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Who do you go to for help?
A harmless question, one that he thinks is a good one to ask. Everyone needs support, don’t they?
It was a teachers responsibility to make sure that a student is taken care of. If they couldn’t turn to the teacher for help with their lessons how are they expected to learn?
A good question, indeed.
But that wasn’t the problem. Izuku had every intention of going to the teachers, in fact he thinks that most of them know him by name. There was an odd look in their eyes each time, but nothing that he wasn’t used to.
He’s not one of them.
Quirkless.
Monsterous.
It didn’t make sense, that’s what he told himself.
How was he to blame?
It wasn’t his fault.
Was it?
Izuku picked up his pencil.
Me.
“Fuck,” he croaked out, vision momentarily going out and he had trouble figuring out which struggle it was that caused that.
The moment of pain from when he narrowly avoided those hits from who knows what villain—Ground Shaker?—or from when he had gone up against Lady Nagant, but that had been long ago.
He should have been over it by now.
A yowl was heard from across the street—no, right in front of him. When did he get into this building? The place was abandoned and danger sense wasn’t going off. This was safe.
He was safe.
Pain erupted again, his side this time.
Sleep.
That’s what he needs, as guilt crawled up his arms, his eyes couldn’t open.
The door to his mind had long since shut, driven with one single minded goal to bring down Shigaraki.
Each minute that he took was more time given for the decay user to heal and restore back to full power. Every second that he spent relaxing a civilian was undergoing the consequences of his failures.
Sleep was the last thing that should be on his mind.
Izuku had barely fought off the lingering effects of his recent break—selfish, selfish, selfish—hands against cold concrete and willing back his memories.
There was an orange cat next to him sound asleep. That inner childlike part of him began to coo and wanted to drag Ochaco over to see the sight. Maybe Sensei—they would have appreciated it. He made sure those thoughts ended off here.
No need to spend five minutes wallowing in self-pity.
This had been his choice after all. Why can’t he just accept it?
Unable to even choose a good location Izuku seemed to have chosen some rusted down building that had been in construction before the breakout had happened.
Trash was scattered around, and he thinks that he just saw a rat run past but that was fine. Unlike before he found himself unable to even feel sick, just accepting it and moving on.
With trembling hands he managed to put his hero mask back on, he had been slacking too much anyways.
“You ditched me.”
That had him whirling back around, the gear hiding the horrified look that was settled on his face. Exhaustion pulled on his strings, his balance off trajectory, but he had already took up too much time with his sleep minutes before.
“Ka…” he couldn’t make the words out, vision blurring over the blonde’s hair before flickering back.
There was that hero costume that he knew by heart. Izuku was able to make out the outlines even with the swaying world. “Kacchan,” he remembers when Kaccan showed everyone at the park.
They were roughly eight and the explosive boy would flaunt on about his quirk, then talk about his agency. That spark of awe upon seeing the creative suit, the way that the colours mixed together.
It had been the first draft of it at the time, and it hardly made the final cut. But there was some similarities still there. Those spikes that resembled All Might that used to be blue and red, and at some point green like his hair.
“—and all you left was some stupid note.”
Izuku couldn’t hear anything he had realized and was only able to catch the ending of it. A relatively slow pace had begun of his blinking, he willed his eyes to stay open to pay attention now because why was Kacchan here?
But he couldn’t.
Muscles screamed for ache, body sauntering forward until he collided with another body—safe—all his quirks powered down and he couldn’t bring Black Whip forth if he tried.
“We—we were supposed to be a team—,” Kacchan ran a hand through his hair, it plopped back up like always. Those spikes that he has run his hand through multiple times.
He knows Kacchan took it the hardest, his abrupt leave, an ache in his chest forms but he can’t seem to find himself enough to go back on his decision. The worst of it has already been deal with, those scars against his abdomen, the tattered version of his suit clinging to his body.
This was what they couldn’t go through, they didn’t have danger sense like him.
It wasn’t their responsibility to burden this.
He was the chosen one.
It wasn’t like Kacchan to stutter, even in his worst moments he was able to speak clearly with voice cracks and sobs—there wasn’t a fault in his speech but now? “I know! I know I wasn’t the best, I pushed you away. I was scared of you, of what you are, of what you always were.”
That’s not what this is, Izuku wanted to plead, I’m not trying to do that to you.
I want to protect you, all of you. Nobody has to worry about him anymore, he had the tools needed to figure out where Shigarki was. There was nobody else who has to go against him—who can go against him—that was what his power was meant for.
This is what he was meant for.
Save people.
And save them.
Then save them again.
“You are everything I wasn’t.” Kacchan admitted, voice soft, his gaze bowed and Izuku couldn’t move—couldn’t lift his head up. Where was that fire that burned so bright? Why is it dimming for him? It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be—, “you thought of me as a hero, and I… you reminded me of All Might. And I hated it. Why you? The quirkless kid at the park embodying the top hero. Why not me?”
“I resented you, I feared you, I pushed you away.” He swallowed, and Izuku’s breath hitched. “Don’t push me away. Not now.”
He didn’t know what it was. The endless stream of words that were meant to convince Izuku to go to his side or the way that he seemed so unsure of himself, but his feet were moving to Kacchan.
As much as he yearned to go into Kacchan’s arms, he couldn’t, not because he wouldn’t—his legs were unstable. Any moment it was threatening to give out and Kacchan knew this, he saw the way his stance shifted—like how it would when they would play freeze tag.
Izuku was never the fastest at the park, nor the strongest, he was in the background at the bottom. “Keep up!” They yelled at him. “Last one there was Izuku!” Laughs rung out.
Kacchan was the one who unfroze him. He knew, later on, that changed. Kacchan was the one starting it pointing the finger and tossing the ball at his face. But, at some point in time there was a moment where he wasn’t.
Izuku always dreamed of getting that back.
Of getting this back.
Arms that had grown unfamiliar wrapped around him. When was the last time that he had a hug? A proper one from Kacchan? He knows that compared to others he was always in close proximity. One of the few, dare say only ones, that Kacchan rested against.
But they weren’t familiar.
A breathy inhale was the dam for him, hands clutching onto Kacchan’s hero suit, finding purchase on nothing and making do with stuffing his face in his chest—please don’t push me away either.
His heart couldn’t take it again.
There was no promises of ‘it’s okay,’ nor was there an, ‘I’m here.’ This was Kacchan after all, but he could feel the way that his weight shifted. This wasn’t a quick catch anymore it was a steady hold, borderline a hug.
Izuku wanted to beg, but his mouth wouldn’t obey him anymore—when did it ever?—sobs escaping him. If he didn’t know any better one would assume he wasn’t even crying. There was no noise leaving his lips, only those persistent sniffled.
Was this not enough pressure on him?
Why couldn’t he cry?
Could Izuku not do one thing right?
Would he always be—,
“Izuku.”
…
The world went quiet.
“You can come back now. It’s safe. You don’t need to protect us anymore.” And that’s all Kacchan had to say.