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Everything around him was dragging him down, down, underwater and crashing waves of grief and old memories. Iida’s now constant presence was nothing short of a slap in the face - Iida’s parents were the worst of it.
He floated just underneath the ceiling, watched as Iida’s mother sat with him, hand clenched tight around Iida’s as he slipped away, and Izuku did his best not to fall apart, to keep as much to himself as possible.
Iida’s parents deserved their time, he couldn’t ruin it with his out of control feelings. They didn’t need a ghost throwing a tantrum while they went through the process of losing a son.
It was hard though. Flashes of his time spent in the same place, in the same situation almost to the letter, had his transparent form crackling and pulling apart, fuzzy, everything was a blur. Not even Aizawa could ground him. Not even Kacchan. He didn’t want to see them anyway, not with how he was.
Iida was his only anchor now, his only reason to keep his head above water. After all, he was Iida’s only teacher, and the thought of leaving Iida to wallow in his grief and fear and worry while he dealt with his own problems left him so sick he wondered if he’d throw up. Could ghosts throw up? He wasn’t sure.
But he couldn’t do much in his state, not really. Every breath rattled so fiercely it was more of a choked gasp. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even thinking of letting Iida go had him a sobbing wreck, a horrible fear of Iida slipping away clawing at his insides and ripping his heart to shreds. So he did what he could do and stayed by Iida’s side, clung to him, even with how much the sight of grieving family and friends did to him. He couldn’t leave Iida alone, just like he couldn’t leave Aizawa, or Kacchan.
Being alone was so horrible. Dealing with death was horrible. Dealing with death, alone...Izuku would rather die twice than leave Iida to such a fate.
It was his fault regardless. He wasn’t quick enough. Wasn’t strong enough, and Iida was the one to pay for it. The least he could do was be there for him.
Iida led them both down to the first floor as Izuku sobbed broken, barely intelligible apologies, unable to see past the blur of tears and blood in his eyes he didn’t bother wiping away, and to his growing horror he wasn’t sure if the blood on his cheek was his own or Iida’s. Unknowing of Izuku’s plight, he was sure, Iida was a gentle guide, talking slowly and carefully, soothing, but the sight of Aizawa - of Kacchan, of Shouto oh god Shouto - wasn’t a comfort. Not now. They were just streaks of color in his vision. Iida’s torso was much more solid, much more real to him, and he desperately wished it wasn’t.
Aizawa! Iida called, and Izuku had to remind him through sniffles that his teacher couldn’t hear him anymore. They talked about it for a moment, Iida prying into exactly what he meant, if Aizawa could hear mumbles like Izuku or nothing at all. Izuku didn’t have all the answers for him, but he promised they would ask Aizawa later.
When they turned back to the conversation, Kacchan and Shou looked devastated. Izuku couldn’t stand to look at them, shame and guilt burning his face.
It was by accident. Izuku and Iida had been following Aizawa nonstop, the teacher’s presence a comfort for both of them. Aizawa had mentioned it in passing to Iida’s parents while offering his condolences, his apologies, and whether the man remembered Iida was there or not was up in the air. Even still, Iida didn’t take the news well, for understandable reasons.
His brother, Iida Tensei, was in the same hospital. Had woken up.
It was the first time, in the entire visit, that Izuku was able to shake himself out of his grief stricken state and actually lend a helping hand. Iida’s expression of shock and worry and regret was so, so familiar, and it was what finally managed to put Izuku in the headspace he wanted. A guide, an ear, to simply be - be useful.
Do you want to see him? he asked.
I do, Iida whispered.
Izuku sniffed, nodded, took Iida’s hand in his own and followed his directions. On instinct, Iida tried to use the steps, open doors, stop to say hi to familiar faces, and it took Izuku gently pulling him through the physical objects or away from the people to get him to stop trying. Sticking to those old habits hurt more than letting go, Izuku had learned that the hard way.
Seeing Ingenium, Iida Tensei, had Izuku in a whole mess of mixed feelings. Seeing Iida’s face upon seeing his brother, however, made him decide what to feel pretty quickly, and he tucked away his hero ramblings and excitement, tucked himself away in a corner so Iida could face what was in front of him on his own.
If he needed him, Izuku was right there. Digging his nails into his palms to stay grounded, but there.
Thankfully, or maybe not so much, Tensei’s eyes immediately fell on his brother’s ghost and his face paled. Izuku was reminded of Aizawa’s first reaction to seeing him. His hands fisted in his shirt, eyes welling with more tears.
Iida brightened though, relief flashing across his face at the semi normality in all the chaos. He tried speaking, and Izuku could hear him as clear as ever - You’re awake! We were all so worried! - but Izuku knew Ingenium couldn’t hear him. Could see it in the confused look in his eyes, in the way he tried so hard to read Iida’s lips. Ingenium looked past Iida to him, paling even farther at the sight he must’ve been, and all Izuku could spare was a shy wave and a small, forced smile.
There was a pause, and Izuku signed to him, hoping and praying they could communicate somehow.
‘Do you know sign?’
Ingenium lit up with understanding, and with unsure, repetitive motions, signed a ‘Yes’ back, then ‘Only little’.
Izuku bit his lip, even as Iida turned with a hopeful gaze in his direction. There was only so much he could work with, but it was their only option.
He can see us, Iida breathed. You know sign language?
Yeah, he muttered, quiet and unsure. Aizawa knows some too. I - I’ve been talking to him with it.
So you can talk to my brother? Iida’s form blurred at the edges in his excitement. The room, however, remained still. Tell him I said I’m sorry, he blurted, uncharacteristically desperate. Please. Tell him I said I love him, that I’m sorry.
Izuku did, spelled out Iida’s name with patient motions, signed out what Ingenium knew and fingerspelled what he didn’t.
Ingenium’s face scrunched in understanding, tears of his own welling in his eyes as he bit the inside of his cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, but a quick knock on the door interrupted him, his parents walking into the room, completely unaware.
His father, resigned and quiet, led Ingenium’s much more frantic mother into the room. She was a sobbing mess. Izuku couldn’t look at her.
Tensei, thank god, she sobbed, collapsing at his bedside, squeezing his hand so tightly Izuku heard Ignenium’s knuckles pop. Thank god, thank god, she sobbed.
I love you, Ingenium said, staring at both of his parents, then looking at Iida, his lips a wobbly line. So much.
Iida let out a sob, and Izuku was immediately by his side, holding on to Iida’s torso in a tight hold. Iida hugged him back hard, and Izuku blinked back blood and tears to stare into Ingenium’s eyes. He let go for only a moment to sign to him.
‘I promise I’ll take care of him. He’ll be okay.’
Izuku didn’t know if he understood any of it at first, but the sparkle in his eyes with the tears on his cheeks told Izuku he understood enough.
When the living finally made arrangements to go their separate ways, Izuku told Iida he could follow anyone he wished, that there would be no judgement for it. That - that he would be right there with him, no matter who he chose.
Iida looked at him, injured and transparent, glancing between him and his family. Between his family and Aizawa - Kacchan and Shou. He floated there, thinking, frowning.
He closed his eyes, resigned, determined. He opened them again and put his hand on Izuku’s back.
Let us return to class, he said quietly, steering him in Aizawa’s direction, and Izuku - he panicked.
The last thing he wanted Iida to do was give up following his family to make Izuku more comfortable, to give up the precious gift of a family member being able to see him, to interact with him somehow.
No! he shouted, making the living look around curiously, worriedly. Aizawa turned to them with a concerned frown. No, don’t walk away for me. Choose who, please, he begged when Iida didn’t look at all swayed. Please, don’t do it for me.
I am not, Iida replied simply, a reassuring smile on his face. We need to protect the classroom, don’t we? Besides, I think I could use a sign language teacher.
Izuku floated there, stunned into silence, and let Iida guide them back over to Aizawa without another word.
As ashamed as he was to admit it, Iida’s choice flooded him with relief. He would’ve stayed with Iida just as he promised, but it wouldn’t have been easy for him.
Selfish, a voice in his head hissed at him. So selfish.
Izuku wasn’t around for the rest of the class’s reactions to the news of Iida’s passing. In all honesty, he may have been avoiding them, but Izuku refused to admit it to himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it through.
He hadn’t, but Iida had, and everything he knew about the interaction was second hand.
Not surprisingly, the class had been devastated. Iida talking through the EMF had been a slight soothant, but nothing that lasted. Tears had been shed, even through Iida insisting he’d stick by their side through hell and high water. Izuku wondered silently to himself if that had brought on the tears on its own.
Iida had been so patient through it all, and Izuku wondered why Iida hadn’t had his meltdown yet like he had when he’d first experienced it, but he wasn’t in any rush to point it out to Iida. He figured they should both count their blessings.
Iida never complained about Izuku’s close proximity, hands careful on his back in a comforting half-hug, and when Izuku managed to pry himself off of Iida’s torso again, the worried look he was shot made his heart squeeze.
Are you alright? Iida asked, a frown passing across his face at his voice, both present and not. Izuku swallowed back tears, feeling as though he was staring one of his worst nightmares in the face.
He forcefully shook himself off, scrubbing at his eyes. Iida wasn’t supposed to be comforting him, it was supposed to be the other way around. What was he doing? What was he doing, sobbing like a child? Iida needed his help, needed him to be strong.
He nodded fervently, sniffing for what he promised himself was the last time. Iida was put into this by Izuku’s hands, and he needed a teacher, a guide.
Izuku would be one, he swore it.