Work Text:
Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.
- Robert Frost, “The Death of the Hired Man”
~
Izuku had forgotten what it was like to feel warm.
The April rain had been cold and pelting and ever-present, leeching into her bones. Raindrops had stung her face as she whipped through the darkness like a bullet.
But now all she can feel is the liquid heat of the giant bath that she’s sharing with all the girls of 1A - or, 2A, now, she supposes. Steam beads up warm on her face, and Yaomomo made bath salts, so everything smells of green tea and peppermint and warmth.
Ochaco is sitting behind her in the bath and tugging gently at the sodden, snarled mass of Izuku’s hair. Caught up in fight after fight and constantly on the verge of fleeing, she can’t remember the last time anyone’s touched her with kindness, and just the thought of that is enough to make her throat close up.
“I’m sorry, Izuku-chan,” Ochaco says, “but there’s no getting out these knots. I think we’re just going to have to cut off some of your hair.”
“That’s okay,” Izuku says. Her voice sounds hoarse to her own ears, and she doesn’t know if it’s from fighting, or from the rain, or yelling at her classmates, or crying, or the past month, or the past year. “It’s just hair.”
“I can’t believe the Top Three,” Ochaco tuts, disapproving, but her hands remain gentle on Izuku’s hair. “They let you run yourself ragged. Endeavour and Hawks, I get, but I thought Best Jeanist would know better.”
“It’s not their fault,” Izuku says, faltering. “I, I tried to limit in-person contact with them as much as possible. A-All Might too. And I kept my hair under my hood, a lot.”
There’s a little pool of silence at that, and Izuku feels the shame rise in her, as hot as the bath, at the reminder of how far she had run from the people who cared for her. She knows that she doesn’t deserve this - this clean kindness, this warmth, this company, this shelter. She should just -
“Aoyama would probably cut your hair,” Jirou volunteers. “He helps me trim my bangs.”
“Oh,” Izuku says, startled out of her own thoughts. “Um. That’d be good. If he doesn’t mind.”
“He will not mind, Midoriya-san,” Yaomomo says, so firm and kind that Izuku feels herself flush. “He will be happy to help in any way possible, no matter how small. We all feel that way.”
“But I don’t-”
I don’t deserve this.
“Izuku-chan,” Ochaco says, chiding. “Close your eyes.”
Izuku obeys, bewildered - and then Ochaco pours a dipperful of warm water over her head, washing away the last of the shampoo suds. The water runs through her hair, along her throat and back. It runs down her face, like tears.
~
She wakes up drowsy and warm, covered in an unfamiliar blanket.
The panic sets in instantly - How could I have fallen asleep, stupid, STUPID! - and Full Cowling is arcing over her body with crackles of green lightning before a familiar voice says, “Hey. Izuku. It’s all right.”
Izuku blinks, breathing hard and trying to clear her head. She orients herself, clocks her surroundings - the darkened common room, Heights Alliance, Shouto standing in front of her with his open hands held out loose, placating. There’s a little candle-like flame dancing golden in one of his palms, illuminating his worried face.
“I-” She lets her fists fall, lets Full Cowling die. “Shouto-kun, I’m sorry, I… I was startled.”
“It’s okay,” he says, even though it isn’t, really. “It’s late. Do you need help getting back to bed?”
She shouldn’t need help. She’s walked through these halls hundreds of times, but it’s like her feet don’t want to stay on the ground, like every corner has new shadows.
She realizes she hasn’t said anything, but Shouto says, “I’ll walk you back.”
He leads the way, holding up his palmful of flame, and she trails after him.
And then she says, the words spewing from her: “I’m sorry. I - all those things happened with your b-brother, and it must’ve been awful for you, and your family, and… I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you with any of it, you must’ve been hurting this whole time, I-”
The flame goes out.
They’ve reached her door, and Shouto turns around slowly, to face her. In the sudden darkness, she can’t quite make out his face.
And he says, “You saved me, you know.”
“I - what?”
Shouto goes on, calm, almost matter-of-fact. “When I faced him - Touya - I realized it. That we were the same. He’s just like me, before the Sports Festival. The only thing driving him is his hatred for Endeavour. If you hadn’t woken me up that time, if you hadn’t told me this power was mine - I would’ve turned out just like him.”
Shouto takes a step closer. She can see his face better now, and there’s nothing calm about the way he’s looking at her.
“You saved me,” he says, again. “You helped me more than you could ever know.”
Izuku tries not to cry. She claps her hands over her mouth, to clamp down on the tears, but they start to stream out of her eyes anyway. She doesn’t deserve to cry, he’s the one who’s been hurt by his brother, she’s not the one who is hurting the most, she -
“Hey,” Shouto says, with so much kindness that it hurts. He reaches up to pry her hands away from her face. “You can let yourself cry. It’s all right.”
Then he wraps his arms around her, hesitant, as if at any moment she’ll Shoot Style away. And she realizes, in a burst of longing, how much she missed this, being held by somebody, by anybody, but particularly by Shouto, with his coolness and warmth and his careful strength, the way he always made space for her to be exactly as she was.
So she buries her face in his shoulder, and lets herself cry against him, in the darkness. She doesn’t believe in herself right now, but she tries to believe in him and in what he tells her, that it’s okay for her to cry.
~
After she calms down, Izuku has to face her bedroom door. Her hand closes around the knob, but she doesn’t open the door, and Shouto asks, prompting, “Izuku?”
“I.” Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, so tired out from this latest burst of tears. “There’s part of me that’s afraid that as soon as I - step back in there, and I’m alone again, that I’ll - unlatch the window, and just run away. Isn’t that awful?”
Shouto mulls over this. “It’s not awful,” he says. “I would’ve broke out of the hospital to go after Touya if it wasn’t surrounded by media.”
Izuku hiccups a laugh. “Remember Hosu?”
He flashes her a small, rare smile. “Of course I do.” And then, “Would it make it easier to stay, if you weren’t alone?”
“… Yes,” she says to the door.
“Okay,” Shouto says, and he follows her into her bedroom, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.
It feels like a stranger’s room, like there was some other person who had no fewer than eight All Might figurines lined up all along their bedside table and their desk. She touches the faded stars on the sheets, like they’re some kind of talisman, or way back.
They lie in her bed, staring up at the ceiling together, and Shouto’s warm side is pressed up against her, his heat spreading diffuse through the blankets, like a small furnace.
“Izuku?”
“Yeah?”
“… I’m glad you came back.”
She keeps thinking she’s all cried out, but a few tears manage to slip out anyway, sliding down her temples, hot on her neck.
“I’m sorry I left,” she says. “I said that already, didn’t I? I can’t seem to - stop saying sorry-”
“It’s okay,” Shouto says, comfortable. “You’re here now.”
As if that’s all that matters.
~
She wakes up to a rapid-fire rapping at her door and Kacchan bellowing, “Oi, De - Izuku! Get your ass to breakfast!” before he rips open the door.
She blinks at him, slow and sluggish. She’s still tired, still wracked with exhaustion shot through with fear and worry, but it feels a little easier to bear than it did yesterday. There’s a warm arm around her waist, and she looks down to see Shouto’s still asleep, his hair mixing together red and white.
Kacchan’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t comment on Shouto’s presence. “It’s breakfast time, nerd.”
“Okay,” Izuku says, still feeling a bit bewildered. “I’ll get ready and come down in a bit.”
Kacchan doesn’t move - he just stands there in her room, arms crossed, his usual scowl darkening his face.
“Are you…” She tries to find the words. “… Going to march me to the cafeteria?”
Kacchan sneers, and the pugnacious look on his face is so familiar that it’s almost dizzying. “You’re damn right! I don’t trust your ass not to eat without supervision! This is what you get for skipping meals like a dumbass on your stupid solo quest!!”
It is, oddly, one of the sweetest things he has ever said to her.
~
She wakes up Shouto, and the three of them walk down to the cafeteria together. By the time they get there, they’ve acquired a small honour guard, Ochaco and Tsuyu and Iida all tagging along.
Izuku tries to follow them to the line up for the cafeteria, but Ochaco places careful fingertips on her shoulders and says, “You just sit, Izuku-chan. Double helpings of katsudon, right? Broccoli on the side?”
Izuku touches her own face, and she’s - she’s smiling. It feels wobbly and strange, but it’s a smile, all the same. “Yes,” she says. “Thank you, Ochaco-chan.”
Kacchan stays at the table with her, sitting across from her and looking at her with narrowed eyes. She hasn’t even had time to process The Apology properly, with everything that’s happened, but it’s a little comforting to have him treat her almost the same as before.
“Aren’t you going to get breakfast?” she asks.
“I ate earlier,” he says. And then, abruptly, “Did you master that quirk yet?”
She closes her eyes, trying to feel for a presence that isn’t quite there. The wielders have been her constant companions, her only real companions since she started pushing away All Might, during her strange time away. But they seem to have faded into the background ever since she came back to UA, as if giving her the space to connect with the people that she left behind.
“Almost,” she says, opening her eyes. “The third wielder taught me his quirk. I used it in combat for the first time against an assassin. A former hero. Lady Nagant.”
Kacchan twitches, clearly recognizing the name. “She never misses. How are you not dead?”
“… I dodged.”
His eyebrows draw together, as if he knows there’s a story there, but she’s not ready to share it, not yet. You’re the real deal, Midoriya Izu-
“You and me,” he says, “we’re going to fight again, so I can see how much you levelled up on your stupid solo quest. There’s no way you’re jumping ahead of me.”
… Izuku has lived entire lifetimes since she’s left UA. She’s fought and bled, rescued countless civilians, taken down villains that would’ve killed her a year ago. She’s hurt people, really hurt them, with blinding speed and strength, and leaped away, every time. She’s learned from the wielders, and she understands One for All and the complicated interactions of its multiple quirks with a depth and precision that Kacchan won’t be able to fathom until he’s seen her in action.
She’s been driven by an awful desperation, knowing that no matter how fast she grew, how much she learned, it might still not be enough to take down All for One - but that no matter what, she had to try. She had to do it, to push as hard and fast as she could, a rocket burn, explosive, to protect everyone and their happiness. To try and bring back a world that had been lost because of a villain that she never should’ve let escape.
So it feels so strange to hear Kacchan talk about the narrow world of their rivalry, as if the rest of the world and the generations of suffering caused by All for One don’t even matter, as if all that’s important is the two of them competing to see who will come out on top.
It’s kind of… nice?
“I never got to thank you,” she says, instead, and is gratified by the sudden confusion that crosses his face. “For saving me, back then. From Shigaraki’s Rivet Stab. So… thank you, Kacchan.”
There’s a scar on his body that has her name on it. One day, maybe, she’ll see that scar with her own eyes, touch it with her own hands - but for now, it’s enough to know that he is still here, alive to complain about it.
His scowl deepens but he looks away, a ridge of colour appearing across his cheekbones. “Yeah, well, next time listen to what I tell you, you damn nerd, and don’t try to do this all this by yourself. You ever run off again, we’ll just drag your ass right back, so don’t even try it.”
Izuku can feel herself smiling again, and it feels a little easier this time. “Okay, Kacchan.”
~
She finds Mom after breakfast, in one of the new buildings for the evacuees. They have no words for each other, nothing coherent, anyway - they just cling to each other, and cry.
With each hot, cleansing tear, Izuku feels her shame leaving her, being replaced, drop by drop, with an endless gratitude for everyone she holds dear, who refused to let her go.
~
Shouto walks her over to Aizawa-sensei’s after lunch, “Because cats,” he says, solemnly, and she feels a little ripple of something that’s almost like laughter, ghosting around her chest.
She stands in front of the doorway for a long time, so long that Shouto touches her elbow. “Izuku?”
“Oh,” she says, dazed. “I just.” She swallows. “I don’t know if Aizawa-sensei will… want to see me? I - the last time I saw him, I… I let him get hurt. He’ll probably yell at me-”
“I will certainly yell at you, Problem Child,” a very dry, familiar voice says, “but not for that.”
Aizawa-sensei has an eyepatch now, but his remaining eye looks upon her as sharply as ever. When he moves, his gait is not quite smooth with his mechanical leg, but he’s alive, he’s alive and moving, he’s alive, and Izuku feels those familiar tears well up in her eyes again, for the millionth time. This, at least, was something that she didn’t completely screw up.
“Don’t just stand there,” Aizawa-sensei calls over his shoulder, as he shuffles towards the kitchen. “Take off your shoes and go play with the other children.”
Izuku looks to the living room, to see Shinsou sitting on the floor in his school uniform, draped in no fewer than three cats, Eri and Kouta beside him.
“Neesan!” Eri and Kouta shriek, almost as one, running towards her and wrapping themselves around her knees, and Izuku finds herself suddenly breathless with laughter through her tears as she kneels down to hug them.
Eri reaches up to wrap her arms around her neck, and she buries her small face in the disaster zone of Izuku’s hair. “Neesan,” she says, tiny and quiet so only Izuku can hear, “I really missed you.”
Izuku’s hit with a familiar swoop of guilt, as she remembers the words she’d lashed out with just last night: Eri doesn’t need me. It doesn’t have to be me.
… But Izuku had never said that she didn’t need Eri.
“I missed you too,” Izuku chokes out. “And you too, Kouta,” she says, turning towards him. He’s got one arm wrapped around her, and he’s knuckling at the tears in his eyes with his free hand. “You came to my side last night, when the crowd was really scary. Thank you.”
Kouta sniffs. “It’s nothing,” he says. “They were just being j-jerks.”
“It was really brave of you,” Izuku insists. “You, and everyone else - you really saved me.”
“Hey, hey,” a voice above them says, and she looks up to see Shinsou, a familiar tired grin wreathing his face. “Let her get settled in first, kiddos, then you can cuddle her as much as you want.”
Shinsou lifts Izuku up by both hands, until she’s standing upright - but he doesn’t let go right away.
“Hey,” he says, “I’m a little hurt, you know?”
She blinks. “W-what?”
“You went on a secret stealth mission, and you didn’t think to bring along your favourite mind controller?” He clucks his tongue. “I would’ve been loads more useful than All Might.”
Izuku feels the laughter burst from her in a watery bark. “Yes, but can you make tonkatsu?”
“I have other talents,” Shinsou says lightly, as he leads her over to the couch where Shouto is already scratching a cat under the chin, a plump rusty-black tabby who looks like she’s in heaven.
Shinsou picks up another one of the cats, a slim blue-eyed Himalayan sealpoint, who stretches out docile, and lets himself be placed in Izuku’s lap. He blinks up at her lazily, and Izuku reaches out, hesitant, to gently scritch behind his ears until she can feel the vibration of his steady purrs.
The last cat, a huge reddish creature who must be part Maine Coon, drapes herself across Shinsou as if he’s her personal property. Kouta scrambles up onto the couch to sit next to her, and Eri comes up on the other side, both of them crowding her close, a little like kittens themselves.
Eri beams up at her, and says, “His name is Archimedes, but we call him Archie for short. He really likes it when you rub his belly.”
Eri shows her, and Izuku coos, but in the back of her mind, she sees Chisaki Kai - the wreck of what is left of Chisaki Kai, begging to see his boss. Izuku wonders if his promise will hold true, if he will truly apologize to Eri and ease some of the shadows that still linger around her. She can’t speak of Chisaki yet, but -
“Kouta-kun,” she says, turning towards him, and he tilts his face towards hers. “About Muscular… I caught him again, and I gave him to the cops. He can’t hurt you ever again.”
Kouta’s eyes go wide, and then he squeezes her in another hug, ferocious and tight. Her ribs ache and protest, and it is worth it. It is worth everything.
“I knew you would get him,” he says, his eyes burning with something too intense to just be called hope. “Because you’re a hero.”
~
Mandalay comes to pick up Kouta to take him back to their quarters, and Shinsou helps Eri get ready for bed. Shouto’s dozed off with the black cat half-sitting on his face, so Izuku is left with Aizawa-sensei, who pushes a pink caticorn mug of steaming chamomile tea across the coffee table to her.
“Problem Child,” he says, over his folded hands.
“We couldn’t let you die,” Izuku blurts out. “Me and Kacchan. We just - we couldn’t. I know I should say I’m sorry and that I learned my lesson, but - I’m not sorry for trying to save you, or Gran Torino, or - or anyone important to me. I will try to be smarter about it next time, but I’ll never be sorry for that.”
Aizawa-sensei’s quiet, for a beat, and then two.
Izuku braces herself for the tongue-lashing, but instead - Aizawa-sensei reaches out, and places a hand on top of her head.
“You all,” he says, “are my precious students.”
Izuku looks up.
“And I want to tell you,” he says, “that you can lay your burden down, and put it all on the shoulders of the adults who can manage it. However,” and he heaves a sigh, sounding more tired than she’s ever heard him before, “it’s clear that we can’t manage on our own. The truth is, we need you, Midoriya Izuku.”
“... I know,” Izuku says, small, and she hears it herself - how heartbroken she sounds. Maybe a part of her wanted him to say it too, that she didn’t have some terrible destiny entangling One for All and All for One. That the world wasn’t resting on her shoulders.
“But,” he says, holding up one finger, “we need you alive and well, Problem Child. So - don’t run yourself into the ground. Give your wounds time to heal. Rest and eat and play. Get hugs every day. Let yourself lean on the people around you.” Aizawa nods his head, decisive. “That’s how we’ll win this war.”
Izuku hears herself let out a watery giggle. “That simple, huh? We’ll just hug All for One to death?”
Aizawa looks at her, intently. “That quirk of yours - One for All is powered by emotion, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Izuku says, soft. “The emotion of its wielders - each generation’s feelings flow through it.”
He taps his fingers together, thoughtful. “I don’t think that’s just it,” he says. “Emotions don’t just run one-way like that. I think it must be connected, in some way, to the emotions of all the people that have some tie with the wielders. That faith, that belief, that hope, that trust, of all those interconnected souls…” He goes quiet, for a little. “How else can you explain how it’s gotten so strong?”
It’s possible, the First murmurs in her ear. Its power is greater than the emotions of just the nine of us combined.
“So draw power from that,” Aizawa-sensei says, but it sounds like he’s not just talking about the pragmatics of a quirk, of strategy and tactics, but something wider and deeper, more vulnerable. “The emotions of all those who are connected to you - let them give you strength.”
~
Shinsou and Shouto walk her back to the dorms, one on each side of her, and they’re arguing, mildly, about which one of Aizawa’s cats is the best. Izuku lets their talk drift over the top of her head, as her feet lead her back to Heights Alliance.
“We’re kidnapping you,” Ochaco announces, plucking Izuku from between Shinsou and Shouto as soon as they enter the common room. “Sleepover, Yaomomo’s room. It’s been decided.”
Shinsou makes a little moue of displeasure. “Can’t I join? I love sleepovers.”
Ochaco looks at him, suspicious, and says, “… You don’t sleep.”
“Well, I love overs,” Shinsou says, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“But the cats will get lonely,” Izuku says, her smile sitting more comfortably on her face now.
Shinsou shoots her a sideways look. “And we can’t have that, now can we?” He leans down until their foreheads are touching, and murmurs, “Have a good sleepover, Izuku.”
Izuku rubs the spot on her forehead afterwards, where they touched, where it still feels very warm.
~
Yaomomo’s conjured up enough futons and spare blankets for all the 2A girls and Aoyama. The bright patchwork of blankets covers almost all the floorspace, though there’s a table heaped with contributions: a mocha icebox cake topped with chocolate shavings, made by Sato; a bowl of sweet Hokuto apples, streaked red and yellow like tulips, from Tokoyami; and a charcuterie board lovingly curated by Aoyama, with deep purple-black grapes and prosciutto to accompany the cheeses.
Even Kacchan had made a platter of pork croquettes, insisting that he just had to use up the potatoes in the kitchen before they went bad.
“Make sure the nerd eats them!” he’d barked. “She needs to get back to top shape as soon as possible, so we can have a re-match!”
“Okay, please take your repressed feelings and choke on them!” Ochaco had said, cheerfully slamming the door in his face.
Jirou’s put an All Might documentary up on the widescreen, an oldie but a goodie about his days as an exchange student in the States. Ashido’s painting Tsuyu’s nails a brilliant tangerine, while Ochaco flips through a martial arts manual from the library. Every once in a while, Ochaco reaches back and touches Izuku’s ankle, as if to make sure she’s still there.
Outside, it is still raining, April showers beating at the windows - but here, inside, Izuku is content. She sits in a chair with a towel wrapped around her neck, her hands warmed by a china teacup filled with the creme caramel rooibos that Yaomomo insisted was a perfect pairing for the mocha cake.
“Any particular style?” Aoyama asks, his scissors gleaming.
“I trust you,” she says, and he hums, pleased. With every snip of his scissors, her head feels lighter and lighter.
“What do you think, my friend?” Aoyama asks eventually, holding up a small hand mirror.
Izuku blinks. She’s barely looked at a mirror in the last month, and in the rare times that she's caught her reflection, all she’d seen was a wild, ragged thing of fury and desperation, masked and hooded and fraying at the edges, covered in filth and blood and scars.
But the girl in the mirror has a pale, round face dotted with dark freckles and framed by soft green curls. She looks sad and exhausted, both very young and very old, like the whole world is resting on her shoulders. Izuku wants to fetch her hot cups of tea and wrap her in a warm sweater, wants to let her sleep for a solid month.
… The girl in the mirror deserves every kindness in the world. Izuku will fight anyone who says otherwise.
“Thank you, Aoyama-kun,” Izuku says, touching the edges of her hair. Part of her has been cut away, another part of her revealed. “I love it.”
~
Izuku’s staring up at the ceiling, covers drawn to her chin, when she whispers, “Ochaco-chan? Are you still awake?”
Ochaco stirs in the futon next to her. “Course I am, with Mina snoring like that. What’s up?”
Izuku turns so that she’s on her side. In the darkness of Yaomomo's bedroom, she can see Ochaco turn towards her too, so they’re facing each other, curled up like a pair of parentheses.
“I wanted,” Izuku starts, unsteady, “to say-”
I’m sorry had been what came out of her reflexively, all day, over and over again, I’m sorry, but it’s not enough to encompass everything feels.
“Thank you,” Izuku says instead, the words fitting properly into her mouth. “I wanted to say thank you. You fought for me, you made it so that I could come back. If it was up to me, I would’ve just gone back into the rain, but you - you fought for me, even when I couldn’t fight for me, so - thank you.”
Ochaco is quiet for so long that Izuku wonders if she’s fallen asleep.
But then Ochaco says, “I was able to fight because... you’ve always inspired me. I never could’ve become this strong if you hadn’t been here - running beside me, or running ahead of me, making me want to catch up, to run faster too. And-” She hesitates. “I know you want to protect us, and that’s… really beautiful. That comes from such a good place. But we don’t want to be protected by you. We just want to be with you.”
Ochaco pauses. “Izuku-chan? Are you okay?”
“…. I have to stop crying eventually, right?” Izuku chokes out. “I’ll eventually run out of tears?”
There’s a smile in Ochaco’s voice that Izuku can hear, even in the darkness. “I don’t know, maybe it’s your like, hundredth quirk.”
Izuku laughs, a ragged laugh mingled with a sob, and Ochaco reaches out and touches Izuku’s damp cheek with the back of her fingers. Like everyone who has reached out to touch Izuku, she is blessedly, achingly warm.
“Get some sleep, okay?” Ochaco says softly. “You need to rest. You earned this.”
“Okay,” Izuku, still wavery. “If Uravity-sama says so.”
“Uravity-sama does.”
Ochaco starts to pull her hand away but Izuku reaches up and curls her scarred fingers around her wrist, to keep her there.
“Is it okay if we stay like this?” Izuku whispers. “Just for a little while?”
“Of course,” Ochaco says, her warm hand cupping Izuku’s face, a promise and an anchor and a grounding force as undeniable as gravity itself. “We can stay like this for as long as you like.”
~
In the coming days, Izuku will get on a conference call with the Top Three and All Might. She’ll find out if they have any new intel or any new leads that will bring them closer to Shigaraki, to All for One. She’ll speak with the wielders again, and ask if the Second is any closer to letting her unlock his quirk. At some point, because she’s her, she’ll probably cry.
But in the meantime, she will give her wounds time to heal. She will rest and eat and play. She will get hugs every day. She will let herself lean on the people around her.
And in this way, they’ll win the war.
~
I got a girl in the war, Paul
Her eyes are like champagne
They sparkle, bubble over,
In the morning, all you got is rain
- Josh Ritter, “Girl in the War”