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For humanity, sleep is supposed to be a beautiful thing. Many people seek out the relief it brings them, the peace. Sleep is supposed to grant its recipient a hideaway from the solidity of the real world. But for Midoriya Izuku, sleep grants him nothing but nightmares.
They leave him pale, sweaty, shaking. They leave blood staining the back of his eyelids like some knock-off Pollock painting. They leave Nighteye and Mirio dying at his feet, leave Eri on an operating table with needles and tubes and wires running down her arms and her legs and every bit of exposed skin. They leave her to die and reincarnate at Overhaul’s blood-soaked hands over and over and over again.
They leave him jerking awake with sheets tangled around his feet and hanging off the end of his bed. And, sometimes, after particularly brutal nightmares, it leaves Aoyama knocking softly at his door to ask if he’s okay.
Izuku stumbles out of bed after his latest dream, breathing erratic and throat hoarse from the screaming that the rest of his floor had probably woken up to.
He opens his door to reveal a pajama-clad Aoyama.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes automatically, hand tightly gripping the doorframe to stop it from shaking.
Izuku can see the dark circles strung beneath the blonde’s eyes.
This is the third time this week.
“ Monsieur Midoriya,” Aoyama murmurs, taking in teen’s shaken and disheveled appearance. “I know you’ve said that you were fine, but… there is obviously something bothering you.”
Izuku’s other hand tightens on the doorknob. He can feel a headache creeping its way across his skull from trying so desperately to hold back his tears.
“It may be something you feel I am unequipped to deal with, and if that is the case, mon ami, then I am sure Monsieur Aizawa will be able to alleviate whatever it is that’s bothering you, if only by a fraction.” Aoyama’s hair is ruffled, clothes rumpled, and he looks far more tired than they have a right to be. But, beneath all that lies genuine worry shimmering in his eyes like stardust.
Lead seeps into Izuku's lungs at the sight of it. He's not the only one affected by his dreams. They're beginning to affect his classmates—his friends . He forces a wobbly smile to his face; the best one he can manage past the residual nightmare of Mirio’s outstretched hand. It’s bloodied in this version, a cruel, alternate ending of what had happened on that urban battlefield. Aoyama's wavering smile tells him it comes out as more of a grimace.
“Thank you, and I’m sorry for waking you up again,” Izuku says.
“We are amis now , Monsieur Midoriya. There’s no need to thank moi .”
Morning arrives quietly. Class 1-A rises for another school day with all the excitement you'd expect from a group of teenagers.
Midoriya is the last to emerge from his room, creeping quietly down the stairs until he hears the sounds of his classmates in the common room.
“Bro.” Kaminari’s voice travels down the hall, too loud for how early it is. “You look absolutely beat .”
Izuku can hear the tired whine that seeps into Mineta’s voice as he answers. “It’s Midoriya's fault. He’s been keeping me awake for days. He keeps yelling in the middle of the night. No one on our floor can sleep through it.”
“That was Midoriya?” Kaminari exclaims, “I thought Tokoyami had been staying up late listening to music.”
“It’s no fault of Monsieur Midoriya,” Aoyama says, defending the boy. Izuku’s chest tightens, he knows that despite his friend’s words that he was the one at fault for their equally sleepless nights. “He’s simply been plagued with many cauchemars as of late.”
“Dude, I just want you to know that I have absolutely no idea what that means.”
Izuku peeks around the corner, watching as Momo steps out of the kitchen with a cup of tea between her hands. “I’m not sure I know what that means either. Dreams? Or nightmares?” She sends Aoyama an inquisitive glance, looking for confirmation.
Izuku ducks back behind the wall, keeping himself hidden from his classmates as guilt crawls up his throat. His dreams—his nightmares —were supposed to be something he suffered through alone. He hadn't thought that they would affect anyone else; he thought he’d be the only one jolting awake in the small hours before dawn, choking out screams and holding back tears.
Tokoyami, Mineta, Aoyama, possibly more—they can’t sleep because of him . He's the reason they're waking up with dark circles beneath their eyes that are beginning to rival his own.
He supposes it’s only a matter of time before the others start to lose sleep as well.
Most of them don’t know of Eri or Overhaul or Nighteye. They didn’t know what happened, didn’t live through it the way he did. They didn’t see Eri’s terror, or Mirio’s selflessness, or Nighteye’s sacrifice, or Overhaul’s wrath. And yet they’re still affected by all of it. All because of him.
He needs to rein everything in—his nightmares, his phantom terror. He needs to smother it before it has the chance to lash out at any more of his friends, before it has the chance to drag them into the darkness too.
The people here are beacons of light, he knows they have the potential to give hope to the masses, to put them at ease. They don’t belong in the darkness.
They deserve better than where his nightmares have dragged him.
Early morning passes without further incident. Izuku doesn’t eat, too self-conscious to enter the common room after what he’d overheard. He can’t say he particularly regrets the decision; his more recent nightmares have a bad habit of turning his stomach in the morning.
He makes it to class a few minutes before Aizawa is set to show up, and Uraraka excitedly flags him over to her desk when he walks in. “Midoriya! I didn’t see you downstairs this morning. Did you get anything to eat?”
Iida turns in his seat, following his progress across the room. “I didn’t see you either. Were you working on homework at the last minute? As UA students, it is very unpro–”
Izuku sheepishly scratches at the back of his head, cutting his friend off before he can say anything more. “No, I just wasn’t feeling too hungry this morning. I ate a big dinner last night.” The last part is a blatant lie, and he can tell from the slight fall of Uraraka’s lips that she knows it.
“Midoriya,” Yaoyorozu calls, just a few seats down from the trio. “If you didn’t eat I’ve got a few energy bars in my backpack.” She digs through her bag for a moment before pulling one out. “I usually keep a few extra in my bag in case my quirk requires it.” She gently holds it out for him to take.
Behind him, Iida’s hand swipes through the air in one of his signature hand gestures. “As hero course students, it’s important that we eat a balanced breakfast every morning, Midoriya. Though an energy bar is hardly a suitable replacement, it is imperative to take in some nourishment before the beginning of class.”
Izuku feels guilt swell in his throat. He doesn’t dare refuse the offer though, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Yaoyorozu.” He offers her a smile, but the warmth it usually sparks is absent. It’s been absent for a long time now.
Despite the small boost from Yaoyorozu's energy bar, getting through the rest of the day is difficult. His sleepless nights are taking their toll and he fights to stay awake in second period. Cementoss lets him doze in their literature class, but Midnight keeps up a near-constant barrage of questions in art history just to make sure he stays awake—a fact he finds entirely too ironic with her quirk being what it is. Present Mic's English class is the only one he doesn't have an issue staying awake in. The man's voice is loud enough to keep anyone conscious.
Most of the day passes in the same manner. He forces himself to stay awake at lunch, choking down a small bowl of rice under the watchful eyes of his friends. But it takes every ounce of willpower he has just to feign a sense of normalcy for them. Iida and Uraraka trade worried glances that he pretends not to see. Izuku can tell they want to say something, but they hold their tongues when they see him eating.
Hero training is the only class that allows him to focus on something other than just trying to stay awake. Unfortunately, the something that takes his attention does more harm to his mental state than forcing himself to stay conscious does.
They’re supposed to be sparring—practicing quirkless hand-to-hand combat under the guidance of Aizawa and the thin, stick-like figure of All Might. In any other scenario he’s certain there would be no problem, but he’s been paired with Bakugou. Every time Izuku looks at blonde, all he can see is Eri's eyes—the same bright, burning shade of red—filled with fear and terror and hopelessness.
Dust rises as Bakugou spins on him, grabbing Izuku’s arm and forcing it up to lock behind him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bakugou growls. “You lookin’ down on me, nerd?”
Izuku lets his head drop, eyes falling to the bright vermilion of his boots. He’s tired, oh so tired. “Never.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrow before he pushes Izuku away with a shove. “Then pull yourself together. You won’t save anyone lookin’ like that, Shitty Nerd.”
Izuku knows that the blonde’s words are supposed to be a backwards way of encouraging him, but they serve to do the exact opposite.
I couldn’t save anyone either way, a bitter voice in his head responds.
At the end of their heroics training Izuku manages to make it to the locker rooms before All Might can try to pull him aside to talk. He only catches the beginnings of his name before he makes it through the door.
I can’t face him yet.
As 1-A finishes up in the locker rooms, they all trickle back to their classroom to retrieve their belongings. It’s slow going for Izuku. His limbs drag, heavy with exhaustion, and he ends up being the last one out. Most of the others have already come and gone by the time he gets back to class. He passes Kouda on the way there and the quiet boy gives him a small smile that Izuku can’t bring himself to return.
Tokoyami is the only one left in the room when he slips in. Izuku catches the other boy’s silhouette from the corner of his eye. And there’s something (what, he doesn’t know) that makes him do a double-take. Maybe it’s his exhaustion or his trauma or some sick, twisted combination of them both. But, when Izuku turns to get a better look at the boy, Tokoyami's vermilion eyes bleed into a startling shade of burnished gold.
Izuku watches as the boy’s crown of tar-colored feathers take the form of dark auburn hair in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. His beak grows gears and other bits of metal, and the sides of his mouth are threaded shut by strands of golden twine.
“Midoriya?” When Tokoyami speaks, it’s not him that Izuku sees and hears, but Overhaul. Faux gold eyes narrow at him.
“Lemillion was just as tenacious.”
Izuku stumbles back, terror flooding through him.
The mask begins ripping apart at the seams, the shimmering thread unraveling as the maw stretches open. “The potential of those who refuse to give up sure is something.”
Tokoyami watches him with growing worry. “Midoriya? Are you quite alright?”
Izuku gives him a shaky nod, desperately trying to pull himself out of the illusion. “I-I’m fine,” he manages to choke out. The fear in his chest is pulling him apart from the inside out and there’s a moment where he worries that Eri’s quirk is still affecting him. But, the thought is gone in an instant though because Overhaul is in front of him and he can’t even remember if he’s managed to save her yet.
“ A pathetic little would-be hero driven by his emotions… Reaching out for whatever sense of petty justice he stumbles across… Cannot stop me!”
“Midoriya, you’re crying.”
Izuku forcibly wrenches himself out of the storming cry of chaos that his mind had dragged him into.
I saved her. She’s okay. I saved her. He forces the corners of his mouth to curl into a smile. It wobbles at the edges, and he knows it doesn’t convince Tokoyami that he’s alright. In fact, it only seems to make him worry more.
“N-No worries.” Izuku’s eyes close with the faux smile, blocking out the form of Overhaul still standing before him. “Crying is p-pretty normal for me, remember?”
I’ve troubled everyone enough.
His stuttered words do nothing to soothe Tokoyami’s worry, but he does nothing to stop Izuku from grabbing his backpack and disappearing out the door.
Back at the dorms, he showers and slips into his room to hide until his stomach demands to be fed. It’s nearly eight, and his classmates have long since disappeared into their rooms for the night. All the downstairs lights have been turned off by now and Midoriya is left to make food in the encompassing darkness.
He eats in silence and his only light is the dim, orange glow of lamp posts seeping through the common room’s large windows. He murmurs a quiet “ itadakimasu ” to himself before gently blowing and taking a bite of the instant ramen before him.
“Midoriya.” The sound of his name startles him, and he turns to look at its source.
Izuku quickly chews his food before swallowing. “Sensei.”
Aizawa stands illuminated in a thin stream of light, barely visible in his dark ensemble. “Care to explain why All Might came to me after class insisting that I check on you?”
Izuku’s eyes widen. “I—”
“I had to leave Eri alone with Yamada for this, Midoriya,” Aizawa stresses.
Izuku freezes.
He's taking care of her.
He feels a welling of tears threatening to spill forth and quickly turns away, head bowing over his lap. “H-How is she? Eri, I mean.”
Aizawa lets out a tired sigh, as if he’d been expecting this conversation. “She wakes up to nightmares most nights.” Izuku flinches at the news. “She’s young. It’ll take her some time, but she’ll be okay.”
Izuku nods mutely, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shorts.
Aizawa releases a breath. “The world can be an ugly place,” he says, arms folding across his chest. “Heroes exist to make the world just a little less so, but in order to do that we have to face that ugliness ourselves.”
Izuku bobs his head again, biting his lip as tears blur his vision. It wasn’t the ugliness that he was scared of facing. It was facing the ugliness and losing to it at the cost of peoples’ lives.
Aizawa looks to the side, staring out one of the windows. “I disagreed with the internships from the beginning. You’re all too young.”
Too inexperienced, Midoriya’s brain supplies, Too powerless.
He was there , his brain reminds him, he knows what happened.
Midoriya finds a sort of solace in the thought. But solace isn’t enough. He lifts his head and turns back to his teacher. “Um, about All Might. I’ve been kind of avoiding him recently. That’s probably why he came to you. I just needed some time to...think about things, I guess.”
Aizawa studies him in the dim light. “Make sure to tell him that. He’s a dense man. You should know by now that you have to be clear with him.”
Izuku nods.
“Well, hurry and finish eating,” the hero prompts. “Make sure you’re in your room before curfew.”
“ Hai .”
Aizawa turns to take his leave. Izuku doesn’t see the thoughtful look his teacher aims at his back. “Goodnight, Midoriya.”
“Goodnight, Sensei.”
Izuku turns back towards his food, staring into the thinning steam rising from his noodles. He lets his eyes fall closed.
I even managed to worry All Might and Aizawa-sensei.
Izuku trudges his way up to his dorm when he’s done, drifting down the hall like a wraith. He slips inside his room quietly, not even bothering to flick on the lights as he makes a beeline for his bed. He tosses and turns for half an hour, replaying his conversation with Aizawa over and over again before he finally falls asleep.
He’d hoped for a peaceful rest, if only for tonight.
He really should have known better.
He's been thrown into a realm of inky blackness—a dreamscape of nothingness, right up until it isn’t. In the dark, memories of Nighteye’s bloodied face come back to him.
“There’s an infinite number of possible futures,” he wheezes, lying on the half-tangible lake of pitch that surrounds them. “And in every one of them… You fail to save me.”
Izuku wants to cry, wants to reach out and help the hero, wants to save him, wants to prove him wrong.
But he can’t. The dream won’t let him. He tries to scream, but inky slime spills from his lips instead—reminiscent of the sludge villain he thought he’d long since overcome. He stumbles back, clutching at his throat, unable to breathe as the slime takes the form of hands that gently coax his head away from the vision of the fallen hero.
In the distance, Izuku can make out Mirio’s figure. Nighteye and the slime disappear in an instant, slipping from his vision the moment Mirio comes into view. The scene before him wavers, stark and bright against the inky darkness. Mirio crouches over Eri’s cowering form, protecting her with a reassuring smile.
They’re far away, but Izuku can see every detail—every injury, every rip of cloth, every particle of dust drifting through the air around them.
Then it’s Izuku that’s being sheltered, wrapped up in the other’s tattered vermilion cape, taking Eri’s place. Mirio is crouched over him, protecting him from whatever monsters lie behind them.
“You’re the one who started quirkless,” Mirio murmurs. “So, why am I suddenly the one without power?” Tears build in his blue eyes, falling like raindrops as his smile crumbles. Izuku’s chest clenches tightly at the other’s plight. “How can I save a million people like this?”
Izuku wants to reach out and comfort him, wants to remind him of Nighteye’s words. But he can’t. He can’t do anything, can’t save anyone. He’s useless. He’s always been useless.
“Take it!” Midoriya cries, “Take One For All!”
Mirio is there, until he isn’t, and suddenly there’s nothing standing between Izuku and the inky, roiling mass in front of him. From the darkness emerges Overhaul, his mask glinting beneath some invisible light source, his claw-like hands slick with Nighteye’s blood. They reach for him through the darkness, bare fingers wrapping around his throat. His bird-like maw opens and out spills Bakugou’s voice. “Useless Deku. You’ll never save anyone.”
Izuku jerks awake, feet once again tangled in his sheets. His heart shutters and shakes within his chest.
His eyes burn as they adjust to the darkness of his room. It’s a natural darkness, so unlike the inky emptiness of his dreamscape.
I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save any of them.
“Useless Deku.”
He tries to remind himself that there’s Eri, and that she exists and that they’d saved her. It’s not enough to quiet the voices in his head. Nothing is ever enough.
“She’s okay,” he whispers to himself, rocking gently in his bed, his fingers scraping through his hair. “She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.” He murmurs the words endlessly. “She’s young,” he repeats Aizawa’s words again and again. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. She’ll be fine.”
But, he knows. Izuku knows that even if she’s okay, that even if she’s alright, there are others, others that he could’ve saved, should have saved.
If I’d saved just one more person. Just one more person. His mind roars, dragging him down further into the darkness, further into Chisaki Kai’s blood-soaked grasp. Just one more person.
But he knows that just one more person would never be enough for him.
Nothing would ever be enough.
He would never be enough.
He muffles back a choked sob, not wanting to wake anyone else up again.