo, eyes bright and sharp, from across the arena.

This was the last stretch, both fighting for the same person without realizing, feeling adrenaline pump in their veins as they waited for Midnight to start the match, their heartbeats thumping like hummingbird’s wings in their chests. 

The one they knew had the best chance at defeating them, crawling their way past the other and stealing the title of first place winner, was the person just across from them. The crown was right there. After all the fighting they’d gone through, they wouldn’t be going down without kicking and screaming. 

Bakugo tilted his jaw up, glaring, a challenge and a statement. Shouto glared back, a warning.

Midnight started the match with a wave of her hand.

Shouto dodged left instinctively, narrowly avoiding a large blast Bakugo had launched right out the gate. Shouto froze the ground to discourage Bakugo’s movement, but seemingly to spite him, Bakugo took to the skies with his Quirk, a manic grin on his lips. 

Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play. Shouto skated to the blonde, slowly at first but picking up speed as he went, ice forming and building in his palm. He launched it with a strong throw, then another and another, but Bakugo was fast, ducking and weaving and heading straight for Shouto. 

He grabbed Shouto by the collar and hair, turning mid air and slamming his opponent into the ground. Shouto’s ears rang. He slapped his palm against the already frozen floor, and a burst of ice shot into the sky in a pillar, just barely managing to trap Bakugo’s torso in a grip. Shouto stood on shaky legs, blinking away the stars in his vision as the sound of Bakugo’s crackling explosion revealed his escape from the ice. 

Come on Icy Hot, you can do better than this! Bakugo roared, ice crumbling underneath his hands. We’re in a tournament! The final round, you fucker! ACT LIKE IT!

I am, Shouto snapped, watching tensely as Bakugo stepped from the ice pillar and landed on the ground. His classmate readied himself, palms sparking and a sneer on his lips. 

You’re ‘Icy Hot’, not ‘Popsicle’! Don’t play stupid! Bakugo lunged, and Shouto adjusted his footing to help with the sliding. You’re going easy on me you bastard!

Shouto dodged, expectedly sliding with the ice to give him some momentum. He turned and punished Bakugo for the brash action, giving him a solid punch to the kidney that sent him flying. It’s not that simple! Shouto snapped back. 

He landed quite a ways away, but not far enough to cross the line even with the ice. Shouto cursed under his breath as Bakugo quickly got back on his feet. Then for now, make it that simple! Bakugo yelled, clutching his side. Whatever your fucking problem is isn’t about me, asshole! Fight me right or forfeit!

Shouto’s mind raced as Bakugo closed in again, and he set his left side ablaze to discourage the contact and melt the ice around him, fire barely drifting from his body. He just needed a minute to think.

Instead of discouragement, Bakugo kept going right for him, getting steady and quicker on his feet once he hit land not covered in ice. With no hesitation, no flinching expression or wariness to him, Bakugo reeled back and punched Shouto in the face. Shouto flew backwards, just barely managing to make a pillar to catch him from flying out of the arena. He landed hard and painfully, having to take just a moment to breathe before he could pull himself up off the floor. He stared at Bakugo, wide eyed and stunned. 

Bakugo glared hard at him. I saw you, he said, teeth grit. Against Birdbrain. I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not going to be stopped by some pussy-ass flames. When I say come at me, I mean it! Bakugo stalked forward, predator-like, explosions roaring in his palms and towering over Shouto. Now are you going to stand up and FIGHT ME, or are you going to go down quiet?

Shouto’s heart beat painfully in his throat as he stood up. He hadn’t realized Bakugo was paying that much attention to him, hadn’t realized he even cared. 

Did he really give his classmates that little credit? 

Izuku’s voice echoed in his head, reassuring and coaxing and sad, and something boiling and angry bubbled in his gut, thrashing and loud and demanding to be heard. 

No. No, he wouldn’t go down quietly anymore. He was sick and tired of following his father’s rules. It was his Quirk, but he was still letting his father control him, dictate what he could and couldn’t do, and looking into the roaring energy in Bakugo’s eyes, Shouto knew he’d had enough. 

Shouto stood up, hands sweating, and he took in a deep breath, a nervous tugging in his gut that he forced himself to ignore.

He would grow, he would be able to not only show his father fire wasn’t hateful, but his mother too. His siblings. His family. 

Heat gathered in his left side, fire climbing and growing and spreading until it was an unstoppable inferno, melting every speck of ice along the ground. Shouto met Bakugo’s eyes, expecting dread to stare back at him like he was looking into a mirror.

Bakugo threw his head back and cackled.

Welcome to the final round Icy Hot, Bakugo said, grinning, and he charged. 

Shouto, hands and feet numb with shock and nerves, met him pace for pace, adrenaline making his blood roar in his ears as the wind blew his hair back from his face. His left side was born for flames, for fire, and locking it up was no longer an option he would entertain. He had classmates, had Izuku, had Aizawa. He didn’t have to keep this pain to himself anymore, didn't have to keep such tight chains on at all times when all anyone around him wanted was just - was just for him to do his best. Was for him to be able to grow, to move past this.

If he couldn’t take the first step forward, he never would. Shouto was tired of standing still.

For the first time, Shouto felt like no one was watching as he met fist to fist with Bakugo, hearing a deafening explosion that made his whole world turn black. 

The stadium was silent, awe and shock at what they had witnessed causing a universal moment of quiet to process what just happened. Smoke from the explosion shrouded the arena in grey fog, thick enough to choke on, and it took Midnight and Kamui Woods shooing it away for them to see what was going on. 

Todoroki Shouto was slumped against the stadium wall, clearly unconscious and most certainly out of bounds. Bakugo Katsuki lay on his back in the arena, a hair’s length away from the line, unconscious as well, arms torn and bleeding. 

Midnight announced Bakugo the winner of the tournament amidst thunderous applause that he couldn’t hear. Medics came to the arena to take both boys to Recovery Girl, and even from all the way down there, the medics could hear a specific group of kids screaming and chanting Bakugo’s name from the stadium bleachers. 

Hizashi pulled out his phone with a grin, forgetting about commentating entirely. Shouta and Midoriya would no doubt want to hear about this.

Chapter Text

Katsuki stood on the first place platform, the tallest of the three, bandages wound around his hands and forearms. Icy Hot to his right was slightly shorter, looking pensive with plaster on his neck and cheek, and Kirishima was to his left, the shortest of the three and looking near tears. He really, really didn’t want to rub his win in their faces - especially Icy Hot - but he figured he could indulge in feeling the tiniest bit smug. His smirk was threatening to turn into a wide grin every second, and his posture was proud and tall, the entire stadium cheering his victory. He could hear his class going wild for them, his group’s loud whistling and shouting distinctive even from all the way up on the bleachers. The sun was bright and shining, the crisp wind blowing his hair out of his face. His heart felt full.

This wasn’t just for him. It was for Deku. It was to prove not only to himself, but to his best friend that he could be the best without fail, without needing to tear others down to get there. That he would. He had already made steps, but that was correcting himself, not moving forward.

Now, he could say he was moving forward.

All Might was there to give them their medals, plaster across the bridge of his nose like it had been broken, and Katsuki was two minds about it. On one hand the little kid in him was fit to burst with joy and excitement, cackling and cheering at having his idol recognizing him in such a way. On the other hand, however, Deku hadn’t gotten better with his behavior around him, and when someone like Deku was that quiet, that cautious, it was best to be on guard. Admittedly, a very small part insisted in the moment that Deku was probably overreacting, but Katsuki very firmly told that small part to shut the fuck up. After all, if Deku were to overreact where All Might was concerned, it would be hyperventilating with excitement, not shutting down.

All Might approached Kirishima, the third place medal in his hands, and placed it around his classmate’s neck, talking quietly to him. Whatever he had said finally made the dams burst, and Kirishima flipped between sniffling and laughing, an ecstatic grin on his face as he clutched the medal like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten it. He approached Icy Hot next, placing the second place medal around his neck. Katsuki still couldn’t make out what he had said, but it made Icy Hot smile, giving the man a nod in return. 

Then All Might turned to him. The first place medal was sparkling gold, shiny and bright, and Katsuki felt his chest swell with so many emotions he couldn’t put a name to each one. 

Young Bakugo, he murmured quietly, his trademark grin softening into something more genuine, you fought hard and well. I am honored to give you this first place medal - you’ve earned it. The medal was placed around his neck, All Might patting his chest, and it may have been added weight but Katsuki had never felt more free. Your potential is incredible. I’m excited to see what you do in the future.

Katsuki swallowed, trying hard not to give in to his closing throat. He would not cry on live television. His parents would never let him hear the end of it.

Tenya felt as though the train was going at a crawl. It knew he was in a rush, it had to, but all he could do was bounce his leg restlessly as the train crept ever closer to Musutafu’s hospital. He barely had time to dress out of his hero costume and dart to the train station before the train left, but now he had wished he had used his Quirk to just get there already.

His hand was clenched tight around his phone, sweating, shaky.

The moment the doors opened he escaped in a flash. The wind tore around him as he rushed to the doors, bursting through, demanding to know where his brother’s room was. The nurse told him, attempting to soothe, to apologize, something, but Tenya wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Instead he forced himself to run normally up the stairs and down the hall, forced himself not to use his Quirk - he was in a hospital for god’s sake oh my god he was in a hospital his brother was in the hospital no no don’t think too hard on it you missed the room go back!

He snapped the door open. His stomach dropped, his lunch almost came up. His brother laid weak and pale, tubes snaking in and out of his body. Everyone looked small in a hospital bed, but his brother looked younger than he remembered.

So, so much younger.

His parents were there, already seated - of course they were the one who called you - and his mom held tissues to her eyes as she sobbed. His dad didn’t look any better. The only thing testifying to Tensei still being - being with them - was the heart monitor, his weak pulse, a sharp and pointed noise that broke the horrible silence in the room.

It reminded him of Izuku, he thought briefly. A silence so suffocating you thought you’d choke on it.

He broke. A sob tore through his throat, and his knees threatened to give out on him as he stumbled over to his parents. His mom caught him before he fell, standing and holding him to her as close as she physically could, squeezing him hard enough to force the air out of his lungs. It didn’t matter. He was hardly getting breath anyway.

I’m sorry, she sobbed, and Tenya’s heart felt gutted out of his chest, ripped out and torn to shreds.

He’s not-? He’s not-? Tenya choked on the words. He couldn’t finish them, couldn’t make the possibility any more real than it might be already.

No, his dad cut in. It looked like he was trying hard to be strong, but he looked so, so close to tears. But we - we don’t know when he’ll wake up.

Shouto opened the door to his mother’s hospital room, heart pounding in his chest with anxiety, and fear made his hands tingle with numbness. 

The first sight of his mother in almost ten years was her wide, ash grey eyes. It seemed like she had just stood up from her bed to water one of the flower pots in her room, and Shouto’s hand tightened around the bouquet of roses in his grip, the plastic crinkling at the added pressure.

She dropped the watering can and it went clattering to the floor, but it went unnoticed as she walked over, slow at first, disbelieving, then quicker as a huge smile broke out on her face. Shouto met her halfway, walking fully into the room with shaking legs. Shouto reached out and hugged her, hard, fingers gripping her white hospital gown as if she would slip away. He would’ve felt awkward if it weren’t for the fact that her grip was just as tight, digging into his collar as she sniffled. He felt his eyes well up with tears of his own.

She still smelled the same - like freshly blooming flowers - and it brought on a whole slew of memories. Every time she held herself straight in the face of his father’s wrath, every smile she had sent his way, every time they had sat down to watch All Might on the big screen and Shouto had asked her if he could be a hero - if he should even want to be.

He had hidden himself away from his mother not only out of anxiety, but out of guilt. He should’ve done something, called someone, put up more of a fight. Maybe if he had done what Endeavor wanted just a bit better she would’ve been spared, and in that moment the guilt he had suppressed for years came rushing in all at once, clawing at his chest until he felt like he could barely breathe. He had so much he wanted to tell her, so much he needed to catch her up on.

They pulled away, and Shouto looked at her face, expecting fear, regret, anger.

She looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she laughed.

The class of 1-A sat tiredly in their seats, some slouched low and some with their feet propped up on their desks, despite Iida’s weak protests. The Sports Festival had been long and grueling, a challenge that tested every ability they had until they felt that they would break, and it had left them exhausted but thankful. 

Katsuki felt the atmosphere and shared in it. His forearms needed a moment’s respite, and just like everyone else he was thankful for the short break. He hadn’t thought Aizawa was capable of kindness, but he supposed even trolls had soft spots. 

His phone was propped on his knees, he could feel the cold air by the left of his head buzzing with Deku’s energy. At first Deku had done nothing but sulk when he realized he had missed the latter half of the Sports Festival, and it only got worse when he realized he’d missed the final match, but Round Face had pulled a quick save by wasting no time, pointing to Katsuki’s phone and reassuring that she had caught it. Deku had immediately hounded him - Katsuki could’ve sworn it felt like Deku was pulling at his clothes and pressing his hands into his pockets, but he brushed it off as imagination - and to keep the little gremlin at bay, he had shown Deku the footage. 

He had to give it to her, Round Face had done a decent job at recording. The footage had stayed on the two damn near the whole time no matter how many times they had tossed each other across the ring, only growing shaky and blurry when the dust cleared to reveal him as the winner. She had been cheering and jumping like everyone else, and the footage turned into a mess of incomprehensible colored smears and a jumble of voices. Katsuki didn’t hold it against her. 

Deku had been just as excited. He had cheered and laughed and even cried, just a bit, patting at Katsuki’s face and shoulders in glee once the video was over. The class had cheered with him, asking what he thought, and mutters had permeated the room nonstop, much to everyone’s joy. Katsuki couldn’t help but smirk, knowing Deku was indulging in his usual Quirk rants. He wondered what Deku was saying.

Deku made his rounds, giving each and every student their own flurry of celebratory pats and slaps, going up and down the rows. Round Face couldn’t stop giggling, Kirishima got emotional all over again, and Icy Hot looked surprisingly bashful, although Katsuki wasn’t sure why. Eyebags tried to shrug off Deku’s cheerfulness, but he gave in quickly enough, and Katsuki turned back around in his seat to hide his smirk.

Glasses was quiet. Katsuki had seen the news - he didn’t blame him for his silence. 

He hoped he was doing okay. Round Face seemed to be doing a fine enough job at keeping Glasses’ attention, but Katsuki wondered if it was better to leave him be. He remembered getting the news about Deku. He hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone for almost two weeks, although, he figured the two experiences weren’t exactly the same.

Aizawa walked in shortly thereafter, eyes boring into the classroom, glancing just next to Katsuki’s left at something before focusing again. Katsuki frowned, thoughtful. The teacher tapped the board behind him, statistics drawn on it in chalk, and all eyes zeroed in on the teacher. Deku was muttering on, content in his own little world. Built fully around Quirks, Katsuki was sure.

One quick lecture on nominations later and everyone was excited, some energy being brought back into the room despite everyone’s exhaustion. Aizawa passed out the papers of who nominated them, and Katsuki stared hard at his own page, a long, seemingly never ending list of pro heroes that all wanted him.

He had to take this seriously. He knew whoever he chose would be an important decision - it would shape his hero career for better or for worse.

He could hear his classmates chatting with one another, some excited and some nervous. Icy Hot had left his seat to join Round Face and Glasses, and Katsuki could hear Round Face talk about doing hero-studies with a martial artist. Considering her fight with Tail, Katsuki wasn’t very surprised at the idea. Kirishima and the rest of his friend group seemed to be waiting for him, gathered around Sparky’s table while Sparky himself ranted about how many nominations he had gotten from coming in fourth. 

Unfortunately for them, their opinion wasn’t what Katsuki wanted. Oi, Aizawa, he said, and searched the ground for his teacher before his desk. Of course he found Aizawa almost immediately, covered head to foot in his bright sleeping bag. 

What, he said.

I wanna grab the E-thing. He added Can I? at the last minute, but he was proud of himself regardless.

For a while, but you need to focus.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Katsuki stood from his seat and walked to the back of the class, grabbing the stupid device and carrying it back, scowling at it. He would just have Deku type to him, but it was nice, hearing the nerd’s voice again. 

Sitting down, he placed the thing on his desk and clicked it on. The antenna snapped to his left and he started recording.

Well, this is your specialty. Where do I go?

There was a brief pause, then Deku murmured for a while. Katsuki waited patiently - as patiently as he could, he wasn’t a saint - and when Deku had silenced he played the recording back. 

“You̵ h̕a͡ve҉ ͘śo ma͢n̛y nám̢es͡!” Deku gasped, and Katsuki smiled at the excitement in his voice. “Hm...̢Y̛ou n͟eed s͘oḿeone͠ tha͏t̵ d҉oe͡s w͞ell̡ i̴n͟ the͜ ̢spotl͘ight,̀ b̕út̷ şo̴m̸e̕one ̡t̵ha͝t'͟s̛ ̀g͢òo̵d̛ wìth ͘peo҉p̀l͢e̡. ͟Y̵o҉u͏ co̢ul҉ḑ alw̴a͠y͞s͡ le͝a̕rn̡ from them!”

Katsuki huffed, but there was no heat in it. You saying I’m not charming? Deku only giggled in response, and as much as Katsuki wanted to argue, he knew Deku was right. Power wasn’t quite the issue he was facing right now - it was being likeable. Hero levels of likeable. Even with therapy he wasn’t the best at being kind in the traditional sense, and although his goal wasn’t changing himself completely, knowing when to suck it up would probably be useful.

The device clicked to his right, and Katsuki hurriedly lifted his arm. He must’ve leaned on it by accident, but at least Deku was using the opportunity to talk in the quiet. Katsuki glanced at it then frowned in thought. The device was a little too far away, even if Katskui had leaned hard to his right. Did he even feel it on his arm…? 

Deku stopped, and Katskui stopped the recording and played it back.

“I t͟hin͏k ̨P̡r̵e͝sent ̧M͡ic̀ ̧o͜r B̡eśt́ ͡Je̷a͠n͜įs͘t w͠oul̡d ̛be g̨o̵o̷d҉ ͡c͜hoices,̷ ͡Kacc͡ha͘n. Mi͟r̡k̸o͝ ̸t҉oo͘!͏”

I’m surprised you don’t recommend All Might, he drawled, keeping an eye on the device. Mirko, why did that name sound familiar? They had to be in the top five. Was their name even on the list? He reached out to click record again, but the button clicked on its own, causing Katsuki to blink in surprise. He knew it, he hadn’t leaned on the button. So did that mean Deku managed? But how? He couldn’t touch things before.

Deku stopped talking, but Katsuki didn’t move, staring wide eyed as the device clicked buttons on its own. Deku seemed a little out of breath while he spoke.

“Al͜l͢ M͜i̡gh͏t̷ ̵is to̴o̧ ca͡l͝m͟ ҉f̕or͜ ̢y̷ou,̧ ͡and͠ ̷y͏our̷ Q͝ui͝r̕k͞s̡ ̸ar͠e̶ too̷ ͢di҉f͝fere͏nt,” Deku replied, as if his new ability was completely normal. ͡”Yoư ma͜ke ͞it lo͘ok ҉thoưg̷h̸t́l͟e͏s͡s an̵d̵ ̷e̕f͠fo҉rtl͜e̷śs,͢ b҉u҉t͝ th͏e͟ wa͢y҉ ͟y҉ǫu̴ ͝us̢e̶ ̧y̡o҉u̴r Quír҉k͞ t͏ak̛e͜s a͢ ̸lo̶t͞ ̸of͜ ͟st͟ŗat͜eg̢y҉ and ́thįn̨k͏i͏ng̡.̧ ̷Ýou͞'r͢e re̴all͏y̶ a͢m̢az͝ing͠ K̸a͟cc͝h͝an̴!̶”

Katsuki’s face burned, sinking into his chair. How Deku managed to make his own milestone less important was beyond him. Shut the fuck up, he hissed, embarrassed. There are people here you crazy bastard. And is that you? When the fuck could you do that?

Deku tapped the device, once, twice, three times, and Katsuki got the hint and clicked the buttons himself. Maybe he couldn’t do it for too long.

“Bu̷t it's t̸rưe̷! ́A̡i҉zàw̸a̵ ̨help͢ed͠ ́me͡, ̕during ́ţhe S̀po̴r͏t͠s F̨e̛st̸iv̷a̛l͡. ̴He͟'̛s só n҉i͜c̨e̢!͠ ͝It̕'s̕ s͟t͞i͞l͝l ̷so̢ hard̀ t̀o ke͘ep̷ u̕p̧ ͟b̀ưt̨, ͏I̴'l̴l̡ get̕ ̛be͟tte̛r͏.”

He shot a glare over to Aizawa. Why did the old man not warn anyone?

“C̸an I͡ ̀t͠ype i̵n͞st͟e̵a̶d͢?̧ ͝I͢ d̸on'̨t lik̶e ͏the d͜elay̛.̸..̨Į j̡us͠t ͜w͞ant́ t͡o͏ ̨t͡álk ̴to yo͢ù,” Deku continued.

Oh. Katsuki sighed, clicking off the machine. Yeah...sure. He pulled out his phone and set it on the desk, face up, opening the notes app on his phone. Congrats, he said, heart full and warm but not exactly sure how to express it. You better not move my shit around.

Deku laughed, and his phone glitched worryingly as the ghost typed on his phone.

‘I won't! But back to your hero-studies. It’s important after all!’ Katsuki rolled his eyes as he read the words. Of course. ‘I really think Mirko would be a good idea. She’s a lot like you, but she’s really popular too! I would say Hawks, but I think his Quirk is a bit too different. Best Jeanist could teach you how to be charming, I heard he’s really into that stuff, but you guys might not mesh well.’

‘who’s Mirko???’ Katsuki typed back.

Deku simply put a bunny emoji and Katsuki snorted, a smirk pulling at his lips. He was a little pissed that he knew exactly who Mirko was now just off that alone, but he supposed Deku made his point. ‘Very funny.’

Hey, Bakubro? Katsuki pulled his head up from his phone, blinking, looking over at Kirishima who was staring at him in curiosity. Everyone was staring at him, actually. Um, I was just curious...Did you know Izuku before? You guys seem close.  

All of the energy felt sucked out of him, a scowl slowly replacing the half-smirk on his face. Deku patted at his shoulder, trying to comfort. It only felt like cold air. Kirishima winced at his face. Sorry man, you don’t have to answer. We’ve been wondering for a while but...never found the right time to ask.

His phone glitched. Katsuki glanced at it. ‘You can tell them as much as you want,’ Deku typed. ‘I don’t mind.’

The fact that they hadn’t asked sooner was surprising, really. Katsuki couldn’t blame them for being curious. Deku called him ‘Kacchan’ for fuck sake, that was definitely a sign they had history.

Katsuki tapped his nails on the table, spoke haltingly. Yeah. Knew him for years. Went to school with him.

His classmates went quiet, staring at the floor or their feet, and Katsuki found himself missing the easy atmosphere from before. Deku still patted at his arm, and it was a comfort. That must be hard, he heard Sparky mumble. What happened?

Kaminari! Glasses scolded immediately, hand chopping. You should not just ask something so personal!

Sorry! I didn’t mean - I - sorry, Sparky stuttered.

I think a better question is what he looks like, Icy Hot spoke. We’ve had nothing to go off of.

Katsuki shrugged, an uncomfortable feeling tugging at his gut. He hated talking about middle school - his therapist called it trauma, he called it cowardly with frustrated, angry cursing - but he figured Deku would want them to know. Besides, he couldn’t keep Deku to himself forever, it wasn’t fair. Green hair, freckles, green eyes, Katsuki said, tapping his desk quicker. Stupid grin on his face all the time. The works.

What was he like? Glasses asked, careful, and Katsuki wondered if talking about someone else was helping him. Maybe it was, and the idea gave him a bit of strength to continue. Even Aizawa was listening, having sat up from the floor.

Nerdy, he said, but in a good way.

The hero-studies - such a highly anticipated event that had the class raving even with their exhaustion - was set aside as Katsuki began talking about his childhood friend. Instead of trying to describe him, he decided talking about what Deku had been up to was a lot better. Our moms were friends before we were born, he said. So we grew up together, and that fucker grew up obsessed with heroes. He had like, what, twelve notebooks? Right?

Deku typed ‘eleven!! :D’ on his phone. Eleven then. A shit ton of notebooks just full of nothing but Quirk analysis. 

Is that why you asked him for his opinion? Round Face chirped.

Damn right, Katsuki said, slapping his desk with a grin. He grew up with me. If there was anyone I’d want a second opinion from, it would be the nerd. He knows my Quirk as well as I do. Maybe, just maybe, a bit better. Deku put a crying emoji, and Katsuki shrugged. Hey, credit where it’s due, crazy ass.

Glasses frowned, eyes glimmering with something Katsuki didn’t like. How did you move on? he asked. You have dealt with this very...quietly. Did you recognize him as soon as he spoke?

Katsuki barked out a laugh, a mixture of bitterness and amusement an unpleasant weight on his chest. I’ve been anything but quiet.

They talked a bit more, Deku occasionally tapping out sentences on his phone for Katsuki to read aloud or read on his own. Aizawa - as interested as he was, he hadn’t laid back down since Katsuki started talking - eventually guided them back to work, saying if they wanted to discuss the topic they could do it during free time or after school. Katsuki focused back on his hero studies, ignoring his pounding heart climbing up his throat. God, he fucking hated talking about that.

He was quickly absorbed, however, in the paragraphs of ideas and theories Deku spat out at him, and a part of him wondered if Deku did it on purpose. Regardless he was thankful for the distraction, and in the end the two of them had narrowed it down to two Pro Heroes. Mirko, who Katsuki was heavily leaning towards the more Deku talked about her, and - to his own surprise - Present Mic. He owned a radio show, you had to be charming to be successful with that, right? His Quirk was loud, flashy, and aggressive, a similar enough comparison that Katsuki might even learn a thing or two. He packed up his things as the bell rang, thankful they didn’t have to answer quite yet. 

Right now, he was more focused on an idea that had popped up, a way to explain Deku without having to say much at all.

The next day, he sauntered into his homeroom class, a smug grin on his face. He said his usual gruff good morning to Deku - who muttered cheerfully in response - then threw his backpack on his desk, rummaging around for something. As soon as he found it he pulled it out, turning and walking to the back of class, setting it carefully but lazily on Icy Hot’s desk. You better be thankful Icy Hot, he snarked. Took me forever to find it.

He said that, but it wasn’t true. Deku’s things had been carefully set aside in a box in his home, and his mom kept a picture of him on her at all times. Katsuki wasn’t the only one who mourned that day.

Deku seemed absolutely thrilled, tapping at the picture and muttering loudly. Icy Hot, however, looked a lot more somber, staring at the picture on his desk with a rapidly saddening expression. As much as Katsuki felt for him, he didn’t feel too much guilt for it. He had asked, and Katsuki had provided.

Everyone quickly got the hint and made their way over. There was a mixture of reactions. Sad cooing from most of the girls and a quiet contemplation from the guys. Aizawa didn’t bother, still sitting at his desk, and Katsuki narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 

The picture on Icy Hot’s desk was one of the more recent ones, probably as close to Deku’s physical appearance as Katsuki could guess. It hadn’t been taken by his hag of a mom, nor was Katsuki in the picture, but he was thankful for it. It meant Deku was smiling, wide and carefree, freckles shifted with the force of it.

It was the impression he wanted everyone else to have. A happy, optimistic kid. He could tell everyone the darker sides of the story when they’d seen enough of the lighter parts.

Chapter Text

Aizawa had been rather busy, even after the Sports Festival.

He had sat down with Hizashi and asked the man for help learning sign language as soon as he was able. Of course, he was only happy to assist, and the next week of Aizawa’s schedule was crammed with learning the basics. Already he had wasted so much time, he wasn’t putting it off any longer. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just that. The students had handed in their hero names as well as their desired internships. Nedzu arranged the internships proper, but Aizawa was tasked with wrangling the brats into some kind of order, as well as making sure they got where they needed to go with little to no hassle - a tall order, considering the class he had. He sometimes wondered if they drew chaos to themselves like magnets, drawn to their confident, shit eating grins and youthful optimism. Regardless of where it came from, it just made more work for him. Collaborating with Nedzu for the internships ate away at his already dwindling free time as well, and he was also collaborating with Nedzu for something else, a surprise for Midoriya. Hatsume Mei from the Support Course was the backbone to the whole project, really, and even though Aizawa was excited for Midoriya’s response, he hardly had any time to relax now.

He had talked with Midoriya about what he planned to do during the time of the internships, since he was admittedly concerned about Midoriya being alone for a while. Much to Aizawa’s surprise, the conversation had taken a turn he wasn’t expecting. 

“I̴’͠m̵ scar̴e̴d̕,” Midoriya said, voice barely above a whisper. ͞”A̡bo͜ùt T̵od̸ǫ ҉a̶nd̀ Iid͢a̢.͟ T̴o̢d̷o̸ ̶i̵s ҉i̸nt͘ern͢ìn҉g҉ wi͞th En̵de͡avor̶, ąn̕d ͞that'͠s ̢b͢ad. ̀He ̷i̡sn͢'̨t gơn͞na ͞be sáf̶e, E͡n͘dea͝vor҉'̴s͠ mean, a͢n̶d̕ ̢sc͝a̢ry.͞”

As alarming as that was, he pressed about Iida first. As far as Aizawa was aware, Iida had been doing decently. Not great, but nothing that should cause such wariness.

“I͜i̵da̶ iś śad, ͘a̧n͞d͏ ͜a̸n͜g͠ry̡,͜” Midoriya explained. ̨”He t̕al͜ḱęd a̴bou̷t in͞ter͝nsh̢ips ͜be̢fo͏r̕e.̨ ͢M͡a͘nu̴a̧l ͜w̵asn̛'͝t̵ ẃhere ͜h̢e ͘wa̧ńt͠e̢d ͡t̡o͘ ̀g҉o̷.̛ I̴'m scar̷e̢d̷ he'̡s tòo angr҉y͞ ͟a͘nd ̕he'ş d͜oi̡n͡g sơmetḩi͟n͏g bad͏.” Izuku sniffled, the recording’s glitches getting worse with his upset. The windows and his breathing rattled, tears pooling in his eyes. “I̢͟ ̨̧c̡à̴̧n͢'̶̵̕t̀ ̛͢h̷̡e̴̛l̶͘͢p͜͏ ͞͠t̵̴͜h̀͜e͜m ̢̕̕b̀͝o҉͢t̨͢ḩ.͜͡ ̕͟W̛͞h̡a̡t͝͞ ̨͞do̧ ͜͠I ͘͠͞ḑ̀o͘?̀.̕͜͟͡W̛͞h̡a̡t͝͞ ̨͞do̧ ͜͠I ͘͠͞ḑ̀o͘?̀ W҉̡͠h̶a͠͏t̷̢ ͘d̴o̕ ̵̀͠Í ̡d̶o̢͞?̨”

Breathe, Aizawa soothed. We can figure something out. What do you mean Todoroki isn’t safe?

“It҉'͞s Endea͝vo̷ŕ,” Midoriya said, solemn. ͢”I ca̸n'͝t te̸l̛l̶ ̡you͢ ̕w͘h̀y̨, T̷o͏d͏o wou̶ld ͟ge͞t̷ ̛m̧ad͢, but̸ ̨he'̕s͜.͘.͝.̡h͡e's͜ ͏mean̡. Hoŕrib̢le͞.”

If anyone were to be described as horrible by someone like Midoriya, it would be Endeavor. Aizawa had met him a handful of times, none of them had been pleasant, and Aizawa cringed at the reminder that Todoroki lived with the man. He wondered how Midoriya had the opportunity to meet Endeavor - maybe at the Sports Festival?

I’ll talk to Iida, Aizawa said. I want you to stick with Todoroki during the internship, okay? Keep an eye out for me. Give Endeavor hell if you have to, and report back once it’s over.

Aizawa had thought Midoriya would cringe from either his phrasing or the request, but instead the little ghost only looked determined, straightening from his hunched posture as his eyes shined. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not.

The next chance he had, he asked to see Iida after class. He didn’t look nervous at the request, which Aizawa counted as a good sign, and he didn’t look particularly worried standing in front of his desk either. He asked the student questions about how he was fairing, if he needed anything or extensions on due dates. Iida denied them all, stating he was doing decently and didn’t need anything in particular. No matter how many times he tried coaxing his student to talk, all Iida seemed to want to do was shrug him off. Aizawa sighed as another worried comment was brushed away.

I ask, Aizawa said, because of my and Midoriya’s concerns.

Iida blinked. Midoriya, sir?

Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, he clarified. We are both worried about you. It’s why I requested you stay after to begin with, he expressed worry over your behavior.

Iida took a moment to pause at that, pensive, contemplative, and Aizawa hoped Iida was finally listening. He was proven wrong, however, when all Iida replied with was insisting he call Izuku ‘Midoriya’ out of respect in the future. Aizawa didn’t know what else to do for him - he couldn’t force Iida to talk about something he didn’t wish to - so Aizawa dismissed him with one more reply.

If there’s anything I can do, even if it’s just to listen, please know you can contact me. You will not be a bother.

Iida bowed with a loud thank you sir!, and he left without looking back. A quick glance at Midoriya showed his unconvinced expression, posture wary as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Aizawa shared the sentiment. 

He caught Iida early, quite a while before school started. Aizawa had stopped by to see how his project with Nedzu was coming along when he had realized the door to class 1-A was ajar. A peek inside revealed Iida sitting at his desk, head bowed with the EMF resting on the desktop. Midoriya hovered close, floating above the desk with his hand on Iida’s bicep, worried but comforting.

Could you see your family? Iida asked, his voice quiet and shaking. Could you watch over them after it happened? Could you see how much they missed you?

Aizawa didn’t hear Midoriya’s response, but he saw how his broken limbs twisted and cracked from the stress of the conversation, blood pooling at the injuries. As upset as Midoriya was, he knew the kid would hate for him to interrupt Iida’s heart to heart, so he forced himself to shut the door and not intervene, heart sinking as he forced his feet to move to the staff room. 

He hoped, with everything he had, that it would help Iida, for Iida’s sake. Aizawa couldn’t do much else.

He kept a close eye on Iida after that. Midoriya was a huge help as usual, floating around the classroom to keep an eye out, and his sign language lessons were already coming in handy. Midoriya was able to shoot him a quick sign wherever he was at, good, help, or bad depending on severity, and not having to stand up from his desk in order to know the condition of the room was tremendously helpful. The internship work was bleeding into his class time - a needed sacrifice - and Midoriya’s help meant he could stay seated. 

Whenever Midoriya went by Iida, he only signed bad with a worried frown. Aizawa didn’t know what to do about it. If his talk with Midoriya hadn’t helped, he doubted anyone could, really. 

He felt Midoriya nearby. The ghost had been hovering close a lot recently, but he couldn’t blame him, not after their talk a few days ago. 

Tenya had felt hollow since the news about his brother. Everything felt wrong, backwards, and he couldn’t do anything about it. His head was full of rage, forcing anything unrelated out of his ears to shatter uselessly on the floor. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus. Tenya had no idea how he had kept up his classes - muscle memory perhaps. 

He felt a brush against the back of his neck, careful and tentative, and Tenya shooed the feeling away with a hand, not looking away from Aizawa’s lecture. There was a pause, then another brush to his shoulder. Tenya sighed through his nose. As much as he appreciated Midoriya’s concern, it wasn’t what he needed.

He had gone to Midoriya for comfort, reassurance, and he had gotten it certainly, but not the kind he had wanted. 

“I̢̢̡i̢͞͞da̛, y̛o̢u̡r ̶b̵̨͢ŕ͘o̧͢͠t͜h̷͟e͢r̵̛͏ ̷i̡̨҉s͢n’t ̸͝g̀͠ớn͏͢e̶.͜͞ ́͠H͢e͝’s̵ ͘s͘͡t͟͢il̶ļ̛̕ w͞͝i͏͏t̵͢͏h̸͞ ͏̷y̧͘o͟u.́ ̢̛͟Yó͘u҉ ͟͟͞c͏̶͞an͠͠’͟t͜ ̷l̢̨̀o͞s͞ȩ̛͟ ͠h͠ó̕p̴̕͢e͞,̛ ̵o͞k̵͢a͏y͟҉?̀̕ ̶̨Ṕ̵͝r̶̢om̸͟͜i̢͢s̢e̢ ҉̧҉m̨̕͠e̕.”

Tenya had promised, but he didn’t have any hope left to lose. Even if Tensei woke up, there was a very large chance he would lose his ability to walk. 

That horrible villain had spat on his brother and walked away laughing.

He needed to do something. Anything. His restlessness was strangling him, a continuous buzz just underneath his skin that wasn’t connected to Midoriya’s presence. Tenya wasn’t one to be dramatic but he thought, quite seriously, that doing nothing was killing him. 

Why was he in a hero school if he was only going to sit on his hands and wait? Wasn’t he here to help? Wasn’t that the whole point?

Midoriya jabbed him between his shoulder blades as if he sensed the dark thought, and Tenya winced at the lingering but mild pain left behind. Already his skin was buzzing, Midoriya’s usual energy made his skin practically vibrate, teeth grinding in an effort not to stand up and charge out of the classroom.

Go away, he whispered to the ghost, blinded by anger and sorrow and something else that was scooping out his insides. He felt like crying. You’re bothering me.

There was a brief pause, then his skin went back to a low buzz. Tenya took a deep breath and desperately tried to focus. 

His hands clenched underneath the desk, digging into his palms.

Chapter Text

Shouto stood on the platform, taking some much needed breaths in preparation of going home.

A whole week of interning with Endeavor. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t regretting the decision. The idea that he would be forced to spend time with the man was one that made his stomach twist, but there were - unfortunately - benefits. His father was Number 2 for a reason, and Shouto knew he still had much to learn. Interning under All Might himself was a death sentence in the making and Shouto knew it, even though every bit of him wished desperately to have the option, but if he couldn’t have All Might, he’d have to choose the second best option. The second best hero.

He’d learn what he could, keep his head down, and get the hell out of there.

Dread was still unfurling from his stomach to weigh on every limb until he could hardly walk forward, no matter how many times he attempted to soothe himself. He would be alone. His sister and brother wouldn’t be part of the internship - thank God - and Aizawa wouldn’t be there to save him. It would just be him and Endeavor for an entire week, and the more he thought about it the more he was wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. The internships were supposed to be stress free, a time to sit back and get a taste of what being in the field was like without worrying about consequences yet, and look where he ended up - underneath a suffocating shadow all over again. He was beginning to panic. Trying desperately not to show it, but his heart was pounding in his chest, lungs squeezed tight.

Someone’s hand wrapped around his and pressed. Shouto looked to his right, heart in his throat, and Uraraka was there watching him, worry pooling in her eyes, a silent question.

He didn’t know why or how Uraraka and Iida latched onto him, but they had, and Shouto couldn’t have felt more thankful for it, especially then. He swallowed in an effort to unclog his throat and shrugged at her. She hummed in response, not understanding but not willing to press, and started a conversation with him, calm and cheerful and bright enough to chase away his panic and dark thoughts. Just what he needed. He was all too happy to participate, basking in her presence and giving himself a moment to breathe, like he had been trying to earlier.

His father was harsh, but he could stay strong. He didn’t just have his mother’s ice on his side after all, now he had her eyes watching him, kind and curious and so happy to watch him grow. He felt braver than he ever had before with such a comforting gaze in mind, cocooning him up in fuzzy memories, and as Uraraka continued the peaceful conversation while they waited for their trains to arrive, he could finally steel himself. 

This wasn’t a mistake. This was a fantastic opportunity with a few - downsides. Downsides he’d powered through for years, he could do it again. 

Katsuki was...actually really fucking excited. 

The nerd wasn’t coming with him on the internship, and although he felt disappointed Deku wouldn’t see him shine, he was also thankful that kind of pressure wasn’t being put on his shoulders. If Deku were to follow him around, he’d want to prove to Deku - even now - that he could be a good hero, and any mistake would be seen as a scorch mark on that promise. Now however, he could relax and take the internship for what it was. Practice. 

He may not have been coming with, but Deku’s input before had been gold. He would’ve never thought of Mirko if it weren’t for him, and after looking into the Number 5 hero Katsuki felt they’d get along fan-fucking-tastic. They thought a lot alike, but even then she was still well loved by so many, and Katsuki was dying to know how she did it. Not only that, but Deku had helped him decide on a hero name. Well, it had been more along the lines of Deku coming up with it and Katsuki having no objections, at least when ‘King Explosion Murder’ was denied faster than he could blink, followed by the little bastard laughing at him as he sat back down. 

Katsuki beamed as he stepped on his train, an excited grin pulling at his lips. He found a seat and made himself comfortable for the ride, lounging back and wishing he could prop his feet on something. His heart was so full it was fit to burst with hope and pride and a whole slew of other emotions. His palms were sparking, and Katsuki watched them, seeing not his pride nor his ego, but the potential he cradled.

Izuku flew full speed through the train station wall, hoping with all of his being that he wasn’t late. Nedzu’s sign language lesson had run longer than either of them had expected. He had no idea where the Todoroki household was compared to U.A, and if he didn’t catch Shou’s train he would have to figure out where it was the hard way.

Truthfully he could just ask Aizawa, but that wasn’t exactly the point he was trying to make.

Charging through the corridors, he made his way to the platform he was looking for and felt relieved when he noticed that not only was Aizawa still loitering, but so were a few students, a sure sign the trains hadn’t left yet. He squinted at the train windows, hoping to spot a glimpse of red and white, but he eventually gave up, floating over to Aizawa and signing help, where? to the teacher. Aizawa didn’t react obviously, hand still at his leg while he finger spelled L-E-F-T and S-E-C-O-N-D. Izuku gave him a thankful pat as he passed by, and Aizawa shot him a look in return, full of worry and concern, but also trust. Izuku grinned back, reassurance as well as a thanks.

Shouto was indeed in the second train to the left, tucked small and still against the window amidst the seats. Izuku made his way quickly, settling down in the seat next to the student, and goosebumps visibly crawled up Shouto’s arms as he jerked his head up in surprise, subtly looking around. Izuku smugly watched Shouto dig in his pockets and pull out his phone to type. 

Iida felt his teacher’s stare on his back as he waited for his train to arrive. His heart was swimming in his shoes, memories of his train ride to the hospital shaking up his insides, making him sick. 

He was thankful Uraraka was giving him space instead of bombarding him with kind words and apologies. Space was what he wanted - anything else made him suffocate in the feeling of helplessness and frustration, a toxic mix. He worried if he succumbed again, he would drown. 

The trains pulled up with a hiss and a whine of resisting metal. The doors opened, and everyone split up to go their separate ways. Aizawa was finally distracted with Ojiro asking a question, and Iida took the opportunity for what it was and slipped away. He knew where he was going, he had researched the area of Hosu and how to get there so many times the route was burned in the back of his eyelids. 

He sat down in a seat, resolution set in his jaw. He wasn’t an intern this week. Iida was a hero, and he was going to act like one. 

Stain would rue the day he decided to scorn his brother.

Shouto was nervous at first, but the more Izuku explained the situation the more his worry turned - infuriatingly - into relief. Izuku was thankful and happy that Shouto trusted him so much, but it also angered him. He shouldn’t have to be wary of his own father to begin with, and eventually he had to leave his swirling thoughts alone, lest he shake the whole train.

Endeavor had free reign before, but he wouldn’t get away with his bullying and mean behavior now. Not if Izuku could help it.

The ride to the Todoroki household was peaceful. They texted back and forth, quiet and calm, the atmosphere of the train washing over them both as the phone shared between them clicked away. The sound of the tracks rumbling combined with the soft murmurs of the other passengers made the perfect white noise for Izuku, never getting quiet enough to make him anxious, and Izuku found himself the most relaxed he’d been in a while. The only thing that would make it better was Kacchan being there, but Izuku certainly couldn’t complain. He was able to breathe, muscles relaxing, sitting right next to Shouto on the seat. He wished he had the focus to be solid enough for more than just his hands, he could actually sit and make himself comfortable then. With Aizawa’s training though, it was only a matter of time. The thought was soothing.

The train stopped as it started, a hiss of steam and metal on metal, and Shouto stood to exit, Izuku following dutifully. They walked down streets, crossing roads, until they arrived at the Todoroki household. It was huge, more reminiscent of an older Japanese lifestyle than anything modern. Izuku, immediately, didn’t like it. The air was suppressed and downtrodden, whispering to the inhabitants that a tragedy had taken place and still haunted the walls. It reminded Izuku of a horror film, an abandoned building littered with mean spirits and a dark past. Maybe, Izuku thought sadly as he followed Shouto up the walkway, the tragedy was what happened to Shouto. Maybe it wasn’t just him, maybe it was his siblings too. His mom.

Shouto opened the door quietly, stepping into the house as if it was covered in boobytraps. Izuku stuck close, anxious and unhappy. He removed his shoes and bag and waited for a breath. Then a little longer.

Shouto! a voice roared from inside the house, an angry dragon deep in its cave, spitting fire. Come!

He sighed, and Izuku’s heart hurt for him. He stepped up on the raised platform and walked farther into the house and Izuku followed, dread making his heart weigh on his chest and his stomach sink. 

Endeavor was standing, arms crossed and towering, in the hallway a bit farther in the house. He glared at Shouto, anger and frustration bleeding into his tainted palms and stained lips.

You’re late, he hissed. Shouto shrugged, uncaring as usual, and the simmering anger turned boiling. Do you care about nothing but yourself? Go to the training room. Now.

His son walked past, an arm’s length away, and Endeavor seethed, but before he could get too settled in his long lived anger the flames on his face went out. Blew away, seemingly by a strong breeze. The Sports Festival crawled back behind his eyes as a chill curled along his spine, an unwelcome memory, shadows danced in the corners of the house where none were before, the unnatural fear simmering, waiting.

Endeavor clenched his teeth and turned on his heel to follow Shouto, trying to keep his temper in check. If that thing had followed him home, he had to be on his guard, and his temper seemed to be the first thing to spark it. 

He huffed a barely controlled sigh through his nose. It was going to be a long week with that thing watching his every move.

Tenya was left alone to stew in his thoughts. They were a mass of a dark swarm, tainting everything he interacted with grey and muddy and pointless. Never had homework felt like more of a worthless, useless task. The him from a week ago - sharpened attention on nothing but school and grades - felt so long ago. That Tenya almost felt alien, a stranger. 

The train was almost there, and Tenya was buzzing with rampant energy, kept together only by muscle memory. He wondered if he would fall apart.

He arrived in Hosu with little fanfare, and Tenya almost felt bitter as he watched the traffic crawl along and the people rushing to and fro, wondering why the city looked so normal, so alive, after such a tragedy had occurred. Wondered how everyone seemed so content to go about, business as usual, while Tenya was standing right there, falling apart at the seams and choking on his own spite and hatred. He walked through the streets of Hosu with his head down. Eye contact with strangers felt painful. Everywhere he looked, he saw fake pity, masks on faces, an emotion they were told to feel and not one they were feeling. It was frustrating looking at this city, horrifying and gut wrenching thinking of his brother here, of how his hero career died in the same place it may have cost him his life. Bile climbed up his throat, thinking of his brother’s patrols, of the hero costume Tenya’s own reflected so closely. He looked up to his brother so much, he was an incredible hero, and Tenya knew if he could be like anyone, it wouldn’t be All Might. It would be him.

He had thought Tensei would be with him to see him grow. He thought he would be able to see his brother’s proud face, beaming as he cheered him on during patrols and missions. He couldn’t do that on a hospital bed, comatose.

Tenya stopped thinking in general, not knowing how else to turn off the marching band trumpetting his worries in a nauseating echo. He focused on getting to Manual’s agency like it was the last thing he would ever do.

If it was, Tenya would have no regrets.

Chapter Text

Shouto wasn’t used to the phenomenon that was Izuku, but it was making his day. Week, if he was honest. At first the idea that Izuku would be seeing him at his lowest, watching as his father released all of his anger on anything he came into contact with, made him uncomfortable. However, the circumstances were turning out to be a wonderful blessing. He hid a smile as his father was cut off mid rant, a whole platter being shoved off the table and into his lap and the glass of water shivered, debating on following the dish’s lead.

If he had thought Izuku weak willed before, the notion was tossed out the window the second they had stepped foot in Endeavor’s presence. The internship had started almost immediately, and his father had no qualms about dragging him to his agency the moment Shouto was able. Izuku, he knew, had been with him every step of the way so far, the cold buzzing a welcomed feeling compared to his father’s roaring inferno. Every step of the way, Izuku was with him, and every step Endeavor took trying to make Shouto’s life miserable, Izuku took two steps and turned the situation on its head. Endeavor was constantly being watched by the little ghost, and he could see Endeavor struggle to bite his tongue, turn the other cheek when normally Shouto would get an earful at best. Shouto didn’t feel bad in the slightest, but he was a bit ashamed to admit he was enjoying the spectacle more than he probably should.

Endeavor’s flaming beard had been put out more times than Shouto cared to count in the past three days. Any raised voice would earn him broken cutlery, tossed silverware, sometimes a shaking foundation of the house or agency itself if it got bad enough, some workers nervously pondering over an earthquake. If Shouto responded to anything with a flinch or grimace, Izuku would do - something, he wasn’t quite sure - that would leave Endeavor shaking. Shouto hadn’t had such peaceful days in years. He wished his siblings could see the sight of Endeavor sputtering as a glass plate was tossed in front of his feet, but Shouto figured he could record it if nothing else. Maybe having the memory for safe keeping would be beneficial anyway. He caught Endeavor’s beard suddenly snuffing out, as well as some food being tossed a bit too close to Endeavor’s costume for his father’s comfort. Shouto kept the files close to his heart, like a warm blanket. It made him smile just thinking about it.

At this point Shouto knew it was Izuku who had shaken Endeavor to his core at the Sports Festival, and as curious as he was, he decided to count his blessings and move on. Truthfully, he hoped he never had to see exactly what Izuku was doing. With all of Endeavor’s flaws, the man was still immovable, untouchable, and he was sure something that made a man like his father crumble would be unpleasant, for lack of a better term. Horrifying, maybe. Comprehending Izuku was the one to create such a thing was a challenge, but it was hard to ignore, with it being all around him.

With the threat of Endeavor mostly out of the way, the lessons were a lot less packed with unnecessary violence and tests and filled more with actual knowledge he could use. Controlling his fire still wasn’t comfortable for him, but a tame Endeavor was a goldmine for fixing that particular issue. Even in three days, Shouto had a much better grasp on his left side. The flames came to him like a dam before, pent up feelings and lack of use getting in the way and making him impulsive, but now the dam had - not slowed but grew calmer. More manipulatable than before. Shouto found he could use his left side a lot more carefully under Endeavor’s teaching. It didn’t take away his cringing from the flames, and it didn’t stop the phantom pins and needles of burns, but he doubted anything could really. He would just have to get used to it, maybe it would fade over time.

He may have been having a decent time, but it was clear Izuku was not. Izuku whispered even more often than in the classroom, and he wasn’t sure if it was to mess with Endeavor further or for other reasons. Shouto didn’t have an EMF with him - whenever he prodded in texts Izuku didn’t seem to want to share whatever it was he was saying - but the little ghost talked to himself often, murmurs that made his father shudder warily, unused to Izuku’s habits. When asked, Shouto claimed to hear nothing and asked his father if he was feeling alright. Endeavor didn’t bring it up again, but Shouto could still hear it, permeating through every wall in the house, worried and restless. Unlike Izuku. The only thing he was able to decipher was ‘Hosu’, and even that Shouto questioned, wondering if it was his own projected worries on Izuku's vague, indecipherable speech. Iida hadn’t talked much at all after the news about his brother, and the fact that Iida was in Hosu now…

Day four of internships rolled around. Endeavor was restless, shifty, always moving with compacted energy from Izuku’s neverending presence. Izuku kept whispering broken syllables, merciless to Endeavor’s plight. Shouto mentioned Hosu and the Hero Killer, just in passing, hoping his father would take the bait of getting out of the agency. Izuku ramped up his muttering as if he knew what Shouto was doing until there was hardly a quiet moment, and Endeavor looked ready to explode when he finally caved into the idea. The second he did, Izuku’s muttering stopped completely, leaving him and his father in an eerie silence, and Shouto wondered how air could feel so dense.

They left that same day. The train ride to Hosu was uneventful. Endeavor sat in a seat with his arms crossed, a huge mass of man, flames coming off of him with unbearable heat. Shouto elected to sit on the seats across from his irritable father. Considering the amount of worry bottled up in his gut, the ride felt so unceremonious, plebeian.

‘Do you think Iida is okay?’ he texted Izuku.

Slowly, Izuku typed ‘I don’t know.’ 

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t, just stared at the words as he swallowed hard.

The city of Hosu, infuriatingly enough, was quiet. A calm evening with clear skies and easygoing passers by. It didn’t stop the impending dread that settled across Shouto’s shoulders, lungs straining to breathe easy under the weight of it. 

Endeavor was up ahead, stride powerful and confident in all the wrong ways. Iida’s at Manual’s Agency, it can't be far, he muttered to the cold next to him. Let me know if you find him.

A solid pat of a human hand - small on his bicep - was the only reply Shouto got before the cold of Izuku’s presence faded out. Shouto paused for the moment, digesting the knowledge that he was truly alone now. Endeavor had no one stopping him, but Endeavor didn’t need to know that. 

Shouto, you’re lagging behind, Endeavor called, tone wavering between a desperate calm and dangerously annoyed. Shouto jogged to catch up, hoping he didn’t need to bluff something so difficult as Izuku’s presence to fake. 

They did their rounds. Endeavor was still careful, forcefully patient, Izuku’s behavior so consistent he thankfully didn’t need to be there any longer, at least for the time being. Shouto went through the motions of patrol, mind far away and wandering to the glower Iida had been sporting for almost a week now. To the uneasy, tense silence that bubbled around his classmate like a toxic cloud. He hoped Izuku would find him well, sulking on his patrol with Manual and a bit calmer than before he left. He hoped, desperately, that all Iida truly needed was some time and space. He was Student President for a reason, he wouldn’t make any rash decision no matter how angry he was. It wasn’t like Iida. 

Endeavor ordered him to help an old lady with...something, while his father went ahead to patrol a little farther up. His mind was too split between the past and the present, but it was clear enough from context to understand what the old lady needed. Two trips across the street later - one for the woman and one for her groceries - and the situation was dealt with. He was left to stand there, just waiting for his father to come back. 

The evening was peaceful, in all honesty. If Shouto hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve labeled the trip a blooming success. 

Footsteps came from his left. He turned, ready to greet the old lady and ask what else she needed, but instead he was met with the sight of his half dead classmate. 

He was moving strangely, as if he was injured in his joints and couldn’t move the way he wanted. A decently sized dagger was lodged deep in his shoulder, the wound bleeding profusely, a deep red river down his arm and dripping off his fingers. It leaked from the bottom of his armor, down his legs, leaving puddles as he walked. A great big gash across the front of his breastplate revealed torn flesh beneath. Iida’s skin was pale, drawn, breath rattling with every inhale and exhale. His helmet was gone, lost in the moment of whatever battle Iida had been exposed to. 

The separate parts of Iida’s eyes were all swallowed in a glowing green stare. 

Iida stumbled forward on weak legs, swaying dangerously, until he reached Shouto and fell forward, slack. All of Iida’s weight was held up by Shouto alone, his body sickeningly limp. The smell of copper blood was strong and foul.

S̢҉̴͢a͟͡v͏͏̧̢̧e̴̢̧͟͠ ̵҉̀͝h̀҉̸̕͟i͘m̴̷̨̀͟, Izuku sobbed, echoed and layered with more than one voice. Ş̕͢͞á̴v̨͢é̶ ͞͝͏͢h́͟͠͞i̶͏m̢͏͏͢͠.͡͏̷̵ ҉҉̡S̨a̴̕͢͝͡v̢̡̕͝e̴̴̸ ̶̷͘͜h̷̀i̡҉̕͘͠m̴̵͞.̧͞ ͏҉̡Ḩ̢̧͘ȩ̕͝͡’͏̸̵̨̧s̵̴̵̡͡ ̴̵̢̀d̡̡̧̛y̢̕͜͡i̧͡n̷̛g̵̴͘͢͜,͡͡ ̡́͘s͘҉͢a̷̴̕͢v̸̢̕͡͝ę͢ ̧̛̀͢h̵̴̸̴̀i̸m҉̸̨͘͡,̵̢̕ ̴̀̕͡p̴̢͡͠l̵̨e̵͟͏͢a̡̢ś̵e.

Shouto went numb.

Chapter Text

Hosu was quiet. Izuku quickly left Shou’s side after a quick pat, darting through streets and roads, phasing through buildings and electricity wires. He’d be more careful, but throughout the entire internship he had been so, so worried, something not feeling right about the days creeping on by without incident, without news, and Izuku was just glad he could finally see Iida with his own eyes. Sulky, no doubt, but fine. His unease didn’t fade with the thought. The more he sped to where he hoped was Manual’s agency the worse it became, swelling in his stomach until he felt he would throw up. His quick movements and turning was certainly not helping. It didn’t take long for Izuku to get turned around. He was frustrated and anxious, berating himself for not asking Shou for directions first as he went down more and more twists and turns. Why did he rush off like that? He’d never stepped foot in Hosu before, alive or dead, what made him think he would just magically find what he was looking for? Anxiety burned under his skin, heart pounding harder and harder as his search became frantic before he was speeding so fast through the streets it was a wonder he could see anything. The idea of finding Manual’s agency was abandoned in his panic. A glint of Iida’s armor was what he was looking for, a metallic shine in the daylight to catch his eye. 

A metallic gleam was not what he saw. Someone moving did instead, cloaked in shadow, swords strapped to his back. The mysterious man was hopping from balcony to balcony. Izuku recognized the weapons, the red mask - he had been with Aizawa when the news of Ingenium’s injuries was released. The broken and battered hero didn’t get a picture, understandably. The man he was seeing, however, did, front and center with a stare that turned even Izuku’s blood to ice.

His stomach went from full and nauseous to an empty void, sinking never ending, down and down past his shoes. His heart followed without pause, until all he felt was a hollow nothingness. Even as he went towards where the man was exiting from, his body felt empty, and he tried to hope, tried to wish that Iida hadn’t been so stupid in his grief, tried to be optimistic and think that Iida had just missed the hero killer and another life wouldn’t be taken. But he had seen the blood on the swords. Even if it wasn’t Iida, he was about to walk in on someone else’s resting place.

But he had to see. He had to. What if it was Iida?

There. Tucked away in the darkness and shadows, Izuku saw a glint of metal, softer than it normally was. He headed straight for the secluded alley - already this was such a perfect spot for murder no stop thinking like that - and he floated down until he was close enough to see. Someone was nearby, but he paid them no mind for the moment. He approached Iida’s figure instead, armor caked in a layer of dust, laying on his back. Blood a dark red puddle around his body. Izuku floated up to him, eyes already brimming with tears as his heart squeezed. He couldn’t hold his hands still, they were shaking so hard. He could see a knife, maybe a dagger - who cares it didn’t matter - protruding from his shoulder. A gash, pressed deep into his skin, marred not only flesh but the chestplate as well. The only thing that spared Iida was the lack of his ghost. There weren’t two Iida’s, just one.

But that wouldn’t last. He didn’t have to stand close to hear Iida’s struggled, rattling breaths, barely there, barely clinging to life.

He sobbed, covering his mouth with his hands as the tears blurred his vision. His arms and leg twisted and cracked, painful and throbbing and sore, but it was nothing compared to how badly his heart burned with fear. 

Iida wasn’t conscious, that much was obvious, and waking him up was out of the question. Every hero film he’d ever watched, every documentary and interview he’d ever invested his time in said not to move the body, it might make the injuries worse, but what choice did he have? If he left Iida in the alley, even to get help, it would be leaving him to die. If he moved Iida - how could he? He still couldn’t even pick up a cellphone for very long, let alone someone twice his weight. But Iida couldn’t stay there. Just debating his options was ticking away precious time, snuffing out the candle of Iida’s soul in his belly. Izuku could feel it dimming, a presence he hadn’t known was there until it was being taken away.

There was only one other way, something he knew could be done but had thought it villainous to do. Possessing the Nomu creature’s thoughtless, opinionless body was one thing, but possessing a person against their will was a thought that had him queasy. Only villains forced others to their will like that, but he didn’t have another choice. He couldn’t lift Iida up, there was no way. Iida would never forgive him for it, but...if he had to choose between Iida living to be upset or dying with a casket full of ‘what ifs’, he would rather Iida hate him for the rest of his life.

I’m sorry Iida, he sobbed. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  

In one quick motion, he stepped into Iida’s body. No alarm coursed through Iida, no recognition or confusion, his soul was silent and still.

The nomu creature, on the inside, had been an empty husk with no thought or feeling, no mind to resist Izuku’s demands. It was a shell and nothing more. A vessel. But it was capable, strong, and stable. Izuku’s breaths were blood free with the nomu’s lungs, clean, and the muscles had no problem doing what Izuku commanded. Iida was the opposite. He had to share the space with Iida’s own soul, so afraid of what would happen if the small candlelight was kicked out. Iida’s body felt so fragile, so weak from blood loss. Pain shot through everywhere, and Izuku held back more sobs as he wondered if Iida had been just as scared as he had been.

He didn’t know where Shouto was. He had been in such a rush to find Iida that keeping track of landmarks and signs was the last thing he thought of. Now he was paying for that too, and Izuku swore to himself that no matter what, he would always have a path to follow after this. For now, Izuku had to pick the general direction of where he’d flown from and go that way. It was the best bet he had, even finding Endeavor was better than no one at all, occupying a dying body and unable to do a thing about it.

Izuku started walking. Every step felt like walking on glass, Iida’s battered lungs resisting every breath in and out. It felt like Iida wasn’t even helping anymore, Izuku the only one keeping the body functioning. He wondered hysterically if he had somehow taken over without meaning to, but when his vision blurred so badly with tears he could no longer see, he told himself to stop thinking about it. The only thing he should be focusing on was getting Iida somewhere that could help him. He would go straight to a hospital, but he didn’t know where, and his helplessness was suffocating.

Minutes felt like hours. The longer he kept walking the more Iida’s body was refusing to cooperate at all, and after only five minutes it felt like Iida’s legs were boulders, almost unable to lift his feet off the ground. He was in so much pain, his lungs hurt, his eyes were sore. It was bringing back memories, and the frustration and helplessness of it all made Izuku want to kick and scream and sob. But he forced the feelings back through gritted teeth and burning eyes. He didn’t have time for it, he didn’t have the time.

When he finally - luckily, blessedly - found Shouto’s bicolored hair, Izuku almost collapsed from relief alone. Instead he demanded Iida’s body to keep moving forward, to keep breathing. Shouto turned to face him with a patient smile, swiftly melting into horror and shock. Izuku ignored it, guiding the body forward it was chest to chest with Shouto, then he finally let go, Iida’s body slumping against Shouto who instinctively adjusted to hold the weight.

Izuku left the broken body. He couldn’t stop crying, half way drowning in memories and phantom pains.

S̢҉̴͢a͟͡v͏͏̧̢̧e̴̢̧͟͠ ̵҉̀͝h̀҉̸̕͟i͘m̴̷̨̀͟, he sobbed. Ş̕͢͞á̴v̨͢é̶ ͞͝͏͢h́͟͠͞i̶͏m̢͏͏͢͠.͡͏̷̵ ҉҉̡S̨a̴̕͢͝͡v̢̡̕͝e̴̴̸ ̶̷͘͜h̷̀i̡҉̕͘͠m̴̵͞.̧͞ ͏҉̡Ḩ̢̧͘ȩ̕͝͡’͏̸̵̨̧s̵̴̵̡͡ ̴̵̢̀d̡̡̧̛y̢̕͜͡i̧͡n̷̛g̵̴͘͢͜,͡͡ ̡́͘s͘҉͢a̷̴̕͢v̸̢̕͡͝ę͢ ̧̛̀͢h̵̴̸̴̀i̸m҉̸̨͘͡,̵̢̕ ̴̀̕͡p̴̢͡͠l̵̨e̵͟͏͢a̡̢ś̵e.

Shouto froze for just a moment, a brief pause of shock and an attempt to process everything, then he was moving, laying Iida down carefully on his side. Izuku could only watch and sob as Shouto ripped up his shirt to use as bandages, wrapping what he could of Iida’s torso and grabbing his phone with shaking, blood smeared hands. He clicked a few buttons and held the device up to his ear, staring at Iida like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Izuku couldn’t believe it either.

Someone’s dangerously injured, Shouto was saying, but Izuku could barely hear him, breathing hard and shaking just as bad. He couldn’t lose himself now, he had to be there for Iida if he - if he -

Izuku felt as though he blinked and Endeavor was there, crouched next to Shouto, heat coming off of him in waves, and Izuku fought the urge to violently shove the man away. The flames might hurt Iida even more, what if he was uncomfortable? Could Iida even feel them, wherever he was? As if sensing the thought, Iida’s body huffed a breath and stopped just as Endeavor lifted him up bridal style. No one else seemed to notice, but Izuku did, seeing Iida’s soul - his ghost - leave his body to float nearby, disoriented and confused.

Izuku screamed.

Shouto would never in his right mind command his father to do anything, but Izuku let out a wail of complete and utter despair and Shouto could officially blame the adrenaline. He shoved Endeavor’s back - go! he shouted - to get his old man moving for fuck’s sake, and was a step behind his father all the way to the hospital. Iida was admitted to emergency resuscitation and surgery and taken to the back, and Shouto was left to wait in the sterile waiting room on pins and needles, exhausted and confused. Endeavor left, almost casual, saying he would report the incident, and Shouto had never been so close to punching his father in the face than right then.

Endeavor left, and with him went Shouto’s remaining spikes of adrenaline. He only felt numb. He couldn’t believe he was standing in a hospital’s waiting room as one of his best friends fought for their life. A best friend that was always calm, rational, had just made a mistake that might have cost him his life.

Slowly, he walked over to a seat and lowered himself into it, staring at the tiled floor, empty. Something was building in his chest, tight and heavy that made him want to cry, reminding him of when his mother was first admitted to the hospital permanently.

God, he hated hospitals.

Tenya floated above his body, lying prepped on a hospital bed for emergency surgery. He couldn’t stop staring. Never before did he think he’d have an opportunity to have an out of body experience, but here he was, watching as the nurses and doctors fought to keep him breathing, keep him alive. He couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, struggling to take in the consequence of his behavior.

His stupid, childish behavior.

He couldn’t believe that this was what he had to be faced with to snap out of his vengeance-filled stupor. Arguably he had already fulfilled his wish, even if it hadn’t gone the way he had envisioned it. What else did he expect to happen? Avenge his brother as a first year at U.A, take home a golden trophy and walk away scott free? His dying body laid in front of him, he only thought of how absolutely foolish he’d been. This was exactly what Izuku - Midoriya - had warned him about, what Aizawa was trying to avoid. What Uraraka and Todoroki had tried to coax him out of doing. 

Midoriya.

He was the first thing Tenya had seen since the start of his out of body experience, a child twisted and broken and sobbing with a never ending well of tears. It made him wonder if this was - if this was something else. But Tenya refused to think that way. He would wake up, he couldn’t abandon his family and friends and classmates, not after such a stupid mistake. He had to apologize, make it up to them somehow, beg for forgiveness.

Midoriya wouldn’t let go of his torso. He was crying so hard it was almost screaming, eyes leaking blood and tears, arms so twisted and mangled Tenya avoided looking at them directly. No matter what Tenya said he wouldn’t calm down, and no matter how many times Midoriya would attempt to say something, it was inevitably lost in his sobs. Tenya’s throat closed just listening to him, horror bubbling in his stomach as his heart pounded. He wondered if the doctors could hear him - it wouldn’t be surprising.

Tenya learned that day, sobbing and a pulsing heart monitor, metallic tools scraping and doctors talking quickly to one another, sounded like heartbreak.

This was all his fault. He should’ve gone to Iida’s side instead of Shouto - no he couldn’t say that. He was probably the only thing that kept Endeavor at bay, kept Shouto hopeful. But Iida was a ghost in front of him, hands gently placed on his back in a worried embrace, Izuku’s fingers barely cooperating with him as they did their best to dig themselves into the mesh beneath Iida’s armor, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he could’ve done anything to prevent this at all. The helplessness of the entire experience was soul crushing, and he couldn’t stop crying, sobbing, against a ghost so like his own but so different. 

Iida was so young. He was so young and it wasn’t fair. He did all he could do, he talked to Aizawa, talked to Iida himself, warned Shouto and Uraraka to keep Iida company. He did everything right, except he didn’t. One mistake was all it took, and now Iida’s life was in the balance.

What would Aizawa say? Would he be disappointed in him for not doing enough? For losing a student? Would he hate Izuku for it? The idea of Aizawa avoiding him, the class inevitably following his lead and submerging back into solitude horrified him. Sobs tore through his already horse throat, arms spiking with pain. He choked on his breath, gasping, clinging to Iida while simultaneously begging any force that was listening that Iida would disappear back into his body. 

Panic was an old friend, creeping down his spine and making every muscle in his body tense in preparation of his heart beginning to pound. His hands shook, even buried in fabric. Iida grunted, moving his hand to rest soothingly on the top of his head. He didn’t feel it. Everything was numb, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Invading Iida’s privacy had been for nothing. It was a waste of time and effort, a student was going to die, and it was all his fault. He should have been there.

Midoriya was shaking the hospital room, a tremor that made the table full of surgical tools rattle. His body was warping and phasing in and out, unstable, panicking. Tenya had no idea what to do. He was scared himself about it all, how was he supposed to calm someone just as horrified as he was? But he was a hero, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been acting like it lately but - but maybe this was a chance to restart. Heroes were selfless, worried about others, did what they had to for civilians. He could start making it up to Midoriya by helping him now. Maybe Midoriya thought he was upset with him, should he reassure him first?

Tenya took in a deep breath to steady himself, watching the light fixture wobble dangerously.

Midoriya, he said, internally cringing at his echoed voice. It sounded transparent, if that was even possible. Look at me, please.

The kid looked up, hiccuping. The picture Bakugo had shown was stark in his mind as he drew comparisons and differences from then to now. His eyes were still big and green, bright, despite the blood leaking from the corners. Freckles peppered his cheeks, mouth a wobbly line. Tenya felt guilt tear at his heart from the realization that he was the one to make Midoriya so upset.

Thank you. Midoriya’s eyes widened. Thank you for trying to stop me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. When I wake up, I promise to make you and Aizawa sensei proud.

When, not if. He would wake up. He would.

He had to.

Chapter Text

Tomura was seething, settled in bed and glaring daggers at the wall across from him. The glass of water was held in his loose grip, pinky finger raised to avoid activating his Quirk.

A major concussion from his own damn Nomu. His nausea made him miserable, wreaking havoc on his stomach and making it much harder to keep food down. Not only that, but a loud, high pitched ringing in his ears came to him in waves, followed by a crushing sense of exhaustion. 

His focus was spotty, making paying attention to things difficult, and his occasional blurry vision only made the problem worse, and god, the headaches he’d been having. They tore through his skull and shook up his brain, opening up his head to dump a marching band banging drums and symbols behind his eyes, tucked in his temples. Nausea usually accompanied the headaches, and with all the symptoms wrapped in one he was bedridden more often than not.

The worst part about all of it was Kurogiri’s ban on any screens. Game consoles, handheld devices, even his phone was off limits, and Tomura had never been more infuriated in his life. If he had one of his precious games to pass the time, maybe he wouldn’t be so miserable, but he didn’t, and he made sure to voice not only his displeasure but his boredom any chance he got, until even the patient Kurogiri started avoiding him.

It had to be the blonde brat’s Quirk. He had been the only one around other than himself and Kurogiri, and the fear and disorientation had happened shortly before the blonde revealed himself. How the brat managed with a Quirk that seemed to just be explosions was beyond him, but it didn’t really matter how he did it, just that he did.  

He would lie in wait now, heal up as much as he could, and then wreak havoc on the little shit for making him out to be the fool. 

If he could hurt All Might in the process, it would certainly be a bonus.

Trying to keep up with the unforgiving Number 5 hero was a challenge, but it was a challenge Katsuki was suited to attempt.

Mirko refused to slow down for him. She charged ahead with her rabbit legs and kept him scrambling after her, and as frustrating as it was, he was thankful for it. Mirko wasn’t pulling any punches for him, it was either sink or swim. Katsuki would not sink. He refused to, and he relied heavily on his Quirk to keep him afloat. If he didn’t there was no way he’d keep up with her consistently. 

When he had a minute to breathe and watch her work however, it was eye opening, and he certainly understood why Deku had recommended her so favorably. Mirko was aggressive and forward with her fighting, but her style had been refined to be smart while she did it. Watching her plow through villain after villain was mesmerizing, and Katsuki finally understood what it was like being in Deku’s shoes - furiously taking notes and keeping track of every move a Pro Hero made.

Deku had warned him about Mirko’s independent behavior and that she might not accept his internship request at all. He had a backup Pro just in case, but thankfully the plan b hadn’t been needed. Deku had voiced his surprise and well wishes. Katsuki stubbornly told him he didn’t need it.

He had stepped off the train and went straight to her agency. The moment he walked through the doors Mirko was on him, loud and abrasive, demanding, and he found himself bouncing off her personality excellently. It excited him, mini pops of explosions crackling in his palms. She laughed, said she liked his gumption. The attitude - amazingly enough - didn’t mellow out in the field either. She never toned herself down for her work and he admired her a shit ton for it.

Flying over rooftops and chasing her speeding form, Katsuki couldn’t be any more hyped up than he was. 

Katsuki took to automatically wrapping his forearms before going on his runs with Mirko. She pushed him to his limits, forced him to learn workarounds he normally wouldn’t think of. He wondered if he should incorporate a soothant in his hero costume for situations like these, when he had no other choice but to power through the pain and create blast after blast. 

He knew what Mirko was doing. The students weren’t allowed to participate during internships, just shadow hero work, so she was training him the only way she could - endurance. Shit, it was working, he had to give her that. Having to constantly use his explosions, making him take the pain, was building up his tolerance to it for sure. 

It wasn’t the only thing that improved though. Whether it was Mirko’s intention or not, it also made him aware of how big the explosions needed to be to keep his momentum and conserve energy, instead of what his instinct wanted to make them, combined with learning what explosions were essential and what he unintentionally did for show, a habit formed by his prideful upbringing. It stripped his Quirk down to its bare necessities. He needed to, she was so fucking fast with her rabbit feet. Patrols flew by so quickly in a blur of colors and streaks, only slowing down when Mirko - somehow - spotted a villain and kicked the ever loving shit out of them, and he meant that literally. Her kicks were powerful, a thundercracker of sound as her rabbit feet connected with flesh and bone, aimed to incapacitate.

Her fighting style was what he aspired to be, alongside All Might of course, but for two very different reasons. All Might was power and strength and brute force, dependable and sturdy, a back to look to in any time of uncertainty. Mirko, on the other hand, was pure aggression, unleashing attack after attack on the villain until they caved or she did. Mirko hadn’t caved, not once. Katsuki doubted she ever would.

Watching her fight gave him his own ideas, a sturdy Quirk with power and strength and nonstop aggression, intertwining the two styles into one. 

After only day two, he would go to sleep utterly exhausted but looking forward to the next day, a fresh chance to learn something new.

Why did you accept my internship? Katsuki asked Mirko on one of their rare rest stops. 

Day three, and it was particularly hot. Even Mirko was sweating from the heat, and they both agreed that having a quick water break was probably necessary. They were settled on a rooftop’s edge, feet dangling off the side of the building as they looked out at the town. The people looked so small, commuting back and forth to their destination like ants marching in a line. Wind was blowing through his hair and on his face to combat the heat, to which Katsuki was thankful, wiping sweat from his brow and hoping it cooled before they set off again.

Mirko smirked at him, crossing her legs. Because I saw myself in you during the Sports Festival, she said. Besides, you have potential, and when you rise in the ranks I want bragging rights.

Katsuki smirked. Seriously?

Did I stutter kid? Mirko took a swig of water, and he mimicked the action with what little water he had left. It was refreshingly cold. I was like you when I was younger, she admitted, and Katsuki listened attentively. Made some mistakes I could’ve avoided had I been a bit more self aware. I built my combat style through trial and error, but the polishing was the hardest part, finding a balance between what I wanted to do and what was the smart thing to do. You need to tweak some things kid, but you’re already halfway there. A little boost in the right direction never hurt, right? Mirko grinned at him, sharp and daring, and Katsuki grinned right back. He understood perfectly. His smirk died, however, when Mirko stood up and stretched. Alright, I’m being too soft. Break time’s over kid, you ready?

Katsuki was still sweating his ass off. Frankly he had chugged the water bottle dry and still felt a bit thirsty. His arms were killing him, his back was straining, his ankles weren’t all too happy either.

He stood, determination straightening out his aching back.

Abso-fucking-lutely, he said, and Mirko hopped off the rooftop with a holler, Katsuki a step behind.

Day four, and Mirko was taking a slow patrol. Katsuki was immediately suspicious of it. She snickered at his squinted eyes and ready posture. Praised him for it, sure, but waved a hand and explained the patrol that day was mostly just for socializing, greeting fans and signing things. He believed her reluctantly, still partially sure it was some kind of test - she hadn’t been slow once the whole internship, why start now - but they had been on the patrol for an hour without a mishap. 

Fans did indeed greet her with stars in their eyes, backpacks and t-shirts and caps to sign. Young girls that gushed over her strength, swearing to be just as cool as she was - a sentiment Katsuki shared wholeheartedly - teen boys with bright red faces and stuttering words that he scoffed at, adult men and women alike that greeted her like an old friend, kindly asking for an autograph and thanking her for her work. Katsuki watched, trying hard not to envision himself in a position like that lest he get distracted. He had to pay attention to how she was handling everyone, after all.

Only with civilians did Mirko seem to tone herself down a bit. She grew softer around the edges, a bit more patient. Her forwardness was still shining through, coaxing shy fans out from behind corners with a strong but calm voice, leading conversation with the more introverted folk, matching excited fans pace for pace with dramatic poses and sharp grins. She was having fun, being a calmer, more pinpointed version of herself. He channeled Deku and took mental notes, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

How did you learn to be like that? Katsuki asked after a young girl ran away giggling, clutching a signed Mirko doll to her chest. You don’t seem like a natural charmer.

Mirko’s eye twitched. You’re not so charming yourself either kid, she scoffed. I’m friends with Hawks, you learn a thing or two with that smug bastard. Not to mention my own experiences.

Hawks. Deku had mentioned him before but was worried their personalities would clash. But if he was so good with people, maybe it was worth it?

How good is he?

Are you aware of the approval ranking system? Mirko asked.

Of course I am, who isn’t.

Then you should know Hawks is only second to All Might and I shouldn’t have to tell you, she clapped back. He scowled at her while he digested her words, crossing his arms irritably.

Whatever, he grumbled. Isn’t he Number 3?

Sure, but he beats Endeavor in approval rankings, although that’s not exactly difficult, she said. Still, he’s not too too far behind All Might. He’s good at what he does, the cocky fucker.

He had to talk to Deku about that. He would learn how Mirko did it, but looking into Hawks definitely seemed like a good idea. Katsuki wanted to master everything, be the best of the best. Knowing how to handle civilians and popularity was a priority.

Katsuki pestered her the whole patrol, asking her question after question until he was sure he had a decent grasp on what she was talking about. He even tried some techniques on a few civilians, and although it was the most awkward he’d felt in his entire fucking life, he could feel it was a step in the right direction. He came back to Mirko laughing her ass off at him, but reassuring him it would feel more natural over time. He cursed at her, face burning hot.

Day five, and the early morning news revealed a tragedy in Hosu. Not only did the hero killer get Ingenium, but he got Glasses too. Both were in the hospital, conditions reported to be unknown. 

He joined Mirko on patrol with tense shoulders and head bowed. Mirko didn’t ask, didn’t even bring it up to him, instead she asked if he was ready and took off when he agreed. He pushed himself hard that day, harder than normal, until his fingers were locked up and his forearms felt as if the explosions were in his veins, not his palms. Mirko never demanded he slowed down, she only hovered around him, keeping him in her general sight while he vented his worry and anger into his work. 

Thank god Deku went with Icy Hot. He couldn’t imagine what Deku would go through if he found out. 

The last couple of days, he was ashamed to admit, went by way too quickly for his tastes while simultaneously not going quick enough. He wanted to go back home to check on Glasses, on Deku, but he didn’t want to have his time with Mirko end either. He had learned about his Quirk, but he had only taken a single step forward where people were concerned. He couldn’t go back to U.A with nothing to show for his internship, not for the real reason he came anyway. 

Mirko had given him notes, hints, but nothing concrete. The days passed against his will, and he realized he would just have to look into Hawks when he got back, after checking on Glasses of course.

They shared a brief goodbye, no lingering fondness or drawn out pleasantries. She wished him luck, told him if Hawks gave him shit to say she sent him, clapped him on his back and nearly made him fall over, then left without another word. Katsuki was thankful for it, and it made him realize he’d miss her company.

He boarded the train to Hosu with a pit in his stomach, not his home. The area wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t face Deku without knowing how Glasses was doing first. He just hoped it would be good news, and not only for Deku’s sake.

The train ride was awful. He was restless and fidgety, picking at the bandages on his arms until he forced himself to mess with his phone instead. The minutes dragged on and on, and with every mile closer he got, the more he felt like he might throw up.

As soon as he stepped off the train, he made a beeline for Hosu’s hospital. He was exhausted and sore from his internship, and the sooner he was out of the open, the better he’d feel. Not only that, but he just really wanted to make sure Glasses was okay.

He stepped into the hospital doors. The first person he saw in the waiting room wasn’t a nurse or doctor, not even the receptionist, but Aizawa and Icy Hot, looking tired and pale in waiting room chairs.

His heart dropped. The sight of grieving people - friends - was familiar, and not in a comforting way.

Neither of them noticed him at first, and Katsuki stomped up with acid in his throat.

Where’s Glasses? he demanded the second he was in range. Aizawa’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, then he sighed, a hand coming up to rest on the bridge of his nose.

What are you doing here, Bakugo.

He didn’t make it sound like a question, more of a resigned statement, so Katsuki stood his ground.

Checking on Glasses, the fuck does it look like. What room is he in?

Aizawa pinned him with a glare that would’ve made him cringe on any other day. Icy Hot was the one to answer.

Second floor, third door to the left.

Todoroki, Aizawa hissed, and Katsuki turned on his heel without another word. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and it took all the willpower he had not to buck it off of him and keep walking.

He turned to glance over his shoulder. Aizawa was looking at him with pursed lips, a tense stare.

Midoriya is with him, Aizawa began, but Katsuki cut him off with a furious glare, turning around and forcing Aizawa’s hand off his shoulder.

You let him up there?! he shouted. Are you fucking insane?! Do you have any idea what this could do to him?!

Icy Hot spoke up again, quiet, hands shaking on his lap. Izuku was the one to find him.

Katsuki could only stare at his classmate in horror, heart sinking and stomach twisting so badly he thought he’d puke on the spot.

He’s been...upset, Aizawa continued, choosing his words carefully. He hasn’t taken other’s presences well, even doctors and nurses. If someone stays longer than five minutes, the room shakes and only gets worse the longer you hover. Nothing we’ve said or could say will calm him down - not until Iida wakes up.

He will, Katsuki said, not quite asking, his voice breaking pitifully. He clenched his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms. The pain helped ground him. That bastard will wake up.

Aizawa sighed, long and deep. He crouched to Katsuki’s level, and his heart squeezed.

Bakugo…

No, he choked. He’ll wake up. That asshole has to.

Icy Hot hunched over in Katsuki’s peripheral, eyes glassy with tears.

It’s...It’s only a matter of time, Aizawa said. They’re just trying to keep him comfortable.

Katsuki pulled away from the two and turned to race up the stairs, not looking back. No one stopped him.

He didn’t stop until he reached the second floor, but that was only to right himself before he barreled to the third door on the left, damn near kicking the door in.

Glasses was swallowed up by the hospital bed, looking small and pale, fragile. A shit ton of wires snaked in and out of his skin, an oxygen mask placed on his face, a heart monitor beeping weakly next to his bedside.

Deku was sobbing. The glass panes were already rattling in their frames, machines vibrating, tools on the side table shaking against the metal. The room felt suffocating, and Katsuki could barely breathe around guilt and horror and fear.

Deku’s breath hitched, high and squeaky and something rattling, then released with a sob. It sounded wet, like he had fluid in his lungs.

Katsuki backed out of the room and slammed the door shut, leaning against the door while he breathed hard, heart pounding in his chest. Glasses looked so fucking fragile, and he could see darkness creeping in his peripheral, images of Deku in the same place flashing across his vision. 

It was too much. Too much to process and sort through and he felt like he was overloading.

He had to leave, get out and go - somewhere. He couldn’t stay there and listen to Deku sob. He couldn’t.

He bolted, with no idea where he was going. He just had to get away.

Somewhere else in Hosu’s hospital, tucked away on a higher floor, an injured hero opened his eyes, met with relieved gasps and sobs from his father.

Chapter Text

Aizawa couldn’t stay in Iida’s hospital room for long. For a multitude of different reasons.

The guilt was killing him, crushing his lungs under the weight and squeezing his heart so hard he struggled to breathe around it. He had been sitting in his office, blissfully unaware, that entire time, and had to be informed of a horrible tradgety from a fucking phone call.

Midoriya had warned him, Midoriya had said Iida wasn’t okay, and all he did was talk to Iida. Thought that would be enough. He knew what grief could do to people, had experienced it himself. He had thought with Iida’s mature behavior he’d be responsible enough - but it was grief it - it didn’t work like that. He should’ve known.

The guilt was suffocating, and it only got worse the more he thought about the situation. What was he going to tell the rest of his students? Fuck, how was he going to tell Iida’s parents? Would Iida be a ghost hovering in his peripheral, mocking him for being unable to save yet another life?

Todoroki was a silent shadow in the hospital waiting room, staring at the floor or his hands. Aizawa talked to him about everything as soon as he arrived at the hospital, and Todoroki relayed everything he knew with a voice that told Aizawa just how numb the kid felt.

He told him Midoriya was the one to find Iida, told him Midoriya possessed Iida’s body to bring him to himself, and Aizawa almost threw up right there. Nothing could have prepared him for that admission. Nothing could have prepared him for the numb cold that spread from his hands all throughout his body.

Not only had Midoriya found Iida, not only did Midoriya do something he’d confided to Aizawa more than once that he was terrified to do, but Todoroki had seen Iida that way. Had seen his classmate warped and broken and not acting right.

Shaken and far past worried, he made sure Todoroki knew he wasn’t alone, knew Aizawa was willing to stop and listen, but the boy was reluctant to engage on the best of days and it only grew worse the longer this whole situation - Iida’s condition - dragged on.

Todoroki, with Aizawa’s gentle insistence, visited him once. He stayed for maybe five minutes and left the room with tears in his eyes.

I don’t think Izuku liked me being in there, he choked.

Aizawa hadn’t known what he’d meant at first, but the first time he went to sit at Iida’s side was when he understood. 

Midoriya was completely unstable. A blurry, dark figure hovering in the corner, the only thing Aizawa could clearly see were two hollowed out white spots in the darkened space, in the shape of Midoriya’s eyes. Black, liquid matter dripped from him and onto the floor.

He didn’t stop crying, not for a second. Deep, wrecked sobs ripped from the boy’s throat, wet and choking. The oppressive weight of Midoriya’s upset crushed the room’s atmosphere until it was almost a physical weight on his shoulders. The glass panes rattled, even when he had just walked in. The floor shook. Iida’s bed frame shook. The room was so cold his cheeks went numb standing in there for five minutes tops.

Aizawa tried reaching out to him, but Midoriya wasn’t listening. Anything Midoriya said was lost in warped noises that hurt his ears, broken and lost, drowning in grief. He couldn’t fathom what Midoriya had seen, what he went through having to find Iida, and every piece of him just desperately wanted to hold the kid, whisper soothing words until his voice gave out. He wanted to cry with him. He wanted to kick and scream and break his knuckles on the wall behind him.

He could do none of those things. Not yet.

Days passed. Iida’s condition grew worse and worse, and finally the doctors announced there was nothing they could do, they could only make Iida comfortable while he passed on.

Aizawa had been bracing for the news. He wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. A hole was carved into his chest at the statement, all the air sucked out of his lungs as he swallowed hard. It was the first time he had ever seen Todoroki cry.

It was the first time - in a long time - Aizawa cried himself, tucked away for a break in his home, to change clothes and grab necessities. He crumbled the second the door was shut behind him.

When he went back to the hospital a few hours later, eyes red and face pale, he realized things had gotten even worse.

Midoriya grew so upset he lashed out. Anyone - even Aizawa, even doctors and nurses - couldn’t be in Iida’s hospital room for more than five minutes until whispers bled through the walls, chilling, the feeling of eyes watching when no one was there making their hair stand on end. The noises started to turn painful in their ears, claws scraping through their eardrums until they couldn’t take it anymore and left, pressure solid at their back like Midoriya was forcefully hurrying them along.

The only exception Midoriya made was Iida’s parents. The room was silent and still for them, mourning, and more often than not the mother and father were bouncing back and forth between their two son’s hospital rooms. Aizawa couldn’t even stand to think what it must be like for them.

Bakugo's arrival was a surprise. He hadn’t told any of his students what had happened or what to expect - had barely enough time to register it himself - and there Bakugo was, loud and abrasive and demanding. He tried to warn him, but Bakugo had made up his mind and refused to listen. He didn’t blame the kid, it was horrible news no one could absorb right away.

Bakugo ran off, and Aizawa didn’t see him for a long time after that, hours. He wondered if Bakugo was another exception to Midoriya’s ‘no visitors allowed’ rule, but the idea was tossed out the window when Bakugo - his strongest, most stubborn student - stumbled back into the waiting room in a mess of tears and hyperventilating breaths. Aizawa and Todoroki had to help him through the panic attack, and he wondered bitterly when these kids would catch a fucking break. Never before had he had a class so drawn to chaos and bad luck, and he just hoped with every breath in his body they would just get a chance to breathe.

All of them waited, days, for the inevitable, silent and teary eyed. There was nothing else they could do.

Aizawa knew the moment it happened not from the doctors or nurses, not from Iida’s parents, but from Midoriya. The sobs they could hear even faintly from the first floor reached their crescendo, wet and rattling, crying Iida’s name over and over until it seemed to be all Aizawa could hear. Bakugo and Todoroki refused to look up from their hands, tears dripping down their cheeks.

Aizawa waited, braced himself to see Iida’s ghost, another child, a casualty to his carelessness. He almost hoped Midoriya and Iida never left the third floor, just so he didn’t have to face what he knew was coming, whether he liked it or not.

But they did. It was hours later, Midoriya’s crying having calmed down to be unheard now, at the very least, and to Aizawa’s surprise it wasn’t Midoriya guiding Iida, it was the other way around.

Iida was just as transparent as Midoriya, floating unsteadily, dressed in the dark blue body suit he wore underneath his armor. Gashes and stab wounds peppered his body, blood smeared along his torso and shoulder, and a bit of blood lingered at the corner of his mouth. His hands were settled on Midoriya’s back as the kid clung desperately to his torso, soothing, guiding, a big brother hugging away his little brother’s tears.

Midoriya still didn’t look stable. His body was fuzzy, flickering, tears and blood dripped down his cheeks as his injuries twisted and popped.

Iida didn’t look as upset as Aizawa thought he would be. Maybe Midoriya was upset enough for the both of them. Maybe Midoriya was just a good distraction for the moment and it would hit him later. Maybe both. 

Aizawa swallowed hard at the sight, his eyes burning as he inhaled shakily. Every breath in felt as though he was sucking in nails.

Iida saw his gaze and brightened, saying something, but Aizawa couldn’t hear him. Not even the static, warped mess Midoriya produced exited his mouth, it was just silence.

Midoriya said something back, sniffling, mouth blurring and the warped speech made Todoroki and Bakugo sit up straight, rigid and nervous.

Is... Todoroki sniffed. Is he here…?

Aizawa paused, debated on whether or not to out himself before Todoroki spoke again. We know you can see Izuku.

You’re not subtle, Bakugo huffed, voice hoarse.

Which one? Aizawa asked, and a surge of anger slammed into him at the thought that now he actually had to clarify which dead child they were talking about.

It was so fucked up. It infuriated him.

Glasses, Bakugo said. Is he here?

...Yes, they both are, he admitted quietly, shooting the pair another look. They seemed to be having a pretty serious discussion, by their expressions.

Bakugo and Todoroki looked absolutely broken. Aizawa had no reassurance to offer.

Iida may still be there, but it would never be the same.

Chapter Text

Everything around him was dragging him down, down, underwater and crashing waves of grief and old memories. Iida’s now constant presence was nothing short of a slap in the face - Iida’s parents were the worst of it.

He floated just underneath the ceiling, watched as Iida’s mother sat with him, hand clenched tight around Iida’s as he slipped away, and Izuku did his best not to fall apart, to keep as much to himself as possible.

Iida’s parents deserved their time, he couldn’t ruin it with his out of control feelings. They didn’t need a ghost throwing a tantrum while they went through the process of losing a son.

It was hard though. Flashes of his time spent in the same place, in the same situation almost to the letter, had his transparent form crackling and pulling apart, fuzzy, everything was a blur. Not even Aizawa could ground him. Not even Kacchan. He didn’t want to see them anyway, not with how he was.

Iida was his only anchor now, his only reason to keep his head above water. After all, he was Iida’s only teacher, and the thought of leaving Iida to wallow in his grief and fear and worry while he dealt with his own problems left him so sick he wondered if he’d throw up. Could ghosts throw up? He wasn’t sure.

But he couldn’t do much in his state, not really. Every breath rattled so fiercely it was more of a choked gasp. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even thinking of letting Iida go had him a sobbing wreck, a horrible fear of Iida slipping away clawing at his insides and ripping his heart to shreds. So he did what he could do and stayed by Iida’s side, clung to him, even with how much the sight of grieving family and friends did to him. He couldn’t leave Iida alone, just like he couldn’t leave Aizawa, or Kacchan. 

Being alone was so horrible. Dealing with death was horrible. Dealing with death, alone...Izuku would rather die twice than leave Iida to such a fate.

It was his fault regardless. He wasn’t quick enough. Wasn’t strong enough, and Iida was the one to pay for it. The least he could do was be there for him.

Iida led them both down to the first floor as Izuku sobbed broken, barely intelligible apologies, unable to see past the blur of tears and blood in his eyes he didn’t bother wiping away, and to his growing horror he wasn’t sure if the blood on his cheek was his own or Iida’s. Unknowing of Izuku’s plight, he was sure, Iida was a gentle guide, talking slowly and carefully, soothing, but the sight of Aizawa - of Kacchan, of Shouto oh god Shouto - wasn’t a comfort. Not now. They were just streaks of color in his vision. Iida’s torso was much more solid, much more real to him, and he desperately wished it wasn’t.

Aizawa! Iida called, and Izuku had to remind him through sniffles that his teacher couldn’t hear him anymore. They talked about it for a moment, Iida prying into exactly what he meant, if Aizawa could hear mumbles like Izuku or nothing at all. Izuku didn’t have all the answers for him, but he promised they would ask Aizawa later.

When they turned back to the conversation, Kacchan and Shou looked devastated. Izuku couldn’t stand to look at them, shame and guilt burning his face.

It was by accident. Izuku and Iida had been following Aizawa nonstop, the teacher’s presence a comfort for both of them. Aizawa had mentioned it in passing to Iida’s parents while offering his condolences, his apologies, and whether the man remembered Iida was there or not was up in the air. Even still, Iida didn’t take the news well, for understandable reasons.

His brother, Iida Tensei, was in the same hospital. Had woken up.

It was the first time, in the entire visit, that Izuku was able to shake himself out of his grief stricken state and actually lend a helping hand. Iida’s expression of shock and worry and regret was so, so familiar, and it was what finally managed to put Izuku in the headspace he wanted. A guide, an ear, to simply be - be useful.

Do you want to see him? he asked. 

I do, Iida whispered.

Izuku sniffed, nodded, took Iida’s hand in his own and followed his directions. On instinct, Iida tried to use the steps, open doors, stop to say hi to familiar faces, and it took Izuku gently pulling him through the physical objects or away from the people to get him to stop trying. Sticking to those old habits hurt more than letting go, Izuku had learned that the hard way.

Seeing Ingenium, Iida Tensei, had Izuku in a whole mess of mixed feelings. Seeing Iida’s face upon seeing his brother, however, made him decide what to feel pretty quickly, and he tucked away his hero ramblings and excitement, tucked himself away in a corner so Iida could face what was in front of him on his own.

If he needed him, Izuku was right there. Digging his nails into his palms to stay grounded, but there.

Thankfully, or maybe not so much, Tensei’s eyes immediately fell on his brother’s ghost and his face paled. Izuku was reminded of Aizawa’s first reaction to seeing him. His hands fisted in his shirt, eyes welling with more tears.

Iida brightened though, relief flashing across his face at the semi normality in all the chaos. He tried speaking, and Izuku could hear him as clear as ever - You’re awake! We were all so worried! - but Izuku knew Ingenium couldn’t hear him. Could see it in the confused look in his eyes, in the way he tried so hard to read Iida’s lips. Ingenium looked past Iida to him, paling even farther at the sight he must’ve been, and all Izuku could spare was a shy wave and a small, forced smile.

There was a pause, and Izuku signed to him, hoping and praying they could communicate somehow.

‘Do you know sign?’

Ingenium lit up with understanding, and with unsure, repetitive motions, signed a ‘Yes’ back, then ‘Only little’.

Izuku bit his lip, even as Iida turned with a hopeful gaze in his direction. There was only so much he could work with, but it was their only option. 

He can see us, Iida breathed. You know sign language?

Yeah, he muttered, quiet and unsure. Aizawa knows some too. I - I’ve been talking to him with it.

So you can talk to my brother? Iida’s form blurred at the edges in his excitement. The room, however, remained still. Tell him I said I’m sorry, he blurted, uncharacteristically desperate. Please. Tell him I said I love him, that I’m sorry.

Izuku did, spelled out Iida’s name with patient motions, signed out what Ingenium knew and fingerspelled what he didn’t.

Ingenium’s face scrunched in understanding, tears of his own welling in his eyes as he bit the inside of his cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but a quick knock on the door interrupted him, his parents walking into the room, completely unaware.

His father, resigned and quiet, led Ingenium’s much more frantic mother into the room. She was a sobbing mess. Izuku couldn’t look at her.

Tensei, thank god, she sobbed, collapsing at his bedside, squeezing his hand so tightly Izuku heard Ignenium’s knuckles pop. Thank god, thank god, she sobbed.

I love you, Ingenium said, staring at both of his parents, then looking at Iida, his lips a wobbly line. So much.

Iida let out a sob, and Izuku was immediately by his side, holding on to Iida’s torso in a tight hold. Iida hugged him back hard, and Izuku blinked back blood and tears to stare into Ingenium’s eyes. He let go for only a moment to sign to him.

‘I promise I’ll take care of him. He’ll be okay.’

Izuku didn’t know if he understood any of it at first, but the sparkle in his eyes with the tears on his cheeks told Izuku he understood enough.

When the living finally made arrangements to go their separate ways, Izuku told Iida he could follow anyone he wished, that there would be no judgement for it. That - that he would be right there with him, no matter who he chose.

Iida looked at him, injured and transparent, glancing between him and his family. Between his family and Aizawa - Kacchan and Shou. He floated there, thinking, frowning.

He closed his eyes, resigned, determined. He opened them again and put his hand on Izuku’s back.

Let us return to class, he said quietly, steering him in Aizawa’s direction, and Izuku - he panicked.

The last thing he wanted Iida to do was give up following his family to make Izuku more comfortable, to give up the precious gift of a family member being able to see him, to interact with him somehow.

No! he shouted, making the living look around curiously, worriedly. Aizawa turned to them with a concerned frown. No, don’t walk away for me. Choose who, please, he begged when Iida didn’t look at all swayed. Please, don’t do it for me.

I am not, Iida replied simply, a reassuring smile on his face. We need to protect the classroom, don’t we? Besides, I think I could use a sign language teacher.

Izuku floated there, stunned into silence, and let Iida guide them back over to Aizawa without another word.

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Iida’s choice flooded him with relief. He would’ve stayed with Iida just as he promised, but it wouldn’t have been easy for him.

Selfish, a voice in his head hissed at him. So selfish.

Izuku wasn’t around for the rest of the class’s reactions to the news of Iida’s passing. In all honesty, he may have been avoiding them, but Izuku refused to admit it to himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it through. 

He hadn’t, but Iida had, and everything he knew about the interaction was second hand.

Not surprisingly, the class had been devastated. Iida talking through the EMF had been a slight soothant, but nothing that lasted. Tears had been shed, even through Iida insisting he’d stick by their side through hell and high water. Izuku wondered silently to himself if that had brought on the tears on its own.

Iida had been so patient through it all, and Izuku wondered why Iida hadn’t had his meltdown yet like he had when he’d first experienced it, but he wasn’t in any rush to point it out to Iida. He figured they should both count their blessings. 

Iida never complained about Izuku’s close proximity, hands careful on his back in a comforting half-hug, and when Izuku managed to pry himself off of Iida’s torso again, the worried look he was shot made his heart squeeze.

Are you alright? Iida asked, a frown passing across his face at his voice, both present and not. Izuku swallowed back tears, feeling as though he was staring one of his worst nightmares in the face.

He forcefully shook himself off, scrubbing at his eyes. Iida wasn’t supposed to be comforting him, it was supposed to be the other way around. What was he doing? What was he doing, sobbing like a child? Iida needed his help, needed him to be strong.

He nodded fervently, sniffing for what he promised himself was the last time.

Iida was put into this by Izuku’s hands, and he needed a teacher, a guide. 

Izuku would be one, he swore it.

Chapter Text

Class 1-A did their best to settle back into routine. It wasn’t easy. News of Iida’s death had spread not just to the school, but throughout the world, and news reporters and paparazzi had made it very clear the heroes weren’t their target for interrogation. The students were.

They couldn’t make their usual commute to school without being harassed at least once by reporters and too-eager journalists. Most days at least half the class came to school automatically upset. Aizawa, furious upon learning his students were being harassed about the tragedy, took it upon himself to escort as many kids as he possibly could. 

He would ask Midoriya but he worried about the kid’s stability. Midoriya had barely improved, and he was in no hurry to introduce nosy reporters to the kid.

    U.A had made a public announcement about the death of one of their students, and to soothe concerned parents, revealed the plan of dorms at the school to reduce risk. The building was half way built, the moment it was finished was the moment the students would move in. The idea flooded him with relief - a place to keep a close eye on his students was exactly what they needed.

It calmed a few rustled feathers, but the general outcry was massive, not just for U.A, but for the Hero Killer.

He had been popular and gathered his own following of a morally grey audience, but after the death of a child, that popularity had been rescinded at top speed. The Hero Killer was labeled crazed, unstable, and his warrant grew larger, more urgent. It helped no one in the class with their grief - least of all Iida, himself, and Midoriya - but it was a small comfort, knowing the fucker had no more support, nowhere to run.

When he wasn’t dealing with his class, setting up for finals, learning more and more sign language, and attempting to reach both Midoriya and Iida, he was using his hero hours to mercilessly seek out the Hero Killer. More often than not, he came home and collapsed in exhaustion, but it was more than worth it to him. He couldn’t have that ‘what if’ on his shoulders, and if he ever did manage to catch him, hero or not, he would show the Hero Killer no mercy. Not after what he put his students through.

The classroom felt and looked much more somber, even more weight added to the heavy air until it was hard to breathe around. Iida’s empty chair was glaringly obvious, his voice and presence missed terribly by not only himself but the other students. It was painfully obvious they were struggling to adjust, students turning to address him only to be faced with an empty seat, the entire class waiting for Iida to tell them to take their seat for class, even Aizawa found himself waiting for Iida to insert himself, especially since he could see the kid right in front of him.

Having him there at all helped, but not by much. If someone wanted his opinion, needed help with a question on homework, they couldn’t turn to Iida’s spot anymore. Instead, they had to go to the back of the class and grab the EMF, had to hear Iida’s voice through minor static as the machine picked up on words they could no longer hear. It was another face to distract Aizawa from the classroom, floating in his peripheral dripping blood.

Yaoyorozu was elected class President from Iida’s absence, something he apologized profusely for when he could, and she took the new position with grace and patience. He shared her workload in the beginning to help her transition into the tasks, something she thanked him for, but it was a relief and weight off his shoulders when she finally felt capable enough to take on the position in its entirety. He already had so many things on his plate.

Having to adjust to Iida’s presence was a struggle for everyone, but Aizawa struggled especially.

Seeing Midoriya day in and day out had never gotten easier per se, it was more something he grew numb to. Having Iida there alongside him, however, tore open old wounds all over again, especially seeing Midoriya so upset for an extended amount of time. Iida did well soothing him where Aizawa could not, Midoriya was hardly talking to anyone anymore, clearly guilt ridden and filled with shame. For the time being he was giving Midoriya some space, but he knew damn well he wouldn’t let Midoriya wallow in self blame for long. Not if he could help it.

The longer Iida shared space with Midoriya in class, the more he noticed differences between the two. 

Midoriya was heard, even if he wasn’t understood. Whenever Midoriya spoke it was TV static, warped speech that couldn’t be deciphered. When Iida spoke, it was as if he hadn’t said a word, there wasn’t a difference. No noise, no blurred mouth. Midoriya could pick very small objects up, even with some difficulty. Nothing was moved from Iida’s touch, he simply phased through everything. Whenever Midoriya spoke through the EMF, there was noticeably more static between his words and silences than when Iida spoke, sounding almost crystal clear. Aizawa had no idea the EMF could read voices so clearly before Iida’s attempts.

The major difference between the two ghosts was their presence. Midoriya’s presence was felt. Cold chills made people shudder when he was near, and Aizawa never startled from Midoriya being close simply from how he unintentionally announced his presence. Midoriya made students look up while they worked, eyes scanning their surroundings on instinct, knowing Midoriya was nearby but not knowing where exactly.

Iida was not. No one changed whenever Iida hovered close by, and Aizawa had been startled quite often from seeing Iida on the opposite side of the room one minute, only to look away and look back to find Iida much closer than he had been before. No cold chills followed him, no sense of presence, like feeling someone stand right next to you instead of seeing them. Iida held none of that, and the longer Aizawa had the time to compare the two, he wondered why.

At first, Aizawa was focused on Iida and Midoriya more than anyone else. Midoriya’s unstable form still worried him greatly, and the thought of Iida panicking or grieving or needing him and not being able to get his attention worried him even more. He needed to be available at all times.

Slowly, however, he started to realize his worry was unfounded.

Midoriya and Iida were bouncing off of each other in terms of comfort. Iida was playing his new role as big brother surprisingly well, and surprisingly quickly. He calmed Midoriya down, spoke to him softly, and wiped his tears, all while patiently weathering Midoriya’s clinging to his torso. 

The longer Midoriya went without being brushed off, the calmer he became, and the calmer he became the more he was able to assist Iida in getting used to his new life as a ghost. Class time was spent no longer assisting Aizawa - a fact that was perfectly fine by him - but instead showing Iida the ropes. Aizawa wasn’t sure exactly what Midoriya was explaining to him, but there had to be a reason for the specific desks Midoriya tapped on, one being his own. It was spent having Iida practice phasing through doors and ceilings and floors, at least, he assumed that was what they were doing.

It was an entirely new distraction, but one he didn’t fault them for. It was almost a positive, considering. At least Iida had a guiding hand.

With the worry of Midoriya and Iida taken care of for the most part, it left him available for the rest of his students. Aizawa kept a watchful eye on all his students throughout the day, to catch anyone struggling or especially down and lost in their thoughts. Todoroki in particular was someone he watched closely, often seen mumbling to himself or Midoriya, Aizawa wasn’t sure. He was just happy Todoroki was talking at all - he’d become almost mute since his return to class, at least, until Midoriya and Iida both began prying.

Uraraka was another student he kept a very close eye on. Not including Todoroki, she had been the closest to Iida, and she was clearly giving herself space from the rest to grieve on her own. Aizawa didn’t blame Uraraka, only gave her an encouraging nudge to drag Todoroki into her space every once in a while, a suggestion she immediately acted on. With a combination of Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida, Todoroki was slowly beginning to talk more and more. Aizawa was relieved to see it.

Bakugo stuck to his own group, quieter than normal, but he seemed more thoughtful than sad necessarily. Still, Aizawa took the time to make sure he set aside what slim freetime he had to talk to him, and talk to him properly . He wouldn’t brush off a student again, accidental or not.

Seeing him include Iida in his regular talks with Midoriya was a whole new relief. He really worried Bakugo would ignore Iida’s existence to focus on Midoriya, but he supposed the kid wasn’t that bad.

Finals inched closer, and everyone did their best to adjust, Aizawa leading the students by example. He swore to himself their exams would be peaceful, even if he had to sleep for four days straight afterwards.

Bright and early one morning, he got a call he had just been waiting for, from the Support department.

Aizawa had a project in the works since the USJ. Originally it had been just for Midoriya, but he figured Iida could get just as much use out of it, and now more than ever, Midoriya and Iida could use some kind of distraction, some kind of positive news. Hatsume - the one leading the project - couldn’t have contacted him at a better time.

He raced to U.A in record time and rushed to the Support department. He opened the door, tousled and out of breath. Hatsume was standing in the center of the room, clearly waiting for him, with something behind her back. The student grinned, her goggles glinting in the artificial light.

Ta-da! She pulled the object out from behind her. 

 She held an IPad in her hands, modified to account for a ghost’s touch and presence. No fingerprint was needed to open it, nor to use the touchscreen, only pressure. Iida couldn’t touch it yet, but Aizawa was sure it was only a matter of time before Midoriya became a teacher himself, and once that day came the IPad would come in handy for the both of them. Until then, he knew Midoriya wouldn’t mind being Iida’s hands.

Experimentally, he clicked the home button and slid the lock screen up not with his finger, but with a spare pencil. It obliged, the desktop ready for use.

Excitement pooled in his gut, and he smiled for the first time in almost a week. It was exactly what him and Nedzu had been thinking of.

He looked at Hatsume, opened his mouth to thank her, then frowned in concern at the deep purple streaks underneath her eyes.

Are you alright? left his mouth instead.

She waved him off, and only then did he notice how forced her smile seemed. Just dandy! she chirped. Does it work?

Perfectly, he said. Thank you.

She paused, and her smile faded a bit. Sure...Tell Izuku and - and Iida I said hello.

I will. They’ll know who this came from.

He left, giving the young girl some privacy to stop sniffling.

Toshinori had heard the news of Iida’s passing, saw the mark it left on Class 1-A’s occupants, and shared their grief in solemn silence.

The kid had been bright, shining with potential, and he too was ripped from any possibility of being able to flaunt his talents, live his life and grow.

He announced the dorm idea to the class before the news released the information, and he had expected some kind of intrigue, some kind of curiosity or wonder or excitement for the idea, even during the grief. Instead, the students watched him with serious frowns and worried, but warily optimistic murmurs. 

How tight do you think security will be? they whispered. Do you think this will work? Will Izuku and Iida be with us or here? Its U.A, this has to work, right?

Toshinori watched them and realized something: the kids in front of him were in for years of hardship. He only hoped it wouldn’t change them.

Chapter Text

Shinsou felt it in the air, the difference in the classroom. 

Having Iida still, in any sense, was a soothing balm of sorts, and kept most of his fellow classmates from slipping into complete sorrow, including himself. Shinsou had a talk through the EMF that ended with him choked up, both Iida and Izuku rushing to reassure him they were doing as okay as they could be and not to worry. He knew most of the class had stayed after school to touch bases with the two ghosts as well, a coping strategy, he was sure. As morbid as it felt, it did its job in keeping them - and himself - out of the claws of pure grief, and he could visibly watch them all adjust, slowly but surely. Preemptively looking towards the back of the classroom when mentioning Iida, catching themselves mid turn to his seat and standing to grab the EMF instead. It was a slow process, but it was happening. Iida’s name was brought up with Izuku now, reluctant and tentative at first, growing in occurrence and confidence the more they did it.

It was especially bizarre having Iida as a presence with finals creeping ever closer. Not having the class president constantly chewing him out for wasting time was noticed plainly. Instead, worried chats were held often before class and during breaks about studying and how well they thought they’d do, something Shinsou indulged in rarely. Yaoyorozu suggested in class study time and Aizawa was quick to agree, so they all hunkered down in their usual groups to prepare as much as they could, and it was the first time Shinsou felt normal in almost two weeks, his desk shifted to squeeze next to Bakugo and Sero’s desks as they all formed a tight circle, papers, textbooks, and office supplies scattered everywhere. He was sure the bright purple highlighter Kaminari was using was his, but Shinsou couldn’t muster being indignant about it. Especially since he was pretty sure the dark red pen he was using was either Bakugo’s or Kirishima’s. With a mess their workspace was in, it was a wonder they had found anything to write with at all.

He sat for a moment, listened to the murmur of talking and the gentle scraping of chairs against the floor, as his classmates arranged themselves to group up and settle down. His shoulders relaxed. He took a deep breath.

Bakugo had volunteered to tutor them, and usually Bakugo came with Izuku in some form or another - a horrible pair when everyone was trying to focus in particular. Izuku was muttering non stop these days, and although it was easy to assume he was just talking to Iida, it also served as a very clear distraction. He was so used to focusing half on Izuku’s jargon and half on school that when he attempted to pour all his focus into studying, he felt as though he was missing something important, as if Izuku would suddenly be speaking clear sentences the moment he stopped listening.

Not just that, but Izuku kept poking them. Actual, solid pokes to their upper arms and back with a very painful clarity. Shinsou could feel an actual finger press into his bicep, but when he turned no one was there. Bakugo swatted at the air five times in the same amount of minutes, and Kirishima kept ruffling his hair, like Izuku was messing with it.

No one told him to stop. They had all heard from not only Aizawa, but Bakugo and Todoroki how poorly Izuku had taken everything, and they were all just happy to see him animated again. He had been quiet and subdued for far too long. The last thing he - and the rest of them - wanted to do was discourage the welcomed behavior.

With Izuku muttering every hour of the school day, the classes with All Might were even more poignant in their silence. He had been so busy with everything that had been going on, on top of all the unusual scheduling to fit the homeroom meetings they needed to organize themselves, he had completely forgotten Izuku’s strange - and worrying - behavior surrounding All Might. Now that class schedules had started to carry on as usual, it shoved the problem right back into his face.

Before, he only had his fuzzy mental image of Izuku to make sense of his age, but after Bakugo brung in the photo Shinsou had a clear idea of the context. Most importantly, it solidified that the kid was, indeed, a kid. It hadn’t set in before the picture, but now that he understood just how young they were talking, it made Izuku’s behavior around All Might even stranger. He couldn’t think of a single child that age who hadn’t been obsessive, die-hard fans of All Might to the point of absurdity.

He really didn’t want to pry. It wasn’t any of his business, and Bakugo was obviously uncomfortable talking about his dead childhood friend, for what Shinsou felt was more than understandable reasons. But the questions he had only grew louder and louder after each class with the Number One hero. So loud that it drowned out the teacher’s lecture, leaving him staring  at All Might in confusion, wondering why. Why Izuku was a chatterbox before class, tapping desks and muttering nonsense, giggling weakly as his presence shifted around the room, not fully okay but certainly getting there. Why when the second All Might opened the door and announced I am here! with his regular grandiose nature, Izuku silenced, not even as if a switch had been flipped, but like he’d never been there to begin with.

On a day just after All Might left, the class taking a short break before the next teacher came in, Shinsou finally relented to his wish. If Bakugo said he didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t press. If nothing else he could do his own digging.

But first, it would be stupid not to ask. Some of his friends had stood from their desks to stretch or move to talk to someone across the room, some had stayed seated, content to do their own thing or talk to the people around them. Thankfully, Bakugo made no move to get up from his spot in front of Shinsou.

Izuku stayed completely silent, invisible, even in sense. It was the final push he needed to speak up.

Hey, Shinsou said, tapping Bakugo on the shoulder. His friend turned, an unusually deep scowl on his face for the tame class they’d just had. It made him pause, but only for a moment. I was just wondering, did Izuku ever like All Might when you guys were younger?

Bakugo visibly froze, caught off guard by the question, so he waited for him to gather his thoughts, patient. The room had gone quiet to listen in. Bakugo shifted restlessly in his seat, his scowl getting even worse.

Yeah, he said after a moment. He was quieter than normal, thoughtful. Shinsou marveled at the change. We were both obsessed, but Deku was even worse than I was.

He didn’t start acting differently before what happened to him, did he? he asked. Bakugo grit his teeth, eyes darting to the left like he was sorting through memories. Shinsou kept his mouth shut.

Unfortunately, others in the classroom didn’t hold as much tact. 

Just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean it’s negative, Uraraka chirped from where she stood, next to Todoroki’s desk. It could be in awe, right?

Haven’t you noticed he’s a bit of a chatterbox? Kirishima added with fondness, and Shinsou watched with interest as Kirishima received his first ever death-glare from Bakugo. Kirishima was unaware of it, but he stored the information away to analyze later. I don’t think he’d react with silence. Gushing, maybe.

Bakugo grit his teeth and took in a deep breath, as if he was trying to calm himself. Shitty Hair’s right, he’d be gushing. I’ve been trying to think about what the fuck his deal is.

He did say All Might brought up bad memories when we asked him about it, Yaoyorozu added, tentative, and Shinsou frowned. He’d forgotten about that completely. I doubt the reason is anything positive…

She trailed off, and there was a moment of silence. Bakugo had to slam his hand against the table to break it, and Shinsou nearly jumped at the sudden crack of flesh on wood.

But why? Bakugo snapped. The little shit - Deku adored him and never stopped. Why is he acting like this out of nowhere?

He frowned as his thoughts churned. When did you guys meet him?

Bakugo scoffed. We never did, he said. Not until he started teaching at U.A. It was always shitty documentaries and movies.

Shinsou stared at him, confusion making him pause. He had just assumed from the way Izuku acted - and the subtle ways he spoke about All Might on the rare occasion - that Izuku at the very least met All Might when he was alive. What? Are you sure there isn’t anything you’re missing?

Obviously. There was an unsure waver in Bakugo’s voice though. Deku would’ve never shut up about it if he met All Might in person.

But the way he talks, I just assumed…

A tense silence suffocated the rest of Shinsou’s sentence, everyone watching Bakugo and each other warily, understanding washing over all of them one by one. Bakugo himself looked a bit nauseous at the unspoken possibility hovering in the empty space of their silence. Shinsou understood, his stomach sinking into his chair. 

If Izuku had , he kept it to himself. Why would he hide it if it had gone well?

No one brought it up again after that, especially with the look on Bakugo’s face. They let the topic drop, the implications of it all being a bit too much after everything they’d gone through in such a short amount of time. It wouldn’t stay off the table forever, Shinsou knew, but he also knew they couldn’t deal with another tragedy so soon. The questions lingered in their gazes to All Might instead, suspicious and curious, but too afraid of the answer to voice their thoughts. 

Days swept by in blurs of study sessions and cram nights. Yaoyorozu took over the majority of class time while Aizawa tapped away on his computer or scribbled furiously at documents, weathering Izuku’s giggles and brushing papers with a grace Shinsou both admired and found hilarious. He and Bakugo nearly cackled when Aizawa’s papers fluttered in a random breeze, swiping a little less than half of the pile to the floor, and Aizawa’s expression didn’t change a bit from his deadpan stare.

One morning, Ashido brought up a group talk with the EMF, and everyone jumped onto the idea. They set up their desks in the usual circle and placed the EMF with Yaoyorozu, clicked on and whirring softly. 

The antennas immediately snapped in two different directions, one pointed sharply to his left and the other pointed right at an angle. The antennas bobbed at different times, shifting independently.

So Iida is here, Todoroki mumbled quietly, something like relief and guilt on his face.

The EMF clicked on by itself, and Yaoyorozu jumped in surprise as Izuku began to mutter away.

Woah! Kaminari and Kirishima exclaimed in unison, Kirishima continuing the thought. Izuku had paused his talking. Izuku, was that you?

Izuku muttered again, cheerful and bubbly with clear excitement. The EMF stopped recording and played it back on its own, Izuku’s ghostly giggles making the whole thing even more surreal.

“H̢i! ̢I'm ̨h̡appy̵ yo͞u͞ ̷w͟anna҉ t͏al͘k, ͜I͟id͏a ͏a͟nd͏ I w͞eré ̸wo̵rri̛e͟d̴ ̀you w̵o̡uld̵n'͞t͞-” Izuku stopped, and Kirishima and Kaminari’s voices crackled through the EMF. Izuku started again, excited. “Y͞ea̷h҉!͘ Y̨eah́!̧ ̨That̵ wa̶s͏ me!́ I've̴ ͘be̵e̵n̛ ͜pr͢a̕ct͟ic͡ing̨ and ̵sho͞win͞g ̢I̕i͜da ̴śo he̶ ̡ça͞n do ̕i͡t́ ţo͠. ͡C͜oòl ̢hu͜h?”

The EMF clicked on again, but Izuku didn’t speak. They stayed silent, knowing Iida was most likely speaking now. Izuku murmured once, then the EMF played the silent words back.

“Midoriya has ̶b̛ee̴n͞ a big help,” Iida said, voice fond. “I would not be adjusting ́nea͡r̨ly as quickly if he wasn’t ̢as̛sis͏tín̷g͠ ͞m͏e̢. Į have to admit,͝ the d̴iff̕e̶rence between us is a bit..̀.fr̵ust͘r̶a̷ti̸ng͘, but ̢I am sure ͏I will be up ͏to speed͡ in̢ no time!”

Izuku spoke up, the static increasing. “Plu͜s̨ ̨ųl͡t͞ra͞!” Izuku cheered, with Iida’s laughter shadowing his voice.

Shinsou avoided looking at anyone, trying to hide his teary eyes. It was such a relief to know Iida wasn’t struggling anymore than he absolutely had to.

How close was I? Bakugo asked, crossing his arms on the desk. Does the pipsqueak look like I thought he would?

There was a pause as Iida talked.

“Very accurate,͘” Iida said, but Shinsou frowned at his subdued tone. “I have ̕t̀o̡ ap̨pl̸a̵ud you, Bakugo.”

Bakugo seemed to notice his tone as well, since the smug look that had been forming dropped slightly.

Aizawa walked into homeroom then, slamming the door open and making all of them jump. One of the antennas floated over to Aizawa, and only then did Shinsou turn to look at his teacher. He was carrying an IPad and charger in his hands. He looked almost excited, and it only grew when Izuku muttered curiously, tapping at it, and squeaking in surprise when the IPad lit up at his touch.

He had everyone’s attention the moment Izuku wandered from the EMF settled in the center of the room. Shinsou himself was curious. It took a lot to pull Izuku away from a group talk, doubled knowing it was partially for Iida as well.

Midoriya, he said, calm. I have a surprise for you. Iida, come over here as well.

Izuku giggled and murmured, lights flickering, and Shinsou couldn’t help but grin at the familiar sight. It was such a relief having the little ghost happy again.

For us too? Kaminari spoke hopefully, and Shinsou scoffed. He doubted it.

No, Aizawa deadpanned, confirming his suspicions. At least, not directly.

He walked over to his desk and leaned down. When he straightened back up, he held the charger’s end and plugged the IPad into it, propping it up on a built in stand on the case, the screen facing the classroom.

This tablet, Aizawa began, is for Midoriya and Iida’s use only. A delighted gasp from Izuku made Aizawa duck his mouth into the safety of his scarf, and Shinsou smirked at him, knowing from the crinkle around his eyes that the prickly bastard was smiling. Midoriya, I’m sure Iida will get to your level of interaction eventually, and I hope this will help the process along. There’s a message app, the same one that the students have in their phone, and their contacts have already been added. Aizawa leveled a warning stare next to his shoulder. As long as you text at appropriate times, you may message as you please. Present Mic and myself have been added as well - let us know if you need anything.

Aizawa’s gaze traveled to them, and Shinsou forced himself to listen through his excited buzz. Izuku could text them whenever he wanted now? It was specifically tailored to Midoriya’s circumstances, Aizawa continued. Shinsou struggled to pay attention as the IPad began to operate on its own. It pulled up the message app and scrolled through the contacts, and Shinsou dug his phone out of his pocket, ready. If this IPad breaks, it won’t be a simple matter of buying a new one. The Support Course spent a long time tweaking it to suit Midoriya’s - and Iida’s - needs. Don’t waste their time.

Sero threw his hand up, but didn’t wait for Aizawa to call on him. Was it Hatsume?  

It was, Aizawa said, and the class cheered for her. Shinsou was too busy watching the IPad add contacts to one massive group to chime in, but he still felt gratitude well in his chest. One last thing, Aizawa said. If the screen is distracting you during class, I will have no reservations turning it around to face me instead. Are we clear?

They didn’t get to respond as all their phones dinged in unison. Shinsou looked down, a laugh bubbling up his throat when he clicked on the notification.

‘Hello! :D’ 

Shinsou wheezed, his heart beating a mile a minute in his excitement. He heard Bakugo scoff in front of him, but when he glanced up he saw the way Bakugo leaned towards his phone, excited himself.

A whole bunch of binging from his phone alerted him to the fact that everyone in class had decided to respond, no doubt excited themselves, and Shinsou had to turn off his notification sounds so his phone wouldn’t explode.

‘heya Izuku!’

‘Hey buddy!’

‘OMG HIIIII’

‘Hiya! :DD’

Shinsou’s grin softened into a smile. This would certainly be an interesting addition to the classroom. If they didn’t have the screen turned around in two days, at least.

Chapter Text

Staying after school wasn’t a new concept for Tenya. Being Class President had its list of responsibilities, and he would find himself staying an hour or two after everyone else had left finishing that list up. The empty classroom would be blissfully still, silent, except for the occasional mutter or tapping from Midoriya, and even that had its own rhythm to it. Soothing in its own right. Light would filter in through the tall windows while he rustled papers, tidied up, fixed some notes that looked a bit sloppy to give to Uraraka later - she had asked for them in a rush.

As a ghost, the empty classroom felt different, like it was missing something important. 

Not being able to interact with his classmates during class and missing out on study sessions and lunches hit him particularly hard. No one saw him, no one heard him if he spoke, except Midoriya, and as thankful as he was for that...Midoriya wasn’t the person he was trying to talk to.

Midoriya was the opposite. No one struggled finding where he was, or hearing him, or even feeling him if Midoriya puffed up his cheeks and focused hard enough. Even so, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel angry or jealous. Not only did Midoriya go out of his way to be Tenya’s hands and presence, just looking at Midoriya had any sort of negative feelings leaving faster than any self-soothing thought he could come up with. The little guy was a mess of broken limbs half the time, struggling to get himself to cooperate with the movements he wanted to make. Blood lingered at the edges of him, whispering a different kind of tragedy to his own, and he only felt sympathy for what Midoriya was left with. Tenya may have died - still such a strange thought to him - but at least what was left behind was a functional body and mind. He could work with that.

Besides, he always had Aizawa. His teacher was the constant in his new life, and he did his best to stick by Aizawa as much as he could get away with. Floating next to him to lunch, sticking close when Midoriya wasn’t guiding him, and even teacher conferences, when Midoriya could convince him to intrude at least. He didn’t usually stay long,  briefly scolding a giggling Midoriya for listening in and trying not to smile.

The pain of death was with him all the time. Each gash in his skin burned hot, stretched when he moved, bruises protesting whenever he shifted a bit too quickly. Every breath in was the equivalent of inhaling nails. Although he assumed he didn’t need to breathe anymore, he couldn’t drop such a human habit, just like he assumed Midoriya couldn’t. He’d had to drop a lot of habits that he mourned over for days - opening doors and simple touch being the main ones - and if he had to suffer every moment to hold onto his last link of humanity, then so be it.

Each trial and tribulation he had to fight through, mourn over, he couldn’t help but wonder what Midoriya’s time had been like. How had he figured out how to speak? How to be felt? Through trial and error he was sure, but how long had it actually taken? What habits had he given up and what did he still cling to? What was it like, not being seen or heard for however long he’d been trapped here?

He had his questions, but he was too afraid to ask. Even as a ghost, he knew that would be crossing a line that Midoriya wouldn’t appreciate, to put it lightly. Maybe even be a step too far in a direction he couldn’t come back from, couldn’t take back.

The first few days after his death were - in Tenya’s humble opinion - the worst. Midoriya was taking it even harder than he was, that much was clear, and he had to juggle his own grief with making sure Midoriya was okay. It was a good distraction in the end, but Tenya wished he had Midoriya’s giggles instead of his tears. The poor kid seemed to have a never ending well of them, droplets of regret and helplessness, mixed with blood and pain and rattling breaths that Tenya did his best to soothe and clean up. It wasn’t hard to keep an eye on him since Midoriya refused to leave a five inch radius of his person, preferring to cling to his torso with twisted arms and teary eyes. It made Tenya think of the brief moment in the hospital room. He got nauseous just thinking about it. He never wanted to see Midoriya that upset again, because of him or anyone else.

Midoriya never left him alone, and he was extremely grateful for it. Not even All Might could chase him off in the beginning, he would only squeeze his eyes shut and hold onto Tenya’s torso tighter, a quiet little package of sorrow attached to his stomach. Thankfully, to Tenya’s immense relief, the more he acted calm and natural about it all the more Midoriya seemed to take things in stride as well. He began to talk again, interact with him and the class, and something felt odd yet very satisfying about finally hearing what Midoriya truly sounded like, without his words being corrupted by the barrier of the living and the dead or through the EMF’s fuzzy static. He sounded as young as he looked, and he found that he was quickly growing protective and watchful. 

He knew if Tensei could see him he’d call him a helicopter mom with a teasing glint in his eye, without a doubt, but he just couldn’t help it. Mentally, he was sure Midoriya was much older - maybe as old as they were - but it was hard to keep in mind when he looked at the kid. His injuries didn’t help either, and he struggled with finding a balance of coddling Midoriya and giving him space, especially when Midoriya couldn’t get his arms and hands to cooperate. At least Aizawa seemed relieved Midoriya was finally getting assistance. 

It helped, of course, that it was taking a burden off of Aizawa’s already loaded shoulders. The longer he spent as a ghost, the more he learned how to listen, and he’d heard from other teachers how strung out Aizawa had been lately. Saw how closely Aizawa watched Midoriya - even in a safe setting like their classroom - so he took it upon himself to watch over the little ghost. Not just for his own sake, but to help out his teacher in the only way he could anymore, at least for now. 

It was easy to do anyway. Midoriya wasn’t poor company, curious and talkative and mischievous, and he only grew more animated as the days passed by. During class he talked to Tenya quietly, cautious of his voice as a distraction, tapping the desks of students who could sense him better than others - Bakugo being one of them - and hovering over the ones who were the worst at it. They tried different methods of getting his classmates’ attention, from Tenya tapping their shoulder - and phasing through it - to focusing on pushing his presence out and forward. Midoriya hovered around Bakugo’s friend group and poked them repeatedly, and Tenya would’ve scolded him for it if Midoriya hadn’t been explaining how he was making himself physical.

He followed Midoriya around during lunch as they practiced floating through walls, ceilings, doors, anything and everything. He learned how to better control his body now that he was floating in the air, not walking on solid ground. 

After school was the most freedom they had. The building was theirs to do as they wished, and although at first Tenya was reluctant to intrude in others’ spaces, Midoriya insisted it would be good practice and they wouldn’t touch anything. He had given in, and unsteadily followed Midoriya’s much more even speed. Sometimes they stayed in the classroom to practice picking things up, and he might be bad at it but he knew it was just a matter of practice.

Sometimes they stayed in the room after school just talking, about anything and everything. How they were both feeling about what had happened and how they were adjusting, what to do to improve their practice, his classmates, even just casual conversations. 

It was a different kind of homey feeling than he was used to, but he realized that the classroom didn’t feel like something was missing anymore.

Chapter Text

Deku muttered on and off, pausing and starting as if he was having a conversation with someone they couldn’t see, and Katsuki wondered what Glasses and Deku were talking about. He kind of got an answer a moment later when the IPad screen lit up. Katsuki watched, half listening to Aizawa speak, as the internet was pulled up and Deku typed ‘do chinchillas really bathe in ashes?’ into the search bar. He had to duck his head into his palm to hide a grin from Aizawa, chest swelling with repressed laughter. What the fuck were they talking about? Was Deku arguing with Glasses?

The IPad - Katsuki would never admit out loud - was a major distraction for him. It served as his first physical proof that Deku hadn’t changed, even after so much time, and the way Deku interacted with it had a ton of childhood memories rushing back to him, both good and bad. It sent him into a bit of a mental tangent half the time, as memories forced their way to the front and refused to leave. He was almost caught staring several times by the old man. He hated the thought of the IPad being turned around though, so he did his best not to watch it through the whole class and only focused on it when something was happening instead, easier said than done. Thankfully, Deku didn’t mess with it much during lectures. Only his free time was spent with his eyes glued to the tablet. A relief in all honesty, he wasn’t sure how he’d explain to Aizawa why his grades were suddenly dropping, although he doubted he’d need to say anything for the old man to get why.

Deku giggled, scrolling through images of chinchillas, and Katsuki heard others in the classroom stifle laughter. Could imagine Glasses trying to tear Deku’s attention away from the IPad, chopping away.

Midoriya, Aizawa said flatly, but softer than normal. Wait until the lecture is over.

Deku’s warped speech filled the air, quiet and apologetic, and the internet was minimized. The tablet wasn’t touched again while Aizawa spoke, but the silly atmosphere Deku accidentally created didn’t fade. Some of the students still had the giggles, and no matter how hard Aizawa glared at them they didn’t stop.

During freetime was the worst. Considering the written finals were tomorrow and the finals themselves were the day after - and Aizawa was busy with adult shit - they had those couple free days to do nothing but study. As helpful as they were, it was also useless for him while Deku was around, and very quickly he realized he’d just have to study on his own if he wanted to make actual progress. The IPad’s clicking pulled him out of his work no matter how hard he tried to focus. He was too curious, too nostalgic. Maybe melancholic? He wasn’t sure.

More often than not, Deku had the notes app pulled up and was typing furiously. Everyone in the classroom wondered what he was doing, but Katsuki had no doubt that the little gremlin was getting out every Quirk rant he’d had to bottle up for years. The sound of the tablet tapping away was very reminiscent of the sound of Deku writing nonstop in his notebooks. Aizawa paid the noise no mind, and Katsuki wondered how he did it. He couldn’t pull his eyes away, personally. 

Maybe it was the memories and nothing more, but part of him knew it was curiosity. Before their relationship broke down, Deku had shared his notebooks with him, and even at such a young age Katsuki had been impressed. He’d never said it to Deku’s face - he doubted he ever could, really, therapy or not - but Deku’s notes had surpassed Katsuki’s own analysis by leaps and bounds. It was why he’d always targeted them before. It was a mark on his pride, a stark reminder of how he wasn’t as perfect as people claimed he was. Now, he only felt desperation and hope, that Deku would trust him with something so personal again, so he could not just redeem himself, but encourage Deku.

Not to mention he was just a little excited to see what Deku could do after so much time. He had to have gotten better, no question.

Another distraction that was added to the long list of them was Deku’s texting. Since Deku had a voice with no delay and easy access, he went wild with it, especially in the beginning, and Katsuki didn’t have it in him to blame the little shit. He still avoided texting during lectures - Aizawa’s flat stare being more than enough discouragement - but the moment they had free time, Deku was texting anyone and everyone. It was another reason he couldn’t study, he worried he’d miss a message. The group chat Deku had made was constantly being used by someone, even Katsuki, and he wondered when their class had made a silent pack to not leave Deku and Glasses alone.

‘hey Izu u know the answer 2 number 6??’ Dunce Face had messaged.

‘do your own work’, he shot back before Deku could reply, annoyed. ‘and that’s a shitty nickname.’

He would snap at Dunce Face out loud, but he was no snitch. Aizawa would give him hell if he found out he was trying to cheat, and very few people deserved the old bastard’s wrath.

‘ooooo someone’s jealous >:D’ Round Face typed back, and Katsuki fumed in his seat as Deku’s warped laughter filled the room. He shot her a glare over his shoulder. She grinned back at him while holding up a peace sign, and he knew whoever had said she was innocent and angelic was a dirty liar.

‘Iida said no cheating!! Sorry Kaminari’. There was a pause, then Deku sent another message. ‘ It’s 24/8 don’t tell Iida ’.

Of course Deku answered anyway.

‘THANK U’

‘You have no brain cells Denki Is2g’, Ears texted, and Katsuki couldn’t help but agree. 

‘I’m being bullied I’m calling the pOLICE’

A private message popped up, and he switched over to that as Dunce Face continued to make a fucking fool of himself. Number six was the easiest question on the worksheet, how had he not figured that out?

‘Are you okay Kacchan?’

Katsuki clicked his tongue, mentally going over his behavior from the last couple days. ‘why? am I acting weird?’

The three bubbles appeared and disappeared for a bit. It made him nervous. ‘Yes?’ Deku finally sent. ‘You’ve been really quiet lately. Kacchan’s usually so loud!’

The absolute gall of this brat. ‘rude.’, he typed, and Deku appeared next to him just to pat his shoulder and fuck off again.

‘Seriously. Are you okay?’

Truthfully, Eyebags’ comments about All Might hadn’t left him, but he didn’t want to ruin the fun atmosphere that Deku had created by bringing the topic up. He could mention it another day.

‘just a headache.’

‘That’s lasted three days???’ 

Katsuki raised his eyebrows. Where had the fucker gotten sass from? He needed to stop hanging out with Icy Hot, the bastard was corrupting him.

 ‘fine, TODAY it’s a headache. I’m fine Deku I’ve just been up late studying my ass off.’ He paused. ‘not that I need it.’

‘Oh!! Right finals!’ Deku muttered something as he typed. ‘You don’t have to worry, you’ve always been so smart (•̀ᴗ•́)و you’ll do great!!’

Katsuki rolled his eyes, exasperated. He should’ve known Deku would still be a fucking sap. ‘of course I will. like you have to tell me that.’

‘Don’t be mean! D:<’

‘not mean, just the truth Deku. dunno what to tell you.’ Deku huffed, and he could imagine the squirt pouting. At first it just filled his chest with humor, but his time with Miruko had that humor dimming into thoughtfulness. Deku was obnoxious sometimes - okay a lot - but it was coming from a good place, right? Just trying to help, or encourage, or whatever was happening in the nerd’s scattered brain. Shouldn’t he….you know….be nice back? How would he even do that?

He tried a couple different things, hated all of them, and went with being blunt instead. ‘but thanks.’ he added stiffly, regretting it the moment he hit send, but when Deku sent a flurry of small faces to him, giggling around Aizawa’s desk, the regret began to fade, and the realization he might have actually succeeded sent a wave of relief over him. 

Katsuki’s face softened. He figured his time with Miruko hadn’t been useless after all.

The IPad didn’t help his worries over All Might, it almost highlighted the problem even more. Deku didn’t text during the Number One hero’s classes, didn’t search things, and Katsuki was starting to wonder if Deku even stayed in the classroom at all. He started to dread All Might’s classes as much as he used to be excited for them, sitting in his chair with his hands clenched as he subconsciously searched for Deku’s voice, presence, and was met with silence and empty space. He had gotten so used to Deku’s chill that the absence of it was unnerving.

He heard his classmates whisper to each other. He refused to join them. The whole situation was multiple pills he couldn’t swallow individually, let alone at the same time, and the speculation of others made him feel like there were dozens of eyes staring holes in his back. He had his own questions as well, a vicious cycle of them that he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask anymore. Did Deku really meet All Might and not tell him? Did Deku meet All Might, and something so awful happened either during or after that Deku didn’t get the chance? Was All Might the cause of Deku instead of himself, like he’d suspected for years? Was it both? Was it neither, and this was completely unrelated?

He came out of All Might’s classes with a headache and in a bad mood more often than not. He felt like he was going insane with the mental circle he ran through, but his mental breaks had rusted years ago from disuse, he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He felt stuck.

It was only when he was tucked away in his home, in his bedroom, a friend by his side that he felt brave enough to ask. Kirishima had to coax him into it, more determined and sure than Katsuki had ever felt about Deku in general, and it was exactly what he needed. Kirishima had a habit of doing that - acting like a dumbass one minute and being a stable comfort the next.

If anyone has the right to ask, it’s you, he’d said, pressed against Katsuki’s side in his usual show of disregarding personal space. You’re his childhood friend, Bakugo. I don’t think it’s weird to be concerned.

So he’d asked, hands sweating, elbows tucked against his sides to hide his slight tremor, Kirishima a steady, stable warmth next to him. He helped Katsuki phrase it as politely - as gently - as possible, and as he hit send he wondered if Kirishima could teach him a thing or two. He was surprisingly good at this.

‘Deku, I had a thought and I was wondering. did you meet All Might before?’

It was left on read for three hours, and Katsuki had just tried not to panic or backpedal from the question. Their study session had been abandoned as soon as Deku had been brought up, their worksheets and notebooks scattered all over his bed, and the rustle and crinkle it all made whenever one of them moved was an unexpected comfort. It reminded him of where he was, who he was with. Kirishima did an excellent job at keeping him from getting too into his head, talking about his family and their classmates and Aizawa, anything to keep his attention and focus while they waited until his phone finally chirped. Kirishima gave him a mini pep-talk before he opened it, which he was grateful for but also thought was stupid.

It was a text. He shouldn’t feel so sick to his stomach over a reply, but he did, and it didn’t fade when he opened it.

‘I’m sorry’, was the response.

Katsuki grit his teeth against a tidal wave of emotions, too much and not enough. Kirishima took his phone from him when he couldn’t type anymore, and Katsuki told him what to type.

Sorry for what? he demanded.

I did. I’m sorry I never told you, Kirishima read aloud. Okay, he said positively. That’s not necessarily a bad sign, right?

Katsuki took in a deep breath and counted to ten. Kirishima was right, it wasn’t. Not exactly.

Ask him - ask him how it went, Katsuki said.

They waited a minute. The phone chirped, and Kirishima hesitated. Good and bad, he read. Should I ask him why or…?

Yeah.

Katsuki waited, his heart beating hard in his throat, as Kirishima typed away. He couldn’t look at his phone directly anymore, an anxiety he hadn’t felt in a long time buzzing underneath his skin, making him want to pace around the room. He felt frozen.

There was a beat of silence. I had questions, and when I didn’t get the answers I wanted I got upset. Another ding of his phone had Kirishima sighing. I don’t want to talk about this Kacchan. 

Well I want to talk about it, Katsuki snapped. Why the fuck has he been acting so weird? Why does he just shut down? He should be fanboying, not cowering! It doesn’t make any fucking sense!

Kirishima typed for a minute, then read aloud a much gentler version of Katsuki’s thoughts. He gave Kirishima the okay to send it, and he waited on pins and needles.

His phone chirped. Katsuki snatched it before Kirishima could read, unable to wait anymore.

‘please Kacchan’

His frustration threatened to strangle him. Why, even now, was that fucker putting his own shit below Katsuki’s? He didn’t care if the answer hurt, he just wanted to know - needed to know.

He just wanted to help him. He just wanted to be his hero for once instead of his own personal villain.

Katsuki started typing, but Kirishima put his hands on his own to stop him, hardening his skin when Katsuki set off an instinctive explosion.

Don’t you fucking dare, he snapped, hating how desperate he sounded. I’m not letting this asshole destroy himself in the afterlife too!

You can talk to him, but you need to chill first, Kirishima said, hands up, pleading, and Katsuki was quietly relieved that Kirishima hadn’t commented on what he’d just blurted. If you just start spitting out words he’s not gonna want to. Just take a second man.

He did, breathed through gritted teeth, setting the phone down to let pops of mini explosions crackle along his fingers and palms, a soothing feeling and noise that he could focus on properly. Kirishima hovered worriedly, and it took everything he had to not bat him away.

This was all too new. Too much, but he couldn’t back down now.

Okay, he grumbled when his frustration was a simmer instead of a detonated grenade sending shrapnel up his throat. What should I say?

Why, Kirishima said with a shrug. Why do you care to begin with? Why does it upset you, you know? He doesn’t know why you’re prying to begin with, right?

He had a point. Katsuki picked up his phone, thinking hard. He was good at antagonizing, at being blunt, not being all mushy. Maybe he’d just stick to being blunt?

‘look,’ he started. ‘I don’t get the double standard you always set with people, it’s fucking annoying. you can ask if I’m okay, but I can’t ask you?? what kind of shit is that?’ He hit send. Hesitated. ‘you’re not acting right. you’ve done a complete one eighty and it’s weird-’ he deleted that. ‘and it’s worrying, okay?? I just want to know what’s wrong, I want to help.’

Kirishima patted his back. Good job man.

Don’t patronize me, he mumbled, but there was no heat in it. He felt emotionally exhausted, and he was - admittedly - proud of himself. Although he knew Kirishima was mostly the reason that all hadn’t gone south. He should buy the other sushi later.

The three dots appeared and disappeared for a while, and Katsuki watched it, feeling strung out. Christ, if that was what people regularly went through to talk about their feelings Katsuki would rather be known as a cold hearted bastard.

‘Okay,’ Deku sent. Typed some more. Kirishima hovered over his shoulder, waiting with him, and Katsuki felt slightly nullified that all of it at least hadn’t been a waste of time.

They waited, and waited. His phone dinged twice.

‘I asked All Might if I could be a hero, even if I was Quirkless. It was years ago,’ Deku had sent.

‘He said no.’

Toshinori was not having a good week. Technically the last month or so had been rough, but ever since he learned about Midoriya the bad days had started to blend together into one long stretch of time. Deserved, he knew, but miserable all the same.

Something had happened. He didn’t know what and didn’t have the guts to ask, but something had happened in Class 1-A. Every period he had with them was spent in complete silence, all eyes on him, and it would’ve been a good thing if not for the accusations in their eyes, questions they had but - for some reason - they didn’t ask him. Their faces were twisted in concern, suspicion, worry. To a level it was normal, but it had been extreme for a few days now and he was beginning to realize they knew something he didn’t. Admittedly, his bigger concern was them knowing something he did.

He had been trying his hardest to get a minute alone with Midoriya since the internships had ended, that is, until he heard the news about Iida Tenya’s passing. He had backed off for almost a week after that, but after questioning the teachers and hearing the students of 1-A were doing alright, and seeing it for himself during class, he tried again. 

Again and again and again. Aizawa wasn’t having it.

Toshinori often had his period after Aizawa’s, and when he didn’t he was on a tight schedule and couldn’t dawdle. Normally having a class right after Aizawa would’ve been a good thing, but Aizawa didn’t exactly have his back anymore. Toshinori couldn’t make things better if he wasn’t even allowed to talk to the boy, but every time he arrived early to class 1-A, Aizawa was settled at his desk, looking in no rush to leave as he tapped away at his computer. No matter how many hints he gave his coworker, Aizawa didn’t leave until the bell sounded for the next class.

Okay. Aizawa was a busy man, and he didn’t want to kick the other out of his own homeroom class. Toshinori adjusted, figuring it was a better idea to not have the students listening anyway. He showed up a few minutes after the lunch period started, confident no one would be in the classroom to witness Midoriya and his’ talk.

He opened the door to see Aizawa sitting at his desk, shooting Toshinori’s stunned look a flat one of his own.

Did you need something? he asked, and Toshinori was left stuttering excuses until he backpedalled out of the room. At first he just assumed it was a one time thing, but after running into Aizawa four times in a row...

Alright. Okay. He could work with that. After school was as much of a good time to do it, maybe even better. He planned his days around giving himself time for that instead, and the first chance he got, he stayed after. Walked across the school, up the steps, to 1-A’s doors. 

Aizawa was there, typing away. Toshinori opened his mouth to object or question him or something, but the glare he was shot made him retreat immediately.

He tried justifying it to himself, made up his own excuses. All of the teachers had been running themselves ragged so the finals went smoothly, and Aizawa in particular seemed to have a special focus on setting up the arrangements to be as seamless as they possibly could, not to mention Eraserhead was out most evenings hunting the Hero Killer, and he heard through the grapevine that he was having private sessions with Hizashi to learn sign language - not a bad idea. He was a busy man, stretched thin. It was no wonder he was irritable and always hovering around the classroom during the times of day where he could.

But Toshinori knew that was only part of it. The death glare he was shot had personal fire behind it, not a general annoyance that came from the stress of life. It had been crafted for him, a warning not to enter his classroom unless it was absolutely necessary. 

He understood. Truly, he did, even empathized with Aizawa’s goal. With how close his coworker and Midoriya had gotten over the past couple months, it was no surprise that Aizawa was going full mama bear on Toshinori knowing what he did. The fact that he hadn’t recruited other teachers was a wonder in itself, but it was also incredibly frustrating. He needed to explain himself, or at the bare minimum apologize, even if it was too little too late. He couldn’t have Midoriya thinking he had just been an asshole and nothing more - it had been a stupid way to do it but he’d just wanted the kid safe. Midoriya had to know that before he hated him forever, if he didn’t already.

As scummy as he felt doing it, he started planning ways to get around Aizawa’s schedule, even if he had to stay after for four hours longer than he normally would. It’d be worth it, just to get a chance to set things right. Aizawa could be furious all he wanted.

He just had to try.

That has to be an exaggeration right? Kirishima asked him quickly. He felt nothing, just a lightness of shock and disbelief.

His first friend in U.A was curled in on himself, staring at his phone like he couldn’t comprehend what Izuku had just told them. He felt awful for him, although he’d never tell Bakugo that to his face. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, talking to the ghost of a best friend.

Bakugo’s face flashed through all sorts of different emotions - shock, anger, rage, disbelief, sadness - before he turned to look at him properly.

He wouldn’t, Bakugo said, and the conviction in his voice had Kirishima believing him instantly. Which meant - which meant so many things.

Bakugo, he whispered. What really happened to Izuku?

Chapter Text

The written finals were over and done with, the students were all in their seats in the auditorium. They finished a little earlier than anticipated, so Hizashi had given them ten minutes or so to do as they pleased. He figured they’d stand up and stretch, start to wander to different groups instead of the tight seating chart they were forced to adhere to, but instead, they all were glued to their phones.

Hizashi wasn’t one to be annoyed by such a thing. Shouta was more the one to get frustrated at the listeners when they hopped on their phones during free time - Hizashi had heard the stories. No, he wasn’t annoyed, but their frowns worried him much more than they probably should. The students had been through a lot already, he knew, and they weren’t the same naive kids that had been in the auditorium before the entrance exam. But their frowns made them look a lot older than they actually were, and it was unsettling. He hadn't heard of anymore tragedies whispered through the grapevine, hadn’t seen Shouta even more stretched thin than he already was, so why the long faces? Were they discussing Iida Tenya, perhaps?

His chest tightened at that. It wouldn’t be surprising, the loss was still quite new. Shouta certainly hadn’t moved on, and if he was still beating himself up about it, he figured it was safe to assume the kids hadn’t gotten past it either - understandably so - and the main question was if he should try and break the mood or not. Sometimes having time to grieve was good, but sometimes it was more beneficial to get out of the potentially negative headspace. He’d been there as well, even if it wasn’t exactly the same situation, and he knew what grief could do to you if you wallowed in it. Hizashi wasn’t sure which one the mood was, however, couldn’t tell by looking at everyone’s expressions, and he idled, unsure. Should he crack a joke? Would that be too tasteless, if it was about what he was expecting? He didn’t know. Maybe it was better to keep his mouth shut.

Worry unsettled his stomach as the class as a unit seemed to darken. Some even looked horrified, angry, but the general consensus was upset. Strong, powerful upset, and Hizashi prepared himself to stop a couple of them from storming out of the auditorium. Even the kind Uraraka looked ready to cry or yell. Instead, she typed furiously, as if all her energy was pouring out of her fingertips and if she didn’t type she would explode.

It was very, very quiet. Hizashi could hear his own breathing. In a room full of teenagers, that quiet served to only strengthen his unease.

He knew they had a group chat, both with a teacher and without. 

Izuku had been thrilled at Shouta’s gift - which was what he’d told the worrywart over and over would happen - and the minute Hizashi had a period with 1-A was the minute the little guy tried his damndest to get him to look. He’d typed quick and giggled loud, patting and poking and generally being a sweetheart. At first Hizashi had gently tried to insist he needed to start class, but he couldn’t resist the pure joy he could feel from Izuku in waves and gave in eventually, much to the amusement and sympathy of the students. He’d even helped Izuku install the cute little faces after class, and he sent him multiple of said faces in thanks once they figured it out.

Most importantly, Izuku showed him the group chat with excitement, typing ‘I can talk so easy now!!’ for him, and even doing a demonstration of how quickly the students could respond to him. It was easy to know that they were all talking on it now, although he wasn’t sure if they were talking with Izuku or not, and it was easy to guess why they would be during school. It was something they didn’t want him knowing, something they didn’t want to discuss out loud, but why?

None of the previous joy they had was present now, especially with Bakugo. Their faces were shadowed, eyes even darker. He wanted to ask out of concern if nothing else, but if it was anything truly important he would’ve been notified first with the other teachers before the students ever caught wind of it, so it had to be personal. If it was personal, then he really had no right to butt-in. But did he really want to leave them to their own devices?

He figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least insert himself.

Such gloomy faces, he sighed, and multiple students jumped in shock at the unexpected noise. Maybe reading the news isn’t a good idea right now, eh?

Everyone hesitated, looked at one another unsurely, but Hizashi’s words had broken their stillness and they began to group up like he’d initially expected. At first he was filled with relief at the sight, but it quickly vanished when they grouped together, in one large bunch in the center of the auditorium, and started whispering furiously.

His hearing wasn’t the greatest. He had no idea what they were talking about.

Yaoyorozu looked up from the group huddle after a minute, looking indignant. Present Mic?

Yes, listener? He smiled at her, open and approachable. 

Has Izuku ever acted...strange around you? Quiet?

Hizashi paused, just to mentally process the question. Admittedly, it hadn’t been anywhere close to what he was expecting, and it threw him off.

Quiet? he asked. No, no. Izuku is anything but. His concern mounted, red flags everywhere. Why? Has Izuku been quiet lately?

Figures, Shinsou scoffed, surprisingly bitter, and the class began whispering even more heatedly.

Listeners, he called. No one turned to him. Hey! Bakugo looked up and shot him a nasty glare, made even more dark by the black eye he sported. Everyone followed suit, much kinder. I hate to pry, but I hate to see my listeners so down even more. Maybe I can help?

Distrust was everywhere he looked, and it shocked him with how unwarranted it was. He was almost insulted. What had he done?

A few of the figureheads of the class shared looks, silent communication of frowns and shrugs and raised eyebrows. Hizashi didn’t have much context, but from what he could follow it seemed to be in his favor, and he was proven right when Todoroki began to speak, a relief in itself. He’d been so quiet lately, even more so than usual.

Izuku behaves a certain way with most teachers, Todoroki said. But there’s one teacher he treats differently, and not in a positive way. We didn’t know why, but…

Bakugo and I were told yesterday, Kirishima finished. Izuku gave the okay to tell everyone else. That’s - what we were doing.

Hizashi’s mind raced, heart sinking. He wasn’t in the classroom for long enough to notice something like that, and the idea upset him. Izuku, quiet and unfriendly around a teacher? Was there even such a thing?

Their reactions stood out like a sore thumb in context. They had truly looked horrified, in disbelief, and he knew he couldn’t write it off as Izuku just being shy, and as selfish as he felt, he almost didn’t want to know what happened or the reason. He wasn’t sure he could keep his cool, knowing which teacher at U.A had garnered such a harsh response in not just the students, but Izuku.

Okay, he said slowly, trying to catch up to all the theories and possibilities that were clashing together in his head. And that would be?

Another wary look was tossed around. Bakugo spoke.

It’d be none of your fucking business, he snapped, teeth bared, and Hizashi’s stomach sank with his heart. Why were they on the defensive, like they didn’t trust him anymore? Had it really been that bad? Gave the rest of the teachers in U.A no credit all of a sudden?

In the back of his mind, he wondered why Bakugo hadn’t gotten his black eye healed by Recovery Girl.

What he means to say, Yaoyorozu said, interrupting before Bakugo could lose his cool completely, is that Izuku doesn’t wish for this to be knowledge that’s spread school-wide. He gave the okay for the students to know, but no one else.

As sweet as it was that she was trying to spare his feelings, he knew for sure it was more than that. Their eyes betrayed them. They gazed at him like he was a stranger.

I see. Is there anything you can tell me?

Everyone looked at Bakugo. He grit his teeth, and Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder. There was a moment of silence, and Hizashi wondered if Izuku had joined them without him realizing it - the air was so heavy.

What they did, Bakugo said, slowly, quietly, was fucked up.

Hizashi  didn’t know what to say to that.

The written test portion of the finals had Aizawa not only away from the classroom, but away from U.A itself. Half the teachers were out and making sure the practicals were set up properly and everyone had a partner. Toshinori had already done his setup, purposely disjointed from Aizawa, and the rest of that day was only focused on his regular teaching and work. Which meant, to his immense relief, that he had all day to talk to Midoriya.

The sooner, the better. His first opportunity was lunch, and he was going to take it.

We need to address this, Yaoyorozu insisted quietly. The auditorium was big, and they all worried their voice would echo. 

Like, with Izuku? Kaminari asked, and Shinsou felt that his wariness was fitting. Even a bit underreacting, considering the circumstances. You realize that probably won’t go over well, right? He could barely talk to Bakugo about it.

Whether we address it with a teacher or Izuku himself doesn’t really matter, does it? Shinsou piped up. It’ll all be the same result.

He didn’t know what to feel, but he found that bitterness was making itself home at the back of his throat. He had to be careful with his Quirk since his emotions were all over the place, keep a tighter leash on it than he normally would, or a normal comment would turn into an order. Didn’t All Might say before anyone could be a hero? Didn’t he say he’d save everyone with a smile? Was Izuku just an exception to that, or could he pick and choose now?

The Symbol of Peace, his ass. What a fucking joke.

That’s not true, Uraraka said. A teacher might do something about it.

The ‘might’ rang in the following silence. That had never been slander before, but right then, everyone outside their group was suddenly foreign and untrustworthy.

We should just talk to Izuku, Todoroki said, a frown on his face. Going to an adult would be a waste of time.

Shinsou blinked, a thought crossing his mind, and he wondered why he didn’t think about it before. Wait, what about Aizawa?

I thought you said it didn’t matter, Bakugo snarked, and he shot him a glare. 

I thought it was obvious I meant any other teacher, smartass. This is Aizawa, he can do anything.

Almost, Yaoyorozu intercepted gently, but Shinsou ignored her.

If anyone can do something about this, it’s Aizawa. At the very least we should go to him before Izuku. 

But Aizawa isn’t at school today, Uraraka chimed in nervously.

Right, he’s preparing for the practical… Ojiro frowned, tail twitching uneasily in Kaminari’s hands. Maybe we should ask Present Mic for help.

Or we could just ask Izuku, Todoroki insisted. We can stay behind during lunch and ask him. This is about him, we shouldn’t talk behind his back.

Or we could ask him and he loses his shit, Icy Hot. Think about what you’re suggesting!

Kaminari raised a hand uneasily. Guys...I don’t know. I’m having a hard time believing all of this.

Bakugo  shot him a furious glare, his left eye a dark purple, teeth bared in a hateful snarl, and Kaminari shrank back in his seat. He didn’t fault Kaminari for thinking so. If it wasn’t for Izuku’s damning behavioral change, and just how consistent it was, he wouldn’t have believed it either.

Why don’t we ask All Might himself? Jirou asked. Five resounding, simultaneous ‘no’s shot her down, and she huffed, irritated.

That’s a stupid idea, he said flatly. He’ll deny it no matter what the truth is. Would you admit to something like that?

I agree with Todo, Uraraka said. We should just talk to Izuku. If he gets upset, we leave it alone.

Guys, Present Mic is literally right there.

Shut up Ojiro, it’s not that easy.

Let’s just talk with Izuku and we leave it at that.

That’s fucking stupid!

The argument degraded into interruptions, people talking over others, raising their voices. Shinsou pressed his fingers to his temple as a headache threatened to form behind his eyes. This was a disaster, in every sense of the word.

Before he had seen Aizawa, he had seen All Might. That beacon of light had guided him, no matter how many people told him he had the Quirk of a villain. It set him on the right course, led him to idolizing Eraserhead as a kid, and Eraserhead led him to U.A. What was he supposed to think now?

I think that’s quite enough! Yaoyorozu’s voice cut through the cacophony of noise, sharp and no-nonsense, and even he looked up at her. Arguing like this will get us nowhere, and will only agitate everyone further. We’ll do a class vote, majority rules.

They voted. Talking to Izuku during lunch won out, and Shinsou only hoped they weren’t making a huge mistake.

Kirishima  felt lost, through everything. He had no idea what to do, and for the first time since he joined U.A he felt like he was ten years old again, helpless as stuff just happened around him, cold and uncaring to what he had to say about it.

Yesterday with Bakugo had been an enlightening experience, as well as a soul-crushing one. After pressing and pressing, Bakugo had finally given in and sat him down, explained exactly what happened to Izuku to make him who he was today, and it was ice water poured over his head. Goosebumps had broken out along his arms, cold spreading from his chest to everywhere else, and he could only stare in shock and horror as Bakugo repeated the words he’d said to Izuku years ago to him, regret and strain and grief thick in his voice.

If you think you could have a Quirk in your next life, Bakugo had choked out, go take a swan dive off the roof.

The words had been like taking a shotgun blast to his chest. The wind was knocked out of him, his chest felt too tight. His eyes watered. Just saying that to someone else was horrible enough, but seeing the remnants of Izuku’s life scattered about the classroom, seeing the aftermath, was too much. 

It was the first time Kirishima had ever punched someone else in anger. It was the first time Bakugo hadn’t dodged. Seeing the bruise on Bakugo’s eye the next day didn’t make him deflate, however, only filled him with a sense of determination and justice. That bruise was for little Izuku. For him too, but mostly Izuku. He didn’t talk to Bakugo for the rest of the day yesterday and left their study session early.

He had a lot of thinking to do, and think hard he did. He thought of all the times he saw Bakugo be a jerk, thought of all the times he weathered Izuku’s tapping and pats, even though he was so adverse to people touching him in general. He thought of all the times Bakugo said something rude or mean, and thought of all the times he had reached out to Izuku with a calloused but kind hand. He hadn’t slept very much that night, and he had paid for it in the morning - of the written final no less - but by the time the sun had turned the sky yellow and orange, Kirishima was confident in his conclusion.

Bakugo had messed up, dearly. He had paid for it, but he was trying now, and as upset as Kirishima was he couldn’t just ignore that. Bakugo could’ve denied it when Kaminari pointed out Izuku’s presence, denied talking to Izuku with the EMF, could’ve avoided Izuku like he was a little demon. Instead, Bakugo had reached forward, turned after school into his and Izuku’s private time - everyone knew not to disturb him when he was catching up with his childhood friend - and he had seen Izuku’s weird behavior and gotten concerned for him, reached out, listened to Kirishima when he said to take it slow.

No one told him to do that. He’d done all of it on his own, and that didn’t solve everything or wipe any of it away, certainly. But it counted for something.

The next day, Kirishima had approached Bakugo the minute he walked into class and pulled him into a massive bear hug, squeezing tight.

You and I are gonna make this right, he’d said, voice watery and shaking. We’ll give Izu something to live for.

Bakugo hadn’t replied, but he had hugged him right back, squeezing tight, and Kirishima knew he understood what he meant, what he was saying.

I see you trying. We’ll do it together.

After the written finals, Bakugo had asked Izuku’s permission to tell everyone else, and although the idea was met with extreme reluctance, Bakugo - with Kirishima’s filter - managed to convince him, and they hopped into their group chat to break the news about All Might without Present Mic’s prying ears. They argued for a bit in private DMs on whether to tell everyone else about Bakugo’s significance then or later. Bakugo wanted to rip the bandage off, Kirishima didn’t think it was a good idea.

They settled to put it off once All Might was dealt with. Arguing ensued in the chatroom, then face to face. Yaoyorozu put a stop to it, and then they all voted. It was decided that they’d talk to Izuku during lunch.

That was where they were headed, the whole group of 1-A walking to their classroom to have a conversation they knew wouldn’t be well received. It almost felt like a death march, but Kirishima figured he shouldn’t be so dramatic about it.

He looked around. Everyone was uneasy, some more obviously than others, gathered in their friend groups to whisper nervously about how Izuku would take it. They were a peculiar cluster, thick in some areas and spread thin in others. Shinsou was walking by himself at the back, looking subdued, yet a small bunch of most of Kirishima’s friend group resided at the front. Bakugo was walking shoulder to shoulder with him, and he would’ve been worried about his odd silence if he didn’t know what he did. Now it just seemed fitting, and he patted Bakugo on the back, ignoring the look he was shot.

I’m sure Izuku will be okay, he said, his voice blending in with the quiet chatter around him. He’s strong.

Bakugo nodded slowly. Kirishima kept a hand on his back as the door came into view, not just for Bakugo, but also for himself. He was always the optimist, but he wasn’t as stupid as people liked to think. Something - a strong echo of his heart, copied in his thoughts - told him this wouldn’t go well.

Toshinori had three more papers to grade and look through, and he had to remind himself there was no rush. He didn’t want to do a disservice to the kids who wrote the papers, and he also didn’t want to give the wrong grade either.

Lunch period had started five minutes ago. All he needed was to finish the papers, then he could sort the whole disaster with Izuku out, and maybe beg for forgiveness while he was at it.

The room was calm, friendly muttering greeting them as Kaminari opened the door. The IPad was lit up and whirring, and the minute his eyes landed on it was the minute it started typing. Kaminari scrambled to grab his phone out of his pocket as the rest of his peers tried scooting past him. His hands were shaking, his chest felt tight.

Hey buddy! he chirped with forced cheer. The vague, fuzzy image of Izuku’s form he’d seen, only for a moment at the Sports Festival, pushed its way to the front of his mind, and he swallowed hard, having to work even harder to keep the smile on his face.

Izuku giggled, and his phone chimed, as well as everyone else’s.

He looked at his phone. It was good that he was using the group chat right off the bat at least. They had three separate ones - two with Izuku, one without a teacher, and one without both - and he was always worried he’d send a message in the wrong one. 

‘Hi!! Isn’t it lunch time?’

There was a brief pause, and Kaminari glanced at everyone. How would they even start the conversation? What should they say?

It is, Yaoyorozu eventually said, cutting through the silence and quickly thickening tension as everyone got comfortable. Bakugo asked you if it was okay to tell us - what happened. Yes?

Kaminari watched the IPad. Izuku started typing something, deleted it, then tried again. He bit his lip, concerned already. A fuzzy feeling surrounded him like a cloud.

‘Yeah.’ he finally sent, and the short response only worsened the feeling. 

Bakugo spoke, and it was a relief. If anyone knew how to deal with Izuku, it was him. They believe you, he said, but they’re confused, Deku. What the hell happened?

It was a gentle statement by Bakugo’s standards. Kaminari was almost proud of him.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Izuku sent, quickly followed by: ‘That’s why I said it was okay for Kacchan to tell you.’

We don’t need every detail. Quite frankly, I don’t want to hear every detail, Bakugo said, blunt. As harsh as it was, Kaminari couldn’t help but silently agree. 

We just - want to understand, Uraraka piped up, closer to the back, attached to Todoroki’s hip as usual. You said All Might told you no. What do you mean by that? What did he say, you know?

Toshinori wrote the last grade on his final paper in a bit of a rush. He made sure the numbers were legible before standing, putting the paper in the stack on his way out. He took the hallway at a sprint before he remembered there was no running in the halls, and in the spirit of fairness he slowed down, going at a speed walk instead.

A soft hum filled the room after Uraraka’s question, echoing and dark. 

Shinsou wasn’t afraid of Izuku, technically he never had been, but something was wrong with the noise, off kilter. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, and he fought back a shiver. The temperature was dropping, a normal response to Izuku’s upset, but something was making him uneasy. Wary. He didn’t know why or what had changed. It wasn’t just him either, everyone looked wary and concerned, shooting the IPad looks as the silence became almost oppressive.

Their phones chiming had everyone jumping on the spot. Izuku’s humming shifted to his normal muttering, and the mood vanished. The unease hadn’t left though, not fully, and Shinsou had to roll his shoulders to stop the chill that ran down his back.

There was a moment, a quick second, where he remembered that Izuku was a ghost. Paranormal in nature, unstable in his anger and sorrow. But it vanished just as Izuku’s muttering had, and it left him feeling shaken, confused, and stretched thin.

He knew they should’ve waited for Aizawa first. This was a horrible idea. 

Shinsou looked down at his phone, resting face up on his desk.

‘What he said is what I told you…? I’m not sure what you’re looking for.’

No one responded immediately, and Shinsou didn’t blame them. Izuku was acting strange.

...Maybe we should just drop it, he said, reluctant, voice growing in strength. This isn’t for us to -

The door slid open. Shinsou stopped, looked at the door with his chest swelling in hope and relief. His hope and relief deflated, however, a popped balloon, leaving a void of horror and something closer to fear than he’d care to admit.

All Might stepped through, saw them all, and froze in the doorway.

Izuku silenced his absent chatter immediately. His stomach dropped, he felt cold.

No, not now. He was already anxious and upset and something dark was tugging at his stomach, the same darkness that pulled at him when he had scared Endeavor, when he’d scared the girl who forced his hands to pulse and hurt. Before it had been intentional, before it had been beneficial, but he didn’t want anything to happen now. Even to All Might, but especially not to his friends.

He swallowed, floated up to the ceiling and buzzed. He couldn’t leave, they had been talking to him, and the IPad was in the classroom. He couldn’t pick it up yet.

The room felt frozen in time. No one moved, barely breathed, locked in a staring contest of shock and wariness and confusion and anger. Izuku could see it on all their faces.

He hadn’t wanted this. He didn’t know this would happen. He wanted Aizawa. Nedzu. Anyone. Panic clawed up from his chest to his throat, his arms and leg crackled and twisted, pain spiking all the way up to his shoulders. His breath rattled, so he held it.

All Might spoke first. Izuku wished he hadn’t, that he’d just turn around and leave. He’d rather tell everyone everything than to sit and watch what was about to happen. 

What are you kids doing here? You should all be at lunch!

No one answered him at first. The tension was suffocating, weighing on his shoulders and chest until he felt like it was physically pulling him down. Or was that just him? He felt weightless, and not in a comforting way. He couldn’t see straight, like someone had dimmed the lights, and it only made his panic worse.

Talking, Kacchan said tightly, lip curled, and Izuku desperately wanted him to shut up.

About? All Might asked, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door. Better yet, why not at lunch?

Shinsou jumped in, speaking in his usual drawl. We were hoping Aizawa was back, we wanted to ask him something about the practical.

Maybe I could be of assistance, he offered. 

No. You can’t.

All Might gave Kacchan a startled look, and gave the room at large a confused frown when no one came to All Might’s defense. I am part of the practical as well you know, he said. That makes me think that isn’t what this is about. Regardless, you should all head down for lunch.

No one moved to obey, and All Might opened his mouth to say something else when Yaomomo spoke.

We will shortly. We just...need to finish something first.

Shinsou stood, a scowl on his face. No, we should go.

Shut the fuck up, Kacchan barked, and Izuku could cry.

No, you shut the fuck up, Shinsou responded, teeth bared. This was a bad idea and you know it.

Is this about Midoriya? All Might asked reluctantly, glancing at the stunned faces that turned to him.

Izuku froze. His fingers went numb, and it spread up his arms, to his chest, blossomed outward until he couldn’t feel anything at all. He mouthed words, but his voice refused to work.

All Might knew. Everything.

Excuse me? Todoroki asked, incredulous, eyes bright and burning.

He knew. How long had he known and - and done nothing?

Midoriya, All Might repeated. He’s in this classroom, isn’t he? That’s...admittedly why I’m here. To talk to him.

The words slammed into his stomach. It knocked the numbness from his body to replace it with such intense dread it made his eyes water. With blood or tears he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He wanted safety. He wanted Aizawa.

Kacchan scoffed, the sound faded and worn and not quite there. Shinsou stiffened. Todoroki stood, teeth grit.

No.

He would not let All Might get the EMF, even if it killed him. He knew what it was like, and Izuku didn’t deserve that. No one did.

...No? All Might echoed, looking stunned. The lights flickered violently. It was freezing. I’m afraid it’s not exactly your choice.

It’s not yours either, he shot back. His heart was on fire. Who knew how many Endeavor’s there were, just under his nose? Hiding behind blinding light and a wide grin? Besides, we were talking to him before you came in and we’d like to finish.

I’m sure a small interruption wouldn’t be so detrimental, he soothed, but Shouto wasn’t having it. All Might stepped forward, and he met him, pace for pace. He was being bullheaded, maybe even arrogant thinking he could keep All Might at bay, but he’d had practice being pitted against a man almost three times his size, and even staring All Might in the face didn’t scare him. Not if it meant protecting Izuku.

I assure you, it would, Shouto said back, forcing his anger and determination into his voice until he felt he would choke on it.

All Might paused, seemingly debating. Then Bakugo stood.

Are you gonna let us finish before you just kick our asses out? he barked. We were doing something.

All Might made a decision, Shouto could see it in his face. He straightened his shoulders and back, put his hands on his hips. The stance seemed to mock him. You should be at lunch. I’ll escort you all out.

Fuck you, Bakugo snapped, lowering into a fighting stance, and Shouto shifted his weight to prepare to use his ice. As angry as he was, he didn’t want to burn the building down. 

Enough. This is childish.

Wait, we were doing something!

Hey!

We can skip lunch if we want to!

Don’t fucking TOUCH me!

S͘͟҉҉Ţ̵̴͠O̷̴̧͡͠Ṕ͟!́͘͟͟͟

He stopped. The voice was otherworldly, and a chill crawled up his spine as memories of Iida collapsing into his arms made his stomach sink into the floor.

The lights flickered, violently and nonstop, and everyone looked up to watch it uneasily only to be distracted by a figure, hovering up at the ceiling. It was young, small, but disfigured. He looked solid, no sign of transparency or wispiness to his form.

Bakugo paled, gagged, and turned away, shivering, gripping the table as if he was about to fall over. He gagged again. No one moved to help him, frozen. They were all trying to register what they were looking at. Who they were looking at.

Izuku was there, clear as day, identical to the picture Bakugo had brought in except for his injuries. His arms were twisted, wrists bent at the wrong angles, and his right leg had his femur pierced through his skin. He floated up, ever so slightly, sobs pushing past the wetness in his breaths. He had his arms shielding his eyes as he cried, like he couldn’t cover them with his hands properly.

He dropped, went down fast and full of weight. He went straight through the floor, and he was gone.

Kaminari went pale, began to shake, and collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Chapter Text

Chaos erupted. 

Izuku was gone, and the imprint of what he left behind had everyone shaken. Some dove for Kaminari to save him from cracking his head on the ground. Some called for help. Some didn’t move. Bakugo was gasping for breath as he leaned on a panicking Kirishima for support. The only one left was Shouto. He fled the room pasty white, Izuku’s name on his lips. His voice was a plea that bounced back at him, loud and demanding but ultimately useless. No one was there to reciprocate. He was alone.

Kaminari felt empty. He wished he could describe it better, for himself if no one else, but unfortunately it was the only word he could find that matched. Numb didn’t quite fit. Exhausted was still a feeling, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t feeling anything.

His body felt very heavy, like it was made of metal instead of flesh and blood. He couldn’t lift his arms, couldn’t move his legs. His eyes felt glued shut. Voices spoke around the vast darkness he was swimming in, fuzzy and far away. His ears were ringing.

Hey! Hey, Kaminari! Wake up!

Someone get Recovery Girl!

I’ll do it, kerro.

Oh my god, dude, you’re so pale.

He wanted to crack a joke. Something about bullying an injured soul, but the thought was gone the moment it formed. Maybe exhausted was the word he was looking for after all, or maybe he was starting to come to and it just so happened that was the first thing to slap him in the face. He wasn’t sure of a lot of things, wasn’t he? He supposed it wasn’t terribly different from any other time.

Kaminari! Wake up, man!

Woah, hold onto me, you’re swaying.

Oh, come here...

The voices he was hearing were getting clearer, and the ringing in his ears faded rapidly, making way for all the rest of the noises to filter in. Someone was crying. Someone gagged.  

Someone was currently patting at his face. With great difficulty, he peeled his eyes open.

Mina hovered over him with Sero right beside her. Oh my god, she breathed, tears in her eyes. Kaminari. How are you feeling?

He tried to swallow. His mouth was dry. Thirsty.

Anything else? Sero coaxed. 

Kaminari struggled against the weight of his eyelids, letting them slip closed. Fuck, he was - Tired.

You passed out. What do you remember last?

What was with all the questions? Even thinking was taking more effort than he cared to use. He just wanted to sleep. Izuku, he muttered.

His thoughts stopped for a second, processing his own words. Then he opened his eyes, suddenly a lot easier to do than before with the alarm that was slowly working its way through his body.

Izuku, he said again, more urgent. Where’s Izuku?

Mina’s lip wobbled until she bit it, eyes threatening to spill over with tears. Sero avoided his eyes, sadness and anger making a dark look on his face.

We don’t know, he said.

Shinsou was frozen, staring at the spot of the floor where Izuku had disappeared. Anger mixed with horror and clashed with sadness, his thoughts were one continuous circle of the same questions over and over. He didn’t know what to do. It was all so much at once, it overloaded him, and all he could do was stand there and stare as he tried to breathe around the lump in his throat, around the crushing weight in his chest. His hands were shaking.

He’d known the feeling of getting his heart stomped on. It happened every day when he was younger, it happened when Iida passed, it happened when he learned All Might was a fucking fraud. He never thought it could get worse, or happen so quickly.

Izuku had looked broken. Shinsou still saw Izuku’s imprint every time he blinked, could hear his sobs, could feel Izuku’s rattling breaths in his own bones. Those breaths had created the tremors in his hands, had left Shinsou falling apart at the seams. He’d had no idea. Every day, Izuku greeted them with cheerful pats with broken arms and giggled with pierced lungs. It had to be pierced lungs with the way he was breathing, and his arms and hands looked crushed - 

He blinked rapidly, shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. He couldn’t think about that or he’d lose himself forever.

Shinsou looked helplessly around the room. Todoroki had vanished, Tsuyu had left to grab Recovery Girl. Bakugo had been moved by Kirishima into a corner to ride out a particularly bad panic attack, and the sound of his gasping breaths mixed with Uraraka’s sobs created an awful symphony. Kaminari was struggling to stand up, Sero and Mina chewing him out for not resting. All Might stood close to the doorway, frozen like he himself had been, staring with wide eyes. 

Something simmered in his stomach, mild at first, but the longer he looked at All Might’s towering figure the more that feeling boiled into something nasty and hateful. His heart hammered in his chest, and words piled against his lips, so many things he wanted to say not just for his sake, but Izuku’s. 

You, he hissed, hurled his words at All Might’s figure and feeling no remorse at the way the man recoiled. Why are you just standing there?

All Might inhaled. I-

His Quirk lit up, a mental switch. All Might went slack and Shinsou’s tongue was coated in deceit. Control tasted bitter, sour. He’d always wondered why people sought after it until now.

Get out, he whispered. For the soul who couldn’t rest. Get out, and don’t come back.

All Might obeyed.

Aizawa stepped through the gates of U.A, exhausted, but feeling a mixture of relief and accomplishment. The practical was as prepared as it could possibly be, and all that was left for him to do was take a twelve hour nap. Of course, he was a part of the practical itself so the idea was a fantasy at best, but the idea was reassuring if nothing else. His body was unusually cold. Every move he made threatened to be his last, every blink was a game of knowing how to get his eyes open again. But if the extra sweat and blood and sleepless nights gave his students a little less burden, it would all be worth it. They’d been through so much. If he could give them any peace of mind, he’d do it, no matter how laborious, no matter how tedious. They deserved it, every one of them.

He entered the building proper. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, and he squinted, breathed through the headache that was slowly bleeding from behind his eyes to his temples. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, in his wrists, faintly in his neck, and he knew if there was ever a time to get some rest, it would be after he checked in with his students and coworkers. If it wasn’t mandatory he would’ve headed straight home to crash instead, in all honesty. 

He walked to Class 1-A on autopilot, not paying attention in the slightest to where he was going. He ran into the corners of walls more than once on his journey, and he cursed his lack of focus and coordination.

On his way, he was stopped by Todoroki darting into the hallway from the staircase he was about to go up. They almost collided, and if it wasn’t for Aizawa’s natural reflexes and Todoroki’s quick thinking, they would have.

Aizawa blinked slowly. Todoroki?

His student looked up, and one glance at his face had all of his exhaustion seep out of him. He straightened, alarm pumping renewed energy into his body.

Aizawa, Todoroki gasped in relief. We don’t know where Izuku is, he was so upset, he disappeared but we don’t know where -

Aizawa stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder, bent down slightly to look in his wide eyes. Breathe, he said. Start from the beginning. What happened?

We saw Izuku.

His heart stopped.

We saw Izuku, Todoroki repeated quickly, his words coming out in a rush. He was so upset - we were just trying to talk to him about All Might -

That is not your place to ask, Aizawa scolded, having to grit his teeth against chewing the kid out too harshly in his panic. Fuck, out of all the things they could’ve gotten curious about while he was gone, that was it. Of course. He had to find Izuku and make sure he was alright.

I know, I know! Todoroki shook his hand off, and he let him. Clearly he was distressed. Aizawa could remember the first time he’d seen Izuku himself and decided he could give Todoroki more leeway to be short, snappish. The reaction was only natural. But - he didn’t react well. We were trying to figure out what to do and - and All Might showed up in the middle of it -

Rage made him dig his fingernails into his palms, and he did his best not to let his face shift with what he was feeling, lest he set Todoroki off. Toshinori just didn’t know when to quit, and it was going to be the end of him. Aizawa would see to it.

That was his classroom that the bastard kept intruding in, his students he kept messing with and causing grief, and he was getting very tired of it.

Izuku got even more worked up, Todoroki continued, swallowing hard. Aizawa could only think of one other time he’d seen him so upset. Things devolved quickly, everyone was talking and All Might was trying to make everyone leave. I think it overloaded him, and he just - exploded.

Exploded how, he demanded.

We heard him talk, sir. The lights started flickering, and when we looked up… Todoroki’s already pale face grew even more white. He looked broken.

Aizawa’s teeth were clenched so hard it physically hurt to relax his jaw. His teeth pulsed, and his headache worsened because of it. But he couldn’t focus on any of that now, not with Todoroki looking so shaken.

Okay, he said, keeping his tone purposely calm, and Todoroki continued to stare at him with wide, confused eyes. He almost looked afraid. Okay. Breathe and think. Did you see where he went?

Down, Todoroki replied. He phased through the floor, that’s why I’m not on the floor of the classroom.

Okay. Go to the principal and tell him I sent you. He has cameras of the school, he’ll be able to find Midoriya if he didn’t leave the building. Report back to me when you find him. If you run into anyone else, tell them it’s an emergency and you don’t have time, even if it’s another teacher. Todoroki nodded quickly, but before he could turn to leave, Aizawa stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, different than before. We’ll find him, he said. It’ll be okay.

Tears gathered in his eyes as his breath hitched, and Todoroki nodded once. He turned on his heel and darted down the hall. 

Aizawa narrowed his eyes and took the stairs up, posture stained in anger and determination. He’d fix this.

Toshinori had better hope Aizawa didn’t find him anytime soon.

E-Eyebags, Bakugo gasped, one hand digging into his shirt while the other held onto Kirishima’s for dear life. Most of the class had started hovering around him, concerned he’d been going through such a bad panic attack for so long. 

Shinsou swallowed hard. Yeah?

Brainwash me.

He grit his teeth. He understood the request, but it felt so shitty.

Okay, he said quietly. When?

It took a moment for Bakugo to choke out a response. Right - now.

The reply was all he needed. Stop, he commanded, acid coating his tongue and making him mentally grimace. Bakugo stopped everything, his face was blank. Breathe normally, he said, and hated the way it was closer to a plea than anything else. Thankfully, Bakugo obeyed, and his soft, calm breathing made everyone in the room sigh in relief. Kirishima finally relaxed, giving him a warm, relieved look. His hand stayed in Bakugo’s.

There was a moment of silence as everyone relished the calm. Shinsou didn’t know where to go from there, was scared of releasing Bakugo and sending him back into a panic attack, but he was just as scared of his slack face. It wouldn’t bother him too much in normal circumstances, but this was Bakugo.

How’re you doing, Kaminari? Satou asked, glancing over his shoulder. Shinsou turned - just to look away from an unresponsive Bakugo - to see Kaminari, Sero, and Mina all huddled on the floor, looking lost.

He’s...better, Sero said, sounding anything but confident in his answer. Awake and responsive, if nothing else.

Another beat of silence passed.

So - so should we -

Don’t, Jirou interrupted Sero. Just don’t.

We can’t just ignore that, he whispered. 

Sero was right, that wasn’t something they could just sweep under a rug and forget about. That was a person, ghost or not, in such tremendous pain. Shinsou pursed his lips. But what could he even say? What could they do?

Mina sniffed on the floor. He looked mangled, she said, voice watery. I had no idea, he seemed so happy all the time.

I just can’t believe it, Sero replied, then his eyes widened in alarm. He’s not - he’s not in pain is he?

Guys, please, Kirishima said. Bakugo may be controlled, but he can still hear us.

They went silent again. Everyone was at a standstill. Anything they could think to do wasn’t enough, anything they wanted to fix was too much. So they did nothing at all.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and everyone tensed.

Did he come back? Kirishima whispered quickly.

I had to release it to control Bakugo, he admitted. But you’d think he’d get the fucking point, right? He wouldn’t dare.

Uraraka spoke from somewhere behind him. He tried talking to Izuku even after everything. Maybe he did.

Get ready then, Sero said darkly, and the class tightened together, readying themselves. Shinsou broke apart from the larger group to hover around a still dazed Kaminari, acid on the tip of his tongue. The tension rose, suffocating them all in the knowledge that they were about to fight someone infinitely stronger than them, infinitely more experienced. The door slid open, and they braced themselves.

Aizawa stepped through, and Shinsou gasped just as the class burst with relief and stress.

Aizawa!

Sir!

Oh thank god you’re here…! Kaminari -

Sir, did you find Izuku?

Where’s All Might, did you see him on your way up? Was he on his way?

Aizawa held up a single hand, and everyone silenced immediately. His eyes scanned the room once, and Shinsou tensed at the anger he found. Had he actually ran into All Might on the way up? Did Aizawa even know about All Might and Izuku’s past together?

Where is Asui.

Yaoyorozu spoke, taking charge, as everyone else seemed too relieved to speak. She went to get Recovery Girl. Kaminari fainted. She hesitated, and Shinsou took over for her as he felt the acidic taste melt away. Now that Aizawa was there, he felt like everything wasn’t falling apart as fast. Everything felt manageable.

We saw Izuku, he said.

I know, Aizawa replied, voice carefully restrained. I ran into Todoroki on my way up and he gave me the basics. Where is Kaminari?

Shinsou waved, then pointed down. Aizawa approached with quick steps and knelt to the floor. Give me your hand.

Kaminari obeyed, and everyone was silent for the couple of seconds it took for Aizawa to check Kaminari’s pulse. How are you feeling now?

Tired, Kaminari mumbled. And thirsty.

Shinsou, help Kaminari over to the outlet. Does anyone have a charger on them? Any kind will do.

Multiple people chimed in with affirmation as Shinsou helped Kaminari stand. They walked unsteadily to the wall, right next to the outlet, and Shinsou helped him sit back down. Kaminari was still shaky and weak.

What’s happened to Bakugo.

Shinsou gulped as he felt eyes stare holes into his back. Before he could defend himself, however, Kirishima jumped to his rescue.

Bakugo started having a panic attack shortly after he saw Izuku. It was bad, and it lasted a long time. He asked Shinsou to brainwash him so he could calm down.

Smart, Aizawa praised. Uraraka, plug the outlet into the wall and give the other end to Kaminari. Shinsou, release Bakugo.

He turned around, anxiety making his chest feel tight as he met eyes with Aizawa. Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It...it was really bad.

We’ll need to release him eventually, Shinsou. How long has he been like this for?

Shinsou bit the inside of his cheek. Uraraka approached them with a shaky smile, a phone charger in her hands. A couple minutes, maybe.

If he’s not calm now then it wouldn’t be enough regardless, Aizawa said. Shinsou was still hesitant, and Aizawa approached Bakugo, patiently waiting for the others to move so he could kneel in front of him. Uraraka bent down and plugged the charger into the outlet, handing the other end to a relieved Kaminari, who immediately placed it in his mouth. I’ve got him, Shinsou. Let him go.

Hands shaking, he released his Quirk, flipping that mental switch off. Bakugo blinked, and it was clear he was immediately struggling to maintain the calm, even breaths of before, but it was leagues better. Aizawa sat in front of him, crossing his legs patiently.

Back away, he told the group of students around him. Crowding him is doing no favors.

Everyone backpedalled immediately, some taking the opportunity to head over and check on Kaminari. Kirishima, Sero, Mina, and Tokoyami headed over, concern on their faces and in their eyes.

Shinsou scanned the room. Uraraka was talking quietly to a nervous Satou, eyes red rimmed, and Bakugo was following Aizawa’s deep, calm breaths the best he could. Kaminari was humming softly next to him, charging up and gaining color back in his cheeks the longer he sat there. Most everyone was quiet, dark looks on their faces and sadness lingering at the corners of their eyes and lips, but things felt better. More solid.

Shinsou took in a deep breath. Aizawa was here, everything would be okay.

Shouto was trying very, very hard not to panic, and he wasn’t sure he was succeeding, in any capacity. His heart was an erratic, painful pulse in his chest, creaking against his ribs until he feared they would burst.

Izuku’s crying was on loop in his head. His arms - his leg - the images of them were burned behind his eyelids. 

He’d had no idea. The entire time Izuku had helped him walk, while he reached a helping hand to pick Shouto up off the floor, that hand had been riddled with scars of its own. Izuku had a backstory, a gruesome one at that. It was so easy to forget. So, so easy. He hid it so well.

Shouto’s shoes skidded along the floor at the turn in the hallway, barely grazing the far wall with his shoulder before breaking back into his sprint. He almost ran right past the Principal’s office, but he managed to stumble to a halt in time and slam the door open.

Principal Nedzu sat at his desk, his expression giving away nothing, as usual. He filled him in on the goings on in a rush.

I see, Nedzu said when he finally took a breath. Let me pull up the cameras, he couldn’t have gone far.

He really could have was the problem. Izuku could float through walls and doors, it wouldn’t be hard for him to simply leave the building. He felt nauseous. What if Izuku was all alone somewhere, upset, hurt, and crying? He was practically vibrating in front of the Principal’s desk while the creature pulled up the cameras, restlessness making him jittery.

Being alone and in so much pain was miserable. He didn’t want Izuku going through that, not ever.

...I believe I found him, the Principle said, and Shouto straightened, a jolt going down his spine.

Where?

The basement floor.

Shouto barely had time to thank him before he rushed out of the room, heading right back to the classroom. His chest was growing tighter the longer he ran, lungs spreading fire. He kept running, his desperation keeping him upright, giving him strength.

Izuku hadn’t let Shouto down. He wouldn’t let Izuku down either.

Chapter Text

When the youngest Todoroki burst through Nedzu’s door while he and Iida practiced signs, he was worried. When he was told the situation, however, that worry morphed into heavy concern. Iida hovered over his shoulder nervously, determination already bleeding into his posture, ever the hero, even then.

He tapped away at his computer, getting to the camera footage faster than he’d ever done before, and he was pleased that he could give Todoroki the answer he needed right away. He wasn’t pleased, however, with what he saw. All of the cameras looked perfectly normal, except one in the basement group. The camera was showing nothing but black, except for two white holes in space, white liquid dripping from them and onto the floor. The inky blackness of the room was moving somehow, shadows fading in and out, and something dark and sick twisted in Nedzu’s gut.

Iida darted down through the floor and vanished.

…I believe I found him, he said slowly, and Todoroki seemed to snap out of his thoughts, straightening.

Where?

In the basement, he began, but Todoroki was already flying out the door, barely making time to shout a thank you over his shoulder before he was gone.

Nedzu stared at the screen. He hoped, with everything he had, that the youngest Todoroki wasn’t the one to find him.

Aizawa was furious.

The first thing he should never see when he walked into his classroom was his students, knitted tighty together with fire and spite and rage in their eyes, ready to tear the intruder apart limb from limb. Uraraka should not look prepared to float someone into the stratosphere, Shinsou should not look prepared to tell someone to jump out of the window. 

Even as he breathed deep with Bakugo - settled on the cold ground with his legs already going numb - rage was making his chest burn with fire so potent he thought he could spit it out if he tried. His mind was buzzing, tingles of restless energy making him want to stand and punch the nearest wall as hard as he could just to release some of it. It took all of his willpower, all of his strength, to stay seated, to keep that fire in his chest no matter how badly it burned him. They needed calm, and that is what he would give them.

Where’s Todo? Kirishima asked, wide eyed and worried. He hadn’t moved from Bakugo’s side, from concern or the tight grip of Bakugo’s hand, he wasn’t sure.

With Nedzu, attempting to locate Midoriya. He’ll arrive when they find him. Kaminari?

Feeling better, he called back from behind him, voice stronger than before, and Aizawa huffed a quiet sigh through his nose, barely controlled.

Tell me what happened, he said to the room at large. Everything.

His students looked at one another warily, worry creasing their foreheads and around their mouths, but Yaoyorozu stepped forward and began to speak.

The moment Nedzu had found where Midoriya was, he had shot like a bullet through the floor and raced to the bottom of the building. For the first time, he thanked the state he was in for its lack of solidity as he raced through walls and doors and floors to get to Midoriya. He had no context for why Midoriya was so upset to begin with, but it didn’t matter.

He knew the second he was in the basement simply because of the lights. Midoriya’s upset was affecting the entire floor’s lighting system, and Tenya felt panic and alarm race down his spine at the sight of all the light fixtures flickering in eerie, quick unison. His injuries pulsed, cuts burning, but he ignored it pointblank in favor of racing through the hallways in a desperate attempt to find the child. It didn’t take long with how fast he was going, he knew what to look for, and he was pleased to know he could still use his Quirk when he attempted it, even in death. 

A room at the very back of the maze-like basement was pitch black. Tenya couldn’t see anything inside. The light refused to get farther than the doorway, any more than that was an inky blackness that Tenya was sure he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in. The only thing visible were two white eyes, just like the camera in Nedzu’s office had shown, tucked in the corner as high as Midoriya could possibly get without phasing through the ceiling. His eyes were leaking, quartz white tears that dripped down the curve of his face and stopped where Tenya assumed his chin was, falling to the floor in small stars against the void. 

Tenya tried to enter, and the eyes quivered.

G͒ͣͥ̊̊ͬ̀ͥ͠҉̸̧̬͉̘̝̝̣̮̘͔̱͎͔͇̥O̎͒̋̊́̀̃ͯ̀̇̐ͬ̍͋̆͊ͮ̔ͥ̀͏̧̛̟̖̝͍̲̣͖̫̝͉̜ͅ ͔̙̜̤̭̥̞͈̼̺͖̼̗̞̭̼̥͔̾̅ͨ̾͂ͧ͜͡Ą̵̢͍̙̞̻͖͕̤̝̯̩̺ͯ̑͆̍̓͋ͬ̑̎͒͑̾̽ͧ͑̑̎̊͜͠W̠͎̺̹̩̯̫̺̟̻̭̱͕̮̹͕͋ͫͥ́̓͜͞ͅA͓͍̠̤̰͚͙͍̟̺̦͉̙ͫ͗͊̄ͪ̆̍̍͋ͦͬ̾̇͜͞Y͆͊ͫ̐̓ͯ̐͟͏̣̳̥͕̺͖͝.̈͊̂̓͛͐̌̎̅ͪͨ̏ͪ̈́ͭ̉ͩ́͏͖̭̫͔̩͉̝̜͖̞̳͍͍̰̟͈͇̥͜

Midoriya’s voice was borderline intelligible, barely pushing through warped radio static and fuzz, layered over with so many voices he didn’t know where Midoriya’s was anymore. Tenya froze just before the doorway, his hands going numb in seconds from the cold. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, and he swallowed hard with a dry throat. He had to breathe through the storm of terror that crashed into him for a second, then two, then three.

Midoriya, he called when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. Do you recognize me? I am Iida Tenya, from Class 1-A. I want to help you.

The shadows writhed, moved somehow in the darkness, and the eyes glowed.

G̸̨͋̀͐ͪ͛ͥͫ̾̔͆̓͏̴̫̠͚̜̜̲̺̱͖͕̘͙̕O̷̢̪̬͇̠͖͍̫̲͖͎̪͍̱͛ͬ̆ͤ̊̇̎̑̀͊̓ͣ̀͢͠ͅ ̱̣͕͚̤̥̻̅̈̎̂̆ͤ̆͟͢͞͠A͆̎̄͊͌ͬ͏̷̡̲̱̫̳̤̫̳̩̲̫̦͙̣̝̥̗̱W̢̛̫͓̳̰͔̬̤̯͈̲͇̎ͧͧͫ́͠͡A̡̛̩̖̮̱̮̞͈̝̝͍͕͔̮̻ͪͫ̐͑͛ͫY̷̹̟̟̩̲̖̯̮̳̮͉̻͚̖̻̖̫̗̮̽ͧ̄̏̈̅ͮ̃̅̄̉̕ ̨͈̜̠̗͚̹͚͍͉̳͇͇͎̟ͪ͌ͦ̎̽̓ͧ̀̎̉̍̚͠G̴̢̜̬̲̼̘̺ͯ͆̋̈́̑́̓̓ͧͧ̽͋̆͛̽ͧ̓Ơ̞̦̯̝͍̝̤̯̞̺̬͙̦͚̺̈́̽͒̑̕͜͠ ̢̛̝͇̹̪̟̟̣̍͗̆͆̔́ͦ͑͞Ą͈͍̱̯͓̝͉̿̈́͗̅̆̌̀̽͝W̾ͩͥ͛̐̚͟҉̷̶̵̼̟̩Ą̵̯̘̤̦̗̯̝͔͓̖̩͙̹̞̅ͯ̑͆ͬ̊ͫ̈́ͬ̏͟͢Y̨͍̼̮ͤͣ̑ͧͬ̔̿͒ͫ͆ͭ̃͗̈̚͠ ̶̝̺͈̯͔͉̭̫̜̣̘̗̪̗̪͓̦͓̰̄̎ͭ̏ͯ̉͗̄ͧ̀͡͞Ǵ͉͈̜̪̱̬͍̯̮̻̪̺͎͍͐̇͊̉̔̏̂͆͛̐̄̑̀̚͟͡O̅̑͂ͪͧͣ̑̌͆ͣ̄̂ͩͩ̔̀҉̷͙̯̙̣͢ ̵̗̜̘̜̖̖̰̙͉̝̠̯͔̱̘̪̩̂̊̓͗̅͐̊ͧ́̀͝ͅẢ̴̝̘̦̜̯̰̅̎ͫ͛͛͂͊ͮͧͫ̓̋ͯ̾͌̚͢͠ͅW̴̱̗̺̮̯͚̝̝̟̹̲̹̯͇͊̉͌̓ͣ̐̂Ą̷̴͙̟͍̜̘̘̘̤͆͐̽͂̋̓ͦͤ̉̑̊̔͒ͩY̸̧̝̻̯̻͇̬̭̰̞̜̪͇̣̭͍̭̭̾́̆ͭ̇͂̉̋̎ͥ̎͟͝ͅ ̛̜͍͎̩̥̋́ͬͣ̓̽ͦ̓ͯ͌̑̎̋ͬ̊͒̀͜Ǵ̶̶̵̹̝̦͕̝̮̅͊̄̍̋̆̒͂̀͌̍̊̒Ǒ̴ͫ̽͂̋͌̐̿ͮ̉҉̸̯͕̮̲̥͖̹͕͚̮̹̹͞ͅͅ ̵̳̫͔̗̦͔̮̘̮͍̋̑ͮ͋̊ͭ̌͌͊ͯÄ̶̵͉̤̰͉̫̬͚̩́̒̈̑̋̌͗̉͆͊ͤ̀͌͢͜ͅW̨͓̯͔̬͖̪̫̼ͪ͊ͦ͂ͮ̔̐̐́̽̎ͣ͒̒̆́͟͞A̵͕̘̝͇̻̹̖̼̦͉̩͚̖̣̖͗͋͋́ͣ̍̍ͧͧ̑͆̓͒ͮ͌ͮ̚̚͡ͅY̦̖̦͎̘̭̯̺͕̰̼͍͕̗͎̳͎̳̬ͪͭ͋́͐̈ͮ̀ͮ͐̌͆ͩͥ̄̾͝ ̷̵̷̷̩͇̮̩̠̤̥͇͎͇̹̰͎̼̻̦̣̯ͫͮ̑̈́̃̃͂̆̅͂ͧ̓͌̓̔̾ͪ̚͝G̶̵̜̗͕͚̣̮̰̹̝̥̺̞̘̜̩ͬ̀̏ͥ̓̑́́̆́͠͠Õ̶̹̺̖̯̜̤͓͈̯̣͈͓̫̝̜͆̔ͣ̀͑ͯ͋̀̊͒̏͗͋̉ͦ͞ͅȦ̶̠̼̝̼̬̼͙̻ͯ̅̅ͨ̍̈͌ͪ̄̍̇ͮ͛̊̊̇ͤ͡W̸̶̧̖̜̩̻̭͕̱̜̦̭͎ͬͭͨ̇ͣ̒͗̍ͮ͛͗̎ͦ̊̈ͥ͂̃ͅA̸̹͕͙͔̦̘ͨ̐ͥͮ̈́Y̷͕̲̖̬̯̟̝͎̹̤̳̰̦̖̋ͨ͋͑͑͗͡ͅG̴̵͌̃̑̀̿͛̌͢͝҉̙̻̙͈͉̻O̸̵̴̬̼̣̪̬̲̮̤̦͔͕͆̇ͭ̐́̑͂̅ͭ̃̄ͪͫ̍͂ͅA̴̢̡̛̠̮̟͇̻͓̳͇͖̪̩̮͎̟͕̎͑̅ͣͤ̓̎ͭ̇̚W̵̨͈͔͕̪̩̭̹̫͓̥͌̃̄̀͞A̶̴͔͚̝͔̳̖̙̘̦̩̹̩͇͍̣͓̥̞͍̍̉̾̓Ÿ̶̸̢͕͇͈̞̜̭̻̼͍ͪͯ̆ͪͦ̒̂ͪ͐̄͌͂ͥͣ̈́̋̀̚͜ͅ

Tenya should have felt afraid, and on some level he was. Midoriya was acting borderline hostile, but Tenya knew who he was dealing with, and his heart was breaking more than his hands were shaking.

It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me, he whispered into the darkness, stared at the eyes, trying to soothe the small child as much as he could from a distance. Can I help you in any way? Get you anything?

His tears came more rapidly, splattering the floor below in decor of a night sky. Tenya heard a sob rip through the fragile silence even as the eyes didn’t move.

Ą̵̛̘͕̪̼͙͓̙̪̯͕̞͈̞͗́̌͆ͧ̔ͣͭ̃̀ͧ̔̏̅̇͢ͅỊ̧̢̮̥̩̤̳͖̺̹̯̙̜̣͌͒̂́̓ͦ͜͝ͅẐ̀͆̇̅̔̄͑́҉̶̡̳̭̫͉̞̬͚̩͇̞Aͫͪ͂͂ͣ͏̶͍̺͔͍̫͈̜͎̣̣͇̮͈͉͚̣̖͜͞ͅW̵̧͉̘̰̜̩̠̯̮͈̫̼̬͓͔ͯͫ̃ͭ̔ͮ̀͢A̋̆̈̍͌ͦͫͫ́̔ͯͬ͑͗̆ͪ͏̷̛̯͖̜͉̬͕̥͠.̡͈͎̩̪̻̫̼̥̫̻͕͑ͤ̋̌̈͗̑̉̈͋͘͝ ̧ͩ̋͗̾͆ͫͣ̂ͤͯ͂̓̃ͦ̏̋͟͜҉̳̞̭̼̞͔͙͇̪̼̫̭̬̰͎̻͙̩Ị̵̶̛̝̥̩̥̪̺̼̣̼̝̫̯̥̥̗͔͗͂͒͑͑̑̓͘͜ ̷̸̴̢̯͔̫̳͉̹͔̌̉̽ͪͯ̾̈́ͯ̊ͨ̎́̚̚͟M̌̎ͪ̓̎̾̄ͬ͊ͩ̓̂͋̐̀͗ͯ̚҉̭̮̗̗̱̖͈̠͕̼̘I̵̛ͬ̐̃͋̊͊̕͏̧̹̠̣̭͕̙S̸̷̗̣̜̤̹̩̃̐̌̋̽̾̀ͅS̢̠̼̹̘̮̦͍̘͔ͩͥ̋͆ͯ̓͋̇̉̊̽͑ͫͪͬ̃ͯ͟͠ ̜͔̤̮̻̺̜̼̗̥̲̤͙͂ͮ͑̏͂ͧ̆̔͂ͫͫ̈̄͆ͨͤ̍́͟͟Ą̧͖̭̫̝̯̯̲͎̜͎̊̄̐ͧͮ̍̉ͦͤ̉̎̒ͥͣ̇͟Ì͐̍ͬ̅̋ͯ̌̈͋̃̂͗̑̃͗̄ͦ̚҉̷̷̳̯̜̺̺̭̻̠̯͈̦̹̀͢Z̸̳̙̠̝̳͍̲̻̰͖̮̼̭̬͍͚͔̬͉ͥͪ̆ͨ͊̿̌̏̿͛̉̄̊͛ͤͩͭͥ͜͠͝͞A̵̛͖̮̟͕̥͈͕̫̲ͩ͊͊ͧ͗̉̍̐̾̋W̸̩̜̪͕̪̲̗͖͇̓̅͛̔̂̏͌̈́̔̓̓A̸̛̲̪͚͔̞̺̻̩͖͖̜̾͛̑̐̆̎ͨ͌ͦ̔̈́ͥͭ.̺̩͖̺̮̻̜͚̪͍̫̯͚͇̟ͤ̾̋̓́̔̂͒̇̀͘ ̸̺̱̠͎̱̹̞̱͎̠̫̫̹̒̒̇ͦͭ͌ͪ̅̉͝Ăͯ̌ͨ͗̓ͨ͑̃̌̔͏̵̲̱̮̼̼̼̝͔̞̥̠̞̝̗̭͇I̵̸̓̈́̿ͨ̒̀͒̈̌̄͘͜҉͍̦̟͔Z̫̺͍̟̬͉͖͖̜̑͑͛̚͜͠A̡ͣ̇ͪ͋̒̇҉̸̫̙̻͎̭̟W͆̄ͪ͗̇͆̽ͦ̂̍ͥ͊̀̕͏̸͇̘̼̞͚͙͇̳̩̗̥̫̱̻͉ͅA̷̹̱͚̬̝̱͕̮̰͔͖͈̮̤̭͐͑̇̆ͩ̅̽͑ͤ͐̓̍͛̀ͬ̌͌͆.̸̍ͤͧ̍ͨ̉̇̌̎͋̀̅͂̎͌̆͐ͬ҉̟̻͎̗̦͙̗̮͇͉̼̘͖͔̯̻͇̭͟ ̢̧̟͎̣̻̩̯̗̱͙̺̼̟̟ͦͮ̇ͣͯͤ̿̽ͥ͆̅͛̃̎̕̕͞P̨̥̩̬̮̩ͣͨͨ̔͘Ḽ̴̬͍͚͈̫̣̻͎͎͔̓̂ͤ̃́̈͒ͨͪ̒͠Eͯ̐̆ͦ́̄̑̏͌̊̃̓̒͋̔̏̈́̚͠͏̰̣͈͇͔̟̙͇̩͎͖͔̲̙͕A̴̧̳̠͈̻̔ͪ̑ͣ̍̆ͣͦ̅ͨͧ̆ͩͤ̚͡͡S̵̨̡̫̞̤͇͉͇ͯ͛̏̄̓ͥͮ͊͑ͧ̀̚͟Ė̢̬̣͓͎̥͔̻͖͇̦̙̝͍̤̼̏̆̀̔͊̋̐ͮͫ̏̾̒ͤ̒͆ͩͨͧ.̡̧̹̩̲̫̯̻̖̺̙̭̺̦͚̿̅ͪ̎ͦ͒̌ͣ́̎̔͟͠

You miss Aizawa, Tenya breathed, sadness making his already sunken heart sink even lower. Okay, I will send him down here and be right back.

Midoriya didn’t answer and he hadn’t expected him to. He braced himself, then darted up into the ceiling, his engines propelling him faster than he could fly on his own. He was thankful the roaring of his Quirk drowned out his quite depressing thoughts.

Momo trailed off, finished with her explanation, and waited anxiously for Aizawa’s reaction. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting, in all honesty. When she was met with Aizawa’s still, rigid back, something jittery and bitter turned her stomach. Kirishima, who could see Aizawa’s face, went pale, and she winced.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but a dangerous stillness wasn’t it. He wasn’t moving, was barely breathing, and she knew the sight of someone desperately trying to contain themselves. Momo didn’t blame him for his temper, not that time. It was such an awful situation.

He dropped through the floor and vanished, Aizawa said, and Momo held her breath, her heart pounding, she could hear the blood rush in her ears. The memory was on repeat in her head, she was sure that’s what happened. She wouldn’t forget it for a long time.

Yes, she nearly whispered, then cleared her throat, tried again, and she was thankful when her voice came out a lot stronger. He just - dropped. We don’t know why he went down, I thought he was more likely to find you with how upset he was…

Aizawa didn’t speak for a moment, very still and very quiet. Momo bit her lip nervously, only just managing to stop from fidgeting on the spot.

I believe, Aizawa said slowly, he may have been having a flashback.

He had said the words calmly, but that didn’t stop the meaning behind them from cracking into her heart like a whip. She held her breath against the well of tears that came unbidden, the stinging in her eyes and throat so powerful she had to swallow the sob that pushed against her lips.

The only thing he could be having such a response to was his death. Didn’t he mention…? Was he really….? Any thought she tried to start she couldn’t finish, even to just herself. It was too painful to think about, and it hurt all the more to think it was still affecting him so much even then. Her stomach rolled, bile rising to the back of her throat. When she thought of his injuries...it painted enough of a gruesome picture, but now she had an idea of how he’d gotten them.

A flashback, Shinsou breathed from somewhere to her left, and Momo closed her eyes as the tears wormed their way past. She inhaled a hitched breath, covered her mouth to keep quiet. Do you - would my Quirk work? To help calm him down?

I’m not sure, Aizawa said. It’s always worth a try.

He turned to look at her, opened his mouth to speak, then paused, his gaze flitting past her to look at something over her shoulder. She could feel a presence, a cold chill down her spine, and she felt relief flood her chest - Izuku was back, he must be - but when she looked at Aizawa again her teacher appeared the most alarmed he’d been the entire time and the good feelings vanished. At the same moment, the door crashed open, and Todoroki stood gasping in the doorway, red-faced and clearly exhausted.

Izuku’s in the basement, Todoroki choked out, wide eyed.

Aizawa stood up quickly, barked a quick Everyone stay here, then bolted out the door, saying nothing when Todoroki turned right back around to follow him out.

Momo watched him go, wiping away tears. She shouted in alarm when Shinsou darted after them.

He’d turned to Yaoyorozu to focus on her and say - something - but he was met with Iida’s transparent form instead, coming through the floor at a bolt and screeching to a halt mid-air. 

It’s Mido, Iida signed quickly to him, face scrunched in an emotion Aizawa didn’t have the patience to decipher. His signs were sloppy with inexperience and uncertainty, and he had to have Iida repeat one or two. He’s angry. Upset. Follow me, please. He needs you.

Todoroki confirmed a location, and he didn’t need any more than that. Aizawa stood, told everyone to stay put, and darted out of the classroom. Iida didn’t hesitate for a moment, speeding ahead of him and stopping right at the stairs, dropping through the floor the moment he was able, and Aizawa nearly broke his ankle in his rush to stop his momentum and speed down the steps. He could hear Todoroki’s footsteps only a pace behind him but he couldn’t stop to scold him now if Iida’s face was anything to go by, and he had no idea how long Midoriya had been by himself, even a few seconds extra was too long. The time it took to descend the stairs all the way to the basement door took a year off his life with the stress it caused him, the thought of Midoriya panicking and crying all alone making his heart squeeze like a vice in his chest, and coupled with the shortness of breath from running, he could hardly breathe at all.

The sight of the basement floor was not helping matters. The lights flickered, similar to a horror movie, and his heart dropped with his stomach and left him feeling weightless when he heard sobs coming from off in the distance. He followed Iida closely, darting through the maze U.A called a basement, ignoring the equipment and training robots stored there in favor of keeping his attention zeroed in on Iida’s back. Eventually Iida stopped, anxiously hovering in front of a doorway but refusing to enter it. Aizawa didn’t give himself time to catch his breath. He power-walked the rest of the way, the sobbing an echo in his skull that made him grit his teeth, and when he made it to the doorway he automatically made a move to step inside.

The cold was nothing he’d ever felt before, even on Midoriya’s worst days. Just being in front of the doorway had him shivering, his cheeks, hands, feet, and knees automatically going numb just being in the vicinity. He couldn’t even see Midoriya in the pitch black void he was staring into, wasn’t sure he hadn’t bumped into another unknown ghost haunting U.A’s walls, for vengeance instead of curiosity. The pure white eyes staring him down were not friendly.

Aizawa sucked in a surprised breath. The cold air burned like raw ice on the way down.

Midoriya…?

Iida nodded fervently, pointed at the pair of floating eyes leaking white tears, and Aizawa couldn’t believe it, almost didn’t at all, but Iida spoke with a soundless voice and Midoriya spoke back, warped almost beyond recognition at all.

A̵͇̮̪̬̞͎̟̺ͩ̏ͪ͜I̫͉͍͊͒͒ͩͯ͜͡Z̷̶̞͎͔̖̙̥͕͈̘̘̀̈́ͯ̾̀ͫͮ̋̌ͣ͋́͝ͅA̿͒ͨ̓ͮ̽̀͟҉̥̭͈̪͍͖̳̟̟̗̬̹̞͕̥̣̱̹̦Ẁͩ͛ͬ̿̓̓̚҉̶̶͕̼̦̲͎̗͠Ą̸͚͕̻͎͕͈ͧ̇͌̓͐ͦ͛̊͌̓ͫ̃̾ͨͪ͜͡?̸̹͎̜̟̭̟͈̜͙̩̟̞̀͆̓͌ͪ͐ͫ̓ͧͮ̇ͦ̌̕͟ ̯̲̳̩̙̲̭̪̫̿͆ͨ͊̿̍̏̄́ͬͨ́Ḁ̵͓̻͔͓̠̣̟̫̻̩͎͍̰̂͗̔ͭ̚I̴̧͕͍̰͕̜͍̦̿͒͒͑̃̃̍̀̔̿̍̊̄͋ͪ̃̒ͯͤͅZ̡̢̘͕̙̹̪̪̝͈̮̲̪͖̠̦͉̅̎̈́̐̊ͩ̂̇̈́̒͑ͭ̇̾͂̚ͅͅAͬͣ͗̄̉̃̾̒̚͏̟̲̝̩̠̱̤̟̩̖̰͈̬Ẇ̶̡ͥͪͣ̍ͮ̿ͩͪ̇͟͏̠̞̝̗͇̻̲̼̬͓͇͈A̸̺̜͓̫̖̪̺̝͉̦̖̙̬͊ͧ̈ͨ̅͠͝ͅ?̸̴̷̘͇̣͓̳̟͇̥̱̖̥̜̪͉͓͔̉̾ͪͮ͌̋͂̋ͧ͂͜

He froze.

Fear was a normal feeling, especially in a career like his. He carried it with him sometimes, when a mission got to be a little too much, when a life couldn’t be saved and passed especially gruesome, when his own life came an inch too close to being whisked away. He never thought he’d fear because of Midoriya, but his voice was eldritch, twisted too much, no longer human in its vowels and manner of phrase, only a facsimile of it. The tail end of fight or flight began to swell in him, threatening to make him drown, and only through experience was he able to even attempt to breathe through it, trying to get his head to clear and to get himself moving again, to make sure he didn’t catch hypothermia if nothing else.

Iida swiping his arms through his head officially snapped him out of it, freezing him over body and soul.

Help him, Iida signed, eyes desperate, pleading.

Aizawa swallowed any reservations he’d had, and stepped past the doorframe and into the void.

It’s me, he coaxed, soft, arms carefully suspended in front of him in a gesture of peace. It wasn’t needed. The next thing he knew, something slammed into his chest and stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He wheezed, instinctually wrapping his arms around what he knew to be Midoriya, even if the kid blended in with the blackness around them.

Midoriya sobbed, loud and broken, voice strangled with static and drowning in blood. Aizawa stayed silent, not knowing what to do other than be there, rubbing his back with one hand and ruffling Midoriya’s hair with the other even when it felt like it wasn’t enough. He didn’t think anything would be enough, not for this.

Hey-

Aizawa turned in time to see Shinsou - dammit he’d told them to fucking stay put - reach out for his shoulder. 

D̛̪̩̘͔̜͈̟̺̱̤̟̝̤̭̮̻̹͎̠̔͛ͣ̓̾̔ͬ͢͠Ő̴̡̧̖̺̮̺̼͙͇̟̥̝͇̣̌͋͗̐̓̂ͤ̽̚̚̕͞N̩͕̟̭̱̼̒̊ͩͣͯͨͨ̔̿ͫͥͣ̿͂̊͠'̵̨̢̝̪̟̦̺͖̲̟̟̯̙̹̐ͣͦ̑͗̀͑ͨ͊͆ͣ̕͞T̪̞̘̤̻̼̖͇̥͍̖̘̩̏͂͊̓̄̑͊ͥ͋ͩ̋̂̉ͯͩ̄͟͞ ̈ͦ̏͐̾̑̓̄ͧ̓͋̐̋̏҉̴̱̯̫̜͇̲͟T̢͓͚̩͎̹̥̐ͫ̍̑̊̊̿̓͊̍̚͘͢O̡̯̭͔̥̒͒̌̾͑̒̈͟Ụ̘̟͍̪̠̼̞̟̥̞̟͉͕̔̽͌ͨͥ͑̐ͪ̊̊ͯ̌̈́̎̕͢C͙͙̹͕̯̣̮͔̹̬̲͈̝̠̦͑̑ͦ̑̔̿̐ͩ̈́̊ͭ̐͑͢͞ͅH̴̼͉̠̤̣̓ͣ͆ͦͦ͐̌̏̿̐͆͑͟ͅ ̨̪͉̯͖̜͖͎͓̐͋͆͑͂̀͛̌͡H͚̣̥̲̠ͯ̊ͭ̐̒͆͒̓̄ͥ͑̓ͫ́͡Į̳͓̞͔̞̙̤̖̓̆̃̽̑ͤ͛̏ͯͪ̊̆͒ͤ͡ͅM̶̟̪̫̣̪͍̥̣̼̍̈̆͊ͯͤ͟ ̵̛͚̝͖̹̹͇͉͚̫̮̜͇ͤ̄̓̓̉̾͆͊͆͑̀̚͠͡D̵̷̀ͣ̊ͫ͂ͥͩ͂̋̒ͧ҉̥̥̳̥͞O̬̦̮̳͉͔̳͔̖͈̽̈́͂̿͐̿̀̃ͧͧ̉͠͝N̷̯̺̲͒̈͌̾̎̾̚͡ͅ'̓̐̏ͫͩͩͤ̌̆ͯ̑̾͑̈̿ͫͩͭ͏͇̣̠͙̻̱͔̹̳̣̭̱̻̝͢Ţ̵͊̑ͦͬ̇ͤͩͣ̒̏ͥ̈́̒̀̚͠͏͈̜̘̪̼̥̫͡ ̒̅ͬͣ̋̓̇ͯ̄̅͏̡̝̟͈̻͖̹̠̬̹̜̥͈̝̹̳̥̱̘T̶̸̶̰̬̰̯̣̹̻͎̦͈͍́̅̓ͭͫ̓̎̚O̵͍̥̲̯͕̼̭ͫͦͭ̋͒̉ͬ̇́͘͢U̩̖̗̟̱͈̗̥͉̹̼̙͕̰̺͖̲ͨ͐ͨ͝Ç̵̞̗̱̲̝̱͚̟̔ͩ̔ͩ̑̆̈͊̒ͮ̋ͬ̌̄̒̀͢͡H̵̴͙̮͇̰̎ͩ̆̓͒̀ͭ̑̇̅͑̈́̈̓ͣ ͇̗̬̹̞̱̰̥̹̣͓̺̤̺̍͌̎ͯͫ̐̀ͪͤ͘͡H̛̹͚̰͉͇̹̪̘̻͙̲̣͉ͦ̀́ͨ́̋̎͌ͧ̃ͬͨ̈ͣ̿̚͘͘͠I͆ͦͯ͐͑́ͧ͑̊̍ͣͤͣ̀͢͏͚̘̤̖̞̱̥͎͈̳̠̘͠M̸̨͐ͨͩ̌̍̓ͮ̎ͦ̑̅͒̑ͯ̾̽ͮ̚͘҉̘͈̗̝ͅ ̨͕̖̹̼̥̝̺̤͈̬͕̳̝͛̉̔̓̑͑̇́ͪ̿ͤ͞D͑̄ͧͩ͠҉̜̞̮̮̲̩̺O̢̬͔̬̭͊̋́̾̈́̐̀̕ͅŃ̡ͥ͐͆̉ͪ̃ͣͤ͆̏̋̓҉̗̣͖̞̤̱͎̗̟̗̤͎̠͕̠̖̘̦͍'̵̴̻͖̤̘̗̺̪̱̝̟ͨ͂ͭ̑͋̏͊ͦ̒͐̿̉ͨ͛̐̀͘͢Tͭ̇̄ͤ̒̂́͏̷̸͔͔̤̥̤͘ ̷̷̸̧̦̘̼̠̦̝͈̼͖̮̤̄̊͗͆͗ͫ͢Ṭ̴̛̘̰͍͚͍̬̞̲̳̥̪̽́̅̑̿͜͠O͈̼̫͈̥̱̹̲͓͔̗͈̠̱̣̟̞͔͑ͨ̂ͨͩͣ̃̿ͭ̃̈͗̀ͩ́̚͢Uͩ̈͑̊͑ͧͩ͝͏̵̵̮̤̗̞̰̝̦̝̙̰̦̹̹͓̞̞̥C̡͉̝̪̲̹̞̥̜̬̙͕̈́ͩͥ̇ͨ͟͠H̶̟̝̗̲̦͎͈͕̟̥͆̌̋̎͂̇ͩ͆̂͊ͪ̒ ̶̛̭̣̼̣̗̗̥̗͈̑̈̐͌͐̑͂̈̈͌ͭ̉̔̀͆̚̚͞H͎̝͔͚̰̝͈̪̝̳͇̻̗͍̲ͨ̈́͊͐̂ͨ̿̊͆ͦͥ̅͊͛͑̿̽ͭ̀͡ͅĪ̵̢̙͎̥̦͖͈̬̘͓̙̠̭̬̗͑̒͆͌́͋̋̎̿͑̒͟͠͝M̴̘̼̺͉͚̯͚̙͌̉̀ͨ͆͊͆͐ͧ̒̔̚͠ ̩̥̟̻͈ͨͣ̉̋̓͘͜͠Ḍ̸̛̣͔̜ͬ̌̅ͪ̿̂͑ͧ͌͋͑̉Oͥ̎̓҉̵̝̰͉̘͎̣̯́Ņ̴̹̠͔̮̫̙͑̑͛ͪ̓ͫ̎͟͢͞'̨̳̭̮͚̺̘̹͇̰̺̤͙̟͔̯ͩͫ̆̽ͣ͆ͯͬ͑̽̾ͬ̾ͬ̓ͦͯ̃͑̀T̵̷̝̦̲͈̟̬̱̖̮̫̹̩̰͍͚̭̓ͫ̏̀̆̇͌͐̈ͫ́ ̨̧͎͇͖̲̪̘͇̐ͥͣ̉̇͌ͦ͂̋̑͊ͬͪ͢͜͞T̢̑ͥ͑͗̃ͨ͛ͭ͏͈̱̪͓͔̥̤̺͜O̮͇̻̜̪̣̪̹͉̟̰̼̪̤̖̦̥ͬͨͤ̍ͨͪ̓ͯͪ̾̑́͟U̶ͤ̓͑̈́̎ͬ͌̈́͊̊ͫͮ̍̓ͯ̚̚͠͏̳̘̜̟̙͎͈̥̖̜ͅͅC̨̜͔̖͔̦̙ͨ̑͋ͯ͐̔ͥ̀̐̊̔̀̀͠H̶̉ͮ̾͛ͨ̈́͌ͫ͏͈̱͈̮͓ ̶̢̨̺̪͓̜̰̣̼̣̭̯͉͇̪̪̺͚͙̽͊́̑̈̑̇̿͋ͣͨͫ͌ͦͧ̊̾̚̕ͅH̛̠̥̘̖͎̗͎̻͖̦̟̟̺̝͖̮ͦ͐̾͛̃ͥ̈́̂̋̒͛̊͂ͦͨ͑̍͐͟͠I̡̡̜͈̜̯̖̤̫̤͈͔̣͕̽ͯ̒͌̊̿̎ͥ͆̍͗̽ͨ̀͡M̸̡͎̜͔̰̤̻͕͉̞̮̜ͥ̍̂ͣ̂̿͒̒ͣͪ̋͢͞ͅ

Midoriya’s words raked through his eardrums and shook his skull, and he grit his teeth to stop them from vibrating. Shinsou recoiled from the awful noises and took a handful of steps back, clapping his hands over his ears, a gesture Todoroki was already indulging in. Aizawa would too, if he didn’t have his arms full. Although he couldn’t see in the darkness Midoriya had created, he could hear the objects rattle and shake, Midoriya’s breathing not breathing at all and more gasping for air he couldn’t get anymore. Aizawa pulled them both down to sit, and he curled forward slightly, seeking to shelter the child.

I’m here, he muttered. I’m here.

Midoriya sobbed, gasped, sounded like he was close to retching. The entire basement went dark for a few seconds, to the alarm of Shinsou and Todoroki who yelled in surprise, but when Aizawa blinked the lights in the hallway had turned back on.

I understand your alarm, he told them, purposely calmer than he felt, but I would appreciate you both helping, not making it worse.

Todoroki looked sheepish while Shinsou balked at them both. Izuku, Todoroki called to the sobbing mess in his arms. Can I come in?

Aizawa shifted, looked at the black, vague figure, and forced himself to understand that they were dealing with a twelve year old child. He sat on the thought, internalized it almost, and took in a deep, fortifying breath. 

If he was going to get Midoriya to calm down, they had to approach this differently. Midoriya wasn’t in a clear enough headspace to be talked down properly, sure, but that didn’t mean he was a lost cause. They just...had to get on his wavelength, so to speak.

You’re supposed to knock, Todoroki, he scolded, keeping his voice soft, never any real bite to it. It was all for show anyway. It’s only polite.

Todoroki looked taken aback for a moment, but Shinsou elbowed him in the side and nodded pointedly into the dark he was surrounded in, and Todoroki’s face cleared.

Right. My apologies, Izuku. Todoroki stepped to the doorframe and rapped his knuckles a couple times against it. He paused, composure breaking only once at the sound of Midoriya’s wet, crackling inhales in between his crying. May I come in?

Midoriya squeezed his torso tight, and Aizawa could’ve sworn he saw streaks of green amongst the blackness. He sobbed, eyes wide and white. His tears were snowdrops on his clothes, as wet as they were freezing.

He patted Midoriya’s head a bit awkwardly. Todoroki is asking to enter, he murmured to the boy. Can he say hello?  

Midoriya nodded, just barely, but it was an unmistakable feeling. 

You can come in, he called.

Todoroki passed the threshold tentatively, approached with caution, slow and easy, and everyone barring Midoriya held their breaths. He sat to Aizawa’s right and didn’t move. There was a beat of silence, of stillness, and only when nothing happened did they collectively sigh in relief.

Shinsou looked determined. He knocked just as Todoroki did, his voice a careful thing as he spoke. Hey Izuku. Can I come join you?

Again, Midoriya nodded, and Aizawa gave him the clear. Shinsou stepped into the room just as carefully, feet making contact with dimly colored stone. Giving Midoriya even that small amount of control seemed to help, however slightly, in dragging him out of his spiral, and the pure darkness Aizawa had been sitting in moments before was starting to lighten. He could just make out tall cardboard boxes against one of the walls, could just make out Midoriya’s silhouette curled in his lap.

Even with such a vague, dark shape, Aizawa knew he shouldn’t make direct eye contact with Midoriya’s arms, or his leg. If the cold was worse than he’d ever seen before, he figured it was safe to assume his injuries would be as well, and he really, really didn’t want to see it.

You picked such a cozy spot, Shinsou said, and Aizawa was ready to glare holes into his head until he registered how sincere he sounded. Nice and out of the way. Couldn’t have picked a better room myself.

Todoroki looked significantly more out of his element than Shinsou did, and he wondered briefly if Shinsou had any younger siblings or cousins. Yes, Todoroki said. Very...comfortable.

Aizawa blinked, and the room looked lighter still. He could see his hands on Midoriya’s back clearly now, could see Midoriya’s actual back instead of the black mess it had been earlier. He pulled his gaze back, regretted it almost immediately when he realized Midoriya’s head was bleeding from a new wound in his forehead - fuck fuck when had that happened had he done that but there was no way oh god don’t tell him - but also felt relief so strong he almost fell over when he saw Midoriya’s head, could peek around and see the kid’s eyes. He was still crying, choking on his breaths, but he was looking around from his position of pressing firmly against his chest and stomach, nestled as close as physically possible.

Other than his arms, it felt like an average child was hugging him.

An idea struck him, and he reached around to grab one of Midoriya’s small hands in his. He stopped, cringed from feeling broken bone and a bent wrist, every instinct in him screaming not to purposefully touch the gruesome injuries, but he blatantly ignored it and was extra careful in encasing Midoriya’s hand in his. It took a moment to convince him to let go, but when he did Aizawa held that small hand out to the two teenagers.

They both paled, and Aizawa understood their hesitation, mourned his reluctance from earlier being ignored so quickly. Midoriya’s hand, wrist, arm, did indeed look the worst it had ever, and Aizawa stared at his students instead, swallowing the bile clawing its way up his throat.

It was a lot to ask of them. If Aizawa could think of a better way to get Midoriya calm, he wouldn’t at all. Just as he began to think neither of them would follow through, surprisingly - or not at all - Todoroki worked up his nerve first. He reached out and took Midoriya’s hand in his own.

Todoroki looked at the little bundle in his arms and smiled, small, but genuine in its own right.

Hello Izuku, he said, and his voice only shook a little, eyes glassy. It’s nice to see you.

Chapter Text

The feeling of another person’s eyes on his skin had become foreign and unusual, but he was glad Shou had been one of the first students - the first alive student - to see him. He was glad Aizawa was there too, he just hoped he wasn’t crushing the man’s ribs with how hard he was squeezing his stomach.

Shou was in front of him, smiling, holding his hand in a gentle grip that made him want to cry all over again. Shinsou was next to Shou, taking in what a sight he must’ve been, and Izuku felt the urge to cringe from such a gaze - asking questions he never wanted to face let alone answer. Aizawa’s presence stopped him from it, if by a margin. He’d make Shinsou back off if he worked up the courage to ask, and even though Izuku knew Shinsou wouldn’t be so crass, the thought was a comfort regardless.

His body had pins and needles, mild but noticeable, oddly warm from his head to his toes, but Aizawa was solid and tangible and warm and Izuku relished the physical contact. He was squished as close as he could physically get and could hardly see out of his right eye from the way it was pressed against Aizawa’s chest. Izuku met Shou’s stare, peeking from the fabric of Aizawa’s shirt, and his friend smiled a little wider, his eyes kind. Izuku sniffed. He wanted to squeeze Shou’s hand but his own wouldn’t cooperate with him, too mangled and injured to do much of anything with it, and a nostalgic sadness flooded his chest and threatened to rip out of his throat in a sob. Maybe something showed on his face, maybe it was his eyes watering again, but Shou rubbed his busted knuckles with the pad of his thumb, smile melting into a worried frown.

Izuku sniffed again. I’m sorry I scared you, he muttered, guilt weighing his chest and twisting his stomach. He shut his eyes tight, tears slipping out, giving Aizawa a one-armed squeeze.

You have nothing to apologize for, Aizawa replied, and Izuku heard the man’s voice rumble in his chest. You were scared and upset, none of that was your fault.

Izuku didn’t believe him. The whole reason All Might had shown up at all was because of him, the whole reason the class had shown up was because of the secrets he kept. How was that not his fault? He had been cowardly, hiding away from his own mistake, his own poor decision, and it ended up backfiring so spectacularly that everyone in class ended up caught in the crossfire. They had seen him at his worst, mangled and broken and sobbing, and two of them saw him even lower. Inconsolable. Dark. Sad. A whole list of negative adjectives were a whirlwind in his head and he couldn’t shake it. 

First All Might, then Iida, and after was his second family. The class. How many more people was he going to drag down with him? Let down?

His arm, his leg, pulsed in a very painful reminder of where those kinds of thoughts led him before. He took in a shaking, uneven breath, and focused on Aizawa’s hand on his back, a physical reassurance of the man’s concern and care. Izuku reminded himself - forcefully - that Aizawa had sought him out. The trip from the classroom to the basement was a long one, far from convenient. Aizawa wouldn’t be there if he didn’t want to be, and the same went for Shou and Shinsou. He just - had to stop. Stop, and breathe, and ride it out. Ride out the ton that had been pressed into his shoulders and chest and made it hard to breathe, ride out the dark thoughts that threatened to drown him. So he took his hand from Shou to cling to Aizawa - a life preserver - and breathe.

Midoriya, Aizawa rumbled. It wasn’t your fault.

Izuku tried his hardest to believe him. He nodded, tears dripping down his cheeks, hoping if he agreed on a lie it would become the truth.

Are you ready to go back yet? Shinsou asked gently, and Izuku turned to look at him as much as he was able in the position he was in. Everyone’s worried about you.

Izuku buzzed, and he didn’t miss the lights flickering in response to his anxiousness. Did they want him back out of pity for him? Would they send him away?

Izuku…? Shou called, and he met his friend’s eyes, then looked to Shinsou. Concern and fondness warred on their faces, and Izuku marveled at it. Even so broken, they hadn’t backed down, hadn’t left him to his own devices.

Dang it, he was overthinking again.

He squeezed Aizawa one last time and nodded, testing the waters of his emotional state as he slowly let go. He seemed okay as he leaned farther and farther apart, cautious and tentative. Aizawa was patient, waiting until he was beginning to float upward to stand up himself. Shinsou and Shou followed Aizawa’s lead.

Since his panic and sadness had faded to something a lot more manageable, the numbness and warmth began to follow suit, and in pure desperation Izuku held onto that feeling with everything he had. At first it had been unbearable, a storm of hellfire in his stomach and dry ice in his chest, pins and needles like wasp stings all over him, but when it calmed - when he could meet Shou’s eyes and nearly cry because Shou was looking back - Izuku only wished he could do it all again if it meant the class could see him when he went back up.

Iida was all over him the second he could get close, fluttering around and hugging him just to go back to scanning him for any new injuries. Izuku sniffled and giggled weakly, smiling, happy to get any confirmation that the people around him truly cared. He wiped his eyes, hugged Iida back with everything he had when the older ghost went to do so.

Are you alright? Iida asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Mhm. Izuku squeezed his chest, not knowing what else to do. Thank you, Iida.

Tenya, he corrected softly and patted his back. Of course, Midoriya. Whatever you need.

Izuku pulled away, looked around him. Shinsou and Shou were looking at him, patient and expectant. Aizawa’s eyes were bloodshot and exhausted, but they were still sharp, observant, scanning him just as Iida had been, ready to fuss the moment a new injury was revealed.

Are you ready to head back? Aizawa asked, and Izuku hiccuped and nodded, rubbing at his leaking eyes as he continued to sniffle. Exhaustion was weighing down his limbs, the warmth and static making him a bit dizzy.

To his surprise, Aizawa grabbed his right hand and began walking, guiding him up the stairs and back to the classroom. He didn’t complain, floating just above the ground, having to reach up to keep a hold of Aizawa’s much bigger hand in his. It was warm.

It was safe.

It did not take any sort of genius to understand that he fucked up. He had years ago, it was when this whole mess started. He had weeks ago in contacting Midoriya’s mother instead of Midoriya himself - unintended but he still had.

Toshinori, standing at the gates of U.A after being brainwashed by the very student he was supposed to be guiding, who was supposed to trust him and look up to him as a teacher, coughed and gagged blood on the sidewalk as he came to the horrible, awful conclusion that he fucked up badly.

He didn’t want to think of it as ‘irreversibly’, but something dark and terrified was telling him otherwise, some kind of emotion he couldn’t decipher properly that lurched in his stomach and make him hack blood until he felt woozy. He hadn’t known. He had no idea that was going to happen, had no idea the students would be that determined to stay put. They had to have known more than Toshinori thought they did looking back, since the way he was stared at was hateful and bitter and disappointed and why else would that be? What other reason was there, to be stared down like he was a villain?

He huffed, crouched low with his hands on his knees, and grieved.

Toshinori hadn’t wanted that. He had just wanted to make amends. He had just wanted to apologize, and all that had gotten him was the students’ hatred and Midoriya’s tears. That poor boy. That poor, poor kid.

He was oblivious, but Toshinori learned from past mistakes. Never again would he do that, never again would he dive head-first and listen to no one else to do it. He never wanted to see Midoriya like that again, ever, broken and blood smeared and hurting and sobbing and dropping through the floor.

For the first time in nearly a decade, Toshinori did not feel like the Symbol of Peace. He felt human, and with a crushing sense of dread and the coldness of blood, he realized that was all he’d ever been. Human. Even he had put himself on such a high pedestal he hadn’t thought of slipping. Didn’t think it was possible. But there he was, in pieces and blood splatters just outside of the school he was supposed to be teaching at, raising the new generation of heroes at. 

He finally made a truly fatal mistake, and Toshinori was falling.

Shouto couldn’t stop staring. The floating form of Izuku Midoriya - he assumed that was his last name from the way Aizawa used it - hovering by Aizawa’s knee as he was led by the hand back to the classroom had Shouto’s chest tight. Taking a quick glance in Shinsou’s direction, his fellow student’s face reflected his own thoughts, twisted up with conflicting emotions. Shouto ran all around the school before Aizawa arrived, ran to the principal’s office and back when he did, then ran all the way down to the basement in frantic bursts of adrenaline and fear, but nothing renewed his energy like seeing Izuku - his best friend - for the first time.

Izuku was so small. It was all he could focus on, even through the injuries that seemed to get better the more Shouto blinked. Next to Aizawa, Izuku barely reached his hip.

Occasionally Izuku looked back at them with watery eyes, his mouth a shaky line, and Shouto did his best to smile, to comfort, to act like everything was normal and okay even if Izuku didn’t believe it for a second. It wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t used to giving or receiving that sort of thing, so he just thought of what he wanted when he was smaller and did what he could. Shinsou switched from sticking his tongue out - his face remained deadpan while he did it - and giving the kid an encouraging thumbs up. 

The walk was uneventful even as Shouto held his breath, waiting for All Might to round a corner out of nowhere and give them the scolding of a lifetime, but that time never came - maybe Aizawa’s aura alone warded off the world’s bad luck for the time being, he wouldn’t be surprised - and he only released his breath when Aizawa made it safely into class 1-A’s doors, him and Shinsou a step behind them, a little lightheaded.

He heard his peers start up the second Aizawa walked in and silence just as quickly, no doubt seeing Izuku by Aizawa’s leg. When Shinsou shuffled past him and he fully stepped past the threshold, the door shut tight behind him, he looked up and saw Izuku clinging to Aizawa’s leg. He seemed overwhelmed with all the eyes on him, and Shouto’s stomach churned. He knew the feeling.

We’re back, he blurted, thankful when everyone’s eyes went from Izuku to himself, exasperated. How is Kaminari?

Charging over here! Kaminari waved at him from his spot against the far wall, looking close to normal with a charger in his mouth. He was still a bit pale at the edges, but he looked no worse for wear, and something inside Shouto loosened.

Bakugo is doing alright as well, Yaoyorozu spoke, sitting at her desk at the back. He looked over at her, she nodded to the front of the classroom, and he followed her gaze to where Bakugo was settled on the ground, lips pursed so hard they went pale as his stare bored into Izuku’s head. If Shouto didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn Bakugo’s eyes looked watery. He only recognized it for what it was when he realized Bakugo pursed his lips to keep them from quivering.

Kacchan? Izuku suddenly chirped, quiet, and all eyes were back on him. The little one was peeking past Aizawa’s leg to return Bakugo’s stare.

Aizawa was silent, and Shouto followed his lead. If he didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going to happen, then neither did Shouto.

It took Bakugo a couple of tries to speak, having to do a few trial runs of moving his mouth with no sound escaping. Warmth was filling his chest watching the two, and he had to duck his head to hide his smile. Bakugo would kill him if he saw it.

Deku, he choked out, just barely. He saw Kirishima squeeze his hand. You - how are you -

Kacchan, Izuku sobbed one last time before moving away from Aizawa. He floated over, arms and legs looking normal except for the bones sticking out of his elbows and leg. The minute he was close enough he flung himself at Bakugo, wrapping his small arms around the other and settling himself in Bakugo’s lap whether he liked it or not. There was a moment where Bakugo froze like that was the last thing he expected Izuku to do, but only a moment passed and Bakugo wrapped extremely hesitant arms around the small ghost in his lap, blinking rapidly, but tears started falling regardless. Shouto looked away from the moment, feeling like an intruder.

Aizawa shifted his weight, and it was the only warning they got before he began speaking.

Every single one of you, he said, carefully controlled, have detention for the last week of the school year.

A heartbeat of silence passed, then the roar of disbelief and outrage crashed into his ears. Shouto winced, saw Shinsou do the same. His eardrums hadn’t fully recovered from Izuku’s warped screech.

Enough, Aizawa snapped, firm and demanding, and that one word was enough to silence the classroom. The sudden loss of noise made goosebumps break out on Shouto’s arms. That week is going to be filled to the brim with nothing but lessons on trauma and triggers. Not only did you all come in here with the plan to force Midoriya to talk about something I did not inform you all of for a reason, but you did it without supervision, and escalated the incident when All Might arrived. You should know better.

That’s not fair! Uraraka shouted, and Shouto looked around until he found her a little ways away from Kaminari. We were just trying to help and then All Might showed up and started bossing us around -

Whether any of us like it or not, he is a teacher, and you are expected to listen, Aizawa continued, merciless. Even if All Might hadn’t arrived at all, was Midoriya being cooperative? Did he seem alright talking about any of it? More importantly, did you inform an adult about what you were doing? Did you wait for me to supervise, guide the conversation of asking a young child about his death?

The long silence that followed echoed Aizawa’s questions back at him, and Shouto’s heart dropped into his stomach and sat there. He had been the one to recommend it push it with the rest of the class. If he had kept his mouth shut - swallowed his anger and left - maybe they wouldn’t be there at all.

You were all emotional and upset, that is understandable and I don’t fault you for it. But each and every one of you acted on impulse and incorporated no logic into what you were doing. Things escalated wildly, and every step of this could have been avoided had any thinking went into the impact of what it would do to not only Midoriya, but Bakugo as well. It is clear you are missing an important aspect of teaching that I have overlooked until now, and it is being corrected immediately. This will not happen again.

It was not an order, nor a demand, only a simple state of fact with the way Aizawa said it. Still, Shouto shivered.

By no means does this mean All Might was in the right, Aizawa said darkly. I won’t let his mistake slide either. He grit his teeth, and Shouto flinched. The one day I leave. The one day…

Aizawa turned, and the anger slowly melted off his face when he looked at Izuku. Shouto spared a glance. Izuku was sitting wedged in between Bakugo and Kirishima like it was something he did every day, looking disgruntled and tear-stained, both of his hands pressed on one of Bakugo’s and Kirishima’s legs, like he worried they would get up if he didn’t. Kirishima looked ready to cry.

Midoriya, Aizawa called, and the kid blinked at him, a frown pulling down his lips.

Izuku patted Bakugo’s knee seriously. Kacchan, he introduced, as if he hadn’t been calling him that the entire semester, then pointed to him. Shou. Shou, Kacchan.

Shouto smiled at him and hoped it wasn’t as shaky as it felt. Bakugo looked lost, glancing at him with red rimmed eyes and watching Izuku in disbelief.

Izuku suddenly lit up, a thought crossing him, and floated upwards back into the air. Alarm sent electricity up his spine as he prepared for the worst, but all Izuku did was zoom over to Aizawa and hug their teacher’s torso, muttering, and Shouto’s heart pulsed in his throat because he could hear him.

Thank you, sorry I was scary. I missed you. Thank you.

Aizawa ducked part of his face behind his scarf, watched Izuku with dry but fond eyes, and patted his head. Izuku let go, turned, and hugged Bakugo a second time, muttering softly into Bakugo’s shirt, and Shouto would never forget the day he witnessed Bakugo cry twice.

Hi Kacchan, Izuku muttered. Hi Kacchan. Sorry I went away. I missed you.

Bakugo sobbed, there was no other word for it, squeezing Izuku’s tiny frame in his arms and whispering something in Izuku’s hair. Izuku squirmed in reply, patted Bakugo’s face fondly, and went to a blurry-eyed Kirishima to hug him next.

It didn’t take long to figure out what Izuku was doing. He was making his way around the class while he had the chance, muttering kind words and giving his signature pats to anyone crying a little too hard - which was most of them to be fair. Shouto was a hair's breadth away from crying himself, and he lost it when it was his turn.

Izuku darted to him, buzzing with rampant energy, and slammed into his torso face first to give him a bear hug.

Shou, Shou, Izuku said, voice echoey and scattered but very much there. You see me. I hoped you would someday. Can you make a candle again? It was so pretty. Thank you. Thank you for helping me when I was scary.

Shouto chuckled, sniffling, and hugged Izuku back no matter how awkward he felt. He wouldn’t miss the chance for anything, not even soba.

Sure, he muttered. Hello to you, too.

Izuku giggled softly, sniffling, and patted his arm in such a familiar gesture he had to blink against the stinging in his eyes.

Shouto watched Izuku make his rounds, watched the class devolve into sobs and laughter and hugs, and he let hope trickle in his heart.

Chapter Text

Katsuki couldn’t pull himself away, couldn’t tear his eyes off of the squirt sitting in his lap. As soon as he had finished his little parade of affection, Deku went right back to him, plunked himself down and hadn’t moved since. A semi circle had formed around them just so everyone could get a good look.

The room was quiet, the only sound was Deku’s breathing, a rattle in his lungs that stabbed through Katsuki’s stomach whenever he inhaled. Deku’s hand - so small, roughly the size of his palm - laid flat in his and he refused to move it. Even while the girls cooed over them, snapped pictures that turned out blurry and warped. He refused.

His mind kept conjuring the image of Deku’s injuries at their worst, kept wanting to linger on it. Every time it surfaced he’d have to shake himself out of it, knowing what would happen if he wasn’t with someone he trusted while he went through that particular meltdown. Absently, he tried thinking of the word his therapist had used to stave off the painful beat of his heart. Something specific. Helpers? Keepers? Supporters? Support something, what was it?

Deku patted his leg with the hand not in Katsuki’s, staring with big eyes at Round Face, sparkling and bright, so curious. Deku was always curious, about anything and everything.

K͠a͢c̴͝c̵̢h͡a̢҉̴n̶͟͜,͏̶̀   he told her, and Katsuki dug his molars into the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. He was so obsessed with everyone being introduced to him, like he was so fucking special. Like he hadn’t fucking killed him to begin with.

Round Face giggled, sniffled a bit. Her eyes were as big as Deku’s, and Katsuki scoffed at the realization. How long have you known Kacchan for?

He shot her his nastiest glare. She smiled back at him, warm but teasing. He wished he could give her sparks in warning, but shit, if All Might had upset him like that, what would his Quirk do to him? That had been the sound that gave Deku hell every day since Katsuki was four, that couldn’t be good for him to hear. Right? Fuck, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about this. Was that a question he could ask his therapist, maybe…?

Ą͏͏ ̴̶l̛͏o̶͞n̵͞͡ģ t̀i̕͜͟m̕e̕͜!͡ ͝Ş̕o̴̶ ̧͞l̴̨̀ơ̸̢n̶͟͞g̡̀!̢͘ Deku kicked his legs, and Katsuki had to tear his eyes away from the femur poking out of Deku’s skin. It had been worse earlier. W̴e̛̛ ̷̨we͘҉n̴t̷ ͞͡t͞o̡ ͏̛s̸̕͠c̷͟h̸͘o̷̵oĺ͢ ̴t͢͝og̛͠é̵̷t̶̨̢h̵̡er,̶g͏̨̕re͢w̢͝ ̸͡úp͡ ͏̢͜t̀҉o̢g̡̧e͟͟t̵̢h̨e̛͝r͘͝!̀͞

Sadness spread like a wave over his classmate’s faces, all slowly pointing at him, and he bared his teeth over Deku’s head, a clear warning that their shitty pity was the last thing he wanted.

Deku didn’t seem to realize. He kept plowing along, feet swinging, his hand still resting in Katsuki’s frozen over palm. He couldn’t feel it, it was shaking. He didn’t care. W͏e̛͘͢’̶d͏͜҉ ̸g̛͘e͏̧͞ţ͏ i̴͏c̷̀e҉͝ c͟rea͘͘̕m͜҉ a͞n̶͜d͝ ģ͘o̷ ̢t̛o ͢m̴y̨͢ hơus̸͞e̡͡,̴̀ ̵͟a̛n͡d̶͟ ̶͢w̧e’͢d̀́ ́͝҉w̡̨͝a̡̡t̷c̴͢h͜͝ ҉͏m͠ovi̢e̕͠s̴͝ an͘d͡ ̢͏pl̛͟͠a҉͜y̛ ̢g͘a͘me̕ş҉҉ ҉̨̕a̴n̸̕d̢͡͡ ̷͏͏h̴á̴v̶̧͜e͢ ̷̶̨a̵̕ ̶̨̕b̴҉i͟g̡̧ ̴͜͠y̴͘͝u͠m̡͢m̢͞y ͟d͘i̛n̶̡n̵̡e͜r.

Katsuki’s throat closed. Auntie Inko. Her grief played in his head, only the worst of it, and he closed his eyes against the images.

S̢̀͏o̶̸m͜èt͟i̢͘m̨e̶̢s̡͝ ̧͜w̷̸̷ę’̵̨d ̶ǵ͝o̵͠ t̨o̧ ͏͡҉h͞í͞ş̵̨ ̀̕͟ḩou̸͏s҉͝҉é̛͢ ҉̴̸an̸d̴͞ ̛h̵̴a͟v͢e̡̛͝ ̴̕̕á ͢͠sle̢͢épo̸̕̕v̨͢͞e͡͏̀r.̢ ̵̕I̕͝t̶̀ ̴̧̛waş̷ ͝͞͡s̷̸͘o͟ ̸͜f͟͟u̴n̴!̛ ҉͠W҉̵e͜͠ ̨h͢a̢d ̴̀p͝҉o҉p̀co̸rn͏!̶͝͡

Frogger spoke, the calmest one there as usual. My siblings and I always have sleepovers together too. Have you ever built a fort, Izuku?

Katsuki opened his eyes just in time to see Deku grin wide, blur at the edges, and the lights in the room flickered. Katsuki blinked with dawning comprehension. I̸̛ ̶h̵a͢͡v̵҉e̴̡͜! ͏̀I̕ ̀h̸͘a͡v̴e͜͢!͏ ͞K͟a̶c̀c͝҉ha̧n͠ ̛a̡̡͠n͡d̢̛ ͠͝Í́!͡!̶͜͢   His voice warped into his unintelligible mutters in his excitement, floating up from his lap for the first time in almost twenty minutes. Katsuki’s legs were numb. Deku gestured and raved, and by the looks of it no one had the heart to interrupt, even when they couldn’t understand him anymore.

It was a good thing. Katsuki would’ve ripped their tongues out of their fucking throat.

Shinsou’s teeth were chattering, his fingers were numb even though they were stuffed in his pockets. He tried to hide it for as long as he could but he ended up hovering around Todoroki’s left side eventually, even as he stared long and hard at Izuku’s small, petite frame. The kid had done a damn good job at freezing him over, he had to hand it to him.

Todoroki blinked at him, confused, before realization lit up his mismatched eyes.

Here. Todoroki held out his left hand, palm up. Sparks started at his fingertips before it ignited, flames swallowing the boy’s hand all the way to his wrist. Shinsou curled around the fire thankfully, shivering.

How are you not cold? he muttered, watching as Bakugo shot Uraraka a nasty, borderline deadly glare for some reason. Izuku froze me over. 

I’ve been regulating my body heat for the last ten minutes, Todoroki admitted, and if Shinsou stared hard enough he could see a faint tremor in his classmate’s posture. I couldn’t feel my right side.

He scoffed. I’ll bet. I can’t feel my toes.

You did really well in calming Izuku down. How did you know what to say?

I have younger cousins, he explained. A bit younger than him, but not by much. There’s not a big difference.

Can you teach me?

Shinsou blinked, surprise stirring under his skin. What?

Can you teach me, Todoroki repeated. I want to know how to do that.

Yeah, he said, unable to keep his shock out of his tone. Sure. I can do that.

They watched in silence as Tsuyu spoke calmly, finger on her chin, and Izuku got so excited he became incomprehensible. Shinsou smiled slightly, happy to see Izuku so cheerful after everything he’d been through. The past hour or so had felt like years. He was just glad it was over, at least for the most part, and that Aizawa had arrived when he did. He had no idea where the class would be - where Izuku would be - if he hadn’t been there to pull them all back down to earth.

Todoroki shifted next to him, brought the fire closer when he involuntarily shuddered. Do you think All Might will come back?

Shinsou was quiet, he could feel the frown pulling at his face. That wasn’t an easy question to answer.

I don’t know, he said honestly, and Todoroki hummed. He didn’t seem disappointed, more resigned than anything, and Shinsou refused to pry. He didn’t really need to.

His eyes strayed from Bakugo back to Izuku. He huffed a breath. Looking at the kid made his chest swell, mainly with sadness, but he was angry too. Maybe a touch bitter. Something nostalgic was settling there too, and Shinsou pursed his lips against the scowl that wanted to form. If Izuku looked over and saw him he might get upset, Shinsou didn’t need the added guilt.

The door opened and Shinsou lit up when Aizawa stepped back through. He couldn’t help but snicker when he noticed the blanket, and Aizawa’s bloodshot eyes stared holes into his head.

Good, you have common sense, Aizawa deadpanned, glancing at Todoroki’s flame before his focus went right back to Izuku. His eyes scanned the kid, looking for injury or upset, and Shinsou felt empathy for Aizawa’s relief when he found none.

Izuku lit up as well, beaming, and abandoned his post in front of the students to hover around Aizawa’s tired self instead, patting Aizawa’s arm.

A͏̀i̷͜z̴awa̴!̧ ̧̨͡À̛͟i̷͢͞z͢aw͢a̷!҉ ̵̢H̵i҉̡͞!

He hugged Aizawa tightly around the middle, their teacher patted his back patiently, and he smiled at Aizawa’s softening demeanor. Todoroki’s lips twitched.

Midoriya, their teacher greeted. Did you say hello to everyone?

I҉̵̕ ̡͡҉d͟͡i̶̷͜d̛͠!̨͜!̀҉!̴̴͜ Shinsou watched Izuku do a little twirl mid air to express his excitement, and he felt like he might burst. The kid was too cute. Ę̡v҉e͏̀r͢y̷o͏n͝͠e’̨ś ̶͟͢so͡ n͘i͏҉ce̛͢͝!̷̧!̧͘ ͠͞I̸̵͢ g͡ot̛̕ ̵̡̧a ̧h͡u҉҉g̨ f͢͢͞r̶͠ơm͏͢ K҉a̧҉c̡̛͝c̢̀ḩ̧a̶̕͠n͝͡!

Aizawa paused at that, turned to Bakugo with questioning eyes. Whatever he was asking was met with a pissed eye roll, and that seemed to satisfy Aizawa for the moment. Izuku watched the silent communication with pure bewilderment, and Shinsou piped up, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

Kacchan, huh? He grinned. What a cute nickname.

Bakugo flipped him off while Izuku’s back was facing him, and the kid giggled, oblivious, his voice echoing and scattered. T͘̕҉h̸̨ą͝n͞͏k͝ ͘y͘͟o̷͝͠u̴! ̸I̸͠ l̷̀i̡͝k̛͞͝e̵͏ ̶́į͟t͢ ̀t́͘oó͜.̨ Izuku’s eyes widened. D͟͟o ̨y̵̛o̡u̢ ̴w̧͠a̵͠nt̵͝ ̴̴a̸̸ ͜nì̸c̡͢k͟͜n͢a͘m̶̴̧e͞?̷̷͢

Shinsou backpedalled. He backpedalled so hard he stumbled over his words. No - I mean I just - maybe that should be you and Bakugo’s thing. I’m not good at nicknames.

T̸̛́h͢҉a͡t’͘s̀ ͏o͠͡k̡͜͝ay̷͞!̶͞ ̶I ̀c͞a҉n̷ ̢͡h̡͝e̵͟l̵p y͏ò͞u̷͢͟!̡̧  

The grin Bakugo shot him was nothing short of evil. Shinsou scowled at him.

I’d like a nickname, Todoroki said, and when Shinsou looked at him he was completely serious.

S̕h͘o͠u̵, ̡̧̀S̴͡h̷͜͡o͡͏u͠͡,̢͡͠   Izuku said. Y͟͏͠òu ̶̨͜h͜ave ̸óǹ̢e̕!̀͟͝

I’d like a nickname! Uraraka chirped, raising her hand, and Shinsou saw Aizawa approach his desk, looking nothing short of done, with all of them. I bet you’d come up with such a cute-

Izuku flickered like a broken monitor and vanished. The class cried out in alarm as Shinsou jolted with panic, abandoning the fire to properly sit up straight. Shinsou called out for him, concerned, and Aizawa had stopped mid motion to sit down, blinking dryly at them. His eyes flickered to where Izuku had been, and the cogs in his mind started to turn even as his stomach twisted with worry.

He heard Bakugo and Todoroki talk about Aizawa’s wandering eyes and strange behavior but he’d never given it much thought. Now though, Aizawa didn’t seem alarmed, kept looking at the spot Izuku had been like he hadn’t vanished at all.

Izuku muttered, warped and wordless, and Shinsou’s heart sank. Had that been temporary? Why? Why couldn’t he have stayed? 

Don’t panic, Aizawa said gently. It didn’t seem like he was talking to them, still staring at the empty air Izuku had just occupied. I’ve been meaning to ask you, and this might be related. Do you know what happened with Kaminari?

The IPad shivered and shook the minute Aizawa stopped talking, and Shinsou’s heart squeezed tight in his chest. If he was feeling this much grief, he couldn’t imagine the devastation Izuku must be feeling. 

We’re still here, Shinsou said to thin air, desperate to reassure him somehow. We’re still listening, kid. It’s okay.

His phone dinged, and with a heavy heart he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

‘I think that was me,’ Izuku had typed. ‘Sorry Kaminari, I didn’t mean to‘

Kaminari scrambled up from his spot on the floor. He took the charger out of his mouth and grinned wide. No worries! I’m okay, see? He did look much better, the paleness about his face was completely gone and he could stand on his own again. Shinsou was grateful for it.

Supposedly, Tokoyami began, tucked away in a corner and looking thoughtful, ghosts can draw upon electricity for strength. Do you think that is what happened, Aizawa?

Their teacher nodded slowly. I believe so. There’s no other explanation for Midoriya showing himself when he couldn’t before. I assume Midoriya took too much and it caused Kaminari to pass out.

Kaminari frowned, and Shinsou frowned back at him, a bit concerned. I think he’s done it before this, he said carefully, and the students all turned to him, betrayal twisting up their faces.

Kaminari!

Wait you saw him already?

What the FUCK Sparky!

Dude, what? Why didn’t you say anything!

Kaminari waved his hands frantically, looking a touch overwhelmed, and Shinsou struggled to find any sympathy. The bastard had seen Izuku and didn’t tell anyone? What the fuck? Shinsou would’ve shouted that shit from the rooftops.

Listen! he cried over the cacophony of voices. It was barely a glimpse, okay? All I saw was like...a general outline of him, no details! He huffed. My point was this has happened before, I think. During the Sports Festival. He was hovering around Todoroki I think, and I suddenly felt tired and like...weak. Izuku was flickery and barely there, but I saw him.

Everyone relaxed. Shinsou could admit he was still a bit irked by it, but he supposed he’d give Kaminari a pass. At least he hadn’t seen anything specific.

Do you think him taking energy from the lights all the time helps? Yaoyorozu wondered out loud, eyes clouded with thought. He’s always messing with them, right? Does that add to it?

There was a moment’s pause, then the lights flickered, slowly at first but becoming quicker with each passing second until it was a strobe-like effect. The lights shut off entirely after a moment, and Shinsou waited, straining his eyes to see in the darkness.

At the front - clinging to Aizawa’s shoulder with his cheeks puffed in concentration - was Izuku. He was more how Kaminari described him than he was earlier, faintly visible and transparent, but he was there, and Shinsou’s heart leaped into his throat. Maybe it had been temporary, but Izuku knew how to do it again.

Shinsou didn’t want to go back home. He wanted to stay in the classroom and finally get to know the soul that had been haunting their classroom for months, truly get to know the kid. He wanted to stay and chat and - do anything. Talk about anything. But Aizawa was clearly exhausted, everyone was still a bit rattled from everything that had happened, and Izuku seemed to be drained after he let go of the lights, breathing a bit hard from focus and strain. Aizawa dismissed the class early and told everyone to get some rest for the practical tomorrow - shit Shinsou had completely forgotten they were in the middle of finals, who cared about finals - and most of the students were happy for the break.

Todoroki, Bakugo, and himself were not, and Shinsou was a bit proud to admit that Aizawa had to practically drag him out of the classroom.

If I need sleep and I’m admitting it, Aizawa told the trio in the hall, then you all might keel over. Go home and rest.

Shinsou was vibrating with energy, restless and worried. He didn’t want to leave Izuku all alone, but there was always Iida, and the thought was just enough to get him to walk away.

Aizawa was right, he needed sleep. That didn’t mean he’d get any.

Chapter Text

Once everyone was as settled as they would get, Aizawa was out the door, walking with quick steps to talk to Nedzu about the practical. He was worried - for the class, for Midoriya - and he knew the practical couldn’t stay the way it was. He wasn’t unaware of how close Nedzu had gotten to the kid, his confidence was strong.

The conversation went south very, very quickly. Nedzu had a very different outlook on the situation than Aizawa himself did, and the two butt heads horribly until it devolved into arguing. Aizawa brought up Midoriya and his reaction, Nedzu reassured - infuriatingly calm, as if disagreeing was in any way rational - that Midoriya had been coming to him for All Might’s classes for months and that wouldn’t change. Aizawa argued the students would fare no better, and Nedzu stated that the students weren’t so bullheaded. Bitterly, Aizawa lashed out and implied he didn’t know his own students very well, and he wasn’t surprised when Nedzu kicked him out, signs of impatience finally coloring his tone and posture. Aizawa would never admit it out loud but he was glad to finally make the principle react emotionally for once - he often wondered if Nedzu truly felt anything at all. 

The walk down the hallways and back to the classroom was a heated journey. The argument was on loop in his head, and what frustrated him most was the idea that he couldn’t do much else than what he was already doing. In his heart and mind, Toshinori was no longer suited to be in the practical at the least, kicking the bastard out of U.A wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration either, he knew, and Aizawa didn’t understand why Nedzu refused to see eye-to-eye. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Nedzu cared about the students, and Midoriya, as much as he claimed he did.