Chapter Text
Izuku once read somewhere that the human mind will try to simplify things when it becomes overwhelmed in a moment of extreme trauma. That, in using a defence mechanism meant to prevent the mind from breaking, it will not fully comprehend what has happened to the affected person until much, much later.
Perhaps that is why his first thought, while standing over the dead bodies of Shigaraki and All For One, is simply, ‘ we won.’
Not that the bodies in front of him were human beings who lived, quite possibly loved, too. Not that the entirety of the world has just watched him fight in this war, not even that there’s a particularly awful throbbing pain in his arm.
And definitely not the fact that he is responsible for Shigaraki’s death, and that Kacchan is also lying dead somewhere in these ruins, probably buried somewhere underneath the rubble.
Izuku stands shakily on his feet, eyes glazed over as he lifts a trembling arm to wipe the blood from his nose. He spares a glance at Shigaraki - he looks so impossibly young in death, without the look of hatred on his face. There are no lines on his face, no pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers shakily, bending down to close his eyes. He looks like he’s asleep. Izuku knows better. “I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t blame Shigaraki, and he doesn’t hate him. He turns to gaze at All For One. That is where his pure, unbridled rage is directed. He turns back to Shigaraki and mutters yet another apology, because if he doesn’t, then he might do something he’ll later regret.
He can’t say anything more than that. Maybe it’s the shock. Maybe it’s the fact that there really isn’t anything else to say - he’s gone, and he will never come back, or care that Izuku really hadn’t wanted to kill him. Izuku wasn’t a hero to Shigaraki. He was the same exact monster that Shigaraki had been to him.
‘ Please don’t hurt me!’
It echoes in his head over and over again.
He was the last person Shigaraki ever saw and the last person he ever spoke to. His last words would forever send a chill down Izuku’s spine - the childish lilt in his voice, the way that he fully believed that in that moment he was Tenko. The terrified look on his face. And Izuku hadn’t been able to save him. The damage had already been done.
He’s won - the heroes have won, but at what cost? Could this even be considered winning? Izuku doesn’t think so. Izuku doesn’t think there are any winners in war.
He goes back to UA as if in a daze, hardly daring to even glance at the destruction that follows him at every corner. He trips a couple of times over what he so desperately hopes is just rubble, because if it isn’t- if it isn’t-
Bile rises in his throat. He swallows it down with nothing more than a tiny grimace, because right there, further ahead, is his mother with the Bakugou’s.
And oh. Izuku is numb, but not numb enough to be unable to notice that something is truly, horrifically wrong the moment he makes eye contact with his mother and Kacchan’s family.
Because they’re smiling. They look happy.
No one has told them that Kacchan didn’t return home. That he never would.
Unconsciously, Izuku takes a step back as they rush towards him. His mother wails, relieved as she wraps her arms around him, uncaring of his dirty hero costume and the grime on his skin. For once in his life, Izuku doesn’t reciprocate the hug. He can’t. Not when Bakugou Mitsuki stands beside her, looking above everyone’s heads as if she too is prepared to force a hug on her son.
Her son won’t ever get that hug.
Her son is dead. And that realisation finally hits, and it hits hard. The numbness dissipates so rapidly that Izuku can’t breathe, because he doesn’t know how to tell Kacchan’s parents that their only son is gone, and he doesn’t even know where Kacchan’s body is and he left him, he left him -
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Him and Kacchan, they weren’t supposed to end like this.
He blindly pushes his mother away, tears welling up in his eyes rapidly. A steady hand finds its way onto his shoulder. He recognizes it as the one belonging to Kacchan’s father. “Izuku, what’s wr-“
“ Don’t ,” a sob escapes his mouth. “Don’t- don’t touch me. Don’t- stop. Just- just- please. I can’t- Ican’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’t -“
His mother’s eyes are so full of concern, but Izuku just can’t calm down. He’s drowning, and he can’t stop it. “You can’t do what, darling?”
“I don’t know how to- to -“ Izuku can’t even finish his sentence before he bursts into tears. He’s so tired. So drained. This wasn’t supposed to be left up to him - someone should’ve told them. “ We haven't learned how to do this yet. I don’t know how to tell- Kacchan - he -“
“- Where is Katsuki, anyway?” Mitsuki asks, and oh god. Her voice is so unusually gentle, lacking its usual gruffness. “Why the fuck isn’t the brat with you, eh? I know he’s not the best at comforting people but shit, I thought he’d be around here for your sake.”
Izuku’s lips wobble as he looks her in the eye. Bright red eyes - so much like her son’s. She looks so much like Kacchan, it hurts. Like a thousand knives making its way through his skin and directly into his heart. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t break eye contact when he sees her face fall . He owes her this much.
The silence stretches between them, but then-
“No,” she whispers, horrified. She stumbles , and her husband has to catch her. “ No.”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
His mother and Kacchan’s father give the two of them a confused look. They haven’t caught on yet. But they will, and it’ll ruin them. Izuku cries the hardest he’s ever cried in his entire life. He falls apart in the absence of Kacchan, and he’ll never be there to pick up the pieces again.
“He’s not-“ she sucks in a sharp breath. “He’s not. Izuku, this isn’t fucking funny. Tell me where he is.”
Izuku pulls at his hair with trembling hands. “I can’t,” he says in between great, heaving sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m- please, I couldn’t save -“
“Oh, god,” Masaru chokes. Izuku’s mother raises a hand to her mouth. She looks like she’s going to be sick.
“Where is he?!” Mitsuki snaps. “Where’s my son?!”
“Mitsuki -“
“No!” She shakes her head. “No- no. He’s not dead. He’s strong. He’s going to be the number one hero. Masaru and I made his favourite fucking meal tonight because we knew he was going to be so drained after today, and- and he’s going to come home and bitch my fucking ears off. He’s not dead.”
Nobody says anything. Masaru weeps, holding his wife close, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Izuku falls to the floor. His legs feel like jelly underneath him.
Years later, when others will celebrate the day the war between the heroes and All For One ended, rejoicing at the fact that they no longer have to worry about stolen quirks, or about being caught up in such a catastrophic battle as the one that killed Kacchan, Izuku will not participate. He won’t be able to - not after hearing the gut wrenching scream of a mother who’s had her entire world turned upside-down in a single day, by a single sentence.
“Kacchan fought very valiantly,” Izuku mumbles. “He was a great hero.”
Mitsuki’s screams quickly become the most haunting thing Izuku has ever heard. Izuku pulls himself up, mumbling an ‘ excuse me ’ to his mother as he walks away, ignoring her protests. He doesn’t know where he’s going - doesn’t even know if he’s even actually going anywhere.
His mind drifts as he continues walking.
The moment he’s sure he’s alone, in one of the UA washrooms, he looks at himself in the mirror. His costume is ripped practically everywhere, dirt and dried blood cover his skin, and his eyes- his eyes are dull. Emotionless . He’s so done. He wants to be angry - angry that he and his friends had to fight in a literal war as children, angry that no one stopped to sit down and tell Kacchan’s parents that he had been killed, angry that the entire world left such a heavy burden on his shoulders. He’s too exhausted to muster up that anger. He just wants to… cease existing. He wants to be with Kacchan again. He wants to die .
“I hate you,” he says calmly, even though his mind is as chaotic as the battlefield he fought on had been.
He’s not sure if he’s talking about the people ( All For One and the HPSC , his mind adds bitterly) responsible for the disaster he’s just had to deal with, or if he’s simply talking to his reflection.
Maybe it’s both.
•••
Izuku doesn’t remember the funeral. He just remembers spending the next few hours after it in his apartment’s washroom throwing up, with his mother there to comfort him, rubbing little circles on his back.
It was there, in that washroom, that Izuku came out to his mother.
“I loved him,” he had whined, tear tracks staining his cheeks. “Mom, I loved him. Please don’t be mad.”
His mother had held onto him tighter, carding a hand through his hair soothingly. “ Oh, Izuku,” she whispered. “I’m not mad. I could never be mad.”
“I miss him,” Izuku sniffled.
She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I know, baby.”
Another kiss. She clung to him like if she didn’t, she’d lose him. Izuku could feel the way she shook. He knew her fears of him dying on a mission had been multiplied tenfold. Oftentimes, he could hear the way she’d wake up at night, screaming his name and then promptly bursting into tears.
Izuku knew she felt guilty for feeling relieved that it had been Kacchan who died on that day instead of him every single day of her life.
“I know.”
Her words came out muffled against his hair.
Kacchan’s funeral had been hard on them both.
•••
He remembers Shigaraki’s funeral better. Nobody but Izuku, All Might, and Gran Torino had bothered to show up. It was a sad, lonely affair for a boy who lived a sad, lonely life. Nobody really had anything nice to say - just that he had been a young boy manipulated and groomed into becoming the monster that the world had known him as. That they hoped he was resting easy, wherever he was.
His gravestone had the name ‘ Shimura Tenko’ on it. Izuku remembers wishing it didn’t.
Shigaraki would’ve hated it.
Izuku hates it for him.
•••
Izuku didn’t go to All For One’s funeral.
He did visit his grave, once.
“Should I feel bad for you?” He had asked. He had been alone that day, and so he hadn’t expected a response. Not really, although he really would’ve appreciated one.
Visiting All For One’s final resting place did not bring the closure that Izuku had so desperately hoped for.
His mind remained at war with itself.
•••
Izuku sits at his desk only a month after Kacchan’s funeral. His mother had worriedly asked him if he was okay to go back, but his therapist had given him their blessing.
So Izuku had said yes.
Izuku doesn’t know if that was the right choice anymore. He had just wanted to start classes alongside everyone else. Now that he’s here, though, the fact that Kacchan isn’t is startling and so gut wrenching that Izuku is so very tempted to call his mom to take him home.
There are flowers on Kacchan’s desk - placed there to commemorate him. It makes Izuku’s eyes water, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Those flowers shouldn’t be there, Kacchan should.
They were supposed to become heroes together.
The entire class - including Aizawa, stare at the empty desk for a few moments before moving on. His classmates ask each other how they’re doing, send reassuring smiles, hold each other’s hands under their desks, and help take notes for the people too distracted to do anything but bask in the fact that most of them made it out healthy and alive. It's been a month. They’ve grieved Kacchan already. Izuku can’t move on that fast. He doesn’t know how to move on from him at all.
Izuku doesn’t pay attention to any of it. His attention remains fixated on the flowers on Kacchan’s desk. He bites his lip, forcing any sound of his crying to remain silent, never leaving his lips.
When the bell rings for lunch, Izuku heads to the roof instead of the cafeteria. He doesn’t want anyone to send him pity-filled looks, and he’s so tired of people coming up to him to tell him how sorry they are for his loss, and that Kacchan is ‘ in a better place now.’
Kacchan never wanted to be in a better place. He wanted to be here, where he had been fast on his way to becoming the number one hero.
Izuku inches closer to the edge of the roof, closing his eyes as sunlight hits his face and the wind ripples his hair. He breathes in deeply, trying so hard to calm himself. The first day back without Kacchan there is difficult - he almost wants to give up on heroics, even though saving people has been his one dream, even though he’s already well known as a hero. People have even taken to calling him ‘The Symbol of Hope.’
But what’s ‘The Symbol of Hope’ without hope?
“I’m nothing,” he murmurs.
“That’s not true.”
Izuku startles, whipping his head around to meet the gaze of Todoroki. His body relaxes, and he lets out a sigh. He frantically wipes the tears off of his cheeks, scrubbing at his eyes. “Oh, you scared me.”
“Midoriya -“
“I’m okay, Todoroki,” he smiles shakily, freezing when Todoroki winces. “I- are you?”
He looks just as bad as Izuku. He’s paler than normal, and he’s got bags under his eyes that rival Aizawa’s. He’s thinner, too. “That’s not important,” he replies, cocking his head. “You were crying.”
“It is important,” Izuku says softly. “Are you okay?”
Todoroki sighs. “You always worry about other people before yourself. It’s admirable.”
Izuku gives him a look . He sighs again.
“No, I’m not okay. I’m out here because I don’t want to hear them whispering about Touya and my Father,” a hand unconsciously rises to a newer burn scar on his face - it goes from the left side of his chin and down his neck. It’s a parting gift from the burst of flames created by his brother, that ended both his and their father’s lives and almost took him, too. “They think I’m going to snap like my brother. Maybe end up with a fate like my father’s. Why are you out here?”
“Didn’t wanna hear anyone talking about Kacchan,” he mumbles. Todoroki’s eyes soften imperceptibly.
“Nobody knows how to mind their business, do they?” He says, as bland as ever. Izuku snaps his head back his way, only slightly appalled.
“Todoroki, that’s mean!”
Todoroki shrugs . “It’s true, isn’t it?”
And- well, Izuku can’t argue with that, because Todoroki isn’t wrong. Nobody can mind their business - because suddenly, after the war, everyone feels entitled to know everything about him, and about his class. He’s the next up and coming symbol, they all say, and so therefore, according to them, it is his duty to lay his very soul bare for the world to see? To criticise? Izuku doesn’t think so.
It doesn’t matter what he thinks, though, just like it doesn’t matter that Todoroki is his own person - not a copy of Touya, or of Endeavor. The world will never stop gazing down upon them as if they’re particularly interesting zoo animals, not even after the deaths of those who were once close to the two of them, albeit in different, complicated ways.
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “It’s true.”
Even after the war, they’re left on display for the world’s entertainment. It’s sickening, but Izuku bears it.
After everything, he just wants to save as many people as he can, even though not even a million saved lives could relinquish the chains that bind him to the guilt he feels about Kacchan’s demise.
He doesn’t spend lunch alone that day. He spends it with Todoroki, and although they don’t speak any further about their experiences in the war, their presence brings each other warmth with the knowledge that there is someone out there that understands .
“You can call me Shouto, if you want,” he says, and Izuku blinks.
“Okay, Shouto,” he replies, testing out the name. He likes the way it sounds coming from his lips. “You can call me Izuku.”
Grief is a terrible thing that stings and stings.
It stings a little less when Izuku’s with Shouto.
•••
On the second week of school, Izuku steps foot into the cafeteria with Shouto and Uraraka at his side, wincing internally as the loud ambience dies out all at once, with his other classmates being the only exception.
Izuku quickly becomes very interested in a tiny speck on his shoe.
Shouto gives them all a glare before stalking off to the table they usually sat at before the war. To anyone else, he’d have looked like he was doing it nonchalantly, but Izuku could tell that he was rushing to get away from the prying eyes of the other students. Izuku swallows, deciding to take a glance upward for a moment.
They’re staring at him. Are they expecting him to be like how he was before? Is he supposed to smile? Laugh? Izuku doesn’t remember how he used to act when things were still okay - and oh . Oh. That sends a chilling thrill of terror down his spine. Izuku freezes, his breaths coming out shorter, faster-
“You’re okay,” Uraraka whispers, giving him a reassuring smile and a thumbs up that almost makes his lips twitch. “Deku, you’ve got this.”
“I don’t remember what ‘normal’ is supposed to look like,” he admits quietly, panicking. He’s been fighting for so long - he’s so used to subconsciously remaining prepared to enter a fight at any moment that he no longer knows what it’s like to just… let go. “I don’t- what do I do?”
Uraraka takes his hand into her own, squeezing tightly. Her hands are a bit cold to the touch. It grounds him. He inhales deeply, letting her lead him to the table that Shouto and Iida are seated at.
Slowly but surely, the other students go back to chatting within their friend groups, and Izuku allows most of his focus to return to his friends. He’s not capable of completely focusing on them yet - part of him still finds it hard to believe that never again will he have to worry about All For One and the League of Villains showing up and attempting to attack them all.
“ - And I just- I don’t know,” Uraraka sighs. Izuku blinks, a little confused as he tunes himself back into the conversation. “Apparently, Himiko refuses to eat. She spends most of the day crying in bed, except for when… well, you know.”
“When you visit,” Shouto adds helpfully. Iida hums in agreement.
Uraraka shakes her head sadly. “Is it bad that I feel bad for her? I- I mean I purposefully went and asked to be granted special permission to visit her in Tartarus, and I go almost every weekend. She’s a villain. She’s hurt us . But she’s just so- so -“
“- It’s not a bad thing,” Izuku says quietly, picking at the food on his tray. He’s not very hungry - he hasn’t been for a while now, ever since Kacchan… well. “She’s lost everything, including her freedom.”
Shouto gives a single nod of what Izuku assumes is agreement. “I think defining everyone by either ‘heroes’ or ‘villains’ is what is making this so complicated. I don’t think there are very many people in this world who are only good or bad. My brother -“ he pauses, reaching up to touch the newer scar Dabi had given him in a fight. “A lot of people think that Touya was born wrong. Evil. That it wasn’t what my father did to him that made him turn out the way he is- was. He was never a good brother to me, but as a kid, he was a very good older brother to Fuyumi and Natsuo. Although… I think I mourn the idea of Touya and my father and what they were supposed to be to me more than I mourn who they actually were. Still, they didn’t deserve to die like that. It upsets me.”
There’s a pregnant pause between them.
“That was… very well put, Todoroki,” Iida mutters, pushing his glasses up on his face.
“It’s all about perspective,” Izuku adds, his voice coming out as barely even a whisper. “Who the good guys and bad guys are is entirely opinion-based.”
“I miss when things were so much simpler ,” Uraraka’s voice wobbles . They stare at each other, their eyes reflecting all of the things they’ve seen that will haunt them until the day they die.
They’re only sixteen, yet they sit together in a room full of their ghosts, and they are expected to pretend that they’re not there - that they just… don’t exist. They’re meant to pretend that the war didn’t change them, and that the world didn’t force them to deal with responsibilities that should have never been theirs to deal with in the first place.
The next generation of heroes are supposed to be able to bounce back, but Izuku can’t pretend that a part of him didn’t die that day on the battlefield, with Kacchan.
He used to say that he wanted to save people with a smile on his face, just like All Might.
Izuku hasn’t smiled in months.
He’s strangely alright with that.
•••
“Inko! Izuku! Come on in,” Masaru smiles, welcoming them inside. Ever since that day, Izuku and his mother have made it a habit to check up on them. The first few weeks, it was mostly to make sure that Kacchan’s parents were actually eating and taking care of themselves. His mother would make them meals for the entire week, because neither of them could muster up the energy to.
Masaru would have moments where he didn’t seem quite… present. Mitsuki spent the first week after her son’s death in bed, completely catatonic. Izuku remembers hearing his mother talk to someone over the phone a couple of times in the middle of the night, expressing her worry that Mitsuki might end up needing professional help.
But then, one day, Mitsuki just started getting up again. Izuku and his mother have no idea what prompted this reaction besides it having something to do with a letter.
“Fucking hell,” Mitsuki gapes, staring at Izuku as if he’s grown a second head. “You’re not short anymore, are you?”
Izuku flushes bright red. He had recently hit a growth spurt, and had jumped from being one of the shortest in his class to one of the tallest. He’s only slightly shorter than Aizawa now, standing at about 5’11. He has theories about his newfound height somehow relating back to the development of One For All. “No, I guess not?”
“Your little boy is all grown up now, isn’t he, Inko?” Masaru teases, but there’s a tinge of sadness to his voice. Their son never got the chance to grow up.
“Not so fucking little anymore,” Mitsuki snorts, but the glimmer in her eyes tells him that she’s also thinking about Kacchan. Izuku’s eyes flicker to the floor.
Masaru cooked his favourite meal for dinner. Izuku tries to give him a thankful smile, but it feels foreign on his face. The stretch of his lips pull on his skin weirdly, and they shake awkwardly. It’s fake - obviously so, but it’s the best he can give.
Izuku’s always been a fan of Masaru’s cooking, ever since he first stayed over for dinner as a little kid. Dinner tastes fantastic, until-
“We think it’s time to clean Katsuki’s room out.”
Izuku fumbles his chopsticks. His jaw drops. “ What?!”
His mother gives him a look that he roughly translates to ‘ be quiet for a moment and let them talk’.
“We…” Masaru coughs. “We think it’ll only get harder the longer we leave his room alone. There’s some things that we’ve already moved aside, but seeing his stuff in that room remaining unused is too painful for us. We were wondering if Izuku would like to go in and take some of Katsuki’s stuff for himself. We have a box he can use to place anything he wants from his room inside.”
Izuku opens his mouth. “But -“
“Izuku,” Mitsuki says, sounding surprisingly soft. “We know you’ve been having a rough time with Katsuki’s death. Masaru and I understand. We don’t want to rush you. We’re not throwing anything away, so if you want to come back at a later time, that’s completely okay with us.”
Izuku looks at her. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I’m- I’m so sorry.”
“Do you want to go in his room?” Mitsuki asks him. “It helped me, just being in there. I felt closer to him. Sometimes, I even talked to him. You don’t have to take anything yet if you don’t want to.”
Izuku, for some unknown reason, says yes, despite the fact that he’d rather be doing anything else.
He stands in the open doorway of his room for a few minutes, staring blankly at an old All Might poster on the wall. He remembers the day Kacchan got that poster - they had been four, and after a lot of begging (and some screaming on Kacchan’s part) their moms had agreed to take them to the new Pro-Hero themed store. Of course, they ended up having to wait two hours in line for the merch they wanted, because Izuku was downright obsessed with all things All Might, and Kacchan just wanted the best.
Unconsciously, Izuku walks inside, and then blinks slowly, his body stiffening. Kacchan’s room is unnervingly quiet, and although Izuku last stepped inside it when he was a kid, he has a feeling that even as he got older, Kacchan never quite learnt how to keep the noise down. What’s even worse is that he can tell that Mitsuki and Masaru left his room almost exactly as Kacchan had left it himself - there’s a crumpled hoodie on the side of his bed and a comic book sitting open on his bedside table. Izuku’s gaze flickers over to his desk, where old textbooks from before UA and the implementation of the dorms are neatly piled up and-
“… Oh,” Izuku’s voice cracks , tears welling up in his eyes.
The photo is old - him and Kacchan must be no older than two or three. The two of them are matching in the photo - dressed in bright blue overalls and rain boots that fit Izuku but look slightly too big on Kacchan and oh, Izuku forgot that there had been a brief period of time where Kacchan had been smaller than him. They’ve both got grins on their little faces, and they’re in the midst of jumping in a big puddle with their hands clasped tightly in each other’s.
Izuku cries. They look so happy in that picture - unaware of what’s to come, their innocence of the horrors of the world still alive and well.
Izuku grieves that innocence.
“Kacchan,” he sniffles. He’s hit with a brief moment of hesitation - that maybe he shouldn’t be talking right now because Kacchan isn’t really here, but he continues on anyway. “I miss you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. Y-you can be mad at me, if you want.”
Izuku selfishly hopes that he isn’t.
•••
Sometimes, Izuku finds the dorms to be kind of… overwhelming, and not in the sense that he no longer enjoys spending time with his classmates, just that there are too many memories bundled up in one place that are so recent in his mind that it hurts.
It’s been four months since Kacchan’s death, and Izuku still grieves him like it happened yesterday. He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, or if there’s even a way to grieve wrong, but he’s being left behind and it’s glaringly obvious. Class 2A has bounced back to their normal selves, just like everyone said they would. They’ve changed, but they’re still themselves. They’re happy. They’re moving on.
Izuku isn’t. He feels like an imposter - a parasite who took over the body of a once happy, joyful boy. He feels like he’s been placed on the sidelines to watch the lives of his friends get better, while he’s condemned to be stuck here for eternity - isolated, alone. His friendships with a lot of people have started to weaken because of it. A part of him still thinks he deserves it.
It’s why he’s so shocked to find Shouto at his door at 3:00 AM, eyes red-rimmed from crying, besides the fact that he’s never actually seen Shouto cry in the two years he’s known him. Izuku can hardly believe it’s only been that long. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“Can I come in?” He asks quietly.
“I- yeah,” Izuku blinks, gesturing inside. “Of course.”
“I apologize if I woke you up.”
Izuku doesn’t get much sleep these days. “You didn’t, don’t worry.”
Izuku waits, watching Shouto as he stands awkwardly in the middle of his room. Shouto has been in his room enough times with Uraraka, but never before have they been alone like this. “I don’t know why I came to you.”
Izuku tilts his head at him. Shouto has gotten better at understanding emotions - both other people’s and his own, but sometimes he still struggles. He probably always will, somewhat. “You seem upset. Are you okay?”
“I-“ he visibly swallows. “I had a nightmare, and I didn’t want to be alone.”
A single tear falls from his eye. He hurriedly wipes it away, looking down at his hand as if him crying was some sort of betrayal.
“Oh, Shouto,” Izuku says, gesturing to the spot on his bed beside him. Shouto practically falls into him, clutching onto his shirt with tightly clenched fists. He’s shaking . Izuku knows, from personal experience, that those nightmares can get bad. How could they not, when they were a lived reality instead of just a dream?
“I saw it happen,” he admits, his voice slightly muffled from Izuku’s shirt. “I never told anyone, but I saw them kill each other. It was so bad. It nearly killed me. They were so- I couldn’t recognize either of them after the explosion. I was so close to them- I could’ve stopped it from happening. I should’ve. I was meant to be my family’s hero, and I failed .”
Izuku hushes him softly. The fact that Shouto - tall and gangly, is clinging to him and very nearly sitting in his lap, doesn’t bother him. “And what if you died doing that? What if all three of you died that day?”
Shouto says nothing.
“I understand feeling guilty. There was nothing you could’ve done, Shouto,” Izuku murmurs in his ear. “Touya and your father made their own decisions, and it’s not your fault that it didn’t end well for them.”
Shouto trembles in his arms . They stay like that for a while - in not quite comfortable silence but not uncomfortable either.
“For the record,” Shouto eventually mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “There was nothing you could’ve done differently either, Izuku.”
Oh.
Oh.
Izuku really needed to hear that coming from someone who was there, who understood from personal experience just how hellish that battlefield was. That one sentence uttered from Shouto’s mouth feels like it’s lifting a heavy boulder off Izuku’s shoulders. He feels so unbelievably relieved.
Izuku closes his eyes with the realisation that nobody in their class has just moved on . They’re learning to live with what happened to them, just like he is. Just like Shouto is. Grief has plagued every single one of them, and there’s no rules for how long it has to stay, or how long it shouldn’t.
Izuku, like the rest of them, will eventually heal, and then scars will take the place of the wounds that were once there. He just needs time.
Izuku and Shouto fall asleep tangled in each other’s limbs that night.
There’s many more of those types of nights to come. They both sleep better when they’re not alone. When they’re with each other, their burdens aren’t quite as heavy.
They shoulder it together.
•••
Later that month, when it’s Shouto’s turn to cook dinner for the class, he smiles a true, genuine smile for the first time in months. He does more than that, even.
Their burnt dinner may be covered in ice, they may need a new stove, and Shouto may be standing in the kitchen like a deer caught in the headlights, but the hilarity of it all just boils over and soon enough, he can’t stop giggling.
Izuku is laughing too hard to notice the relieved looks on his classmates’ faces when they come running in to see the two of them clutching at each other, eyes shining brightly.
Four months after Kacchan’s death, Izuku finally smiles.
For the first time in years, Shouto feels like he’s home.
•••
”Are you ready?” Masaru asks him.
He hesitates for a second.
”…Yeah,” Izuku says. “I am.”
He opens the door to Kacchan’s room for him.
•••
Izuku’s third year at UA starts and reaches its end in the blink of an eye, and soon enough, his class and Aizawa Sensei are all being ordered around to sit in height order for their final class photo together.
“I can’t believe Midoriya is the tallest out of all of us,” Kaminari snorts, finally sitting down after the photographer threatened to glue him to his seat. “He’s even taller than Aizawa Sensei.”
“I blame it on his quirk,” Aizawa grumbles. Izuku’s lips twitch in amusement. Ochako outright laughs.
“You think he’ll end up being as tall as All Might?” She asks, giggling.
“Jesus fucking christ,” Shouto says, his delivery so bland and dry that, after a brief moment of shock, it has the entire class cracking up with laughter. Even Aizawa smiles. And that, of course, is when the photographer takes the picture.
The moment Aizawa got a copy of it, the photo went straight on his desk with absolutely no shame, despite Mina deciding that it was her life goal to get an embarrassed reaction out of the man. She still tries to this day, whenever she goes to visit their old school. Izuku and everyone else who had been in that class also kept a copy somewhere in their houses. They’re all beaming so brightly in it. Izuku will cherish it forever.
Sometimes, he looks at it with only fondness, and other times he looks at it melancholically. It’s bittersweet.
In the photo, to Izuku’s left is an empty chair and a graduation cap on it. If someone were to squint closely, they’d be able to make out a name and little designs of explosions on it painstakingly made by Izuku.
Bakugou Katsuki.
He deserved to graduate with them. And so he made sure he did, even if he wasn’t there to celebrate the occasion with them.
His parents had ended up receiving a diploma in his name, too.
Mitsuki and Masaru have it hung up proudly in their living room, right beside countless photos of their son as a young child dressed up in replicas of hero costumes.
“He fucking did it!” Mitsuki had yelled that day in between sobs and hitched breaths. “My baby boy became a fucking hero !”
Kacchan had been a hero.
One of the greatest ones Izuku had ever had the pleasure of knowing.
•••
“Oh my god,” Izuku wheezes. “Oh my god- what the fuck - This can’t be real.”
“Izuku, what’s wrong?” Ochako asks, her eyes filled with concern. Shouto’s lips twitch into a knowing little smile.
“I’m ranked number one,” he breathes out, hardly daring to believe it. “They’re going to announce it to civilians tomorrow at the- the billboard- oh my god.”
Ochako nearly drops her drink. “Wha- but you’re only twenty!”
“He’s going to be the youngest number one hero in history,” Shouto adds helpfully. “It’s not that surprising. He’s had the nickname ‘ symbol of hope’ since we were sixteen.”
Ochako gets up and hugs him, squealing. “I- oh my god, Tenya should be here right now! You better call him to let him know once he’s off work, I swear-“
“Oh wait,” Shouto interrupts. Ochako gives him an impatient look. “Was what I said rude? Sorry. I’m actually very happy for you, Izuku. I could kiss you.”
”Oh, really?” Izuku teases, rolling his eyes. “Then do it.”
And, to Izuku’s complete and utter surprise, he does .
“Holy fucking shit,” Ochako stares.
It ends up becoming one of the happiest days of his life. The day he found out he was ranked at number one, and the day he gained a boyfriend.
The hangover the three of them had afterwards is ranked as one of the worst, though.
•••
Izuku is a whole bundle of nerves as he stands beside Mirko, the number two hero and Shouto, who ranked third but failed to ever mention it. Izuku is a little mad at him for it.
When it’s time for him to say something to the people watching from all over the world, he knows exactly what he’s going to say - has known, ever since he was sixteen.
“I am not my own number one hero,” Izuku says, into the silence of the crowd. “There’s someone else, who for my whole life I have looked up to, and for the past few years who I’ve been able to do nothing with except hold close to my heart. He is the reason why I am the person that I am today . ”
The audience murmurs quietly when a sole tear escapes his eye, cascading down his cheek. Izuku smiles warbly. Sadly, a little happily as he wipes his tears away. He’s always been a crier - some things never change.
“His name was Bakugou Katsuki.”
He flounders for a moment, but Shouto gives him a reassuring smile. Izuku exhales shakily, and gives the cameras and audience a big grin.
They applaud him, cheering loudly. Izuku’s done it. He’s made it. His dream of being a hero - of saving people, became true.
He hopes that somewhere, Kacchan is looking down at him, unbelievably proud .