Chapter Text
The first thing he was acutely aware of was the smell. The metallic sent was so strong that he fought to hold in his gag reflex. He was disoriented; unaware of what had just occurred only a few minutes prior.
And when he did remember, the memories flooded him with such agony that his legs almost gave out from under him. When he remembered exactly what he had just done, he suddenly found it so much harder to breathe. He forgot how to breathe.
He felt the selfishness crawl up his spine that he was even able to draw in a few short gasps of polluted air when everyone else's right to breathe was stripped away from them before they could even blink.
He should be dead. He's the one that deserved it, he's the one that deserved the pain. That's what his tormentors told him at least, and he believed it with all his heart. He should've been the one on the ground, unmoving. But here he was, very much alive in a field of bodies.
He wondered how long he stayed there. How long his hands shook, how long it took him to comprehend that this wasn't a dream and never will be.
Whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours, he didn't know. Nor could he bring himself to care. He let a single tear escape his eye as he drew in a breath that turned into a broken chuckle. He should've known this would have happened, why hadn't he known? Maybe he was just never meant to be happy.
Or... Maybe he could be.
Izuku stood up straighter and willed his hands to stop shaking. He had no idea how far back he will able to go, or the drawbacks, but he needed to try.
If he couldn't do that then he might as well just give up.
He screwed up once, he'd be damned if he did it again.
Everything flashed white and he let his eyes close; he felt himself fall,
but he never hit the ground.
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When he woke up, he found himself in the arms of another. The soft, gentle fingers caressing his head and the gentle rubs on his back made him fight to stay awake, and eventually, he was being pulled back into darkness. The exhaustion far too deep to ignore.
When Izuku woke up again, things were a lot clearer. He knew where he would be, but he still couldn't help the feeling of surprise wash over him as he found himself at his childhood home, before he moved into the dorms. Izuku realized that he was once again in the arms of the another, only he wasn't being carried this time and was on what seemed to be the couch. When he looked up he came across another pair of green eyes. He couldn't help the tears spring into his eyes and spill down his cheeks because this was his mother he was looking at. She looked so much younger and healthier than before and the worry lines his mother possessed from the other timeline weren't there anymore.
Izuku promised himself to make her worry as little as possible in this life.
He let his small arms wrap around his mother's frame as tight as they could. He didn't know how old he was, but he was definitely young enough to where it was hard to form full sentences.
A few weeks later, he was sitting at a table with a small cupcake in front of him. There was a small candle that was shaped like the number two sitting on top of it.
His mother and the Bakugo family were the only people there. The only people he needed.
He blew on the candle.
______________
"K-kacchan."
He was having a play date with Katsuki when he had let it slip. His mother and Mitsuki were laughing while taking a video of the whole thing. He was quite embarrassed with all of the extra attention and he felt his face heat up which only seemed to make the two adults giggle even more.
Even though they were only a few months apart, Katsuki was already stronger than him and had the exceptional ability to speak almost fluently while Izuku still struggled. He had to keep reminding himself that he was two, but it still frustrated him, because even now, Katsuki was ahead. He wanted to be equal with him again, just like he was in his last life. It scared him to think that there relationship might be rocky like it was last time. Katsuki and his mom were the only things keeping him sane and he didn't know if he could loose Katsuki again. Even if it was only for a few years.
Kacchan gave him a look of surprise, but he could faintly see the red the hovered on his cheeks. "W-what did you just say?" He couldn't tell if he made him angry by calling him the nickname. He just hoped Katsuki would let him call that again. Izuku doesn't know if he could ever call him 'Katsuki' or 'Bakugo' without it feeling weird on his tongue.
He took a minute to think, because while he was getting better at talking, it still took a lot of concentration. "I... I called you Kacchan. Do- do you not like it?" He hated how childish and weak he sounded, but how could a two year old not sound childish?
Izuku looked at Bakugo expectingly, hoping that he'd be okay with it. He had worked really hard in these short few months to become closer to Katsuki than he was during the last time he was this age. He didn't want it to go to waste. "N-no. I like it." Kacchan had declared while the faint red on his cheeks darkened.
He couldn't help but smile.
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Inko knew her child was different.
Before the age of two he had tried to start talking in complete sentences and he even tried to read. The first time Izuku grabbed a book and started to read it, Inko thought he might have just been pretending. After all, she herself read all the time so maybe he was copying her. She let him keep at it, because at least it occupied him and gave him something to do.
It wasn't until Izuku's second birthday that she realized that he indeed was reading and not pretending. It baffled her, how could her son know how to read? She hasn't even thought about teaching him how to, and yet, here he was, reading children books that seemed to bore him. When he had gathered courage to ask for a book that she was sure that even she would have trouble reading Inko found herself at a loss.
Inko bought it for him. After all, if he couldn't read it now (She was positive that he couldn't), he could always try again in a few years.
He finished it in a week.
To prove it to her that he did read it, he tried his best to explain it using words that confused her (she may or may not have looked a few up).
He was also extremely protective of the people that he was comfortable around, which wasn't a lot for a kid his age. He asked about the Bakugo's everyday and asked about their kid, Katsuki, at least twice a day. It was the worst for her, though. It made her concerned because he would make sure he was next to her almost twenty-four seven and if he wasn't near her for more than twenty minutes, he'll go off asking a million questions about where she was and what she was doing. Inko had a suspicion that her son had a some type of separation anxiety from the way he was acting. It wasn't until he was positive that she wouldn't leave him did Izuku start getting less clingy.
Then the nightmares started to appear. At first, Inko thought nothing of it. Everybody gets nightmares, it's completely normal. That is until she noticed how he would wake up screaming at least once a week with a face filled with so much horror that she just knew that this wasn't normal. The bags under his eyes never seemed to go away and she worried how much sleep Izuku was exactly getting because it couldn't be enough for someone his age. It couldn't be healthy.
Inko had taken him to the doctors after the third week of Izuku's night terrors. The doctor said that he should grow out of it and prescribed some sleeping pills.
It didn't help the fact that Izuku refused to take the pills. He would look at the pills with such distaste and he flinched every time Inko tried to persuade him to take one. He refused, and even tried to convince his mother that he was sleeping a lot more now, that he didn't need some medicine to help him. He was doing fine.
It was another bad night for both of Midoryia's. Inko's stress wouldn't let her mind calm down enough for her to fall asleep so she settled with making some tea to help calm her. When she was making the tea, Inko heard the soft pitter-patter of her son's feet coming down the hallway. He had peaked through the door and asked if he could have some tea, too. She wasn't sure if she should let her son stay up this late, but it seemed like he wouldn't be able to sleep either way.
So they huddled on the couch together with a warm cup of tea in their hands. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and probably not going to be the last. Inko was internally grateful for her son, because without him, she wouldn't know what to do. He was everything to her, and she would protect him with her life.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She knew the answer, but Inko found herself asking him this every time.
He stopped his head mid-swing and seemed to reconsider. This sparked a hope in Inko that she might finally find out what's been haunting her son. Izuku put the now empty cup on the coffee stand and snuggled closer to her and closed his eyes.
In a voice that was a whisper, but also held a wave of calmness that was about to contradict what he was about to say he spoke, "There's just so much blood. Too much blood. No one should be able to bleed that much, it should be impossible." And then like he hadn't just said something so disturbing, he fell asleep next to his mother.
Inko was horrified. Her son was way to young to be conjuring up those images, let alone have recurring nightmares about them. There had to be something she was missing. A villain attack that he had heard about? A glimpse of someone's TV?
Her son was different in ways that made her smile, made her cry, and scared her.
But Inko will always love him no matter what.