Chapter Text
“Izuku, food’s ready!”
Inko Midoriya steps back to admire her work, untying her apron with practiced ease before returning it home to its designated hook. Two bowls of katsudon sit before her, having been meticulously prepared to suit the now rare occasion of a shared family lunch.
Well, a family lunch minus Hisashi, she supposes, but pigs would have to fly before he was expected home. Actually, scratch that. In a society filled with quirks, pigs flying was probably far more likely. She stops thinking about her husband.
Her declaration ignored, Inko lifts one bowl in either hand and sets the table, scanning her apartment’s admittedly compact den to discover the source of Izuku’s distraction. Surprisingly enough, he appears to be intently focused not on the news or daily hero update channel as she expected, but some sort of documentary.
His face, which is just visible from her vantage point, displays an intense contemplation, and his entire posture is inclined towards the television. Inko almost feels bad disrupting Izuku’s focus, but quickly thinks better of it. She knows he’ll regret it if he lets his food cool.
“Izuku.” She repeats once more, walking over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Lunch is on the table.”
Izuku stirs slowly, as if waking from an especially vexing dream, and cranes his neck to face her. “Sorry, mom, what was that?”
Now Inko can’t help but feel a bit concerned. Izuku may be a tad distracted from time to time, but he usually isn’t lethargic. Then again, she does know that his workload has been especially heavy lately. More likely than anything, he’s simply tired from long nights studying.
“Lunch.” She states simply, and is happy to see a spark of recognition light her son’s face.
“Ah, right. I’ll be right over.”
Inko doesn’t take her eyes off Izuku as she returns to the table, watching with cautious interest as he switches off the television. When he turns to join her, she can tell that a bit of color has returned to his face, and allows herself to look away.
“Katsudon?”
“Yep! I thought I might as well go all out and make your favorite considering how sparse these home visitation days are becoming.”
“Oh. Right.” Izuku shakes his head slightly, that same dazed look resting over his face like a veil. “Yeah, for a second I… nevermind.”
“Nevermind what?”
Izuku shrugs and says, “It’s not important.”
Inko’s worry returns full force. Her son doesn’t normally dismiss questions. Is Izuku hiding something from her, or is this just him being dodgy as a result of his newfound independence?
She decides to change the topic.
“What were you watching in there? That didn’t look like one of your usual channels.”
At this, Izuku perks up, obviously engaged. “Oh, that was a documentary about New York! It was on when I came in, and I guess I sort of got invested somehow? It was pretty touristy, but there were some interesting historical bits. It was weird though, supposedly it was filmed around four years ago, but it looked a lot different from when we visited. A lot more modern, I guess? It’s just hard to believe they could do so much construction in a year.”
Inko almost drops her utensils. Instead, she manages a nervous laugh. “Izuku… what do you mean when we visited? Neither of us have ever been to New York. Oh- but didn’t you visit America during that class trip? Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of.”
“No, that wasn’t New York, it was I-Island. I think it’d be pretty hard to mix them up.” Izuku raises an eyebrow. Based on his expression, he thinks she’s joking. “Mom, remember? We went over the Summer when I was eleven. We ate at that same bagel place every morning because it was right across from our hotel, Best Bagels?”
Inko shakes her head helplessly. She has absolutely no idea what her son is talking about.
“Coney Island? The Empire State Building? Do you remember going to Central Park?”
Inko continues to shake her head. No, no, and no.
Izuku is beginning to look a bit lost. “You’re joking, right? I mean, I know it was a few years ago, but… wait!”
Inko hopes her son has finally come to the conclusion that they have, in fact, never taken a family trip to New York, city or state, but of course, she isn't so lucky.
“The purse snatcher! You’ve gotta remember that! I stopped him outside of our hotel, but it caused a huge commotion because civilians aren't supposed to use their-”
Izuku’s voice cuts off mid-sentence, and unlike Inko, he does drop his utensils. He doesn’t even look down as they clatter to the floor. “We… we didn’t go to New York, did we?”
Inko doesn’t jump on the I told you so. “No, we didn’t. Izuku, are you feeling-”
“I should get back to school.” He stands so abruptly that the table shakes, nearly sending both bowls of katsudon sliding towards Inko’s lap. She steadies it just in time.
“But you just got here! Besides, I made lunch today just for you, and I’m not sure when we’ll get another chance to see each other in person. School’s been keeping you so busy lately, and… well, frankly, I’m a little concerned for your health.”
Izuku looks right through her, his eyes roving back and forth the way they tend to when he's overthinking an especially complicated issue.
“Izuku, are you listening to me?”
“Right, yeah.” Izuku dashes back into the living room, grabbing his backpack. With all the grace and consideration of a steamroller, he unzips the frontmost pocket and produces his phone. “I’m sorry to leave so soon mom, but I have a lot of homework, and, well, you know how UA is. There are a lot of high achievers, I’ve gotta keep on top of things if I wanna maintain my class rank.”
“But- you told me just this morning that you’d finished all your homework for the weekend last night!” She sputters.
“Uh, sorry, I forgot some. I promise I’ll stay later next time.” Izuku aggressively punches a number into his phone before slinging his still open backpack over his shoulder. “Love you, mom! Sorry!”
Inko receives one haphazard over the shoulder wave before her son flits out the door. All she can do is stare onward in disbelief, mouth agape.
After she composes herself, she picks up her half empty bowl, appetite ruined. She reaches for Izuku’s as well, but stops midway.
He never even touched his katsudon.
By the time Izuku reaches the dorm complex, he’s feeling much more calm. Okay, well maybe not much more, but… it's a start.
All Might didn’t pick up Izuku’s call, but he did respond to his text. They’re meeting this afternoon, which means that whatever weird new vestige thing this is, it’s definitely going to be resolved soon.
Or at least he assumes it’s a vestige thing. Why else would he have memories of stopping a purse snatcher with black whip? Memories so vivid that he's still having trouble believing he’s never lived them?
Admittedly, his mother’s face had been a bit blurry at first, when he’d been watching the documentary. But a bit of haziness was expected of memories, especially the kind that were five years old. Then, as soon as he’d looked at her, each image had snapped into focus.
Him, enthusiastic and hyperactive, trying his best to use english whenever he ordered food or boarded a taxi, dragging his mother by the hand to every grimy, city-weathered attraction that struck his interest. Her, tired, yet persevering, cautioning him against cutting in line for what felt like the fiftieth time every time, telling him not to pick fights with every suspicious-looking stanger that walked by.
That’s when the dissonance had started. Because he’d never been one to cut in line or start fights, and he certainly hadn’t been energetic enough at age eleven to lead his mother unwillingly across a crowded urban street.
He’d ignored that for a bit though, because it didn’t really seem that far fetched. In fact, after a moment of consideration, it had felt almost too in character. He’d been a confident and gung-ho kid, even to a fault, he was absolutely sure of it.
But when he’d recalled using black whip, well… he knows for certain that he hadn’t had a quirk at age eleven.
So had those been the fifth’s memories? Izuku has to assume as much. But then why had they felt so real? So personal?
He’s seen the first’s memories before, certainly, but that had occurred within the confines of ofa, not passively while watching tv. And he certainly hadn’t confused them with his own past.
Izuku really hopes it was a one time thing. The shock of realizing that your memories aren't really yours isn’t just startling, it's invasive. And alienating.
He wonders what his mother was thinking, listening to him excitedly recounting a personal family anecdote that neither of them had actually taken part in.
And she must've noticed when, for a few moments, he'd grappled with the idea that katsudon was his favorite food. He knows he must’ve told her it was at some point, but now, whenever he calls the meal to mind, his opinion begins to vacillate violently between appetizing and nausea inducing.
The last thing he wants to do is make his mother worry. But by now, he knows it’s probably too late for that. She's always been prone to anxiety, and in this case, he can't really blame her.
Izuku doesn’t expect to see anyone in the common area, but is pleasantly surprised to find Momo reading on the couch. She looks up at him as he enters, greeting him with a warm grin.
“How was your home visit?”
“It was good,” Izuku lies. “Did you end up staying in?”
Momo nods. “My parents are out of town, so I decided to use the time to catch up on my reading. I certainly wouldn’t mind a bit of company though, if you’re up to talk.”
“That sounds really nice, actually.” Izuku joins his friend on the couch, returning her bright grin.
He could really use a distraction, and Momo is always interesting to talk to. Maybe he can ask her about her book. She usually has good taste.
“You look a bit stressed. Are you doing alright?”
Izuku startles. He’s always been an open book, far too easy to read. He tries his best to relax his stiff posture, taking a deep breath in, then out. It doesn’t work.
“Yeah, I’m… I’ve got some stuff on my mind. Nothing serious. Actually, it’ll probably resolve itself before too long. I’m overreacting.”
Momo shakes her head. “There are no wrong reasons for being anxious, Midoriya. If it’s upsetting you, then it’s worth talking about. If you’d like to vent or don’t mind receiving some advice, I’d be happy to help.”
“Uh, sure! To the advice thing,” Izuku replies. “Do you know any good ways to distract yourself when you’re stressed? I usually just throw myself into hero analysis or training, but… right now, I think that might just remind me of my problem more than distract me from it.”
“Well, if a distraction is what you’re looking for, I usually find that tasks requiring both focus and muscle memory work best. For instance, I play piano when I’m feeling especially overwhelmed.”
“Oh yeah, I could do that. It actually sounds really relaxing.” Izuku isn’t sure why he didn’t think of it before. He loves playing piano.
“Oh? Really?” For some reason, Momo looks surprised. “Well, if you’d like me to teach you, I suppose I could.”
“Oh no!” Izuku waves his hands dismissively. “I’d never ask you to do that, especially not for free. Don’t worry, I already know how to play. But I’d really appreciate it if you could let me borrow your keyboard.”
Now Momo looks even more surprised, but after a moment of silence, she stands. “Alright, no problem. I’ll go get it then.”
As soon as Momo renters the room, Izuku is next to her, lifting the heavy carrying case from her hands. Then, in what feels like a matter of seconds, he makes his way back to the couch, removes the keyboard from its alcove, and lays out all its necessary accessories on the coffee table.
Momo steps forward to show him the assembling process, but to her evident shock, he seems to have everything under control. With the enthusiasm and deftness of a practiced pianist, Izuku ensures every piece finds its place, stopping only after he props Momo’s favorite music book up on the instrument’s detachable stand.
Simultaneously, students have begun to filter back into the dorms from days spent out, a number of which choose to pause and watch the unlikely scene unfolding in front of Momo. Izuku has never touched an instrument in his life, at least not that they’ve seen. He certainly never enters the soundproof practice rooms UA provides, and no one has heard music wafting out from his dorm.
Izuku thumbs his way through the book for a moment, though based on his expression, he finds it somewhat disappointing. After he’s checked the title of every song, he shuts the book, tucking it safely back in the keyboard case before placing his hands in a starting position.
And then he starts to play.
Momo is immediately floored. Izuku is good. Izuku is really, really good. Actually, no. He isn’t just good. He is, quite possibly, one of the best pianists she’s ever heard.
She knows the song. Trois mouvements de Petrouchka. It’s insanely difficult, ludicrously complicated, and over fifteen minutes long. She’s never even attempted it. And yet Izuku is sailing through it as if he’s done nothing but eat, sleep, breathe, and play piano his entire life.
He does make mistakes. Two, separated sparsely throughout the song’s length. But they’re hardly noticeable. He knows how to recover. She’s not even sure any of her classmates catch them.
By the end of the song, she’s so humbled that she actually considers giving him her keyboard. Then, the rancorous applause shakes her out of her stupor. She joins in.
Izuku, who had previously possessed no awareness of anyone occupying the room aside from himself and Momo, begins to blush profusely. He’s used to playing in front of people, but for whatever reason, this time feels different. Fresh. Almost like it’s his first time playing for a crowd again.
His classmates begin to comment in a chorus, voices clamoring over each other in quick succession.
“Whoa, dude, didn’t know you could play piano! That was crazy!”
“How did you get so good?”
“Yeah, and why haven’t you played for us before?”
“Do you do contemporary music too?”
“Uh… well, you see… I, uh,” Izuku stutters. “Practice? I don’t know? And sure?”
“Alright, stop crowding the talent!” Mina pushes her way to the front of the admittedly unimpressively sized mob, employing all the stoic self-importance of a bouncer. “One at a time! Which means me first!”
Triumphantly, she turns on Izuku, face bearing an enormous smile. “Okay seriously though, why didn’t we hear about this during the school festival? You and Yaomomo could’ve done a cool piano duet or something! Are those a thing? Piano duets?”
Izuku is still obviously incredibly flustered, but this time, he manages a more coherent answer. “Uh, yeah, I guess we could’ve done four hands or duo. I just… really wanted to dance? I guess?”
For the life of him, Izuku can’t remember why he didn’t volunteer to play keyboard during the school festival. He loves piano. He always has. Maybe he didn’t want to be in the spotlight? That sounds like him, he does get stage fright fairly easily, after all. But then again, he’s competed in multiple nationwide competitions, why would a school festival scare him off?
“Hmmm… okay.” Mina leans in close, inspecting Izuku’s face with mock solemnity. “Checks out for now. I respect the right to dance. But you’re like... no offense, Midoriya, keep in mind that I mean this is the absolute nicest way possible, kinda shit at it compared to the piano.”
Okay, that stings a little. But it’s probably true. “Yeah, I mean, piano’s always sort of been a passion. I mean, it wasn’t like I could really do anything outside the house when I was younger, so I had to find something to keep myself busy.”
“Why couldn’t you leave the house?” Kyoka’s tone is equal parts disbelieving and inquisitive, and Izuku can’t help but feel a bit defensive.
“I was sick a lot as a child,” he explained. “I always had a pretty poor constitution, even the most minor illnesses and allergies typically resulted in a hospital visit. Additionally, I had a few chronic illnesses that were fairly dire, but the specifics aren’t really important. The takeaway is that I didn’t get out much.”
“Whoa, dude, I had no idea!” Denki exclaims, and he sounds the part. “How did you end up being able to come to UA and stuff? I mean you seem pretty healthy now, what happened?"
With a sinking feeling, Izuku realizes that he’s always been able to go to UA, at least as far as his health is involved. He’d gone outside pretty regularly as a child, and it wasn’t as though his health was what had discouraged him from interacting with other kids his age.
Does that mean his history with the piano is a lie too? No- it can’t be. He just played it after all, and everyone seems to think he’s done pretty well. So he’d learned it for some other reason, fine, but he’d learned it. Piano is an integral part of who he is, it always has been.
But then, why has nobody seen him play before?
“I need to go,” Izuku blurts. “I have a meeting with All Might soon. To discuss my grades. It’s really urgent. Bye.”
In truth, his meeting with All Might isn’t going to start for another ten minutes or so, not counting the walk. But he isn’t about to tell any of his peers that, not while they're begging him to stay and explain.
Ignoring his classmates' protests, Izuku makes a beeline for the door. Luckily none of them follow him, but someone is waiting for him outside. Katsuki.
“The fuck was that, Deku?” he growls, advancing on Izuku. “I thought we were past hiding shit from each other. I’ve been over to your apartment more times than I can count, and I’ve never seen anything even vaguely resembling a piano. And that bullshit about being sick? Why the fuck would you even lie about that?”
All Izuku can muster is a faint, “So I guess I don’t play piano, then.”
Katsuki reels. “No. No, you do play piano. You crystal fucking clearly play piano. You just decided to hide it from me for fuck knows why.”
“No, Kacchan, you don’t understand-”
“Then explain it to me.”
Izuku tries to piece his thoughts together into something coherent, but nothing seems to fit, because he’s still so sure that he loves to play the piano, and who the hell is Katsuki to tell him whether he was or wasn’t sick as a child when he knows he was, and he thinks that maybe his mom really is wrong about their allegedly nonexistent trip to New York because it definitely happened.
“I think it’s an ofa thing. I’m not sure. I keep remembering all these experiences that I'm absolutely positive are integral to my past, but everyone else says I’ve never lived through them. I’m not trying to lie, but I’m just not sure I know what’s true and what isn’t right now.”
Katsuki's expression is now regretful rather than accusatory, and Izuku can't help but sigh in relief. Someone understands. And it’s even better that that someone is privy to ofa.
"Shit. And I'm guessing All Might never warned you about this?"
Izuku shrugs. "You know everything I do."
"Shit," Katsuki repeats. "I mean if this is completely unprecedented… I don't like the implications of that."
Izuku laughs, but the sound is more than a little strangled. "Yeah, me neither. I mean it's already weird enough right now and it's only been what, a quarter of a day? I don’t know what I’ll do if it gets any worse. When it had just happened once, that was reassuring. I really thought I was overreacting, you know? I mean one false memory isn't a big deal. But if this doesn't stop… I seriously can't tell the difference, Kacchan. What if the false memories start feeling more convincing than the real ones?"
A beat of silence passes.
"You said you had a meeting with All Might, right? I'm going with you."
Izuku can't help but think of how typical it is for Katsuki to change the subject when it grows too emotional for him. Well, unless that emotion is anger, but either way, the recognition of his friend's old habit is slightly grounding.
And the foundation of memories that led to it are indisputably his.
Katsuki's concern makes him feel horrible, even if his friend does have an unconventional way of conveying the emotion. He's always hated being a burden, even more so since becoming a hero. He tries to assuage his friend's fears, putting on what he hopes isn't too shaky a grin.
"Thanks, I appreciate it. You can forget what I said, earlier, by the way. I'm sure we'll be able to resolve this soon, no problem. All Might will definitely know what to do."
"Yeah." Katsuki's tone makes it evident that he doesn't expect much, and he's engaging in more than one of his nervous habits simultaneously.
Katsuki's reaction doesn't exactly come across as a vote of confidence, and as terrible as Izuku feels for causing his friend anxiety, he can't help but feed off of it a bit. It's a little too easy, considering all the factors at play.
He already has his hands full enough with figuring out his new quirk; even if his memory crisis is resolvable, he’s not certain that he has the time or effort available to properly address it. But he doesn't really want to think on that too hard. Better to stay optimistic.
The two begin their trudge to the main building in silence, though Izuku can feel Katsuki’s concerned gaze burning into the edge of his vision on multiple occasions. This does nothing to improve his mood.
All Might is waiting in the break room just as planned, but oddly enough, he's pacing the floor restlessly rather than sitting on the couch.
Izuku's text had been vague; he hadn't wanted to alarm his mentor unnecessarily, and texts could be easily intercepted, so he'd stuck to a simple we need to meet as soon as possible rather than the more complex my quirk is acting weird again and it's actually really stressing me the fuck out, can you please help me right now before I end up horribly embarrassing myself again??? that he'd felt like sending at the moment.
Of course, he'd never have phrased it like that, but the tone definitely would have remained intact, at the very least.
Either way, All Might shouldn’t have any reason to worry. As far as he knows now, this is just a regular advisory meeting to discuss his progress with black whip, not their first time discussing an unexpected new problem.
"Midoriya, and I see you've brought Bakugo as well," All Might says by way of greeting. "I know that both of you must be very concerned, but I've been assured that UA is well-fortified enough to hold off any possible assaults. Not that it's likely one will be made in the next few days, even he should require some time to recover from an exertion of that magnitude. Even so, I promise to do my absolute utmost to protect you and your peers from harm."
Izuku shoots Katsuki a confused glance, but his friend is already too busy stepping forward to question whatever considerable jump in logic All Might has employed to notice.
"What the Hell are you talking about?"
Suddenly, All Might looks just as confused as Izuku feels. "Has the information not been publicized yet? Hm… that does make sense, I suppose. Tartarus always has been slow to release information outside of its trusted circle, especially when they feel it won't contribute to civilian safety. Perhaps I've jumped the gun here- but no. You two have a right to know now, there's no point in delaying it."
"Delaying what?" This time, it's Izuku who poses a question. "What happened at Tartarus?"
All Might casts his gaze to the floor. "All For One escaped police captivity earlier this morning. His whereabouts are currently unknown."
Izuku's heart drops in his chest. He isn't ready for another encounter with All For One. He hasn't even mastered One For All yet, much less the seven other quirks he supposedly has in his arsenal. That's not even mentioning whatever's begun altering his memories, and he can't imagine intense self-doubt is an asset on the battlefield. If he has to fight now, well…
"You're fucking kidding me," Katsuki snorts. "There's just no way in Hell that this happens on the same day as Deku's insane memory shit. It's the lousiest fucking coincidence in the history of lousy fucking coincidences."
All Might raises an eyebrow. "What exactly are you referring to, kid?"
"It's why I asked to meet." Izuku tries and fails to filter the growing panic out of his voice. "I've been having these weird moments when I remember things - or, more when I act on the things I remember, I guess - and someone who knows me tells me they aren't real. The memories I'm acting on, I mean. I think one of them belonged to the fifth vestige, and the other… maybe the first? I… don't really know them well enough to say."
"That's definitely new," All Might acknowledges. "And you can't distinguish these memories from your own?"
"No. Not unless someone helps me. And even then, they're… persistent. I'm still struggling to accept that some of them aren't mine."
All Might's mouth tightens into a thin line. "When did this start?"
"Earlier today, I think, but… I can't really say for sure. I mean today is definitely when I noticed first, but the memories seem to be latent. I don't realize they're false unless someone calls me out on them, and I can't be called out unless something inspires me to bring them up around someone who knows enough to dispute the inaccuracies."
"So what you're sayin' is, this could've started a long time ago, and you wouldn'tve had a clue?" Katsuki asks.
"Yes, basically."
He scowls. "Big help that is."
All Might walks over to take a seat on a couch, gesturing for Izuku and Katsuki to occupy the one opposite. They comply.
"Okay kid, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer with whatever comes most naturally to you. Keep your eyes on me, and don't look away until I tell you to. Bakugo, I want you to nod when Midoriya's answers align with what you know about him, and shake your head when they don't. Do both of you understand?"
Both nod.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen," Izuku answers without pause. "I'll be seventeen next July."
"Where were you born?"
"Shizouka Prefecture. I don't remember the name of the hospital."
"Don't worry, that's detailed enough," All Might assures. "What type of car do you drive?"
"A Prius." Another near-instantaneous response.
"Hm. And finally, what's your favorite color?"
"Yellow."
"Well, that didn't go as poorly as it could've, all things considered." All Might exhales a sigh.
Izuku frowns. "What do you mean? Did I get one wrong?"
"Seriously?" Katsuki scoffs. "Well, for starters, you're sixteen, you fucking moron. You can't legally drive."
"Oh." Izuku blinks. "Oh. How many did I get right then?"
"Two."
Izuku sinks down into the couch. Half wrong. Fifty percent inaccuracy. And he'd thought he owned a car. His mother doesn't even own a car, she rents one.
"I'm sorry, I don't know how I thought that was right. But… could you help me out with the other one?"
"There's no need to apologize. None of this is your fault," All Might says. "But before Bakugo answers your second question, I have to ask: why is yellow your favorite color?"
"Well, it's the happiest color out there, obviously! A hero's main goal is supposed to be rescuing people in danger, sure, but what's the point if you can't bring a smile to their faces while you're at it? It isn't enough just to save, you need to spread around a sense of joy and security too. Yellow represents that for me."
Sometime during Izuku’s explanation, All Might's face had begun to pale. Now, he looks as white as a sheet.
"Word for word," he mutters in awe. "And exactly the same mannerisms too. The intonation, the expressions… I can't believe it. You're her spitting image."
"Your mentor, Shimura." Izuku's cautious grin rapidly deteriorates into a frown. "She said that, didn't she?"
All Might nods, face still a ghastly white.
"Your favorite color is red. Has been since you were five." Katsuki's voice is monotone, but he's tapping his shoe against the floor like his life depends on it.
Izuku's vision begins to go fuzzy. "No. No, that definitely isn't true. I hate red. It reminds me of blood, and-"
So many people dead. So many he couldn't save, scattered around him, lying mangled, beaten. He should be used to this by now, but there's just so many, more even, in one place, than he saw during the tsunami two years ago, or the attack from the wolf quirk villain that took out an entire town the year before that.
And he's about to be one of them, his bloods already pooling around him, it's gurgling up in his throat, he's choking on it . So why are the footsteps still approaching?
I'm down, he wants to say. I'm already dead, with or without your intervention. Let me die like this, alone. Please. Don't I deserve that much?
But he can't even form a syllable. And then, the ultimate terror. A hand blurs into sight, covered in red, red like the corpses, red like the dirt, red like the gaping wound in his chest, red in his throat, in his lungs, red - and then black.
"Hey, Deku! Snap out of it already, you shitty nerd!"
Izuku is on the floor beneath the coffee table. His heart is racing, and his breath is escaping his mouth in quick, staccato spurts. Every muscle in his body is tense, wound as tight as a coil, and he can't seem to stop himself from shaking.
"I-" he doesn't finish the sentence. It hangs in the air above his head like a deadweight.
"It's gonna be fine. All Might is getting Recovery Girl." Katsuki sinks to the floor next to him. He places what he intends to be a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, but has to yank it back in surprise when Izuku flinches away from the touch.
"Don't." Izuku feels sick to his stomach. All he wants to do is hurl, but instead, painstakingly, he works to steady his breathing.
"I'm sorry," Izuku manages after a few minutes of even heartbeats.
"Stop apologizing, Deku," Katsuki replies. "It's getting old."
Izuku manages to laugh at that, somehow. "Okay. Sorry."
A trip to the nurse's office, a cookie, and an infographic later, Izuku is feeling the most tired he's ever felt in his entire life.
Apparently, he just had a flashback. Recovery girl claims that based on his episode's severity and lasting effects, she's inclined to say it closely resembles experiences undergone by those with ptsd. She seems almost certain that he has it, but in truth, it's a tentative diagnosis, and not one she's legally empowered to officiate.
Izuku desperately hopes there's no correlation. He's seen heroes' careers end because of trauma induced mental disorders more than once, and his hasn't even technically begun yet.
How unfair would it be, if he was unable to go on because of an emotionally scarring event he'd never even experienced? He can't let that happen. He just can't.
Izuku's shoes are gone, but he has no idea who took them. And he's glad, because if he remembers correctly they were… not a nice color. Recovery Girl has given him a replacement pair from the lost and found bin. They don't fit him, but they are yellow. Which, despite the background information at his disposal, he still appreciates.
Katsuki and All Might were chased out by Recovery Girl what Izuku estimates to be around twenty minutes ago, though he certainly hadn't asked them to leave. He wants to call them back in, but unfortunately, his overseer isn't as receptive to the idea.
According to her, he needs to rest and recuperate, which he supposes he has to concede to.He's been desperate to speak to the ofa vestiges since the day's first incident, and it seems that time is only providing further motivation.
So even though Recovery Girl has left to attend to more dire matters, he's still lying compliantly in the same spot where she left him. The room is dark now, lights off and blinds drawn, and lying down on its only bed, it's easy to drift into sleep.
Until his phone starts ringing. Izuku's breath hitches, and he almost chucks the contents of his pockets across the room before he realizes-
"Oh. Mom is calling."
Izuku picks up his phone, trying to calm himself enough to at least sound normal. He accepts the call.
"Hi, mom." His voice sounds hollow, drained. But luckily, for once, his mother doesn't seem to notice at all.
"Izuku, you'll never guess who just called! Go ahead, guess!"
Izuku tries not to flinch away from his phone. Where is his mother's usual volume control?
"Uh, I dunno? That one actor you like? The guy with the… he's tall?" Izuku can't remember names right now. Not that he's confident he'd get them right either way.
"No, better!" His mother replies. "Your father! See, apparently there was this accident, and- well, he couldn't contact us because it was very brutal- Not that I'm happy about that mind you- no it's terrible, and I'm more than a little concerned, but you know, I really thought, for a while, that he was- well it doesn't matter! Point is, he's coming home, Izuku! He'll be back in Japan next week!"
"Wait, seriously?!" Suddenly, Izuku feels a lot less tired. "What did he say exactly? What happened? Was it bad? Did he make a full recovery?"
"He's fine, Izuku, he's fine!" His mother sounds close to tears. "I can't believe it's been so many years… and, then the silence… I worried about him every single day, you know, just like I'm certain you did. And apparently he was worried about us too. When he called, you were the first thing he asked about. He wanted to tell you that-"
His mother's voice breaks. She's definitely crying now, and hard.
"- He cares about you so much, and it killed him that he couldn't contact you. Oh, Izuku, I'm sorry! I shouldn't be getting so emotional, but I was just so worried, and now- well, now, I'm just so, so relieved!"
Izuku is crying too now. He can't help it.
If memory serves - and honestly, he's not sure it does - then he and his father have always been close. Well, in a sense of speaking, at least.
Izuku can't really remember what his father's face looks like (when he wants to, he relies on pictures), but the two have spoken multiple times a week every week over the phone ever since he'd decided to take a job overseas.
At first, the two had video-called, but that had ended sometime around six or seven years ago. The switch to strictly audible communication had been disappointing at first, though Izuku was assured that it was simply the product of a busier work schedule. Phone Calls could be made while driving, eating, or performing unintensive tasks, so it was much easier for his father to fit them into his schedule.
That’d made sense to Izuku, though he still wasn’t exactly sure why video calls had become completely taboo. America supposedly had longer weekends, and it wasn’t as if there weren’t national holidays. His father couldn’t have been that busy, could he? But as it turned out, as long as the two could talk, the method didn’t really matter. Izuku adjusted to the phone calls, and soon enough, they became the norm.
He and his father had always talked about the expected things of course. Grades, work, health, and on rare occasions, Izuku’s friends. He'd always lied a bit then, the same way he had to his mother. He hadn't wanted either of his parents to worry.
After all the typical pleasantries, however, the talks wandered to far more interesting (and substantially less distressing) subjects. Almost every call without fail, the main focus of the two's conversations eventually turned to quirk analysis.
Izuku had apparently inherited, either through observation or genetics, the same penchant for the subject that his father had, according to his mother, always possessed. Most nights, Izuku would prop open his analysis books, read his latest musing aloud, and receive coaching regarding the applications and weaknesses he'd failed to perceive. It seemed that there was always something substantial he'd failed to notice that his father instantly recognized, and his rationalizations never failed to elicit breakthroughs that Izuku is certain he wouldn't have come to otherwise.
Sometimes, his father would quiz him on new, hypothetical quirks, and others, he would pit against each other in order to explore possible outcomes. Izuku's favorite exercises usually involved the analysis of particular heroes, though, much to his chagrin, his father had never been willing to discuss All Might. Apparently, the hero's quirk was too direct to prove interesting enough for his tastes, though Izuku had tried and failed on multiple occasions to convince him that it was anything but.
Even so, the conversations were as engaging as they were productive, and Izuku had looked forward to them every week.
Until one day, a few months ago, when they had simply stopped. Izuku had waited expectedly during the scheduled time, phone in hand, the day he'd first moved into his dorm room, only to never receive a call that had arrived like clockwork each week prior for as long as he could remember.
So then, he'd called. And no one had answered.
When he'd contacted his mother, she'd simply told him to wait. He always called her after he and Izuku were done talking after all, and if he failed to do that, then he was probably just busy, and would get back to them later.
So they'd waited. But a call never came, not for days that turned into weeks, and then weeks that turned into months.
His mother had tried, early on, to get ahold of someone who could update her on her husband's situation, but had quickly realized just how little information she had regarding his whereabouts. Although she'd swore she had the details written down somewhere, she couldn't for the life of her find an address, city, or even state, linked to her husband or the business that employed him.
With some shock, both she and Izuku had come to the realization that he'd never actually told them his exact location when recounting his routine, just given minor, easily generalized details about his surroundings. Details that could apply to almost every city and state that America had to offer. His mother had no idea why she'd never noticed or questioned the fact, though she eventually concluded that she'd simply never thought to ask.
After some digging, she'd found that the company he worked for either no longer existed, or never had, and that the number he'd been calling from was similarly out of service.
She still received checks in the mail, deposited at the same intervals and containing the same amount of money as they always had, so she'd tried to trace them. And had. To an extent. But after all her work, the avenue only proved to be another dead end.
When she'd called the police, Izuku's mother had had trouble even convincing them to treat the case as a serious one. Her lack of information had led them to believe that she was at first a stalker, and later, after marriage certificate pictures were sent, an unwilling divorcee.
Even after all assumptions had been disproven, and the police were finally spurred into action, they had come up completely empty. Hizashi Midoriya was officially America's least informed missing persons case.
Until now, apparently.
"It's okay, Mom," Izuku manages. "I feel the same way."
"Oh, oh, of course you do, Izuku!" His mother's voice is still strained. "I'm sorry I ever implied otherwise. He wanted to call you too, but… well, he's understandably busy. But just think! In one week, we'll be meeting him in person!"
"Yeah… I… I'm just glad that he's alright, Mom. Even knowing that is enough. And the fact that he hasn't called me is more than okay, I understand completely."
Izuku is actually a bit relieved. Now, he'll have more time to recuperate and gather his thoughts before he talks to his father again. Which means there's less chance that he'll embarrass himself by means of an incorrectly recalled memory.
Maybe the issue will even be completely resolved by then. At the very least, he's unwilling to discount the possibility.
His mother sniffles. "You're such an amazing son, Izuku. What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"I mean, probably something pretty awful? Didn't you say just last week that I worry you so much that you're afraid I'll send you to an early grave?"
She laughs, and the sound is only slightly waterlogged. "Only because you get into such dangerous situations! The only awful thing I do is encourage you to pursue a career path that ends up hurting you so regularly!"
This conversation is getting far too real for Izuku’s liking. "I have to go Mom, I really need to talk to some of my teachers."
It's not technically a lie. The vestiges do teach him things, and he definitely needs to talk to them.
"Okay, I'll let you go," his mother sighs. "Just please make sure to pace yourself. I'm worried that all this hard work is going to lead to burnout."
"Of course. Love you, Mom!"
"I love you too! Bye!"
Izuku ends the call, falling backwards into the comfort of the nurse's office's bed. For a moment, he'd forgotten all his problems, but now they've returned to assault his psyche with even greater force. But his father is safe, and at the end of the day, that's worth the memory problems, and the traumatic episode, and he absolutely refuses to think about the prison break. So it's fine. He's fine.
Still, despite his best efforts, he can't fall asleep.
He slips on his new, slightly overlarge yellow shoes, and writes a quick note for Recovery Girl.
Couldn't sleep. Went back to dorm. Thank you for the help!
He hopes it's enough, because he's way too out of it to write anything even slightly more elaborate.
On the walk back to his dorm, his head is swimming so much that he can barely piece two thoughts together. So he doesn't. It's much easier to just hum Trois mouvements de Petrouchka.
He decides that when he gets back to his room, he's definitely going to play the piano. And he isn’t going to think about the implications of it at all.