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When Izuku wakes up, he feels like he's still in a dream.
Every muscle is burning, every nerve feels strained: truly, Izuku may never move again.
Dramatic? Yes, but also he truly can’t remember ever having been in this much pain before.
And considering what happened with Muscular, that’s saying something.
The muted, repetitive sound of a beeping heart monitor is familiar, as is the cool line he can feel running through the back of his left hand.
The full-on oxygen mask strapped to his face is new, though. Izuku doesn’t remember ever having needed one of those before.
Honestly, everything still feels kind of slow, kind of hazy. Even opening his eyes feels something like a chore.
There’s only one thing that keeps him from drifting away, one thing that has him struggling and straining to get his eyes to actually open.
It’s the feel of a familiar hand holding his, the familiar cadence of soft breathing at his side, the stroke of a familiar thumb swiping gently up and down the side of Izuku’s own.
He is not alone. Not in this room, and possibly not in this pain, either. And if he can’t get his eyes open before falling back under, then the person holding his hand won’t ever know that Izuku is awake.
It’s this last thought that has Izuku really fighting for full consciousness now. He’s practically grunting with the effort, his forehead furrowing and his teeth clenching and…
And the familiar voice tsks.
That really solidifies it for him, the sound alone confirming who’s in the room with him, even if his brain is still scattered in such a way that he can’t actually place the person.
“I can tell you’re awake, nerd,” Kacchan says from next to him.
Of course it’s Kacchan, it’s always Kacchan with him. Who else would it be?
Izuku fights himself once again to stay awake, to just open his eyes a bit so he can see him. But he might as well have solid blocks of lead on his eyes, because opening them proves to be a herculean task, despite the way that One for All continues to buzz under his skin in assistance.
Eventually, though, he does win his battle with his own body, cranking his eyes open to see the faintest view of Kacchan in his peripheral vision, sitting in a chair by his bedside.
As it unfortunately seems, the pain he’s in is not imagined.
He fights with his body, using small amounts of One for All to turn his head towards his best friend.
“You look like shit,” he wheezes at Kacchan. He really does look awful, massive bags under his eyes and small untreated scratches all along his face and arms. His hero costume is also torn up and looks as though it hasn’t been washed in far too long.
Kacchan just laughs at his statement. “I should be saying that about you.”
Izuku would shrug, do something else in response, but talking alone is a massive task that’s already wearing him out significantly. The best he can give is a faint smile.
“How are you feeling, nerd?” Kacchan asks after they sit in silence for a moment.
Izuku frowns, the twinge of pain that ricochets through him from that simple action alone telling him plenty about how he’s feeling. His thoughts remain muddled and slow.
“Hnng,” he replies finally, the only answer he has to offer in his current state.
Another laugh from Kacchan. “Sounds about right. One for All saved your ass again, Deku. We’d have lost you without it.”
That explains why it’s so active, hovering in the back of his senses in all its protective glory. Likely, it's the only reason he’s even awake at this point, if the battle had been that close.
“What’s the…what’s the damage?” He manages to get out. It’s haltingly slow. Izuku hopes Kacchan doesn’t get annoyed with how long it takes him.
But Katsuki just grimaces, looking away from him without answering.
“Tell me,” Izuku demands, fingers clenching on Kacchan’s. He wants to implore more—he’d much rather know than guess—but he doesn’t have the energy for any more words. He can only hope Kacchan understands.
The unknown scares Izuku far more than the known; it always has. His mind can invent a million ways this could be bad. Everything from never walking on his own again, to his career being over, to only breathing because he’s an empty shell that One for All inhabits..
“It’s bad, you-” Kacchan stops and swallows hard. “You’ve got a long recovery ahead of you. They think you’ll be able to return to hero work, but it’ll take a lot of rehab work.”
Izuku closes his eyes against the weight of those words, but they settle in his chest anyways. An anchor dragging him down, an if, a maybe, a struggle he doesn’t even know the shape of.
“I’m sorry,” he can hear Kacchan whisper, yet Izuku has no idea what he’s even apologizing for.
Izuku slips back under.
Time loses all meaning for a little while. Izuku manages to pry his eyes open again for what feels like only once a day. Truthfully, though, he has no idea how much time is actually passing. It could be weeks or even months, for all he knows. He tries to gain what bearing he can from the changes he sees every time he resurfaces.
Kacchan is no longer in his hero costume, for one. At times he even looks fresh, like he’d come straight after a shower or something.
Some days, Izuku doesn’t even bother working to get his eyes open, though. Those are the days when he can tell without looking that the person holding his hand is not Katsuki.
It’s not that he’s uninterested in facing them, it’s just… he knows what the look on their faces will be, he knows that they’ll probably cry or lecture him or…
And more than the fact that Izuku can’t currently move to wipe his own tears away right now, more than the fact that he’s feeling too vulnerable to have anyone aside from a select few touching his face to do it for him, is the fact that it’s an incredible amount of effort to expend for people that he doesn’t feel he'd like to face just yet.
Being laid up like this, and for so long, too, they’ll want to know how soon he’ll be back on his feet, how soon he’ll be back out there.
And Izuku doesn’t know.
He won’t be able to answer, which means he won’t be able to meet their eyes, but he can’t even turn his head to look away.
He just…
He’s too tired for this.
Part of him almost wishes he could just wake up once the healing is over. But he knows it can’t ever be that simple. Izuku cannot even start to heal until his body is strong enough to begin PT. And physical therapy is not something he can just sleep through.
He doesn’t remember exactly what happened, can’t bring himself to ask whenever Katsuki comes to visit. But somehow, it feels like whatever it was couldn’t have been worth the way he’d let everyone down.
If he was actually able to save people, surely he would remember it. He must’ve done something stupid, something unworthy of the symbol of peace, to get himself into this state.
One for All buzzes viciously in the back of his mind at that, the vestiges clearly frustrated and upset, but he doesn’t have the strength to allow any of them to show themselves or speak to him.
Even his dreams are quiet, a fuzzy mix of pain medication and Nana’s hands combing through his hair within the void, even though he can barely register her presence.
The exhaustion seems like it’s always going to be a part of him, now. Like he’s never going to escape the permanent state which drains all of his energy simply just to heal.
And yet, over time, a long time, his energy does slowly start to return.
It’s small things at first.
One day he’s finally able to squeeze Kacchan’s hand ever so slightly.
Another, he’s able to lift up his head to look at his mother and all the pity she carries in her eyes.
One more, he’s able to let Yagi prop him up in bed, since he can’t do it himself yet, and holds nearly half of a conversation without feeling worn out.
The time passes slowly and he heals ever slower, but it’s progress.
He still doesn’t have the courage to ask about what happened, about why he was like this, about if he’d done well or if they were disappointed in him.
He’s not even brave enough to ask the vestiges, despite how much they’d been beside him over the past few years. Perhaps, other than Kacchan, he is most afraid of disappointing them—of disappointing the people who’d provided him a legacy with which to save people, of disappointing the vestiges who are always by his side no matter what.
The tough conversations, as his mother once said, would be for later. That seems to be a frequent theme in his life, honestly.
After he’s able to sit up and hold a conversation, his old classmates also begin to pop in about every other day, just one at a time, to see him.
It’s really great being able to see them. While he still hasn’t asked exactly how long it’s been, he can tell they’ve all missed him as well. Their presence helps him find the will to continue forward with the recovery, despite how difficult it is proving.
Overall, today has been a bad day. From the moment Izuku awoke, the miasma of grief and misery and pain has hung like a dark pall over him. He’d dragged his way through the physical therapy for the day, energy flagging so badly that they’d called it off halfway through.
Ever since they returned him to his room, Izuku has been sitting in the chair and staring out the window overlooking the city. Everything feels too hard today, too much. Watching the storm clouds over the city with unseeing eyes, he’s caught in the tempest of his own thoughts. The fragmented memories of what had happened right before he’d woken up here hold him in a chokehold.
He’d failed. He’d completely and irrevocably failed.
Izuku isn’t worth the title of hero, not after letting so many people perish. He remembers the attack, and the building falling, and nothing else. So many innocent lives, wiped out in the wake of his inadequacy. Anguish threatens to drown him and swallow him whole. He lets it, wants it to happen. He’s earned every agony for his dereliction.
He’s so lost in his head that he never hears someone enter the room. Not until hands rest gently on his shoulders.
“Izuku?” Kacchan murmurs, gently caressing the side of his neck, and Izuku looks up at him with a blank stare. Coming around to crouch in front of him, Kacchan gently takes both of Izuku's hands in his.
“What’s wrong, nerd?” The tone is soft, a voice reserved entirely for Izuku and no one else.
Izuku blinks, tears welling in his eyes. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve such kindness and compassion. Not now, not anymore. Kacchan rubs his thumbs across the back of Izuku’s hands, expression filling with concern. Izuku can’t leave Kacchan worried about him, though.
“I failed,” he finally croaks out.
“How?”
“I didn’t save them. I…I let it fall. I failed.” He hangs his head, unable to bear looking into Kacchan’s eyes at that moment.
“Izuku, no.” Warm fingers grip under his chin, and he’s looking into the red eyes he loves so much. “You failed no one, Izuku, do you hear me. Fucking no one.”
Izuku shakes his head slightly in denial, frustrated that Kacchan would try and coddle him like that. Kacchan knows better than that after all these years, surely.
“They died anyways,” Izuku grits out. “It isn’t anything but a failure on my part.”
Kacchan flinches as if struck. “Where did you get that idea from?”
“No one said anything to me about it, and then I got questioned on what I remembered about the attack, and they seemed really upset, and then I started remembering the building falling down. Not a lot, but it's enough. I know Katsuki, there’s no hiding it from me anymore.” Izuku rarely uses anything but Kacchan, but anger and pain and exhaustion make his sharp edges sharper.
Kacchan sighs before letting go of Izuku’s hand to cradle Izuku’s face in his palms. “I never did agree with the idea of letting you remember on your own rather straight up telling you. I knew this might be what would happen.” He pauses for a moment to lean forward and kiss Izuku on the forehead.
“Listen to me, Izuku. You. Did. Not. Fail. They didn’t die, you held up the building until the very end, and you nearly died in the fallout. Everyone got out. Everyone. Against all odds, you won. You saved them all, you and your dumb fucking quirk. It nearly burned you both out, and I almost lost you, but it wasn’t a fucking failure.” Kacchan’s eyes are suspiciously shiny as he finishes his tirade.
Izuku opens his mouth to speak, but a sob comes out instead. In one smooth motion, Kacchan scoops him up and settles down on the chair with Izuku cradled in his arms. A hand begins to rub a soothing pattern up and down his back, and Izuku cries himself out.
“You’ll be okay, nerd. I know you will. I believe in you, we all do,” Kacchan murmurs into his hair.
The words sound nice, but Izuku isn’t entirely sure he believes them yet. But for Kacchan’s sake, he can accept them for tonight.
Izuku sniffles and laughs wetly. “If you believe in me, Kacchan, I can do it.”
He settles himself more cozily in Kacchan’s arms and lets the warmth and solid strength of his partner lull himself to sleep.
There’s much more healing left to do before Izuku will be able to return to the field. But with Kacchan at his side, Izuku's pretty sure that he can overcome anything.