Work Text:
“I think you should see a quirk therapist,” Midoriya Inko says.
This is how it starts.
Her voice wavers, but her gaze is strong. Izuku shrinks a little, one hand on the strap of his backpack. Somehow, he isn’t surprised. She waited until the end of the weekend—the first he’s spent at home in longer than he likes to think about—to say something. But. Well.
Despite what all his old teachers think, Izuku is smart. He could feel it coming.
“I…don’t know, mom,” he says. He shrugs his backpack on a little higher, standing in a limbo of sorts in the hallway to the door. Half in, half out. Not really anywhere. His knuckles are white on the strap. He’s thinking of Eri. He knows from Aizawa and Togata that she’s in quirk therapy. Tiny and trying to understand how to live.
I am too, Togata told him, smiling over bad tea in the hospital cafeteria. In therapy, I mean! I think it’s gonna be really good for me, Midoriya. Sir always said it was important for a hero to keep their mental and physical abilities in tip-top shape.
“Izuku,” his mother sighs, a hint of tears not far off in her voice.
“Maybe,” he says, but not just to dismiss her. It’s a real maybe.
“Talk to your teachers,” she suggests, hugging herself more than crossing her arms.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Or I’ll do it for you,” she finishes. Less of a suggestion. More of an order.
Tip-top shape, Izuku thinks. The image of Eri’s smile sticks in his head, in his heart, as it has since the festival. Yeah. Maybe.
“I think perhaps we should go to a quirk specialist,” All Might announces the next morning, apropos of nothing.
“What?” Izuku, who is in the middle of his usual warm-down stretches, pauses and realizes that maybe he should have seen this coming, too. He straightens up, rolls his shoulders—massages his right arm, which is only aching a little.
“I think, we should go to a quirk specialist,” All Might repeats, unperturbed. He looks down at Izuku, a considering look on his too-gaunt face. He looks tired, these days, even though he’s technically been retired since Kamino.
“I mean, uh—why?” Izuku presses, massaging the ball of his palm, rolling across his knuckles. “We didn’t before! It’s not like I’m still breaking my arms, or anything, right?”
“And I begin to regret my earlier decision not to involve outside help more every day,” All Might says, a slight grimace drifting onto his face. “You must know that even I learn from my mistakes, my boy.”
Izuku shrugs sheepishly, and steps into a lunge, stretching out his hamstrings. Had he been so transparent in his thought process?
“But frankly…your power is continuing to develop very differently than mine did, as mine was different from my predecessor’s. Gran Torino and I can only help so much with your training. Not to mention, I made the choice not to ask for help from a qualified source back when All For One was still at large. You know, of course, the importance of keeping One For All a secret, but the risk to those who know about the power is…a little less, now that All For One is out of the picture.”
“I guess that’s true. But can we really trust some random quirk counselor?” Izuku wonders aloud, brain whirring as he tugs absently at the fingers of his gauntlets. A feeling of jarring anxiety prickles over his spine at the prospect of letting someone else in on the secret on purpose.
There really aren’t very many people who know.
All Might. Izuku himself.
Gran Torino, Principal Nedzu, Recovery Girl, and Detective Tsukauchi. Kacchan.
All For One.
Sir Nighteye knew, but he’s dead, and Togata…well. Izuku got very, very close to telling him, when he posed that “hypothetical” question, and Togata Mirio is many things, but stupid is not one of them. Izuku would bet money on the fact that Togata realized that somehow the offer was a serious one—but he declined it, and Izuku didn’t tell him straight out, so Togata technically remains in the dark.
The only other person who might have suspicions is Aizawa. He watches Izuku closely sometimes—almost too closely. Whether he really knows something, or is just on his guard, Izuku can’t be sure, but even if he does know anything, his conjectures must not be enough to act on.
That’s not many people at all—seven who know outright. Two who might suspect. It’s still far too many people for All For One to target if he ever escapes.
“No, I imagine not,” All Might gives a gentle huff of laughter, oblivious to Izuku’s racing thoughts. “Sharp as ever, young Midoriya. No, Gran Torino and I have been discussing it, and he recommended a professional he’s acquainted with who has nearly ten years of experience and extensive training to boot. Despite that, she has a minimal number of associations with any hero agencies. She’s very well-reviewed.”
“No hero agencies? Wouldn’t it help to have that kind of experience?” Izuku abandons fidgeting with his gauntlets in order to pull them off completely, as the pair make their way across the wide expanse of empty floor in the gym. Dust motes stirred up from the air pressure attacks Izuku had been practicing float through the early morning light, disturbed further by their passage.
“It might, but I think a bit of relative objectivity would be more helpful,” his mentor explains, long legs taking one large stride for every two of Izuku’s shorter ones. “It just seems to me that for every one thing I can help with, there are five more things I don’t know how to teach you, and even late is better than never.”
Izuku risks a glance up at him, taking in the weary lines of All Might’s face, considers his near-constant exhaustion with a swooping feeling of guilt. He’s been forcing his teacher up at ungodly hours every morning, before he has to teach a long day of classes—no wonder All Might is looking for a way to share the load. He swallows down the nervous feeling creeping up his throat and resolves that if this will help—maybe it’ll be the best of both worlds.
All Might reaches for the door handle, and gestures Izuku out. “What do you think? It’s your secret now, after all, more than it is mine anymore.”
“I guess it can’t hurt to try!” Izuku summons up a smile, stepping out into the brisk fall air. “After all, they have that patient confidentiality thing, right? So we can meet her and if it doesn’t go well, she can’t tell anyone, anyway!”
“True! I’m glad to hear that,” All Might says, with more enthusiasm than Izuku expected. “I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow, and you can tell me all about it if you want—and if you’re uncomfortable at all, you can always stop!”
“T-tomorrow?” Izuku squeaks, his smile fading just a little. “I mean, uh, isn’t that kind of soon?”
“Don’t worry, my boy, I’ll take care of it!” His mentor waves him off exuberantly, eyes alight with what Izuku suspects to be relief. “I’m just glad we’re getting some help! I think it’ll be worth it! Now, you’d better hurry if you’re going to shower before homeroom—Aizawa said he’d have your head if you’re late again!”
“Oh! Thanks, All Might!” Izuku checks the time on his phone, and there’s no more time for feeling nervous and having doubts, so he dashes off, and by lunch, he’s almost forgotten all about going to a quirk specialist at all.
The next afternoon, Izuku sits awkwardly on the couch across from his new quirk counselor, Ito Himari. He picks up one of the pillows, just to have something to do with his hands, and pulls it onto his lap. He scrubs his fingernail along the pillow’s seam. When he thought of working with a quirk specialist, he somehow didn’t expect to be meeting in a regular office—maybe a gym or something.
“What made you decide that trying quirk counseling was the right choice for you? Be honest,” Ito says, her dark eyes sharp behind her glasses.
“I haven’t,” Izuku says, his mouth moving almost automatically. His teeth click together. He scrapes at the seam harder. His fingernail catches. “I mean. Uh. I just haven’t decided if it’s right? I mean, I’ve had some trouble with controlling my quirk in the past, I guess, but mostly I just want to get better control than I have now?”
He shifts in his seat, suppressing a grimace, trying to ignore how absolutely uncomfortable he feels.
“I see,” she says. Her face is unreadable.
Aizawa was like that a little, at first. Nearly inscrutable, except for when he was just plain irritable. He seemed so formidable on the first day of class, with his cold, logical glare, and his threats of expulsion. Now, though, Izuku’s homeroom teacher’s calculated mask of apathy is familiar—comforting, even, because they all know that under it is a man capable of dying for his students. Aizawa cares.
Ito, though…her impenetrable expression feels worse, somehow, than Aizawa’s resigned blankness ever did. It feels tangible, bitter, like the taste of disappointment in Izuku’s throat when he knows he’s already failed.
“I want it to be right,” Izuku says, and he does. He doesn’t need to close his eyes to see All Might’s tired face, drawn cheekbones and dark eyebags. But now that he’s here, trying to figure out how to breach the delicate, fragile subject of One For All, it’s like the words are stuck in his throat. How is he even supposed to start?
“I see,” Ito says again. She keeps looking at him. “Tell me, Midoriya, what do you need to work on?”
“A lot of things,” Izuku answers, before he even means to. He feels his shoulders prickle, and he forces out a sigh. He needs to tell her—now would be the perfect time. He just has to tell her. “Control, primarily, like I said. I guess I…don’t know where to start.”
He feels alien, and small. He isn’t sure how to parse through his problems and everything that come with them, how to explain the magnitude of the secret under his skin—just how important it is.
Just tell her, he commands himself. You just need to tell her.
“Alright.” Ito leans forward just a little. Her eyes seem to spark, just for a moment, but Izuku figures he’s just imagining it. “You say you need to work on control. On Wednesday when you come back, we’ll work a little more directly with your quirk, but until then, maybe some structure will start you on a path to—improvement. Start like this, Midoriya: do what they tell you.”
Izuku goes back to the dorms after his appointment is over. He feels like an idiot, and he’s sure that Ito knows it, too. His face is red, still, and his fingernails are sharp, digging into his palms.
He kept stumbling out responses to her questions, so panicked that he was unable to spit out anything he’d actually wanted to say, only the first stupid things that came into his head. All Might is going to be so disappointed in him; he hadn’t been able to blurt out the slightest detail of One For All and its history, and that was the entire point! How did he mess up so badly?
“Midoriya! How did your doctor’s appointment go?” Iida looms up out of the entrance to the dorm kitchen, a concerned look on his serious face.
“Uh,” Izuku says. The word Great is stuck somewhere behind his teeth, but he doesn’t quite manage the lie. “It was okay.”
Iida sees through that, of course. “I’m sorry that it didn’t go as planned. What seems to be the problem? Is it your arms again?”
“No,” Izuku says. “It’s—a lot of things. But, uh,” he recovers, “don’t worry! I’m gonna, you know. Figure it out.”
His taller friend nods, an understanding look appearing. “I understand. If you need to talk, you always know where to find me.” He places a gentle hand on Izuku’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Iida.” Izuku dredges up a tired grin. Since Hosu, and then Kamino after that, Iida has been a good friend—has been careful to be a good friend, Izuku knows. It’s a lot of effort to be his friend. He still hasn’t forgotten breaking down in the cafeteria in front of Iida and Todoroki, hasn’t forgotten the comfort of their fond affection. He feels unworthy just thinking about how much he needs to lean on them, but Izuku is far too grateful to deny himself that extra support.
“Deku!” It’s Uraraka, in the kitchen. Her hands are covered in flour; she’s making dough. “Come help us with this!” She’s smiling, beckoning him.
Izuku was going to go up to his room and try to figure out how to break the news to All Might, but he finds himself nodding and walking over to wash his hands. Kirishima and Hagakure are both hanging out in the kitchen as well, helping Uraraka and Iida make dinner.
“Hey, dude!” Kirishima grins at Izuku, and Hagakure waves. Izuku smiles back out of instinct. His feet almost seemed to carry him over as if they had a mind of their own. He must be tired.
“Iida is hopeless in the kitchen,” Hagakure says, with a snort of laughter. “How did I not know that by now?”
“Everybody knows that!” Uraraka says cheerfully, and Iida gives her a look of sincere betrayal, which makes Kirishima cackle with laughter. Izuku grins wider.
He’d rather be hanging out with his friends than by himself in his room, anyway.
“Pass me that knife, please, Midoriya,” Iida says, resigned, and without thinking, Izuku does.
He doesn’t begin to understand until the next morning in homeroom. He’s been feeling odd for a while, although he isn’t sure when the feeling started; it’s subtle, but strange…Izuku feels a little prickly, a little uncomfortable in his own skin. The air seems almost thicker than normal, like expanding his chest is a little more difficult than usual, but no one else seems to notice, and he chalks it up to allergies, or anxiety. Not anything to worry about.
“Midoriya,” Todoroki says, “did you do the homework for English?”
“Yeah! Of course,” Izuku replies, reaching down to his bag to pull it out. “What’s up?”
“Well…” Todoroki looks hesitant, fingers tight on his own paper. “I may have mixed up a couple of words in the last section on the first page, so I wondered if I could cross-check with you.”
Todoroki always hates to sound like he’s asking for help, even though Izuku is pretty sure Todoroki is just naturally smarter than almost everybody else in their class—besides Yaoyorozu, of course.
“No problem!” Izuku says, and willingly points out where he wrote his answers for that section.
Todoroki scans them, and a look of relief crosses his face. He hands the homework back to Izuku with a faint smile. “We had the same answers. Thanks.”
“Sure, anytime, Todoroki,” Izuku tells him fondly, and means it. His friend leaves for his own desk, and Izuku settles back down with his notebook, ignoring the chatter of the class as they wait for Aizawa to arrive. He’s still writing down the last parts of his observations about Gentle and La Brava:
The type of love required for La Brava’s quirk—romantic or platonic? Either seems likely. The love of friendship is widely considered not as strong as romantic love, but I would disagree, he writes, his hand going only half as fast as his mind. He feels bad, still, for how their story ended, for what he had to do to keep them out of the school grounds so that the festival could run unhindered. But in the end—
“Hey, Deku!” Kacchan turns around, looking mildly apoplectic as he glares. “Quit it with the muttering! Just—shut up for five goddamn minutes!”
Izuku feels the regular rush of hurt, the indignation, embarrassment with a flash of anger. He’s about to open his mouth to retort, and—
He doesn’t. The words are stuck in his throat, in his mind, on the tip of his tongue, but they can’t reach any farther. His mouth seems glued shut. He shivers involuntarily. His chest grows tight, and then tighter. Iron bands wrap around his ribcage, cinching shut against his lungs. His heart stutters, and his throat closes off, blocking his words.
Unable to speak, Izuku ducks his head, feels himself flush an embarrassing red. If it were only a few months ago, he might even still hide behind his arms, but since then, he’s fought the Hero Killer, gained his provisional hero license, and gone toe-to-toe with Overhaul. He’s not afraid of Kacchan anymore. So what is this?
“Shut up, Bakugou,” Jirou is saying, unimpressed. “No one else is bothered by Midoriya’s habits.”
“I am,” Kacchan points out, but Izuku isn’t listening anymore.
His fists are clenched tight, sitting quietly on his desk, knuckles white. His fingernails are digging into his palms but he can’t feel it. What’s happening? He’d…frozen? Except…he hadn’t. He hadn’t frozen at all, hadn’t flinched.
He’d gone to say something back, and then he just—didn’t.
Izuku isn’t afraid of Kacchan—but if he isn’t afraid, then why can’t he move?
The iron bands across his chest grow tighter.
“Hey, Midoriya,” Sero says from the seat next to him. He’s leaning over a little, frowning. “He’s being a dumbass. Nobody cares if you talk to yourself.”
Izuku looks over, meets Sero’s gaze, goes to say, Thanks, and his mouth still won’t open. It’s like he isn’t controlling it at all. He just nods, feeling sick. The room temperature seems to have shot up, and he’s having more than a little trouble breathing.
He forces out a smile in Sero’s direction, tries to ignore Jirou and Kacchan’s bickering, goes back to his notebook. He can feel Sero looking at him still, can feel his confusion, but he buries himself back in the pages of his notes even though he isn’t writing, trying to swallow down the cotton in his throat.
If he can just. Take a deep breath. That would be good.
Sero looks away after a moment. Izuku realizes, distantly, that maybe he’s panicking. He hopes he’s doing it subtly. He tries to whisper, just to himself, to say what the hell was that, to say what’s happening, to just read the words off the page in front of him. The words die on his tongue. He can’t say anything at all.
Time blurs. A few moments or a hundred eternities later, when Aizawa arrives and begins to call roll, the panic is still washing over him in waves. He bites his lip, worries at the skin. What is going on, what’s going on, what if Aizawa calls his name and he can’t respond? He bites his lip and bites his lip and bites his lipandbiteshislipand—
“Midoriya?”
“Here,” Izuku says automatically, and. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
Maybe…he must have overreacted. He must have been anxious, and just frozen. It’s happened before, just…not like that. Not in years, not since before middle school.
Even at his lowest—during the last couple years of middle school—when he hadn’t been able to stop himself from jumping and flinching and scrambling away from Kacchan and his friends, he’d still been able to speak. He’d been so close to giving up, then, the closest he’d ever been, and he didn’t freeze like that.
But—it has happened. So. He feels odd still, uneasy in his bones. But everything is probably fine, Izuku decides.
By lunch, he’s sure it’s not.
In English, Kaminari says, “Hey, Midoriya, pass me a pencil. You always have extras!”
Usually, he would be right. Midoriya does usually have extras, and would let Kaminari or Ojiro or Tokoyami borrow one with no complaints.
Today, however, he does not have any extra pencils. He just has the one—but he tosses it over Jirou and Sero’s heads and Kaminari catches it.
“Thanks, man!” Kaminari says good-naturedly, and Izuku blinks and wonders how his arm could have moved by itself.
He digs a pen out of his bag instead, and takes notes in ink, the nasty feeling in his stomach beginning to grow.
A while later, when he’s talking to Tokoyami about their upcoming math test, bemoaning the equations they have to memorize, it happens again.
“I just hope I pass,” Izuku says, with an uncharacteristic slump.
“A dark day for all of us when we find such difficulty in our paths,” Tokoyami replies solemnly.
“Hey, come on! You’re in the top five of our class, Midoriya!” Kirishima says, turning to them. “Don’t act so negative! I’m sure we’re all gonna do fine. We’ll give it our best, right?”
“I suppose,” Tokoyami says, nodding.
“Sure!” Izuku finds himself saying, the words bubbling up automatically. He smiles widely, mouth stretching into a grin without his permission. “We’ll do fine!”
Tokoyami does a visible double-take, but shrugs it off. “We’d better study, then.”
“Yeah!” Izuku does a fist-pump, feeling the bands of iron close tighter, tighter, tightertighter on his chest. He isn’t doing this, he isn’t—he isn’t. “Let’s study!”
“Yeah, bro!” Kirishima laughs, and no one notices anything.
Kacchan snaps “move it,” as he passes Izuku on the way to the cafeteria, and Izuku jumps out of the way.
“Make sure to eat something healthy and nutritious today, Midoriya,” Iida says as they get in line. “We all need the extra boost for heroics training later!”
Izuku takes the healthiest option available, unable to stop himself from reaching for it, and unable to reach for anything else, even the rice.
He sits in between Todoroki and Uraraka, across from Tsuyu and diagonal from Iida, and eats mechanically. He feels…numb, a little, and a lot more afraid than before. He brainstorms about when this could have happened—he hasn’t had any villain encounters; hasn’t been anywhere unsafe, hasn’t spoken with anyone suspicious.
This must be a quirk, though, he thinks, shoveling food into his mouth. It must be a quirk—somehow, he’s been hit with one and it’s…making him do things?
Things that people tell him to do. Like—a compulsion, he decides, the gears in his brain turning faster and faster. Like he has to do what they say, and if he tries not to, he gets that cotton in his throat, those bands around his chest, and the feeling of his heart shuddering in his chest. It feels—bad. Worse than bad. It feels like he’s going to die.
It’s a pretty good motivator to make him follow the compulsions, he thinks morbidly. If he doesn’t try and resist, it’s almost like…his body goes on autopilot and completes the commands for him. If this is a quirk, it’s extremely powerful. Who could have done something like this?
His thoughts jump automatically to Shinsou, and he immediately feels ashamed, because there’s no way Shinsou is involved in this. Izuku hasn’t seen him in a while, first of all; not since apologizing for missing Class 1-C’s haunted house at the school festival—he and Togata were with Eri that day, and they hadn’t wanted her to be scared. More importantly, this isn’t how Shinsou’s quirk works at all, and Izuku would know. There’s a chance that maybe Shinsou has heard of a quirk like this, but it’s unlikely.
The fact of the matter is that someone most likely targeted Izuku—unless the entire thing is some kind of terrible accident—and so far, he doesn’t know how to stop it. There must be some kind of work-around, a weakness of some sort. There always is, he just…hasn’t found it yet.
Izuku stares at his half-empty plate. He has to find it, and fast, before anything bad happens.
“Midoriya?” Tsuyu asks, a little concerned, like she’s said his name already but he didn’t hear.
“Oh! Sorry! What was that?” Izuku puts down his chopsticks, looking over at his classmate.
“I was just saying, I thought you and Bakugou were getting better?” Tsuyu picks up her glass and takes a long drink, eyes still fixed on him.
“Oh, we are!” Izuku says, smiling without meaning to. Kirishima’s voice saying Don’t act so negative! rings in his ears, and he mentally winces, unable to drop the cheery affectation in his speech.
It’s not untrue. He and Kacchan were doing better, but that might change, now that Izuku is basically reverting to his stupid, fearful elementary school self, jumping all over the place because of this horrible quirk. If Kacchan thinks he’s changing his mind, backing down…that would not be good.
He grins brightly—tries to fight it for a moment, almost chokes, and gives up the positivity schtick as a lost cause. “Everything’s great, I promise!”
“Sure,” Uraraka says slowly, from next to him. She twirls her chopsticks thoughtfully, brow furrowed. “You would tell us if anything was wrong, right, Deku?”
“Yeah, of course!” Izuku smiles, dread looming over him like the Grim Reaper over someone’s deathbed. Should he tell someone? What is there to tell—what would he even say? I think I’m doing things when people tell me to because of someone’s quirk. “Thanks, Uraraka!”
Todoroki glances sideways at him, concern passing over his face and then vanishing into his usual reservation.
Maybe he should tell someone. All Might would know what to do, or Aizawa. He should tell someone, despite his doubts. As soon as class is over, when he gets a chance, he’ll tell someone.
Izuku eats his lunch, still smiling, and kind of wants to cry.
Heroics isn’t any harder than usual that day—or at least it shouldn’t be.
When they aren’t doing rescue training or focusing on their quirks, their heroics class often involves hand-to-hand combat and sparring. Izuku is solid when it comes to hand-to-hand; he’s strong, now, and he has a good sense of where his body is and where it needs to be, after using One For All so much. He isn’t nearly as good as Ojiro, who is the best of them at quirkless hand-to-hand, even on his bad days, but he’s better than a good number of their classmates.
Izuku doesn’t usually have any trouble keeping up in class, but then Mineta, his first sparring partner, says, “Geez, don’t try so hard at sparring all the time, Midoriya, we get it, you’re super cool and everything,” and after that, he’s in trouble.
He manages to hold his own against Mineta anyhow, and then has a lucky win against Aoyama after him, as the pairs shuffle, but then he’s up against Shouji—who is nearly as good at hand-to-hand combat as Ojiro—and things go downhill quickly.
“I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Shouji says, looking more than a little alarmed as he reaches down to help Izuku up. “I was sure you saw that throw coming.”
“Haha,” Izuku says cheerfully, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to say—that he wasn’t trying? He rolls his aching shoulder and waves his classmate off. “Don’t worry about it, Shouji! I should have been a little faster, I guess!”
“Alright there, boys?” All Might approaches their mat, a hint of concern showing on his gaunt face. “Well done, Shouji! That was a perfectly executed throw.”
“Thank you,” says Shouji, standing up a little straighter.
“Midoriya, stay aware,” All Might directs. “Don’t let your guard down, especially in this sort of fight.”
“Thanks, All Might,” Izuku says. He feels a sudden rush of—not fear, just…apprehension, maybe? His ears prickle. His shoulders crawl with the realization of how close Kacchan and Ashido are, fighting behind him. He can smell the burnt-sugar scent of the explosions he knows so well, and it sets him on edge.
Ojiro lays Kaminari out flat somewhere to his left, and Kaminari wheezes, the type of groan that Izuku has heard a hundred times in class, that tells the listener that someone just got the wind knocked out of them. Between that, and the ominous smell of Kacchan’s sweat, the realization suddenly hits him for the first time that…well, his classmates are dangerous. He knew that. Of course he did, how could he not? Izuku has always known that they were dangerous. He’s dangerous, too.
And it’s never been a problem before, because apart from Kacchan, none of them have ever scared him. He learned quickly all those months ago that his classmates are good people. Better than he deserves, really, and better than he’s accustomed to, and for all of their many differences, they all want to become the best heroes they can be. They would never hurt him, so it doesn’t matter that they’re dangerous, not really—but maybe, he thinks uncomfortably, he should watch his back.
With a new wave of nausea, Izuku takes in the fact that he is afraid.
He gives his teacher a thumbs up and a smile to boot, muscles moving smoothly. He isn’t visibly a puppet to the quirk maneuvering his limbs, but it might be easier if he was.
He needs to tell All Might or Aizawa about what’s happening, but—but. What if they don’t believe him? That might be worse than not telling them at all…to know, instead, that they don’t trust him. Izuku shivers, feels his chest grow tight and tightandtighter. No, maybe he shouldn’t tell anyone after all. He doesn’t know who attacked him like this in the first place, so he has to be vigilant.
“Wanna go again?” Shouji asks, but before they can start, a switch is called again, and it’s Izuku’s turn against Kaminari, who isn’t nearly the expert at hand-to-hand combat that Shouji is.
He stays on high alert, though. Midoriya, stay aware, All Might’s voice commands in his head.
He has to.
As they leave hero training, Todoroki passes Izuku, and quietly tells him, “Meet me in the locker room after you change.”
Izuku changes quickly—his back is exposed to the others in the room. He knows they’re his friends, but he…well, his back is to them, and all he can think about is that it’s not safe. It’s never completely safe, it wasn’t safe in middle school, and when did he start being so naïve, thinking that he should be safe in school? The USJ incident alone is ample proof that it isn’t true.
When he’s done changing he ducks away to sit in one of the stalls and write out his conjectures about his situation feverishly in his notebook while no one can see.
Everyone filters out without even noticing his absence. Izuku is almost grateful, though being left behind might usually sting. Todoroki, however, is still out there.
He caps his pen—Kaminari never returned that pencil—stands, grin slashing across his face like a fresh wound, and goes.
His friend is waiting patiently, leaning against the wall of the lockers.
“What’s up, Todoroki?” He shrugs on his backpack, runs his fingers over the yellow straps. It seems heavier on his shoulders than usual. He wonders suddenly if maybe the others aren’t really all gone. If anyone else is lingering around the corner or anything.
They won’t be, he knows that. No one has waited to jump him in the locker room since middle school. U.A. is, well, maybe not safe, but it’s different. Things are different now. Izuku still wonders, though.
“I just…I wanted to ask you something,” Todoroki begins, hesitant. His eyes and body language are carefully calm, but something else—worry? Suspicion?—is evident in his gaze.
“Sure!” Izuku says, heart pounding almost out of his chest. What if—what if he knows? What if Todoroki knows what’s happening to him? What if he’s part of it? He wouldn’t be part of it, that makes no sense, but. What if?
“I’ve been wondering recently,” Todoroki continues, his arms crossed as he leans cautiously against his locker. “About you and Bakugou.”
“Oh,” says Izuku, and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His smile drops for a split second, and hischestexplodes and he quickly smiles again and it’s fine. It’s all fine.
“Yeah.” Todoroki’s brow darkens with a frown. “I just…I know that you two worked out some of your issues from before, but I thought maybe something else happened recently. You seemed…shaken, this morning. I was worried.”
Izuku breathes for just a moment, and lets himself feel a little grateful to have such a good friend. Todoroki is just worried. If only he knew. “Oh, yeah! I know, sorry about that. I just…I was having a weird morning. That’s all. Bakugou and I are fine! It actually had nothing to do with him!”
“Oh. Okay.” The furrow in Todoroki’s brow smoothes out just a little. He lets out a sigh of his own. “I know it’s none of my business. Sorry to overstep, Midoriya.”
“You were worried! Of course you wanted to help,” Izuku points out, knowing it’s true and hating lying to his friend, hating it, hating it—but it’s just until everything gets worked out. “And I appreciate it, really! Come on though, we don’t want to miss dinner.”
They head to dinner, and Izuku turns the problem over and over in his mind. He considers Iida’s quiet support, Todoroki’s earnest worry. He can trust his friends—he can trust anyone in his class; even Kacchan, if it’s really important, he knows that. He feels like he’s stuck on a pendulum swinging back and forth; one moment unable to stomach the idea of speaking a word, and the next knowing so surely that any of his classmates would step in front of a bullet for him—except maybe Mineta.
He can trust Togata, too, and certainly Aizawa, or even Present Mic or any of the other teachers. All Might. But he—he just can’t seem to even approach the idea of letting his guard down enough to tell them what’s wrong. What’s happening to him.
Is there something wrong? What if it’s just something wrong with…him? He thinks about how nothing was wrong until suddenly it was. Maybe it’s just. Him?
It can’t be, he reasons with himself. No way. No way. He’s not making this up, he’s not just paranoid; there have been people coming after him before, it could be happening again.
He’s not just paranoid.
The pendulum swings.
But he’s paranoid enough that he won’t tell anyone.
Not yet.
Izuku gets roped into a study session by Ashido and Yaoyorozu—
(“Come study with us, Midori! You’re the best at this kind of analysis!”
“She’s right, Midoriya, do you mind?”)
—and only manages to leave because Satou of all people notices his drooping eyelids, and points it out, and Iida tells him to get some rest. He goes gratefully, collapses onto his bed immediately, and then spends several hours in a fitful doze, unable to sleep for the agitation. The fear grows thick and hot inside his stomach that something is going to happen to his classmates, to him, to All Might, his mom, the teachers, any minute, any minute—he can’t seem to turn it off. He falls asleep after an unbearably long time, and wakes up late.
He has to rush through breakfast—an apple off the kitchen counter is fine, just for today—and makes it just in time for homeroom.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says dryly. “Thank you for joining us. Don’t be late again.”
“Yessir!” Izuku skids into his seat, his face red more from embarrassment than exertion.
Homeroom passes swiftly, and apart from a few small incidents—
(“Explain this phrase, Midoriya, si vous plait?”)
(“Move it, Deku!)
(“Tell Jirou I’m right, Midoriya!”)
—it could have gone much worse.
“Hey, Deku, Bakugou didn’t get to you yesterday, did he? You said he didn’t, but I kinda had a feeling something was wrong,” Uraraka says, placing a warm hand on his wrist.
Izuku smiles wider. “Oh, yeah, I was a bit off yesterday—it wasn’t Kacchan’s fault though, I promise!”
“Good!” She declared. “I’m glad. You seem a lot better today! I was only asking because I noticed, well—” She blushed, her cheeks reddening along with her ears. “Usually you mutter a lot during class, and I thought maybe he’d hurt your feelings, because since he yelled, you haven’t been muttering at all!”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” Izuku says. He…really hadn’t noticed. Even with all the thinking he’s been doing…he still hasn’t been muttering at all? That was one of the first commands he was forced to follow, and he didn’t even notice that the effect is refusing to wear off. His stomach feels suddenly twisted in knots, and his grin is a little smaller. The topic of conversation moves on, and he keeps up with it until he suddenly starts to feel those irons bands tighten again, and his heart thuds out of rhythm, a terrible percussion in his throat—
He realizes as Iida packs up that class starts in just a few minutes, and Aizawa…Aizawa told him Don’t be late again, that must be it. He leaves for class earlier than he usually would, and the bands loosen; his heart beats firmly again. He feels a little less like he’s going to die.
He almost makes it through the day, except as they’re in the middle of a rescue exercise and he and Tsuyu and Yaoyorozu are jumping into the shipwreck zone, Yaoyorozu shouts, “Hold your breath!”
And he does, he takes a deep breath as he hurtles through the air, One For All buzzing around him, and holds it just as he hits the water. He holds his breath as he swims toward the boat and finds the chain he’s meant to grab, swims to the surface, throws the chain up to Tsuyu, who got hers fastest, and pulls himself up, onto the deck. And he’s still holding it.
It’s been just barely a minute and a half at the most, and Izuku can hold his breath for longer than that, even with the kind of exertion that their task requires. But somehow he didn’t register that Yaoyorozu’s words counted as a command, and what happens is that he vaults up onto the deck and immediately, instinctually tries to breathe, only to realize to his horror that he can’t.
He gags soundlessly, falling to his knees, groping a hand out for the railing of the boat and missing completely. His fingers are tingling, and he claws at his throat, and Tsuyu is saying something, sounding worried, but he can’t hear her.
Izuku needs to get air. He needs it, and with an enormous force of will, he overpowers the compulsion just long enough to gasp in a single breath. Immediately, his chest constricts badly as the invisible bands cinch around it, the quirk doubling down hard on his rebellion. His heart flutters in starts and stops, and if it gets worse he might have a real heart attack, too—
“Midoriya—what’s wrong, what happened—!” Tsuyu sounds more than unsettled, the closest to panic he’s heard her since the first USJ incident. Being back here in this place can’t be helping, he thinks, but his thoughts are bleeding into black as he chokes and chokes and chokes.
“Are you okay? Hey, breathe, Midoriya—”
And suddenly Izuku can breathe, and the air fills his lungs with a gasp. He spends a minute just trying to inhale and exhale normally, even though he knows he’s hyperventilating. Yaoyorozu came back with her own chain at some point, and she’s hovering over where he’s still kneeling, Tsuyu holding him mostly upright on the deck.
“—on’t know what happened, he was just choking, like he swallowed too much water or something,” Tsuyu is saying, her grip firm and sure on his biceps.
“He seems—I mean, what should we do? He’s—he’s okay now, right?” Yaoyorozu says, unsure. She reaches out and places a steady hand on his shoulder, to support or just to comfort, he doesn’t know.
“He’s hyperventilating—Midoriya, everything is fine, calm down,” Tsuyu adds, and Izuku’s lungs arrest for just a moment before he starts breathing slowly and deeply, his eyes stinging as he blinks the tears away.
“That’s—that’s better,” she says, sounding a little surprised. “You’re okay. Everything is fine.”
“What happened,” says a new voice, and Aizawa’s dark figure looms up in Izuku’s peripheral vision, sodden with water, eyebrows drawn together.
Tsuyu and Yaoyorozu exchange looks, and Izuku reaches up to swipe at his face, forcing a grin.
“Sorry, guys! I’m okay,” he says, shaky, but not negative, not negative at all, he’s fine, he’s fine. He has to ignore what this means, the fact that he could have just died, could have been killed by the compulsion—he has to process that later. Now is the time for damage control.
“You are not okay,” Yaoyorozu refutes. At some point, she crouched down, her hand now gentle on his back.
“I’m,” Izuku winces. “I know that looked bad—”
“I think you mean awful,” Tsuyu adds.
“—but I mean, I think,” Izuku swallows. He hates to use this as an excuse, but, “I think it was just a panic attack, you know, uh. Yeah.”
“Oh.” Yaoyorozu’s gaze fills with understanding. “I know what you mean.”
“Hm,” says Aizawa. He crouches down to Izuku’s level, studying him closely. Izuku sniffs, scrubs the arm of his glove over his face.
“Panic attacks of this caliber can be extremely incapacitating,” Tsuyu says bluntly.
“Yeah, I know.” He winces again.
Aizawa levels him with a particularly considering gaze. He seems suspicious; of what, Izuku doesn’t know.
“Um,” Izuku starts, a little softer, thinking of his mom and the worried lines of her eyes, not unlike the creases in Aizawa’s brow. “I’m actually thinking about going to therapy. Like, mental health therapy. To try and maybe work on…stuff, you know? I just…I can’t afford to let this hold me back. Not—not after everything.”
“Oh. Oh,” Yaoyorozu says, her eyes going wide.
Aizawa seems a little surprised, but not shocked, and his gaze levels off into acceptance, although he still doesn’t speak. Two out of three, Izuku thinks.
“That’s good.” Tsuyu doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve been going since after the USJ incident, when Shigaraki almost killed me. I would have died if it hadn’t been for Aizawa-sensei.”
“Is it…” Izuku hesitates, feeling his teacher’s eyes on him, his classmates’ consideration. Paranoia slides harshly up his spine, but he pushes forward anyway, despite the iron bands resettling around his chest. “It’s helping you?”
“Yes,” says Tsuyu, face softening noticably. “I think if you give it a chance, it’ll help you too, Midoriya.”
“I hope so,” he says. Three out of three. Damage control complete. Izuku grabs onto the rail to pull himself to his feet. “We should—get back to shore. Kouda, Sero, and Kacchan still have to go. They’re probably waiting.”
Aizawa makes it back to shore faster even than Tsuyu, and Izuku feels a little guilty for making his teacher swim out to the boat during a routine training exercise. Yaoyorozu and Izuku follow Tsuyu out onto the shore, dripping wet and a little delayed on the way back, but successful. Under Aizawa’s warning eye, none of their waiting classmates say anything. Todoroki steps a little closer to Izuku, and Uraraka and Iida flash encouraging smiles, which he returns to the best of his ability.
With the situation controlled for the moment, Izuku has plenty of time to panic while he waits for the last group to complete the exercise, Todoroki exuding quiet comfort somewhere near his shoulder, despite not really knowing what took place.
He could have died.
He…was close to dying.
Maybe even the closest he’s been, besides the fight with Overhaul. Because if Tsuyu hadn’t happened on the right words to cancel out Yaoyorozu’s command, it all would have been over. (The good news, part of Izuku points out, is that commands can be cancelled out, so maybe that’s his way out of this!)
Without that bit of luck, he would have choked on the lack of oxygen until he died, in a safe place, with his friends and his teacher right there, and no one would ever know why, or what happened.
He needs to tell someone.
Izuku feels hyperaware of the others, standing and chatting, as they wait for the last group to swim back over. Todoroki shifts gently, eyes fixed on Bakugou’s dripping figure, yelling something inaudible on the boat and shaking his chain in Kouda’s direction. He needs…he needs to tell someone.
The scales of his indecision creak back and forth.
What if they don’t believe him? He shudders, considers letting his guard down only to have someone laugh in his face. Who would believe him?
Rationally, anyone would believe him. He’s aware of that, he knows it, he knows.
Just…would his classmates even know what to do? He would feel so guilty, putting that burden on them, even just for long enough to get help.
Aizawa is the best choice, he decides, and the fear immediately sets his heart pounding even harder than before. Aizawa is in the best position to help him, to figure out what’s going on and how to stop it.
He should tell his teacher.
He lingers, as the class begins the walk out of the USJ, walks at the back, quiet, smiling, still. He can’t stop smiling. He wonders if he smiles this much, normally, but no one has said anything, not like the muttering, so maybe he does. His chest aches.
Izuku almost died. He should tell Aizawa.
The fear chokes him up, the bands tighten over his chest, and he’s paranoid about losing it entirely, can’t deal with not breathing right now. He can’t do it. He can’t tell him.
He ends up following everyone into the lockers to change out of his hero costume, grins and chats like normal. Doesn’t want to tip anyone off.
He has his second quirk counseling appointment today, since All Might had suggested that he go twice a week in replacement of their regular training—Mondays and Wednesdays. Izuku thinks it’s a little much, recalling Ito’s sharp eyes, and wishing for maybe…once a week? Maybe that would be better.
He goes back to the dorms, changes, and leaves—still for the office, although he doubts he’s going to get much done with his quirk in a room as small as a kitchen. On the train, he agonizes about telling Aizawa, regrets not just spitting it out, because now he has to get through this stupid appointment without giving anything away, and that won’t be easy at all.
Izuku’s phone dings.
[Togata Mirio]
Hey, Izuku! Still up for visiting Eri after your thing today? We can get food before we head over :D
Immediately, his heart swells with hope. Togata! Togata will know what to do, if Izuku can tell him. That should be easier than telling Aizawa, because even though he knows firsthand the lengths his teacher would go to for any of his students and normally trusts him with his life, Izuku kind of has a past with teachers not helping, and those old fears have been dug up and dragged to the surface by the paranoia.
That ugly, sharp, icicle-cold paranoia, which, forced on him by All Might’s unwitting words—Don’t let your guard down!—is preventing him from reaching out. But, Izuku considers, it might lessen at least a little if he can use Togata as a go-between. And the upperclassman will believe him, no matter what. Togata is trustworthy, and older, without being an authority figure—it’s perfect.
He’s afraid, still, but it’s not as bad. He sinks into his seat on the train and tries to breathe carefully. If he can just make it through his appointment, he’ll tell Togata, and Togata can help, and then it will all be over.
“How have you been, Midoriya?” Ito sits back into her chair, sinking into the cushions, which are a violent purple that Izuku finds annoying for no reason that he can think of. She is still as stone-faced as the first time. He hates it.
“I’ve been good!” Izuku says, smiling. Don’t be negative, don’t be negative, Kirishima’s voice echoes. He’d arrived fifteen minutes early, nervous that if he was anywhere close to late, the constriction in his chest might return.
“I see,” she says, and his irritation kicks in his chest, heart fluttering. What does she see?
The rest of the hour passes at a snail’s pace. She has him talk through how his quirk feels, what it’s like to use it when he breaks his bones, what it’s like when he doesn’t. She takes notes and listens diligently, and at some point Izuku suddenly realizes that he isn’t even considering telling her the full story about One For All, and he feels a little guilty. He hasn’t trained with All Might since the first meeting, hasn’t had to admit to his failure—but to be fair, he has more important problems right now anyway.
Ito doesn’t say much, just writes on her paper. She comments once in a while, but only short statements or questions. Izuku becomes more and more uncomfortable, but he plows onward. He has to finish this and then Togata will be there to pick him up and take him out for noodles and then everything will be over.
He stutters to a halt in the middle of his explanation of the egg in the microwave metaphor with five minutes left. The unfortunate realization that he’s already explained it and is repeating himself dawns, and Izuku grimaces into the silence. He must look like a total mess. He desperately wants to leave; something about this isn’t right, and he doesn’t know what.
“Alright, Midoriya,” Ito says slowly. “That was very enlightening. I feel like I have a solid basis for how your quirk has functioned in the past.” She scans her notes, nods once as if confirming something to herself, and looks back up at him. “Now how did your assignment go?”
“My—what?”
“Your assignment.” She leans forward, almost eager, with more energy than she has exhibited during the whole session. “You remember, don’t you? You must. I’m sure you’ve noticed. You’re a smart boy.”
“Noticed,” Izuku manages, hyperaware of the glint of her eyes, how her lips start to curl up just a little. He’s starting to feel the skittish edges of the slowly-approaching panic he’s been avoiding, but he doesn’t know why. “Noticed—? I don’t understand.”
“I think you do,” Ito says. “Tell me what I assigned you to do.”
Tell me, she says, and the answer drags itself to the forefront of his mind as the compulsion takes hold and he is forced to remember, so that he can tell her.
“You said to—to do what they tell me,” Izuku says, smiling, smiling, still smiling.
“Yes, that’s it. And I’m sure you’ve felt…obligated,” she continues, “to follow the rules for the past couple of days. Did it go well?”
And suddenly, horribly, Izuku understands. Do what they tell you, she’d said.
And. Of course, he had. He’d done whatever anyone told him, and she’d made him.
“You have to stop,” he says. His voice is shaking, just a little, and he still can’t stop grinning. His cheeks ache. “You have to let me go. Please.”
“You’ve obviously been given some commands that haven’t canceled out,” she muses, looking through her notes again. “Tell me, what’s forcing that awful smile?”
“Kirishima told me not to be so negative,” he says without meaning to, and then bites his tongue, feeling sick and full of rage at the same time.
“Hm. And anything else that’s stuck?” Her tone is clinical, like she doesn’t even care. Like she didn’t almost kill him, whether it was deliberate or not.
He stands abruptly, goes for the door handle.
“Stop,” she says.
He stops reaching for the door, but with another surge of panic, activates One For All, green sparks flickering around him as he lunges toward her—
“Stop,” she says again. His outstretched fist is inches from her jaw and she hasn’t even flinched. “Sit down. And don’t move again.”
Izuku sits. One For All dies, fading beneath his skin like the memory of a wasted chance. His fists are trembling. He doesn’t have his hero outfit, here where he should be safe, and his nails dig into his palms without the gloves that usually serve as a buffer.
“My quirk,” Ito says, “is called Compulsion. It’s extremely powerful—most psychic-type quirks can’t even compare. Not that I don’t notice others of my type who stand out. That boy you fought in the sports festival, for instance. If I was the type to place bets, I’d put money on him being some kind of mind controller like me. Not nearly as strong or experienced, of course. I’ll be keeping an eye on that one.”
“Shinsou is nothing like you,” Izuku forces out, hot with anger. He doesn’t know Shinsou very well, but he wants to be a hero, and Izuku understands that better than anything. That’s all he needs. Shinsou would never do something like this.
“We’ll see,” Ito agrees calmly. Her glasses gleam in the light. “In any case, my quirk is simple, and extremely powerful. All I need is for someone to approach me, introduce themselves, and then, once I command them, there’s nothing at all that they can do to break free. Of course, the issue is that I can’t pick and choose. I have to wait for good candidates to come to me. So imagine my luck when a hero student—a powerful one, nonetheless—drops right into my lap without any suspicions at all.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Izuku whispers, his throat tight. “You can still let me go.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she says. “People become heroes for the good of society—or so they say. Do you know how many kids with powerful quirks and power-hungry ambitions I’ve helped, who wanted to try for hero schools when they never should have even been in the running? How many others with weak, useless quirks could have made great heroes, if only they’d been given a better lot in life? No, anyone powerful enough to succeed in becoming a hero is the last kind of person who should be idolized. Their motivations are less than pure, everyone knows that. They don’t want to help—what they really want is money, or power, or fame.”
“If they’re helping people and saving lives anyway, does it matter?” Izuku asks. This is an extremely watered-down version of his argument, but he knows her type.
“Yes! It does,” Ito almost snarls. “It matters. Their motivation is key! No one can be sure that they’re really supporting the laws they claim to uphold. Heroes must be examples for people to follow—role models! They can’t lead and protect and save if they can’t even follow the rules they extol. But I know how to make sure that no hero ever breaks the rules again. When I can order them not to, they won’t have a choice but to conform to the ideals they are supposed to represent. And I’ve been waiting for years to get my hands on someone who can make it happen.”
“No,” he whispers, the sick feeling in his gut rising as he realizes that she must have a plan of some kind, to add to her zeal. He can see the fanaticism in her eyes now, so different from her unreadable calm from before.
“Yes,” she presses on eagerly. “I trained to be a quirk counselor to help people. And I have! I’ve helped many, many people, and now I finally have my chance to help everyone. Through you, I will finally be able to bypass the only weakness of my quirk, and draw more and more heroes and heroes-in-training into my office. I won’t be bringing them here—you will.”
“I can’t do that,” Izuku protests, straining to stand, but his muscles scream in protest, his chest compressing until spots dance in his eyes. “I won’t!”
“You will,” she tells him. “This is what you will do. You will stop struggling. You will go about your daily life like normal. You will throw off suspicion, and lie, and pretend, until everyone believes that everything is fine. You will admit to your friends that you are using quirk counseling to help you improve, and you will recommend me, and encourage them to try it. You will come back here for every appointment, and you will not tell anyone anything about me or my plan.”
Izuku shudders, and relaxes back into his chair helplessly, unable to resist her command to stop struggling. His eyes prick with what should be tears, but they won’t form.
“You will continue to be obedient, and you will follow the rules, and do what others tell you to, unless you are in mortal danger,” Ito continues, watching him like a hawk. “From the moment you walk out that door, you will be a model student.”
Izuku’s rage has fallen into numb horror, and he can only watch as she stands and steps forward, fingers caressing his cheek lightly.
“I think this will work out very nicely,” she muses, smiling fully for the first time. “Now go ahead and leave. I’ve covered all the loopholes, so I suppose you’re ready. We’re five minutes over the allotted time, after all. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
Izuku stands, and with her gaze heavy on his back, he turns the doorknob, and steps out.
It isn’t like before.
Before, he had some semblance of control, of choosing what to do in his own body, but now…it’s gone.
It’s like he’s just along for the ride. There are too many commands, all stacked on top of each other, layers upon layers, and his attempts to resist are completely futile. The constriction of his chest is gone, replaced with a feeling of numb weightlessness. He can feel himself moving, walking through the lobby of the office. His nerve endings seem a million miles away. He drifts through a fog of detachment from his own limbs, even as they tug him along after them.
And despite the horrible untethered sensation, despite his lack of control, Izuku moves without hesitation, a smile on a face and a bounce in his step. He wants to scream, wants to run, wants to take One For All and turn around and sprint back in to punch Ito in the face.
But he can’t.
He can’t do anything but walk out of the building, all the bystanders oblivious to the struggle in his mind. Izuku spots Togata waiting, hands in his pockets as he gazes up at the rapidly shifting clouds, and waves at the older teen.
“Hey!” Izuku bounds down the steps, grinning.
“Hey! How was your appointment? Do you like quirk counseling? I used to go all the time, when I was younger—I bet you’re really into it, since you’re so fascinated with quirks!” Togata greets him with equal enthusiasm, used to his typical vigour, and doesn’t bother hesitating before jumping into conversation.
“It was great!” Izuku says. “I really think it’s working!”
“Already?” Togata looks a little surprised, but it gives way to excitement. “That’s awesome! I’m glad it’s helping!”
And they leave to pick up takeout on their way to visit Eri. And Togata doesn’t notice anything.
Of course he doesn’t.
There’s nothing to notice.
One day passes, and another. Uraraka comments on the upswing in his mood, and he tells his classmates blithely about his quirk counseling appointments, casually attributes his cheer to a new outlook on his quirk and a chance to improve.
No one comments on it, no one thinks it odd. Even Aizawa observes the conversation with a critical eye, and the corners of his mouth turn up. Although he knows they’re just glad to see him happy, Izuku despairs.
Three days pass. Four.
Izuku still has to dodge out of the way when Kacchan tells him to move, still struggles with sparring until All Might cancels out Mineta’s words from before by telling him to do his best.
“That’s what matters,” All Might says, hand on his shoulder. He looks a little less tired than at the beginning of the week.
Izuku is able to return to his normal level of effort in sparring after that, but he can’t do anything else, so it doesn’t really matter, although he wonders—just wonders, if maybe he can trick people into cancelling out the orders that Ito gave him. He plans and plans, within the confines of his mind, but no matter what, he can’t figure out a way to get enough control over himself to get anyone to cancel anything out on purpose. At least with the mortal danger clause Ito worked into her orders, he probably won’t die anytime soon, which just means he’s more likely, Izuku realizes, to be stuck like this forever.
He doesn’t mutter, and he stays positive. He keeps his guard up, and doesn’t struggle against any of the compulsions, and he does everything normally, and he lies and lies and lies and everyone just believes him. The weekend passes, and Monday comes around, and he goes to his appointment like she told him to, and she spends the hour prodding about his classmates’ reactions, his teachers’, if anything happened and if anyone was suspicious.
Kirishima high fives him after training, and Hagakure paints his nails, and he studies with Iida and Ashido and Todoroki and Satou.
Another week passes, just like the last, and Izuku’s last remaining dregs of hope, that someone will notice, that someone—anyone—will see, drain bit by bit and day by day. It’s not their fault that they can’t tell just how wrong it all is, and Izuku is too exhausted to be more than a little hurt. He’s sure that Ito will grow tired of gloating soon, and move on to interrogating him about U.A., his classmates, and his teachers. He dreads it, but then, he dreads everything; hyperaware and paranoid and cheery and trapped in his own body, unable to seek comfort or make his own decisions.
Then, on Friday afternoon, Aizawa asks him to stay behind at the end of class, and his heart leaps. If Aizawa has noticed something—if Aizawa has noticed, then maybe, just maybe—
“Midoriya,” Aizawa starts, his arms crossed contemplatively. “I wanted to say…”
“Yes?” Izuku sounds politely interested, cheerful, but not nearly as eager as he actually feels.
“I’m proud of you for asking for help,” Aizawa says, his voice deceptively bland, but his eyes just a little warmer than usual. “After everything this year, I’m glad that you’re learning to recognize when you have problems that we can help you solve. That quirk counseling has been good for you, and I know you’re considering therapy, too.”
No, Izuku thinks, alarm bubbling up. No.
“It’s good to see you doing so much better,” Aizawa concludes. “Keep up the hard work.”
Izuku beams and nods and thanks him and leaves with a spring in his step, and thinks, maybe for the first time in his life, that he might actually be better off dead.
He doesn’t want to die.
He doesn’t.
He wouldn’t want to die, if everything was normal and he was just living, instead of just barely surviving, holding onto his sanity.
Even when people left notes on his desk, in his locker, telling him to do it, even when Kacchan told him to do it, Izuku didn’t want to die.
But now, he can’t do anything but think. His thoughts are the only thing that are his own, and apart from the torture of his own situation, he keeps thinking about all the people who are going to be trapped, just like him, if Ito’s plan succeeds. All the heroes. His friends. Kirishima, at least, has been inspired by Izuku’s “improved” spirits, and Izuku suspects that the enthusiastic redhead might ask for Ito’s contact information soon.
If only he could work out a way to stop that from happening, in the long run, maybe…maybe he wouldn’t mind so much what might happen to him. But as it is, with no solution in sight, a long, long sleep might not be so bad.
On Saturday, Uraraka suggests going out and grabbing some mochi, just to get off campus, and Izuku and Todoroki and Iida find themselves taking a pleasant stroll to the nearest shop that sells it. The afternoon is pleasant, in the city, and there are some people out, but the sidewalks aren’t crowded, for a Saturday. They talk as they go, discussing the poem Kaminari recited during English, and how something needs to be done about Mineta, and if maybe they should go to Aizawa about it after all—they’ve had that particular conversation several times. Izuku interjects just like he normally would, floating through the day more than paying attention to it, as his body and his mouth automatically do all the work for him.
They’re halfway back, on a slightly deserted stretch of road between an empty office building and a barber shop that’s already closed down for the evening, when it happens.
It shouldn’t be that big of a deal—it wouldn’t be, if only Izuku had control over his own body. A mugger, who must be desperate if he’s trying something in the warmth of a Saturday afternoon, steals out of the alley between buildings as they pass it, and wraps his arm around Izuku’s neck, yanking him backwards and using his other arm to put a knife to his throat.
“Hold still, brat,” he growls, just as Izuku reflexively goes to activate his quirk.
Izuku feels a rush of panic as he grinds to a halt, unable to move. The knife is tight against his jugular. The man knows anatomy, that’s for sure. He’s one flinch away from bleeding out. Shouldn’t he be able to move if he’s in mortal danger? He can’t even seem to budge, his heart thrumming in his own ears.
“Midoriya,” Todoroki says calmly, flatly, his hand unmoving where it is extending towards them. The grin stretching across Izuku’s face remains frozen there, and he breathes, carefully, through his teeth.
“Just put your wallets on the ground, and I’ll grab them, and no one will have to get hurt,” the mugger snaps, breath hot against Izuku’s ear. “I’ll pull the shadows up to cover my retreat, and you kids will let me go, or else this one’s gonna get it.”
“Alright! Don’t hurt him,” Iida says, his voice carefully low, reaching slowly for his pocket, clearly telegraphing his movement. “Let me get my wallet out.”
Uraraka follows his example, face pale but set, and all three of Izuku’s friends place their wallets gingerly on the cement. Izuku catches Todoroki’s eye, and can see a hint of helplessness in the other teen’s gaze. The knife is too close—even Todoroki’s ice or Iida’s speed wouldn’t be quite fast enough, not with the mugger watching all of them like a hungry predator.
“Alright,” the man says, and the shadows at the base of the barber shop slide away from the building. They ooze across the ground to scoop up the wallets, before retreating back to the building and seeming to melt into its base.
It’s obvious to Izuku that his friends are trying not to alarm the man by taking actual battle stances, but are prepared to swing into action the second they get an opening. If only he could move, could control himself, if only the mugger hadn’t told him to hold still…he swears loudly, vigorously, in the confines of his own brain. No one can hear him anyway.
“I’m leaving,” the mugger says, and chuckles; a mean, sharp sounding laugh. “That was almost too easy. Thought you all were hero students. Hey kid, you’ve been helpful so far; fight off your friends here for me, why don’t you?”
He doesn’t mean it, it’s obviously a joke, but that doesn’t matter. He shoves Izuku away as he finishes speaking, probably intending for them to focus on him and if he’s okay so that he at least gets a head start.
The moment as Izuku falls forward seems like it’s frozen in time. He can see his friends’ faces, tight with determination, can feel his own muscles start to tense, can feel a burgeoning horror at the man’s carelessness, and then the moment is gone. He springs forward, One For All activated, and aims his fist right at Iida’s face, and he feels a horrible rush of hope. Izuku would never, never hurt his friends.
Now, someone will have to notice. Someone will have to notice that something is wrong.
The blow lands, as swift and unexpected as it is, and while his friend is unbalanced with shock as well as the force of the punch—not even five percent, it’ll be okay, Iida will be okay—he sweeps his leg forward and knocks him fully to the ground, before darting for Todoroki.
Unfortunately, despite being obviously alarmed, Todoroki is ready, and before Izuku can jump to land a kick, he manages to freeze one of Izuku’s feet to the ground.
“Deku! What are you doing?” Uraraka shrieks.
“Midoriya! You’re attacking the wrong people!” Todoroki points out, helping Iida up. “It’s us! We’re your friends!”
They all look so confused and a little afraid, too. They don’t understand what’s happening, and Izuku can’t tell them. Unable to explain, face still caught up in its forced smile, his body proceeds to punch the ice that trapped his foot, and as it cracks, he takes a second to shake off the shards of frozen water before charging at them again.
This time, Todoroki doesn’t pull punches—he knows just how powerful Izuku can be. He throws up a whole wall of ice, across the entire narrow street. He can’t quite hear their voices clearly, a little muffled, but he doesn’t waste time—he punches through it to find another wall, as thick as the first, and blows through that one with a single kick. But by the time he blasts through it, they’re gone.
It must be Iida—with Uraraka’s quirk removing the gravitational pull from herself and Todoroki, he could easily carry one of them on his back and the other in his arms, and make a break for it, just like he’d been practicing during rescue training class.
The trail of dust leads in the direction of the school, and Izuku, stomach stirring with fear and undeserved hope, follows after them.
Izuku is fast, with Full Cowl, but Iida is faster, especially with Uraraka to lighten his load. By the time he makes it back to the school—the dorms, where he knows they must have gone for Aizawa’s help—Izuku figures it’s likely that they have already located their teacher, and that he’s walking into some kind of ambush, which is actually ideal.
They’ll be able to subdue him quickly, as long as Eraserhead is on their side, he figures, especially if the other teachers are called in. And then—then, he thinks, maybe they’ll finally understand that he isn’t himself.
Or maybe they’ll think he’s a traitor and throw him in prison.
But either way, he won’t be able to hurt anyone else. Ito’s plan will fail. So he feels a kind of sick satisfaction as his body, hellbent on fighting off his friends, walks into what is sure to be a trap.
The door swings open easily enough, and the common room is empty, which is the first sign. Izuku makes his way in without much caution. Fight them off, the mugger said, not strategize about how to best defeat them and then do so. He knows there’s no way he can win, not like this, but the compulsion is forcing him to try. He moves quickly, and makes it all the way to the kitchen door before he feels the familiar thrum of One For All vanish, and Aizawa’s capture weapon lands over his head, wraps around his torso and binds his arms to his sides.
He tries for a kick anyway, but Aizawa yanks on the bindings, sending him toppling, and Kirishima and Shouji appear out of nowhere, pinning him down even as he thrashes.
“Holy shit,” Kirishima is saying, voice shaken, but they hold him down firmly, and when Aizawa blinks, they’re ready, still holding with all their strength. Izuku only tears halfway through the capture weapon before his teacher’s eyes are open and his quirk is erased again.
Aizawa’s face appears above him in a flash, and he looks angry, horribly angry, the way he’s only looked a couple of other times before.
“Midoriya, what is wrong with you?” He snaps, looking immensely frustrated.
Izuku just thrashes silently, trying to throw them off.
“Oh, god, stop fighting,” Kirishima groans, locking his hands around Izuku’s arm even more tightly, and unwittingly cancels out the mugger’s compulsion.
Izuku ceases struggling immediately. He lets his head thunk backward onto the floor, which startles all three of them.
“What the hell, Midoriya?” Kaminari’s voice says, reedy and nervous, from somewhere down the hall.
“Is he okay?” Uraraka asks, her words tight with something Izuku can’t quite identify.
Izuku lies on the floor, Aizawa standing over him, and Shouji and Kirishima still holding him down, unsure if he’s really done fighting, and grins, wondering if they can see anything under it yet, or if it still looks real to them.
“Haha,” he says, wheezing just a little under the weight of his strong classmates. “Don’t worry! I’m great!”
They put Izuku in a chair that Yaoyorozu produces, and Aizawa restrains him again, although he isn’t resisting anymore.
“Really, it’s okay,” he says, unable to stop himself. Throw off suspicion, lie, lie, lie. He smiles at his friends, despite the horror he can see on all their faces.
Almost the whole class is downstairs; they were hiding in the hallway to the elevator, but they must have been in the common room and kitchen when Iida, Todoroki, and Uraraka arrived and alerted Aizawa.
“The other teachers are on their way,” Aizawa says, mostly for the benefit of the others, Izuku assumes. “Iida, go get Bakugou, Aoyama, and Kouda from their rooms. I don’t want anyone unaccounted for.”
His teacher crosses his arms, glaring down at Izuku, although his quirk is not engaged.
Iida nods, and leaves quickly, although not without a backwards glance at his friend.
“Come on, no one can take a joke?” Izuku laughs, a normal, bright and cheery laugh, which makes several of his classmates—Ashido, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro—flinch away. “I wasn’t going to actually hurt anyone!”
“I don’t think Iida would agree,” Todoroki says quietly.
“That’s enough.” Aizawa still looks angry, and seeing him without his capture weapon around his neck is more than a little odd. The last time Izuku remembers seeing that was in the hospital the day that Sir Nighteye died, and before that, at the USJ. He doesn’t look away from Izuku—probably in case he needs to erase his quirk again.
“Aizawa-sensei, what’s happening here?” Tsuyu asks, threading her fingers together as she considers the scene.
“I don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out,” Aizawa says. “Midoriya, tell me what happened.”
Izuku blinks. “We got mugged, sensei.”
“Why did you try and attack your classmates?” Aizawa tries again.
“I didn’t mean to,” Izuku says, which is true.
Aizawa’s brow furrows, and several of his classmates exchange glances.
“You kinda seemed like you meant to,” Kaminari points out nervously.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, ignoring the interruption. “Tell me why you attacked your classmates.”
“The mugger told me to,” Izuku replies. Now—maybe now Aizawa is getting it. If he can stick to the right phrasing, he can force Izuku to tell the truth.
“Why did you listen to him?” Aizawa asks, frowning.
“I didn’t mean to,” Izuku says, unable to do any better than that. Anxiety curls and uncurls in a ball in his stomach. Come on, come on—
“Midoriya. Stop lying to me,” Aizawa snaps, looking more frustrated by the moment. “Just tell me why you listened!”
“I had to,” Izuku says, a wave of relief washing over him as he can finally let his smile drop. The control of his body seeps back to him, just a little; not all the way, but enough. That one phrase cancels out both the forced positivity and the commands to just lie and act like everything is fine. He slumps back gratefully and shuts his eyes against the salt that burns in his tear ducts, able to stop pretending for the first time in weeks.
“Midoriya?” Aizawa says, sounding suddenly more worried than angry. “Are you alright?”
“No,” says Izuku, his voice catching painfully. He wrenches his eyes open, forcing himself to meet his teacher’s gaze. “But I’m not lying anymore."
Aizawa crouches down so that he’s level with Izuku. “What do you mean, you’re not lying anymore?” His voice is measured, careful.
“I’ve been lying, Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku whispers, expecting his mouth to snap shut without his permission at any moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Why have you been lying?”
“I can’t tell you.” Izuku is trembling now, his chest growing tighter like it hasn’t in weeks; the paranoia—don’t let your guard down, don’t let your guard down—shuddering over his back and across his shoulders. He shouldn’t be telling Aizawa anything, even if he can’t lie anymore, but the truth is so close, just a breath away, and he wants this to stop more than he wants to stay safe right now.
Aizawa is silent for a moment. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. No one even moves.
“Tell me,” Aizawa says, slowly, as if on the verge of discovery, “why you have been lying.”
“I had to,” Izuku says softly, the truth hanging in the air, waiting to fall.
“Midoriya,” his teacher continues, considering. “Do you want to tell me why you had to?”
“Yes,” Izuku implores, the tightness growing more and more as he presses against the paranoia, as he tests the limits of Ito’s order not to struggle. How much is too much?
“Can you tell me why you had to?”
“No,” he admits, and has to take a few deep breaths, the cotton in his throat making it harder and harder to breathe.
Aizawa’s expression is rapidly growing darker, although his body language stays remarkably relaxed and calm. “Did someone do this to you?”
“I can’t tell you,” Izuku shakes his head, his lungs clenching against his will. His face says it all, though, he knows, because he hears someone inhale sharply—Jirou, or maybe Uraraka?—and Yaoyorozu’s voice murmurs, “Oh, no.”
Aizawa stops, for a moment. His jaw clenches, loosens again. “Okay. Who did this to you, Midoriya?”
“I can’t tell you,” Izuku says, forcing out the words, desperately. “Sensei—”
“Tell me,” Aizawa commands, “why you aren’t able to provide the information I need.”
“I was ordered not to,” he manages after a moment, voice more than a little strangled.
“You were ordered.” It’s clear that Aizawa has figured out that Izuku can only properly answer questions if he’s told to do so, but not the true problem: that he has to do everything he’s told. “Tell me why you obeyed that order.”
“I have to obey every order!” Izuku wrenches out, and apparently that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and he’s officially struggling again, because all of a sudden the vice around his chest clamps down harder than ever before, and he blacks out for a brief moment, ears ringing, and when he comes to, his vision is spotty and his lips are numb. He gasps for air through his closed throat, knowing, knowing he’s going to die here, and it’s all his fault because he was too stupid, too proud, too paranoid that first day to just ask for help when he needed it—
“Hey, hey! Breathe, kid,” Aizawa is saying, his hands tight on Izuku’s shoulders, and Izuku shudders to a halt, draws in air, releases it, does it again, unable to help himself.
“Oh my god,” Kirishima whispers, horrified.
“You’re being forced to follow orders,” Aizawa concludes, “anything that anyone tells you to do—”
“Please,” Izuku says, feeling infinitely small. “Make it stop.”
“Tell me how to make it stop,” Aizawa says, and Izuku can see the regretful awareness in his eyes, that he’s using the compulsion to get the answers he needs, but Izuku doesn’t care at all.
“You have to cancel out the orders, for the compulsion to go away,” he starts to explain, and his throat closes up again.
“Breathe,” Aizawa says, dark eyes heavy on him. “Give me an example.”
“Yaoyorozu, during the rescue drills a few weeks ago,” Izuku says, guilt wrapping around him like a cloak of shame. She won’t like this, but it’s the best example he can think of. “She—she said hold your breath, and I had to—I couldn’t stop holding my breath, I couldn’t breathe at all, until Tsuyu told me to—”
“Breathe,” Aizawa says, and it’s a completion of the sentence and a reminder and a command all at once, so Izuku does, focuses on the shuddering of his lungs as they labor, in and out, in and out.
“Oh,” says Yaoyorozu in a tiny, helpless voice. “That…that was my fault?”
“What else?” Aizawa asks, a hint of anger showing through again.
“I—”
“Tell me what else you were forced to do,” Aizawa repeats.
“Stop muttering,” Izuku starts, wrapping his fingers around the arms of the chair, and wishes that he felt all the way grounded in his own body, although this is the best it’s been. “Shut up. Don’t act negative, and stay aware, and don’t be late. Stop struggling, lie to everyone, act normal, pretend nothing is wrong—”
“Oh my god,” says Uraraka, ghost pale. “Oh my god, how did we not notice—”
“The fuck is wrong with the nerd now?” Kacchan demands, which means that Iida is back with the others, and oh great, there’s more people to watch Izuku shake and choke on nothing and try to explain himself, but at least he’s not trapped, not like before.
“Not now, Bakugou,” Aizawa commands, a serious note in his voice, and Kacchan grumbles, but subsides. “Midoriya, I’m going to untie you. Tell me, will you attack anyone?”
“No,” Izuku says, and then the capture weapon is gone, no longer fastening him to the chair. Somehow, Aizawa already has it wrapped around his shoulders in its usual position, despite its more ragged state. Izuku slumps forward, puts his head in his hands.
“Deku!” Uraraka says, and rushes forward, helping him sit back up, and then Todoroki is there on his other side, supporting him, too.
“Move away, please, Uraraka, Todoroki,” Aizawa tells them, not unkindly. “Midoriya, apologies in advance. I just need conclusive proof. Stand up.”
Izuku springs to his feet, his hands still trembling.
“Turn around,” Aizawa says, dark eyes heavy on him.
He turns in a single circle, avoiding his classmates’ eyes, and he can hear someone whispering something, which makes him flush pink with shame.
Just then, the door to the common room slams open, and Present Mic, Cementoss, and Midnight arrive, spearheaded by the principal himself.
“Aizawa,” says Nedzu pleasantly, taking in the scene. “What seems to be the issue? Midoriya certainly doesn’t seem to be attacking anyone, at least not anymore.”
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, “is under the influence of a mind-control quirk specifically tailored to force him to obey any commands he’s given. I believe he’s been effectively trapped in his own body since—tell me, when did this start?”
Izuku looks at the floor. “Three weeks ago.”
They take Izuku to the infirmary, leaving his classmates behind with Cementoss to calm them down.
“I don’t think I can do anything for him,” Recovery Girl admits, as soon as the problem is explained. “I can only heal physical damage—tissue, bones—you know that. My recommendation is that you had better find whoever did this to him and make them undo it, if you ever want it to be undone.”
“Of course it must be undone,” says Nedzu. His enigmatic dog-rat-mouse-bear face is serious, fingers (paws?) steepled underneath his chin. “We cannot allow this to continue.”
“Midoriya implied that the only way to end a command is to cancel it out with a contradicting command,” Aizawa points out. “It seems too easy, but maybe—”
“It’s certainly worth a try,” Nedzu says. “Midoriya, stop obeying the commands you’ve been given.”
Nothing happens. Izuku fidgets in his chair for a moment, waiting for…what? He doesn’t know. He hesitates a moment longer, and then opens his mouth to say, Ito Himari did this to me, and the iron bands contract around his lungs, threatening to throttle him.
Aizawa takes one look at his pained expression and shakes his head. “No. It didn’t work. And my erasure can’t improve the situation, either, unless we get our hands on the perpetrator, in which case I can presumably erase it on her end.”
“The problem,” Nedzu muses, “is that we have no way to find whoever did this, since Midoriya can’t tell us.”
“They probably intend to stay as far away as possible from their target so that we can’t locate them,” Aizawa continues. “At least, that’s the type of strategy I would use in their situation.”
Izuku glances at his teacher sharply, because strategic or not, Ito isn’t staying away, and if he could just let them know—
“Do you have something to add, Midoriya?” Nedzu is gazing at him with an unreadable expression, one paw on his chin contemplatively.
“Uh,” Izuku manages, and then has to shake his head, feeling like an idiot because he knows, he knows that Nedzu saw his reaction, and he just has to sit here and be completely and utterly unhelpful. He has his regular Wednesday meeting with Ito tomorrow, and he could lead them straight to her if only he could make them understand! Maybe he deserves this, though, this helplessness; after all, it’s his own fault in the first place, for not listening to his gut when he felt weird about Ito, for not moving faster before she could stop him. He may have a provisional license, but if he can’t even save himself, he’s about as far away from being a hero as possible.
“Perhaps,” Nedzu is saying slowly, “although we would consider it the logical approach, the villain is bluffing by lurking nearby. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.”
“What makes you say…” Aizawa starts, but then he tracks Nedzu’s gaze, and sees Izuku’s tense jaw, and the silent tension on his face, and blinks. “I see. Alright, then. Perhaps we should try calling that bluff. If we pretend not to have discovered Midoriya’s plight, and have him return to his regular schedule, taking care to observe those around him….”
“You need a plan,” Recovery Girl says, “and soon, or I won’t be allowing the poor boy back to the dorms for the night, much less back to classes tomorrow, especially not when a few careless words can take away his free will.”
“Aizawa is right,” Nedzu says firmly. “If our target is, indeed, hiding in plain sight, as I believe is true, our best chance to locate them is to observe Midoriya as closely as possible and apprehend anyone who acts suspiciously. His classmates are already aware of the situation, so he should be safe in the dorms, at least, and classes tomorrow will just have to include an extra modicum of caution. I believe if we work swiftly and carefully we can solve this very soon.”
Aizawa nods. “Midoriya—what is your routine for tomorrow? Will you be leaving campus?”
“It’s Wednesday, so it’s my day to run for groceries before class,” Izuku says, pressing down the tightness in his chest, the warning grit of his lungs, and the teachers exchange a glance. “And after class I usually take the train to my counseling appointment, and then Togata comes and gets me and then we pick up dinner and go visit Eri at the teachers’ dorms.”
“Alright,” Aizawa says. “We need to monitor you even when you’re off campus, so I’ll see about getting ahold of a buttonhole camera and mic from the support department before tomorrow. For now…I’ll take you back to the dorms.”
“Okay,” Izuku says, feeling some of the tension give way to the tight burn of tears behind his eyes, and he sniffs, sliding to his feet without meeting any of his teachers’ gazes.
“Midoriya….” Aizawa sighs, deep and heavy. He lets his fingertips rest gently on Izuku’s shoulder, and Izuku sniffs again, dragging his sleeve over his eyes.
“It’ll be alright,” Recovery Girl says comfortingly, and passes Izuku a gummy out of habit. “Just keep this whole business as quiet as possible, and you’ll be set straight soon.”
“Yes, Recovery Girl is right,” Nedzu adds. “Don’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know. That includes the other teachers; Present Mic, Cementoss, and Midnight are all in the loop, but the more people who know how easily you can be controlled right now, the more vulnerable you are.”
“Okay,” Izuku says, his exhaustion spreading. “Can I go now? I’m just…really tired.”
“Alright, problem child,” Aizawa says quietly, hand still gentle on Izuku’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll be in my office on standby, tonight, if you need me,” his teacher tells him, as they step through the dorm doors. “I’m sure your friends are waiting to see if you’re alright. Go on.”
Izuku nods, manages a tired but extremely sincere “thanks”, and turns the corner into the common room without really expecting anyone to be waiting up.
“Deku!” Uraraka says, drawing his attention, and Iida and Todoroki both jump to their feet, and Kirishima calls, “are you okay, man?”
Izuku surveys the scene, a bit at a loss, because not one or two or four, but all his classmates are draped over the various pieces of furniture, in differing states of relaxation, but obviously, so so obviously, waiting, just like Aizawa said they would be.
“Uh,” Izuku says, not for the first time that night.
“Good to see you looking okay, kiddo!” Present Mic bounds over, from where he’d been playing checkers with Jirou at one of the study tables. In his toned-down civilian garb, with his long hair pulled up into a bun, Izuku’s gaze had skipped right over him.
“Thanks,” Izuku says belatedly, pulling his face together into the best smile he can manage. “I appreciate it. I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” says Present Mic, his gaze a little sharper than usual through the glasses settled comfortably on his nose. “Well, if you’re back, so is Shouta, so I’ll go bother him for a bit and then I’ll be off. You kids have a good night! I’ll see everyone in class tomorrow!”
He strides off, but not before patting Izuku on the back, and whistling a cheerful tune that kind of makes his head hurt with the sheer encouragement it emanates.
“Okay,” Izuku says, awkwardly shuffling a couple of steps in the direction of the elevators. The air seems like it’s almost buzzing—or maybe it’s just his ears, full of white noise as he finally starts to come down from the adrenaline high of the fight and then everyone finally finding out. “Sorry about all the trouble, you guys. I think we’re gonna get it sorted out soon, though, so I’m just gonna get to bed, I think.”
“What? No way, man!” Kaminari protests, sitting up where he’s propped up against one of the couches on the floor. “Are you even okay to be on your own right now?”
“I mean, I’ve kind of taking care of it on my own, so—”
“Kaminari is right,” Iida says, more gently, walking over to place a warm hand on Izuku’s arm. “Are you sure you’re in the best headspace right now to be dealing with this alone—”
“It’s been a month,” Izuku snaps, the anxiety and dread and guilt finally bubbling over as he yanks his elbow away with a little more energy than is strictly necessary. He hurt Iida only a couple of hours ago, he doesn’t deserve Iida’s comfort or kind words, he doesn’t even deserve everything the teachers are doing to help.
“Deku…” Uraraka approaches him, too, worry clear on her face.
“It’s been a month,” he says, again, his vision going blurry, his hand shaky as he presses his palms into his eyes in an attempt to get the tears to stop, just for once. “And I was just—stuck. I was stuck, and I couldn’t do anything or say anything or make it stop and I was alone the whole time.”
“Midoriya,” Todoroki says quietly, and Izuku can feel everyone’s eyes on him again, feels hot and then cold again under their scrutiny, “I’m so sorry—”
“No,” he says, voice cracking, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I lied the whole time, and I hit Iida, and I—I tried to—” Kill you, he can’t quite bring himself to say.
“Dude, there’s no way that was your fault,” Kirishima is saying, somewhere to his right, and Uraraka is reaching out for him, but he pulls away, crosses his arms over himself defensively.
“I don’t blame you for something that was never in your control,” Iida says, voice low and careful. “I blame whoever forced you to do it—”
“I was happy,” Izuku rasps out, cutting his friend off and shutting his eyes to the shame, to the revulsion he knows he’ll see on his classmates’ faces. “I was happy, Iida, when he told me to fight. I wanted to, I wanted to hit you and I wanted to go after Todoroki and Uraraka because I knew that you would have to go to Aizawa, and I knew that someone would finally notice that something was wrong.”
A moment of silence, and then Kacchan says, “Good, you idiot.”
Izuku whips his head around to where Kacchan is leaning on the kitchen counter, unrepentant.
“What?” After a moment of silence, he shrugs uncomfortably. “We’re heroes in training. If anyone can take a hit, it’s these morons. Can’t have your head all fucked up if I wanna beat your ass into the ground in a fair fight.”
“Bakugou is right,” Iida agrees quietly. “Any of us would rather take a punch or two than leave you in such a despicable position, Midoriya.”
Izuku blinks, his teary gaze sliding from classmate to classmate. They look upset, but…not at him. Upset for him.
The difference is palpable. The crushing relief that envelopes him is overwhelming, and this time, he lets his friends hug him as he cries.
In the morning, Aizawa affixes the mic and camera to his school uniform before he leaves to pick up groceries. More than just his closest friends petition to be allowed to accompany him to the store, but only Satou, his usual partner, is allowed to go.
“It is our objective to make it seem like we have learned nothing of the perpetrator’s plan,” their teacher impresses on them, eyes stern. “I cannot stress this enough: if we are to discover who did this, you must all act as normal as possible.”
Having obtained reluctant agreement, Izuku and Satou head off for their early morning store run.
The day passes like a dream and a nightmare at the same time. Being able to act for himself seems almost unreal, and Izuku finds his friends prodding him back to awareness more than once. He’s so used to zoning out, it’s harder than he remembers to stay alert. With all the commands cancelled except the order not to disclose Ito’s identity, his limbs feel too real, his feet too grounded.
He makes it through the day with the thought of his upcoming appointment to spur him on. Izuku can’t think of any way for Ito to talk her way out of this one, not with Eraserhead and Midnight trailing him invisibly through the city, ready to act.
The dread builds as he gets closer and closer to her office despite his assurance. He’s so close. So close. He just has to walk through the door, and let her talk.
That shouldn’t be a hard thing to do, and yet he’s almost as frozen with his hand on the doorknob as he was that first day trying to reply to Kacchan.
Deep breath, Izuku tells himself. Deep breath. The iron bands on his lungs are nowhere to be found. He can do this.
He goes in.
It doesn’t even take five minutes for Ito to unwittingly admit guilt, and Aizawa and Kayama are through the door in the blink of an eye. It’s anticlimactic, given how much suffering one determined, delusional woman caused him over the last month.
Izuku watches her go in cuffs, mouth dry. Aizawa stalks after her, his eyes lit up angry and red.
“You alright, kid?” Kayama asks gently, a warm presence by his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Izuku says, small, but feeling like it’s the most truthful thing he’s said in ages. “Yeah, I will be.”