Work Text:
The trip back to the dorms went by in a blur.
Izuku walked, one foot at a time, and tried not to think about the interview he just had. It was over, and he'd passed. He'd gotten the internship position with Sir Nighteye. That was a win. It didn't matter that the whole interview felt a tad unfair, or... biased. He got the internship approved. He was clutching the contract papers in his right hand as he walked.
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and took a deep breath to release the knot of frustration. He wouldn't let himself get upset over this—not when he'd dealt with so much worse and managed to come out bright and smiling. (For example, getting bullied. Definitely worse than one hard interview. And he went through that just fine, didn't he? He was even friends with his old bully now!)
As he stood with a small crowd by an intersection, waiting for the light to change so they could cross, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He wrangled it free with his left hand, and was surprised to see multiple messages listed on his lock screen.
Mirio Togata
Hey, I heard from Sir you got the internship!! Welcome to the agency, Midoriya!!
I can't wait to show you the ropes and everything, it'll be awesome!
Those were from a few minutes ago; he must've missed them while he was zoned out and walking on autopilot. He scrolled down, reading the most recent message. Messages, if the newest buzz was any indication.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry Sir was a little weird today, I promise he's normally nicer! I'm sure he just needs to warm up to you, so don't take it personally
But just to check in, I heard you left right after the interview, so is everything ok? Oh also can you please lmk me your campus ETA, because Aizawa will kill me if I have to tell him idk where you are
Izuku grimaced at the newer messages. Right. He'd totally forgotten they'd made plans for Togata to show him around the agency after the interview, if it went well. After his talk with Sir Nighteye, he'd just been so drained, socializing with his upperclassman had been the last thing on his mind.
But he did feel bad for not letting Togata know he was leaving. Togata wasn't lying—Aizawa-sensei was extra strict when 1-A left the dorms. (Getting repeatedly targeted by villains had that effect.)
Mirio Togata
Sorry, I totally forgot to let you know I was leaving! Don't worry, everything's fine, I just forgot you were going to show me around after, so I decided to go back to the dorms to get my hw done before class tmrw
ETA is in 17ish minutes, just got off the subway and walking back to UA
I'm super excited to work with you at the agency too!
He decided not to comment on Sir Nighteye. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say.
Oh, no worries, I'm used to people telling me to give up immediately!
Yeah, he was kind of an asshole today! But I bet he'll be better tomorrow once he warms up to me!
The light changed, the little person icon lighting up the crosswalk sign ahead, and the scattered crowd around him began to move forward. He looked around and followed, checking his left, his right, and his left again before stepping onto the road. Road safety was important. Then he looked back at his phone as typing bubbles appeared on the chat.
Mirio Togata
Mirio Togata liked "ETA is in 17ish minutes, just got off the subway and walking back to UA"
Ok, good to know. Text me when you reach the school
See you on your first day at the agency!
Izuku pocketed his phone with an odd weight in his chest. His first day. Would his first day at the Nighteye Agency be a repeat of today? Would he have to prove his worth again? Would he show up, and have Sir Nighteye silently urge him to quit and give One For All to Togata the whole day?
His head hung low as he travelled, watching the thick stripes of white paint on the crosswalk revert back to sidewalk as he reached the other end of the road. Watched each red shoe trudge forward beneath him, and dully noted other shoes quickly passing him all around. The streets were pretty packed today, now that he thought about it. Must be the good weather.
He needed to stop thinking this way. The interview was fine—every hero ran their agency differently, and the way Sir Nighteye chose to test Izuku's heroic abilities was up to him entirely.
As he was heaving a sigh, he stumbled, shoulder bumping roughly into an oncoming body beside him. His head lifted up, apologies on the tip of his tongue.
"I'm sorry, I—" he stammered, but was interrupted by a low voice, sharpened to cut through Izuku's haze.
"Watch where you're fucking going." A man, tall and lean, with cropped black hair and piercing red eyes glared at him. The gaze would've reminded him of Aizawa-sensei, if it hadn't been so venomously angry. For a moment, Izuku was rooted to the ground, staring back speechlessly.
Then the moment was over. The man rolled his eye with a disgusted scoff, and resumed walking in the other direction, not giving Izuku a second thought. Awkwardly, Izuku turned on his heel and kept walking, too.
What was that guy's deal? Izuku had obviously bumped into him by accident, and there was nothing wrong with trying to apologize.
He rolled his eyes and shook it off. Some people were odd. Maybe he was having a bad day.
Just like Izuku.
The reminder made his face sour all over again. The worst part of the whole interaction with Sir Nighteye was how blindsided he felt by the man's bitterness.
And Togata? All Might knew Togata was Sir Nighteye's intern and never once mentioned the reason the pro had taken him on in the first place! He couldn't have given Izuku a crash course on what to expect?
Izuku clenched his jaw in frustration.
He'd been planning on going back to the dorms and relaxing, but... maybe he should talk with All Might first. They could clear things up, and that would help, right?
Maybe All Might could explain why he went into that interview blind.
--
Finding All Might was easier than expected.
Izuku had arrived just a few minutes before, letting Togata know he was back on campus before heading to the teachers' lounge to ask if anyone knew the man's whereabouts.
Now, Izuku was hurrying along the main scenic path that cut through UA's campus forest, feeling the sun set around him as he scanned the area for a familiar red, blue, and yellow tracksuit. He'd originally felt a little unsure of wanting to talk with him—what if All Might found him childish for being upset over a simple interview? Or worse, what if the man got offended when Izuku asked about his history with Sir Nighteye?—But then he'd thought about what his internship at Sir Nighteye's agency could look like if he didn't push for answers today, and his reservations quieted to a faint background noise.
He just had a few questions. He was allowed to be curious. And a little upset.
"All Might!" Izuku called out when he spotted his mentor up ahead. "I have to talk to you, All Might!" he yelled.
The man slowed to a stop at the sound of his successor's voice, and when he turned around, facing the golden rays of sunlight, Izuku could make out a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead.
(And when did All Might even start jogging? He'd never mentioned it to Izuku—he'd found out just today from Midnight-sensei! Why had the man never bothered to tell him?)
"Woah, okay, Young Midoriya is here!" the man sputtered, coughing out blood in surprise when Izuku didn't slow down at the sight of him. If anything, the boy broke into a sprint, spurred on by an odd feeling swirling in his gut to go faster, to be stronger. He didn't relax at the sight of his mentor; he became... whatever the opposite of relaxed and positive was. "Hold on, how did you even know where I was—?"
"You knew what I was walking into." Izuku's serious tone cut through the dry, teasing conversation the man had been starting like a gavel silencing a murmuring courtroom. He gave himself exactly five seconds hunched over his knees to catch his breath, to let All Might register his words and give his full attention, before straightening to his full height. "Nighteye understands how One For All works. And he wanted you to pass it on to Togata—not me," he gritted out.
He met All Might's shadowed eyes, and watched them widen slightly. It was only then Izuku realized he was glaring. He eased up a bit, trying to untense his shoulders and relax his face, but it felt... wrong. He wanted meaning behind his words. He wanted All Might to listen. Being visibly frustrated felt like the way to convey that.
That didn't necessarily mean he wanted radio silence from the man, either, but that seemed to be all he going to get. Did All Might not have a response? Did he not have a single thing to inquire about what was clearly bothering Izuku? Did he not care?
"You had to know I'd find out everything," Izuku pushed, feeling desperation creep up on the edges of his mind. "So why didn't you warn me about it?"
The man was silent for a beat, face pensively neutral in a way that made Izuku want to scream and pull his hair. "...I wasn't sure it was my place to tell you."
Izuku remembered reaching for that damned black seal, over and over again. Lunging for it with his whole body, only to trip and fall on his face. Feeling nothing but the silent judgement during those eternally-long three minutes, because Togata would've procured the seal already.
Izuku snapped.
"Of course it was!" All Might's expression didn't change, his body language didn't shift at his outburst, and it-it angered him. Izuku felt so strongly about this, and he wasn't even reacting? "Who else's place would it have been, All Might?" he demanded, exasperated. "To hear all of this at once—be rejected by him!"
"Rejected?" All Might repeated, frowning in disbelief. "Did he not give you the internship position?"
"I—No, he did! That's not—getting the position or not isn't the only type of rejection someone can deal with—but I'm not talking about that! Togata was going to be your successor, All Might!" His hands flew in sharp and wild gestures, as if they would bring any more attention to his point than his failing words. "You didn't tell me that! Nobody did, and I walked into that interview completely in the dark!"
For the first time, All Might seemed to properly take in what he was saying, and Izuku thought finally, maybe he would get somewhere—
"Are... are you alright, my boy?" All Might asked, voice tinted with concern.
"What? I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Izuku asked, bitterness overtaking the end of his sentence. "I just spent a good twenty minutes getting ridiculed and scoffed at by someone I want to work for. Work with." He ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a frustrated breath. He had to calm down. "And I mean, the worst part was knowing you kept it a secret and not knowing why!"
"Hey, hey, wait—ridiculed?" The old pro held his hands up in the universal slow down motion. "What—did something happen at Nighteye's? And what did I keep a secret? I don't think I'm following you, kid."
Anger flared up in him like a rising tide that was getting harder to ignore. What was the point in trying to calm down if he wasn't going to be taken seriously?
"You didn't tell me about Togata!" Izuku exclaimed, scowling. The expression felt foreign on his face, but nothing felt like a better reflection of his frustration. "Another student I'm going to work closely alongside being selected by your old sidekick to be trained for the same Quirk I was chosen to succeed is a secret, All Might, when you don't mention it to me!"
"Young Midoriya!" All Might shot him a stern look before glancing around hastily. "Keep your voice down about One For All, it's—"
"A secret," Izuku huffed an unamused laugh, lowering his voice from the half-yell it had climbed to previously. "Yeah, you're really good at those."
His thoughtless words left a deafening silence in their wake. All Might froze. Stopped looking around and turned to look at Izuku with an unreadable expression. For a second, Izuku wondered if he'd crossed a line. If his hero was going to give up on him, and tell him to give the Quirk away. Then the feeling was gone, because Izuku was annoyed and didn't have it in him to worry about what he said. He'd spent his whole life worrying about being polite, saying the right things—and it had never really paid off, had it? Not with Kacchan, not with his old teachers, not with Sir Nighteye. Maybe sometimes it was more important to drag the shit you felt into the light and force it to be acknowledged rather than keep the peace.
Instead of being offended, however, All Might nodded slowly, as if in acceptance. "Alright. Okay, I... deserve that. You're right, my boy, there are some things I've kept from you in the past, and I do apologize for not mentioning Young Togata before. I didn't realize him being a previous candidate would matter so much to you, because my choice for a successor has only ever been you. But this obviously upset you, and I'm sorry," he said seriously. Gently. His hands were raised in a placating manner.
And for a brief moment, Izuku was placated by the sincere words. Maybe the man was hearing him after all.
Then he actually listened to the words beyond the apologies, and realized it was all bullshit. The anger roared back, rightful and unrelenting like an uncharted sea.
"You didn't realize it would matter? What, because it wouldn't have mattered to you?" he reiterated with false calm. "Of course it wouldn't have mattered to you, All Might, you and I are not the same!" His voice rose gradually, until he was on the verge of yelling and making the man scan their surroundings again. And didn't that burn? To see his mentor more worried about his precious little generational secret being overheard than his student before him begging for his attention?
"You've spent majority of your life being number one, All Might—number one in the world! The best! I've spent mine being weak and Quirkless, and did I not tell you at the Sports Festival I was insecure about not being the best choice for One For All?" he ranted, indignation threading his words together. "Of course it wouldn't matter to you that for once you weren't the first or best choice in something—but it does to me, and-and you never think about that, damn it!"
There was a single, horrifying second where Izuku felt hot tears spring to his eyes, felt a lump in his throat so painful he was afraid of continuing, because it always hit the hardest to verbally admit aloud what you've been ignoring for months.
But to cry, he'd have to stop being so angry, and Izuku didn't think he could do that right now. The familiar urge to sob dissipated as fast as it'd appeared, and he was left with nothing but stinging resentment. Something he never realized he could even feel, especially towards a man so idolized in his heart.
He knew All Might didn't have the easiest life, especially as a growing up, but could the man even try to imagine what Izuku's life had been like? The way the kids at school used to treat him? The things they used to say to him? Used to do to him?
Pray that you'll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building!
"Do you have any idea what it was like for me today, to stand there in front of Nighteye and be told that I'm not good enough, all because I was Quirkless? It was—" he broke off, taking a few shallow gulps of air and rolling his shoulders out (he could've sworn the starburst scar on one started to burn), "I thought I was done feeling like this! It was like junior high, all over again! The judging, the-the not being good enough, feeling weak, and useless, like a Deku—"
"Hey, wait, kid—"
"No, you don't get it, All Might!" Izuku found himself exploding. It felt good to yell. The spark of fury from earlier had been fanned and fuelled into the blaze it was now, burning hotter with each second. He was enraged. "I spent my whole life being told to give up on my dreams by everyone—even you—and I thought I was done with that! I thought at least with a Quirk, hearing that was one obstacle I'd never have to face again, but you sent me there! To Nighteye! You knew he didn't like me, you knew about the other choices, you knew I used to get bullied—"
"Young Midoriya—"
"—and you didn't fucking tell me about Togata before sending me there!" He pointed a single finger at the man's chest jerkily, taking an aggressive step forward and selfishly revelling in the fact that finally, for once in his life, the other person took a step back.
"Izuku!" A firm hand wrapped around Izuku's wrist. "Calm down! You're starting to activate Full Cowling, kid—are you okay?" It was only then that Izuku registered the power coursing through his veins, the tiny green sparks licking at his skin, angry and buzzing and much like he felt on the inside. But why did that matter? What about everything he'd just said? "Holy crap, your eyes are—"
"Are you even listening to me!?" he almost screamed the words, wrenching his arm free from the man's bony but gentle grip. "Who cares if I'm activating One For All—I thought it was 'my' Quirk to use when I wanted!" he argued, throwing the words he'd been told by both All Might and Gran Torino repeatedly into the pro's face. He barely enjoyed the way the man visibly panicked at the loud mention of One For All before he was forging ahead. "You know what, All Might? For my own Quirk, I sure seem to be in the dark about a lot of it! You didn't tell me about All For One, you didn't tell me about the past wielders, you—"
"Stop! Izuku, you need to stop—you've been hit with a Quirk!" the man insisted sharply. Distantly, he noted concern in the man's furrowed brows, and in his wide worried eyes.
Concern that only became more prominent when a small, crazed laugh escaped the boy. Concern that Izuku couldn't pay attention to, not as One For All burned brighter and it became harder to think straight. "Why is everyone allowed to get angry but me? Kacchan can scream and throw tantrums and beat up as many people as he wants, but I'm not allowed to be fucking upset about something!?" he snarled, breathing hard. All Might interjected something about how that wasn't true, but it was bullshit.
How had he never realized the Symbol of Peace was such bullshit?
Seething, Izuku took a disbelieving step back with one foot, and then a step forward, and then a step back again in finality when he decided this whole conversation was a lost cause.
"You're not listening to me," he growled, defeat colouring his tone. "Damn it, I can't... I can't talk to you anymore."
He did a 180 on the spot without another word, leaving the old pro at his back, and stalked off, no destination in mind aside from anywhere but here.
He heard the man curse under his breath, heard the pure distress in his words alone. "Young Midoriya, wait! I'm listening, I swear. I'm so, so, sorry I didn't tell you about Togata, and that I didn't realize how you were feeling earlier, but I'm listening now, kid." The man's voice took on a desperate edge when Izuku didn't stop marching away. "Izuku, please, come back! You don't look okay—"
Izuku couldn't listen to any more of this. Why was he the one who had to keep explaining his feelings, over and over, to feel valid? Why was he fighting to be understood, instead of others fighting to understand him? Why was no one trying to meet him in the goddamn middle?
He'd spent his whole life forcing all his anger down, because he'd known it wouldn't be received well—not as a weak, Quirkless kid wanting justice for the wrong done to him in a society that wasn't built to accept him. But even now? Still, he was being denied the right to express himself and be heard like everyone else?
Fuck. That burned.
He broke out into a run without warning, ignoring the pleas behind him growing fainter with distance. He activated Full Cowling properly, welcoming the power streaming into him and letting it mix with his oddly untameable rage. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it, and his muscles itched to punch something. Someone.
He was running in a specific direction before he'd even realized he had a person in mind. His anger had chosen a target for him, this time an ancient, oppressed feeling that came with the reminder his emotions had been ignored long before today. A familiar spark, now given the space to raze the ground and demand acknowledgement.
--
Katsuki Bakugo's patience was a finite, constantly depleting resource when it came to socialization. Very sparse. Wasn't restored quickly.
Fortunately for his merry band of idiots, it was a weekend. He had more patience than usual on weekends—especially for routine events such as this.
"Kacchan," a whiny voice dragged to his left, "I still don't get it. Where'd you get this last answer from again?"
Weekend study sessions in the common room, as he'd learned from the past few experiences, generally drained most of his patience. He knew his friends liked to mess around in class, but seriously, did they get zoned out one time and just decide to give up on that whole lesson?!
Groaning in annoyance, he leaned toward Kaminari's textbook to run through the question with him. For the fourth time.
(The groan was more for dramatics than anything. If he didn't want to be here, explaining the yesterday's chemistry lesson to Shitty Hair and breaking last week's math quiz down to a middle school level for Sparky, he wouldn't be. He liked to think that deep down, these extras knew that, and it's why they never took his complaints or insults to heart.
He had very little patience, but that patience miraculously seemed to grow around people who took the time to understand him.)
"Fuckin' hell—ok, so we start here, right? This is the whole equation," he grumbled, using his index finger to emphasize his steps, "so we gotta start breaking it down here, or else all the other shit we do is gonna be wrong—"
He was interrupted by the lobby doors opening. Or rather, by the person storming in after they threw open the doors.
All at once, seven heads swivelled up to see who was entering, Katsuki's being one of them.
Was that... Deku?
It was, Katsuki realized once his eyes had focused. Not a second later was the blond shoving the papers off his lap carelessly as he leapt to his feet, head whipping around in search while repeatedly clenching and unclenching his hands to generate sweat. He didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for, but he knew, without a doubt, he needed to be looking for something.
Because Deku looked...
Even from across the whole floor, Katsuki could see there was something wrong. And from the tense expressions the others quickly adorned, he knew he wasn't alone in his thoughts.
One For All flickered wildly all around Deku's body, the power refusing to pipe down even once he was simply standing in the doorway. It made front strands of his green hair whip around from invisible gusts of wind, and the Quirk was doing that weird shit where it made the nerd appear a fraction bigger and bulkier than he actually was. Katsuki didn't know if the latter was a conscious ability or not, but he did know it only ever seemed activated when the need to be intimidating arose. And for someone like Deku, who preferred to solve shit with sunshine and smiles, that need was almost never.
"What's wrong? Is it a villain?" Yaoyarozu murmured among them, echoing his own thoughts perfectly. What else would have Deku so worked up? Across the coffee table from him, Ponytail was the only other who'd stood up, and from his peripheral, he could make out a phone already in her hand—probably readying to call Aizawa, if need be.
She opened her mouth, probably to repeat herself louder to directly ask Deku, and Katsuki found himself holding out a hand for her to wait without fully knowing why himself. Instinct was a powerful advisor, and even Yaoyarozu seemed to understand that as she closed her mouth slowly in obedience. It just...
Something was off.
If there was a villain attacking, why was he just standing there? At least five seconds had passed since Deku came in through those doors, yet he hadn't moved. Hadn't said anything.
Hadn't turned off One For All.
He was breathing weird, but he wasn't injured. His chest was heaving—from the run, or was he hyperventilating? Why had he run in, but then not moved from the entrance? Shock? Fear? Was he shaking, or was that just a trick of the light? Shaking out of fear, or...?
The signs kept pointing back to fear, kept making a story built around a terrifying villain attack just behind those doors—but Deku didn't look scared, and that's what was making this feel weird. Katsuki couldn't even see the nerd's face properly with all the green lightning flying around, but the body language wasn't...
He thought of trembling hands and shoulders curled inward. Thought of those green eyes going wide and frozen and glassy as he burned the nerd's notebook and chucked it out the window. Katsuki knew what Izuku Midoriya looked like scared, as sick as it made him feel, and this was not it.
Fuck this. "Hey, nerd! What's your problem, damn it? You're being creepy!" Katsuki told himself that if he himself barely noticed the dip of concern in his voice, no one else could.
That seemed to snap the boy out of whatever daydream or trance he'd fallen into, even if he kept One For All active. Deku's head lifted imperceptibly, then turned to directly look at him. Katsuki didn't take it back—this was creepy as shit, but he refused to let his unease show, even when Deku began stalking towards them.
"Uh, is he ok...?" Kaminari whispered in confusion.
"I can hear him breathing hard," Jiro murmured lowly, one jack plugged into the ground, "and... I think his heart is beating really fast? But that could be from running here."
(Sometimes Ears had a useful Quirk that provided tactical advantages with powerful knowledge. This was not one of those times. This was one of those times where Katsuki had to bite his tongue to not snark that he could've observed the same shit at seven years old, because saying that would be totally unmanly. Apparently.)
"Kacchan," Deku called as he came closer, snapping him out of his thoughts. "We need to talk."
Kaminari might've oohed something about him being in deep shit, and Ashido might've snickered, but Katsuki wasn't paying attention.
Did Deku sound kind of weird, or was he losing it?
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He didn't bother hiding his bewilderment. "About what?"
Deku had closed half the distance between the entrance and the couches they were sitting around now, and the green sparks around his body had stopped, aside from the occasional flicker on his hand or leg. But when he was only ten feet away or so, Katsuki could see the weirdass One For All veins were still glowing red.
"Aldera," Deku bit out, and—wait, did he sound angry? What the fuck—?
"Aldera," Katsuki repeated back, admittedly dumbfounded. And a bit too conscious of all the multiple pairs of eyes jumping between him and Deku. "What the hell is there to—"
"I wasn't asking. We need to talk. Let's go." Deku stopped three feet in front of him, and there was no doubt about it now. He was fucking pissed. He looked like Katsuki blew up his puppy dressed in an All Might Halloween costume and then pissed on its remains.
It was... unnerving. When was the last time he saw Deku this mad at something not villain related? Or mad, ever?
Regardless, he shrugged, outwardly indifferent, because he knew he was being watched way too intently to show any hesitation in front of his classmates. The last thing he wanted was for them to insist they have the conversation about goddamn Aldera here, in front of everyone. "This shit better not take long. Where do you wanna go?"
Deku met his eyes with his own darkened stare. "Ground Beta. Follow me."
Katsuki's eyes widened in alarm, and his mouth was opening to protest even as Deku began to walk away. "No, fuck that. I'm not an idiot, Deku, so what the hell is this about?" he hissed.
If he wasn't self conscious before about the gazes on him, he definitely was now.
The whole class knew Ground Beta was where him and Deku had fought after the licensing exam. Hell, other classes knew that was where they'd fought! Katsuki wasn't an idiot, but nor were Kirishima and them. Not Ponytail either, who looked one second away from suggesting they talk in a spare gym instead, with adult supervision and Recovery Girl on standby.
Deku stopped walking, back facing him. A second passed. Then he whirled around, and in a flash of movement, crossed the few feet of space between them to put himself up close in Katsuki's face. Katsuki pushed his shoulders back a fraction and stood taller in response, refusing to flinch away at the unconcealed fury in the nerd's expression. Not like before, when it'd been quiet and simmering under the surface.
"You are kind of an idiot, you know," Deku spat, "if you're trying to argue here in front of all of them. I told you I have shit to say about Aldera, and I bet I look a little mad, so come on, Kacchan, use your brain. What do you think I want to talk about?"
"...a little?" someone mumbled.
"Midoriya, dude, are you okay? What are you talking about?" Kirishima asked warily.
The wrong thing to ask, judging by how One For All began to flicker over Deku's skin once more. Everyone tensed, even while confident that their classmate would never lay a finger on them.
"I'm fine," Deku snapped, turning his head to glare at Kirishima but refusing to back up. "And if you want context, ask him yourself." Deku grinned, but the edges were cruel and bitter and angry, and it was freaking Katsuki out because it didn't feel like Deku's normal anger, either—it felt weird and twisted and fucking unstable—
"He's the one who told me to jump off the roof."
Katsuki sucked in a breath, and by doing so, potentially screwed himself over, because an innocent person's first reaction would've been to deny it. He opened his mouth, and...
A light in Deku's eyes danced, daring him to deny, deny, deny.
He closed his mouth with a tight feeling wrapping around his throat.
Fuck.
These were his best friends. They'd know he was lying; they'd be able to see it. He probably looked guilty as shit, didn't he? Fuck. If he forced Deku to talk about this somewhere else now, they'd hate him. Would they hate him for not being able to deny it?
Again, he opened his mouth, frozen. No words came out. What was he supposed to say? Everyone's eyes felt heavy, burning into him slowly with the silent but loud question of is it true? and Katsuki did the only thing he knew how to do when he panicked.
He scowled.
--
Izuku couldn't help but savour the moment as the words left his mouth.
Panic flit through Kacchan's eyes, so brief and hidden so fast Izuku wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't forced himself into the blond's personal space. He felt their classmates tense around them, presumably waiting desperately for Kacchan to deny it.
Izuku almost wanted him to deny it. Just so he'd have an excuse to punch him.
But silence. After all these years of yelling insults, was he finally mute?
"What's wrong, Kacchan? You don't wanna tell them?" For some reason, the joy and power from Izuku's little reveal faded frustratingly fast, leaving his words with a bite one more.
Speechless wasn't good enough—Izuku wanted apologetic. He wanted surrendering. He wanted fear.
"Tell them what I wanna talk about, Kacchan." Izuku found himself shoving the boy's shoulder with a hand slightly to make a point. When there was no response, he did it again.
"Tell them why we weren't friends in middle school, Kacchan."
The other boy seemed to snap out of it, snarling a response of don't fucking touch me—
"Tell them about the first time you punched me, Kacchan." He shoved the blond with both hands now, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. Someone gasped behind them. He saw Kacchan's hands clench into fists.
"Midoriya, please stop before I have to call Aizawa-sensei! If you want to fight Bakugo, you should do it during training!"
Bitter disbelief rose in him at Yaoyarozu's (pathetically hesitant) authority like bile. "Really? You'll call a teacher, because I shoved him a little!?" He took a step forward, closing the gap between him and Kacchan again to size him up with his chest heaving in deep, angry breaths. "He used to beat me up in class, and no one ever called a teacher for me—!"
"Deku, shut the fuck up!" Kacchan threatened loudly, cutting him off in poorly concealed desperation.
For a second, everyone was silent, frozen. The only movement was the green flickering of his Quirk, like lightning on his skin. Buzzing faster and faster. Then, with no warning—
Izuku punched Kacchan in the face.
One For All made the sudden movements impossible to predict, and the sound of Izuku's knuckles connecting with his jaw was unmistakeable. The blond was knocked off balance, stumbling backwards two steps until his back hit a wall beside the couches roughly. Kacchan was disoriented for only a second before his own reflexes kicked in, but Izuku took that window to roughly shove him back against the wall with a forearm braced under his throat and jaw, Quirk flaring until he felt his messy hair floating slightly.
"Don't tell me to shut up!" Izuku yelled.
"Not when you're just scared they'll leave you when they find out you're a shitty person! Not when I was nice enough to give you an out, to tell you to meet me somewhere else so we could talk about this! Not when I actually followed you, when the roles were reversed and you wanted to fight that night, just because you felt like shit about what happened to All Might!" With every point he made, Izuku roughly shoved the boy harder against the wall to stop the halfhearted resistance Kacchan was putting up with Full Cowling.
"Let go of me, you fucking—!"
"Fucking what? Deku!? Do they even know you made that name up when we were kids so everyone could bully me? A name for a kid that meant absolutely worthless?!" His voice rose, and rose, and rose, until he was shouting. He didn't normally shout—it made him feel too big, too highlighted—but he'd be damned if he was going to let everyone ignore him any longer.
Izuku had been pissed at All Might.
This was something else. This was years and years of resentment, of frustration, of pain and bitterness and hatred bottlenecked into one moment of release after being deeply suppressed his whole life. There was so much rage boiling off him it felt multiplied, felt surreal compared to how scarcely the emotion had always manifested before.
Rage didn't even begin to describe what he was feeling.
"Midoriya." Sero's voice was low and cautious. "You need to stop, man, before you both get in trouble. I mean, your house arrests only ended like two weeks ago." There was an underlying edge to his tone that made Izuku's skin prickle. Stop, or we'll stop you. (No one ever gave Kacchan that look before, so fuck all of them and their biases.) Izuku heard Yaoyarozu talking in the background to someone—was she calling Aizawa?
The thought pissed him off. They were acting like he was in the wrong here!
"He can't even deny it!" he exclaimed, fury and surprise and betrayal colouring his vision. He didn't let up his stone grip and stare pinning his old bully to the wall, but his words were for the cowardly crowd of wannabe heroes watching, listening, judging, but not acting. (Because they knew this was justice, even if it didn't look heroic.)
"You're mad at me, but he's not even denying he told me to fucking kill myself! Deny it, Kacchan!" he demanded, turning his attention back to the boy at hand. The nickname sounded like a jeer more than a term of endearment, and it filled Izuku with momentary power. Let him know what it felt to have your name turned derogatory, to have it hurled at you with such disgust.
The blond must've felt the venom from the words too, because he abandoned his halfhearted struggles to instead violently shove Izuku back and throw himself sideways, effectively freeing himself with a feral look.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you right now!?" Kacchan yelled, but there was an insecure tremble only someone who grew up with him could pick out. His hands sparked at his sides, but rather than flinching away, Izuku's fury only grew.
"My problem!? You're going to this amazing school and pretending like you've never done anything bad! You never even acknowledged the shit you did to me after we started attending UA—because it never actually affected you! All the stuff you did was so forgettable to you, so inconsequential! You made my life hell—mocking me and blowing up my stuff and degrading me and abusing me and telling me to end my life—!" he argued hotly, forcing his voice louder and louder to reach every ear of every blind eye that ever turned away from him.
This time, Kacchan punched. He swung fast and strong, with that predictable right hook he always reverted back to when angered, and Izuku ducked left in time to completely evade it.
Again, momentary victorious joy, swept away instantly in the sea of fuelling hatred.
Kacchan wanted to punch instead of talking. How unpredictable. How revolutionarily new. And Kacchan dared to claim he'd changed at UA? He was the same. Same offensive stance, same scowl, same right hook. The exact same.
But Izuku wasn't.
Izuku threw his own punch, Full Cowling properly activated now and making him glow with the rage he was exhibiting. The blond had already been dancing back away from all the couches and tables to a more open space, preventing Izuku's knuckles from catching anything but the end of his skull shirt's fabric.
He quickly followed away from the furniture, into the few meters of empty space between the kitchen, the lounge, and everything else, and struck again. A roundhouse kick, now that he had space, powered with a fraction less of his quirk than a Smash. His shin slammed into Kacchan's side, and he heard the others finally flying into action.
"Yo, stop—!"
"Fuck, we gotta stop them—"
Kacchan grunted with the impact, but his eyes lit up in his own fury. Palms crackling, he lunged, a fist outstretched for Izuku's face. Izuku jumped out of range easily—and the fist opened, an explosion detonating inches before his chest.
He barely felt the pain of his burned skin before he was rushing forward in a blur of green light. Kacchan braced to block, but Izuku feinted left, leaping high onto the nearest wall and springing away from it in less than a second. His fist flew into Kacchan's face with his whole weight behind it, but Kacchan had taken the moment before impact to ready another explosion, one that he slammed into Izuku's gut right as his own face was whipping to the side.
They both stumbled back from each other, disoriented. Izuku's abdomen was searing in pain, the smell of burned flesh distantly stinging his nose.
He charged again, sounds around him blurring into one. The sound of his heavy, quick breathing. His classmates panicking all around them. Kacchan shouting at him to stop, to—
"Fucking calm down, Deku!" the blond roared, grabbing Izuku by the bicep and launching him into the same wall he'd just trampolined off.
He slammed into the wall chest first, air flying out his lungs with an oof, before he felt his forearm being quickly bent and forced behind his back, and another arm pressing his neck against the wall.
"Stop, damn it!" Kacchan insisted, his grip like a vice on Izuku's wrist. "You're gonna get both of us expelled!"
This position made it hard to breathe, and doing that was already a struggle for some reason. It only made his attempts to get free more jerky, more desperate, but even One For All couldn't help much in this hold.
"I don't care—fuck you!" he yelled viciously. The pressure on his arm slackened slightly for the briefest moment. He wished he could see Kacchan's expression. "You don't care about consequences, especially not about what happens to me—the only reason you're pretending to be any different than you were at 14 is because Kirishima is right there! Because I bet he and the others will hate you when they find out how horrible you were less than a year ago! You wanna act all changed and mature, Kacchan, but look who's shoving who against the wall right now, huh!? You're no different than the abusive asshole you were before, and tutoring a few people once a week doesn't change that!" he growled through clenched teeth.
Kacchan's restraint snapped in two.
Izuku didn't have time to register his arm had been released before the blond was flipping him by the shoulders and slamming his back against the wall, this time with a hand squeezing his throat and the other hand reeling back to deck him in the face once, twice, three times.
Pain erupted in his nose, his eye, his cheekbone, but all he could focus on was the pain deep inside his chest, dizzying feeling of lack of oxygen. People were yelling, Kacchan was cursing, Izuku smelt blood, and he didn't think, he just let his Quirk roar to life, using this looser position to brute force his way out of Kacchan's hold and tackle the boy to the carpeted ground.
It was a blur, and all he could see was red. His legs pinned Kacchan's, and there were strong hands on his arms trying to pull him off the boy's torso. Only then did he refocus, registering Kacchan's bloodied face and the pulsing pain in his own knuckles, but he shrugged the hands off quickly to punch again because his chest still hurt and it was all Kacchan's fucking fault—
"It's all your fucking fault!" he screamed, hearing a sickening crunch after a Smash connected with Kacchan's nose a second time. Izuku was rage given form. "I hate you!"
Different things happened all at once. Hands finally succeeded in forcing his arm back, stronger and impossible to fight. His muscles suddenly burned with an exhaustion that didn't disappear with a higher percentage of One For All. Because One For All wasn't—
A sweaty palm rose from the beaten body beneath him, and Izuku couldn't dodge fast enough before it was detonating in his face.
He was thrown back a few meters, ears ringing sharply in a way that induced a twisted nostalgia. He rolled on the ground twice before stopping face down. The vibrations he felt through the floor made up for his temporary deafness, giving him an idea of how many people were where.
His head spun, and he was nauseous with pain. His muscles burned, and all he wanted was to collapse here. To catch his breath. Izuku could feel his breaths rattling in his chest, shallow and off rhythm.
His arms trembled as his palms pressed against the dense carpet beneath him. (It was green. Like his hair. He'd never noticed that before. There were odd dark splotches beneath his face that he only discovered were his own blood after he witnessed a drop from his nose seep into the carpet fibres.) He grunted as he pushed up onto his elbows.
All he wanted to do was collapse there.
And yet.
All he felt was anger.
He almost sobbed as the horrible feeling washed over him like a violent wave, crashing over and drowning any other emotion or thought.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, legs folded under him and a newfound steel in his eyes. He looked up at the chaos around him, subconsciously shaking his hands out to stop the tingling and abandoning nose breathing for more air through his mouth.
The first thing he picked up in his haze was the people. A few more students were here than before. Aizawa-sensei was here. He was the reason Izuku had been sent flying; he'd blocked One For All right before Kacchan blasted him.
Typical. Kacchan was allowed to hurt him—he just couldn't punch back.
Rage surged again, and he stood up on shaky legs. Everyone looked at him with ranging expressions, but he was only searching for one in particular.
Kacchan was standing where Izuku had tackled him, swaying a little in place beside Aizawa. His lips were moving quickly. Spewing bullshit.
The ringing faded slowly, and Izuku could make out bits and pieces of the conversations around him if he strained to hear.
"...and his... fuckin' red like yours...!"
"...school getting bullied..."
"...true?"
"...ya?"
"...doriya?"
"Midoriya!" Aizawa snapped, and holy shit, when did he get so close—? "Upstairs, now!"
Izuku was glad he'd stood up so he could glare murderously at his homeroom teacher from eye level. The man was only a meter away, and every muscle in Aizawa's face screamed pissed off.
Pissed off at Izuku. Never Kacchan.
Izuku was bruised and bleeding too. Why was he the only one getting yelled at?
Just like with Nighteye's interview, it was Aldera all over again, and Izuku was sick of it.
"Fuck you too," he snarled. Aizawa visibly shifted into a do not test me stance that had everyone else in the room turning to stone. Izuku thought it was bullshit. "You act so above society norms and bias, but you've always targeted me, and it's not fair! You made up the expulsion threat on the first day because you wanted an excuse to throw me out, you were an asshole to me that first day when you ripped my dreams to shreds and called it honesty, and you turn a blind eye to Bakugo's abusive shit just about as much as the teachers in Aldera did!" he ranted venomously. "You're full of it, just like every other teacher!"
Aizawa gave him a long, stony stare, eyes still glowing red, that emanated nothing but fury. He let Izuku's words sit in the pin silence of the floor for a pause.
His voice was lethal whisper when he finally spoke.
"Are you done?"
Like a flame fanned, Izuku suddenly had the urge to punch the hero before him, but Aizawa-sensei was three steps ahead, already predicting he might turn violent.
The thick white material of the man's capture weapon was bound tightly around Izuku's torso in mere seconds, arms pinned to his sides. It dug into his burns and bruises unapologetically, making Izuku hiss and wince in pain as his teacher yanked his end of the scarf sharply towards him like a leash. Izuku stumbled forward.
Aizawa simply stared at Izuku for a whole minute with a clenched jaw and an unreadable gaze. Anger radiated from him in waves, and Izuku wondered if he would be terrified if he wasn't so horribly enraged still. Nothing moved in his peripheral—the half of his class who had stayed to watch the free fucking entertainment were frozen in place.
"Bakugo, follow."
That was all Aizawa said before storming off, dragging Izuku along in front of him at an uncomfortable pace. The telltale sound of heavy footsteps behind made Izuku's knuckles itch to punch again.
He struggled against the binding cloth to shake out his tingling hands, only for his teacher to yank his end harshly before putting a hand on his back to keep walking as they started up the stairs to Aizawa's penthouse suite in Heights Alliance. It pulled tight against his chest. Izuku wriggled again while they walked, if only to make enough room for his chest to expand fully without pressure, but the stupid fucking material wouldn't budge.
He subtly inhaled as deeply as he could to make space—and quickly discovered that wasn't working properly with the steely cloth. Instead he inhaled shallowly, and then tried inhaling deeper, and then exhaled quickly so he could inhale deeper again, and exhaled faster, but then had to inhale sharper because he didn't have air, so he tried to exhale only a little and inhale really hard—
He stumbled, his foot catching on the bottom of a stair ledge before righting himself. His chest hurt from the explosion, and the cloth was making him sweat, too. How much longer until they were at the top?
This was all Aizawa's fucking fault. And Bakugo. And All Might, too. Everyone's.
He must've made a sound, because once they'd reached a platform between two staircases, the footsteps behind him went silent and the leash yanked him to a stop, scraping his new burns raw.
Fuck you, his mind cursed. He would've said it, if not for his battle against the capture weapon. I hate you too. I hate Bakugo, and I hate you. Neither of you care about me. If you cared, you'd drop that goddamn leash, but you won't, 'cause I'm nothing more than a useless Deku to both of you—
Something heavy fell around his feet, and he stood there, glaring at the wall because One For All still wouldn't activate. Bastard must've blinked when he'd tripped; it was the only time he hadn't been consciously testing his Quirk's disappearance. Izuku's eyes stung with hatred, and he blinked rapidly to dry them before the two at his back noticed.
There was a brief touch to his shoulder from behind, and he flinched sharply. He felt someone shuffle around his back. He clenched his fists until his nails were digging into the meat of his palms with a faint sting. The person stepped in front of him, into view, and he didn't bother looking up; he could tell from the height it was Aizawa. One For All still didn't work. The capture weapon was still tight around his chest. He hated him.
Izuku was so tired, but he just couldn't stop hating him.
The rage, with nowhere to go and no way to expel itself, was an unstable inferno that refused to stop growing, refused to calm. He felt it, like a fire burning him from the inside.
It hurt, why did it hurt?
Izuku was standing there, frozen. He didn't know what to do with it. The fury. Expanding in his chest like a pressure that wasn't being released or regulated.
He imagined punching Kacchan. Whirling around right now, with no warning, and sending a fist crashing through his face. Imagined the boy who used to taunt him every day with a cruel smirk flying backwards in this cramped stairwell. The back of his spiky blond head slamming into the wall. A sharp crack sound. (Not from the wall.) Izuku's palms were throbbing with hot pain from each crescent indent. He thought about Kacchan telling him to kill himself, to die, that he was weak and nothing and beneath him and that he would never be a hero. He thought of powering One For All to 100%, and with all the rage seizing his chest, hurting the boy so bad he would never say those words again.
It didn't pacify the fire. The burning pressure didn't go anywhere, it just grew and grew and grew, pressing against his ribs, and he couldn't contain it.
Izuku was hitting the ground before he realized his knees were buckling. One For All still wasn't working, and he realized now that his Quirk had been regulating the pressure subconsciously. Slowing the growth. Expelling so much anger through sheer power while it grew that the feeling was gradual, digestible—it's why Full Cowling had felt better activated than not.
Panic rose in him, dragging his knees to his chest and his arms around him to form a protective ball like the attacks were external; physical. Again, a reminder of his time at Aldera.
There was a sharp pain in his scalp—when had he started tugging on his hair? He pulled it harder, harder, harder, until strands were ripping out by the dozen. It hurt; it relieved. The force of his anger being channeled into the one motion.
Again, small touches on his shoulders, his arms, his hands. Hands on his hands, gentle on trembling, pulling them away from his head. He felt the hair tangled around his fingers snapping painfully. Aizawa was talking to him, close and low and calm and Izuku wanted him to die, he wanted to kill the man for the terrible ways he'd made him feel before, for telling him he could never achieve his dream when Aizawa didn't even fucking know how hard he'd worked—
"I can't," he gasped, shaking his head quickly, before shaking it harder and harder and harder, switching to channel the anger into that movement instead as the man and the world and reality itself began to swim before his vision. The worried hands abandoned his to grab the sides of his temple to keep it still.
"Yes, you can, you can," Aizawa reassured, crouched beside him, and it was only now Izuku realized they'd been talking about breathing. Or Aizawa had been talking and Izuku had been sobbing, if the wet sensation on his face was anything to go off.
He couldn't, he physically couldn't. He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop lashing out to do some damage every few seconds to a new part of his body, even while sobbing because all he wanted was to calm down. He was so tired, and something was so very wrong because he couldn't stop being angry.
"I hate you," he choked, voice hitching, "I'll fuck'n kill you." In a burst of strength and clarity, his hand found its way around the man's forearm and squeezed. He dug his nails into the flesh, angling them diagonally to slice deeper until he was sure it had to hurt.
But he couldn't feel it. It wasn't his own skin being pierced, so it wasn't effective; he didn't know if he was hurting enough. He wished he had his Quirk to shatter his teacher's bones beneath his fingers, to make the man scream apologies.
"Make it stop." The broken plea ripped from his throat.
"You're gonna be okay, Midoriya, just a little longer," Aizawa promised. He heard himself let out a tortured sob. He didn't stop trying to stab through the skin with his nails, fingers trembling with the force—
His head was sharply pressed against a firm body with just one hand cupping the side, an iron grip that no amount of screeching and thrashing won against. Someone pinched the exposed side of his neck, and he felt Aizawa's blood welling under his fingernails as he dug ten times harder in new rage. Tears streamed down his face and his body kept spasming with the urge to hurt, to rest, to sob, to kill—
His grip on Aizawa's arm slackened without permission. His muscles, all taut and shaking and painfully exhausted, slowly fell limp. His whole body gradually sagged, until he was only held up by arm around his back and the hand still clutching his head—gentler, now—to the chest he was leaning on.
Though his body went still, the tears didn't stop flooding his eyes. They fell faster, if anything, now that they were the only method of expulsion he had with his body beginning to turn to sluggish stone. He heard shallow wheezes and could only assume they were coming from him.
"You're okay, you're gonna be okay, kid, it's over, you're going to sleep..."
If his eyes hadn't already been shutting, he would've sobbed in relief at that.
--
Shota Aizawa was feeling a variety of conflicting emotions, sitting on the stiff plastic waiting chair by Midoriya's bed, but anger won out.
To clarify—not the kind of anger that came from petty villain Quirks you bump into on the street. Not the kind of anger that grows unnaturally, exponentially, violently—more than that Quirk had ever previously induced—because of your hand-me-down Quirk on steroids (from fucking Yagi) trying to suppress it.
Not that kind.
Shota's negative emotions, albeit dulled at the edges with concern, were nothing compared to the severity the teen softly snoring before him had been experiencing hours prior. When the kid had been on the floor, shaking and sobbing through a panic attack he couldn't even feel as Shota helplessly waited for Bakugo to get Recovery Girl.
But he forced the guilt away as quickly as it'd snuck up on him, embodying the portrait of calm as the figure on the bed began to stir awake.
When Midoriya sat up, drowsy from the induced sleep and admitting to a headache, Shota gave him a few minutes to gather himself before asking how much he remembered.
The kid's memory fortunately didn't black out after the bumping into "some angry looking guy on the street" part of his day, but it did become hazy. Vague. The details as Midoriya's story went on sounded more like clouded judgement misinterpreting interactions than an unbiased report of events—the thought of which made Shota uneasy.
His student, with access to a very strong, very deadly, Quirk, running around upset under an influence and physically incapable of being reasoned with.
They were beyond lucky no one actually got hurt. Or that the Problem Child hadn't run off campus.
The boy recounted his argument with Yagi in moderate detail (censoring One For All related parts, Shota assumed, because for the sake of not complicating things, Shota hadn't mentioned Yagi had filled him in on their secret) before moving on to his meeting with Bakugo, and as expected, with the Quirk's increased influence over him by that point, Midoriya didn't remember much of what had been said and done. But by the colour draining from his face, Shota would guess he remembered a sufficient amount to fill in the gaps.
He didn't seem to recall much more than Shota showing up afterwards, 'angrily dragging him out of the room' (again, clouded judgement), and choking him with his scarf.
(Actually, Midoriya had mentioned people cutting off his oxygen multiple times now. Shota didn't let himself dwell how long he must've been subtly struggling against the unwanted rage in his veins before it had finally spiralled into a full-blown panic attack.)
In reality, Shota hadn't been angry at the kid for long. He'd gotten Yaoyarozu's text and rushed over, arriving to Midoriya beating the shit out of Bakugo while on top of him and yelling... concerning statements Shota planned to chat about with the both of them later. He'd erased Midoriya's Quirk on reflex to deescalate the situation, not noticing Bakugo readying to detonate a palm.
He stopped being angry after that. Confusion fit better.
Immediately after the explosion, he'd helped Bakugo up, before demanding explanations from the group. Everyone offered the same one:
Something was wrong with Midoriya.
Or as Bakugo had so eloquently put it, "Something's fucking with the nerd's head, 'cause he keeps getting angrier for no reason and his eyes are glowing red like yours!"
Midoriya's eyes had been their usual deep green when Shota neared to check, initially. But then the teen had gotten angry at Shota—and the flash of red in his irises was unmistakable. So much so, along with his venomous words, that the Pro had deemed right there and then being polite or patient wouldn't work. The kid needed to see Recovery Girl.
So after sending Iida to grab said healer, he'd ushered the two boys upstairs, away from prying eyes.
And then Midoriya had a panic attack, without any hints of panic (or anything beside hatred, really) present in his expression—as if something was steering his feelings towards strictly anger, but his body expressed otherwise. Shota had sent Bakugo to quickly get the nurse, but his worry rose when his student showed no signs of calming down. The sixteen year old child was reduced to a tense, trembling mess on the ground, screaming horrible threats one second and whimpering broken pleas for relief from the inner conflict attacking him the next.
It was unstable duality like nothing he'd ever witnessed before.
Shota had called Tsukauchi the second they'd secured Midoriya to a bed, unconscious, and done a search in their Quirk database.
There was an immediate match to a man who'd been arrested earlier today, wanted for a recent string of petty crimes that all followed the same pattern. The man would commit the crime, while an unrelated civilian, coincidentally just a few blocks in the opposite direction of him, became uncharacteristically aggressive; a distraction. Civilians who all mentioned bumping into a man on the street before the incident in their description of events.
The criminal's Quirk, Enrage, induced unreasonable and aggressive levels of anger for a short period of time after he and his target made physical and eye contact.
He'd been caught today, likely because there was no distraction. One For All had been suppressing the immediate effects of Enrage, so Midoriya had gone home instead of picking a fight in the street.
So, thirty minutes after Shota had incapacitated his own student, he'd driven over to the police station to Erase the rage Quirk forcing them to sedate his student, and with it, its connection to Midoriya, before giving Recovery Girl a call not to drug the kid a second time when the first dose wore off.
He explained as much to Midoriya now, who listened intently, hands fiddling in his lap and expression almost shameful. As if this whole thing was his fault. The kid was so predictable Shota's eyes would've rolled to the back of his head had he not still been subtly assessing the boy's state, mental and physical. (Remembering his agonized cries, torn between different exhausting emotions he couldn't stop feeling and energy he couldn't stop exerting.)
Unsurprisingly, the green head of curly hair ducked his head into a bow from his seat on the bed. "I'm really sorry, Sensei. You all work so hard to keep us safe from villains, especially after the dorm system, and I still managed to run into trouble. I endangered the—"
"Endangered yourself," Shota cut in. "And I really hope I won't have to explain why this isn't your fault."
Midoriya swallowed his protests and nodded reluctantly when he saw Shota give a stern look, daring him to insist otherwise.
He suddenly couldn't meet Shota's eyes. "Is Kacchan okay? I remember..."
"He's fine, aside from his humbled ego." The boy sputtered, but Shota called it a win when Midoriya's eyes shot to his own in surprise. "Kidding. A peck from the old lady and he was good as new, so stop worrying, Problem Child. He was more worried about you than anything else, though he wouldn't say it."
"Speaking of Bakugo..." Shota hesitated before saying the next part, unsure if the timing was too soon to be bringing his concerns up. "Enrage makes the people under its influence unreasonably angry, that much is true, but it doesn't... manifest new feelings, Midoriya. It just amplifies existing negative ones to overpower the positive, and translates them into anger."
Midoriya was uncharacteristically quiet, staring at his lap as the pause let that sink in. Confirming he might not remember everything that happened but he remembered enough.
"No matter how buried they are."
"I exaggerated." The boy didn't look up from where he was twisting his fingers anxiously in his lap. "You... you must've heard what I said when I fought with Kacchan from the others. I was angry, so I exaggerated our childhood relationship in the moment to turn our classmates against him."
"Judging by Bakugo's inability to deny your words, no, you didn't."
The hands stopped fidgeting. Neither of them said anything.
Quiet, pleading, dismissive, desperate, minimizing—there were so many ways to describe the kid's next whisper.
"I forgive him."
The only word that seemed to fit was practiced.
Shota bit his tongue refrain from pointing out the pain from the past wouldn't still eat at him if it were true. "Did he ever apologize?"
Midoriya's silence responded clearer than words ever could. It stretched long and heavy, putting miles of space between the two with every second that passed without a vocal answer. And as much as Shota wanted to close the growing chasm, he didn't interrupt. Would make them go on in silence for hours, if Midoriya chose it to be that.
"Are the others mad at him?"
Disappointment was a sour taste, one Shota seldom experienced with his students. It meant he needed to work harder to help them.
"Mad is a very broad word to define a large group of people and a complex situation. I won't say that doesn't concern you, but I will say that's not what I want to talk to you about now." He hated being the cause of the brief panic that flit across the kid's face, and hated even more that this hard conversation would be one of many in the near future.
"Later, I am going to be having a conversation with the two of you about what was brought to my attention, because as your homeroom teacher, I will not allow that to go unaddressed." His voice lost its edge as he silently willed the teen to meet his eyes.
He stood from his chair, because he would be damned before getting labelled a hypocrite. Because the kid before him deserved a fucking standard to hold others to, and it pained Shota to realize he might need to be the one to set it sixteen years too late. Pained him even worse to know it took a Quirk incident to see this.
He bowed at the hips before the boy's bedside, low and deeply apologetic. "And I am very sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise, Midoriya. You were right; I never apologized for how I acted towards you on your first day, and I would like to now. I behaved rashly, immaturely, and made—"
"Wha–Sensei? What are you doing—!? Stand up!" Midoriya voice flew up an octave, sounding uncomfortable.
"—poor judgements of character," Shota ignored, still staring at the laces on his shoes. "I assumed you were just a brat praised for a strong power that you never bothered to learn how to use, and I let it make me biased. I sincerely apologize for my actions, both then and onwards, because my ignorance towards your relationship—past and present—with Bakugo since that day is also inexcusable. I noticed you didn't like each other and assumed it was just petty surface level rivalry, and it led you to mistakenly believe I don't care about abuse, bullying, or mistreatment of any kind." He swallowed, because the kid hadn't interrupted him again and he couldn't see how he was taking this.
"I assure you, I care very much. I'm very sorry, Midoriya, and I hope you can forgive me. But regardless, I promise to be better from today on," he ended slowly, but making no move to straighten. He felt a bit awkward, standing there in a bow, but he had a point to make.
At least twenty excruciating seconds passed before the kid thought to put Shota's screaming back out of its misery.
"Stand up. Please." The boy's voice was broken more than his bones ever had been. Shota slowly rose back to his full height.
Midoriya was crying. He wiped hastily at his cheeks when Shota looked at him, but it was futile. Tears were spilling from his glassy eyes faster than he could blink them away, and his whole face was twisting and pinching and pulling together in a barely suppressed sob.
But his pain was completely silent, and that's what Shota zeroed in on.
The boy who cried loud and unapologetically for others leaked silent tears, repeatedly swiping and blinking them away as subtly as he could, to not cause a scene.
Shota crouched low at his bedside, putting a single hand on the kid's frozen shoulder to get his attention. "I'm so sorry," he reemphasized firmly, voice low and gentle. "I'm so sorry, Midoriya, for my ignorance, and my behaviour. For making you feel alone and invalid."
His Problem Child met his eyes, almost desperately, and whispered with an unsaid plea in his cracking voice, "I told you I exaggerated."
"I'm sorry you had anything to exaggerate in the first place."
The kid broke.
He sharply ducked his head away from view, hiding behind a curtain of messy hair, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. One tore free in a hiccup, and it was the equivalent of a dam bursting. Suddenly, nothing was quiet, and each ragged cry sent a spear of pain straight through Shota's heart.
He knew the kid was a crier, but this time felt raw.
Shota stood up from his crouch when Midoriya subconsciously leaned into his touch, moving to sit on the edge of the bed instead. The shaking body was pressing into his side before he could react, and he forced himself to untense at the unexpected contact. He wrapped his arms around the kid, rubbing slow circles across his back soothingly and listened to the small muffled cries of I forgive you, I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry, Sensei, I was so angry, I just wanted the anger to stop, I was so scared, Sensei, I'm so tired, and regretfully, more, continue.
Shota stayed there, calm and steady, until his joints ached and sweatshirt grew damp. Until Midoriya had exhausted himself, slowly calming down but still clutching his teacher's shirt desperately. Stayed until finally, the trembling faded, and the green head of hair lolled against his chest, snoring softly.
He put his student back to sleep, stretched, and grabbed coffee from the teachers longue while texting an update to the class and Yagi that Midoriya was okay, but still asleep.
Shota went back to Recovery Girl's infirmary, and sat back in the chair by his student's bed.
--
When Izuku woke up for the second time, he didn't expect his homeroom teacher to still be sitting there, head tilted back as if asleep. But he was, and Izuku couldn't pretend it didn't bring him comfort to have someone be there.
He could tell the man wasn't actually asleep.
He took a slow, shaky inhale, and forced the words out meekly, praying he didn't choke on them. They tasted foreign on his tongue, too bulky and awkward in his mouth. He said them all the same.
"I forgive you."
If you actually meant what you said, about being sorry. If you weren't just apologizing to make me feel better about losing it in front of everyone—
Aizawa cracked his eyes open slowly, and gave the briefest of nods. Maybe Izuku was imagining it, but he saw a shimmer of pride in that onyx gaze.
The moment passed, and then in that quiet infirmary room, they talked.
He told Aizawa about Aldera. Let the man get angry on his behalf, on Bakugo's behalf, on all the students' behalves. Told him about growing up with Bakugo, briefly, but didn't explain much more than admit what he'd said while under Enrage was entirely mostly true.
And in the coming week, he sat through hard conversations, not including the therapy sessions with Hound Dog Aizawa-sensei had organized. Apologies flowed in, all the same as Aizawa's, awkward and sincere and uncomfortable and serious and deeply, deeply regretful. Apologies, Izuku decided, were equivalent to hot, relieving baths filled with saltwater, making each and every untreated wound burn anew.
He received them nonetheless. From All Might. From Kacchan, with nervous, downcast eyes and his head ducked in a bow Izuku wasn't aware he knew how to do. Promises to do better, be better. Even Nighteye apologized during his first day officially interning at his agency—apparently after All Might called him for the first time in six years to talk.
Izuku took a risk, weeks later, during a pleasant weekend dinner with his mom, when the conversation veered close enough to the topic of his Quirklessness for him to address how she'd treated the fact. He allowed himself to get insistent, frustrated, and even angry while he brought her previous lack of support towards heroics up, and explained how it'd hurt him deeper than the diagnosis itself did—even with the chance of it upsetting the mood of their rare dinners. Because his emotions were valid, even if he'd buried them years ago, and deserved to be acknowledged.
When his mom finally understood his perspective, and apologized guiltily, Izuku didn't cry, nor did he interrupt her to tell her it was unnecessary.
He listened to her apologize, and he accepted it eagerly.
His anger lived in him, a spark, lively spark that grew whenever it pleased and calming soon after. It would never again be that uncontrollable blaze, the leaking gas filling his chest, suppressed deep down that exploded once ignited.
His forgiveness towards others no longer came from a feeling of necessity or duty. It was a choice, and every time he made it, he felt lighter.