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Izuku grabbed the handle of the door and slid it open slowly, just a few inches. A ribbon of light spilled out of the hallway, painting a stripe down the dark room beyond. He could see a slice of the bed, the edge of Uncle Masaru’s shoulder, a faint glimmer of the ceiling behind him.
He stood there at the threshold, not quite willing to cross over. He’d spent weeks sneaking around in the dark in that time between battles, when he’d been trying to hunt down All for One. This was a different kind of trepidation—more reminiscent of his childhood, when he’d woken in the night and gone looking for his mother, not quite certain if he should have left his bed.
“Who’s there?” Kacchan said. His voice was low—probably to keep from waking Uncle Masaru—but there was a firmness to it.
“It’s just me,” Izuku said.
“Deku?” Kacchan said, and his tone changed. “What, are you stalking me? Don’t just stand there.”
Carefully, Izuku pushed the door further, wide enough that he could turn sideways and slip through the opening. He was in the light stream now, and even though it threw a haze out against the dark, it was hard to see through it to the rest of the room. He could barely make out Kacchan, sitting up against the raised bed.
With his good arm, Kacchan patted the top of the mattress, expectant.
Izuku stepped forward and climbed up onto the back corner of the bed. He crossed his legs, and there wasn’t space—his knee fell over the blanket lump where Kacchan’s shins were.
Faintly, he could hear Uncle Masaru snoring. The complicated hospital machines hummed, little lights poking out along their surface. Izuku had always thought that if he’d been less injured all these times he was in the hospital, a little less out of it, then he would have figured out what some of them did by now.
“Bad dream?” Kacchan asked. He was still mostly invisible—like the grayed out shape of a hero Izuku hadn’t unlocked in a battle video game. He could tell it was Kacchan, and that was mostly it.
Izuku shook his head. He hadn’t been able to sleep.
“Spill then,” Kacchan commanded, “Or should I keep playing twenty questions?”
“There’s nothing,” Izuku said. It was nothing he knew how to explain.
“Sure.”
Izuku had left the door open, so the sound wasn’t muffled—there was someone walking in the hall, probably a nurse on night shift. Izuku found himself listening to the footsteps, trying to map out where they were in his mind.
“I’m alright, by the way,” Kacchan said, “I’ll be alright.”
Izuku looked down at his hands. There wasn’t really a point—he couldn’t see much anyway. He’d come here thinking he’d be able to see.
“And everyone who did this is dead,” Kacchan continued, “The Yuuei refugees, the people out on the street, all of us—we’re all safe now. We saved everyone.”
“Not Shigaraki,” Izuku said. Then he froze. He hadn’t meant to say that.
“He is dead,” Kacchan insisted.
That was lucky—it meant Izuku had the chance to agree, to laugh it off. He didn’t take the opportunity. There was something about proximity to Kacchan that dragged the truth kicking and screaming out of his throat.
“Hang on,” Kacchan said, louder than he’d been talking, “You mean we should have saved him?”
There was still time—Izuku could apologize for bringing him up, for talking this way about someone who had hurt Kacchan so badly. The words wouldn’t come. Even seeing Kacchan hadn’t had the effect he’d been hoping for, hadn’t made him feel any differently.
“The hands guy?” Kacchan said, “Almost killed me twice? Kidnapped me that one time? Tried to kill All Might at the USJ?”
Izuku slipped down off the bed. “Goodnight Kacchan.”
Kacchan stopped dead in his train of thought. He didn’t say anything else as Izuku crept back out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.
Izuku lay in his hospital bed, sick to his stomach, but not from any of his injuries. It was midmorning—he could tell by the way the sun fell. He'd been sleeping fitfully for the last couple of hours, ever since his exhaustion got strong enough to blot out his anxious thoughts. But it was waning now with the light, and the half coherent concepts from his dreams were coalescing again, building up in the space behind his eyes.
In a strange, sick way, visiting Kacchan last night actually had made him forget a little about not being able to save Shigaraki. He was more focused now on how he must have made Kacchan feel.
Izuku still couldn't fully regret what he'd said. He'd been right—it was right to try and save Shigaraki. He'd been in trouble. But Kacchan—nearly killed by him twice—didn't have any obligation to feel the same. That's what Izuku should have done differently. He should have waited to bring it up, and then he should have reassured Kacchan that he had the right to feel glad Shigaraki was gone. Even if Izuku couldn't do the same, he could understand it. He was also thankful that nobody would be hurt by him again.
That was it—even if he couldn't be sorry for what he'd said, he could at least apologize for the way he'd presented it.
Envigored by the thought, Izuku sat up in bed and set about untangling himself from the blanket and wires. His breakfast was sitting on a table nearby—that meant a nurse had been in to check on him already. Across the room, All Might was snoring lightly. He had some time to sneak out again.
He'd made it to the door and shifted it slightly in its track when he realized that the snoring had stopped.
"Young man," All Might said, "What are you doing?"
"Um," Izuku said, looking back, "Visiting Kacchan?"
"Well," All Might said, closing his eyes again, "Don't get caught."
This time, Kacchan was alone in his room. As soon as Izuku slid the door open, he looked up and glared at him.
"Hi Kacchan," Izuku said, stepping over the threshold. He was holding his hands together, fiddling nervously with his own fingers—he didn't know what else to do with them. "I—um—I'm sorry that—"
"Shut up," Kacchan said.
Izuku stopped. Then he gathered himself. "No, I need to tell you that—"
"Shut up."
"—that I never should have said—"
"Stop!"
Izuku stopped. There was something in Kacchan's voice, in his face.
"Sit down," Kacchan said, tilting his head toward the empty chair.
Timidly, Izuku walked around the end of the bed and sat down.
For a moment, Kacchan didn't look at him, didn't say anything, just lay there staring ahead at the wall, breathing in and out. Then he said, "See that thin screen, with the blue line?"
Izuku looked right, toward the medical equipment—and there in the middle was a small display that reminded Izuku of his geometry homework from middle school. It seemed like some sort of data graph, the blue line shifting slightly as it received input, but mostly holding steady.
"Now see the white dotted line at the top?" Kacchan continued.
"Yeah," Izuku said. He wasn't quite sure where this was going.
"If those lines touch, it sets off some kinda alarm, and a nurse will come in here."
Izuku turned back to Kacchan. "So that's bad—that means something bad has happened?"
Kacchan shrugged. "To me? Not really—they'll just adjust the meds. But they'll see you, and you'll get kicked out."
Izuku nodded—now that he knew where this train of thought had been going, it was easier to understand the path. "What makes the blue line get higher?"
"Excitement," Kacchan said, grimacing a little.
"Ah," Izuku said. It was pretty likely that annoyance fit under that category, and Izuku was nothing if not the master of getting on Kacchan's every last nerve. "Should I leave?"
"Try going slower," Kacchan said. He was still staring at the wall. "Just say one thing at a time."
"I—"
"Don't. Apologize," Kacchan bit out.
Izuku held his breath, looking out the corner of his eyes at the little screen, waiting for the blue line to tick back down. Then he said, "You can be happy about Shigaraki."
Kacchan flicked his gaze up, started staring at the ceiling instead of the wall.
"It's okay," Izuku continued, "You don't have to wish that he—"
"Stop," Kacchan said.
Izuku stopped. Maybe he'd gotten a little excited himself.
"Yeah, I do," Kacchan continued.
"You have a right to be upset with him," Izuku insisted. That was easy—he was upset with Shigaraki too.
Slowly, barely, Kacchan shook his head. "I gave that up."
Izuku blinked. He'd lost track of the conversation again—he couldn't understand what Kacchan was saying. "Shigaraki hurt you," he tried again, "He hurt a lot of people. You have a right to be angry."
"Don't patronize me," Kacchan said.
Izuku sat back in the chair, counting his own breaths instead of responding, focusing on the way the chair felt against him, the way the lights hummed overhead. The two of them fed off of each other—he needed to keep himself calm too.
"Think about what you're saying," Kacchan finally continued, "All Might told us to win by saving people. You're upset because you think we didn't do that. Not completely. But you're telling me not to be? You want me to be satisfied with an imperfect victory?"
"No—that's not it!" Izuku blurted, "Kacchan, it's fine—our definitions of victory don't have to be—"
"What, so I should play with a handicap?" Kacchan said, "Shut up!"
Izuku shut up. He hadn't meant it that way, but it didn't matter. Kacchan was convinced, and he couldn't think of a way to argue himself out of the hole.
Also, he needed to wait for the line to tick back down.
Kacchan clenched his good hand in a fist, then released it. One of his eyebrows was twitching slightly. "You're insane," he said, "You know that, right?"
"Thanks?" Izuku said. He'd just remembered he wasn't supposed to apologize.
"All Might's never tried something like that," Kacchan continued, "Not that I can remember. I bet you weren't even thinking about surpassing him—that's just what was in your heart, right?"
Izuku shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable.
Kacchan rolled his eyes. "You can't even see it—nobody sees it! If anybody understood you enough to even recognize the level you're on, they'd be—I donno—naming new moves after you or something."
"Uraraka thought the same," Izuku blurted, "She also—she wanted to save Toga."
Kacchan scowled. "So it's just me then."
"No—Kacchan—“
The machine beeped. Both of them froze, waiting to see if something would happen. After a moment, Izuku dared to turn his head. The lines hadn’t touched, and the blue one was arcing down now, tracing the lull in their conversation.
"You could have told me," Kacchan said, looking away. "I could have—well, I donno. Maybe I couldn't have done anything."
"Sorry," Izuku said. He really should have told Kacchan—he could see now by his reaction. But everything had been happening so quickly, and he felt half crazy even thinking it himself, and well, Kacchan wasn't exactly known for his willingness to show mercy.
Kacchan didn’t respond, didn’t reprimand him for apologizing. His gaze had drifted downward, and now he was staring at the end of the bed. He’d calmed down—the line was steadying out—but Izuku wasn’t sure he liked this any better. He seemed sad.
“It was at Jakku,” Izuku said, because if Kacchan deserved to hear it before, then he still deserved it now. “When Shigaraki tried to take One for All, and I saw him in the vestige realm—he was in trouble. All for One was attacking him from inside. And so I thought—well, he needed someone to save him.”
Kacchan’s forehead creased, and his face went a little blank, the way it did when he was concentrating. Then he said, “How’d he try to take your quirk at Jakku? Did he touch you?”
“Yeah,” Izuku said, “After you—I got sloppy.”
“Hah?” Kacchan scoffed, “That’s—nevermind. Moron. But about Shigaraki—“
“I couldn’t do anything,” Izuku blurted, “Even when our quirks resonated again, and I helped him release the anger inside of him, he still didn’t listen to me. He still wanted to destroy everything. And I keep thinking—I know it doesn’t make any sense—but if I could have just reached him in that moment, then maybe his life would have been saved.”
Kacchan stared at him, and Izuku realized that maybe that hadn’t made a lot of sense. He hadn’t come here meaning to explain all this, but it had been turning over and over in his mind, and now it was all tumbling out. It was all falling out of him in the wrong order.
“Cursed quirk nonsense aside,” Kacchan said, “Izuku—it’s not your fault if somebody doesn’t take your hand.”
Izuku sat up straight. “That’s—but I—but how did you know we held hands?”
Kacchan’s face scrunched up in puzzlement, then suddenly straightened out. His eyes went wide. “Your arms.”
“No, you only just figured that out,” Izuku insisted, leaning forward again. “I just watched you figure that out. How did you already know?“
“Not everything has to be literal, nerd,” Kacchan said, “If you reach out to someone, and they don’t reach back, it doesn’t mean you failed to reach out. It just means that they’re a bad person.”
“I don’t know about that,” Izuku said. He didn’t exactly think Shigaraki was the pinnacle of morality, but he could think of lots of other reasons someone might hesitate. Eri, for instance, had been afraid she would get other people hurt.
Kacchan shrugged. “I think Shigaraki was a terrible person. And I hate him.”
“That’s fine,” Izuku said, almost wanting to laugh. He couldn’t fully agree, but the declaration had been almost childish in its simplicity. There was something refreshing about it.
“No,” Kacchan said, “It’s not.”
“You don’t have to like him in order to want to save him,” Izuku said, “You can keep hating him, and still be prepared to win.”
Kacchan shook his head again, just barely. It was easier to see the movement in the folds of his pillow. “That’s not it.”
“You said that it was,” Izuku insisted, feeling a little exasperated.
“Part of it.” Kacchan said. With his good hand he picked at the blanket, pinched a piece into little ruffles, let it go and smoothed it out again. “I’m not a hypocrite.”
“I know,” Izuku said. He didn’t understand what Kacchan was dancing around. But it was true—Kacchan held himself to the same impossible standards he had for everyone else.
“Izuku,” Kacchan said, “If you’ve decided somebody should get compassion—then who am I to say otherwise?”
“I don’t understand,” Izuku said. Maybe the nurses had given him something last night. He felt like he’d come to math class after sleeping poorly—he could hear the words Kacchan had said, but it was like the sounds had no meaning to them. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t get it,” Kacchan said. His eyes closed, and his head fell back a little, like he was ready to go to sleep. “Probably don’t even remember.”
Izuku sat there in the chair, watching as Kacchan’s breathing slowed and steadied. Even if he’d been able to think of something to say, he didn’t want to keep Kacchan from his rest.
The two of them knew each other pretty well, but recently, Izuku had come to realize that sometimes Kacchan got in his own head about random things. He’d confessed back at Ground Beta that he thought Izuku was looking down on him for years—and that was completely ridiculous. So there was really no telling what other stupid idea he might have caught on to now.
And as long as Izuku didn’t know, there was no way for him to fix it.
When Izuku made it back to his room, the door was already open. He stepped in, half expecting to be reprimanded by a frazzled nurse, but the reality was way worse.
“Izuku?” Mom said, teary-eyed. She was standing there in the doorway, like she’d been about to walk out again. “I didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“Sorry,” Izuku said, looking over her shoulder. All Might was asleep again, which meant Mom probably hadn’t chewed him out about this.
While he was distracted, Mom grabbed Izuku by the arm and started leading him back toward his bed. Izuku let it happen—she deserved this much at least.
“I’ll call a nurse,” Mom said, reaching down into her purse, “I took notes on when their shifts were and—Izuku!”
Izuku had already climbed back into bed and reattached his IV line. He looked up at her, not quite sure what he’d done.
Mom sighed, and she sank back down into the chair she’d been using during visits. “You should really let a nurse do that.”
“Oh—right!” Izuku said, nodding.
Mom made a face that meant she wasn’t convinced, but all she said was, “Where did you go?”
“To see Kacchan,” Izuku said. It wasn’t a secret. They could stop him from sneaking off again if they wanted—Izuku didn’t know what to say to Kacchan anyway.
“If you asked a nurse, they would take you,” Mom said.
“Yeah,” Izuku said. They’d probably have someone take him over in a wheelchair. Talking to Kacchan was hard enough without an audience.
“Or if you’re bored, you two could play video games together,” Mom continued. She held her palms together, then moved one hand at an angle, like her pinkies were a hinge. “Didn’t you two use to have those small consoles? The ones that flipped open?”
Izuku nodded—he remembered clutching one in both hands, trying to beat Kacchan in a racing game and always losing. Now that things had improved between them, it might have been fun to try playing again. But he remembered the layout of the buttons, some on either side of the device. You had to use both of your thumbs.
“Thanks Mom,” Izuku said, “It’s a good idea—but I’m not really feeling it right now.”
Mom slid her purse off of her arm and set it down by the side table. When she straightened again, she was holding her hands together, fiddling with her own fingers the same way Izuku had been earlier.
“Mom?”
“Honey,” Inko said, “When did I stop being a safe person to tell things to?”
“That’s not it!” Izuku said, reaching over to grab her hand, “Mom, I really do trust you!” He knew the hesitation she was thinking of, but it didn’t have anything to do with her. Even with Iida or Uraraka, sometimes he couldn’t bring a thought to leave his mouth.
Mom took his hand in both of hers, turned it over and ran her thumb over the scarring on the back. “You used to tell me everything, when you were small. Now you’re all grown up.”
“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. He didn’t remember—couldn’t remember a time when he’d spoken his mind without bracing for the backlash. Even now, he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to happen. He knew that his Mom would always answer him kindly.
“No Izuku,” Mom said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. It’s nothing you have to apologize for.”
Izuku looked down, at his hand held in hers. Then he said, "I'm worried about Kacchan."
"Oh," Mom said, and it was a little sad how startled she sounded. "He’ll be alright. But that’s a normal reaction to have, after everything."
"No, I know that," Izuku said. He felt the urge to squirm, like a kid told to sit still for too long, but he suppressed it. "I'm worried about—he's got something stuck in his head, and he's upset about it. And I don't know what it is."
"Hmm," Mom said. She let go with one hand, grabbed a yogurt package from Izuku's untouched breakfast and handed it to him. "You went to see him—did asking him about it not go very well?"
Izuku shook his head, then took the yogurt. "I think he tried to explain, but I didn't really get it."
"Well," Mom said, and she handed him a spoon, "Maybe we can try to work it out."
Taking the spoon, Izuku used the end of the handle to poke a hole in the seal on top of the yogurt. Then he pulled it up from that entry point, started prying it off. "It's something about—he thinks he has to stop hating Shigaraki because I wanted—well, I don't really know why he thinks that. But I think it's fine if he feels that way."
"What was it you wanted?" Mom said.
Maybe this is why Izuku had stopped saying things to his mother. She knew him better than most other people—she had a knack for spotting when he'd forced his thoughts to change course.
"That's different," Izuku said, "That's not—I'm upset about Kacchan right now."
"I know," Mom said. She took the detached yogurt lid from Izuku's hand and reached over to throw it into the trash can. "I'm just trying to get the full picture, so I can help you figure out what Katsuki must be thinking. Did he react to something you said?"
Izuku bit his lip. He didn't really want to say it—but now that he was thinking about it, Mom would be more sad and confused if he didn't tell her than if she found out and didn't understand. Whatever her reaction was, he could handle it.
"I wanted," Izuku said, and his voice broke. His eyes were already watering. "I wanted to save him."
"Katsuki?" Mom asked.
Izuku shook his head, not quite sure if he was crying or laughing now. That wasn't exactly an encouraging response.
"Shigaraki?" Mom said, a little surprised.
Izuku nodded, glad that she'd guessed it at least. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to explain anything else.
Mom set her hands on his arms, drawing him a little closer. "Oh honey," she said, "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry."
Izuku kept his head down, afraid to look at her. That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear.
Not that he was really sure what he did want—even if he found somebody with the right quirk, if he could somehow go back in time, he wasn't sure what he would have done differently. He still couldn't think of a way to stop All for One from killing Shigaraki from the inside, or a way to keep Shigaraki from killing everyone else after.
"So Katsuki was upset because you wanted to help Shigaraki, and he didn't?" Mom asked.
"No," Izuku said, finding his voice again, "He wanted—he thought I was right."
"Ah," Mom said, like she really did understand. "He thinks he has to have pity on him, because you did."
Izuku sat up straight, blinking. "Yeah, that's—basically what he said. But that doesn't make sense to me! How did you—what does that even mean?"
Mom just looked at him. Did she not believe him? Maybe that was fair, but Izuku really wasn’t keeping anything back this time.
”Izuku,” Mom said, like he was small again, and she was walking him through the importance of brushing his teeth, “You forgave Katsuki, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Izuku said. He’d thought that was obvious.
”So you had mercy on both of them,” Mom said, “Does Katsuki think he can’t accept one and not the other?”
Izuku set his yogurt on the side table and reached over to detach the IV from his arm again. Before he could get there, Mom grabbed his wrist.
“You are not leaving this room,” Mom said, “Now eat your yogurt.”
You [9:10 am]
kacchan
You [9:21 am]
kacchan
You [9:28 am]
kacchan
You [9:39 am]
kacchan
You [9:45 am]
kacchan
You [9:49 am]
kacchan
You [9:52 am]
kacchan
You [9:53 am]
kacchan
kacchan [9:53 am]
stop
You [9:53 am]
hey kacchan
kacchan [9:54 am]
you’re gonna get my phone privileges revoked
did you think they stop monitoring me when you’re not in the room??
You [9:55 am]
sorry
kacchan [9:55 am]
well?
spit it out
You [9:56 am]
did you
ok now that I’m about to say it this feels silly
kacchan [9:57 am]
well you’re committed now
kacchan [10:18 am]
stop re typing it i can hear you overthinking from the other wing
You [10:21 am]
is it because I wanted to be friends with you again
kacchan [10:22 am]
yeah
You [10:22 am]
well i still think you have a right to hate him
i dont care if its unfair or something
kacchan [10:23 am]
i do
You [10:24 am]
im still mad at him
kacchan [10:24 am]
you’re never mad at me?
kacchan [10:40 am]
look if you think you made me upset or something, i’ll get over it when i finish surpassing you
which isn’t anything new
cant believe i was crying over your quirk like a week ago
you’re so obviously still ahead of everyone
You [10:42 am]
whats really unfair is how fast youve gotten good at texting with your left hand
kacchan [10:42 am]
nice try
you didn’t bother me these three times just to brush it off
keep talking
You [10:45 am]
i still think you won
i didnt tell you about trying to save him
and so you still saved everyone you set out to save
and even if you only did as good as all might, from now on you’ll set your goal even higher
kacchan [10:47 am]
it was already higher
what part of im going to surpass all might didn’t make sense to you the 500 times i said it
idiot
but thanks
You [10:50 am]
remember those flip consoles we used to have?
kacchan [10:50 am]
yeah
yours has like three quarters of an all might sticker on it
with gross glue goop
You [10:53 am]
are there games you can play with one hand?
kacchan [10:53 am]
are you saying i’ll lose
i’ll tell the hag to bring them
get ready to die
You [10:54 am]
haha okay
see you then