Chapter Text
Izuku resettles into his body in bits and pieces.
‘Greying out’ as Izuku has always called this thing that happens to him, because some part of him shies away from the proper name for what happens to him and from what it implies about him and his life, has always been equal parts exhausting and dream-like.
It’s a strange state of being, living in half measures. It’s draining, that long familiar feeling of being half aware and half drifting somewhere just left of where he knows he should be.
Of being breathless and breathing, sleeping and awake, of being greyed out everywhere and yet only around select edges all at the same time.
Regaining his color, resettling into his body, has always hurt, has always left Izuku feeling raw and wounded and ready to shake apart in the aftermath.
But this time …
This time things aren’t miraculously perfect but they are ... different.
This time instead of snapping harshly, painfully, back into place as he always has in the past, Izuku resettles slowly.
Bit by bit.
And, tucked away in that carefully shielded part of himself that’s always moving, always thinking and calculating and analyzing, Izuku knows that it’s because Shouto helps.
Having Shouto around, having him standing at his side or hovering just at his shoulder as he always seems to be these days, helps a lot more than Izuku had ever thought possible.
Helps more than anything or anyone Izuku’s ever had or known or thought of before.
When they sit together at lunch Shouto presses their knees together beneath the table and suddenly Izuku can taste what he’s eating again. Food becomes food again instead of tasteless mush he’s obligated to consume to keep his body moving.
When they’re assigned paired classwork or during training blocks Shouto partners up with him at every given opportunity. He moves so fast to claim the spot beside Izuku and then deadeye stares at anyone who gets too close. Eventually the rest of the class stops asking altogether, seeming to accept that Izuku’s been declared off limits.
Either way Shouto never falters and Izuku never protests. Instead Shouto just pulls him to the side and Izuku goes willingly, content to be led by someone he knows won’t hurt him. Shouto presses the both of them into the corner of the classroom or whatever training yard or gym they’re currently using, tucks the both of them as far from the others as possible.
Instead of feeling crowded or isolated Izuku finds that he can actually concentrate, can actually remember and experience things when it’s Shouto working at his side, Shouto standing between him and everyone else.
Shouto, quiet and calm but always there, gives Izuku room to breathe.
For the first time in his life Izuku has someone he doesn’t have to emotionally or physically hide from, has someone he doesn’t have to pretend for.
For the first time since he stopped being a person and started being a thing to the world at large, Izuku has someone beside him who allows him to simply … be.
Somehow that acceptance makes everything so much smoother.
Izuku knows it might just be proof that he’s weak, the need to have Shouto with him in order to be again, knows he should be trying to do all of this on his own, but …
All he really feels is protected.
Izuku’s never really been protected before, not like this, not from anything that wasn’t certain death.
And even then it wasn’t like this.
Nothing in Izuku’s life has ever felt like this.
Shouto is unlike anyone Izuku’s ever had in his life before.
~~~
But, just as Izuku learned when he was four, five, nine, fourteen years old and standing on the edge of a building, good things never last.
And, despite all his years of experience and no matter how much he might wish otherwise, Izuku can only run so fast.
Eventually the things that are chasing him have a tendency to catch up.
~~~
Hero schools don’t operate on the standard school schedule so even though they’ve had their final exams already, training and certain classes don’t actually stop.
Instead things shift a bit more towards the physical end of the spectrum with book classes being phased out until the next semester officially begins. More group and specialized training slots into their places as the time until the training camp slowly clicks down.
Izuku knows what’s going to happen long before it does.
It’s easy to calculate the odds, to watch as the rest of the class is paired off and his options whittle down bit by bit.
So, by the time it happens, Izuku’s not even close to surprised.
“Final match up for the day will be young Midoriya and young Bakugou,” All Might announces cheerfully, smile bright and hands resting on his hips.
This time Izuku doesn’t even bother to glance at Aizawa who’s leaning against the wall overseeing things. He doesn’t bother to look at any of his other classmates either.
Instead he just stares up at Shouto with something thin and aching stirring to life inside of his chest.
He’s been getting better, been settling, bit by bit every single day, but now …
Now he’s right back where he started, right back where he always seems to end up no matter the circumstances.
Facing off against Kacchan.
Because it seems as if that’s exactly where everything and everyone in his life but Shouto wants Izuku to be.
And Izuku already knows that nothing he says to any of the teachers will be enough to get him out of it.
“I can stop it,” Shouto offers, his hand wrapping around Izuku’s, seemingly uncaring that anyone could see the way their fingers tangled together if they bothered to look. “Say the word and I’ll break him.”
It’s the kind of offer, the kind of fierce protection and unwavering support, that no one else has ever really extended to Izuku.
Shouto is ready and willing to interfere with the class, to get in trouble yet again with even harsher consequences. Is ready to fight all to make sure that Izuku can walk away from this moment unscathed and avoid yet another brawl with Kacchan.
“No,” Izuku says softly, fingers squeezing around Shouto’s as he does his best to breathe. “It’s okay.”
This isn’t an exam where Izuku’s future depends on him somehow working with Kacchan as a team. This is just training. It’s just another class, just another fight, another battle, another familiar bit of pain and fear and exhaustion waiting to happen.
Izuku’s been doing this in one form or another for years.
He can handle it.
But the fact that Shouto offered? Was willing to put himself in the line of fire from multiple directions all for Izuku?
It means more to Izuku than he can say.
~~~
Later, once it’s done and training is over and everyone else has walked off laughing and groaning and happy with only a few scrapes and light bruises to show for the day, Shouto sits with Izuku inside the now quiet locker room.
Izuku’s body aches and exhaustion tugs at the edges of his senses, but he’s present.
Somehow, someway, he’s still aware.
But, given the fact that Shouto hasn’t left his side unless absolutely necessary, maybe it’s not that much of a surprise.
“You should see Recovery Girl,” Shouto murmurs from beside him, voice a deliberate sort of soft and even.
Izuku doesn’t have to look up to know that Shouto’s eyes are locked on the vicious bruises that are already blooming across Izuku’s ribs.
He can feel the weight of his gaze, can feel Shouto’s eyes like a physical touch as they glance over his scared shoulders, at the warped bits of skin on his upper arms, at the small burn brushing across the arc of his left cheek.
Training or not, supervised by the teachers or not, Kacchan hadn’t pulled any of his punches.
And why would he when restraint, especially against Izuku, has never been something high on his list of priorities?
Needless to say the temperature in the locker room had dropped just a bit as soon as Izuku had peeled off his seared and tattered jumpsuit and tossed it down onto the bench.
“I can’t,” Izuku tells him just as quietly because even if Shouto doesn’t know Izuku still remembers Recovery Girl’s warnings.
Bruised ribs and a few burns aren’t enough to risk irritating her over.
Better to save that for something bigger, for something Izuku hasn’t been dealing with his entire life.
“Okay.” Shouto agrees. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press Izuku for whys or try to convince him, so Izuku doesn’t say anything else on the matter, doesn’t feel that urgent need to explain himself.
Instead Shouto just reaches over and lays a cold hand against Izuku’s bruised ribs, delicate frost spiraling out across his fever hot skin.
The relief is instant but it’s the wordless acceptance that Shouto gives him that means more.
So Izuku lets himself list just a bit to the side, lets himself sway just a bit further into Shouto’s space until his temple is resting against the taller boy’s shoulder.
And Shouto, quiet and solid and there, lets him.
They sit there together in silence for the longest time.
~~~
“You always get hurt,” Shouto says softly just before they go their separate ways for the night. “Worse than any of us.”
Izuku doesn’t know what to say to that so he just stands there, his back pressed against his dorm room door as Shouto crowds close to his front.
“It’s not so bad,” Izuku knows it’s not, he’s had worse in the past. The final exam for example had been way worse. At least this time Izuku knows that nothing is actually broken or dislocated.
“It is,” Shouto presses. “You just can’t see it like you should.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“I was serious,” Shouto finally says. “About leaving, about Shiketsu. About all of it. I’ll go with you. We can do this Izuku. We can be heroes, together, somewhere else. Somewhere safer for you.”
Izuku’s heart skips a beat.
He’s been doing his best to push that thought, that possible path, down and away since he’d started to really slot himself back into his body again. Has been trying to make himself believe that it was just a thought brought on by the stale greyness that had consumed him.
It hasn’t been working but Izuku’s kept trying.
“S-Shouto,” Izuku whispers, just a bit lost and reeling like he always is every time he allows himself to really think about leaving UA.
“How would you feel if it was Iida or Uraraka getting hurt all of the time? If it was me?” Shouto asks him, something steady and almost understanding in his expression. “How did you feel when you found out about Endeavour and everything else? How do you think it feels for me to see you like this, over and over again because no one else seems to see the problem?”
Shouto leans down close enough to press their foreheads together, close enough that they’re breathing each other’s air.
“We’re not heroes yet Izuku,” Shouto tells him just a bit raggedly as he presses even further into Izuku’s space somehow. “And even with the villain attacks it’s not … it’s not supposed to be like this. UA was supposed to be different.”
There’s a wealth of unspoken information in that statement, nuance and layers that they’re both aware of but don’t have to actually speak about at the moment.
UA was supposed to be different for both of them in a lot of ways.
And it has been and yet ...
Eyes slipping closed, Izuku basks in that closeness, in the serenity and steady sort of realness that comes hand in hand with being near Shouto.
But all the while his mind click, click, clicks away.
~~~
Later, when Izuku’s in his room with the plastic tote that doubles as his first aid kit open on his bed beside him, he finds himself grinding to a complete halt with Shouto’s words echoing in his head again.
‘What if it was Iida or Uraraka? What if it was me?’
Izuku remembers the fierce and protective rage he’d felt for Iida in that alley. Remembers his determination to save Uraraka at the entrance exam in part because it was the right thing to do and because she’d been the first person his age to be even passingly nice to him in so long.
Remembers the emotions that had seared him soul deep at the revelation of just what Shouto has had to deal with for so many years from someone who should have kept him safe on more than one level. The way not even his desire to make All Might proud had been strong enough to keep him from doing whatever he could to help.
Izuku remembers the way he’d thrown himself into the line of fire for each of them, breaking his body into bits and pieces over and over to keep them safe, to help them out of their own personal darkness.
He remembers how much it had hurt him to see them in danger or in pain, just like it always hurts him on some level every time someone in 1-A ends up in a bad position.
Burn cream in one hand and sterile gauze in the other, Izuku goes still as the truth spikes through him, sharp and merciless and sounding just a bit too much like Shouto’s voice in the back of his head.
For a moment Izuku just looks at the medical supplies he’s holding, looks at the tote that he’d spent most of his allowances over the years to get and keep stocked and hidden away from his mom.
Izuku looks and he thinks and he imagines.
For a too long moment Izuku feels as if he can’t breathe through the thick rush of no not them never them not again it’s not right that claws its way to life inside of him.
Izuku’s head fills overfull, his heart feels shredded and the tears that prickle his eyes feel both molten hot and blistering cold.
But in that moment Izuku thinks he finally understands exactly what Shouto’s been trying to tell him.
~~~
With the entirety of his focus bent in one direction, it only takes Izuku a few hours to get everything together for both Shouto and himself.
Transfers between hero schools are unusual but they do happen. The paperwork, requirements, and forms are out there and easily found even if it’s absolutely unheard of for someone to attempt to transfer out of UA.
UA is, after all, the hero school of Japan.
People who make it into UA tend to stay in UA unless they have absolutely no other choice.
Izuku had once thought he’d be no different.
UA was All Might’s alma mater after all, it was the hero school in Japan, staffed with and attended by the best of the best and it had been Izuku’s dream for as long as he could remember.
But Shouto is right and Izuku is so tired.
He doesn’t want to do this anymore.
Doesn’t want to stay stuck in this same holding pattern of fear and pain and helpless anxiety he’s been trapped in since he was five years old.
Izuku wants to learn, wants to change and grow and finally be free to just be.
And as much as it hurts and aches and burns Izuku doesn’t think he can do any of that here, not really. He can’t do any of those things to the fullest extent possible with Kacchan looming over him like a guillotine, hovering on the sidelines of his life like a bomb with a hair trigger.
Whatever growth he’d achieve in the long run would be … stunted.
So Izuku doesn’t want to just endure school and training for another two years. Doesn’t want to study and train and fight during school hours only to have to go back to the dorms afterwards, to the safe place that will never really be safe for him.
He doesn’t want to be forced to live in the same building as someone ready to beat him down with fists and feet and searing explosions at the drop of a hat, at the barest hint of any real or imaginary slight.
Something has to give and, for the first time in his life, Izuku’s not ashamed to admit that, this time, it’s going to be him.
“Hey,” Izuku says softly as he steps up to Shouto’s side, a thick folder tucked neatly beneath his arm and another held out in Shouto’s direction. “Did some research last night, i-if you’re still serious?”
Shouto takes the folder and flips it open to see what’s inside.
Izuku can tell the moment he realizes just what he’s looking at.
Transfer papers, scholarship applications, permission slips, and a host of other forms that need to be filled out if they’re really going to do this.
“Absolutely,” Shouto agrees immediately, mouth turned up just a bit at the corners as he closes the folder and reaches out to grab Izuku’s hand in his free one.
“Okay,” Izuku nods, heart pounding but his resolve firm as he twines his battered fingers with Shouto’s. He is present and aware and real and they are doing this. “Let’s get started.”
Let Kacchan keep UA just like he’s always wanted.
Izuku’s found something more important.
He’s going to be a hero, side by side with Shouto, no matter what.