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Eraser dropped him off on the curb outside of Tsuda-san’s office, and he stood in the lobby contemplating just walking away from the building for a solid minute before relenting and going inside. He was already in deep enough shit with them, and they were going to force him here one way or another.
“Hello, Midoriya,” Tsuda-san greeted him kindly.
“Hello,” he replied, doing his best to keep it civil even though he’d rather undergo mild physical torture than be in this room right now.
“It’s been a while. How has your summer break been?” she asked, her tone completely devoid of any hint that that might be a loaded question.
He studied her face as he stared dumbly. Did she seriously not know? His summer break activities were like… international news. There’s no way she missed that, right? Her tells were subtle, but after a few seconds of painfully awkward silence and him gaping like a fish, he noticed a slight upturn at the corner of her lips.
He didn’t bother hiding the bark of laughter that elicited, but he schooled his expression swiftly.
“Oh, yeah, it’s been, uh… eventful. I went on a trip and made some new friends,” he answered sarcastically.
“Mmm, that sounds wonderful. Tell me about them,” she prompted him.
“They’re–” he started, but cut himself off with a laugh, “Well, I heard it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. They’re not my usual crowd, but they were, heh, captivating, I guess.”
Tsuda-san laughed and shook her head.
“In all seriousness, how are you doing? I can imagine that was traumatic to say the least,” she tried to pivot the conversation into something heavier.
“Yeah, I guess. It’s probably in my top five, maybe top three if you count the camp invasion and kidnapping as o-one,” he replied, trying to cling to the easy sardonicism he was more comfortable with.
“Top three most traumatizing life events?” she clarified.
This was getting more sad and less funny. He didn’t have a clever comeback for that, so he just nodded.
“We should make a tier list at some point. I’m sure you’d have a lot of witticisms to share about that, but let's stick with one thing at a time right now. How are you coping?”
He was mourning the jovial atmosphere already.
“Fine, I guess,” he answered dryly.
“No, I mean how, like what are you doing to cope? Have we discussed coping mechanisms?” she asked as she paged through her notes.
“Oh, um, no? I don’t kn-know,” he answered awkwardly.
“Well, there’s no time like the present. Coping mechanisms are activities or practices we use to regulate our emotions. Things like taking deep breaths or journaling are pretty common ones– or at least common healthy ones. There are plenty of common, unhealthy coping mechanisms: drinking, smoking, avoidance, self-harm, et cetera. Trying to completely rewrite how your brain reacts to stimuli is a losing battle, so I find it helpful to identify what a person naturally does to cope and either encourage it or modify it depending on which category it falls in. Does that make sense?”
He nodded.
“Good, so what are you doing to cope? It doesn’t have to be just one thing, either; it might be easier to start small, just any little thing you do to make yourself feel better,” she prompted.
God, he hated this. He didn’t want to think about what happened at all, if it could be avoided… Well, that was probably the answer then, wasn’t it? Terrific, hitting one of the bad coping mechanism bullet points right off the bat. Maybe he should take up alcoholism too at this point. He had to be doing something correctly, right? He just had to think.
“I, um, t-try to remember that it c-could have been worse b-but it wasn’t,” he offered weakly before the silence became sentient and strangled him.
“How do you mean?”
“Like no one d-died.”
“Okay, so like affirmations. You stop a mental spiral with a positive statement of fact. That’s a great one,” Tsuda-san replied with a smile.
Was she joking? She didn’t look like she was joking.
“How about talking to those who you’re worrying about? I’m guessing your classmate is one of them, right?”
He scoffed out a laugh before he could stop himself.
Tsuda-san raised a brow at his response.
“B-Bakugo and I grew up t-together… He’s… We’re not f-friends.”
She jotted down something in her notebook, and he valiantly resisted the urge to try to read her writing upside down.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be concerned about him,” she pointed out.
He must have done a poor job of concealing how he felt about Bakugo at the present moment because she immediately walked her statement back.
“Who have you been worrying about if not him?” she asked instead.
“All Might and…” he trailed off.
Was he allowed to talk to her about what his friends did? Their involvement had been left out of the press release, and he could imagine they were under the same kind of restrictions that he’d been put under after the Hosu incident.
“Are you close with All Might? He's one of your teachers, isn’t he?”
“I– y-yeah we’re… close,” he answered with a partial truth.
He watched her scribble down another note.
“I can imagine three weeks of limbo wasn’t great for your anxiety,” she said with a frown.
“No, it was f– I knew the whole t-time. I saw him in the h-hospital the day it h…” he trailed off as he remembered how frail All Might had looked in that bed.
He’d just had a damn meltdown about this earlier; he didn’t need to re-live it for the nth fucking time.
“I d-don’t– I don’t r-really want to t-talk about it.”
“That’s okay. You trailed off earlier when you were talking about who you’d been worrying about. Do you feel more comfortable talking about that?” she asked instead.
Oh fuck it. What was she going to do with this information anyway?
“We were– A-All Might was there, but he was l-losing before the n-news chopper showed up. We were all g-getting in his way– I kn-know that, b-but– God, they’re so fucking stupid! My stupid friends showed up and they g-got us out of there, but they m-made me leave him. He b-brainwashed me, and All Might d-died ‘cause I wasn’t there. His heart st-stopped– multiple t-times. He d-died ‘cause I w-wasn’t– I c-could’ve– he shouldn’t have had t-to– God, if the p-paramedics were just a l-little too slow he would have–” she cut him off.
“He’s alive, Midoriya,” she reminded him.
“But he wasn’t! He died!” he nearly shouted back at her, “S-sorry, I’m s-sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for, you’re alright,” she brushed him off.
He took a moment to breathe and calm down. See, there was another one! A healthy coping mechanism right there. He could do things right… sometimes.
“Have you talked to them about how you feel?” Tsuda-san asked when he pulled himself together.
He huffed out a bitter laugh.
“N-not really. I just told them I was pissed and to leave me alone. I’ll get over it eventually… p-probably,” he admitted, as he picked at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.
Tsuda-san imitated the noise Izuku remembered hearing on trivia shows when a contestant got a question wrong. It surprised him enough to look up at her.
“That’s avoidance. We’re going to need to modify that one. Setting boundaries with your friends is a good thing, but waiting for your feelings to pass rather than talking them out is detrimental to your relationships. The first time we met, you told me how much you appreciate your friends; avoiding them like this is hurting everyone involved. So, what else can we do?”
He leveled an unimpressed glare at her.
“I can tell by the look that you already know. School’s starting up soon, right? Going back without anyone to talk to would suck anyway. Are you pissed off at all of them equally?”
“No.”
“Okay, then start with whoever pissed you off the least. Take baby steps. You don’t have to forgive them yet, but I think it would be a good goal to be on speaking terms with at least one of them before the new semester starts. Whaddya say?” she asked with a cheesy smile.
He just sighed loudly.
He needed a reason to talk to Todoroki one-on-one anyway. This was a perfect excuse, even if he hated it.
“Great, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Would it help to make a plan with me?”
His initial instinct was to say no, because it wasn’t like he could even tell her half the story, but it would give them something to talk about that wasn’t the rest of his shit show of a life, so he acquiesced.
***
“How’d it go?” Shota asked when Izuku plopped down in the passenger seat.
“I have homework,” he grumbled.
Shota huffed out a laugh. He’d never heard the kid complain about homework once. Honestly, he seemed to like it; it was something to keep him busy, Shota supposed. The kid didn’t know how to sit still for the life of him.
“How bad is it?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking spot.
“I have to be ‘on speaking terms’ with one of my friends before the semester starts,” Izuku explained.
“Hm, running out of time for that. Who’s it gonna be?” he pressed.
“Iida or Todoroki… probably Todoroki.”
“Are you just picking him because he talks the least out of all your options?” he challenged.
Izuku huffed out an amused breath.
“Maybe. Just seemed like the easiest option.”
Izuku didn’t say anything more than that. He just looked out the window as buildings passed by. Shota was glad he seemed to be taking the whole therapy thing seriously. He’d never known the kid to half-ass anything, though, so maybe he shouldn't be so surprised.
“Are you talked out for the day, or can I shovel another one on you?” he asked as they came to a stop at a red light.
Izuku looked at him with a raised brow, a wordless prompt to continue.
“I lost my temper with you the other day. I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted.
The kid’s gaze dropped to his lap and then back out the window. He looked back and nodded ahead to point out that the light had turned green, and Shota had better move before he got honked at. The action broke the moment, and the car returned to silence once more.
“I probably shouldn’t have gone off the rails either,” Izuku conceded a few blocks later.
Well, one shitty apology for another was fair play, he supposed.
“You scare the shit out of me, kid,” he added in an attempt to be more honest.
“I can’t just stand by when I know I can do something,” Izuku replied.
“I know,” he answered, exhaustion clear in his already monotone drawl.
Neither of them said anything else until he pulled the car into the lot outside their apartment. He hesitated to leave, and Izuku waited for him.
“For the sake of my already deplorable sleep schedule, can you please just tell me if there’s another ace up your sleeve?” he asked pleadingly.
“I wouldn’t be a very good poker player if I just told you that, would I?”
“I think hiding aces up your sleeves makes you a bad poker player by default,” he pointed out.
Izuku rolled his eyes at him and scoffed.
“No, that’s it. Once I get in contact with the person I need to brief, everything will be out on the table. I’ll be a good, rule-abiding gambler, honest,” Izuku insisted, tracing an X over his heart to prove his sincerity.
“I want to trust you, but you’ve made that rather difficult.”
Izuku’s expression fell.
“I know,” he replied solemnly.
“I can’t lose you, I won’t. If you keep hiding shit from us and wind up dead, I…” he trailed off.
He honestly didn’t know what he’d do; he didn’t even want to think about it.
“You need to start valuing your life. For our sake, if not your own.”
“I know,” Izuku repeated.
“Do you?” he challenged.
“I’m not… used to this. People caring,” Izuku confessed.
“I’ve made it pretty damn clear that I cared about your well-being since day one,” he countered.
“Well, no one did before! Sorry, that’s not–” he cut himself off with a sigh, “I figured I’d be d-dead by now and g-guess I p-probably acted like it too. It’s not just m-me anymore, I know that. Even without you guys, One For All is more than me. I r-really did think about the risks before I left. We met at the brewery so that I would know the area. I scoped the place and caught Bakugo lurking right away. I knew Kurogiri was off the board, and I had Danger Sense. It wasn’t just some half-assed scheme. I knew what I was getting myself into. It was a risk I calculated to be worth the reward. Ideally, yeah, I would have gotten backup, but I knew no one would let me go if I asked. I had to do it myself; it had to be me.”
Shota hated that he couldn’t find fault in his logic. This was Ivy he was talking to, this was his partner in the field, the one he had trusted with his life. Izuku wasn’t just a kid, but at the same time, he was. He was only sixteen, but he was playing the metaphorical chessboard like a pro. Shota wanted to protect him like a child should be protected, but he knew that would only result in resentment.
“I need you to be honest with me. I trusted you as an equal as Ivy, I know you have what it takes. We’re going to advocate for your involvement in the case where we can, but the second you hide something from us again, you’re done. I know heroics isn’t safe, but we don’t need you making it more dangerous by sneaking off. We’re a team, right?”
Izuku was staring at him with his jaw agape
“…I– You’re serious?” he asked after he processed.
“Yes.”
The kid’s brow furrowed, and he looked out through the windshield of the car as if something out there would make this conversation make sense. His face passed through several emotions in just a few seconds. The barest hint of a smile pulled at his lips before turning to a grimace like he was about to cry, then he cleared his throat and looked back to Shota with a straight face.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly.
“Don’t let me down,” he instructed.
“I won’t,” Izuku affirmed.
Shota nodded and took the keys out of the ignition.
“Does this mean I can have my door back?” Izuku pressed.
“No,” he shot back immediately.
He could hear the kid’s theatrically loud groan even after he closed the door behind him.
***
The following days passed the same as they had been with monotonous training. Izuku wasn’t proud to admit that he was putting off talking to Todoroki. He was still angry, but he was running out of time, so he forced himself to wait for his classmate after he changed.
“Todoroki, do you have time to talk?” Izuku asked before Todoroki got the chance to leave the locker room.
“Yes,” he agreed readily.
Izuku sighed in relief. Today was the last day of make-up camp, and he did not want to try to have this conversation over the phone.
“Follow me,” he instructed with a nod.
It was a nice day out, so he led them to the shade of a tree off the main path to the front gates. They were far enough away that their conversation would be private, or at least as private as it could be on this campus; he wouldn’t put it past Nedzu to bug the trees.
“How’s home been?” he broached the topic gently.
“My father hasn’t been around much. He’s been busy with All Might stepping down. Things will probably go back to normal soon now that there’s been a press release,” Todoroki replied with a shrug.
Izuku frowned at his resignation. He wanted better for Todoroki; hopefully, he would get that soon.
“Have you thought anymore about what to do with the… um, evidence?”
“Nothing should be done. Now isn’t the time,” Todoroki replied resolutely.
He bit down on his disappointment. He’d figured Todoroki would answer like that. It didn’t take a genius to see how much of an uproar All Might stepping down had caused, if the country’s new number one was taken down so soon… Well, they were going to find out, won’t they?
“How is your home?” Todoroki asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Izuku huffed out an amused breath.
“It’s fine,” he answered.
“Why did you laugh then?” Todoroki pressed.
“It’s just a bit chaotic right now. They’re worried about me after… everything. It’ll calm down,” he dismissed.
A bird's song sounded out from somewhere in the trees, and Izuku almost wanted to scold it. Read the room, man.
“I… we need to tell the teachers, Todoroki.”
Todoroki’s brow furrowed in defiance.
“Why?”
Screw it, he just had to pull the band-aid off.
“When I was, um, gone… one of the villains– Well, I should probably start from the beginning,” he interrupted himself to pull his thoughts together, “Before I was put with this new, um, family, I guess? I used to live in Uptown, which is, er, not a g-great area.”
“I am aware. That is very unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that,” Todoroki interjected.
“It wasn’t– It gets a bad rap– Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I met some shady people when I lived there and, well, one of them joined The League,” he admitted.
Todoroki gave no reaction as to how he felt about that, so Izuku continued.
“I was able to bargain with them, and they helped us escape– Don’t tell anyone any of this, by the way.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Izuku chewed on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t had the chance to feel guilty about selling out Todoroki’s private matters for his own personal gain, but he was certainly feeling it now.
“They only worked with me because I told them I could help them take Endeavor down, and now we could have an inside source on The League if we help them,” he confessed in one rush of breath before he could get too in his head about it.
Todoroki stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. His piercing eyes were incredibly difficult to meet, but Izuku forced himself.
“Oh,” Todoroki finally spoke flatly, giving absolutely nothing away as to how he felt about that revelation.
“I’m sorry. I kn-know it wasn’t my information to give out, I never wan–”
“I understand, Midoriya. Your well-being is more important than my privacy,” Todoroki interrupted his rambling apology.
Of course. He knew Todoroki would say that, but it didn’t make it right.
“It’s still not f-fair to you,” he insisted.
Todoroki didn’t have anything to say to that. His unsettling gaze finally lowered to the ground. For a while, all he could hear were distant voices and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. When it seemed apparent that he wasn’t going to say anything, Izuku spoke up.
“Do you want me to tell them? We can wait until after you’ve moved into the dorms, and I can explain everything. They’ll probably ask you some questions, but you won't have to spell it all out…” he trailed off and did his best not to think about those hours he’d spent in Tsukauchi’s office, “I just think that’d be easier.”
“You’re going to tell them no matter what I say?” Todoroki asked quietly.
His voice was small, and he hadn’t looked up from his lap. He looked scared, and it made Izuku sick to his stomach.
“I have to,” he answered, regret heavy in his tone.
Todoroki’s lips twitched into a frown for the briefest moment before his expression settled and he nodded.
“I’m glad you are safe. It will all be worth it for that,” Todoroki said firmly, his eyes once again locked with Izuku’s.
His sincerity was off-putting at the best of times, but that statement felt like a punch to the gut. He was about to cut the conversation off and run away from the uncomfortable confession, but then he remembered the entire purpose of this talk he was supposed to be having with Todoroki. Tsuda-san was glaring at him in his mind's eye, so he relented.
“I– y-your safety matters too. That’s why– I’m still so mad at you g-guys. Do you realize how dangerous that was? Do you know who All Might was f-fighting?” he asked.
“I do now, and I would do it again even if I knew before,” Todoroki replied, unrepentant.
“God, you people are infuriating,” he muttered angrily.
“You did the same for Iida and Bakugo, you would do the same for me– for any of our classmates, wouldn’t you?” Todoroki pressed.
Izuku wanted to scream at him that he didn’t know what he was doing, that Izuku had been in the field already, that he knew how to handle himself unlike his classmates, but he couldn’t, so he didn’t say anything. They were all going to be heroes one day, they were all going to be risking their lives every day; he needed to get used to that.
“Do you think you’re worth less?” Todoroki asked.
Izuku didn’t have a good answer to that, and his hesitation was telling. There were a million reasons why he was mad about what they had done, but he couldn’t say with honesty that that wasn’t one of them.
“Your life is worth just as much as ours,” Todoroki insisted.
Izuku grit his teeth and nodded.
“I’ll tell you the day before I talk to the teachers,” he pivoted the conversation back.
It was a coward’s move, but apparently, he wasn’t above that. He bid him farewell with the excuse that he had a train to catch and walked out the front gate, taking the long way around to the staff parking lot. He was still furious. He didn’t know if he could describe what he and Todoroki had going on as “speaking terms,” but it was going to have to suffice; move-in was in a couple of days, and he needed to start packing.