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It took four days for Izuku to break down; after the surgeries, the panic, the morphine.
The first day was nothing but surgery and sleep; a hazy, post-nightmarish fog for both Toshinori and Inko and a wiped disk for their son. The second day was... worse, in a way. As often as he was hurt, Toshinori couldn't remember ever hearing Izuku truly scream before. Not until he saw; until he felt.
The doctors were quick to sedate him after that, and Izuku spent the second and third days in a haze of morphine; hand red from being held for so long.
Today had been the opposite of all that. Izuku had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, minus one drug-induced nap the doctors forced on him; too in shock to sleep. In all that time, he had barely spoken to either of them.
Poor Inko had suffered the opposite fate; she’d finally crashed a few hours ago; still dead to the world on the hard hospital sofa, which left Toshinori to try coaxing Izuku into resting.
At 11:30 PM, he saw the moment Izuku's unrested eyes snapped open; this time with a cold, knowing depth that told Toshinori what was coming. He had just enough time to cross the room before the poor kid was thrashing; panting raggedly as he crawled for the edge of the bed. Toshinori caught him just in time, and two minutes later Izuku was shaking in Toshinori’s arms, mouth wrenched open as silent sobs wracked his body. It was the most emotion he’d shown since that last horrific onslaught.
"I know," Toshinori whispered, stroking his hair over and over. "I know. I know…"
He did. Of those closest to Izuku, Toshinori was the only one who knew—who could even imagine what it felt like to lay there with a hole punched through the middle of your life. To feel in nauseating detail what had been so perversely carved from your body; unable to sleep; craving painkillers more than food… At forty, he’d known what it felt like to claw up a hospital bed, trying to escape the agony of sawn-through bones between morphine doses.
At forty, Toshinori had wished he’d simply died.
At forty.
Izuku…
Izuku was a baby. A child just barely learning to walk in the world he’d chosen. He was supposed to be worrying about homework and crushes, for God’s sake—not relearning how to live without an arm.
Toshinori bit his lip and cradled him closer; heart splintering when he accidentally jostled the cuff and Izuku half-gagged in pain. Whispering frantic apologies, Toshinori curled white knuckles in his hair and gently leaned their faces together.
They sat like that for awhile, curled into one another against the wall. Toshinori nuzzled and cooed like a new mother—and for once, he wished Izuku would revert back to the flustered, stammering mess he’d turn into before if coddled. Currently, he was frozen where he sat curled into a ball in Toshinori's arms, mouth wrenched open in a silent howl as he white-knuckled his shirt with his good arm—his only arm. It had been a quiet hope of Toshinori's that Izuku would grow more comfortable with closeness, but not like this. Anything but this.
“W—would you have given it to me?” a tiny voice squeaked. “If you’d known, w—hic—what would you…?" A hiccup. Then; "W—would you have wanted me?”
Toshinori was good at hiding his emotions; he had hidden and faked them for a living for decades, but heaven and earth couldn’t stop the tears that suddenly flooded down his bony cheeks. 'Of course,' he wanted to scream. Of course.
Izuku was tucked so deep in his heart that Toshinori couldn't remember how it felt without him. Cold and hollow for sure; devoid of the pride and joy so strong his heart felt fit to burst. Wanted him? Toshinori would die without his boy; maybe he'd already be dead.
But he also saw the bleaker reality; the way Izuku flinched and trembled at any loud noise. How little he was eating (and how little he could keep down). The dullness of his once-expressive eyes, even now. The way he watched the doors and windows like attackers lurked behind them. In his arms, Toshinori felt how small Izuku still was under the toned, battered exterior, and no matter how strong he was, it couldn't conceal his youth. Toshinori frowned.
If he'd known… If he'd looked at that overexcited twig of a boy from over a year ago and known he'd end up here…
Toshinori didn't know. Frankly, he felt a bit selfish, because the grief alone of never knowing Izuku was enough to make him decide. But Toshinori knew the answer his boy wanted, and it wasn't one he could give. He couldn't tell the truth either; not while Izuku was suffering. In the end, Toshinori just heaved a weary sigh; planting a kiss on his temple.
"Come on," he murmured.
He’d lost weight already. Toshinori could feel it as he struggled to lift Izuku back into bed. Izuku would normally protest at being carried around, but right now he just hid his face in Toshinori's chest, fingers tugging his shirt as he laid his precious cargo on the mattress. Izuku stared blankly at the ceiling as Toshinori tucked him in and sat down on the mattress; not even looking at him when he ran his fingers through bushy curls. For a minute, they just sat, soaking up each other's presence, and neither wanting to be alone yet.
“… You came back to me,” Toshinori eventually whispered, eyes shimmering with tears. "You'll never know…" his throat closed on the words, and he found Izuku's hand under the covers instead. "... You came back to me," he whimpered, squeezing till his knuckles turned white.
Izuku bit his lip at that, eyes leaden with his own tears, and Toshinori knew exactly what he was thinking. He had thought it himself; too many times to count.
Izuku was thinking; I wish I hadn't.
He was already pulling the covers back again, slipping off the flimsy hospital flats to crawl in beside his boy. It was hard to gather him up in his arms like this without hurting him, but Toshinori managed to fold himself around the small, broken body; tucking him securely against his chest.
Izuku couldn't hug him—his good arm was folded under them, but Toshinori found it and laced their fingers together. With his other hand, he pulled the comforter over their heads before carefully wrapping it around his boy. Izuku didn't fight him, but Toshinori felt his shirt dampening and the way he trembled a little harder. Gently, he hugged him closer, stroking his hair.
"What if—" Izuku croaked against his chest. "What if I'll never be okay again?" Toshinori's heart broke.
Oh Izuku…
Gently, he tipped his boy's head up to look at him, throat tightening at the tears still streaming down his cheeks. Toshinori tried in vain to thumb them away, eventually settling on bringing their foreheads together again instead.
"I don't think that's going to happen," he whispered, looking into his boy's eyes. "But even if it does, it's okay. Because you deserve to cry. You deserve to be angry, and scared, and hurt… It's okay to hurt." Izuku hiccupped, blubbering something that almost sounded like words as he shook even harder. Another kiss was left as Toshinori shushed him, gently adjusting so he could hug him tighter. When Izuku retreated into his chest again, he let him; rhythmically smoothing back his curls.
"And I'll be with you," he whispered. "Day by day; piece by piece. I know you're strong enough to put yourself back together, but you don't have to do it alone. Your mother and I—we'll pick up the pieces, and," his voice softened as his arms tightened. "And hold you when you need it."
Izuku was silent, but Toshinori felt the shuddering exhale and warmth of fresh tears against his shirt. He melted.
"Shh," he crooned, barely louder than the machines whirring next to them. "It's okay. I've got you. I love you…”
Izuku only whimpered, but soon his labored breathing began to slow, along with the tremors. But even long after he'd drifted off, Toshinori remained wide awake. He knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight; just like he'd barely slept the three before—but that was okay. He dared to nuzzle into soft curls, closing his eyes.
As long as Izuku was here in his arms, it was okay.