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His classmates soared high above him. His own wings were held aloft behind him, but he couldn’t touch the air. With every beat they got farther away, the wind whistling in his ears. He was falling, falling so far. He couldn’t see the sky anymore, couldn’t feel the wind.
He was trapped, underground, confined, repressed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath.
His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, and he strained against the confines, wanting to break out, to break free.
But his wings ached, they hurt and they faltered, and they weren’t his, they were someone else's, and he wanted to scream.
Dirt flooded his lungs, choked out his air, crushed his feathers until he was blacking out, spots dancing across his vision as everything faded to black.
~
Jerking awake, he stumbled over to his trash can, heaving stomach acid and bile into it. He panted, drawing gasps of breath, wings fully extended behind him, quivering and shaking. The dream had felt so real that he had to pat himself down, check that he wasn’t covered in dirt, suffocating in his own inability.
He wiped his mouth, looking down into the trash can with disgust. Guess he was taking that out now.
It took several minutes for him to get his wings (not his) to cooperate, shoving on a baggy hoodie and stepping out. His limbs were shaking, his mouth felt dry, and he could still taste the acid in the back of his throat. But, he thought, as he dumped the trash bag, ‘ at least I’m still alive.’
The routine was normal by now, after years of taking semi-care of himself. Wash his mouth, brush his teeth, gargle some water. Take a short shower, put his clothes in the laundry, and go back to sleep.
Except, this time, he didn’t want to sleep. He felt the familiar pull of the sky, the tug in his soul, the wish to fly. But he couldn’t, hadn’t, for years.
Still, he found himself drawn to the roof, to the open skies he used to love so much as a child.
“Could I really fly again?” he wondered to himself,slipping out onto the roof. He expected to be alone there, all his classmates were still sleeping. But, he forgot that Aizawa and Toshinori lived in the same complex as them, for safety purposes.
The two were doing casual loops in the sky, appearing to be having some sort of conversation. He sunk into the shadows, pushing back his instinctive want to join them. He had only worn a shirt outside, not expecting to see anyone else, and his wings looked strange in the moonlight.
“I’m worried about him, Shouta,” Toshinori said, swooping close to the roof. He froze, not daring to move in case he was spotted. Aizawa looped around Toshinori, wings silent.
“About Midoriya?” Aizawa said, and Izuku shrunk farther back into the shadows.
“Yes. He’s a trouble magnet, and we can’t always be there. And you saw his wings,” Toshinori said, hovering above the roof. Shouta stopped, reaching out and twining hands with Toshinori. Izuku abruptly realized he probably shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t for him to see.
“I know you’re worried. I am too. You know how long he’s liked both of us, yet he hesitated earlier when we offered our hands. He’s scared of something, but… I don’t know. It’s not our place yet to ask what,” Aizawa said, and Izuku pulled is wings closer to his body, self conscious. The two landed, and Toshinori sighed, leaning his head onto Aizawa’s shoulder.
“I know. I don’t like seeing him so scared of us though,” he said, and Aizawa ran a hand through his hair. Izuku began to shuffle back to the door, hoping that he could get away unseen. This was clearly a private moment he accidentally intruded on, and he really didn’t want to keep intruding.
“I don’t either. But he’s clearly gone through some trauma, and healing takes time. We just have to be there for him, more-so than before,” Aizawa said, and Izuku winced as he kicked a stray bottle, the sound rattling through the night like a gunshot. Aizawa and Toshinori jumped apart, wings flaring out as they both searched for the noise.
“S-Sorry, just me,” Izuku whispered, figuring he might as well reveal himself now. They both relaxed, looking over to him.
“Midoriya. What are you doing up here?” Aizawa asked, and he hesitantly stepped out of the shadows.
“I-I couldn’t sleep, s-so I came to look at the s-stars,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I-I didn’t w-want to intrude, though. I-I can l-leave.”
“It’s fine, Midoriya. You really should be sleeping though,” Toshinori said, wings relaxing. He didn’t respond, too busy studying Aizawa’s wings. They were sleek, looking sliver in the moonlight. Except….
A single slash mark crossed his right wing, going from the top all the way down to the wing tip. The feathers covered it, mostly, but flashes of the scars still shown through. He blinked in surprise when the wing moved, realizing Aizawa had seen him staring. But, instead of tucking it in, he extended it, letting the full length show.
“Do you want to see them?” Aizawa asked, and Izuku was floored because it felt like an immense sign of trust. A lot of everyday people had their wings out all the time, but for someone with damaged or injured wings, it was a sign of trust.
Izuku nodded, stepping further out of the shadows. He projected his movements, hyper aware of everything. He stopped half a meter away, looking over each feather. Toshinori stepped back a bit, and he felt the urge to reach out and touch the wing. His hand was p before he realized, but he froze, not wanting to invade any more than he had.
Aizawa lifted his wing, gently bumping it against Izuku hand, and he looked at his mate, surprised. Aizawa gave him a small nod, as if saying it was okay, and Izuku hesitantly reached out.
The feathers were soft, light, slick in a way meant for speed. He knew the wing well, having spent his entire life with its partner on his back. His hands moved of their own volition, tugging feathers into place and smoothing out dust and dirt. He found an old feather, damaged and broken, gently removing it so a new one could grow in.
He suddenly froze, feeling a hand hovering over his wings. He turned, seeing Toshinori looking at him questioningly, one hand suspended over his back. He could feel Aizawa’s eyes on his as well as he waged an internal battle against himself.
‘Do I trust them enough? Will they be offended if I don’t? Am I comfortable with this? Do I want this?’
“Izuku, it’s alright,” Toshinori said, withdrawing his hand. “It’s okay, we aren’t going to force you.”
He let out a breath, relief warring with a sadness in his head. He wanted to trust them, wanted so badly for them to know he trusted them with his life. But not with his wings.
It was such a stupid thing, he thought, angry with himself. He would trust them to protect him, but not to not hurt him. His self loathing rose, and in a moment of impulsive weakness, he let one of his wings unfold, extending it fully.
He stared determinedly at Aizawa’s wing, continuing to preen it, refusing to look at his mates faces. This was what he could offer, for now. This is what he was willing to give.
“Izuku….” Toshinori sounded so sad, so sorry for him.
“ ‘s’not your fault. It probably looks worse than it is,” he replied, determinedly not meeting their gazes. It was the wing that looked like All Might’s, red, blue, white and yellow feathers clashing together violently.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa said, and he looked up. Aizawa was staring at his wing, something like fury in his gaze.
“When was the last time you preened your feathers?” he asked, and Izuku hunched down.
“... Middle school. I haven’t preened them since I broke my wing,” he said, and both adults sucked in a sharp breath. Suddenly there was a hand on his wing and he froze, jerking it back, because hands meant fire meant pain and he didn’t want to be burned again.
“I’m sorry oh god I’m so sorry,” Toshinori babbled, withdrawing his hand instantly. Izuku forced himself to breath, to remind himself that these people wouldn’t hurt him, they wouldn’t burn him.
“It’s fine,” he said, Toshinori cutting him off.
“No, it’s not. I should have asked permission first, I apologize,” he said, and Izuku looked at him. He looked genuinely scared, like he had messed something up really bad. Withdrawing his wing, he pulled his hands back to himself.
“...Alright. Please don’t do it again,” he said, pushing down another ‘it’s fine’. He found it almost funny that there were exactly two people he trusted with his wings, and neither of them were his mates or himself. He wondered if Uraraka would be saddened or delighted to be one of the two. He knew his mother would be happy she wasn’t the only one, anymore.
He drew back, looking around the rooftop. It would be the perfect place for some cheesy romantic moment, where they all confessed their love and swapped wings and kissed and lived with a happily ever after. But he thought, looking at the slightly disappointed looks on his mates faces, it was much too early for that.
“I-I think I’m going to h-head back to sleep. G-Goodnight,” he said, before beating a hasty retreat. He thought he heard one of them call out to him as the door closed, but he ignored it, taking the steps two at a time until he was back on his own floor. Retreating to his room, he was quick to duck under his covers, ignoring everything else.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of moonlit wings, and stars close enough to touch.