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All Might shakes Izuku awake somewhere close to midnight. Izuku yawns, and stretches, wincing as the muscles in his neck pull. They’re out in the country, somewhere, the air alight with the song of frogs and crickets, grounded in the earthy smell of fresh dew and acres of trees.
“How long did I sleep?” Izuku asks, the words half-bitten off with a yawn.
All Might smiles, and Izuku tries to push away the pang of guilt at the tired bruises under his eyes.
“Not long, my boy. Just the last hour or so.”
Izuku crawls out of the passenger seat on sleep-numbed legs, waddling toward the door of the cabin. It’s just after Christmas, and the crisp December air sends goosebumps along Izuku’s arms. The cabin is warm, full of wood smoke and cinnamon, and Izuku collapses near the fire. He’s tired, achy. Arms and legs barely working in his sleep-deprived haze.
All Might brings in the bags, sets them next to the couch in the living room, and takes residence beside Izuku. Outside, it begins to snow, small white flakes whirling past the window panes. Surprisingly, it reminds Izuku of home.
He thinks about calling his mom, he’s sure she’s still awake, worried about their journey, about Izuku’s injury and fuzzy brain. But it’s late, and he knows that nothing he’ll say will make her feel better. He’ll leave it to All Might for later, to smooth everything over in a way Izuku hasn’t been able to since the accident.
As if to remind him of this, Izuku’s arm jerks in his lap, sending pain ricocheting into his shoulder. He winces and All Might, unthinkingly, presses his palm into the socket, adding pressure that distracts Izuku until it goes away. Izuku swallows, overcome with the gesture, still shell-shocked and unused to this new life. To the way he has to give in to his body in order for it to heal.
He should have listened to Recovery Girl. He should’ve listened about a lot of things.
“Have you heard from my mom?” Izuku deflects, winding back to his previous thought in a way he’s been doing a lot as of late.
All Might sighs, running a skeletal hand through his hair. Izuku isn’t the only one with injuries, and he suspects that fact only makes this situation worse. Izuku isn’t the only one prone to guilt, after all.
“We talked at the last rest stop. She said she was going to turn in for the night and check-in in the morning.”
“What are the chances she’s actually asleep right now?” Izuku asks.
All Might answers with a wry smile. “Less than ten, I would presume.”
Izuku slumps, rubbing a thumb into the palm of his aching hand. It twitches against the stimulation, but Izuku can’t actually feel any of the movement. The paralysis is temporary, the doctors assume. They think he’ll make a full recovery. All of the indecision keeps Izuku up at night, when the rest of his injuries don’t put him to bed.
His tongue tastes like the air before a storm, metallic and earthy and just a little sweet.
“I’m going to bed,” Izuku mumbles.
All Might is aware of what that means, and yet he lets Izuku slip by nonetheless.
As far as his fits go, it’s a mild one. A partial seizure, Izuku thinks, once his brain has fully come back to him. His lips are raw from where he’s chewed them, and his joints ache. But he was halfway conscious, at least, and it didn’t last long.
A text from Todoroki greets him when he flicks on his phone to set an alarm. It’s a picture of Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Todoroki in matching pajama sets.
We miss you
reads the message underneath it.
In another thread is a single message from Katsuki, that says
get better, nerd.
Izuku shuts off his phone, curls up on his side, and lets himself fall into sleep.
The kitchen smells like fresh batter--butter and vanilla and a hint of cream. Izuku climbs onto a barstool, watching All Might ladle pancakes onto a griddle.
Izuku leans over with a handful of chocolate chips, sprinkling them on top as the pancakes cook. All Might smiles softly.
“Are you feeling better today?”
Izuku’s actually dressed for once, in soft shorts and a blue t-shirt that simply says CAT on it. The snow had continued last night, and the hills are coated in a dazzling white.
“Yeah,” Izuku lies.
The texts in his phone remain unanswered. Izuku yawns, shuffling to stand next to All Might, pausing just a moment to see if it’s okay. All Might shifts so there’s room for him and Izuku begins filling the pancakes in earnest.
It’s a comfortable routine, if a little bizarre. It’s been a long time since Izuku’s had such a long period in which he’s been cared for. The dorms at UA, have granted him a kind of independence he now expects. The way that has been stolen from him now, via his illness, makes something hot settle hard in Izuku’s chest, and he sighs.
The pancakes are hot, and not too sweet, just complemented by the maple syrup All Might pours in a puddle on the side of Izuku’s plate.
They eat in companionable silence, Izuku wielding his fork in his non-dominant hand. His head aches, dully, like it does most days, but it’s not bad enough for Izuku to seek out pain medication. The snow has taken up residence again outside, spiraling endlessly. Belatedly, Izuku realizes they may be in for a blizzard, the horizon just barely visible through the precipitation.
“All Might, how much snow are we supposed to get?”
All Might looks up from his own plate. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a black, woolen sweater. He stares out the window, worrying his lip in between his teeth.
“It’s supposed to snow us in I’m afraid.”
Izuku thinks this should scare him, but the part of him that is built upon fear has been burned dry from the past few weeks. The whole point of this…vacation? hideaway? is to keep Izuku out of the public eye, to prevent him from becoming an even larger target. Possibly the snow will help, in a way.
Izuku nods, pushing away the rest of his plate, feeling full despite not eating much. All Might, to his credit, doesn’t push it. Izuku takes this as his cue to go away, hide in a corner of the house with a book and possibly his homework that he doesn’t have the energy to complete.
His body has other plans. Izuku stumbles when he stands, wrapping his good hand around the back of the chair. All Might is at his side in an instant. He feels off-balanced, hot and dizzy, overloaded with too much stimulation. It’s going to be a big one, this time, and Izuku forces himself to his knees, trying to gurgle out a warning.
All Might keeps his large palm against Izuku’s back, grounding him as long as he can before it isn’t enough and Izuku is sucked right back under.
He wakes up on the couch much, much later. Snow is piled up the windows, and the house is stuffy with the trapped heat of the fire. He squirms, uncomfortable and achy, all of his joints hurt when he moves, and he feels almost feverish.
The cool surface of a glass meets the skin of his hand and Izuku instinctively grabs it, sipping at the water. He ignores All Might’s tall frame, feeling exhausted and unwilling to partake in any conversation about his illness.
This is just it now. Seizures and paralysis and a brain like a sieve. Until it gets better…or doesn’t.
All Might rests his back against the couch.
“I know what it must feel like, my boy, to go through this. After my confrontation with all for one, after my diagnosis, well, I have to admit I was a very different man.”
Izuku hums, and the sound grates against his throat. His cheeks are wet, his chest hot and clenching like a black hole is opening up inside of his ribcage. He often forgets this shared history between All Might and him. Sometimes it’s all he can do to not resent it. But All Might didn’t carve out this path for him, just encouraged it. Izuku was only too keen to barrel on.
“I know it feels like it won’t get better. But it will, you’ll adjust. I promise.”
Izuku turns his head into the cushion, and closes his eyes, feigning sleep until All Might wanders away.
After about half an hour, Izuku goes to sit by the fireplace. Its logs are faintly glowing, enough to get them to the morning but weak after being unattended to. Izuku draws shapes in the ashes along the tile surrounding the fireplace.
He brings One for All to the surface, watching the electric green energy dance along his skin. He’s learned a hard skill once already, he’s done the impossible, why can’t it happen again? Why can’t he heal like they say he will? Why is he so afraid to try?
He tries surprising All Might with breakfast the next morning. Standing on his feet for that long is brutal. His right side aches, from his shoulder to his feet, bunches of muscles taught and pulsing like little beating hearts, pain spearing out with every inhale and exhale. His right arm is a void place, paralyzed and unknown to him. It weirdly unbalances him, dead weight with no movement and little sensation, lost in a sea of sensors that are constantly blaring.
Trying to cook is a nightmare in itself. The concussion he received makes his working memory unsteady, and he finds himself losing instructions in the middle of a task. His attempt at rice with a runny egg on top leaves the kitchen smoking, and All Might wanders out to the screech of fire alarms rather than a warm meal.
“My boy,” All Might starts, shock clear on his face. “What’s all this?”
Izuku forces a sheepish smile, burying his frustration and shame under layers and layers of feigned calm.
“It was supposed to be breakfast, but…” Izuku trails off, staring into the bottom of a pan lined with charred rice.
All Might takes it in stride. “Why don’t we clean up this attempt, and I’ll help you start another?”
It’s a kind gesture, and unbelievably patient considering Izuku has ruined at least four dishes, and woken up All Might to take care of his own mess, and yet it stings. Izuku feels like a child. Just another loss he has to deal with.
They decide to make toast and scrambled eggs with a side of bacon instead. All Might insists on frying the bacon, and Izuku swallows another wave of annoyance that he can’t be trusted with hot grease. Every minute feels like more of his old life is spinning down the drain.
He shoves the bread in the toaster with more force than necessary, cracking a few eggs in a separate pan from the bacon. All might fries both deftly with each of his hands, and Izuku watches. He finds himself zoning out, only clicking back into focus when he grows dizzy and slips, landing on the floor on his knees.
It’s only proof that All Might is right, to not have him cook on his own, to not have him handle dangerous things.
“Are you alright?”
All Might is crouching beside him, one hand a steadying force on Izuku’s shoulder. His presence feels overwhelming, coddling. Izuku grunts, ignoring All Might’s offered hand to push himself up. All Might’s face flashes with hurt before it’s buried underneath a mask, and Izuku grows more annoyed with the guilt that follows.
The meal is unsatisfactory, a reminder of all that Izuku can’t do. He pushes around his eggs as he thinks about progress. He knows, logically, that he’s not going to get better in a day, and that one failed attempt is not the end. But it doesn’t improve his mood.
He scrapes his leftover eggs into the trash as All Might takes a call. The snow has slowed for now, and Izuku wonders if he can convince All Might to go outside with him. He’s antsy as of late, bedridden from his injuries and also needing to be kept out of the press. His injuries were publicized, but not their full extent, and the League is always a lingering threat.
He’s just about to grab a coat and his beanie when he hears his Mom’s voice echoing from the hallway. All Might must be checking in. It’s like a rope around Izuku’s waist, drawing him back to home. He follows the voices until he finds All Might, about to turn the corner when he realizes that he can hear everything that’s being spoken, and not all of it is what he
wants
to hear.
“Ms. Midoriya, I assure you that Young Izuku is doing quite alright.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now? Alright? How many times do I have to see him broken Toshinori? How many times do I have to hope the pieces will fit back together. And this time I don’t even get to see him. Did you really have to lock yourselves away in a cabin?”
“It’s for his safety,” All Might replies, sinking a hand in his hair.
He looks haggard. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, face drawn in a way Izuku hasn’t seen in a long time. He feels that self-loathing rise up again, infecting his thoughts and turning them all dark.
“I just want him to be better,” his mom says, and her voice cracks on the last part of it.
Izuku finds himself moving forward without thinking, but he doesn’t even know what he would say but he feels like he has to say
something.
Everyone is falling apart around him,
because
of him. Before he can do anything, halfway between the start and the end of the hallway another dizzy spell hits him. Izuku falls to his knees.
All Might whirls around, concern alight in every aspect of his body. “Izuku?”
“Izuku?” his mom echoes, a waver still in her voice. “Baby, are you there?”
He’s panting, waiting for the dizziness to pass, and he realizes that everyone is waiting on him. Waiting for him, to get better, to rationalize what’s happened to him. But Izuku can’t, because all he knows is that he’s broken, and he isn’t getting better, hasn’t in the month since the accident. So Izuku does the only thing he can think of, which is to bolt, locking himself in his room.
He curls himself into the corner by his bed, wrapped in a blanket and counting his breaths. He ignores All MIght’s knock when it comes, and the dinner plate when that comes too. He waits past nightfall, trembling and scared and so so angry.
Eventually, he calls Katsuki, who picks up on the first ring.
“Tell me how ungrateful I am,” Izuku speaks first.
His eyes are wet, and he blinks even without anybody there to see them. Katsuki huffs loudly on the other side of the line.
“Do you even know how late it is?”
Izuku doesn’t. Time has floated away from him in the weeks since that villain attack. No classes, no obligations. He has nothing to ground him, and he’s spiraling. He’s lost as he would be were he out in that blizzard alone.
Katsuki pauses just long enough to make Izuku feel bad for not answering. “Izuku, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Izuku exclaims.
He fists the blanket in his hand, releasing it only to swipe at his sweaty forehead. The tears are gone now, replaced by an incandescent rage. “Why can’t you tell me how terrible I am for not being happy about this? Why
can’t
I just be happy?”
“Happy for fucking what? For being alive?”
“Yes!” Izuku says, shaking his head. “No-I don’t know. I’m just. I’m not who I used to be.”
“Izuku,” Katsuki breaks in. “You-you’re not a different person all of a sudden.”
But Izuku
is
. All his anger, all his numbness. The way he regrets this trip with All Might. The way he doesn’t want to be near anybody. The way he wishes, privately, that he could just sit in a room and deal with all of this himself until he’s either fixed or dead. The old him would never act this way.
“Shit, you think I was fucking fine after…after the training camp? Izuku things
happen
to us. And we deal with them. That dealing process, that fucking shittiness after, that isn’t who we are. You’re not a different person all of sudden, this is just you in a new situation.”
“Then I hate myself,” Izuku whispers, and lets the line go dead.
A voice clears behind and Izuku closes in on himself, shutting his eyes and pressing his nose to his knees.
“My boy,” All Might’s voice cracks, and then Izuku is being cradled in All Might’s arms.
It’s too much, everything within Izuku cracks open like an egg dropped.
“I just want it to be over,” Izuku sobs.
All Might rocks him, humming lightly under his breath. The storm is raging outside, the snow blocking out the windows completely.
“I can’t do this. I thought that I could, that it would just be a little while and then I’d be fine. But I don’t want to wait and what if…what if I never get better?”
It’s a long moment that stretches between then, Izuku sitting in a puddle of his own self-hated. All Might’s heart breaking right in front of him.
“Izuku, better is a state of mind.”
Izuku palms at his eyes. All Might has moved in front of him, his blue eyes unnautrally bright in the firelight. His whole face is smoothed over in concern, hands fiddling with Izuku’s curls.
“I didn’t get better when I could eat semi-normally again. I didn’t get better when I returned to hero work. I got better when I realized that this was my new normal, and that it was okay to let go of who I once was.”
“What if I was only good as
that
person?” Izuku asks, voice barely louder than the crackling flames.
“That cannot be true, Izuku,” it comes out like a command. “You are the brightest boy I’ve ever met. Any world in which you are still burning is a world in which you are good.”
“You have to say that,” Izuku murmurs, but hope is beginning to creep in against all his reservations.
“And Young Bakugou? Did he have to say that too?”
Izuku calls his friends. All Might is in the cabin kitchen, putting a pot of water onto boil. Despite how early it is, despite how much radio silence they’ve received on Izuku’s end, his friends still answer.
“Deku?” Uraraka sounds pleasantly surprised when she answers, still in her pajamas and her hair sleep-rumpled.
Izuku, for the second time that night, bursts into tears.
“Deku! Hold on, lemme get--” a door slams on Uraraka’s end, and another one opens. Iida appears on screen, just as sleep-worn as Uraraka.
“Midoriya what’s wrong?”
Izuku cries harder, all of his feelings are unraveling at once, spilling out at a rate he can’t control. “I’m so messed up,” he says, the words barely understandable.
Uraraka and Iida wait for him to continue. They’re hunched beside Iida’s bed, a single lamp on behind them.
Izuku clenches the blanket in one of his hands. All Might sets a cup of tea on the table in front of him, squeezing Izuku’s shoulder once, before leaving. Izuku is sure he’s still listening in, somewhere, but the gesture of privacy is nice regardless.
“I’m not okay,” Izuku says, and then he tells them about the cabin, about the feelings he’s been having. How scared he is that he won’t better, and even if he does that he’ll be unrecognizable.
Uraraka and Iida listen intently through it all, and when he’s done, they have matching tears in their eyes.
“I didn’t know you felt like that Deku,” Uraraka says.
Morning is beginning to break in Hosu, the sun coming up behind his two friends, backlighting them in a rose gold halo.
“It may not be beneficial to hear, Midoriya, but I for one am glad you are still with us. No matter whether you heal, or don’t. Watching you…seeing you in the hospital. Losing you would have been one of my biggest regrets.”
The blanket is knotted in Izuku’s fingers, twisted up in little spirals that Izuku’s formed as his friends have grieved with him, as Izuku’s felt seen for the first time. It isn’t better, not by a long shot. Izuku still has a lot of shit to figure out, a lot of things to reconcile with. But this feels like a start.
“That means everything, Iida,” Izuku says.
They chat about more life-update stuff, what his friends have been up to during their breaks in the dorms, before it’s time for them both to get off their calls. Classes have started back up and Iida and Uraraka need to go to homeroom.
All Might is there when Izuku hangs up, and a yawn breaks free from Izuku’s lips. All Might’s hand in his hair is a welcome gesture, grounding in all the best ways,
“Why don’t you sleep, my boy. You’ve had a long night.”
Izuku has, but before he goes, he feels like he has to say something to All Might. Take back all the pressure he’s put on the man.
All Might seems to read his mind.
“I’ll be here later, my Izuku. Rest now.”
“But I need you to know,” Izuku says, fighting through his exhaustion and the brain fog that’s beginning to creep in. “I need you--”
“I do know,” All Might says. “You have never hidden it from me, even if it was a little lost during this time.”
Izuku stops fighting, letting All Might tuck him in on the couch. Because all of his friends are right, Izuku is still himself, somewhere. He’s just finding his way back to it.