Work Text:
At first, Izuku doesn’t even feel it. He’s too busy, operating purely on adrenaline at this point, trying to finish this before anyone else gets hurt. And then Shouto comes blasting his way through the barrier with Kacchan and together they take down the–the thing that they’re fighting, and there are screams that turn into cheers as the huge body falls to the ground with a hard thump , and it’s so loud and his vision blurs as he staggers, racing towards where Ochako and Tsu lay unmoving but suddenly he’s on fire , and it burns , so bad, and then Aizawa-sensei’s there, and grasping his shoulders, steadying him, even though his friends are hurt and they need help and Sensei is talking to him, gesturing, and he looks down and Izuku looks down with him, and oh , there’s a knife sticking out of his stomach.
He blinks hard, trying to get rid of those irritating black spots that keep popping up. There’s red spreading–more than it’s already been spread–and he feels faint. That explains the fire , he thinks giddily as the world spins around him.
“S-sensei,” he says, thinks he says. He doesn’t know–his tongue feels numb, is he even talking? “There's–there’s something–I need it out, get it out –“
His words turn frantic as he scrabbles as the knife that’s sticking out of his stomach even as hands grab his to prevent him from taking out the thing that’s in his stomach –
Sound filters in slowly but it’s weird because his ears are ringing. Voices overlap as he sways, fal li ng fal ling falling
“–doriya, Midoriya, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself–”
“–wrong with him, is he okay–”
“–my god, was he stabbed–”
“Sensei, is Midoriya gonna be–”
And then he can’t hear again, the ringing slowly but surely rising in volume and he falls down into someone’s arms, head against what he thinks is a chest but he’s probably wrong because he can’t think , thoughts swirling around and slipping out of his grasp as he reaches for the streams but they slide right through his fingers because his thoughts are water, water in a stream or maybe they’re the fish, the fish that bite on the bait but let go and fall, fall, fall–
He doesn’t want to fall.
His veins are on fire, he can’t think, can’t breathe.
He falls.
He wakes, but he doesn’t want to. Voices are floating over his head but he’s too tired to even begin to try and process what they’re saying–not that he’d be able to, anyway. His brain is full of mush and the darkness that surrounds him is so comforting that he just wants to sink into it and never leave–
“–riya, can you open your eyes?”
Izuku groans–or he thinks he does, his throat feels like sandpaper and he wants to throw up and now that he thinks about it his mouth tastes like bile and he gags, hands steadying him as he leans over the–the bed? Is he on a bed? Where?
And that train of thought promptly leaves his head as the feel of acid climbs up through his throat and he gags again, moaning as a hand brushes against his forehead and he’s vomiting up his insides, spatting out a thick liquid that isn’t food, adding a check to the list that says he already threw up but he can’t stop and he coughs, and coughs some more and it hurts .
He’s leaned up against a wall when the fit subsides, something cold pressing gently against his lips. He turns away from the foreign thing that’s trying to get into his throat but then cool liquid trickles down his face and he parts his lips slightly, allowing the sweet water to soothe his aching throat.
And it works, for a minute, but then he gags again and the water comes back up and he squeezes his eyes so tightly it hurts, but when the glass is put up to his mouth again he turns his head away, trying to communicate to whoever’s there that he doesn’t want it, but he’s sinking again, sinking into the darkness and he falls.
He thinks he wakes a few times after that, but mostly he drifts. Drifts in the endless sea of darkness, sinking deeper and deeper (falling and falling), and it’s peaceful, for the most part.
He likes it. It’s the most peace he’s had since he was four.
He drifts. He doesn’t think. It’s black, and he likes black. Black is good. Black is quiet.
And then, he dreams.
He’s four, and his mother is crying. Why are you crying ? He asks, high-pitched and innocent. Innocent to the cruelty of the outside world that he had yet to discover.
Oh, baby, my baby , his mother weeps, embracing him in a hug. She guides him to the computer and puts on his favorite All Might video.
He watches and watches and tears start streaming down his cheeks in rivers, some deep, primal being inside him understanding what he himself cannot.
Mama, he says, pointing a trembling finger at the video, at All Might, and asks, with hope only a child can muster, can I still be a hero ?
His mother breaks down, then, collapsing to her knees while he sits in confusion with a shaky smile plastered on his face. She apologizes, over and over and over and he doesn’t understand why. He can still be a hero, right?
Right?
Mama ? he asks, a scared child. Mama ? he repeats, more urgent.
She pulls herself together and doesn’t look him in the eyes. Yes, baby ? she asks.
Mama, I’m hungry , he says.
I’ll make katsudon , she replies and hurries into the kitchen, leaving him with cheeks crusty from the tears. He turns back to the video and watches All Might save people with his quirk.
He cries. And he drifts.
He’s seven, and he’s running. Shouts and jeers echo behind him and he runs as fast as he can, a sliver of hope that he won’t get caught this time, that Kacchan will be nice.
He stumbles, scraping his knee, and laughter surrounds him. He pants and hugs his knee, and a shadow falls over him. He doesn’t loom up.
Deku , Kacchan sneers, what’s wrong? You gonna be a baby?
He shakes his head desperately, and pushes on the scrape, trying to stop the red. It’s not working.
Deku, Deku, Deku , chant the others, the extras, the followers.
Tears leak out of his eyes and he squeezes them shut, trying desperately, futilely, to hide them.
Aw, is little baby Deku crying? Gonna run home to mommy ? They mock him and he cries harder and Kacchan (it’s Kacchan, it’s always Kacchan) places his hand on his shoulder.
Get up , he says roughly.
Get up, get up get up GET UP
He’s shaking, or the ground is, or his shoulders are - but that means he’s shaking but everything is shaking–
“Is he going to be okay?”
Worry .
“Yes.”
false.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Hesitation .
“What’s wrong with him? He’s just sick, right? The cut–”
Anger. Insistence.
“Sensei, please .”
Pleading .
“The k̷̗̻̠͉̫͖̣̈̍͌̈́̽͜ņ̸̞͙̗̰̟͈͕̠̰̓͐̐͛͒͝ḯ̷̘̮̘̫̳̝̃̈́̑͝f̷̝͈̹̐̄̓̐̾̀̕ē̸̳ was poisoned.”
Shock, a sucked in breath after a gasp of fright.
“B-but he’s gonna be okay, right? Nothing’s gonna, y’know, happen?”
Ends in a whisper, fear fear fear no don’t be afraid is someone hurt someone’s hurt who’s hurt tell me I wanna know who’s hurt tell me tell me please please it’s my fault isn’t it my fault my fault all my fault a l w ay s m y f a u l t
He slips deeper. And deeper.
He’s twelve, and the teacher–Matsuzaki-sensei–calls on him to answer a math question.
U-um , he stutters, shrinking under the watchful gazes. W-well, you need to isolate the variable, so y-you, um, you subtract three from both sides, and then you’re left with fourteen equals seven ex, so ex is equal to two.
Matsuzaki-sensei’s face contorts into an ugly scowl. When did you do it, huh? When’d you sneak in and steal the answers?
I–I didn’t -
Don’t lie! Detention!
Tears streak down his cheeks and he curls into himself, ashamed. Why’d he even bother? It always ends up the same. Of course he doesn’t actually know the answer, he must have cheated! Heaven forbid the quirkless retard ever do anything right.
When the bell rings, he runs out of class as fast as he can, head down and feet pounding as he tries desperately to ignore the laughter behind him, fading into the distance the farther he runs.
He makes his way to the roof, where he sits for at least one period. He knows he’s gonna have to go back eventually, but he doesn’t want to. Detention is scary , and he doesn’t like scary things.
But the roof shifts and swirls and he’s dizzy, and he’s sitting in a classroom with faceless people mocking him, insulting him, and he’s sitting in the only desk and he doesn’t know why or how and then Kacchan is there, calling him weak, and telling him he’ll never be a hero, and his mom is there, sobbing and apologizing, and no, mom, it’s not your fault, stop crying, please, I’ll be a hero, I’m not weak, I'm not–
Midoriya .
All Might ! he cries out in relief. The hero is in front of him, smiling gently down at him.
Then All Might's face shifts into a frown, and he feels a wave of dread.
Midoriya . I’m very disappointed in you .
He shudders as he feels shame pool in his stomach. Of course. He can’t do anything right, can he? He stole the number one hero’s quirk, he nearly got expelled on the first day of school, he’s failed so many tests, all he can do is mess things up.
Maybe he should have jumped, that day.
He hears a voice, and realizes All Might is still talking. But . . . it’s not like how he was talking before? It’s concerned, and it changes from sounding like All Might to sounding like Aizawa-sensei, to Yamada-sensei, and his head hurts.
He grasps it, crouching low on the floor. He tugs on his hair, moaning in distress. Something’s wrong , but he doesn’t know what .
He can feel the darkness creeping around him, and he gladly surrenders to it.
He falls.
He doesn’t dream anymore, but it’s not for a good reason. Everything feels like it’s on fire .
He’s scared his head’s going to spontaneously combust with all the flames. The flames that are licking at his skin, squirming its way into his veins, his organs, his blood cells, his very being.
He shrieks when the flames touch his face, burning away every fiber of what makes him him .
He tugs on his hair with shriveled, blackened hands. It burns and it hurts and he wants it to stop .
The flames inch their way up his cheeks, and they finally consume all of him. He’s grateful, in a way. Maybe the pain will go away.
It doesn’t.
He screams.
He’s thirteen, and he’s sitting on a roof, dangling his feet over the edge. He won’t actually jump, but . . . it’s peaceful, here. A stark contrast to what had happened not even two hours ago.
He can still feel the slime in his lungs. It feels gross, like he needs to vomit up his insides to be clean again. But then he’d be coughing up blood and his mom would be worried, so he resists the urge to stick fingers down his throat and force it.
He coughs anyway, his hand coming up to catch the sludge that drips out of his mouth. He grimaces. So gross , he thinks as he wipes his hand on his uniform.
He gazes at the darkening skyline, the sounds of the city loud and in his face even though he’s so far up. He chances a glance down, and looks away quickly, sighing. He doesn’t want to jump. He doesn’t . Honest!
But . . . maybe it’ll be better. If not for him, then for his mom, at least. All he does is bring trouble to her doorstep.
No .
He stands up, wavering for a moment before turning on his heel and briskly heading towards the staircase door.
Not today.
He leaves.
It’s dark in the staircase, and he feels cold. He stops, the steps disappearing.
What the hell ? he whispers into the dark, the void.
The solid ground beneath his feet vanishes, and he falls, screaming.
He’s on fire again. But this time it’s cold. It’s freezing. Like he’s got hypothermia and heatsroke at the same time and he hates it. He can feel every nerve in his body scream out in pure agony.
He shivers, and suddenly he’s sitting with his back to a wall. He brings his knees in close and hugs them to his chest, resting his head on the wall behind him.
Midoriya-kun .
His head shoots up and he looks around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever called his name. But . . . maybe no one did. Maybe he’s all alone, just like everyone says.
Midoriya-kun.
He hears it again, but he ignores it. If he pretends not to hear it, it’ll go away, right?
Midoriya-kun .
It’s louder, this time. He lifts his head warily, squinting as a tiny dot of light appears in the distance. It gets closer. He says nothing, even as the light approaches him, stopping a few feet away, condensing into the shape of a translucent, see-through body.
Midoriya-kun.
He looks at the figure, determining from the feminine voice and the shape of the body that it’s a woman.
Can you hear me? Her face is worried, her tone laced with false concern. She frowns. It’s not fake , she tells him. I am worried about you. A lot of people are .
He startles. “Who are you?”
So you can hear me .
“I–yes.”
Good . My name is Shimura Nana, and I am–or, was, I suppose–the seventh holder of One for All. You may call me Nana, or, if you prefer, Seventh.
A smile plays at her mouth when she says this.
One for All . . . why does that sound so familiar?
Because it is your quirk.
“Gah–”
He clutches his head, pain pulsing through it.
“W-what’s happening?” he asks desperately. “I–I don’t understand–”
Calm yourself, child . Nana’s face tightens with–is that worry? He thinks it might be worry, but he’s not sure.
Ninth.
He tilts his head. Is that him? Is she talking about him?
Izuku .
Oh, yeah, that’s his name. Izuku. He forgot.
Izuku, you have to wake up.
He blinks, bewildered. “What do you mean?”
She gazes at him sadly. He frowns. She shouldn’t frown–she’s too pretty to frown. She should be smiling. He doesn’t like that she’s sad. “I don’t–I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he admits in a whisper.
Oh, sweetie, I know . She sighs. It’ll be okay , she promises. But you have to wake up .
“Wake up?”
Wake up .
Wake up.
WAKE UP
WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP
When he wakes up, he immediately wishes he didn’t. He can hear voices above him, slowly but surely becoming more separate until he can hear the actual words instead of everything blurring together. There’s a faint beeping noise but it fades into the background as he tries to focus himself.
He doesn’t open his eyes, but he becomes aware of the scratchiness of his throat and coughs. And coughs. And coughs again until his eyes squint open and start watering as he keeps on coughing.
Something cold presses against his lips and he flinches away from it, bile rising in the back of his throat.
“Drink, Midoriya,” a voice murmurs lowly.
He’s grateful, the background noise that was grating on his ears having been quieted. The cold thing–a cup, he realizes–is gently held against his mouth. He parts his lips and a trickle of cool water enters and soothes his sore throat.
He coughs again, but it’s better–a tiny bit–this time. He takes another sip and sighs, closing his eyes fully.
“No falling asleep, sorry,” says the voice apologetically.
Izuku groans.
He’s tired. He wants to sleep.
“I know, kid, but you have to get up.”
“Mmm, Aizawa-sensei?” he asks, shifting around on the bed he’s on. The steady beeping of what he figures is a heart monitor fades to white noise as hands support him into a sitting position.
“Open your eyes, the lights are dimmed.”
Izuku carefully cracks open one eye, slamming it shut immediately. He does it again, keeping both eyelids as low as they can get without actually closing them. Slowly, he opens them, adjusting to the–as promised–dim lighting.
“Hey,” he mutters, voice cracking pathetically when the swimming figure of Aizawa-sensei solidifies into something he can differentiate from everything else. He blinks hard, trying to get the gunk out of his eyes. Lifting an arm weakly, he rubs his eyes, grimacing as pain shoots through him. “Ow.”
He hears a huff from Aizawa-sensei. “Do you want some more water?”
“No. Thanks.”
There’s a pinch in his arm and he glances down, startled at the patch there. He picks at it but Aizawa-sensei catches his hand before he can do much damage.
“It’s an I.V. You couldn’t keep anything down,” Aizawa-sensei informs him.
“Oh.” Izuku blinks, following the wire that stems from the patch to what is, in fact, an I.V. stand, which is also connected to a heart monitor. That explains the beeping .
“What can you remember?” Aizawa-sensei asks. “You don’t have to answer right now, but–”
“It’s okay,” Izuku interrupts, looking down and fidgeting with his blanket. “Um–we were fighting that guy–what was his name, Scorpion?” he continues at Aizawa-sensei’s nod. “Um. I was knocked down and Kacchan and Shouto came and beat him and–wait is everyone okay? They were hurt, what happened–”
The beeping increases, frantic and shrill and Izuku can’t breathe.
He doubles over, hugging himself tight as he pants. It feels like a metal ring is squeezing his chest and blocking any oxygen. He can’t breathe–what happened? To Tsu, Ochako? Denki was hurt, Izuku knows, is he okay?
He wheezes, scratching lightly at his arms. His chest hurts –that was where he’d–where he’d–what happened –
“Midoriya!”
“S-sensei–”
“Breathe, kid, breathe–”
“I can’t,” Izuku gasps, “I-I can’t –”
“Yes, you can,” Aizawa-sensei says firmly.
“I–”
“Here–” Aizawa-sensei places Izuku’s hand on his chest. “Feel that?” he asks. “My heartbeat?” Izuku nods. “Good. I want you to match that.”
Izuku looks at him, panicked. How? He can barely think over the buzzing in his head and the pain in his chest– where is that coming from –but Aizawa-sensei starts counting and Izuku feels himself calming, matching his breathing to the numbers, to Aizawa-sensei’s heartbeat that pulses steadily under his hand.
Eventually, he can breathe again. A small curse escapes him as he slumps back against his pillows. He hates panic attacks. They just prove that he’s weak, that he’s still that worthless, pathetic Deku –
“Midoriya.”
Izuku looks up sheepishly, not meeting his teacher’s eyes. He picks the heart monitor–how long had that been attached to him? How long had he been asleep?”
“Sorry,” he whispers, ashamed. He peeks at Aizawa-sensei through his bangs. “The others?”
“Back at the dorms, all fine and extremely worried about you.” Aizawa-sensei raises a pointed eyebrow and Izuku ducks his head, dizziness leaving as soon as it had come.
“Ochako, and Tsu–”
“They’re fine. Woke up the day after. It’s been six days,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
“O-oh.”
Izuku takes a deep breath. Six days . Jesus Christ.
“Midoriya. Can you continue or do you want to stop?”
Izuku tilts his head in confusion. ‘What do you mean? I got knocked aside and I guess I must have hit my head a little too hard,” Izuku says, laughing wryly. Something’s wrong, though. That shouldn’t have–then why–his chest stings –
Aizawa-sensei’s eyes furrow in confusion before his expression smoothes out. “Midoriya, you got s̷̳͔̞̦̬̗̄̋̒̌̀͆̏͜ͅt̶̡̡̨̟͍̮͋̂̑͂͛̈́̅͊̌̄͘̕͘͜͜ǎ̵̧̬͔͔̫͈̖̞͇̭͍̼̓͐̄̉̄̇̀b̷̡̪̝͓̥͇̦̜͔̓̈́̑̍̂̋̀̒͘͘͜͠b̵̨̛̳̳͎̦̥̦͇̕͝ẹ̵̡̢̢̤̝̟̿̓̽̂̈́͆̔d̶̤̟̞̬̝̖̺̜̈́͋ͅ.”
“What? No. What? No. No. What? No. No, no, nonono–”
Izuku gasps, rocking back and forth as much as he can while tangled in the blankets. What was sensei saying? He couldn’t understand , it was licked he blacked out for tht one word, what did he say? What did he say? He knows the word, but it didn’t happen to him , right? What didn’t happen? What did he say –
He sucks in a sharp breath and clutches his head, pulling harshly at his hair.
“Midoriya, breathe .”
“I’m trying!” he cries, tears sparking in the corners of his eyes. He flinches back when Aizawa-sensei’s hand reaches for him. “D-don’t touch me,” he says, hating how his voice cracks. He curls up his legs into his chest and sucks in air desperately. He counts to ten under his breath, matching them to the numbers.
He calms down by himself, blinking back tears furiously even as a few trail down his cheeks.
“Sor–”
“It’s alright,” Aizawa-sensei says, looking at him with a blank face. Izuku meets his eyes for a second and quickly glances away, unable to identify what emotion–if any–is on his teacher’s face.
“No, it’s not .” Izuku clutches his blanket and lies down. He yawns, exhausted.
He curls into himself and though he tries to stop his eyes from closing, sleep quickly claims him. Before he goes completely, he feels a hand through his hair and smiles slightly, drifting off as a feeling of safety surrounds him.
(there was a knife, wasn’t there? it went through his stomach. he knows this. he knows this. so why, why can’t he remember ? it went in his stomach, he felt it, he touched it, but he can’t remember. remember. remember. Remem . . . . .)
The next time he wakes up it's a much more pleasant experience. He opens his eyes and immediately wants to curl up and die as the memory of what he’d said to his teacher hits him.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t, but it’s not like the universe has ever been anything but cruel to him.
His eyes adjust to the light gradually, less painful than the last time, and soon he can make out Recovery Girl by his bed.
“Drink,” she says brusquely, and shoves a glass of water to his chest. He sits up carefully and takes it gratefully. He sips slowly, memories of past attempts to guzzle water while sick floating through his head.
“Thanks,” he rasps.
She humphs and bustles around, checking wires and machines. He wonders what all of them are for–he can recognize the heart monitor from before but that’s about it.
“You can return to the dorms in a few days if you keep this up,” she informs him.
Izuku perks up. “Really?” he asks eagerly. With the knowledge of already being here for days, cabin fever is already setting in. He can’t wait to see his friends–hopefully with minimum injuries. He hides his wince at the thought and deliberately steers his thoughts towards other, less panic-inducing things like Kacchan’s birthday.
“Careful,” she chides, slipping the I.V. off.
He blinks. He hadn’t even registered it this time. “Sorry.”
She clicks her tongue and takes a tray, placing it in his lap. It has a bowl of what Izuku assumes to be soup–probably chicken, but it’s only the broth so he doesn’t know for sure–and another glass of water.
“Thanks,” he says, carefully steadying his hand as he picks up the spoon. He brings it to his lips and blows softly, swallowing when he deems it cooled down enough. Its warmth curls in his stomach and he sighs happily, continuing to eat slowly even though he just wants to drink the entire thing. He’d throw up for sure if he did that, and as he’s not exactly keen to repeat the experience, he exercises caution in his actions.
He laughs mentally at that–any person who knows him would and will object immediately to that statement–no matter how much he himself objects to their objections.
He manages to eat about half the soup before feeling nauseous. He pushes the tray aside–there’s a chair next to his bed so he puts it there so it’s not resting on his lap. He slumps back against the pillow and sighs quietly to himself, trying not to disturb Recovery Girl.
He tilts his head towards the ceiling and thinks . Aizawa-sensei had mentioned something–something off that resonates with the ache in his stomach that shouldn’t exist but does. He remembers being flung around, hitting the ground, collecting scratches and bruises like they were Hero Cards. But he also remembers a hilt, Aizawa-sensei’s hands on him, steadying him. He remembers feeling that something was wrong, and he remembers–
Remembers–
Izuku sinks, and then he drifts.
He opens his eyes to darkness, but it’s different then the one before. It feels familiar, and he searches his mind to remember–
The holders!
The black fades into a dark gray, seven outlines becoming clear. They’re sitting on thrones, and as he adjusts, one of the outlines rises up and walks towards him. He recognizes her–it’s Shimura Nana, the seventh holder of One For All, and the original holder of Float.
“Hello, Midoriya-kun,” she says softly.
Izuku blinks, trying to get rid of the fog that’s settled over him. “Sh-Shimura-san?”
She laughs and Izuku shakes off the daze. “Call me Nana,” she tells him.
He shakes his head. He can’t do that! That’s not polite! Besides, Shimura-san deserves respect. She’s All Might’s mentor, after all!
“Please, Midoriya-kun. I insist.”
Izuku bites his lip. “Fine, but only if you call me Izuku,” he answers boldly. Was that too forward? Oh god, what if she hates him now?
She laughs again and ruffles his hair–so, not angry, then. He leans into it unconsciously before pulling away. The touch . . . doesn’t hurt , not exactly, but it feels . . . off. Like a phantom touch, rather than a solid, corporeal one. He doesn’t dislike it, though. It’s kind of nice, especially since most of the touch he gets nowadays is violence.
“If that’s what you want,” she says, an amused lilt coloring her voice. Izuku likes it. Her voice is soothing. But he still doesn’t know why he’s here.
“It’s a safety mechanism.”
Izuku looks up at her, startled. She smiles at him warmly, sitting on the floor. He follows her down, confused, and sits criss-cross. His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t–I don’t feel anything,” he murmurs. He backtracks immediately, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “N-not that I can’t feel , like feelings , just that physically–”
He’s cut off by a laugh. “I know what you mean,” she says, grinning slightly.
He quiets down, blushing and embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“None of that,” she chides. He looks away but she puts her hand under his chin and tilts his head up so their eyes meet. “Izuku-kun,” she says, serious. “Do you know why you are here?”
He shakes his head mutely, his throat feeling like it’s lined with sandpaper.
She lets go of his chin and sighs, resting her head on her hand. “Do you remember what I said about this being a safety mechanism?”
He nods, still confused.
“Well,” she begins, “ this place,” she gestures around him, to the never-ending gray and the black outlines of what he can confidently assume are the other previous holders of One For All, “is in your mind.”
“What?” he says without thinking.
“I know, it’s confusing,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t get it either, at first. But this place–where we are–was built to protect the holders. It’s like a little corner in your mind where you can retreat when something happens.”
Izuku frowns. Something is rather vague, after all. “A-and did something happen?”
She looks at him, right in the eyes and he shifts, uncomfortable. There’s something in her eyes that he doesn’t like, something that he thinks is pity. He doesn’t like pity. Pity means he’s weak and can’t protect others.
She looks at him and she’s sad. Why? Did he do something wrong?
“You did nothing wrong, Izuku.”
He startles at the lack of honorifics. And then registers her words. How did she–did she read his mind?
She laughs and he looks at her, eyes wide. “It’s a perk of the shared quirk. Some thoughts are loud enough that we can hear them.”
“O-oh.” He blushes, the implications wildly clear.
She shakes her head, probably trying to get back on track. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”
He raises an eyebrow, curious at the change of subject.
She sobers quickly, face turning grim. Izuku gulps, scared at what this question could bring.
“Izuku-kun,” she starts, “did you know that you were s̷̳͔̞̦̬̗̄̋̒̌̀͆̏͜ͅt̶̡̡̨̟͍̮͋̂̑͂͛̈́̅͊̌̄͘̕͘͜͜ǎ̵̧̬͔͔̫͈̖̞͇̭͍̼̓͐̄̉̄̇̀b̷̡̪̝͓̥͇̦̜͔̓̈́̑̍̂̋̀̒͘͘͜͠b̵̨̛̳̳͎̦̥̦͇̕͝ẹ̵̡̢̢̤̝̟̿̓̽̂̈́͆̔d̶̤̟̞̬̝̖̺̜̈́͋ͅ?”
He laughs nervously. “What?”
She frowns, an unidentifiable glint in her eyes.
He stops laughing. “What?” he asks, urgently.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asks him.
Izuku scrunches his nose. “You-you asked if I was–um, I don’t–ah.” He grabs his head, suddenly pounding. It feels like a migraine but without any of the warning signs.
He was–something, and he can’t remember what , and that’s why he’s here, right? Because Aizawa-sensei had asked if he remembered something, and there’s a pain in his chest that doesn’t make sense, and he wants to know, but what is it ?
What? What can’t he remember? Is it because of a quirk? Did he get hit and not know it? Is that part of it, induced amnesia that prevents the recipient from remembering what happened? How does that work, if he’s right? Can the user erase specific memories, or is it tied to something the user specifically does to the recipient? What would happen if–
“Izuku-kun,” a gentle voice says, interrupting his thought process–muttering? Was he muttering again? He should really try and stop that, he knows it’s creepy . . . .
He blushes when he finally notices Nana-san watching him. “Sorry,” he says, embarrassed and ducking his head.
“It’s no problem,” she laughs. “It’s actually rather fascinating.”
“Really?” Izuku perks up. “Because I have a lot of theories about Float that I can’t prove because I don’t have enough mastery over it yet, and if you can confirm some things that would be really helpful–”
“I’d love to, but maybe a little later.”
“Ah–of course, sorry.”
Nana-san smiles and shakes her head–fondly? That’s fondness, why would she be fond of him, they barely even know each other–
“Let me try something,” Nana-san says, phrasing it as a statement, though Izuku knows she’s really asking for permission. Permission to do–what. Exactly? He doesn’t know but he bets that it has something to do with what she said. “It won’t hurt,” she assures him.
Izuku swallows warily but concedes. He trusts her.
She gestures for him to lean forward and he does, and she presses two fingers to his temple. “I want you to think,” she says, soothingly. Izuku blinks heavily. “What did I say? What did you hold? Think, Izuku-kun. I want you to search your mind until you find it.”
Izuku does as she says, sorting through his thoughts as best he can. What did he hold? That doesn’t make any sense–unless she means back in the battle, in which case he remembers fingers curling around something round, and long, and firm. It was connected to his stomach, somehow, like a–like a–
He wrenches himself backwards, scrambling away until he hits something like a wall. His breathing turns into pants, and he tries to calm himself down even as a wall in his mind cracks and splinters. “Stabbed?” he asks hoarsely. “I was stabbed?”
Nana-san nods grimly, and Izuku tries to pull himself together. He shouldn’t be losing it like this over a simple stab wound–unless he really was hit by a quirk, one that made something panicky over remembering what happened, which would be extremely useful for a villain. If they were to commit a crime, they could simply use their quirk on the victim(s) and they’d be too scared to look deeper. And unless they had a nullifier quirk or something that counteracted it, they never would have remembered without outside help.
Izuku didn’t even remember it until Nana-san helped him. Would he ever? When Nana-san told him he was stabbed, the word didn’t even register to him. Would he have blocked out every mention of stabbing until he finally managed to break through–and he didn;t even know if that would have been possible on his own, based on how he broke through–or would it just be about that stab wound in particular?
His mind is racing with the possibilities. There are so many–he needs his notebook–
A warm laugh shocks him out of his thoughts. He blushes. Was he mumbling again? He should really curb that habit, he knows it’s annoying.
“Sorry,” he says. He fidgets with his hands, not knowing what to do with them. “Sorry,” he repeats, quieter.
Nana-san shakes her head. “Really, it’s no problem at all.”
Izuku frowns. Nana-san’s . . . . fading? “What’s happening?” he asks shakily, flinching as Nana-san flickers in and out of existence.
She just smiles. “You’re waking up,” she says simply.
Izuku blinks, and he’s in the bed. He sits up shakily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with a groan. He looks around. He’s alone.
He tilts his head down, thinking. What happened? Before, he didn’t have all the information, but now he does, and he can create a timeline of what happened. His fingers itch for a notebook and pencil, but since he doesn't have either of those at the moment, he makes a mental list.
- He and a few others in the class were called out to help with a villain.
- Aizawa-sensei and Midnight-sensei came with them.
- He was split from the others, going straight for the villain while the other focused on collateral damage, population control, and the villain’s sidekicks.
- Kacchan and Shouto came blasting in and Izuku was able to regroup. But no, he wasn’t, was he.
He remembers seeing his friends get taken out, remembers seeing Midnight-sensei rush off to help with frantic civilians, and then–and then he got stabbed and passed out.
Then he woke up, under the effects of the amnesia quirk, and passed out again and met with the holders. He talked to Nana-san and was able to break through the quirk. And then he woke up again.
He thinks he dreamed while he was asleep. He remembers flashes–getting diagnosed quirkless (like it’s some sort of disease ), being picked on in school, and when he tries to dig deeper, his head hurts (heart hurts) so he stops.
He leans back against the pillows, pensieve. He knows all that, he knows that his friends are okay–but he doesn’t know what kind of okay they are. They’re all awake, according to Aizawa-sensei, but that tells him nothing of the pain they’re in. Or what injuries they have. And he hates that. Hates not knowing.
But since there’s no viable way for him to know about what happened to his classmates, he pushes that thought out of his brain for the moment. Right now, he needs to tell Aizawa-sensei. But . . . how? Does he call for him? He’s probably really busy. Izuku wouldn’t want to bother him. But it’s info about the villain–that’s important, right?
He worries his bottom lip, fidgeting. He doesn’t know! He groans, dropping his head in his hands, threading his hands through his hair. It’s so frustrating!
“Midoriya?”
Izuku’s head snaps up. “Sensei?”
Aizawa-sensei comes further into the room, sitting down in the chair by Izuku’s bed. “Are you alright?” he asks, raising a –concerned?–eyebrow. Izuku curls into himself slightly but forces himself to look his teacher in the eyes.
“Um–actually, Sensei, I remember what happened.”
“Oh?”
Izuku nods. “Y-yeah. Um, so–I got stabbed, right? But the person doing the stabbing, he had a sort of amnesia-inducing quirk, and it was like there was a wall in my mind, stopping me from digging deeper, but I guess the wall had cracks? I think? I’m still not exactly sure,” he mutters. “But!” he says, raising the volume. “I think I broke down the wall and it was like the memories were flooding in, and they kind of fit in my head, like slotting into place? I guess? It’s–it’s really hard to explain, sorry, I tried my best–”
“It’s fine, kid,” Aizawa-sensei says. “That actually helps a lot.”
“Oh.”
Aizawa-sensei sighs and reaches a hand over to ruffle Izuku’s head. “Good work, Problem Child,” he says fondly–and Izuku finally recognizes the expression, it’s the same one that Nana-san had. He doesn’t know why –all he’s done is cause problems. Still, he leans into the touch with a sigh.
“You’ll be exempt from the English test next week, but there’s still homework you need to catch up on. Ask your friends for help, and if you need to, ask me. I’m always available.”
Izuku looks into his teacher’s dark eyes, sees the resolve, and makes a decision.
“Okay, sensei. If I need help.”