Work Text:
There is a killer on the loose, but all Izuku can think about is his date with Kacchan. His not-date. Whatever it is. Thoughts swirl around in his skull like clothes in a washing machine set to spin cycle, and he barely avoids bumping into a couple as he walks down the sidewalk.
After Shigaraki’s defeat, their entire class attended private therapy sessions with Hound Dog. It was a mandate from UA in the wake of the last battle. But even after attending the minimum required number of sessions, Izuku kept going. He had so much on his mind, too many things to deal with on his own. Hound Dog wasn’t the most...approachable person, but he was the school’s guidance counselor for a reason. He got results.
It’s a strange thing, to have feelings for your childhood bully. Kacchan may also be his childhood friend, but his behavior from the past doesn’t just disappear overnight, and the memories don’t fade. As he kicks a pebble down the sidewalk Izuku wonders, not for the first time, if there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.
But Kacchan is so much more than what he used to be. He’s grown into the person Izuku saw in him when they were little. He’s strong, brave, and dependable. He may curse, and shout, and complain, but it’s so tempered compared to his behavior from their first year at UA.
Kacchan may not ever win any awards for niceness, but he’s a hero no matter what. Izuku’s seen him pull people from the wreckage of a building, rush to take a hit for an old lady who’s in the line of fire, and help lost kids find their parents. He may scowl, but he does it anyway.
They’ve known each other their whole lives. There is no one else Izuku would rather be partners with, in any sense of the term.
But the concept of Kacchan returning his feelings is absurd. Or it had been, until the other day, when he approached Izuku and his friends during lunch.
It’s lunchtime at UA, and he’s sitting at the end of the usual booth he takes with his friends, when he feels a presence over his shoulder.
“Deku.”
He spins around in his seat, and looks up. “Oh, Kacchan!”
He’s hanging back from the table a little, as if this would somehow prevent everyone else in the booth from looking at him—it does not. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his back is oddly ramrod straight, like he’s unable to relax, or he’s...nervous? “You know the movie theater on Kino Street? Meet me there at 7:30, Friday night.”
From across the cafeteria, Izuku sees Ashido stand up from her own table and wolf-whistle at them. Kacchan sends them a vicious glare, which she and the rest of his friends laugh off.
Then he turns his gaze back to Izuku, who realizes he’s expecting an answer.
“S-sure!”
Evidently satisfied by this, he nods and stalks back toward his own table. Ashido, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Sero begin scattering like frightened rabbits.
What on Earth was that about? Izuku muses, watching the spectacle that is Bakugou’s friends attempting to escape his wrath. The theater on Kino Street is more expensive than the one our class usually goes to. Unless he meant just the two of us? No, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s paying for everyone? No, that doesn’t add up either—he never flaunts his parents’ money.
“Earth to Deku-kun!”
He blinks and turns back around to face his table, where he’s greeted by the piercing gazes of Ochacho, Iida, Todoroki, and Tsu. He flushes.
“W-what’s everyone looking at me like that for?”
“You know why.” The gleeful look on Ochaco’s face is almost scary. She leans across the table toward him, smirking.
“I...I really don’t,” he stammers. Mouth dry, he snags his milk and takes a sip.
Next to Ochaco, Todoroki states, with the same air of someone saying that the sky is blue, “Bakugou just asked you out on a date.”
Izuku snorts milk up his nose.
On his left, Tsu claps him on the back with an unchanged expression on her face.
On Todoroki’s other side, Iida cuts in over his sputtering. “We could be misinterpreting! We should not give Midoriya false hope until we are absolutely certain—”
“He requested to work the early evening shift with me on Friday night,” Todoroki counters calmly. “He was originally scheduled for late evening, when there is more activity.” “That proves nothing!”
“When have you ever known Bakugou to turn down the opportunity for a fight, kero?” Tsu put in.
“I hate you all,” Izuku mumbles into his food.
“It’s for your own good!” Ochaco says, still grinning. “Since you won’t do anything about your big fat crush on him.”
They’ve known about his feelings for a while now. Izuku is a terrible liar, not that he would have the heart to try anyway. His friends are his favorite people in the whole world.
Except for his mother. And maybe Kacchan.
“There’s nothing to do,” he replies, stubborn. “Friends go to the movies all the time. You’re blowing it out of proportion.”
Later, when he asks Kirishima and Kaminari if they’re going to the movies as well, the two just cackle and quickly walk away.
Once they planted the seed in his head, it grew like a weed.
He reaches the theater at 7:00, and pulls out his phone to check his messages. He texted Kacchan earlier, saying he’ll see him at 7:30. Abruptly, the device rings in his hands, and he scrambles to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Midoriya.” It’s Todoroki. Izuku panics briefly—did something happen on his and Kacchan’s patrol? “I’m on my way back to UA. May I borrow your notes from Ectoplasm’s last lecture?”
He lets out a relieved breath. “Yeah, sure! They’re in my room, on my desk.”
“Thank you.” A pause, then: “Has Bakugou arrived yet?”
“No, but it’s a few minutes past.”
“Indeed. His time card says he checked out at 6:44. He’s most likely around the corner from you.”
Izuku felt a sudden surge of giddiness pulse through him. “Really? Kacchan left patrol early?” That was unusual.
“Yes,” Todoroki replies. His mood is always difficult to read over the phone, but Izuku can detect a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “I suspect he had plans to change clothes, and didn’t want to be late.”
That makes him blush. “Todoroki...”
“I won’t keep you. Enjoy yourself, Midoriya.”
He hangs up. Izuku stares at his phone a moment longer, then glances up from it to scan the street with his eyes. No sign of Kacchan yet.
He turns around, looking down the other end of the street. There’s plenty of people, but no sign of jagged blonde hair.
He’s not even sure which movie they’re seeing, so Izuku just sighs, resigning himself to wait. And wait.
And wait. 7:30 comes, and now Izuku’s worried. Even if Kacchan had missed the bus, that was plenty of time to walk to the theater from the agency. He texts Kacchan’s number.
Izuku: Kacchan? It’s 7:30...are you running late?
He watches the clock on his phone’s screen intently. When five minutes pass with no reply, he tries again.
Izuku: Kacchan?
Todoroki confirmed that he finished his shift at the agency, and would have told him if something had happened during patrol to make him late. So where is he?
He deliberates for a moment, then sends another text to a different number.
Izuku: Sensei, have you seen Kacchan?
His phone dings with a reply almost instantaneously.
Aizawa-sensei: No. Why?
Izuku: I’m supposed to meet him at 7:30 after his shift at Endeavor’s agency. But he isn’t here, and he’s not answering his phone.
Aizawa has drilled several things into his class, and one of those things is communication. When out in the field, lost contact is unacceptable. It means something bad has happened. A hero cannot afford to write things off as faulty equipment or someone just being busy.
They’re not technically on duty right now, but the principle still applies, right?
Evidently Aizawa seems to agree, because the next text reads:
Aizawa-sensei: I will check the dorms first. Don’t do anything until you hear from me.
That’s going to take time. Izuku dithers around the front of the theater for several moments, before he calls Todoroki. He picks up on the second ring.
“Midoriya?”
“Kacchan’s not here!” The words burst out of him like air releasing from a balloon. “Aizawa-sensei’s checking the dorms for him, but...” He trails off, unsure how to explain. “Something is wrong. I can feel it.”
“Okay. I believe you,” Todoroki says. His tone loses its casualness, becoming more focused—he doesn’t waste time second-guessing Izuku or telling him things will be fine. That’s why Izuku loves him. “Where are you? Still at the theater?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming to you.”
He hangs up, and Izuku resumes pacing back and forth in front of the theater. There are less people around now—it’s nearing eight o’clock.
By the time Todoroki reaches him, descending from the sky in a flash of fire and heat, it’s 8:03, and Izuku’s called Kacchan’s phone twice already.
“Anything?”
Izuku shakes his head. The third call goes to voicemail, and he immediately tries again.
“We can go back to the agency,” Todoroki suggests. “Retrace his steps.”
Izuku doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s overreacting, but he cannot shake this feeling of wrongness that has settled over him. Maybe he’s getting paranoid, or maybe he just lost too many people in the fight against Shigaraki, but he can’t ignore his gut on this.
The call goes to voicemail for a third time. He dials again.
Todoroki’s phone rings, and Izuku briefly freezes, watching him pull it out and pick up the call.
“Sensei? Yes, I’m with Midoriya. He’s calling Bakugou’s phone.” He pauses as Aizawa replies. “No, he's still not answered any calls or texts.” Aizawa says something else Izuku can’t hear. “Alright, I’ll tell him.”
The call goes to voicemail. He dials again.
“What is it?” he asks, as Todoroki hangs up on Aizawa and pockets his phone.
“No one’s seen him. He’s got Hatsume Mei working on a trace right now.” Todoroki looks over Izuku once, with a critical eye. “We’ll find him, Izuku.”
The use of his given name calms him, slightly. Todoroki is always so formal—calling him Izuku is his equivalent of a bear hug. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The call goes to voicemail. He dials again.
By the sixth call, pressing the buttons has become such an unconscious movement that he almost misses when the line clicks in his ear.
“Kacchan!” he cries. Todoroki’s eyes widen slightly, and he raises an eyebrow, watching him.
“What do you want, shithead?”
He pauses upon hearing that tone. It’s not Kacchan, not the one Izuku’s gotten close with at any rate. He sounds like he did in their first year at UA, and at middle school—angry and spiteful, without an ounce of sympathy.
It makes him feel cold. Hot anger replaces it a second later, however.
“What do I want?” he practically shrieks into the receiver. “Where are you? I’ve been worried sick! Did you get lost? Are you—”
“God, shut up!”
His jaw snaps shut. For a moment, there’s no response from Kacchan. Then:
“The movie’s not happening,” he says. There’s a finality in his voice that brings the icy feeling back into Izuku’s bones. “We’re not happening. It was a stupid mistake. Just leave me alone.”
He’s not on speakerphone, but Todoroki is close enough to hear anyway. He gives Izuku a wide-eyed look, and his upper lip twitches in a way that Izuku recognizes as anger.
No, no. This is not real. Kacchan wouldn’t be this cruel. Not anymore, at least.
He can accept his feelings being unrequited. Kacchan’s so far out of his league anyway. It’s not a surprise. But to be led on like this, intentional or not...
“But...” he manages, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. “I thought...”
“You thought wrong.”
The venom in those words is enough to make Izuku flinch. Todoroki steps forward with one hand halfway outstretched, as if he wants to take the phone and spare Izuku from this. But Izuku takes a step back, shaking his head. Todoroki lets his hand drop, though he does not look happy.
“Kacchan,” he says. His throat catches on the last syllable. The trademark Midoriya tears are welling up in his eyes.
“Just go the fuck home, Izuku!”
It’s like an electric current goes through his body—the shock of it instantly grounds him, roots him to the spot, and solidifies the world around him. His emotions still threaten to bubble over and spill out of him, but the single word is enough to strike such confusion in him that for a moment, the sadness is halted in its tracks.
He doesn’t recognize Kacchan having hung up until Todoroki pulls the phone out of his grip, and the dial tone that had been ringing in his ear fades.
“Midoriya.” Todoroki hangs up the empty line and presses Izuku’s phone back into his palm. “I...”
Neither of them speak for several seconds—Todoroki appears to be attempting to control himself, while Izuku’s brain has shifted into overdrive.
“I didn’t think Bakugou would ever be so—”
“Something’s wrong.”
They speak over each other, but when Todoroki pauses, Izuku hurries to continue. “He called me Izuku. He never does that. Ever. And Aizawa-sensei already confirmed he isn’t in the dorms.”
Todoroki frowns. “Midoriya...”
Emerald eyes flash angrily. “Stop! Stop. Don’t say it. I know what we heard, but I’m telling you what I know. That wasn’t Kacchan. Or if it was, he’s not being truthful. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t end it like that.”
Before his friend can form a response, Izuku’s phone rings again. He checks the caller ID and picks up immediately.
“Sensei!”
“Midoriya.” Aizawa’s haggard-sounding voice greets him. “Hatsume got a location, but just lost the signal. Either the phone is turned off or no longer functioning.”
“Where?” he cries, turning his back to Todoroki and walking down the sidewalk. He doesn’t even have a destination yet, but he needs to run, to move, to do something.
“I’m sending you the location—I’ll meet you there. Don’t do anything until I arrive, understand?”
Izuku doesn’t dignify that with a response—he hangs up and checks his messages. Sure enough, Aizawa has sent him a pair of coordinates. He taps them, which automatically opens up the navigation app on his phone.
The docks, just east of here. A few blocks over. So close.
“This way!” Full Cowl lights up underneath his skin, and Izuku propels himself into the air with ease, leaping over the building directly across the street from where he’d just jumped. He hears a burst of flame from behind him, signaling Todoroki’s pursuit.
He rolls onto the roof, and looks out over the expanse of buildings. The docks are in sight from this height. He checks the map on his phone, and scans the buildings along the water’s edge.
There.
It’s what’s left of a warehouse, barely holding itself together. In the dark of night, through the holes in its ruined wall, he sees orange light—a fire is burning in one corner of the building.
He releases more of One For All floods throughout his body, then takes a running start and leaps off the edge of the building. It cracks beneath his feet as Izuku soars over the city, directly for the warehouse. Behind him, Todoroki shouts something, but he can’t hear exactly what.
There’s an empty lot next door, and he tucks into it as he lands, rolling with the impact. As soon as he’s right-side up and his feet are on solid ground, Izuku wastes no time sprinting for the building. But before he can reach the warehouse door, he hears a shout that makes him stop in his tracks.
“No! Stop! P-please!”
The voice sounds panicked and strangled, as well as horrifyingly familiar. Izuku shoves himself flat against the wall beside the door, heaving out a breath.
“Not again,” Kacchan moans. He’s never sounded so broken before, so afraid. “Please...I can’t...”
Adrenaline pushes fear through his veins with an intensity that makes his entire body tremble.
Aizawa said to wait. Aizawa said to wait. He has no idea who he’s going up against or what kind of condition Kacchan is. Busting through the door could make the situation worse, but every instinct he has is screaming at him to intervene.
A flash of light catches his eye, and Izuku looks up in time to see Todoroki arc over the nearest building and descend towards him.
At the same time, he hears another voice, cold and high-pitched with a kind of reverent malice.
“Thanks for a wonderful evening, Kacchan. I think out of all of them, you’re my new favorite.”
The next thing he hears will haunt him for the rest of his life. As Todoroki lands in front of him, Kacchan lets out an agonized howl that sounds less like a person and more like a wounded animal. Then, much too quickly, it fades away into quiet, unintelligible noises.
There are no rules anymore.
Izuku smashes a fist into the door without a second thought. It crumples like paper and flies off its hinges, ricocheting off the far wall like the cork from a champagne bottle.
In the center of the warehouse stands a...thing. It’s humanoid, and composed entirely out of black goo, with a horribly distended jaw full of razor-sharp teeth which, at present, are lodged in Kacchan’s shoulder. His hands are slick with blood and one of his legs is bent at a wrong angle. He twitches in the creature’s grasp, making pitiful noises, and Izuku can’t see his face, but his lack of reaction to the bite suggests that he’s checked out completely.
The monster has turned Kacchan’s back toward the door, so it sees Izuku immediately. Rather than release its prey, however, its jaws clamp down even harder, and a sickening crack echoes throughout the room.
Whatever reprieve Kacchan’s brain had given him from the pain is overwhelmed instantly by the new sensation of a broken collarbone, because the scream that he lets out is pure, undignified agony. It reverberates inside Izuku’s skull and builds a home there instantly, nestling into the corners of his mind for all time.
What happens next is a blur. In the time it takes to blink, Izuku is across the room and prying the creature’s jaw open. Its hands release their hold on Kacchan in favor of swiping at him, but before it can even get close, Izuku lifts the thing up by its mouth and hurls it across the room with a furious shout.
Kacchan crumples instantly, and Todoroki ducks into the room to catch him before his head smacks on the concrete floor. Without a backward glance, he picks up Kacchan in his arms and runs for the exit.
Izuku wants nothing more than to follow him, to make sure that they get to a hospital and that Kacchan will live, but he can’t. He’s been in enough crisis response situations to know exactly what’s needed, and from whom.
The priority is always the victim—get them away from the villain or whatever else the danger is. They can’t perform first aid here, but Kacchan’s not going to make it very far if they don’t do something. Todoroki’s flight is better at traversing the city than Izuku’s jumps are. It’s also much less likely to injure someone than bounding across rooftops would. At the same time, they also can’t let this thing, whatever it is, follow them or escape to hurt someone else.
That’s his job now.
The monster—or villain, more specifically—has recovered from being tossed aside like a candy wrapper. Its jaw squelches and shrinks, teeth retreating into its gums to give it a slightly more human appearance.
Whether it’s a person or not, he doesn’t feel bad at the thought of hurting this thing.
It bares its teeth at him. “You lot are like flies—”
A hard blast of wind smacks the creature straight in the chest, knocking it down. Before it can recover, Izuku closes the distance between them, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the floor.
The creature swipes at him with its talons, drawing red lines across Izuku’s chest. They sting, but aren’t deep, so he ignores the pain. He plants one foot on its chest, glaring down hatefully.
In all his experiences, Izuku has never considered himself a violent person. There have been times where his control is tested—Overhaul and Nabu Island, for example. But even then, his main concern had been getting Eri somewhere safe. Going through Chisaki just ended up being the most expedient path. Anger at Nine had helped fuel his fire, but ultimately the goal was still to protect Katsuma and Mahoro.
Here, now, things were different. There was no one to save. No one for Izuku to protect. Just himself, and the thing that had hurt Kacchan underneath his heel.
Izuku’s never considered himself a violent person, until tonight.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything yet. He just wonders just how much force it would take to stomp down further, and crush this villain’s sternum...
“Midoriya.”
The voice drags him out of his own head, and he glances up toward the source.
Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway of the warehouse, watching him with narrowed eyes.
His condition had improved dramatically since Jaku. He no longer needed to wear an eyepatch, and he’d been gifted with a prosthetic left leg that allowed him to move and perform at the same ability as before it had been amputated. He’d spent most of Izuku’s second year in physical therapy, but had managed to make it to their class’ graduation without any outside assistance. Now, save the scars on his face, he looked just the same as the Eraserhead who’d walked into 1A’s homeroom three years ago.
His capture weapon floats around him like a snake coiled to strike, but he makes no move forward. He doesn’t relax the weapon after taking in the scene before him.
Izuku eyes the capture weapon warily. “You got here quick.”
“I told you to wait.”
It’s a statement, not a reprimand, but he bristles all the same.
“Wasn’t an option,” he replies curtly, then makes the mistake of looking down. The villain, who remains oddly still, blinks up at him and then smiles.
Tiny green arcs of lightning spark across Izuku’s body, like moths around a flame.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says again. His voice remains even and monotone as he takes a few steps closer. “Where is Bakugou?”
“Todoroki took him to get help.”
“Oh, I hope they get there in time!” the villain cackles suddenly, and Izuku lunges down, hands reaching out with intent to rip his jaw clean off—
Someone—Aizawa—grabs his upper arm before he can even get close. “Don’t. He’s down. It’s over.”
Izuku immediately wrenches himself free, but stands up straight reluctantly.
Aizawa’s maddeningly calm voice echoes throughout the warehouse again as he says, “I need you to control yourself, Problem Child.”
“You didn’t see.” His hands are trembling. “You don’t know what he did.” His voice breaks a little on the last word.
“Izuku.”
His given name is enough to make him look up at his teacher. He has no issue with Aizawa referring to him in such a manner, but it’s jarring because he usually never does that.
Aizawa’s tired eyes study him intently for several moments. Whatever he sees, it makes them harden slightly.
He hasn’t seen Kacchan’s state. But right now, he does see Izuku’s.
“What happened tonight is more than enough to ensure he’ll be going away for the rest of his life.”
Kacchan’s scream echoes through his mind once more.
“I’m not sure that’s enough, Sensei,” he admits.
“No,” Aizawa agrees, with surprising speed and just enough vehemence behind his stoicism to make Izuku keep listening. “It’s not. But he’s not worth throwing away your future. Besides, Bakugou needs you.”
That statement sends a jolt through him.
Kacchan.
“Blegh,” the villain says, and Izuku really wants him to shut up. “You might as well kill me, this conversation is making me si—”
There’s the briefest flash of red from Aizawa’s eyes as his quirk activates. The sludge covering the villain immediately evaporates, exposing the person beneath—but before Izuku can get a good look at him, Aizawa slams his boot into the villain’s face. He goes limp under Izuku, out cold.
“I’ll take him from here,” he says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “Find Todoroki. Make sure Bakugou gets to Narasaki Memorial.”
Izuku doesn’t need to be told twice. Aizawa can handle one unconscious villain, no matter how powerful they are, and if he stays here any longer he might actually do something illegal.
He turns and runs out the door of the warehouse. One For All surges through him once more as he leaps into the air.
Todoroki hasn’t gone far. Izuku finds him across the street from the docks, on the rooftop of an apartment building.
He wants to shout at his friend for stopping, why isn’t he moving, but as soon as his feet touch the concrete and he runs over, he understands why.
Todoroki is down on his knees, Kacchan lying in front of him. He’s turned extremely pale, and his eyes are closed. The blood pouring from the bite wound on his shoulder isn’t slowing down. It stains his front crimson, and if it wasn’t for the quick, shallow breaths rocking his frame, one would think he already died.
“I had to stop,” Todoroki says. He’s pulled gauze from one of the pouches on his belt, and is pressing it to Kacchan’s chest. Both it and his hands are already slick and red. “Help me!”
First Aid training is mandatory for hero students, since they’re often the first responders to many scenes. Training comes with a descending order of priorities, with location being at the top. If the victim is in a dangerous environment, they need to get somewhere safe. The rooftop is an acceptable distance away from the villain, especially now that Aizawa is on the scene, but they can’t afford to wait for paramedics to find them here.
After location, the priority becomes treatment for immediate issues—things that can’t wait, like critical bleeding or obstructed breathing. Even if the hospital is approximately ten minutes away by air, they don’t know exactly how much blood Kacchan’s already lost. If they try to get him to the hospital without addressing the wound, there’s a high chance he’ll bleed out before they even get there.
Izuku’s never been so grateful for his hero training—rather than freeze, he drops to his knees on Kacchan’s other side. When he speaks, he sounds much more steady than he feels. “What do you need?”
“To bind this. Can’t make a tourniquet on a chest wound. I don’t think it’s very deep, but it is large. The bleeding has to slow down,” Todoroki says.
Izuku digs into his own belt, and pulls out a roll of gauze and an elastic bandage wrap. He quickly unrolls both, then folds the gauze over itself until it becomes a large square patch of fabric, about an inch thick. His hands begin to tremble slightly, but he wills them to stop.
“On three, pull away and lift him up,” he says.
Todoroki nods.
“One, two, three!”
His hands vanish, but leave the blood-soaked gauze. If it’s removed, it could tear any clots that have started forming. With one hand, Izuku presses down on the wound with the fresh gauze, and Kacchan twitches with apparent discomfort—he’s not conscious, but his body must have felt that all the same.
It is a big wound—the teeth marks stretch as far down as his left pectoral. It’s a miracle none of them punctured his lungs—likely his ribs and collarbone prevented that from happening, and the fact that it seemed more interested in taking a chunk out of Kacchan than it did causing maximum damage. Fresh blood wells up beneath the new gauze, but it’s padded enough by the old one that, miraculously, it absorbs the bleeding.
His other hand grabs the elastic wrap and places it overtop the dressing. Todoroki digs his hands underneath Kacchan and hauls him up, halfway into a sitting position. He’s like a ragdoll—his head just lolls limply with the movement, and his mouth drifts open slightly. Izuku tries not to focus on it.
He shifts to help support the dead weight as Todoroki grabs one or the ends of the wrap and pulls it under Kacchan’s right arm. He then lets more weight be transferred to him, as Todoroki pulls the other end of the wrap over his left shoulder.
It’s strange, he thinks, to be holding him in this position. It’s almost like an embrace. Izuku can count on one hand the number of times they’ve hugged, but never before as Kacchan felt so small.
Todoroki pulls the elastic taught, and ties it in a knot over the right shoulder blade, in a mirror placement of the wound.
“We need to go,” he says, standing up. Izuku nods, and wordlessly offers Kacchan as he rises to his own feet. Todoroki takes him in his arms again, and without a word flames erupt from his feet and he rises into the air, shooting in the direction of the hospital.
Izuku bounds after him.
Narasaki Memorial is Musutafu’s largest and most advanced hospital, responsible for treating all kinds of wounded heroes—it’s not quite as large as Hosu General, but it’s more than equipped to handle Kacchan’s injuries. It’s also relatively close—another stroke of luck. There are a lot of those tonight.
The ten minutes it takes to travel there is better time than any ambulance would have been able to make, but it still feels like an eternity. The Emergency Room entrance is on the adjacent side of the building, away from the hospital’s main lobby, and it has its own parking lot. Todoroki’s touchdown is gentle, almost graceful, but Izuku lands with enough force that the pavement cracks beneath his feet.
They burst through the doors at the same time. There’s a woman sitting at the desk directly in front of them, and she sees them as soon as they enter, but Izuku still can’t stop himself from yelling, “HELP!”
Immediately they’re swarmed by hospital staff, who separate Kacchan from Todoroki and place him on a bed that’s promptly whisked away. Izuku wants to follow, wants to make sure that he’ll be alright, but the hospital is no stranger to that kind of thing, because a nurse quickly steps in front of him and begins asking him something.
He can’t hear her. It’s like cotton has been stuffed into his ears. Dimly, he registers the sound of Todoroki’s voice, likely answering whatever question Izuku had been unable to.
A small part of him is amazed that he kept himself so composed for so long. In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t been a choice—his brain just shut down anything that wasn’t useful, like panic or sadness.
But as he stands there in the emergency room entrance, covered in Kacchan’s blood, the reality of the night finally starts to sink in, and Izuku shatters into a thousand pieces.
Time passes in a blur.
He remembers some things, has a vague idea what happens—at some point he gets directed to a small area behind the ER entrance. It’s not a true hospital room—several beds are lined up against the back wall, separated by thin curtains. He’s gently guided to sit on the edge of one of these beds. The scratches on his chest get tended to, and he’s checked over for other injuries, but evidently none are found, because his nurse drapes a blanket over him and says something he can’t understand, then departs.
The curtain beside him opens, and Isuku vaguely recognizes Todoroki’s shock of red-and-white hair.
“It’s okay. I’ll watch him.”
He knows he’s in shock, not because it’s a natural response, but because he feels...floaty. Outside his own body. He’s aware of things, of hospital staff bustling around him, attending to their various duties. But he feels rather than sees Todoroki sit down beside him. His brain registers the tear tracks lining his cheeks, but he can’t quite grasp the emotion behind them.
“Midoriya.”
He hears his name and wants to react to it, to turn his head toward Todoroki and give him his undivided attention. He needs something to focus on, rather than whatever is sluggishly churning around in his head. But his body won’t respond to these thoughts.
“Midoriya.” A hand grabs his shoulder, and the physical contact is enough to ground him. He turns his gaze toward Todoroki, who stares at him with undisguised concern.
“We did everything we could,” he says. “I’m worried about you now.”
Izuku’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He wants to say a million things. Kacchan is all that matters. I’ll be fine. What about you?
None of them come. Instead he opts for a nod, because that’s easier.
Todoroki wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, tucking Izuku’s head into the crook of his neck. It feels nice.
He doesn’t know how long after their arrival, but at some point Aizawa shows up.
“Sensei,” Todoroki greets him quietly.
Izuku, who by this point has come out of the fog in his mind, blinks and looks at his teacher. “Kacchan, is he…?”
“He’s alive.”
That’s it? Nausea bubbles in his stomach.
“What else?” Todoroki demands.
Aizawa glances at him. His shoulders slump slightly, as if resigning himself to something unpleasant.
“I’m not at liberty to say.” When both boys begin to protest, he quickly holds up a hand. “As a member of UA staff, I have responsibility over your entire class. As a pro hero, I am also responsible for any provisional heroes, like yourselves, if they are present at the scene of a crime with me. Both of these things together give me limited confidentiality in the absence of Bakugou’s parents or legal guardians—but I can’t share anything without their express permission. All I can tell you is that he’s alive, and he’s fighting.” There’s an undercurrent of regret in his voice when he adds, “I’m sorry, but that will have to be enough for now.”
Izuku knows the rules. It’s not their first encounter with red tape, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Something else sticks out at him, however Todoroki beats him to it.
“His parents aren’t here?”
“They are,” Aizawa clarifies. “As is your sister and Midoriya’s mother. I came to fetch you for them.”
Mom. Izuku has been too distracted to really think of her, but now that he knows she’s close, all he wants is to see her.
Izuku’s only injuries are minor, and Todoroki didn’t even get hurt, so they are both discharged with ease. Aizawa leads back to the entrance desk, and then down a hall to the right. There’s no door, the hall just opens up into a larger room full of chairs, with a secondary receptionist desk nestled in the corner.
Inko Midoriya sits directly across from the entrance, next to Mitsuki. Next to her is Masaru, who is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor. On Inko’s other side sits Fuyumi. Everyone looks up upon their arrival—and then Inko practically vaults across the room to slam Izuku into a hug.
“Izuku!”
Her hair sweeps over his face and clouds his vision, but he briefly makes out Fuyumi approaching Todoroki, and wrapping him in a hug as well.
Inko pulls back and looks him up and down. “Are you hurt?” Her eyes find the bandages poking out of his shirt, and immediately well up.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Izuku says quietly. Behind him, he thinks he hears Aizawa mutter something under his breath, but can’t make out what.
She tugs him over to Bakugou’s, and Izuku’s mouth instantly dries.
What was he supposed to say to them? What if Kacchan—
“Thank you.”
That stops him from sinking deep into his own thoughts. Mitsuki is staring at him with wet, grateful eyes. She looks so much like Kacchan it’s uncanny, even with that expression.
She must see the confusion on his face, because she explains, “The doctors told us your first aid probably...probably saved his life. He wouldn’t have lasted without it.” Her gaze flicks over Izuku’s shoulder, where he knows Todoroki is still being embraced by his sister. “Thank you, too, Todoroki.”
“I—”
The words catch in Izuku’s throat.
She shouldn’t be thanking him. It’s his fault that this happened. Kacchan wouldn’t be hurt if Izuku had realized something was amiss earlier. If he was faster, more decisive…
He pushes those thoughts of his mind. They aren’t helpful. There will be time for reflection later.
“How is he?” Todoroki asks.
“Still in surgery,” Masaru replies, returning his gaze to the floor.
“Surgery?” Izuku yelps. Maybe Lysimar had punctured a lung.
Mitsuki nods with a stricken expression, and he instantly regrets his outburst.
Seeing her like this is unnatural. Masaru has always been calm, quiet, and more level-headed. But Misuki is a gender-swapped version of her son. They have the same loud temperament, same explosive vocabulary, same ferocity behind everything they do. Izuku can vividly remember when he and Kacchan were four, before things soured between them, and Kacchan fended off three kids who were two grades above them. When the older kids claimed Kacchan started the fight, Mitsuki had shouted down all of their parents on her own front lawn. She raised a rough kid—seeing Kacchan hurt is nothing new to her. This isn’t even the first lethal injury he’s received.
Now, she just looks haunted. It’s a justified reaction, but seeing it still makes him uneasy.
“We’re waiting to hear more,” Inko quietly explains to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to go back to UA and get some sleep—”
“No,” Izuku says firmly. Inko doesn’t protest. He knows she likely expected that response. “I’m staying.”
He sits down next to Mitsuki, his mother taking the empty chair on his other side. Fuyumi and Todoroki sit as well, with a little distance from the group. Aizawa remains standing—he leans against the wall near the hallway’s entrance, crosses his arms, and tucks his chin into his chest, eyes closed, as if preparing to catch some sleep.
Izuku knows he’s not really going to get any.
Every hour, Mitsuki approaches the desk in the corner and demands an update. The response is always the same—the doctors are still working, but she will inform them immediately if there’s a development.
It’s not until after midnight that a doctor enters the waiting room. He has bulbous eyes, like a fish, and is balding. The way he beelines straight for Masaru and Mitsuki clues Izuku in first.
“Masaru Bakugou and Mitsuki Bakugou? I’m Doctor Kinoshita.”
“Yes?” Both parents jump to their feet instantly. “Katsuki? How is he?”
Kinoshita glances around at everyone present, and asks, “Would you prefer to go someplace more private?”
“No,” Mitsuki fires back immediately, some of her usual fire returning. “Tell me about my son, right now.”
He knows Kacchan’s parents wouldn’t have a problem with Inko and him being present, but Aizawa, Todoroki, and Fuyumi are a surprise. Perhaps she knew more about the lengths they would go to for Kacchan than he assumed. Or perhaps she just wants answers.
“Very well.” Kinoshita doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about a public discussion, but he keeps his expression neutral. “Let me first say that he is in a stable condition. It was touch and go for a little bit, but he pulled through the initial surgery and is resting now. He hasn’t regained consciousness, though I don’t expect him to for another day, at least.”
Relief sweeps over Izuku, who is suddenly very grateful to be sitting down—he would have collapsed otherwise. Mitsuki lets out a shuddering breath, while Masaru pulls her hand into his own and squeezes it so hard his knuckles turn white. On his left, Inko sniffles, and beyond her he sees Todoroki’s shoulders relax slightly, while Fuyumi looks relieved. Behind the doctor, Aizawa hasn’t moved—but his eyes are open, and he’s watching the conversation intently.
Kinoshita gives the group a few seconds to process before continuing. “His injuries were extensive—each of the proximal phalanges in his left hand are broken, and he has a distal radius fracture in the same arm. His right femur is broken, and several of his ribs are cracked. The bite wound in his chest and shoulder region also broke his collarbone. He has some head trauma, though it isn’t as serious as we initially feared. There are a handful of lacerations on his back. All these wounds were definitely deliberate—”
Mitsuki scoffs, and Izuku quietly agrees. They already knew that.
“—but none of them were life-threatening. The concentration of them altogether presented more danger than the nature of the injuries themselves, save for one. Whatever cracked his ribs, or perhaps it was the trauma from the bite, also ruptured his spleen.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “Depending on the severity of the rupture, part of the spleen can be preserved. In this case, however, the damage was too severe. We had to remove it.”
Izuku’s head spins. He looks down at his lap.
“What does that mean?” Masaru asks carefully.
“Well...the spleen is responsible for helping the immune system to function. Without it, immune response goes down, and the body can become very vulnerable to certain kinds of infections. Normally, splenectomies are performed after the patient is given several vaccines a few weeks prior, but obviously in the case of emergency surgery, we couldn’t do that. His other injuries complicate matters—it’s one thing to have your spleen removed, even on short notice, when you’re healthy. But with multiple concurrent wounds and bone breaks, not to mention the bite, risk of infection is very high. We have him quarantined in a sterile room, and will be closely monitoring him. His wounds have been disinfected and he’s being given regular doses of antibiotics, as a preventative measure. But if an infection develops, there is little more we can do for him. He will need to fight it off himself. I’m very sorry.”
The doctor’s words buzz around in Izuku’s head like gnats he can’t get rid of.
Immune response goes down.
Risk of infection is very high.
Quarantined in a sterile room.
Little more we can do for him.
“Call Recovery Girl.” Aizawa’s voice cuts through the quiet of the waiting room. His hair twitches, as if he is trying to suppress his quirk—it does have a habit of flaring up when he becomes agitated. “If it’s a matter of his injuries, she can speed up the healing process.”
“Shuzenji-sama’s quirk is invaluable,” Kinoshita replies, turning to face their teacher. “But Bakugou-kun is too weak to receive it. Besides, even if he could, her quirk closes wounds. It can’t fight bacteria.”
“When he pulls through, what happens next?” Mitsuki asks.
Kinoshita’s face fell. “Bakugou-san, I don’t want you to give yourself false hope—”
“Shut. Up.” The venom in her voice would kill an elephant. She stands up from her seat, and Izuku looks up to follow her as she steps closer to the doctor and prods him in the chest.
“You listen to me. My son is a fighter. He’ll kick the ass of anything that comes at him, whether it’s a villain or a germ. Katsuki will pull through. What. Happens. Next?”
Pride makes his chest swell. Mitsuki is brazen and uncouth at times, but as long as he’s known her, her belief in Kacchan has never wavered. It’s something she and Izuku have in common. So why doesn’t he feel as confident as her now?
“There...are complications that come without having a spleen,” Kinoshita says slowly, evidently taken aback by her sudden ferocity. “But precautions exist. He’ll need an annual round of booster shots to compensate for his stunted immune response. Quality of life in splenectomy patients is almost the same as those who still have their spleen. The missing organ becomes most pronounced when injured or sick. A transplant is also possible, in the future, but the supply of spleens in the organ donation trade is rather small.”
“Can he still be a hero?”
It takes Izuku a moment for his brain to catch up, and he realizes that the question came from him.
Kinoshita fidgeted. “It’s...possible. There are plenty of pro heroes who operate with some kind of disability. But it’s a hazardous job—any injury he receives now is more dangerous than it would have been yesterday. As time goes on, that risk factor will go down, but the chance of an OPSI won’t vanish entirely.”
That isn’t a great answer, but it’s not a no, either. Still, the guilt courses through him.
“We need to wait two weeks before vaccinating him,” Kinoshita continues, all business. “After that, Recovery Girl can be called, but even after his injuries are healed we will want to keep him isolated...”
His voice starts to fade away as Izuku retreats inside his own head.
Kacchan has wanted to be a hero his whole life. Even despite the doctor’s clumsy attempts at encouragement, it still feels as if that dream has been given a death sentence.
Why?
He figures it out the next day.
Aizawa manages to corral Izuku and Todoroki into a car and send them back to UA—though he elected to stay at the hospital himself, Izuku notes sourly.
He doesn’t like leaving, but there is no helping it. They need to rest, and someone needs to inform the rest of the class. Aizawa may be the adult in charge of them, but he’s never been the most tactful. Todoroki volunteers himself and Izuku for the task, which Izuku doesn’t mind. However, they both decide not to disclose the specifics of Kacchan’s condition, particularly the splenectomy. That kind of thing isn’t their information to share. They can justify the quarantine by saying it’s because he just had emergency surgery to treat his broken bones. It’s not an airtight alibi, but it will work.
No one is awake when they return, for which they are grateful, but it still isn’t an easy night. Izuku tosses and turns, and doesn’t get much sleep at all. He wakes up early the next day, and practices what he’s going to say.
He gets out of bed early the next morning, and by the time he shuffles downstairs he has a whole speech prepared, but that plan falls apart as soon as Kirishima asks if anyone has seen Kacchan. Izuku’s not sure what kind of expression he’s wearing, but whatever Kirishima sees on his face is enough. Understanding dawns, and suddenly both boys are sniffling and wiping wet eyes, while the rest of the class just watches in confusion.
Todoroki takes over the explanation after that. Everyone is upset and distressed to hear their classmate is in the hospital, particularly Kacchan’s circle of friends, and quickly plans are made to go visit. Aizawa has already informed them that Kacchan hasn’t woken up, but that does nothing to dissuade the class.
Classes pass by uneventfully. Mic subs for Aizawa, which would be amusing on any other day, but no one is in a joking mood today. At the end of the school day, Izuku has some time to kill before the rest of the class is ready for their excursion to the hospital. He curls up on his bed, flicking through the daily news articles on his phone, when curiosity strikes him. Against his better judgment, he opens a new tab in his phone’s browser and searches for information on splenectomies. This leads him to look for information on immunodeficiencies, then to their legal status as disabilities, which leads to a public post on a personal blog titled Disabled Heroes—The Uncomfortable Truth.
The title intrigues him more than anything else, so despite the warning bells going off in his head, he opens the link and begins reading.
It’s common knowledge that the career of a pro hero is a dangerous one. Often, heroes put their lives on the line multiple times a day. Sometimes, they lose them. Sometimes, they get dealt a worse fate.
Prosthetics are the most commonly-used support item for pro heroes—hundreds are manufactured around the world each year. In most countries, if a hero needs one, the prosthetic is applied to their body and they return to active duty after a brief stint in physical therapy.
But no one wants to see a hero with a missing arm or leg. No one wants to be reminded that heroes are people too, and that they can lose. According to independent studies and surveys undertaken in Europe and Asia, many agencies will not renew the contract of a newly-disabled hero, unless the hero in question happens to own the agency themselves, or can demonstrate their effectiveness in spite of their newfound hindrance. In the United States, there is a law that explicitly bans the renewal of a hero’s license for two years after they have received a disabling injury. But this isn’t limited to missing limbs. Deafness, blindness, paralysis, immunodeficiency—medical and support gear technology have made remarkable advancements to circumvent these difficulties, but at the end of the day, the numbers don’t lie—any disability, even a perceived one, drastically shortens the career of a hero.
I already know I’m going to get angry letters for writing this, but before they start piling up in my inbox, let me ask you this: Would All Might have been the number one hero and Symbol of Peace as long as he was, if he had disclosed his condition to the public? If you knew he could cough up blood and shrink down to his skeletal form at any moment, would you still trust him to protect you? Your family?
I wouldn’t, and I don’t think you would, either.
These people have decided to choose a high-risk career path. That’s an admirable thing, but heroes like Ectoplasm and Eraserhead aren’t admirable anymore, they’re just sad. They’re better off retiring and remaining at UA full-time, like All Might has. It’s not that they’re bad heroes—they were good at the job, once. But now they’re just liabilities. And a liability can’t save anyone.
He feels cold.
Izuku’s phone drops from his loose fingers and thuds mutely against the mattress, while he digests this new, unwanted perspective.
Whoever the author is, they haven’t bothered sourcing any of their claims, so they sound like little more than a pissed off contrarian—someone who would have thrived during Shigaraki’s reign of terror. Izuku is no stranger to the anti-hero movement—it had only intensified the longer Shigaraki remained at large. Even after two years, a lot of the embers of discontent still burned. Hero agencies are under a lot more scrutiny than they had been a few years ago—Izuku had learned that firsthand a month ago, when he and his class had begun looking at and applying to agencies they were interested in joining after graduation. One particular agency had flat-out refused to discuss a possible application with him, citing his behavior at the Sports Festival in his first year, and the permanent damage he’d suffered as a result. It had been a difficult conversation, and by the time Izuku left the building, the scars on his hands and arm burned as if the old wounds had been reopened. He hasn’t been the only one to encounter this problem—Aoyama got denied by three separate agencies, who all cited his birth defect as making him too high-risk to take on as a sidekick. It’s bullshit, but the marks that Shigaraki and Endeavor have left on the world are still being felt. Now more than ever, heroes need to perform perfectly.
Not every agency has begun to act this way—Nighteye’s, for one, wouldn’t stand for any sort of discriminatory behavior. Even without its founding hero, Izuku knows from Lemillion’s letters that it conducts itself in a manner befitting that of someone who worked alongside All Might. Miruko’s agency as well—which makes sense, considering the number five hero had lost an arm in Jaku.
Some insane part of him wants to look around on the Internet and see how many people share this blogger’s anti-disability views.
God, if Kacchan sees this…
He’s done a lot to dispel the negative reputation he earned in his first year, and Izuku will be first in line to fight anyone who thinks badly of him, but this...this may be too much.
This is all your fault.
Izuku closes his eyes, and heaves out a shaky breath.
He’s been avoiding these thoughts ever since first seeing Kacchan in that villain’s grasp, but now, without anything else to distract him from them…
You should have noticed something was wrong when he didn’t show up at seven. He could have been found and saved before the villain even had a chance to rip him apart. Instead, you waited. You waited and he paid the price.
His teeth grind together. It sounds loud in his ears. He buries his face into his pillow.
Even if he makes a full recovery, he will always have this on his medical record. It doesn’t matter if he manages the condition, half the public still thinks of him as the villain Shigaraki tried to recruit. Maybe he’ll still be a hero, maybe he’ll even get to number one. If anyone could, it’s him. But he will never want anything to do with you again.
His eyes burn, suspiciously wet.
A knock at his door shakes him out of the blame-train going on in his head. He rolls onto his back and sits up, then quickly rubs at his face until it’s dry. Then he strides over to the door and pulls it open.
Todoroki stands in the hallway. He makes no comment about how Izuku’s eyes are still red.
“We’re ready to go to the hospital,” he says.
Izuku opens his mouth to tell him he’ll be downstairs, he just needs a moment, but the words that come out instead are, “I can’t come.”
His eyes widen. “What? Why not?”
“I...” He hesitates for a moment. “I just can’t. I need time.”
He fidgets under his friend’s gaze. Todoroki is not a particularly expressive person, but he’s neither an idiot nor obtuse. He also knows Izuku better than most people.
“What happened isn’t your fault,” he says, and Izuku's resolve almost crumbles right there. “You know that, right?”
He nods. “Y-yeah! Of course I do.”
“Good. Now try saying it like you believe it.”
Well, the sass is unnecessary. He frowns.
“Bakugou is not going to blame you for what happened. He’s going to blame himself. Though he may externalize that blame at other people,” his friend adds as an afterthought. “Regardless, he needs people who care about him. He needs you.”
“I think I’ve done enough,” Izuku replies quietly.
Now Todoroki makes zero effort to hide the annoyance that flashes across his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and says, “I won’t force you, Midoriya. But I think you’re making a mistake.”
Izuku says nothing, only giving a short, hesitant nod of acknowledgement. Todoroki huffs, and takes his leave a moment later. He leaves the door open, and Izuku slowly closes it. He hears various others slam shut throughout the building as his classmates take their leave. As he crawls back onto his mattress and curls up, he wonders how Todoroki will explain his absence.
Guilt burns a black pit in his chest, but he refuses to douse the flame, and finds no comfort in its warmth.
He’s not sure how long it takes to fall asleep, but his return to consciousness is sudden, rude, and accompanied by freezing cold.
Izuku flies out of bed before he’s even fully awake, flung off the mattress by a knee-jerk response to escape the chill that washes over him, and nearly crashes into his desk. One For All lights up his dark bedroom, and he whirls around to face where he thinks the threat may originate from—
Todoroki stares back at him impassively, right hand on Izuku’s bed, which is coated with a dusting of ice crystals.
“We need to talk,” he says, in lieu of a greeting or explanation.
“Todoroki-kun, what the fuck?” Izuku doesn’t normally swear, at least not as much as Kacchan does, but the past few days have been taxing, to say the least.
“Bakugou asked for you.”
All irritation drains out of him at those words. Izuku relaxes his posture, and straightens his back.
“How is he?”
Mismatched eyes regard him coolly. “You would know that if you went there to see him yourself.”
Izuku frowns. “That’s not—don’t say that like I don’t care!”
Todoroki fires right back, as if he expects this reaction. “I know you care about him, Midoriya! But what is Bakugou supposed to think?”
“I...” Izuku blinks. “What?”
“The last time he was conscious and spoke with you, he spoke cruelly,” Todoroki replies, with the air of a person explaining to a particularly dim-witted toddler that one plus one equals two. “Then he wakes up in a hospital and sees his entire class except you waiting for him to wake up. If you were him, what would be your first conclusion?”
“But—”
“I’m not done,” Todoroki snaps, and Izuku’s jaw clicks shut. “What were we supposed to tell him when he asked for you, that you’re too busy blaming yourself to visit? We both know you aren’t seriously that self-absorbed, Midoriya.”
“I—”
“And need I remind you that the only person at fault for what happened is the villain who tortured him in the first place?” Steam begins rising from Todoroki’s skin, the opposing elements clashing with each other like they do when he gets agitated. “Even if you think you couldn’t be there for him then, now is the next best time. You know him so well that you were convinced something was wrong, when even I thought he was just reverting back to his old behavior. Don’t you see? He’s only alive because of you!”
He falls silent, and the only sound that fills the air is crickets chirping through Izuku’s open window. He wonders what time it is—the rest of the building sounds empty, though their classmates could easily be listening in.
“I apologize for my tone,” Todoroki says. The humidity in the air drops as he reigns in his quirk. “But you’re my friend, and I’m not going to let you sabotage your own happiness or hurt Bakugou. You didn’t see the look on his face. He thinks you hate him. I wish I’d tried harder to make you come.”
Izuku looks down, unwilling to meet his eyes. The guilt comes back with a vengeance, but this time it pools in his stomach, and makes him feel heavy. “I...I thought he’d hate me.”
Todoroki seems to have expected this response too, but he huffs exasperatedly and demands, “Why?”
Izuku walks back to his bed, and pulls out his phone from underneath the covers. It’s still cool to the touch, but it works fine. He unlocks it and finds the article he read hours ago, then hands the device to Todoroki. He reads it, expressionless. Then he gives the phone back.
“Midoriya, you’ve had the same lessons on public relations as myself. You know that there are always going to be people who light fires just to watch them burn. There will always be critics. And I won’t pretend disability discrimination doesn’t happen, but do you really think, of all people, that Bakugou is going to let that stop him? Besides, you weren’t the one who ripped him open. It was that villain.”
It’s virtually the same argument he tried to tell himself earlier. Hearing it from someone else makes it a lot more difficult to doubt, however. Now Izuku just feels silly.
Todoroki surprises him again by stepping forward and pulling him into a hug, which he awkwardly reciprocates.
“Everything will be fine, Midoriya.”
It’s at that moment, that Izuku remembers, really remembers, that Bakugou is Todoroki’s friend too.
He hugs back a little tighter from then on.