Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’ll be okay. Just —just take it easy,” Aizawa says gently, his voice low and steady. He stands close beside Midoriya, who hasn’t said much since returning to U.A. A ghost of the boy he used to be.

Instead, he’s trembling slightly. Eyes without their usual spark. Fragile in a way Aizawa hates recognizing, so here next to him, he hopes his presence can provide a comforting presence

Midoriya nods slowly. “I’m fine,” he whispers. Then louder, “I’ll be fine.” The smile he forces is tight and hollow, a thin sheet of glass stretched over too many cracks. It’s not meant to reassure himself, Aizawa figures, it’s for them. For his classmates. For the storm he knows he’s about to bring into the Heights alliance like a second, invisible shadow.

A month ago, he was kidnapped and the class hasn’t been the same since. No one has. And now, with the permanent reminder etched into Izuku’s body, Aizawa can only hope the sight of him home again, standing will help bring some light back into 3 -A’s lives.

Aizawa watches him take a step toward the dorm’s front doors. It’s slow. Too slow. His gait is forced, he’s trying not to limp. But the tension in his jaw, the strain in his eyes, betray every jolt of pain. Aizawa doesn’t comment though, he just follows silently, steps slightly ahead, and pushes the door open.

The common room goes still.

“Deku!” Uraraka is the first to react. Her voice cracks, a jagged sound of joy and heartbreak as she rushes forward, arms already outstretched, eyes shining with unshed tears.

The rest of Class 3-A begins to rise in small, disbelieving movements and for a moment, Midoriya freezes, like a deer in headlights.

Then he steps back, half-stumbling behind Aizawa, his breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, chest rising in sharp bursts.

Aizawa turns to face him and steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Midoriya,” he says, calm but warm. “Take your time. We’re all here for you.” The slow relaxation of Midoriya’s breathing is enough for Aizawa to turn back to the class, to get them to calm down, but they’ve all halted.

He can see their faces shift from relief to confusion. Then to sorrow, quiet and aching as they realize how deeply the damage runs.

Bakugo though, pushes through them, each step hard and fast like he’s afraid Midoriya will vanish again if he doesn’t move quickly enough. His face is drawn tight, exhaustion etched into every line. The usual fire in his eyes is gone replaced with something rawer. Wetter.

“Izuku?” he says just that. Soft and barely more than a breath.

Midoriya hesitates. Then, slowly steps out from behind Aizawa.

The light in the room catches him fully now, illuminating what they couldn’t see before.

With his shorts cut off just above the knees, the metal on his left leg gleams.

Someone gasps.

Bakugo’s face crumples like a paper shell caught in the rain.

Midoriya notices. Of course he does.

He gestures lamely toward the prosthetic and offers a crooked smile. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he says, voice shaking. “But a zombie chewed it up.”

No one laughs. Instead, there is an unmistakable sob. Uraraka, probably, her hands are pressed over her face, shoulders trembling.

Bakugo moves again, faster this time, like something inside him has snapped loose. Three strides and he’s in front of Midoriya, grabbing him in a hug so fierce it almost knocks the breath out of both of them.

There’s no ceremony to it. No words. Just arms tightening around Midoriya’s shoulders and then muffled sounds of his breath hitching against fabric.

Midoriya freezes for one long heartbeat, then he shatters.

His arms wrap around Bakugo with a desperate force, fingers clutching fistfuls of his hoodie like a lifeline. His body trembles as sobs begin to shake loose from deep inside, messy, uncontrollable and too big to hide.

Bakugo is crying too. Aizawa can tell, even if no one else sees his face buried in Midoriya’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Midoriya chokes out. The words are wet and broken. “I’m sorry I—”

“Shut up,” Bakugo whispers back, voice cracked and raw. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you idiot.”

He pulls him tighter. Like the contact alone might mend what’s broken.

When they finally pull away from each other, the class slowly starts to move.

Todoroki steps forward next. His movements are hesitant, almost unsure, but his expression is steady and soft in a way rarely seen. He wraps his arms around Midoriya with quiet care, leaning in just enough to murmur something against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says, barely audible, like the words might break if spoken too loudly.

That simple gesture becomes a catalyst.

One by one, the others begin to move. Midoriya is gently passed from person to person, an orbit of warmth and aching reunion. Each hug carries something different. Laughter through tears, whispered reassurances, shaky confessions of how hard things have been without him. Kaminari’s embrace comes with a joke that makes Midoriya chuckle softly. Jirou holds him tighter than expected. Even Sero wipes at his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking.

Iida is among them, his handshake quickly turning into a full-bodied hug, glasses fogging from the heat of his own tears. “We missed you, Midoriya,” he says, his voice cracking in a way that stuns Aizawa.

Others remain on the fringes, overwhelmed and caught between joy and grief. Uraraka stands near the back, arms wrapped around herself like armor with tears slipping freely down her cheeks. Her eyes never leave him, wide with hesitation. She shifts her weight like she wants to run forward but can’t yet decide if she‘s ready yet.

In all that, Aizawa stays still. There’s a lump in his throat he refuses to acknowledge.

“We found him.”

Those words hit like a thunderclap, loud, impossible, and life-altering and for a moment, Katsuki forgets how to breathe.

His chest tightens and the room tilts just slightly as he stares up at Mr. Aizawa. His brain latches onto the words, spinning them over and over as if trying to make sure they’re real.

“Where is he?” Katsuki speaks first, his voice sharp, cutting through the stunned silence. He’s already halfway out of his seat.

“Sit down, Bakugo,” Mr. Aizawa says evenly.

“No,” he snaps, louder. “I want to see him.”

Icy hot stands as well, his expression unreadable but filled with quiet resolve.

That’s all it takes to spark chaos. The rest of the class stirs, voices rising, chairs scraping back, everyone talking at once.

“Quiet! Sit down,” Mr. Aizawa barks, voice firm and commanding. The room falls silent again. “You’ll see him. Today. But you need to calm down.”

He pauses, letting that sink in before continuing.

“I knew this would happen, so the school decided to tell you as soon as he was ready to come back.”

“You found him before now and didn’t tell us?” Frog face’s voice is steady, but her eyes glisten with disbelief. “Why?”

“We found him a week ago,” Mr. Aizawa says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was immediately taken to the hospital. We didn’t want to say anything until we were sure he was stable. So we only informed his mother.”

“Hospital?” Pink cheek’s voice is barely audible, a tremble laced with fear.

“He’s okay now. He’s going to be okay,” Mr. Aizawa reassures. “He has an injury, but he’s okay. He’s safe. Just… try not to act differently around him.”

“What injury?” Katsuki’s voice cracks on the last word. His hands clench into fists at his sides. “Where is he? You said he’s ready to come back.”

Mr. Aizawa looks at him carefully, then addresses the whole room. “I’m bringing him now. Wait for him in the common room.”

“But where is he hurt?” Glasses asks, voice clipped and formal, but the way he grips his desk betrays his tension.

“His leg,” Mr. Aizawa says finally. “He’s recovering. You’ll understand more when you see him. Class reps, guide the rest to the dorms. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving a room full of stunned students behind.

Katsuki stands there, frozen, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the murmurs around him.

His mind races, thoughts spiraling.

He’s alive. He’s alive. But his leg . What does that mean?

He’s Deku, he thinks wildly. He breaks bones all the time. They never warned us for that.

So what happened this time? What did they do to him?

The anger rises, hot and bitter in his throat. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop any of it. Couldn’t protect him.

By the time he gets to the common room, the rage is sitting heavy in his chest, pressed against something he refuses to call grief.

He seated on the couch when he realizes too late that he’s been gripping a pillow so tightly that his quirk singed the fabric. Black scorch marks curl along the edges of the seams.

“Hey,” Kirishima says gently, sitting beside him. “It’s probably not that bad. They said he’s okay, remember?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. His hands are still trembling.

“He’s back. That’s what matters,” Kirishima continues. “I wish we could’ve done more too. But he’s here, yeah?”

Katsuki nods. Barely.

“Yeah.”

But he’s not sure he believes it. Not until he sees him.

And then the door opens.

Mr. Aizawa steps inside first, his gaze sweeping the room. Behind him…

Izuku.

Katsuki shoots to his feet.

He stares.

He can’t look away.

Green hair. Freckles. Those same big beautiful eyes. But… dimmer.

Izuku looks like a shadow of the boy who was taken.

He’s hides behind Mr. Aizawa as soon as pink cheeks rushes towards them. Like he’s afraid the sight of him might break them. The silence in the room is deafening. Katsuki can’t stand this. He has to get to him. He has to see Izuku, check if he’s real. If this is really happening.

“Izuku?” he calls out. Voice barely audible past the tightness of his throat. The urge to tamp down the panic rising on the nerd, crying to be let out. Izuku looks up at him.

Then he steps from behind Mr. Aizawa.

One step.

Bakugo’s heart clenches.

It’s wrong. Off.

There’s a limp. Subtle but there. And when Izuku shifts, the prosthetic limb where his left leg used to be is naked for the world to see.

Bakugo’s whole world narrows to that detail.

A cold rush floods his body as his vision blurs.

Izuku looks up. Smiles.

It’s a thin, broken thing and then he makes a stupid fucking joke.

Katsuki is crying as he clings to Izuku, arms wrapped tight around him. The tears come silent and shaking, leaving a wet patch on Izuku’s shirt. He doesn’t care who sees. He can’t stop them anyway.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to have Izuku’s back, especially when Izuku couldn’t watch his own. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Just like Izuku would’ve done for him, without hesitation, without thinking twice.

But he wasn’t there when they took him.

He wasn’t there when Izuku was thrown into God-knows what kind of hell, when he was hurting, when he was alone. He wasn’t there when he woke up in a hospital bed. Katsuki should have found him. Fought for him. Saved him.

And now Izuku, his stubborn, too-good hearted Izuku, is here, shaking in his arms, missing a leg… and still apologizing for fucking nothing.

The guilt claws through Katsuki like fire. Every breath tastes like ash.

He wants to find the bastards who did this. He wants to tear them apart piece by piece and make them feel exactly what Izuku felt. Wants to hurt them like they hurt him. But more than that, more than the rage or vengeance or blame, Katsuki just wants to never let Izuku out of his sight again.

He hugs Izuku even tighter, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

He has to get stronger. Smarter. Meaner, if he has to be. Because losing Izuku for a month was like being gutted alive. Like someone ripped his heart straight out of his chest and walked away with it.

He won’t survive it happening again.

So Katsuki vows to himself, in the middle of the common room, surrounded by silence and tears and the boy he's always been chasing, that he will always protect the people he loves. Always protect Izuku.

◼️                      ◼️                      ◼️

They wanted One For All. Apparently, saving the world from monsters like All For One and Shigaraki not only earned him gratitude, but also put a target on his back.

The ability to wield multiple quirks made Izuku a scientific anomaly, one of a kind. A threat. The villains didn’t want to kill him. Not yet. They wanted to study and break him down. They wanted to extract One For All by force.

He had just been out picking up the new limited-edition All Might figure the one with the new mechanized war suit, metallic and gleaming. He’d been excited, even giddy, imagining Kacchan’s face when he surprised him with a second one. That’s why he’d gone alone. Just a quick trip.

He thought it would be safe.

Everything had felt normal. Comfortably, stupidly normal. He was halfway to the station when he saw him —a man struggling with a heavy case, stumbling against a wall, wincing with every step.

And Izuku, Pro Hero in training, couldn’t walk away from someone in need. He never could.

So he’d gone over, polite and cheerful, he offered a hand and a smile. The man had thanked him, voice rough but grateful. Nothing had felt off. Not until it was too late.

There was a prickling sensation on his arm which he was using to guide the man, a hair-raising, skin-tightening unease. He glanced down just in time to see the flash of metal in the man’s other hand. A needle. Already pressing in.

His breath caught.

Why didn’t Danger Sense warn me?

The thought hit an instant too late. His muscles refused to move. His instincts screamed, but he couldn’t act on them.

And then, they were on him.

Fast and coordinated like they knew where he’d be. When he’d be alone.

He legs buckled as a quirk warped space around him, dragging him into an isolated dimension, unreachable from the outside. No sound, no time and no way to trace him.

He woke up in a room that looked like a cross between a lab and an operating theater with walls too clean and lights too bright. Fluid dripped into his veins through an IV line. One of them, he suspected, was the reason he couldn’t think clearly, always dazed and foggy, as if his brain was caught in a thick cloud he couldn’t claw through. He was only vaguely aware of time passing.

The man who came in didn’t wear a mask. Probably their leader. He smiled when Izuku stirred. “ Your quirk will soon be ours, hero boy”

They had strapped him down with quirk-nullifying cuffs and bled him regularly, vials at first. Careful and methodical, they kept him healthy enough just to keep the samples fresh. Whatever they were looking for, they weren’t finding it at all. His cells wouldn’t give up their secrets. One For All refused to be replicated.

By the second week, they were out of patience. They stopped using needles. The slicing began. They wanted to see what would happen if they opened him up, cut deeper, reached into the nerves and bone and marrow. 

In all that, Izuku didn’t just lie there, waiting to be saved.

Even with his mind clouded by whatever drugs they were pumping into him, he planned. Because he knew it was only a matter of time before they realized keeping him alive was pointless then they’d kill him.

On the third week, he made his move. He’d been watching the IV bags, memorizing the way they dripped, slow and steady. He’d found out that when the levels dropped below halfway, the dosage would thin. 

So he implemented his plan at a time like this. 

His mind was a little clearer. The vestiges stirred, just tiny flickers in the dark corners of his consciousness. Not fully present, but enough to also help stabilize him.  He willed himself to move as he forced his weakened limbs into motion.

His plan wasn’t perfect. It barely even qualified as a plan. But it was something. And something was all he needed.

He tore the IV from his arm, adrenaline overriding the pain, and slipped from the bed. The room was still unfamiliar but he moved anyway, stumbling toward the door. He needed to find the man with the dimension-shifting quirk and get him to open a path home. But before that, he needed to hide. Buy time and let the drugs wear off.

He made it out of the room but he hadn’t realized how many guards they’d stationed outside it. He’d underestimated how seriously they were taking him.

They had expected him to fight back. And he did.

He fought with trembling arms and uneven breaths. Fought like a cornered animal, messy, instinctual and furious. He knocked them down one by one, bones screaming, body failing, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Before he could go further though, their leader showed up, probably alerted by the commotion and swiftly stabbed a needle on his neck.

With his brain back to it’s foggy state, they were able to tie him down again. Tighter this time, crueler. Their voices cold and detached, like this was simply routine.

“If you’re so desperate to leave,” the leader spoke maniacally, “we’ll make sure you never try again.”

He remembered the glint of steel. The sound it made as it was drawn. The click of boots on concrete and the stillness.

With no hesitation, the blade came down.

Pain like he had never known, red-hot and world-ending. A scream tore from his throat and didn’t stop. He felt the severing as if it were happening in slow motion. Heard the wet thud and smelled the blood.

His own voice echoed off the walls until it didn’t sound like his anymore.

And in that moment, when he could feel himself losing consciousness, he truly thought he would die there.

Not in a blaze of glory, not in a heroic final stand, but tied down and broken. Left to bleed out in a dimension no one could reach.

◼️

It took far too long, three agonizing weeks, before anyone noticed the pattern.

The man appeared and disappeared like a ghost, always in the same general area where Midoriya had last been seen. At first, the sightings were dismissed as background noise, another civilian in a crowded surveillance footage. But on the third Monday since abduction, when he appeared and disappeared within minutes of each other, something clicked.

Tsukauchi, reviewing hours of footage with tired eyes and a gut full of dread, flagged the anomaly.

He ran the figure through facial recognition cross-referenced with past footage from nearby traffic and security cameras. The system matched one of the suspected kidnappers with 99% certainty, a man with a long arrest record, previously thought missing.

His name was run through the quirk registry and they found out that he was a man with the ability to create isolated dimensions, slipping through them like they were paper. Everything changed when his quirk was confirmed, the operation shifted into overdrive.

A covert perimeter was established with Pro Heroes rotating in and out of the area in shifts, stationed in secret vantage points and disguised in plain clothes. Cameras were calibrated, sensors installed and every strange flicker of movement monitored.

They didn’t know when he’d appear again.

But the next time he did, they’d be ready.

◼️

When Yagi found out Young Midoriya was missing, he immediately worked alongside Tsukauchi and Aizawa, reviewing footage, maps, and every miserable lead that came in. He knew that even if he didn’t have One for all anymore, he’d do all he could to save Young Midoriya.

The anxiety ridden days and sleepless nights he spent scanning through the whole of Japan, reassuring crying Ms. Midoriya and trying to update Class A when Aizawa couldn’t were finally worth it when they found something solid.

Swiftly, a vanguard team was assembled. A team that consisted of him, Eraserhead, Lemillion, Nejire-chan, and Suneater, trusted heroes who’d proven themselves in the worst of battles. They set up base in a derelict building overlooking the area where the dimension-walker had last appeared, sleeping in shifts, nerves sharp and ready to move at a moment’s notice.

The target appeared again on that Friday, barely a flicker on their motion sensors, but enough and within seconds, the team on sight descended.

The takedown was so quick that the man didn’t stand a chance. Surrounded by Pro Heroes, his bravado cracked. And when Tsukauchi pressed in with cold steel words and promises of what would follow if he didn’t comply, the man folded.

With a trembling hand, he opened the portal.

The dimensional rift split the air open with a quietly. A passage so small that it was clear how it avoided detection.

And with the vanguard team ready, Yagi stepped through first.

His mechanized armor hissed with steam, every footfall a statement. His face was hard, eyes hollowed with guilt and fury.

Behind him, the team followed and a handful of top-ranked heroes. They moved in tight formation with their quirks ready, weapons drawn and eyes sharp.

The dimension they entered felt warped. Corridors of cracked stone and humming energy stretched endlessly in all directions. It looked like a prison they’d built solely for the purpose of isolation and experimentation of Young Midoriya, each room shaped by the villains’ grotesque needs.

Yagi didn’t slow.

“He’s here,” he muttered, voice laced with rage. The air smelled like blood and antiseptic.

Eraserhead caught up beside him, scanning with precise, calculating eyes. “Keep sharp. If they’ve done anything to him—”

“They have,” Yagi snapped, voice low and cold, noticing the destruction of some areas. Clearly indicating that a scuffle had occurred. “Or he would’ve gotten out by now.”

The first wave of guards met them at their first turn. They were enhanced and armed but that didn’t slow them down.

Yagi struck first.

One punch sent a reinforced wall shattering, two enemies crushed into unconsciousness before they could even scream. Eraserhead’s capture scarf followed like a blade, incapacitating another as Nejire darted through the air, striking with wave after wave of spiraling energy.

They moved like a storm.

Room after room showed signs of struggle, shattered IV stands, snapped restraints and overturned tables. Blood smeared the floors. The equipment, some medical, some grotesquely experimental, was either broken or still humming faintly. Every inch screamed that Young Midoriya had fought back.

And then they found the door.

A single, sealed entrance, locked with more security than any other point they'd passed.

Suneater stepped forward and forced it open.

The room inside was silent.

Until someone gasped.

Young Midoriya lay unconscious, strapped to a metal slab, body bruised and torn. His arms trembled with fresh cuts and newly mending scars. One hand was broken. His left leg —gone. A crude dressing had long since soaked through. A shoddy job probably done by one of the men because clearly they couldn’t let Young Midoriya die if they were still planning on experimenting on him. 

Yagi was at his side in an instant, hands shaking as he bent beside him. Lemillion surged past, taking out a man at the far end of the room with terrifying precision. The leader, probably but it didn’t matter anymore.

“Young Midoriya,” Yagi said softly, desperately, as he reached for his pulse. Please... please still be—

It was weak, but there.

Alive.

Alive.

Yagi took the closest cloth he could find in the room and tied it around the bloody stump to slow the bleeding. “You’re not going to die here. Not here. Not like this.”

Eraserhead was already at the restraints, cutting through them one by one. His jaw clenched tight, the only sign of his fury.

Once freed, Yagi gathered Midoriya into his arms as gently as he could, cradling him against the broad plating of his armor. The boy didn’t stir. He was cold and light. Too light.

They didn’t waste time.

The team cleared the rest of the rooms quickly because nothing else mattered. They crossed back through the portal, stepping into the open air of their world again.

An ambulance was waiting.

◼️

The first thing Izuku heard when he woke up was his mum crying.

The first thing he thought was that he must be dreaming.

The ceiling above him was white, washed in soft sterile light and the room smelled like antiseptic. Much like the room he was in before. But the lack of restraints and his clear mind, was enough for him to hope that the dream was real.

A sob cracked through the air again, broken and too raw to be imagined.

He turned his head slightly, enough to see her. His mother, hunched forward in a chair by the bed, shoulders shaking, her hands gripping the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring her.

“Mum,” he croaked, voice shredded and weak. His throat ached and tears were already blurring his vision.

Her head snapped up so fast it looked like it might’ve hurt. “Izuku?” she gasped before she surged forward.

“Oh, Izuku,” she sobbed, gathering him gently, afraid to hold him too tightly. “You’re awake. You’re really awake. You’re back” Her words collapsed into tears against his shoulder.

Izuku cried too. She sounded so relieved, and he hadn’t realized how afraid he’d been that he might not hear her voice again.

“I -I thought I’d never see you again.” Izuku admitted between tears.

“Don’t say that, sweetheart. Please don’t—” She took his hand in both of hers, trying to be calm for both of them “I was so scared. I kept thinking what if …what if they’d—”

“I’m sorry mum.” His voice trembled “For making you worry.”

But his mum’s tone was sharp as she reassured “No. No, Izuku. You don’t get to apologize. You were taken. You were hurt. You survived. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve known. I should’ve—” 

“Stop.” Her hands tightened on his “You’ve always wanted to help people, and I love that about you. But I don’t love that you’re still the one apologizing even when you were the one taken. Of course I’ll always worry about you, even when you’re right here with me. I’m your mum, I’m allowed to.”

After a moment of Izuku trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing, his let his eyes finally flicker towards the lower half of his body.

“Mum… my leg... it’s gone.”

“I know.” His mum replied softly as another fresh wave of tears fell down her cheeks.

“It doesn’t feel real yet. I keep thinking I can move it, but...”

“They’re making you a prosthetic. You’ll still be able to move. To fight. To be the hero you’ve always dreamed of being.”

“But I’m not the same.” Izuku choked out.

“Don’t say that. You’re still you. My Izuku. And maybe you’re even stronger now —for what you survived. I hate that this happened to you. I wish I could take every second of it away. But I know one thing for sure.”

“What?” Izuku whispered 

“You’re still going to be the best hero. And I’m still going to be here every step of the way.” Izuku hugged his mum tightly as best as he could, trapped in the hospital bed as he let his tears fall freely.

All Might walked in the room moments after Izuku’s mum had stepped out, and she’d only done that after Izuku’s insistence to finally get something to eat.

Izuku turned his head slowly, still feeling fatigued.

All Might looked smaller than Izuku remembered. Not just physically, but in the way he carried himself, like the weeks had worn him down.

He sat beside the bed, his movements careful, almost hesitant. And then he reached out towards Izuku’s shoulder, gently, like he was confirming that Izuku was there.

Their conversation wasn’t immediate. Izuku was desperately trying not to burst into tears while All Might seemed to just be comfortable with the silence.

When All Might finally spoke, it was slow and careful. He apologized first, not just for being too late, but for the impossible weight he’d handed over when he passed on One for All.

Izuku didn’t interrupt. He listened as he took in every line in All Might’s face that had deepened since he’d been missing. And when he finally answered, it wasn’t with blame but with gratitude for their rescue. It was also with quiet conviction that he didn’t regret inheriting One for All.

And when Izuku broke down, yet again with his shoulders trembling, All Might tried his best to comfort him, his own eyes shining.

◼️

Doctor Suzuki came in later to give a report on Izuku’s health. He’d already gone over the basics when Izuku was still asleep, but now that he was fully awake, with his mother was at his side, he returned with a clipboard and a softer expression.

“You had significant internal stress from malnutrition, prolonged sedation and some minor infections,” he said gently, pulling up a chair. “But what concerned us most was the leg.”

Inko visibly flinched, and Izuku lowered his gaze.

“We’ve stabilized the amputation site and avoided any serious complications,” Dr. Suzuki said gently. “Recovery Girl assisted with the healing, so your body’s already recovering faster than normal and you’ll be able to start using the prosthetic in just a few days, though it’ll be a strain at first. So you won’t be able to wear it for long stretches right away.”

He gave Izuku a moment, letting the weight of the information settle before continuing.

“U.A. has provided a top-tier standard prosthetic, along with crutches and a wheelchair for when you need them. You’re young, and your body is healing quickly but this will still take time.”

He glanced at the chart again before looking Izuku. “Physically, you’re looking at six to eight weeks before you’re fully stable on your feet. And with consistent therapy, there’s a strong chance you’ll be walking, and even running, sooner than that.”

Izuku blinked hard, his fingers tightening on the blanket.

“Mentally… recovery’s just as important,” Doctor Suzuki added, glancing between mother and son. “We’re recommending a trauma specialist. You don’t have to talk right away but don’t try to carry this alone.”

He stood up again. “You’re not alone, Midoriya-kun. You can get through this.”

And then he left them with that. A quiet, heavy reassurance lingering in the silence.

◼️

The room was quiet except for the hum of overhead lights and the soft shuffle of equipment. A rail bar ran through the center, used for patient rehabilitation. Izuku sat on the edge of a padded bench, his hospital clothes slightly too big on him and with the new prosthetic leg attached and still foreign to his body.

Mr. Aizawa stood nearby, arms crossed, a clipboard resting on a table behind him. Just days he’d showed up at the hospital to help Izuku take his first steps.
"I don’t think I can do this." Izuku started, staring at the floor.

"That’s fine. You don’t have to walk across the room. Just stand." Mr. Aizawa reassured as calm as ever.

Izuku tightened his grip on the rail beside him
"Everything feels… wrong. Like my body isn’t mine."

"Your body is your body even without a leg. You can learn how to walk again the same way you learned how to use your quirk."

Izuku gulped, his eyes burning slightly
"What if I fall?"

"Then I’ll catch you." Mr. Aizawa replied without hesitation.

This made Izuku finally look to Mr. Aizawa. He searched his face finding no pressure or expectation. He looked down to where Mr. Aizawa’s own prosthetic was hidden by his pants.
"Okay." He gave a soft reply as he pushed himself up slowly. Painfully.

The prosthetic leg touched the ground with an awkward thunk. His muscles shook from disuse. His body was trembling with uncertainty and strain, but he was up. On both feet.

"Good. Stay there. Let it settle." Mr. Aizawa said quietly.

"It hurts." Izuku gritted his teeth as he tried to stay upright.

"It’s going to. But not forever."

He then took a shaky breath shifting his weight slightly. Every nerve in his body was screaming, but he slowly took one hand off the rail. "I feel like a newborn deer."

"You look like one too." Mr. Aizawa said dryly which earned him a breathy laugh. 

Izuku stepped forward. Just one small step but it counted.

"I did it." He let out breathlessly, with a small smile.

"Do it again."

Izuku took another step. He stumbled slightly but Mr. Aizawa was immediately at his side, steadying him.
"Don’t rush. Let the motion become memory."

Izuku determined, took another step. Then another. Then another. Until he was halfway across the room, with sweat clinging to his brow and his heart pounding like a drum.

He’s on the gym floor with tears stinging his eyes. He always gets up after a fall, always. But lately, it’s getting harder.

There are only a few precious minutes before Kacchan inevitably comes storming through the gym doors, so he forces himself to breathe, to pull it together. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he stands, then hurls his fist into the next punching bag with all the force he can summon. It splits down the middle. The air leaves him in a harsh gasp. But every time he jumps to land the punch, trying, his balance falters as he lands back on the ground. His legs betray him. His body betrays him.

Before this, it had been automatic. Now, even walking without pain is a hurdle.

The medics told him it would take time. That learning to move again would be a process. But he doesn’t have time. Not when they took him at his best. When he was fast, sharp and untouchable. If he couldn’t stop them then, how could he hope to now? When he can’t even risk using Shoot Style, forced to fall back on his fists like he’s fifteen again.

His body has grown stronger, sure, but his confidence in it has shattered. He’d gotten so comfortable with his legs, made them his weapon, his identity. And now… now they're a reminder. Of what was lost. Of what could still be taken.

It takes a few more desperate punches before the gym doors burst open with a loud metallic clang.

“Izuku!”

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t need to. He already knows the look on Kacchan’s face, wide-eyed, breathless and frantic. Emotions Kacchan never used to wear, not until recently. Not until Izuku came back broken and quiet and full of shadows.

Everyone in Class 3-A looks at him like that now. Like they’re waiting for him to break. Like they’re scared they’ll lose him. So he tries not to wander off on his own anymore. For their sake and his.

But today, for the first time in days, he hadn’t fallen asleep in the same room as Kacchan. And his brain, traitorous as ever, filled the silence with memories. The cold gleam of the sword. The way it sliced clean through his leg as he watched. He woke up drenched in sweat, tears already streaming down his face. He had to leave. Had to move.

So here he is, 5 a.m., with fists bleeding, legs shaking and barely holding himself together when this was supposed to be the thing that calmed him down.

“You can’t just wander —” Kacchan‘s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with worry.

“I know,” Izuku says quickly, turning toward him with a weak smile. “I just wanted to start training early today.”

He knows Kacchan doesn’t believe him with how his eyes narrow.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he snaps. “Don’t lie to me, Izuku.”

“I just had a bad dream,” Izuku admits, voice low. “Couldn’t stay in my room. So I came here. Still can’t land my punches right, so nothing’s really going well.”

Kacchan doesn’t say anything. He just crosses the space between them and pulls him into a hug. Izuku stiffens in his arms, holding himself back like if he lets go, he might break again.

“You can always come to my room, nerd,” Kacchan mutters into his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together. One For All, it’s yours now. You already made it your own. This is just the next step. We’ll adjust. That’s what we do.”

Izuku wants to believe him. But the truth is sitting heavy in his chest.

He doesn’t know how to figure it out this time. And he hates how much he’s come to rely on Kacchan just to survive through the night. But he can’t say that. Not now. Not when Kacchan’s doing his best to hold everything together for both of them.

“Let’s spar,” he says instead, stepping back and forcing a small, tired smile. “I need to get better at landing again.”

Kacchan watches him closely but doesn’t push,

“Fine. But I’m not holding back.” He acquiesces.

And so Izuku trains. He falls. He trains again. He gets up.

He spars with Kacchan, fierce, unrelenting matches that leave them both bruised and breathless.

He floats with Uraraka, relearning grace and balance in a body that feels foreign.

He trains Blackwhip with Tsu and Sero, the three of them tumbling through the air together, ropes and tongues and wires flying as they laugh when they crash.

He practices with Todoroki, fire and ice cutting through the silence like a metronome to his movements.

Class 3-A surrounds him. Always. They eat together. Watch movies. Sit around in their common room with the lights low and snacks everywhere. There’s always someone by his side, usually Kacchan, sometimes others, never no one.

And yet, through all of it… he’s still just so sad.

He tries. Smiles when they laugh. Nods during lectures. Pretends the movies are distracting him when the weight in his chest starts to tighten. But every time he wakes up from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, and looks down, he remembers.

Still, his friends never stop trying.

Todoroki speaks more now, carefully formed thoughts between long silences. He tells Izuku about his family, about dinners with his mum and Fuyumi, and small talk with his father, and Natsuo learning to forgive. He talks about his scar and how he used to hate it. How he learned to accept it. Love it, even. He shares the weirdest theories he finds on the internet, complete with a deadpan delivery that never fails to make Izuku laugh, just a little.

Uraraka reminds him of what he means to her. How he was the first person who made her believe she could be a hero. How he showed her what bravery looked like. She says he’ll always be the best hero she’s ever known and it makes him tear up.

Iida tells him about his brother’s new job, how Tensei’s working at a hero support company now, using his experience to guide others. He tells Izuku that his brother doesn’t let his disability define him. And then, in the same breath, Iida gently, casually, suggests therapy. Izuku’s throat tightens, but he nods grateful.

And then there’s Kacchan.

Always Kacchan.

A constant, grounding presence. He doesn’t push when Izuku goes quiet. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with forced cheer. He just… sits with him. Waits. Sometimes he listens, on the rare nights when Izuku finds the strength to speak his fears aloud. And when that happens, Kacchan doesn’t interrupt.

When training together, Kacchan never goes easy on him, but he adjusts. Shifts the pace. Helps him rework his fighting style from the ground up. Helps him rebuild One For All, not just as a quirk, but as a reflection of who Izuku is now. Not less. Just different.

And without ever saying anything about it, Kacchan also starts holding his hand.

All the time, which never fails to make Izuku’s dreary days a little better.

Their sleepovers, once temporary, are now a permanent arrangement. Kacchan’s bed has a second blanket just for Izuku. There’s an extra water bottle on Izuku’s nightstand. Sometimes, when the nightmares are bad, Kacchan just reaches for him in the dark without saying a word. And Izuku lets him.

◼️                      ◼️                      ◼️

They noticed something was wrong when he didn’t come back to the dorms by nightfall.

Izuku was never late.

Not to class. Not to curfew.

At first, they thought maybe he got caught up helping someone. Maybe All Might had pulled him aside for last minute training. Maybe he was just running late and forgot to text.

But the clock hit 10:00 PM.

Then 11:00.

Panic set in fast after that.

By morning, Mr. Aizawa was already speaking with pro heroes and dispatch teams. They combed through traffic cameras, civilian footage, reports of quirk usage. But the only lead they had was a grainy video of him walking on the streets and not making it to where the next camera was located. One minute he was there the next he was gone

Class 3-A didn’t go to school that day. Mr. Aizawa had ordered them to stay put until they had more information. Everyone gathered in the common room, glued to their phones, the TV, the news, waiting for anything.

Uraraka kept wringing her hands, eyes darting toward the door every time it creaked.

Iida kept pacing in precise, sharp lines, lips pressed into a white line.

Kirishima and Mina sat together on the couch, clinging to each other .

But Bakugo stood alone. Stock still, pale and unblinking. Like a loaded weapon that had forgotten how to fire.

Finally, Mr. Aizawa stepped into the common room. The expression on his face, stern, grim and exhausted, was enough to silence the room. Everyone could feel it. Whatever hope they’d been holding onto was about to shatter.

“Midoriya Izuku is presumed kidnapped by an unknown villain organization,” he said plainly, without softening the blow. “The investigation is ongoing.”

The air left the room in an instant. Hope crumbled.

“You are not to act on this,” Mr. Aizawa continued firmly.

“No.” Bakugo’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“You will let the Pro Heroes handle it,” Aizawa pressed. “We don’t know the full extent of the enemy’s strength but if they managed to capture Midoriya, we’re assuming the worst.”

“You can’t –You can’t just expect us to fucking sit here when Izuku is — is missing“ Bakugo snapped, voice shaking with fury.

“I agree with Bakugo,” Todoroki added, stepping forward. “We’re training to be pro heroes. We should be helping.”

Aizawa’s sigh was heavy. “I knew you'd say that. I already went to Principal Nezu. He refused to let students throw themselves blindly into enemy hands. So —we compromised.”

He met their gazes one by one.

“You’re not permitted to act alone. However, you may assist, under direct supervision of the Pro Heroes already assigned to this case. You   —“ Before he could finish his statement, Bakugo had already stormed out of the building, fists clenched and jaw tight. Aizawa sighed and continued.

“You are to team up in groups. And you are still required to attend classes. The police and Pro Heroes  are already working on this around the clock so you don’t have to worry. We’ll definitely bring him back. Kirishima, go after Bakugo, make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless.” Kirishima nodded then left. 

“Class is dismissed for the day, but I expect you there tomorrow. Bright and Early.” Aizawa finished walking out. 

The moment he was gone, silence took hold. No one moved.

Then Uraraka broke. The first sob escaped her lips, and she covered her face with trembling hands. Iida tried to calm everyone down, offering structure where he could but his own voice cracked, betraying the fear he was trying to suppress.

Half the class whispered their spiraling thoughts out loud.  A What if they killed him spoken by a trembling Aoyama which was quickly shut down by Tokoyami.

Others simply cried, shoulders shaking, eyes red.

Todoroki, meanwhile, was the next to leave, quiet and determined, just like Bakugo. The search had already begun.

By the end of week one, There was no progress.

The search teams hit dead ends, they couldn’t identify the villains who took him.

Midoriya’s scent had vanished even to the best dog-type heroes. His phone was never recovered.

It was like he had disappeared from the face of the Earth.

Class 3-A was required to continue attending classes, but Bakugo never came back. He’d send Mr. Aizawa terse updates about his location, but any request to return to school was met with silence.
Todoroki returned once, for a single day. He sat through lectures with bruises under his eyes and a tight, restrained rage coiled around every movement.

“They must be keeping him underground,” he said to the class during lunch, voice flat. “It’s the only way he could’ve disappeared without a trace.”

The rest of the class had taken to carrying out organized patrols early in the morning before classes they were forced to attend even when none of them could fully pay attention, and after classes till late at night.

Week two brought with it Bakugo back at school.

He arrived at Heights Alliance at 2 a.m., covered in dust and scorch marks, with wild eyes and fists bleeding

No one asked where he’d been as he marched straight to his room.

That was the first night they heard him cry.

Mr. Aizawa looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Gaunt, hollow-eyed, voice hoarse whenever he spoke. All Might was even worse, rarely present and constantly on comms. Any mention of Midoriya made him flinch. He’d leave the room like the name physically hurt.

The class was unraveling.

Mina snapped at Iida over a pencil.

Uraraka didn’t eat frequently anymore. Her uniform hung loose around her shoulders.

Sero and Kaminari got into a screaming match over something as simple as leaving the hallway light on.

Every time someone mentioned him, the room would fall quiet.

By week three, Bakugo, at his limit, exploded ground beta at midnight.

He blew a crater into the ground, screaming at no one. Screaming into the air. Screaming at himself.

“Why is this fucking happening. I should’ve—! I should’ve been there with him— Fuuuck!”

He dropped to his knees, sparks popping off his hands like dying fireworks and sobbed until his voice gave out.

Kirishima found him an hour later, curled in on himself, throat raw and palms burned.

He didn’t say anything.

He just sat next to him until he was ready to leave.

Todoroki spent six hours combing through the national missing persons database, eyes strained and jaw clenched looking through photo after photo. Name after name.
Uraraka and Iida joined him around hour four.
None of them spoke as All of them broke in different ways.

Their classmate. Their best friend. Gone.

On the fourth week, the order came from Principal Nezu. Everyone was forced to attend class. Even Bakugo was dragged back.

Aizawa, who hadn’t set foot in the classroom in days, finally returned as well.

He stood at the front, visibly tired but composed.

“We’ve found a lead,” he said. “A covert operation is in progress and the details are classified.”

The classroom erupted in protest.

“What kind of lead?”
“When will we know?”
“We deserve to help!”

But Aizawa didn’t flinch. He was ready for this.

The truth was, they’d already found Midoriya. He’d been rescued. Alive, but gravely injured which meant he wasn’t ready to see the class. They still needed to gauge Midoriya’s mental state before overwhelming him. Telling them that would have them panicked and sneaking out to see him anyway. Especially Bakugo.

Aizawa had spoken with Principal Nezu, Recovery Girl, and with Ms. Midoriya. The decision had been made to give him a week to rest and recover before the reunion.

The class wouldn’t like it. But it was necessary. A week was the minimum amount of time they could keep this hidden without unraveling the students further.

“You’ll get an update at the end of the week,” Aizawa said firmly. “Until then, you are to remain in school. If you leave without permission, you’ll be expelled. I mean it.”

There was a heavy pause. He looked around the room, at each of their worried faces.

“Stay hopeful. I’m 100% certain this plan will work.”

And that was the first flicker of light the class had been offered in nearly a month.

He goes to therapy. He talks to his mum and All Might about it and All might connects him with the best therapist he knows. Ms. Aiko.

He slowly starts opening up and gradually, he’s finally able to talk openly about his leg. 

He starts by approaching Mr. Aizawa. It’s after class when he lingers behind while everyone else is leaving. He gestures for Kacchan to leave without him, who reluctantly does and as soon as everyone leaves, Mr. Aizawa speaks up.

“How have you been?” 

“Okay,” Izuku shrugs.

“Did you want to talk?” He asks softly .

“I just -I was just wondering how um.. how it is for you without your …” he trails off gesturing downwards instead.

“It’s okay, Midoriya. You can say leg.” Mr. Aizawa encourages smiling. Izuku just nods.

“The first few weeks were brutal,” he admits. “Phantom pain felt like my missing limb was still there, cramping and burning. The socket rubbed my skin raw until I learned exactly where to pad it and when to air it out. Even now, humid days make the seal sweat and slip.”

“Treat the prosthetic like new gear that needs calibrating. At first you’ll watch every step and eventually you’ll only notice when something’s off, just like noticing when your quirk misfires.” Mr. Aizawa continues.

“Does it get better?” Izuku asks softly.

“It does. But there are bad days. I still keep crutches by the door for post patrol flareups, and I’ve learned not to view the chair as defeat on those days.”

“Most of all just be patient with yourself Midoriya. It’s not weakness to lean on support, physical or emotional. The leg will never feel exactly like the original, but it becomes yours, an extension of you, not a limitation.”

“Thank you Mr. Aizawa.” Izuku says and Mr. Aizawa smiles adding.

“I want you to meet someone, if you’re open to it. I think she might help as well.”

.

That someone turns out to be none other than the Rabbit Hero, Mirko. Japan’s No. 6 Pro Hero. Even after everything, Izuku still finds the energy to fanboy a little. His eyes light up when he meets her at her agency, prosthetic and all, clutching his notebook with the same reverent awe he had as a first year.

Izuku is offered a week long work study under her, which he accepts without hesitation. It ends up becoming his turning point.

He follows her into the field, watches her take down villains with brutal precision and relentless force. Faster, stronger and fiercer than most even with her prosthetic limbs. There’s no hesitation in her movements. No apology or self-pity, just focus, grit and pure adrenaline.

Izuku studies her closely, how she pivots and how she adjusts her stance mid-air. His notebooks fill with new sketches and ideas. And for the first time since the incident, he starts seeing possibility again. The fog in his head begins to thin.

Mirko doesn’t coddle him. She doesn’t treat him like glass. In fact, she pushes him harder than anyone has since his return.

“Keep up, Deku,” she says with a sharp grin, ears twitching. “You’ve got more in you than you think.”

On days when Izuku falters after a misstep and frustration creeps in, anger at his body and his limits, Mirko offers encouragement and advice.

“You were never strong because of your legs, kid, You were strong because you kept getting up. Legs or not, that hasn’t changed.” She tells him on one of his rough days.

And somehow, this time, it finally sinks in. It settles deep in his chest. That maybe he’s not broken. Maybe he’s just different now. But still very much him.

By the end of the week, when his work study wraps up, he stands a little taller. The weight hasn’t vanished, but it no longer defines him. For the first time in weeks, the thoughts in his head lean more toward hope than fear. More light than shadow.

.

Some days later, he's more energized than he’s been in months, maybe since he came back. His fingers fly across the pages of his notebook, scribbling ideas on how to reconstruct his prosthetic leg so it could work in sync with One for All. Concepts, sketches, half-formed thoughts spill out in a chaotic rhythm that only makes sense to him.

He’s rambling aloud to Kacchan, explaining the mechanics, his words tumbling over each other in a rush of excitement, when Kacchan smiles. It throws him completely off.

It’s not his usual smirk. It’s soft and genuine. Another new expression Izuku isn’t quite used to on the blonde boy.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious, clutching his notebook a little too tightly.

“It’s just... been a while since your mumbling,” Kacchan replies, voice quiet, almost fond. Then he taps the page with one finger. “I think this one could work.”

Izuku blinks. Kacchan's hand moves again, this time close to his and their fingers lace together without hesitation.

“We’ll go see Hatsume tomorrow,” Kacchan says, as if it’s already decided. As if it’s that simple.

Izuku’s heart stutters, racing the way it’s been  doing when Kacchan does something like that so casually, so confidently, like holding his hand is the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to. How to explain that Kacchan has been his anchor through all the darkness. That he’s held Izuku together more times than he can count. That he’s in love with him.

So instead, he scoots closer as they queue up a movie on his laptop. Their hands remain tangled beneath the sheets, fingers warm and steady.

“Thank you,” he whispers halfway through the film, not looking at him.

“For what, nerd?” Kacchan grunts, eyes still on the screen.

“For being here.”

“You don’t gotta thank me for something stupid like that.” He nudges him roughly, but not unkindly. Izuku can see the way the laptop’s glow reflects off his ears, now tinted a soft red.

Later, when the credits roll, Izuku’s breathing evens out and Kacchan thinks he’s asleep, the blonde boy shifts closer to wrap an arm around him, tight and protective. Like he’s afraid of losing him again.

Izuku doesn’t say anything. He just lets himself be held and pretends he doesn’t notice the way Kacchan’s grip tightens.

.

They head to Hatsume’s lab first thing in the morning. The sun is barely up when Kacchan escorts Izuku through the campus with a silent kind of protectiveness that doesn’t need explanation. 

When Hatsume throws open the door, she grins like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
“About time!” she almost shouts, practically vibrating with energy.

She ushers them inside and leads them to a cluttered corner of the lab, where a large box is brimming with high-tech prosthetic legs, some sleek, some experimental and all clearly made with obsessive care.

“When I heard what happened to you, I immediately started designing these babies,” she announces proudly. “I know you usually come up with some top-tier designs yourself, but I couldn’t wait. I got a little... carried away.” She shoots him a cheeky grin. “We can tweak these based on your notes, or scrap them and start fresh.”

“Don’t fucking cry, Zuku,” Kacchan mutters, exasperated but soft.

Izuku can’t help it though as his eyes cloud with tears. His chest aches, not just from gratitude, but from disbelief because Hatsume had already been inventing about him even before he could ask for help.
“Why?” he croaks out. 

Hatsume doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re my favorite hero, obviously,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And your inventions are almost as good as mine. One day I’m just gonna snatch you up and keep you.”

“Like hell you will, you dumbass,” Kacchan snaps, yanking Izuku closer by the hoodie.

“Kacchan,” Izuku chides gently, cheeks heating up.

“Hey! Why am I the one getting scolded?” Kacchan mutters letting go.

Izuku ignores him and turns to Hatsume, eyes still wet but smiling. “You’re my favorite inventor too,” he says. “We’d make a great team.”

Tiny crackles of heat pop from Kacchan’s hands in the background.

“Oh, relax, Angry Boy,” Hatsume says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not gonna steal your boyfriend.”

“We’re not— we’re not um ….” Izuku squeaks scrambling for words, face getting even redder.

Kacchan though doesn’t respond, just stands there silently.

Unbothered, Hatsume claps her hands. “Alright. Let me see your notebook. We’re gonna build the best damn prosthetic leg this world’s ever seen.”

And they do.

The three of them spend hours hunched over her workbench, arguing over balance distribution and One For All energy channels, sketching and re-sketching blueprints, testing materials, making jokes, burning fingertips and laughing too loud.

By the time they leave the lab, Izuku’s fingers are smudged with grease, his notebook is filled with notes of new possibile moves.

The design they’ve created is brilliant, adaptable and capable of withstanding One For All’s strain. It’s everything he could’ve dreamed of and more.

It's the first time they've fought since Izuku returned.

The nerd has been getting better and more active with each passing day and with that, he’s started carving out time for himself again, taking quiet moments alone. At first, Katsuki thinks it wouldn’t be a problem. Izuku deserves space, after everything. But he doesn’t expect the creeping anxiety that comes with it. The way his chest tightens when Izuku isn't with him or at least with his friends.

He tries to suppress it, shoving the feeling down like he always has. He tells himself it’s fine. That he’s fine. That this is normal. He could just ask Izuku to check in, to let him know where he's going, but even Katsuki knows how that would sound. Clingy. 

He understands that what they’ve built can’t survive if it veers too far into codependency.

But understanding it doesn’t mean he handles it well.

Izuku, one day, goes out to see his mum, nothing unusual, he’s done it before. He even tells Katsuki beforehand: “Don’t worry. I’ll be back by lunch.” Calm, clear and honest. Katsuki tries to play it cool, he forces a nod and pretends it’s okay to have him leave by himself.

An hour passes after lunch and Izuku hasn’t yet returned.

Naturally, Katsuki starts to panic.

He calls him, once, twice, before finally finding his phone wedged between the bed and the wall, lighting up with his missed calls. That alone sets off alarm bells. With his pulse thudding, Katsuki immediately calls Auntie Inko.

“He just left the house a while ago,” she tells him warmly, “probably on his way back.”

So he relaxes a little.

But another hour passes and still, no Izuku.

Katsuki’s anxiety spikes again, rage and fear curling in his gut like smoke. He swore he’d always protect Izuku even if it killed him and he meant it. He’s not about to lose the love of his life again.

He’s halfway towards the gates of U.A., already planning which direction to search first, when he sees it. That familiar flash of green light zipping through the entrance.

Izuku.

Relief hits Katsuki like a gut punch, making him pause mid-step. He watches Izuku run toward the dorms, completely unaware of the chaos he just caused. Then Katsuki storms after him, jaw tight and vision burning.

He barges into Izuku’s room a minute later, catching the tail end of Izuku hastily shoving something away.

“Kacchan!” Izuku says, happily though his smile falters the second he sees the look on Katsuki’s face.

“Where the fuck were you?” Katsuki growls, voice low and shaking.

“I was at the mall. I took a detour to pick something up. I didn’t think I needed to report my every move,” Izuku answers, frowning.

“You were gone two hours longer than you said—”

“So?” Izuku snaps, cutting him off.

“So?” Katsuki’s voice rises. “In case you fucking forgot, you were kidnapped barely three months ago!”

“Like I’d ever be able to forget that,” Izuku hisses, eyes shining. His hands are balled into fists, trembling.

“Then why would you do this?! You didn’t even have your fucking phone!”

“I misplaced it!”

Katsuki yanks the phone from his pocket and shoves it at him. “Here! You can’t fucking do this, Izuku.“ He can feel angry tears stinging his eyes.

Izuku’s lips tremble, frustration building. “Do what, Kacchan? Go out on my own? You want me to always be coddled like a child?! Everyone looks at me like I’m going to break —like they pity me!”

“No one pities you,” Katsuki growls, jaw clenched.

“They do!” Izuku shouts, then adds softly, “You do.”

This stuns Katsuki silent.

“You don’t get mad at me anymore. You don’t tell me off when I’m annoying you or loud. You’re always – always holding my hand… You let me stay in your room like I live there, like—like you’re afraid to push me away. You never used to be like that.”

“You think I do all that because I pity you?” Katsuki’s voice cracks, fury and heartbreak tangled in his throat.

“Why else would you?” Izuku chokes, tears sliding down his cheeks as he glares at him.

Katsuki exhales feeling the fight drain out of him in an instant. “I do that because I love you, Izuku.”

The words hang in the air.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, you damn nerd and I had to lose you for a whole fucking month to finally admit that to myself. When they took you, I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought I’d never get to see you again. Never hear your dumb muttering. Never see your big eyes and stupid freckles. And that—” his voice cracks again, “that was the most painful feeling I’ve ever experienced. So when you came back, I promised myself I wouldn’t waste another second. I’d show you how much I cared. Every damn day.”

Izuku stares at him, looking breathless, the room impossibly still.

Then he steps forward, hesitantly, before he wraps a shaky hand around the back of Katsuki’s neck and pulls him down. Katsuki’s hearts almost beats out of his chest as their foreheads touch, breaths mingling. Then Izuku kisses him.

It starts soft. A brush of lips, careful and unsure. Then Katsuki melts into it, arms slipping around Izuku’s waist, drawing him close, deepening the kiss like he’s anchoring himself to the moment.

When they finally part, Izuku whispers, “I love you too.” And Katsuki swears this is what heaven feels like.

Much later, sitting up on Izuku’s bed with another movie queued up, Katsuki says quietly, “No one pities you, Izuku. They’re just… protective. It’s only been three months. Everyone’s still trying to figure out how to go back to normal.”

“I know,” Izuku admits. “But sometimes it doesn’t feel like that. We should probably ask Mr. Aizawa for therapy, for the whole class.”

“Probably,” Katsuki agrees after a beat. Then, grumbling, “I’m sorry for snapping earlier. I just—I panic when I don’t know where you are. I know it’s not healthy. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s okay, Kacchan.” Izuku laces their fingers together. “Maybe… maybe talk to Ms. Aiko too. She might help. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was. I will from now on, if it’ll help.”

Katsuki ignores his cheeks heating up as he mumbles, “Fine.”

Izuku suddenly perks up. “Oh! I almost forgot.”

He slips off the bed and returns a moment later with the box he was hiding earlier. With a sheepish smile, he presses it into Katsuki’s chest.

Katsuki’s eyes widen. “No fucking way.”

Inside is the limited edition All Might action figure, featuring the mechanised suit he donned during the war. The suit he still wears from time to time.

“That’s what I went to the mall for,” Izuku mumbles.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at the figure, overwhelmed.

Then he leans forward and kisses him again, slow and full of gratitude.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against Izuku’s lips.

The entire class gathers at Ground Gamma, donned in their hero costumes, the late morning sun casting long shadows across the sprawling industrial training zone. It's time for their annual Class A vs. Class B exercise. The objective is simple: capture the opposing team’s ‘flagbearer’, or take out the remaining four.

Izuku stands at the edge of the field, heart thrumming with anticipation. This is his first time using the prosthetic leg in combat. And for once, there’s more excitement than anxiety.

The teams are assigned. He’s grouped with Jirou, Mina, Shoji, and Tokoyami, a balanced, tactical squad. Their opponents: Tetsutetsu, Kendo, Komori, Shiozaki and Monoma.

Class A’s team nominates Izuku as their flagbearer. Class B’s team does the same with Monoma. He probably nominated himself, Izuku thinks.

They plan on using Izuku  as bait and he is pleasantly surprised that none of his team doubt that he can still easily move around and dodge like before. He’s starting to believe that he’s the only one, who saw unbreakable limits placed upon him. The only one who didn’t believe in himself.

His prosthetic hums quietly with each step, its sleek matte-black frame accented with glowing green LED strips. With support springs in the heel and One For All woven into its artificial musculature, he moves not just like before but better. Each stride propels him farther. Each leap, higher. Paired with Blackwhip, he swings between beams like Sero, fast and agile.

It doesn’t take long for Class B to zero in on him.

Three opponents descend at once, Shiozaki’s vines, Komori’s spore clouds and Kendo’s reinforced fists. Izuku evades them fluidly, dodging, leaping, parrying with pinpoint control. His team is ready. Shoji neutralizes Shiozaki, while Jirou and Mina team up to overwhelm Komori with sonic blasts and acid. Within minutes, both girls are restrained.

Kendo holds her own longer, but Tokoyami and Froppy flank her from the shadows and finish the job.

Just then, Jirou shouts “Found Tetsutetsu and Monoma. They are at the south tower.”

Izuku leaps towards them trusting his team to capture the three.

Across the space, Tetsutetsu stands guarding Monoma, who smirks from behind him.

Izuku’s eyes narrow as he limps into the open.

The prosthetic leg clanks softly with each step.

“Midoriya?” Monoma calls. “I knew they’d send you.”

Izuku doesn’t answer.

Instead, he activates the booster toggle at his thigh. A high-pitched whine builds up in the limb as One for all powers up.

“Full Cowling: 5%, Shoot Style.” He whispers

In a blur of motion, he launches forward. The ground splits in his wake. Pavement explodes under the pressure. Tetsutetsu moves to block, arms up, stance set but Izuku’s already in the air.

He flips midair, spinning like a pinwheel. The prosthetic leg flashes green as he brings it down hard.

“Detroit Smash!”

The impact cracks the entire space. A sonic boom follows. Dust shoots outward in a dome. Both Monoma and Tetsutetsu are thrown back, skidding across the asphalt until they collide with a support pillar, and go still but breathing.

Izuku stands in the center of the smoking crater, blinking.

“...Oops,” he mutters. “Didn’t think it’d be that strong.”

His prosthetic hisses loudly but intact as the two classes watch  in stunned silence.

The comms crackle as Aizawa’s voice cuts in from the speakers above:

“Team A wins. 5 to 0. Full capture.”

His class burst into cheers. They congratulate them when they walk back to join them.

“Good job Midoriya,” Todoroki smiles at him as the three, Uraraka Iida and him, surround Izuku. Uraraka jumps up and down with pride while Iida begins rattling off tactical breakdowns of Izuku’s maneuvers.

“As expected of my rival.” Kacchan tells him when Izuku walks to stand beside him and Izuku smiles at him.

“And boyfriend.” He teases.

Kacchan rolls his eyes as he tugs him closer and laces their fingers together.

“Yes, yes. Rival and boyfriend.” He grumbles.

Later, in Recovery Girl’s office, Izuku checks in on Monoma and Tetsutetsu.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly. “Didn’t think the leg would hit that hard.”

Tetsutetsu grins from the cot. “Nah, that was awesome. I’ll be bragging about getting launched by a Detroit Smash for weeks.”

Monoma huffs from the bed next to him, arms crossed. “It’s always been an unfair advantage for any team you’re on, Midoriya. You’ve got multiple quirks. But now you’re part cyborg? That’s just rude.”

Izuku chuckles.

“But fine,” Monoma continues, smug. “I’ll just pretend we tied. For the sake of balance.”

Recovery Girl enters soon after and scolds Izuku lightly for pushing the leg too hard.

“You’re lucky it held. Using new equipment that aggressively? I ought to bonk you with my cane.”

He bows his head in apology, but then the door bursts open.

“Midoriya!” Hatsume storms in, eyes wild and tablet in hand. “I watched the whole thing —those shockwaves were glorious! I already have ten upgrade ideas. Vibration compensation!  Maybe even thrusters!”

Izuku blinks.

“We’re just getting started,” she grins.

Slowly by slowly, Izuku starts to heal.

He visits his Mum every weekend. Some times with Kacchan, sometimes alone. Their time together is peaceful and grounding. They cook together, watch old shows or simply talk. His mom never fails to remind him how proud she is of him.

He enjoys going for runs with All might. Sometimes, he even comes with the suit and they race. Izuku always wins but he sure All might is letting him. He doesn’t mind though.

He attends regular physical therapy sessions with Mr. Aizawa, who quickly becomes someone he can open up to. They talk about his leg, the good days, the frustrating ones and the phantom pains. Mr. Aizawa listens, offers quiet advice and never once treats him like he’s broken. Their bond deepens, subtle but steady He’s also, kind of started seeing himself as some sort of cyborg. So much so that he enjoys collecting merch and reading comics about the American Hero Cyborg and his team of five called The Teen Titans.

He loves spending time with his best friends, Todoroki, Iida and Uraraka. They go to malls, watch movies together and have chaotic sleepovers where he tells them about his dates with Kacchan and they mercilessly tease him. It makes him feel like a teenager again.

He always has time for his classmates. Friends really. Bi-weekly, the class still holds movie nights or game nights. They’ve grown closer than ever as they open up about their fears and hopes.

And most importantly, he loves Kacchan. He spends most of his time with him. They go on silly dates to conventions and amusement parks. They train together and watch movies together. They hang out with their separate friend groups but more often than not, the groups merge into one big chaotic circle.

Kirishima tells Izuku about how Kacchan was the one who’d been the one leaving sweets for him everywhere, that one week Izuku was sick, way before everything happened. Izuku teases him for that whole week, kissing and poking his red cheeks after. At the end of the week though, with the help of Sato, he makes Kacchan a whole buffet of spicy-sweet desserts. Everything he loves, from chili cinnamon tarts to jalapeño brownies. When he presents it, Katsuki practically turns tomato-red, grumbles something incoherent and hides his fluster by kissing the living daylights out of Izuku.

 Todoroki, Iida and Uraraka, welcome Kacchan with open arms. They accept him warmly, offering soft jokes and genuine kindness. With everything that happened, Kacchan and Todoroki’s friendly animosity seems to have toned down. He even joins them for some of their sleepovers.

 His mum is quite ecstatic about their relationship, She says it out loud often and reminds them to take care of each other. Izuku thinks she doesn’t need to say it but hearing it still fills his chest with warmth.

Auntie Mitsuki grins when she finds out. Tells Izuku about how Kacchan used to go on and on about how they’d be an unbeatable hero duo someday and this leads them to talk about their future.

With graduation only a few months away, they start planning. Where they’ll live. Which agency they’ll work with. Whether to open one together one day. What kind of heroes they want to be. They plan together.

Overall, Izuku is happy. Even with the bad days, he’s learnt to love himself fully. Leg or no leg.