Archive of Our Own

When the portal opens in the USJ, villains spilling out by the dozens, Shouta doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into the fray. He’s not stupid, or reckless. This isn’t a situation where he’s putting himself into danger for no reason, where he’s erasing all the lessons he’s taught these kids through his own actions. No, the reason is right there: those twenty children that Shouta is responsible for. Twenty lives that Shouta has to either save, or die trying. 

It’s why he undermines Midoriya’s analysis of Erasure’s weaknesses, even though it’s correct. Why he hides the terror he feels, the constant question in the back of his mind if this is it. The final battle. His last stand. 

When he’s lying in a pool of his own blood under the hands of the Nomu, his consciousness barely tangible, he knows choosing to fight was the right choice. Next to the kids, Shouta is the pro-hero. He’s the adult. He’ll be the sacrifice ten times over, just to keep another young person from meeting a cruelly short fate. 

Despite everything in Shouta telling him to sleep, to shut his eyes and drop away, he keeps them open, watching Shigaraki approach Asui. Shouta has one last trick to play. He hopes it’ll give them enough time for back-up to come. For Iida’s warning to work. He isn’t sure. It’ll all come down to the timing. 

Shigaraki was right; Shouta’s quirk duration has been dwindling.The edges of his vision are greying out with every hard-won breath. He knows that window has become even shorter. But Shouta can’t bear to fathom what kind of damage Shigaraki’s quirk would do to one of his student’s faces, considering the state his elbow is in. 

He counts down in his head, waiting out Shigaraki’s movements. Shigaraki inches nearer, two fingers on Asui’s face, then three. Shouta holds his breath, readying his quirk. At the fourth finger he lets it activate, pleading with his body to not blink, to never blink. 

But then there’s a blur of green and a splash, and Midoriya is where Asui once was. It throws his timing off. Shouta blinks, opening his eyes just in time to see the fifth finger land around Midoriya’s throat. 

Time slows down, as if to mock him. Shouta can’t make out Midoriya’s pained cry, can’t hear Asui’s uncharacteristic curse through the pounding of his blood in his ears. The only thing he can do, with the last beats of his consciousness, is watch in slow motion as the skin and muscle unravel from Midoriya’s throat. Glassiness blooms in Midoriya’s eyes as his body falls into the water, limp. Shouta’s heart leaps and sticks in his throat. Overcome with the knowledge that even in his last moments, his sacrifice wasn’t enough to save Midoriya, Shouta shuts his eyes. 

Izuku’s murmuring under his breath as he, Asui (Tsu!, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Her name is Tsu!), and Mineta watch Aizawa dispatch the villains at the front of the USJ. Izuku isn’t sure who the villain with the hands is, but he seems to be the boss. The creature behind him, brains exposed and with too many limbs, doesn’t seem to have any autonomy. It stands behind its boss and waits. 

The hand villain is talkative, baiting Aizawa between attacks. It’s killing Izuku not to do anything, but he doesn’t want to be another thing that Aizawa has to juggle. He’s already fighting too many villains for his quirk, for his battle style. If Izuku charged right in, Asui Tsu would follow (Mineta… maybe), and then Aizawa would have too many villains and civilians to keep track of. 

“What’s your plan, Midoriya?” Tsu asks, after far too much of Izuku’s murmuring. 

He doesn’t really have one, which takes the wind out of sails. Is getting his classmates a front-row seat to the death of their teacher all he’s going to accomplish? But surely, Aizawa won’t die. Surely he has this? “It’s better for us to stay hidden until…unless Mr. Aizawa needs assistance.”

“He seems like he has it,” Mineta nervously chatters. Poor kid won’t make it past this week, Midoriya thinks before he can stop himself. 

Aizawa does not seem like he has it. He takes a swing at the hand villain, and the monster who was standing deathly still just a moment before is suddenly there, crushing Aizawa into the pavement. 

He breaks Aizawa’s arms, one then the other, finishing it all off by slamming Shouta’s head into the concrete. Izuku swallows, fighting the urge to close his eyes. That is…a lot of blood. 

“How do we help, kero?” Tsu whispers, clearly terrified. 

Midoriya’s mute, rendered speechless by his own fear. He shakes his head instead, trying to breathe through his heart in his throat. 

He doesn’t have time to formulate a response though, because the hand villain is suddenly approaching and reaching out to Tsu’s face. Izuku’s focus is impossibly torn between Aizwa, bleeding under the monster, and Tsu. He has to do something, has to make use of the power All Might entrusted him with somehow. But there’s no time. There’s no time. 

Like always, that means that Midoriya’s feet move on their own, his shoulder slamming into Tsu’s side, throwing her into the water with a splash. The hand villain’s pupils are cold, tiny, and crimson within wide, deranged scleras and Izuku watches, frozen, as he finds himself in Tsu’s place. He wonders what the villain sees on Izuku’s own face as the villain's five fingers find their home on his throat. Burning pain explodes across Izuku’s skin like acid. He tries to cry out, but his vocal cords are gone. He feels himself fall back, unable to catch himself. He feels the last of his breath float away, the way another doesn’t return in its place. And then it’s just Izuku, the coldness of his fear, of his body, and the terrifying nothing.

Toshinori curses himself as he rushes into the USJ, his hero form restored enough to answer Young Iida’s call. Young Midoriya is in the USJ, along with two of Toshinori’s co-workers and all of Class 1-A. He feels, even more so than earlier, so very foolish for letting himself get distracted that morning. How stupid was he, answering every call for help, that he left Midoriya, the last shining light of one-for-all, vulnerable?

When he skids into the USJ, the scene is somber.

 Aizawa is a pile of bloodied limbs, and Toshinori shoves the shrieking concern that alights within himself as far back into his mind as he can. Asui is at Aizawa’s side, face wet with tears, but she’s petting his back as if he might be able to feel the gesture, so Toshinori lets himself believe that Aizawa is still alive. 

“Don’t worry!” Toshinori booms, in his most heroic voice. “For I am here!” He ignores the way his voice wavers, right at the end. 

He starts to pick his way toward Aizawa to confirm he’s alive when he sees the second body lying next to the edge of the water. His green hair is soaking wet, clumped with what looks like mud, or wet concrete, and he’s not moving. 

“Young Midoriya,” he hears himself say, as he forgets, just for a second, how to be All Might. But his body remembers as his feet move on his own, his knees lowering, as if in prayer, to kneel. 

He crouches over Midoriya’s form, wishing he could dedicate more than half his focus on his protégé, and the horrible way he’s limp. Unlike Aizawa, Izuku’s classmates aren’t by his side. Unlike Aizawa, it feels as if Izuku’s classmates have determined he’s a lost cause. Toshinori could get lost in that, but Shigaraki—a villain that Tsukauchi only just identified as a threat a few days ago—is standing off to the side with palpable glee, next to a giant monster that sends a shiver of fear down his spine that Toshinori hasn’t felt in years. He’s forever reminded of the duty All Might has. Toshinori pushes it off just a little longer. He’ll get to them. First, he has to see Midoriya. 

With gentle hands, Toshinori pushes lightly on one of Midoriya’s shoulders. Midoriya rolls like a doll, his eyes, glossy and not at all there, stare up at Toshinori in return. Toshinori’s sob is in the back of his throat, sticking like peanut butter even as Toshinori tries to swallow it down. Midoriya is a lost cause. There is a bloody, gaping hole where his throat once was, and Toshinori shuts his eyes before the bile in his throat makes itself known to the battlefield. He closes Midoriya’s eyes, lets himself have two seconds of unimaginable grief, and then forces “All Might” to the surface. 

All Might doesn’t have time to grieve. 

Tsuyu isn’t sure how she got here. She is petting Mr. Aizawa’s back. His face is lax under her ministrations, but not in comfort. He’s unconscious, at least she thinks he is. She can’t really tell at this angle, but he can’t be…can’t be like Midoriya. 

One moment she was frozen in terror, waiting for that hand to come for her, for it to break her into pieces like it did Mr. Aizawa’s elbow, and the next she was in the water, her side stinging. She surfaced just to watch that hand wrap its way around Midoriya’s throat, and, yes, Tsuyu knew that she would have to face hard things in this field. Knew that as a pro-hero, you couldn’t get away from death and destruction. But Tsuyu is a first year, and it's their first week. Midoriya was just talking to her. 

She closes her eyes just as the villain grabs him, and she feels like she’s four years old again. She wants her mom. She wants to be home. She wants to go back to a time when all her classmates were next to her, and she knew that they were safe.

She doesn’t actually see Midoriya die but the image of his…of his body falling limply into the water burns itself to the back of her eyes. In that moment, the part of her, the sole part still functioning cries out at the thought of Midoriya being left in the water. Left to float away in the USJ. Without thinking, she grabs him in her tongue and hops onto solid ground, drops him, and doesn’t look. She can’t look. 

Back in the present, she’s being rocked very gently, wrapped in something warm. Someone is singing a lullaby, and the air is sweet like candied apples. She closes her eyes, and Midoriya falls 

again…

again…

again…

Musutafu’s hospital is inundated with victims. It’s the first mass casualty event that has occurred in UA history and, between the injured villains and the students, it’s all hands on deck. 

Nemuri finds herself walking into the chaos with a bundled Asui in her arms. Shouta is here somewhere, taken into the back for emergency surgery and a blood transfusion. Somewhere else is a gurney with a white sheet over it Nemuri is trying not to think about. Back at the USJ, Toshinori is still fighting that monster. She hopes he wins. She can’t fathom what they’ll do if he doesn’t. 

A nurse stops her to take Asui out of her arms, her frame so tiny and bundled. Nemuri is only reminded how young these students are, even more as she Nemuri wanders to the waiting room, and sees their innocent faces. Nobody has broken the news to them about Midoriya’s death yet. 

She still remembers receiving the news about Oboro. He was the first person Nemuri or any of her classmates knew personally who died. Shouta still hasn’t recovered from that. She doesn’t think he’ll recover from Midoriya either. She only hopes he can find the ability to forgive himself. 

“When can we get out of here?” A blond kid asks, all but rolling his eyes. Bakugou, she thinks his name is. 

Nemuri swallows the urge to lash out at him. He may be arrogant, but he doesn’t know what she does. Won’t for a while yet. “Everyone needs to get checked out at bare minimum. Once you have been cleared, you will board the bus going back to UA, where you will meet with the faculty and will spend the night on campus. We will send you back to your families in the morning.”

There is a smattering of concerned questions about Aizawa and teenage complaints about not being able to go home and see their families. Nemuri tries to wave them off with an optimism she doesn’t feel. Tsukauchi wanders in, head swiveling as if searching for something. She flags him down, pointing at the kids. “Can you keep an eye on them? None of them can leave until they see a nurse. I need to track something down.”

Tsukauchi spares a glance at the class, nodding. His hands are tight around his notebook, and Nemuri knows that he’s probably happy for the distraction, considering one of his best friends is still locked in a fight at the USJ, and the other end of this night is a report about the incident. 

Nemuri pats his hands as she stands, confident Tsukauchi will be able to handle the class in her stead. She slips down the hallways to find the morgue. It’s cold when she arrives, and there is a small body covered on the metal slab in the middle of the room. She doesn’t bother checking the tag, just grabs the kid’s cold hand in her own as pulls down the sheet. 

Her brain doesn’t fully process what it sees at first. 

Upstairs, Tsuyu stirs. She doesn’t have much experience with hospitals. She supposes most people don’t, but this is the first time she has ever woken up in one. She cranes her neck and finds that Ojirou is also in a bed next to her. He has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, but otherwise looks unharmed. She is freezing, the air conditioning set too low for her amphibian anatomy. She can’t quite recall why she’s here. She doesn’t think she’s injured. But her head hurts, and anytime she tries to think about what she was doing today her heart races, making the beeping in the room grow louder and faster. 

She is still tired, so she shuts her eyes again. She’ll have time to remember later. Right now, she curls further into her blanket, falling asleep to the sound of Ojiro’s breathing, which is more comforting than it has any right to be. 

“Sho, are you waking up?” Shouta’s favorite thing to hear, at any time of the day, is Hizashi’s voice. Now, when he’s groggy and in pain, it’s even better.

Shouta finds that he can’t move, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he is fully immobilized with casts. The only thing he seems to have any control over are his eyes, which he rolls toward his loving husband. “‘Zashi?”

“I’m here,” Hizashi says. There are tears in his eyes, which is Shouta’s least favorite thing to see. 

He feels the grief before his brain remembers what it means. There is a stone in his chest, where his heart is supposed to be. He blinks tears out of his own eyes. “Midoriya?”

Hizashi’s face crumples even more as he shakes it slowly back and forth. He’s holding the cast surrounding Shouta’s hand, and Shouta wishes more than anything that he could actually feel it. 

But then again, now that Hizashi’s confirmed his worst fears, Shouta can’t feel anything at all.

Nemuri grabs Tsukauchi from the waiting room. She figures this matters more than keeping those kids in there. If one of them wants to make a break for it, oh well. 

Tsukauchi, to his credit, follows her down the hallway before asking questions. “Kayama, what’s going on?”

“I need you to check something for me.”

Tsukauchi presses his lips together, but he nods. 

“Did Yagi tell you anything about Midoriya’s quirk? The specifics of it? I know it’s some kind of strength enhancement, but I don’t actually know how it works.”

Nemuri isn’t stupid. She knows that there is something Yagi isn’t sharing. Tsukauchi’s brief pause after the question all but confirms it. “I don’t think I know anything more than you do. Yagi said Midoriya’s quirk was like his, which is why he was so keen to offer his mentorship.”

Nemuri doesn’t need Tsukauchi’s quirk to read that statement as bullshit, but she’s too polite to say it. Instead she leads Tsukauchi into the morgue. Midoriya is still on the metal slab in the center of the room, his skin too pale against the dark fabric of his UA training uniform. 

“Kayama…”

“Just—” Nemuri pushes Tsukauchi forward. “Look at him.”

Tsukauchi does. 

Midoriya’s throat is newly intact. The skin is pink and slightly shiny, like a recently healed scab was peeled off. His pallor is better, too. He’s not grey or blue, just pale. 

Tsukauchi lets out a breath and collapses into the medical examiner’s stool.

“Yagi didn’t mention that Midoriya could do anything like this?” Nemuri asks.

Tsukauchi shakes his head and this time, Nemuri believes him. 

Hizashi answers his phone on the second ring. Shouta is sleeping after being conscious for a brief period earlier, and Hizashi doesn’t want to wake him, so he steps out of the room. “Nemuri? 

“I need you to come down to the morgue.”

Hizashi bites his lip, running a hand through his hair. It’s still crunchy with gel. “What? Why? I can’t just leave Shouta. What if he wakes up and I’m gone?”

Nemuri makes a frustrated noise on the other side of the line. “I need you here. Just trust me.” 

She hangs up before he can protest. He spares a glance through the hospital window, praying Shouta sleeps through however long he’s gone. 

When he gets to the morgue, he’s surprised to find Nemuri with Detective Tsukauchi. They’re standing around a metal table with a body, and Hizashi swallows as he realizes it’s Midoriya. He hadn’t seen the kid before he was taken out of the USJ. He’d only arrived in time to climb into the helicarrier after Shouta, who was in desperate need of a hospital. 

“There you are!” Nemuri says when he walks in. His feet are stuck to the floor, unwilling to drag him closer. Realistically, he knew there was a reason Nemuri wanted him down here, and there was only one that made sense. Still, he hesitates.

“What do you need me for?”

“Come look.”

Hizashi is shaking his head before Nemuri even finishes her sentence. But Nemuri is a force of nature, and she bullies him in front of the table. There, Midoriya’s cheeks are flushed, as if in fever. In the cold of the morgue, condensation is forming along his mouth and nose. 

Hizashi stops breathing. “Is he-?”

Nemuri wraps a hand around his shoulder. “Alive? We think so.”

Katsuki paces the lobby of UA, where they’re keeping everyone after the hospital cleared them. There are reporters outside, kept back a hundred meters or so by tape and security. He lets a few explosions pop out of his palms, exhausted and frustrated. 

“How long do we have to wait here?” He growls, but no one is listening.

The teachers are at the front of the room, talking quietly but with an urgency that is setting all of Katsuki’s instincts on fire. 

Kirishima leans out of his chair to grab Katsuki’s forearm. “Dude!” he hisses, “sit down.”

Katuski yanks his hand back, continuing to pace. This has to be illegal. Kept here against his will with all these extras. Most of them are unharmed, and the ones that aren’t probably don’t deserve to be here. The villains in the USJ today were a joke. Anyone that made it into UA should have been able to take care of them just fine. 

Whatever they’re keeping them here for, it has to be big news. Katsuki knows how adults work, and if it was something as minor as apologizing for the security breach, they would’ve been sent to the bunks hours ago. He knows it’s not that All Might lost against the—what stupid name were they calling it?—Nomu. And Mr. Aizawa and Thirteen came out the other side of it too. He heard Nedzu talking about it with Cementoss. 

All but four of their classmates are here. Asui and Ojiro are in the hospital. Mineta ran away crying like the baby he is. And Deku–fucking Deku probably did the same. 

Eventually, Nedzu steps forward, stalling Katsuki’s pacing, He folds his arms and stares the damn mouse down.

“We know that today has been a stressful experience for all of you and we apologize for asking you to wait,” Nedzu begins. “Before we send you to the make-shift dorms to rest, we need to make some announcements.” Nedzu’s gaze is grave and serious as he sweeps across the crowd before continuing. 

“Unfortunately, a villain attack at the USJ today injured two of our teachers, Thirteen and Eraserhead. Both made it to the hospital and are in critical but stable condition. Three students were also injured. Tsuyu and Ojiro are being held for observation overnight. Midoriya…” Here, Nedzu pauses for a breath. It’s enough to make the hair on Katsuki’s arms stand up. “Your classmate, Midoriya Izuku, sustained life-threatening injuries. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”

Gasps echo around Katsuki and his world becomes very small. All Katsuki can see is Nedzu’s face. All he can feel is the tingling in his hands. 

“This is an unimaginable tragedy, and we understand that you will all need time to grieve. We have set up on-site counselors for all students to meet with tomorrow. If you need to speak to someone tonight, please see our school counselor, Hound Dog,” Nedzu finishes. 

Katsuki can’t stop the flood of rage that rises in him. “You’re lying!” he explodes. Kirishima tries to grab at him again. “Deku’s not dead.”

“Bakugou,” Nedzu’s voice is as clear and cold as ice. “I understand this news is shocking, however, you cannot be aggressive. Either calm yourself or relocate this outburst to Hound Dog’s office at once.”

Katsuki looks back at his class, his heart a ragged tear. His eyes plead for anyone else to be in disbelief, to see the doubt in someone's eyes. All that greets him are the faces of sixteen terrified teenagers who believe every word. The tingling in his hands is stronger, his palms dripping with sweat. With a disapproving scoff, he stalks into Hound Dog’s office. There is one lone chair in front of the desk. Katuski collapses into it, refusing to look back through the open door, to that den of disbelievers. 

He stews in the office, staring out the window at the darkening sky. He bets Deku isn’t dead. This has to be another shitty ploy for attention–like the fucking “late blooming” quirk. 

Hound Dog comes in a few minutes later, and Katsuki growls at him. “I don’t need a shitty counselor.”

“You’ve lost a friend,” Hound Dog starts. His voice is so fucking gentle it makes Katsuki want to rip his face off. “We all need someone to talk to at times like this.”

“He wasn’t my friend,” Katsuki mutters, but that’s not the part he wants to deny. The part he feels is wrong. Deku can’t be dead. The idiot never gave up, no matter what Katsuki did. How could, how could he get to UA and just…

Katuski faced those two-bit villains, and even as much as he hates that Deku is here, he knows he could’ve bested those morons just with that freaky quirk analysis of his. 

He’s not dead. Deku doesn’t die. 

“Bakugou, the paramedics declared him dead at the scene. There…there were witnesses too. All Might and Asui. The hospital confirmed the death upon arrival. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Katsuki shakes his head. His lip is trembling. He bites down hard enough to stop it, and gets a mouthful of salty copper for his efforts. He’s not going to cry here. Not over Deku. 

“I’m going to give you some space.” Hound Dog pats his knee. “Come get me when you are ready.”

The door clicks shut. Katsuki’s lip continues to tremble, the traitor. He feels that phantom pat on his knee, feels Hound Dog’s lingering pity like an anchor around his neck. 

He’s alone, here, with his back to the door. 

Katsuki lets the anchor drag his head into his hands, releases his lip from his teeth, and cries over fucking Deku. 

Naomasa is Toshinori’s oldest and most trusted friend. It only makes sense that he would volunteer to go get the hero. 

“I’m going to grab some nurses,” Kayama says.

Hizashi has taken up vigil on the stool. He’s cupping Midoriya’s hand like it’s precious. And Naomasa supposes that it is. 

“I won’t be long. If you need me, call,” Naomasa says.

They barely acknowledge Naomasa’s departure, enraptured in their own tasks. He isn’t quite sure where to find Toshinori, but he at least knows that he’s not at Musutafu General with them. 

Naomasa pauses at the exit of the hospital. He lights a cigarette, letting the wind pass over his face. Breathing deeply, he turns toward the metro. There are few things in life Naomasa knows to be true. The first is that the only way to get anywhere is to move forward. 

So he moves. The best place to start is UA. 

Toshinori’s office at UA is a small but comfortable room on the main floor. The lights are off when Naomasa arrives, but he can hear movement on the other side of the door, so he tries the knob and slips in when it turns. 

“Toshinori?” He calls, but gets no answer.

The hero is a stain on the couch, his feet dangling off one short edge. Toshinori doesn’t seem to be asleep, but he’s not really awake either. 

Naomasa grabs the tumbler of American whiskey out of Toshinori’s hanging hand. 

“Toshinori,” he says, with more force. 

Toshinori’s eyes flick slowly toward him. 

“He’s dead,” Toshinori whispers, his tone haunting. 

Naomasa shivers. “They need you down at the hospital. It’s… it’s Midoriya, Toshi.” 

“He’s dead,” Toshinori keens. 

Naomasa swallows, searching the room as if there’s anything here that can help Toshinori snap out of this, but there is nothing here but empty shelves and Toshinori’s desk full of paperwork. 

The only thing Naomasa finds he’s left with is the truth. 

“What did you know about Midorya’s quirk, before you gave him One for All?” 

The absurdity of that question seems to be the thing that finally does it. Toshinori sits up so quickly he nearly pitches off the couch. “He was quirkless. You know that, ‘Masa.” 

“The thing is,” Naomasa starts, “we think he wasn’t. Because he’s…well, he’s coming back to life?” 

Naomasa and Toshinori look at each other in a way that could almost be considered comical if it weren’t such a somber moment. Naomasa takes the first step toward breaking the tension. “Come back to the hospital with me and I’ll show you,” he offers. 

“Yeah.” Toshinori’s voice cracks. “Yeah, I’ll come with you.” 

“Do we know how long it’ll take him to wake up?” Hizashi asks, looking down at Midoriya’s frail frame. 

The doctor shakes her head. “Regenerative quirks like his are incredibly rare, and they all present differently.” 

Nemuri is watching Midoriya, too. They have him connected to monitors and, while Hizashi normally feels sick at seeing a student in such a state, there’s something incredibly comforting about the scene. Midoriya’s heart rate is the backing track in the room, bleeding through the ambient hustle of the hallway outside. Every time he breathes, the oxygen mask around his mouth fogs up and Hizashi’s eyes nearly tear up every time. It’s all proof that he’s alive. 

“Is there anything we need to watch out for?” Hizashi asks. 

The doctor flips through Midoriya’s chart, glancing up at his vitals every few seconds. “In my professional experience, once a regenerative quirk takes effect, it will fix everything over time.”

“He’s already loads better than he was,” Nemuri murmurs, stroking Midoriya’s cheek. “Though, is the fever normal?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies. “It’s hard work for the body to repair itself this way. We find that patients run a fever for the first few days, even after they’re fully, uh, revived.”

Hizashi thanks the doctor when she excuses herself to see to her other patients. He sidles in next to Nemuri, laying his head on her shoulder, where she pets his hair with her idle hand.

“I need to check on Sho,” Hizashi whispers. His throat hurts. His head, too. It’s been a long day.

Nemuri nods, and Hizashi takes it as the permission it is to slip back out to the hallway and head toward Shouta’s room. They’ve moved Midoriya into Shouta’s ward. Asui and Ojirou are downstairs, since they’re not in critical condition. 

His room is only a few steps away but Hizashi feels like it’s halfway across the globe. He’s never been good at dealing with Shouta being injured. This time is no different, even if Midoriya is posing a worthy distraction.

Shouta is awake when he enters the room, and Hizashi lingers at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe. His husband hasn’t noticed him yet, so he gets to analyze Shouta without complaint for once. Shouta’s entire upper body is covered in bandages, but his eyes are clear. His vitals on the monitor are steady. When Hizashi sighs too loudly, Shouta turns his head to smile softly up at Hizashi, and it’s enough to reassure him. 

Proof that he, too, is alive. 

“I’m going to get a nurse up here in a second to see if we can move you.”

Shouta’s brow furrows. “Move me where?”

Hizashi wants to tell Shouta, wants to say, to Midoriya. But he’d rather show Shouta. Let him see for himself that the kid is whole, alive, and rapidly becoming well. “It’s a surprise,” he says, his voice only slightly cracking.

Shouta’s face softens, and Hizashi wishes that he weren’t so bandaged up, because it’s the look Shouta gives him whenever he reaches for Hizashi. Whenever he wants to comfort him. Hizashi could do with a lot of comforting right now. They both could. He’s hoping Midoriya will be that for them, in lieu of each other. 

It’s a slow process, getting Shouta checked over by the nursing staff. Hizashi is directed on how long Shouta can be out of the room and what symptoms to look out for that mean Shouta needs to come back immediately. But eventually, Hizashi’s cleared to use the hospital wheelchairs, and after an awkward transition to get Shouta from the bed to the chair, they’re all set. 

His husband is uncharacteristically quiet through the process. Hizashi wonders if it's the pain, the grief, or a combination of them both.

“Are you comfortable enough?” Hizashi asks before they move. 

Shouta hums non-committally. “Enough. Now show me whatever you’re being so secretive about.”

Nemuri has settled into a chair by the time Hizashi and Shouta roll into the room. Midoriya is a peaceful figure in the bed. Someone has wiped the dust from his face, untangled the snarls in his hair, and changed him into a clean hospital gown. 

Shouta makes a strangled noise. Hizashi marches him forward. It feels strangely funereal. 

“Hizashi? What—”

But Hizashi’s still lacking for words, so he keeps pushing Shouta until they’re at the side of the bed and there’s nothing to do but look at Midoriya. At his rising chest. The way that his eyes move slightly behind his lids, as if in a dream. Hizashi wonders what Shouta sees, what’s keeping him trapped unmoving in the wheelchair. He looks afraid to blink, like the Midoriya that’s in that bed, whole and smoothed over by his quirk, will be replaced by the one left swirling in the water at the USJ. 

“Shouta?” Hizashi’s afraid to speak too loudly. 

Instead, he watches, worried, as Shouta blinks back into himself. Shouta makes an abortive gesture toward Midoriya’s hand and Hizashi’s heart breaks just a little further. How awful it is to want to reach out and not be able to. 

“Are you okay?” Hizashi whispers it in Shouta’s ear, trying to fake a semblance of privacy in the crowded room. Shouta swallows thickly, unable to speak. 

Hizashi sees the first of the cracks to appear, as Shouta’s breathing hitches. The first hitch is all it takes for the bandages under Shouta’s eyes grow damp, for Shouta to devolve into full-on sobs.  Hizashi crouches down, ignoring his knees’ protest at the way he hits the tiled floor. He thumbs away Shouta’s tears, smoothing down the stray hairs stuck to Shouta’s forehead. 

“I thought–” Shouta breaks himself off on a ragged breath. 

“We all did,” Nemuri offers, softer than Hizashi’s ever heard her. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “When I went to the morgue to check on his body, his throat was already healed.”

“We think he had a latent quirk that activated when he…when he died,” Hizashi clarifies. 

“What kind of quirk would do this?”

Nemuri shrugs, “There are all kinds of regeneration quirks. Some apparently only work postmortem. That’s what the doctor said, at least.”

The conversation bleeds into a sort of awed silence. Hizashi rubs circles on Shouta’s knee, as Shouta’s focus never wavers from Midoriya’s face, from the undeniable proof that the kid is still here. 

Naomasa forces Toshinori to take a cab to the hospital. Toshinori wants to fight against it, but he’s had more than a few drinks and even if he hadn’t, he’s exhausted. He doesn’t trust himself not to fall asleep on his bike, even if it’s the fastest way to the hospital. At least a cab is quicker than the metro, and with the embers of One For All thoroughly extinguished for the day, Toshinori won’t be recognized. All Might’s the one all over the news. Toshinori is just a quirkless guy in the back of a cab.

He’s too tired to talk on the way there, thoroughly cracked open by the sight of his dead protégé. He feels like someone has taken a melon baller to his insides, leaving nothing behind but the skin. Naomasa has never been keen on conversation, so Toshinori selfishly allows himself to melt away in the cab. 

He wakes to Naomasa shaking him. Groggily, he clambers out onto the curb outside of Musutafu General. Naomasa insists on paying the fare, leaving Toshinori with one more thing to feel guilty about. They’re stacking up these days.  Naomasa takes up residence next to him after settling the charge and Toshinori gets the distinct impression the other man is waiting him out. 

Toshinori takes a deep breath. “How sure are you, Naomasa?”

His friend has never been one to sugarcoat, to dress up the truth in pretty bows. “He’s alive, Toshinori. But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Naomasa’s eyes are sure; clear and steady and—worried, just a little, for him. Toshinori would be able to tell, would be able to see it in Naomasa’s gaze, if he was lying. 

“Thank you,” Toshinori says under his breath. Too afraid to commit to it, too afraid they’ll both be wrong and Toshinori will have nothing to be thankful for except the handful of seconds outside of the hospital, the belief he hasn’t failed Midoriya held tightly in his hands.  

They can’t stay out in the cold all night, so Toshinori forces himself to move forward into the hospital, up the stairs and onto the floor that houses Midoriya and Aizawa’s rooms. He’s not sure he’s ever been this nervous, not even when Nana granted him One for All. Not even when he bestowed Midoriya with the same. 

Toshinori hovers on the outside of Midoriya’s door, heart threatening to beat its way out of his chest. What if this is all a dream? What if he steps through the threshold and wakes up on his couch and Midoriya is still dead and Toshinori is alone?

A hand thumps his back. Toshinori can smell mint and cinnamon gum, which vaults him to all those late nights with Nighteye back in the days where Toshinori’s biggest fear was easy to place. When it was just a villain, not a kid with his quirk and a penchant for danger. “Go in, Toshinori,” Naomasa encourages. 

Toshinori can’t let himself be immobilized by his fears, so he goes in. 

Midoriya is tucked into a bed on the right side of the room. His hair, already eye-catching in any context, is especially stark against the white bedsheets. Kayama has a hold of one of his tiny hands, and Yamada is sitting next to a man in bandages that Toshinori’s pretty sure is Aizawa. 

He takes a step forward, trying to hide his shaking hands as everyone turns to face him.

“Yagi,” Aizawa croaks. His voice is thread-bare. Toshinori can’t help but empathize. 

He is hulking above his boy, and it makes him feel enough like a villain that he crouches to be level with the bed. He can see Midoriya better from here, anyway. There are his freckles–four to each side. There is the thin scar on his upper lip. There are his eyelashes, deep emerald green. Midoriya is warm, too. Toshinori can feel it, even just squatting next to the bed. 

He reaches out to brush a finger against Midoriya's cheek. It is bursting with warmth, and maybe that’s the thing Toshinori needed to shatter the last of his worries that this is a dream. Because the last time Toshinori held Midoriya, he was so cold. 

“My boy,” he whispers, every syllable thick with relief. “Oh, my boy.”

They all lapse in silence for a while. Watching. Listening. Waiting for something, though none of them are quite sure what it would be. 

Then Midoriya sniffs loudly, and they all freeze. His eyes flutter, blinking open. His gaze is confused at first, roving the room without direction, before focusing on Kayama’s hand, then on Aizawa’s bandages, Yamada’s glasses, and finally, finally, on Toshinori. 

For the first time all day, Toshinori exhales. 

“All Might?” Izuku doesn’t understand how he’s here, because Izuku is definitely dead. He can remember it all–the feeling of his throat giving under the hand villain’s touch. The cold of the water, and the darkness sweeping the rest of him away. He shouldn’t be seeing All Might here, in whatever version of the afterlife he’s ended up in. Because All Might couldn’t have lost to the monster. It’s impossible. 

“Yes,” All Might says, heedless of his confusion. His voice is so quiet. Far removed from the booming voice he uses in battles. Izuku wishes he wasn’t so muted, wishes he could find the reassurance in All Might's tone that he sorely needs, and wishes All Might would tell him he’s okay. 

All Might’s face softens in fond confusion. “You’re okay,” he says and then, still too quiet but in a distinct impression of his All Might voice, “I am here!” 

Maybe Izuku said all that out loud, but he can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about it, because that does make him feel a little better. “Are we dead?”

It’s like that question sucks all the air out of the room. All Might’s expression closes off, his eyes flicking desperately towards the other side of Izuku’s bed. And now Izuku remembers that there’s more than just All Might with him. Midnight sits in a chair, her face void of her usual makeup. Present Mic is gripping the railing of Izuku’s bed. A bandaged man sits statuesque in a wheel chair. As his eyelids begin to cooperate, the room itself comes further into focus, and Izuku acknowledges the hospital bed he’s in, the monitors beeping steadily with his heart rate, and the hum of the doctors out in the hallway. 

All of the adults seem frozen. Izuku wishes he could take back the question. Clearly he’s not dead. Clearly, neither is All Might. But before he can apologize, there's a knock on the door, and a detective ushers in a nurse. 

She is bright pink and has a rubber ducky lanyard. “Ah,” she says, smiling, “welcome back, Mr. Midoriya.” 

She ushers out the heroes so she can look Izuku over. Izuku watches them leave, feeling weirdly out of place. None of them will meet his eye, and it makes him feel like he’s missing something important. Like there’s something they don’t want to tell him. 

In the hallway, Hizashi notices Shouta flagging. His breathing is ragged, more than it would be just from sorrow, and his head keeps bobbing down as if he can’t quite stay awake. 

“You should take him back,” Nemuri murmurs. She looks shaken, pale in the fluorescent lighting, but she isn’t making any indication of leaving. “I can let you know when we’ll be let in to see him.”

Hizashi checks Yagi over. He’s stricken too, but Detective Tsukauchi is there, whispering things that Yagi is responding to, if despondently. There’s nothing here for Hizashi to do, and Shouta needs him more right now. 

“Yeah,” he says to Nemuri, “keep me posted.”

Shouta’s half asleep on the way back to his room, and he barely stirs as Hizashi scoops him up to transfer him to the bed. He keeps his eyes stubbornly open, though, as the nurse readjusts his position from where Hizashi dropped him. He waits for the nurse to leave to catch Hizashi’s attention. 

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Shouta admits. 

Hizashi’s shoulders fall and he hugs himself lightly. He’s never felt so helpless, so lost at sea. With his husband falling to pieces in front of him and Midoriya–bright, reckless, brilliant Midoriya–so sure and accepting of his demise, Hizashi feels the weight of the world pressing down on top of him. But Shouta won’t sleep without reassurance, and Hizashi is supposed to be the optimistic one. 

He runs a hand gently across Shouta’s chest, letting the rough surface of the bandages ground him. “I think the only thing we can say is the truth. The only thing we can do is be there for him. Midoriya is one of the strongest students UA has had in years. He’ll pull through this.”

Shouta’s eyes do something complicated and semi-tortured before smoothing out into acceptance. He tucks his face down toward the pillow, hiding from Hizashi in his hair. Hizashi just strokes Shouta’s chest until he drops off, hoping he’s leading by example. Praying that he didn’t just lie to his husband about how this will go. 

The nurse seems happy with Izuku’s vitals, aside from his fever, which is pushing the upper bounds of what the doctors are comfortable with. She sets him up with an IV and a fever patch and tells him to push the call button if he needs anything. 

He thanks her quietly, smiling just a little when she ruffles his hair.

“Do you want me to send anyone in for you? You had quite an audience when I came in.”

Izuku looks at the door to the hallway. He can’t tell who is still out there, but he supposes he doesn’t mind any visitor, so he agrees. The nurse smiles at him one last time before she goes. Izuku’s bracing himself for a quiet night. The heroes had all been here, seen that he was alright, and, while he doesn’t know quite what happened at the USJ in the end, he’s sure they’ve got better things to do than babysit him. 

Maybe that’s why he’s so surprised when a few seconds later, Midnight comes in alone. She’s smiling, and it makes him feel a little sturdier. Gone is that wide-eyed panic he’d seen before, after he asked if he was dead. Midnight settles back into the stool by his bedside, taking his hand in a steady grip. 

“It’s good to see you awake, kid.” 

“I’m sorry for being so much trouble,” he replies. 

Midnight shakes her head, amused. But the lightness in her expression dims a little as she looks at him. “Did the nurse tell you what happened?”

 Izuku shakes his head. “She said that it was best for me to check with UA. And if I wanted to meet with a quirk counselor later, she could arrange something.”

Midnight’s thumb strikes a comforting rhythm across the back of Izuku’s knuckles. He lets himself focus on that, rather than the anxiety threatening to overtake him as Midnight takes some time to think through what to say. 

“We think that you have a latent quirk,” she starts. “You were a casualty at the USJ.”

Izuku swallows thickly, screwing his eyes shut at the images that flash quickly through his head. Asui’s cool skin against his as he collided with her, pushing her out of the path of Shigaraki. Aizawa, face down in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. “Are Asui and Aizawa okay?”

It derails Midnight, he can tell, as she blinks at the question. But she quickly gets back on track. “Yes. Asui was virtually unharmed. Aizawa was in here earlier.”

The bandaged man, Izuku thinks. He wonders how much damage was done to Aizawa to warrant that level of care. How had the teacher even been stable enough to come here, to wait for Izuku to wake up?

 Guilt is a spiky ball in his chest, and Izuku squirms against it. He wishes he could have done more to help his teacher. He could have stepped in sooner to the fight, before the monster got involved. 

“You can see for yourself later. I’m sure Asui would be thrilled to see you. I suspect Aizawa will visit you later, as well. 

“But, back to you. You weren’t wrong when you woke up. You did die, Midoriya,” and here, her voice wavers. It confuses Izuku, how Midnight could feel so strongly about a student she’d barely met. But Izuku supposes that all heroes probably feel a responsibility for those in their care. “It was a major failing on our part, for which we are deeply sorry. 

“You were transported from the USJ to the hospital, where we noticed that you were healing. Slowly, but surely, your body was putting itself back together.”

A regeneration quirk. They’re rare. Izuku only knows a handful of reported cases across Japan. Typically, they present much earlier, at the point of injury. If that’s what Izuku’s quirk is, if that’s what every doctor he’d ever seen had missed, then Izuku’s must not trigger until after he’s died. 

“How long was I…” he can’t bring himself to ask the full question. He knows that he died. Remembers enough of it to be certain, but it’s hard to bring himself to face that. To know he stopped breathing. That Asui and Aizawa, and the others at the USJ who had been near him, had watched him fall. 

“It’s been a bit over twelve hours.” 

Twelve hours is a long time, Izuku thinks. Long enough to be reported dead. To run a press story. “Is my mom–does she know the truth?”

“Yes,” Midnight says. She looks apologetic. “We contacted her as soon as we knew that your quirk was healing you adequately. She’ll be coming in the morning.”

“What about my class? Do they know?”

Here, she shakes her head. “We think it’ll be best to break the news when you return. If you want to return, that is.”

Izuku blinks against unwanted tears. Kacchan thinks he’s dead, right now. Uraraka and Iida too. While he’s not close with many of his fellow classmates, he feels guilty that he’s the reason they’re upset right now. Izuku knows he certainly would be.  If Asui had died instead of him, well—Izuku would probably never forgive himself. 

Midnight sits through his muttering, not letting go of his hand until he pulls himself from his thoughts with a yawn. She pats him, twice, beginning to stand. 

“I know this is a lot to process,” she says. “You should sleep. The doctors say you’re still healing.” 

“Okay,” Izuku says. He wishes he could say more, but every time he blinks, his eyes threaten to stay closed. He feels her push him gently back against the pillows, stroking his sweaty hair away from his forehead. She flips the lightswitch as she leaves, and Izuku blinks blearily in the darkness. 

Thoughts swirling, he drops into a light, restless sleep. 

Nemuri finds Yagi sipping tea out of a paper cup on one of the corridor’s tiny blue hospital chairs when she exits Midoriya’s room. She isn’t sure what time it is, just that it’s very early in the morning and that she’s been awake for far too long. She suspects Yagi hasn’t slept either, between his morning patrol, the USJ, and now. 

She presses a hand to the older hero’s shoulder, concern pooling in her stomach as Yagi’s response is delayed. He peers up at her with glazed-over eyes. “Go home, Yagi. Midoriya needs some rest. I think we’ll all feel better about this in the morning.”

Yagi nods without conviction, and Nemuri finds herself hesitating. She hasn’t seen much of Yagi since he joined UA, but she’s never seen him quite so low-spirited. He picks at the lip of the paper cup, tearing off tiny pieces that fall to float in the tea. He seems to be turning a thought over in his mind, and she waits, seeing if it's something he wants to share. 

His voice is shredded when he speaks. Nemuri wants to coax him into drinking more of that tea. Instead, she listens. “I don’t know how to be grateful for this,” he says. “I’ve known Young Midoriya for nearly a year, and he is the brightest spot in my life. I would give everything I have twice over to keep him safe. But I didn’t keep him safe today, and instead of…instead of being punished for that, I get to keep him.”

The admission seems to drain him of whatever energy he has left, because he wilts into his hands. Nemuri finds herself unsure how to respond to that. How to take the guilt from Yagi, how to tell him to let it go. Because Nemuri isn’t sure what to do with her own guilt, even though she wasn't supposed to be at the USJ today. She doesn’t have any responsibility, specifically, to Midoriya. Yagi’s got a whole complicated history with the kid. 

She must be quiet for too long, because Yagi unfurls himself with a sigh. She can see the mask slip back on. The guard Yagi holds around him, day in and day out. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words tumble-worn. “I don’t know why I said any of that. You should retire as well. You’ve been at the hospital all day with Midoriya. Thank you, for that. For being there for the kid when I… couldn’t.”

Nemuri is stuck between wanting to go and wanting to stay. She searches Yagi’s eyes for some kind of answer, but they’re distant again. She tries to find a compromise. “I’ll see you in the morning, Yagi. Try to give yourself some grace. I think Midoriya would want that for you.”

He gives her a wan smile, and she takes it as her leave. She can fix whatever’s still broken in the morning. They all can. 

Izuku spends most of the next day with his mother, the police, and the doctors. They keep telling him how amazing his quirk is. Izuku just wishes they’d stop pointing out to his mother that he’d died. It’s hard enough to convince her that UA is worth it without revealing the exact consequences of his dream. By the time the doctors leave, Izuku’s fever is spiking again. His mother leaves him with a bento and a kiss, promising to come by the next day. 

He’s starting to go stir-crazy in the room. It’s too big for just him, and the fever is creating monsters out of the shadows. Every time he turns his head, he thinks the Nomu or Aizawa’s limp body are in his peripheral vision. He keeps setting off the heart monitors, but he doesn’t want the sedatives the doctors keep offering him.

They barely have a reason to keep him in the ICU. His fever is well-managed, and his quirk has healed both his throat and the nerve damage he’s done to his hands and arms using One For All. The thought of his quirk—his real one, the one that feels like it belongs—reminds Izuku that he hasn’t seen All Might since he woke up. And that’s not a thought spiral he’s keen to chase down.

All of this to say that Izuku finds himself wandering the ward he’s in later. At first, it feels good to just be walking. To remind himself that he’s capable and still has a body. And then it’s a way to work out some of his anxiety with physical exertion. The ward seems mostly abandoned, as Izuku passes vacant room after room. But there’s one room with the light on, just a few steps from his own. He stops outside of it, trying to decide if he should go in or not. 

He’s pretty sure this is where they are keeping Aizawa. But Izuku’s not sure if his teacher wants to see him or if he’s even up for visitors at all. But the thought of going back to his empty room, of going back to the shadows as his only company, has him pushing his way in. 

Aizawa isn’t in his bed. Instead, he’s hunched over a book at the small table in his room. Present Mic is across from him, grading through a stack of papers with a red pen. They both look up to stare at Izuku in the doorway and he’s overcome with embarrassment. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Izuku stammers unthinkingly, trying to turn back as fast as he can.

“Wait,” Aizawa says, and his voice is steady and warm. His teacher’s voice. The one that Izuku has come to rely on for guidance. It smooths the tension from his shoulders immediately. 

“You can come in, little listener,” Hizashi confirms. 

Izuku shuffles in, trying not to stare too pointedly at the bandages on Aizawa’s face and arms. His legs seem mostly untouched, though there’s still a wheelchair next to the table that Izuku’s sure is being used to transport him to his bed and back. Present Mic pushes a chair out with one foot, and Izuku sinks into it. Unsure what to do with his hands, Izuku folds them in front of him, resting them on the table. 

Present Mic sinks back into his grading, but Aizawa doesn’t return to his book, instead looking Izuku up and down as if he’s searching, still, for an injury that isn’t there. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Aizawa?” Izuku feels silly immediately after asking. His teacher is covered in bandages and without the use of his arms or hands. He’s clearly not okay. But Izuku is reaching for any topic that’s not himself, and this is where he lands. 

Aizawa nods his head in affirmation. His eyes are the only part of his face Izuku can make out, and they seem, if not somber, then serious. “I am alright, Midoriya. I’m more worried about you.”

Izuku picks at the edge of his nail, peeling back the cuticle. For the first time in months, his right hand doesn’t ache at all. It makes Izuku feel uncanny in his own skin. “I’m fine. It’s only the fever that won’t go down.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrow, but it feels more concerned than angry. “Midoriya, I have to apologize for the USJ.”

And this was what Izuku was trying to avoid before he came in here. He bites at his thumb, the pressure of his teeth grounding him. Present Mic gently brings his hand away from his mouth, and Izuku folds both palms under his legs, feeling chastised. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I did it to myself. I saw that Shigaraki was going for Tsu, and I just acted without thinking.”

Aizawa’s throat clicks as he swallows. “You were my responsibility, Midoriya. All of you in the USJ were, and I failed to keep you safe.”

“You were in an impossible position,” Izuku argues. “You were outnumbered and yet you still fought. You sacrificed yourself for—for us.”

“He’s right, Sho,” Present Mic says, startling Izuku, who’d forgotten that he was there. 

Aizawa’s hands go up toward his face, as if he wants to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t think there was any other way it could’ve gone,” Izuku says, steamrolling Aizawa and Mic’s protests, “either I got hurt, or Tsu.”

“Why do you think one of those is better than the other?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku’s so worked up that he can’t quite keep himself contained. 

“I just can’t stand by and let someone get hurt for me. If there’s someone who needs help, I have to step in. You don’t understand what it was like for me, growing up. I was—useless. At least now, I’ve got a quirk–” and it’s the reference to One For All that stops him in his tracks. He shouldn’t be saying any of this. Shouldn’t be telling them All Might’s secret. 

But Aizawa must think he’s referencing his other quirk, because he makes a frustrated noise and leans over the table to be closer to Izuku. So Izuku can see the determination in his gaze. “I don’t ever want you to sacrifice yourself unnecessarily, Midoriya. Don’t you understand?”

“But Tsu-” Izuku starts. 

“I had my quirk ready for Asui. I had it timed. When you pushed her out of the way, I blinked and you…you paid the price for it.”

“Does it really matter now?” Izuku murmurs, because it’s what he’s thinking. What he has been thinking since Midnight told him the truth. “I can’t die.”

“Yes, you can,” Mic cuts in. “You can die, Midoriya.”

Izuku shrugs. He doesn’t stay dead, so this feels like a game of semantics. But Aizawa is staring at him, and Present Mic seems pained, so he doesn’t voice it. Doesn’t tell them that he knows, at the end of the day, if it’s between him dying and someone else, he’ll make the same choice that led him here.

“Just, promise me,” Aizawa’s voice is watery, and it makes Izuku pause, just for a moment. “Promise me you’ll try your hardest to never have to use your regeneration again.”

It’s a concession. They’ve all acknowledged that Aizawa couldn’t have fully stopped this. That maybe if Aizawa had saved Tsu, he would’ve died. That maybe if Izuku hadn’t moved, Tsu would’ve died. What happened here was that Izuku died, and he came back. 

But still, everytime Izuku closes his eyes, he sees a giant fist swinging down and Aizawa’s broken goggles splattered with blood. When he falls asleep and his heart slows down, he feels impossibly cold and impossibly certain he isn’t going to wake up. So, Izuku sucks in a breath and tries not to make himself a liar. Tries to commit himself to this, to the idea of choosing life, as best he can. “I-I promise.”

It’s the only thing he can say. And maybe, if that’s what he strives for, his teachers won’t feel guilty when he fails. 

The next three days pass by quickly. His fever continues to decline, and the doctors check on him less and less frequently. By the middle of the third night, they’re hopeful that he can be discharged in the morning as long as his fever stays down. 

 He still hasn’t seen All Might, and he tries not to be stung by that. He spends more time than not in Aizawa’s room. It feels weird to see this glimpse into his teacher’s life. To see how Present Mic interacts with Aizawa, the way he cares for him, so deeply and truthfully. They play cards sometimes. Aizawa still can’t use his hands, but Mic rigs a flashlight to Aizawa’s head that he can control with a button, and Aizawa indicates the card he wants to play that way. They joke with Izuku, ask him about his classes and the friends he’s making. They don’t ask about Kacchan, which is just as well, because Izuku’s not sure what he would even say about him. How do you summarize what Kacchan and Izuku are to each other? 

One day, Present Mic brings Izuku down to where Ojirou and Tsu are being monitored. They’re being overly cautious with the UA kids–probably because of Izuku and his latent quirk–but Izuku can’t find it in himself to feel guilty, because it means he can confirm with his own eyes that two of his classmates are okay. That the USJ wasn’t the end for them. 

He lets Present Mic go in first, sneaking behind the teacher as quietly as he can.  Tsu spots him immediately. Her eyes grow wide and she stiffens, as if frozen. Ojirou’s stare is more analytical. 

Izuku’s words turn to dust in his mouth. What do you say to two people who thought you were dead? How do you explain it to the girl who fished your corpse out of the water?

“Hi,” he settles on, because he doesn’t trust himself with more syllables. 

Tsu doesn’t move, just stares at him as if seeing a ghost. Izuku supposes she more or less has. Ojirou shakes his shock more quickly, getting out his bed to wrap Izuku up in his tail. “It’s good to see you, man.”

Izuku pats him on the back. “It’s good to see you too.”

Whatever fell over Tsu is broken by the time Ojirou steps away from the hug, and Izuku turns to hug her as well.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying not to hold her too tightly. 

“Don’t be, kero,” Tsu replies. Her hands are shaking, and Izuku takes them, squeezing them gently in his fingers. “I’m just happy you’re back.”

Izuku nods, feeling awkward and a little self-conscious. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that you’ll be a recurring theme of a person’s nightmares. But he doesn’t have much more to offer. He can’t encapsulate all he feels for what happened with Tsu in words. Doesn’t know how to apologize for the mess of it all. He only hopes he can make it up to her as a classmate in the future. Hopes that he didn’t scar her for life. 

Afterward, Present Mic tells him he’s proud of how Izuku handled that and buys Izuku a can of orange Fanta from the vending machine downstairs. Izuku drinks it on the couch in Aizawa’s room as they watch a midday talk show and Aizawa naps. 

His fever finally breaks in the middle of the third night, which means by the fourth morning, they’re ready to discharge him. It’s early enough that he could make it to class, but Present Mic tells him to take the day off with his mother. He wants to argue, but his mom is barely holding back tears, and he thinks it would be nice to let himself be cared for by her. To let her soothe her anxiety through miso soup and All Might documentaries and the feeling that, for one day, she knows exactly where her son is. Hale and whole and happy in her home. 

He’s nervous to return to UA, knowing that his presence will be a shock. Seventeen of his fellow classmates still think that he’s dead. Midnight meets him at the gates to walk him directly to homeroom, where she is acting as substitute. 

Izuku doesn’t realize he keeps fidgeting with his backpack until Midnight stops in the middle of the hallway and puts a steadying hand on both of his arms. “Midoriya, it’ll be okay.”

He swallows tightly, mouth dry. “I just haven’t figured out what I’m going to say yet.”

Midnight’s eyes are bright with unspoken amusement. But she must see the genuine panic on his face, because it fades quickly. She fluffs his hair. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about that. They’ll be happy to see you.”

Izuku just nods and lets her lead him into the classroom. It is mundane chaos in the homeroom and the chatter makes something spark in Izuku’s chest. He watches as Kaminari ribs Sero in the back of the classroom and the way that Iida is trying to bring them under control. He didn’t think about how much this would feel like coming home. 

Midnight takes her place at the front of the classroom, and Uraraka is the first to spot him by the doorway. She gives a little gasp, her hand flying up to her face. The rest of the class’ conversations cut off with an infectious hush. Izuku fights the urge to fidget. 

“Um,” he says, transported back to the hospital room with Tsu and Ojirou. “Hi?” 

Kacchan stands up so quickly that his chair flies back and hits the ground with a resounding clang. Izuku barely manages not to flinch. Kacchan is a feral thing, his eyes narrowed on Izuku like he’s prey. His breathing is heavy, a warning in and of itself. Izuku stands his ground, familiar with this at least. With Kacchan’s anger and resentment. 

The tension in the room is thick, anticipatory. Even Midnight is waiting to see how this unfolds. But Kacchan doesn’t fly off the handle, doesn’t yell or make explosions. Instead, he scoops up his backpack and shoves his way out of the room. Izuku stares helplessly as he goes, startling, finally, when  the door slams behind him. It’s like the noise is a starting gun to a race, because everyone starts speaking at once. 

“Izuk-”

“Where were yo-”

“Bro, how are you ali-”

Midnight holds up a hand and everyone quiets. Izuku is trembling where he stands, trying desperately to keep his voice from quaking. “Um, I have a regeneration quirk, apparently?”

It’s all he can think to say. He looks at Midnight, silently asking if that’s enough. She nods at him and he slips without another word into his seat. He can feel every pair of eyes on the back of his head, but Midnight starts the lesson, cutting off any discussion before it can begin. 

Izuku bolts the second the bell rings. He can hear Iida, Todoroki, and Uraraka call after him. But he can’t stop, because he can’t breathe and he doesn’t want to fall apart in front of them. He doesn’t want to admit that this has fucked him up, that he’s been affected so ardently. 

He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t see All Might in the hallway until he crashes into him. Two large palms grip him by his arms and lift him before he can fall over. Izuku looks up, mortified, into All Might’s eyes. They’re so concerned that Izuku wonders if he hurt All Might in the collision.

It’s not like All Might could be that concerned for him. 

After a moment, when All Might seems to have determined that Izuku isn’t going to fall over if he puts him down, All Might lowers him back onto his feet. Izuku’s been shocked out of his anxiety spiral, and now he just feels spent and embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling like one of those dolls with the pull strings and three catchphrases. 

All Might’s eyes are still tracking him, locked onto his face and swimming with something searching. Izuku looks away first. “I, um, I’m sure you have places to be so I’ll just–”

“Come have lunch with me in my office,” All Might cuts him off. Izuku snaps his jaw shut and All Might blushes, the tips of his ears red. 

“Yeah,” Izuku says. “Okay.” 

He doesn’t know why it feels so awkward to follow All Might into his office, or to take his shoes off and curl up on the leather couch in there. Izuku’s been here before. Has even had lunch with All Might in here before. But they haven’t really spoken since Izuku woke up, and he’s not sure where he stands anymore. What All Might thinks of him. 

All Might busies himself with ordering food from the cafeteria, and then with making a pot of tea to set on the coffee table. Izuku tries to pretend like he’s not staring at the hero the whole time.

He’s already decided what he wants to say by the time All Might sits down. “I think I’ve figured out why you’re mad at me,” he starts, and he’s so lost in the cadence of the speech he wrote in his mind that he doesn’t notice the way All Might droops, impossibly, further into himself. “You gave me One For All to care for, and I didn’t even think what would happen if I died carrying it. I guess part of me hoped that the little bit you still carry would be enough to pass it along. But if it wasn’t, then I would have taken the quirk with me. I’m sorry, All Might. I’m really sorry.” He swipes at his eyes, feeling silly for being quick to tear up. But he means all of it. Feels borrowed grief on All Might’s part for the legacy of One For All. If he’d truly never woken up after the USJ, they may have lost the quirk of the Number One Hero forever. 

All Might sits awkwardly in the wake of his speech and Izuku holds his breath, begging for his mentor to say something. Izuku’s worked himself up into thinking that All Might’s going to ask for One For All back when All Might starts crying. 

“No,” he chokes out. He’s fighting the tears, all of his words warbled. “Young Midoriya, that is not why—I am not mad—I, I am deeply ashamed.”

Izuku wasn’t expecting any of that. Isn’t sure where to start, frankly. 

“I should have been at the USJ for you and your classmates. I was irresponsible that morning and I burned through the embers of One For All ahead of the field trip. By the time I arrived, you were…lost. I have never regretted anything so thoroughly and I,” All Might inhales, as if to steel himself, “I didn’t know how to tell you this in the hospital. How much losing you affected…affects me.” 

All Might has shrunk in on himself, and Izuku finds himself pulled forward. Feels the need to drag All Might back. He scrambles off the couch, hesitant at first, then reassured by the need in All Might’s eyes, and throws himself over All Might in a hug. 

All Might’s arms wrap around Izuku’s back, and it’s nearly bruising, but he lets All Might pet the back of his head, lets him continue to work through his sobs with Izuku right there to dispel his worst fears. 

“I thought that I had betrayed you,” Izuku whispers, after a while. 

All Might’s eyes are red rimmed when he pulls back. He shakes his head, a watery smile on his face. “You could never betray me, Young Midoriya. I fear I have only ever let you down, both at the USJ and afterward. I couldn’t face what I had let happen to you, and I felt that I couldn’t face you, either. I am deeply sorry. I will do better.”

Izuku nods, biting his lip. They make an interesting pair, the two of them. So willing to apply the blame to themselves.

Their lunch arrives and breaks the somber mood. Whatever worries Izuku walked into the office with disappear over sandwiches and light conversation. They’ve crossed the river now, both dry and intact on the other side. It makes him think about it all, about Aizawa and his worry, about the way Mic considers Izuku’s life precious, about the way Tsu dragged him out of the water, even after he’d died, because she didn’t want to leave him behind. Something needles at him about Kacchan too, the way he’d reacted at seeing Izuku back in the classroom. Izuku’s never seen him give up on a fight. When he’s that worked up, something (Izuku, mainly) always gets burned. But Kacchan had just…left. It’s starting to pile up, all these pieces of evidence that Izuku…well, that he matters. That he’s wanted now. 

It makes him feel more confident that he can keep the promise he made to Aizawa back in the hospital. Maybe he doesn’t want to be a liar, or maybe, Izuku just doesn’t want to go so soon.