Chapter 123 - 19-20

Chapter 19: Condolences from Mars

Izuku's vision spasmed between splotches of blackness and his ceiling, the pain in rhythm with his blindness. It was slow, less like bludgeoning and more bleeding. It felt like someone was tightening two screws into his ears, and they were meeting in the middle. No relief came from rubbing his face; all it accomplished was smearing tears across his cheeks.

He slipped his knees off his bed, a low groan escaping him. His eyes drew themselves to his digital clock, dimly aware of its shrill alarm. Blinking, he tried to catch the exact time, but the numbers looked alien, formless. Squinting his eyes closed and shaking his head, a second look revealed 7 a.m.

The headache soared as he stood up, gathering his clothes for a hot morning shower. Every step felt like a hammer to the back of his head. The whole march made his head feel like a pumpkin left out too long after Halloween: deformed and decomposing.

Stepping into the scalding hot water, Izuku almost cried. For the first time since opening his eyes that day, the headache abated, tamed for the moment. The lull of pain slowed, the hammering softened. For the first time that day, he could think straight.

His goal was washing his hair, but his knees weren't up to the task. Within five minutes of the shower's burning embrace, Izuku was on his ass. Too relaxed to wash his curls and too drained to wash his body, he left the soap in its tray as he soaked up more heat. He leaned back on the shower floor as boiling water sprayed his face. It was nice.

It couldn't last, however. His mom would know if he didn't at least use some body wash; it was like she could smell him from across the house nowadays. Izuku hoped that wasn't the case. So, with a heavy heart, he washed up, slow and careful to make the heat last as long as possible.

Dragging himself out of the shower required considerable willpower, but he managed. Fresh and somewhat clean, Izuku stretched, cautious not to irritate his brain. The headache remained dulled, and Izuku wanted it to stay that way as long as possible. He knew, from the last few months, that it was a naive hope, but it was all he could do.

His footsteps were ginger and light as he gathered his things, not wanting to wake his mother. It was Saturday, a week after his 12th birthday, and his mother hadn't had a chance to sleep in for almost a month. It felt like a lifetime ago when he'd been running around, heedless of her rest. Before everything went to hell, before everything changed. When their worries began and ended at his quirklessness; when his mom wasn't so tired.

Now, he never let himself bother her unnecessarily. She'd put up with so much of his crap the last couple of years; it was the least he could do. There was a ghost of pain hovering behind him as he pondered the next few hours, wondering how the day was going to turn out.

His train didn't leave for another hour, so Izuku had a solid twenty minutes of alone time in the living room. He didn't bother turning on the TV, instead pulling out his phone. News stations had been broadcasting major reports since last week; Endeavor had found a bomb on a public bus, and the whole of transportation was going through hell trying to figure out how. It wasn't the only incident; monuments, huge offices, and government buildings had reported numerous bomb threats throughout the country, though no explosions had gone off yet.

Izuku's fingers swiped out of the news app, finding nothing new. Fiddling with his phone proved pointless; his fingers opened and closed apps faster than he had time to use them, his mind too busy to risk boredom. The stimuli just wasn['t enough, it seemed.

For a moment, his fingers brushed over the messenger app, instincts telling him to chat up his best dinosaur-loving friend—but something stopped him. A little ugliness in his chest; a knot that just wouldn't go away when he thought of Setsuna. His ears throbbed for a moment, thin waves of pain washing against his conscious.

Pocketing his phone, he drummed his fingers against the sofa. He wanted to text her, but he didn't know what to say. Speaking to Setsuna got harder every day, and not for the lack of comradery; they were still a duo, a one-two punch. Every time they were together, though, Izuku's heart felt a little heavier, a little deeper in his chest.

Perhaps it was hormones—well, Izuku thought, of course it was, at least in part—but more than that, it was guilt. A niggle in the back of his brain; a whisper that blamed him for something he didn't quite understand. Wrapping his brain around his best friend was harder than any lecture Sasami gave, more complicated than studying One for All.

"Good morning, Izu." His mother said, startling him out of his musings. A frown tugged at his lips, seeing her up. He hadn't woken her, had he?

"Morning."

She shuffled around, holding a bathrobe tight around her waist. Inko Midoriya looked tired, with thin rings under her eyes and a drag to her step that reeked of sleepiness. A hot mug of tea was in her off-hand, the baggie still within. Careful not to spill, she collapsed into the cushions, allowing herself to fall deeper than Izuku had. Her morning hum tickled his ear, a tune he'd never known the source of. Ignoring the way steam wisped off the top of her drink like flames, she took a long, deep sip.

"Any headaches this morning?" She asked, after a moment of silence. Perhaps, had the TV been on, Izuku wouldn't have felt so uncomfortable. Grabbing the remote, he put it on a nature documentary channel.

"...None." He said, his eyes glued to the screen. Izuku didn't have the heart to tell her the truth; there was nothing either of them could do. Meds did next to nothing and home remedies had been a bust. The lie was easier to force out when he wasn't thinking. His eyes stayed trained on the odd creature on screen; some form of endangered rodent. The episode was about a real capybara with a quirk, and how it changed his life. It was absorbing and interesting, just the thing to ease the lie off his tongue.

His mother said nothing for a long time, just sipping her tea till all that remained was the baggie. At some point, she set her mug down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She wasn't looking at him.

"You sure? I know they aren't every day, but you haven't seemed to have had one for almost a week. Maybe you're finally getting better."

Izuku was happy when his phone blipped, reminding him it was time to leave. He leaned over, pecking his mom on the cheek, and left, never once looking her in the eyes.

[x]

"It'll be like a relay race; I want you to rush between the walls as fast as you can. You're only allowed to touch the parts that I indicate, however, and you aren't allowed to push off the wall for momentum." Nighteye said, pulling out a clipboard and a stopwatch.

Izuku nodded with great care. Already, the pain behind his eyes was starting to flare to life, but he wouldn't let it inhibit him. One for All began to churn in his stomach, his engine purring.

With it, the headache attacked him full force. The test had yet to even start, and he was already short on breath, every inhale too little, every exhale too much. His tongue tasted like iron, his nose like it was burning. A small ringing dulled the sharp instructions of Nighteye, leaving Izuku guessing at what the man said next. Ink splotches stained his peripherals, but his focus was sharp, detailed beyond the norm. It was one of the few upsides of his chronic pains. Izuku couldn't bring himself to be thankful for it, however.

Izuku zoned back in as Nighteye shooed him off, yelling something he couldn't quite hear, but understood to be "Go, go!"

He wasn't quite sure what exactly to do, but he knew the gist. Move from wall to wall, only touching the designated target. Be fast, be careful, and above all else, push himself.

His headache roared alongside his heartbeat, each competing to see who could pulsate in his body with more intensity as Izuku began to run, propelling himself with smoke. The lessons with Endeavor had been fruitful, despite how grueling they could be. Already, he was speeding across the warehouse twice as fast as he could run on foot, and he wasn't even pushing into a higher gear yet.

Skidding to a stop, Izuku tapped a red target with his knuckle. Using a burst of Smokescreen to push away, he flung himself back the way he came. With a swipe of his hand, all the exhaust left hovering behind him dispersed, revealing a different challenge than before.

The target on this wall was several Izukus taller than he himself, and would require both careful flight and a hard stop, two of his more skill-intensive tasks. His vision, sharp as it was, flicked between the target, the floor padding, Nighteye, and even old Torino, who seemed to be the person in charge of placing the targets between his runs.

Nighteye's serious face seemed troubled and dull for the brief moment before it faded into his peripherals. Gran Torino's face seemed fiery and brimstone in comparison, his shoulders stern and frustrated. Izuku let it slip to the back of his mind where the pain was worst, focusing on the test at hand.

Using the floor padding as a pseudo-spring, Izuku jumped with all his might before pushing Smokescreen out of his legs, launching him towards the second target. He cursed as his foggy brain misjudged his trajectory, his palm slapping against the concrete wall instead of the intended target. His eyes whipped to Nighteye, who only tilted his head back to the other wall with pursed lips, jotting something down.

Izuku could feel the grimace on his face form; while what he'd attempted was hard, it was far from being outside of his ability. It'd been a ludicrous failure, in reality. Embarrassed and annoyed, Izuku let off another burst of his quirk, shooting him across the room without consideration of the "no pushing off the wall" rule. Determined to make up for the blunder, Izuku tried to show off, corkscrewing through the air using timed bursts of Smokescreen. Never touching the ground, Izuku raced to the other side of the warehouse again, intent on touching the third target: A blue circle that sat with one hemisphere on the wall and the other on the ceiling.

A steady stream of smoke erupted out of his chest and legs as he propelled himself even higher, recklessly climbing to heights he'd never attempted outside of training. He would make it, and he'd do so in style. It was the only way to redeem himself from the previous failure.

He was mere seconds away from touching the target when the headache jumped from awful to debilitating. Evolving from a mallet to a sledgehammer, the pain spasmed into an unmanageable mess, Smokescreen wavering as Izuku's focus withered.

Not a moment later, Izuku choked. Perhaps it was in surprise at the pain or a wad of saliva slipping down his lungs, but careful inspection would reveal dust bunnies. The ventilators and pipes right below the ceiling hadn't seen a hint of maintenance or even a broom in years, and that filth had piled up. Izuku had gotten so high and caused such commotion in the airflow of the ceiling that it'd all gone airborne, with one clob ending up in Izuku's unlucky mouth.

It was enough of a shock for Smokescreen to putter out completely, sending Izuku down several stories onto the firm padding of the floor. He landed with a painful bounce, the air caught in his throat the fall knocked the wind out of him.

"Fuck, kid are you alright!?" Gran Torino yelled, bursting to his side. Izuku could only wheeze, rolling over to his side as he clutched his throat. The older man helped him into a sitting position, guiding him into taking deep belly-breaths. It took almost a minute for Izuku to get his breathing under control, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Wiping away the wetness, Izuku could only watch in strained silence as Nighteye began walking around the warehouse, cleaning up their mess and eventually shutting down the lights. Izuku tried to call out to the man, to question what he was doing, but could only gasp, his throat still abused.

So, aching and beyond frustrated, Izuku waited for the man to finish. Gran Torino said nothing, only sending urgent looks to Nighteye when he thought Izuku wasn't looking. By the time the man had closed everything down, Izuku had almost recovered. Slipping out from under the man's concerned hand, Izuku stumbled his way over to Nighteye as he opened the front door.

"S-sir… what are you doing? Why are we shutting down so early?" He asked, his voice scratching his throat. The headache had died a bit, but a body ache of equal proportions replaced it, leaving him with nothing left that felt fine.

Nighteye's stern exterior wavered as he looked down his nose, observing Izuku. The man said nothing, but his eyes communicated enough. Izuku's fists balled; it reminded him of the early days of his training. Of the pity, the distaste.

"I-I can k-keep going, S-sir." Izuku began, before coughing into a fist. Gran Torino approached from behind, silent but exuding concern. "Let's run it back, I-I'll do better next time."

Nighteye shifted, his cold eyes growing warmer, less stern, and more familiar to the Nighteye Izuku had come to know. His stone shoulders seemed to droop, the tightness of his stance loosened. The tall man fell to one knee, placing a hand on Izuku's shoulder.

"You might, but it wouldn't be worth it. Your condition has been dwindling for a while now; I just didn't want to admit it. At the very least, I should've given you a break. Pushing you to be your best when you simply aren't was unkind. Take the day off—damnit, take the week off. Rest awhile."

"But I can keep going!? I-I don't want to rest. I want to keep training." Izuku said, pulling away from the touch but unable to bring himself to sever it. Gran Torino sighed behind him.

"You've seen better days, kid. Your focus is loose, your retention is dull, and your muscles are slow. 'Thought you were just plateauing, for a minute, but I think today proves otherwise. What you need isn't another attempt, but a break. To rest the body, to clear the mind, so to speak." The elderly man said, gesturing first to his chest and then to his forehead.

Izuku felt the fight in him die at the latter portion of the man's speech. Clear the mind, huh? He wished. The desire to tell them of the headaches swelled in his chest, enough to crush the next words out of his lungs. There would be nothing to gain in telling them. They couldn't do anything when he'd told him so many months ago, and they couldn't do anything now. It would only worry them, pulling him further away from doing what he loved longer.

"...Fine."

[x]

"Are you even listening?" the other boy asked, pausing the scribbling of his pen alongside his small talk. Izuku blinked, coming back to himself. Looking around, he struggled to recall where and when he was, how he'd gotten there, and why. The question of who was solved upon glancing at his partner. Red and white hair, burn scar, mismatched eyes. Shoto Todoroki.

"O-oh, sorry. Been a little out of it." Izuku mumbled, sitting up straight. He spoke with a voice just above a whisper, careful not to agitate the pain behind his eyes. Shoto's gaze was a mix of doubt and concern, but Izuku waved him off. "Nighteye is giving me a… break week. It's been throwing me off."

They lapsed into silence as Izuku collected himself, reminding himself of their task. Trigonometry was the subject, it seemed. Mid-Level. He pulled the nearest completed worksheet toward himself, glancing over it alongside the accompanied scratch paper. No errors, however, the boy was going the long way around for some problems, making them much harder than they normally would be.

He scooted closer to Shoto, pointing out the issues he saw, trying his best not to stay focused. This continued, they boys going back and forth between questions, answers, and formulas until all either of them could think about were numbers and graphs. At some point, their math tolerance broke, and Shoto called for a break.

At this time of day, books, laptops, and students of all majors filled all the tables surrounding them. While they had just as much a right to their space as the next person, they decided it was both courteous and more fun if they packed up and left.

The food hall was for official students only, but that didn't mean they couldn't wander the rest of campus. Neither of them was big on exploration, so despite their long hours on campus, neither knew their way around very well.

The walk was pleasant, if not a little dull. Izuku kept his talking to a minimum, unwilling to risk a headache, while Shoto wasn't much of a talker anyway. Still, they gave the architecture and monuments the attention they deserved, content with stretching their legs and enjoying the breeze.

Without the mental stimuli of Trigonometry, however, Izuku found his mind wandering to increasingly dark places. When was the last time he'd been able to have such a relaxing walk with Setsuna? Nowadays, much of their in-person fun happened at Dagobah. It was always nice to be with her, of course, but that didn't change that what they were doing was work. Extensive training wasn't something unique to his friendship with Setsuna, but it felt different than when he did it with Shoto.

On the occasions Izuku found himself at the Todoroki household, the training was grueling and all-consuming, but satisfactory. He was free to push himself alongside a rival in Shoto, content to work himself to the bone at the same pace as his friend. With Setsuna, it felt closer to, and Izuku hated to say this, babysitting. Of course, she pushed herself just as hard as either of them, but it was like she had no restraint. Izuku felt like he was watching out for her more than pushing himself, concerned she'd end up collapsing or hurting herself.

Yet, Izuku kept going back. They'd been training at the beach for almost a year, and Izuku wasn't sure if he'd had a truly satisfying training session there. His muscles felt used, but never to their capacity. His skill felt tested, but never beyond expectation. Had he been going for the sake of training itself, he might've abandoned the prospect months ago.

It wasn't training he was after, though. Izuku just wanted to spend time with her, and if that meant lackluster training, then that's fine by him.

He'd never skipped or held out on her, though. Izuku gave Setsuna his fullest because it was what she deserved. That, in itself, was satisfying in its own way. It was everything. The feeling in his chest when she smiled, the lightness in his heels when her skin touched his, the gratitude in her green eyes. It made his heart soar, higher than even the tallest wall of anxiety, higher than the most robust mountain of stress. It was almost perfect. Almost.

Bitterness welled up in his stomach as a dull pain arced across his temple. Izuku could tolerate the way things were, if not for the headaches. The alien feelings around Setsuna, the anxiety and frustration at her dogged pursuit of heroism, everything. If his head could stay clear for even a week, Izuku could die a happy man.

A glance at Shoto had him spiraling deeper into his self-pity. He remembered the first instance; in the beginning, it'd been an adrenaline rush. A simple spar with Shoto, the first of many. He'd just got a little ahead of himself, too hungry for victory.

Then it'd happened again later that night, and again the next day. A month went by, and they morphed into true headaches. A few more months, and it became clear they were chronic. Perhaps, if Izuku was the type to blame, he could pin it all on Shoto. It'd been he who jump started it, after all, even unknowingly. Izuku, for the briefest moment, played with the idea.

He imagined how good it might feel to finally be able to point a finger at a cause. To let all his built-up frustration loose in one, massive burst. A total tantrum, a meltdown the likes of which society had yet to witness. Giving Shoto the cold shoulder would just be the start; if Izuku didn't punch whoever was responsible for his grievances, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Izuku snorted; even entertaining the thought was stupid. His friend did nothing of the sort. Shoto glanced at him, his expression guarded, but curious. Izuku didn't bother to explain, instead choosing to just keep walking, letting his eyes wander around the courtyard they were passing through.

"You know… Fuyumi has been suggesting therapy to me." Shoto said from beside him, eyes locked ahead. Izuku startled, almost stumbling. Therapy? For what? Shoto's trauma happened ages ago.

"Huh? Why?" Izuku asked. Shoto didn't reply for a while, instead guiding them over to a bench. Neither said anything as they settled down, backpacks between their ankles.

"My mom. She wants me to go talk to mom, after everything. She's been visiting for a while herself." He said, after almost a minute of brooding silence. Izuku winced. Shoto's feelings were hard to decipher at the easiest of times. Bringing his parents into the equation, however, elevated the task from difficult to impossible. The boy's emotions regarding his family were a maelstrom of confusion, contradictory at best.

"Why therapy, though? Didn't all that," Izuku said, gesturing to the boy's face, "already, y'know, happen?"

Shoto seemed to be choosing his words very carefully, his chin tilted up as he looked at the clouds. Seconds passed, each making Izuku more uncomfortable than the last. A hot prickle of embarrassment crept down his neck. Did he say something wrong?

"It… it did happen, a long time ago. It's been a long time, yeah. Yeah. Didn't… didn't you go to therapy, though? You never really talked about it. When was the last time you went?" He asked, chancing a glance into Izuku's eyes. Shoto's scarred eye, for that was all he could glimpse, glistened. Not a lot, but enough for Izuku to feel a twinge of discomfort.

"Mhm. I did, but it's been a bit; a few months, maybe half a year since the last session. The uhm… the panic attacks stopped, so going started to feel a little pointless." Izuku said, looking anywhere but Shoto.

Izuku continued to wrack his brain after speaking, trying to remember the last time he visited Dr. Fujimaki. He'd seen his daughter earlier today but hadn't heard from the older man nearly as recently. At the bare minimum, it must've been four months.

He paused, drinking in the thought. It hadn't crossed his mind much, that he wasn't really going to therapy anymore. Maybe there was pride in that, but if there was, Izuku had yet to feel it. Not going anymore… it almost felt like he skipped a step.

When neither boy continued on, Izuku felt lost, like something was wrong. The walk had turned sour, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. Shoto's own grievances were obvious, and Izuku couldn't help but try and amend them, despite his own misgivings.

"Therapy is pretty cool if you've got the right person. I got really lucky—the first one I found, I loved. Ms. Fujimaki's dad, believe it or not." Izuku said, tenuous. Shoto shifted beside him, his knees angling closer to Izuku.

"Really?" He asked, a fragile laugh on his tongue. Izuku nodded, allowing himself a chortle.

"For real. He really helped me through a lot of stuff. Even if you, y'know, end up… not seeing your mom, it'd probably be worth your time. Always looking for someone to save you from your boredom, right?" Izuku asked, the chortle easing into a full-blown laugh. Shoto's laugh stayed quiet, but the fragility fortified into something closer to comfortable.

"I'm not so sure, it seems complicated."

"It can be, but it's worth it, I think."

Izuku could tell the guy was nervous. Shoto was a straight shooter, and while he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he kept his intentions and opinions transparent. His mom was a sore subject, and therapy was scary in prospect. Izuku—well, Izuku hadn't felt much of anything going in. To him, it felt like one day he was grieving, and the next he was sitting in an office, missing an arm and splurging his feelings. He didn't get the chance to be scared, but that didn't mean he couldn't empathize with him.

The silence they lapsed into wasn't quite comfortable; neither boy felt particularly good, but it was easier than before. After a while, the clouds drifted apart, showering them with the blinding light of the sun. They took it as a sign to leave, to continue on their spontaneous tour.

They ran around for who knew how long, enjoying the nice day and the beauties of the campus, but eventually they had to part. Overhead, the deep baritone of the overhead bell announced the end of the day for the afternoon classes, releasing Shoto's sister and ride home.

Izuku hovered around the gated entrance, waiting with Shoto for Fuyumi. Deja Vu hit him as he watched as all the students fled from campus, free. It was like all the times he'd waited for Setsuna after school, except this time, he was waiting for adults.

It was those kinds of musings that kept his mind off the darker thoughts, even as his temples felt the hot iron between an anvil and a blacksmith's hammer. Simple thoughts, random observations, and his silent companion had gotten him through most of the day, and now he was on the home stretch.

Something bumped his shoulder, pulling him out of his head. Shoto was staring at him like he was expecting some sort of response. Izuku blushed, realizing he'd zoned out again.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" He asked, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice and failing. A small corner of Shoto's lip twitched downwards.

"This is exactly my point." Shoto began, before sighing. It seemed like he braced himself before continuing, his form tensing as if scared. "Here's what I've been thinking: I'll give therapy a try. I'll listen to my sister, to you, and do my best. In return, I want you to go talk to Ms. Fuji's father or whatever. You… you've been worrying us, you know. I talked a little to Setsuna about it; the headaches are still bothering you, aren't they?"

Izuku felt his vertebrae lock together, his spine becoming a stone pillar. It suddenly made sense why Shoto seemed so stressed in repeating himself. A hot itchiness spread from his core, down to his toes and into the fingertips that should be there but weren't.

"I-I-I don't k-know what you're t-talking about," Izuku said, his eyes drilling holes into his shoes. Shoto took a step back, his hands raised.

"Do you think I should go to therapy?" Shoto asked, pivoting the conversation just enough to throw Izuku off balance. He sputtered, unsure what to say as he collected his thoughts.

"I—Uhm, I-I don't think it would hurt."

"Then I don't think it'd hurt for you to go back. You've been like a zombie for a while now, even more since Nighteye put you on probation. I think it could do you—do everyone, some good." Shoto finished, before stepping away. Izuku was like a rock struck by lightning: shocked beyond belief, but with heavy, cumbersome limbs that refused to react.

He could only watch as Shoto walked away, somehow having sniffed out the exact moment Fuyumi would show up. It took almost all Izuku had to wave goodbye to the girl when he caught her eye, and then the effort of getting to the station stole everything else he had. By the time Izuku got home, Izuku was so drained he collapsed onto the couch, not even bothering to touch his school work.

Recalling the words over and over in his head, Izuku shoved his face deeper into the couch. Going to therapy after so long felt… awkward, like a backstep. Like even going in the first place didn't matter too much, like it detracted from all the progress he'd already made.

Then again, his mind began to whisper, maybe not. He remembered all those lessons Dr. Fujimaki had taught him, about taking care of himself, about pacing himself when facing adversity. Each session was a building block. Therapy wasn't a single structure that could only be completed in a single motion. Each session grew layer by layer, brick by brick.

Perhaps Izuku had finally finished a room, with what he'd already accomplished, but that was still a smaller section of a bigger building.

His stomach churned, thinking about it, but perhaps that was inevitable. Being nervous was always part of the gig. He didn't have anything going on tomorrow, did he? Use your bravery strategically, Fujimaki had told him. Well, there were very few times more strategic than tomorrow, when he'd have all day to think over everything the man had to offer.

If Shoto, the trainwreck he was, could get himself into a therapist's office for the first time, Izuku could surely do it for the thirtieth.

[x]

The door to Dr. Fujimaki's office swung open slower than Izuku intended, the hinges' creaking drawn out like the front door of a haunted mansion. Like said mansion, Izuku felt a shiver jump up his spine upon seeing the interior. As many times as Izuku had been here, he was still shocked walking in; while it still held the same energy as before, a thousand differences made it feel alien and new.

For one, the visitor's couch was different, having gone from a more traditional leather couch to an ornamental satin mess. The cushions were different at a glance, with blood-red felt covers and smelling of old perfume. The office desk was in a different corner, hiding away all of the personal knick knacks from the entrance. The most disconcerting, however, was the color scheme. Dr. Fujimaki had stripped the room of its cold lightning, replacing it with warm contours and traditional lightbulbs. The only things that felt truly familiar were the little old man sitting in his recliner and the mahogany bookshelves covering three-quarters of the walls.

It felt odd, like Izuku'd transported straight from the modern ages to the Victorian era. Upon his entrance, Dr. Fujimaki stood up, hobbling over to welcome him.

"Mr. Midoriya! It's been ages; do you like what I've done with the place?" He asked, shaking Izuku's hand.

"Uh—yeah! It looks nice. What happened to the old couch?" He asked, leaning around the man to check if it was in an unseen corner. It wasn't.

"Oh, I had to get rid of it. I had a patient come in with a particularly volatile quirk, you see. In the midst of a serious session, he began to cry, and the poor fellow's tears irreparably damaged the wood that held the beast together. I'll miss her, but this new one is nice." He said, walking back over to his seat. "Tea?" He added, before sitting back down. Izuku nodded absently, feeling a bit put off by the lack of the normal couch. It was silly, but he himself had also cried on it, and seeing it gone felt like he'd lost a friend.

Dr. Fujimaki began the tea while Izuku tried sitting on the couch, fidgeting to find a comfortable spot. The new couch must've been a recent addition, given there was little to no wear; no matter where Izuku sat, he couldn't find a butt-mold. Once he gave up searching for one, he settled for the middlemost section, sitting directly on the firm hump for maximum cushion. Across the room, the Doctor began humming an unfamiliar tune.

"So," Dr. Fujimaki began as he brought Izuku tea, "do you know why we're here today? Or are we going to have to discover that together?"

"Well, erm—kinda? My friend is starting soon, and he said I should try it again in some form of solidarity-pact thing. Other than that…" Izuku trailed off, thinking of his other problems.

"Ah, well that's kind of you. It does, however, beg the question: What has he seen in you in order to offer such a pact in the first place?" He asked, taking a sip of his tea. Izuku flinched, surprised. He'd forgotten how much more personal conversations with a therapist got than normal people. In some ways they were smarter than you, braver than you, even crueler than you at times. They're sometimes the most heartfelt people you know, and other times the most cutthroat. Ruthlessly direct comes to mind.

Izuku wavered, thinking about the question. His first instinct was to brush it off, perhaps lie like he'd been getting better at. To coast over the issues and pretend they weren't there; but this wasn't his first session, nor his tenth or even twentieth. By now, he liked to think he'd figured out how to get the most out of therapy. You didn't do that by lying; they'd know either way, regardless.

"I… he called me a zombie. I guess it's true. I've felt… I've felt like there's always a fog around me. Cotton in my ears, plugs in my nose, a frog in my throat. I haven't been able to focus much recently" Izuku admitted, entertained by the way the felt cushions moved under his fingers, pinching and twisting it like nothing else in the world mattered. He spoke low, as if by being quiet the doctor wouldn't hear him and wouldn't press him for more.

"Hmm. And those headaches, are they a part of this?" He asked, typing up a storm on his little laptop. Izuku winced, feeling more and more out of his element.

"Y-yeah. They're… worse than ever, sir."

"And how do they make you feel? Emotionally, I mean." He asked, continuing to type. Izuku's hand was shaking as he reached for more tea, his fingers almost twitching too much to hold his cup.

The headaches made him feel foul. Bitter, angry, depressed; if it's got a negative connotation, Izuku's felt it. Just thinking about the pain by itself, not even considering how it impacted his life, made him upset. His heart was beating out of his chest, trying to think of some coherent response; nothing he could say felt earned, satisfactory. It was too underwhelming put into words, too overwhelming to think.

"I-I… I think we're moving a little fast, sir…" Izuku said, after what felt like a long time. The sounds of keycaps clicking slowed to a stop as Dr. Fujimaki glanced up into his eyes. The contact wasn't foreign; he'd looked into the Doctor's eyes many times, and never once had he thought it uncomfortable. At least, until today. Such warmth and sudden understanding filled his eyes that it made Izuku want to take back everything he'd just said, to try better to communicate. It was revolting how such a small gesture of understanding made him squirm, when once he'd embraced it with open arms.

"Alright, son, alright. What of your friends, how have they been?" He asked, making Izuku wince again. Another sore subject; but this time, Izuku wouldn't back down.

"Shoto's doing better, and I think he'll enjoy therapy. Setsuna makes me—I don't know. She… worries me." He admitted; it was far easier to talk about someone else, especially when he knew he wouldn't get blown off. His mother had never taken Setsuna's discrepancies seriously; so telling the doctor felt easy, like his entire stance on the matter was on the tip of his tongue and the doctor was telling him to say "aah."

"Still? I vaguely remember you telling me she was acting strange once upon a time. What was wrong, again? I'm afraid I can't remember all the details at my age." He said, pushing his laptop off his lap in exchange for his tea cup.

Izuku considered this, trying to remember what he'd already told the man. When Izuku had still been coming into the office regularly, Setsuna had just started Middle School. He sent himself back to those days, trying to pick apart what'd stood out to him.

He remembered her being tired—too tired, really. Strained was more like it. How she'd seemingly done a 180 in her personality; with just a simple haircut, she'd gone from the energetic, yet relaxed girl he'd come to appreciate into someone pushing themselves harder than almost anyone he knew. It was like looking into the mirror.

That was the problem, really. Izuku was a slave to his passions and goals, always striving forward for improvement. It wasn't healthy with his level of dedication, he understood, but that was because he wasn't healthy. If Izuku was being honest with himself, the reason he was such a dedicated worker was more than his childhood dream of heroism. It stemmed from the worst moment in his life, the day that still lingers behind his eyes and sends shivers down his spine. Izuku liked to think he was a positive person, but in reality, he knew the raw, pure negativity of his trauma fueled him.

A phantom pain crept across his ghost-skin, like a dozen wrathful ants marching across his arm. The pain in his head became less manageable as One for All began to churn alongside his emotions, thinking about the day that'd changed him forever. Blood pumped in his ears to a rhythm he couldn't follow, to a song he couldn't hear.

"She… she's still doing it—she's been pushing too hard, I think. Trying to match me and my work ethic, without help or self restraint. She's so great, really. She's a good person, she's made of stern stuff, but it's like her world's falling apart, and the only way to hold it together is to work harder than she can handle, to be someone she isn't. I… I think it's my fault." He said, finishing his rant with his fist clenched and teeth gritted. It'd all tumbled out so easily, when someone was willing to listen.

He wasn't sure what her catalyst was, but the only reason he was so single-minded in his self improvement was because of a promise to a dead man. Or rather, a man gone from the world, who's will lived on within him. His purpose was now Izuku's, and he owed it to him to follow it.

His death had devastated him, ravished him of all sense of self for months. When Izuku came through, however, he was more than before. It was like the grueling effort he put in was easy, as if every difficult task was nothing compared to his worst moment. By comparison, training and studying everyday was a simple matter of little consequence. Without that benchmark of hardship, dealing with that training would put hurt someone and fast. If Setsuna really was trying to match him, then it must've been killing her slowly. If she was truly emulating him, then his own routine was the thing hurting her.

Dr. Fujimaki was quiet as he sipped on his tea, allowing the thought to incubate in his brain until his opinion hatched.

"Well, if you believe it is your fault, how did you tell her about that? What did she say?" He asked, his tone blank and voice slow. Izuku felt a chill go down his back, freezing him in place. His gut wrenched as his body caught up to his ears, realizing what the doctor had asked. He hadn't asked; he didn't know how, or didn't think it was appropriate, or something along those lines. It was a humongous question, something requiring far more air in his lungs to let out than he had to offer.

"I… I—what do you mean? How would you talk to someone about that?" Izuku muttered, staring at the space between his knees. His cheeks flushed, a sudden shame creeping up from his stomach. Dr. Fujimaki sighed, setting his cup aside and leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. Izuku didn't want to risk looking in his eyes.

"So, am I correct in assuming you haven't asked the lass about it?" He asked. Izuku struggled to answer, to defend himself, but it was pointless. That same shame in his gut reached the back of his throat, burning like bile. Unable to reply, he nodded.

"My boy, you're a good child. Would you agree?" He asked again, seeking a reply. Izuku felt uncomfortable, like he shouldn't be the one to judge that, but he allowed himself a hesitant nod. Perhaps he wasn't a good friend, son, or student, but being a child? He lived and breathed naivete. This whole conversation was a reminder of how much left he had to learn, how much he had to grow. Dr. Fujimaki always made him feel like his big problems were small, like he was a child talking to an adult. Well, he was, in reality, but that mattered little.

"I agree. I admit, I'm struggling to read between the lines here, but from what I can glimpse, your friend's condition is more than just your fault, at the very least. Perhaps it isn't even yours at all. But, if you truly believe it is yours, I want you to ask yourself a question: What do good people do when they've done something wrong?"

Izuku needed no more time to think than to recuperate his voice.

"You apologize, and then you try your best to fix it." Izuku said, scratchy and quiet. The doctor nodded.

"Bingo. I don't know how much I can help you with your headaches, but this is something with a simple solution. Talk to her. Perhaps fixing it will be difficult, but starting that process is easy. Communication and honesty are first and foremost the best way to heal a wound of the heart, my boy."

They fell into silence after that, allowing Izuku time to digest everything, including the advice and the delicious tea. Thinking of actually talking to Setsuna about everything was nerve wracking, like he was about to climb an abnormally steep mountain. Perhaps it would've been easier if he'd nipped the conversation in the bud last year, making it less overdue and more appropriate to the moment, but that didn't matter. Dr. Fujimaki was right. Izuku should take some responsibility, even if unnecessary, even if unwanted.

Honesty and communication. Two very difficult concepts to subscribe to, in reality. Despite their simplicity, they were enigmas, ideas that had drifted further and farther from Izuku's reach since he began hiding the headaches. Perhaps it was time to reclaim them, as uncertain as he was.

"Alright, sir. I'll try."

[x]

Izuku Midoriya: Hey. I've been meaning to talk to you for a long time now, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I know we speak everyday, but I mean a talk talk. A serious one; one that'll require some privacy. Our houses aren't secure enough, and the news has an ongoing special about the tragedy of Dagobah, so news crews are swarming our spot. There is a large suspension bridge halfway between our homes with a very secure walking lane beneath it. My mom says almost nobody goes across there nowadays. Can we meet there tomorrow, around noon?

Setsunasaurus: Of course.

Chapter 20: Within the Dragon's Wake

When Izuku first opened his eyes, he felt like he was floating. The ease at which he grew into consciousness astounded him; like a warm cloud lifting into the realm of the waking world. The last few months of spartan, painful headaches felt less like leaving the dream world and more like joining a new one of nightmares. Without one whatsoever, he felt like a free man.

Though his heart was heavy and his gut was bubbling with nerves, there was a subtle bounce to his step as he did his morning routine. A lightness to his heels made him coast over the floorboards, a deftness to his hand made breakfast a breeze. His body felt loose and limber, making his morning shower trivial. It was like the stars had aligned, his chakras in order.

Without morning training or classes today, Izuku was free to lounge around, chatting with his mother until she left for work. It felt amazing to talk with his mother. With nothing to hide, nothing to downplay, it felt like the first real conversation with her in months. This time, when he kissed her on the cheek and wished her luck at work, he looked into her eyes, throwing his arms around her midriff for good measure.

Then, the inevitable happened. After another two hours of blissful laziness, the clock struck 11:30, his signal to head out to the meeting with Setsuna. Almost in synchronization with the digital clock, a very, very slight pain bloomed behind his eyes. It threw Izuku off, after being free all morning, but he decided to ignore it. The higher powers had given him his vacation, and he wouldn't waste his appreciation on its limited lifespan.

Still, even just leaving the house, it was all quite abnormal. No headache all morning, only to begin when Izuku thought he'd finally get to meet up with his friend with a clear head on his shoulders. It was like the universe wanted to play a joke on him.

He offered a polite chortle. Perhaps it wasn't amusing to him, but to any cosmic overlords, it was only courteous; that's what good guests do, when their hosts try to be funny.

It became even less funny as time went on. When he'd left the house, the pain had been dull, less than a pinprick. Once he'd left his block, however, it'd expanded. Once it grew closer to having a clothesline pin pinching your skin, Izuku had begun to frown. By the time he got to the station, that clothesline pin had morphed into a metal clamp, its teeth dull steel. The train ride was short, yet by the time the car had come to a screeching stop, Izuku was gritting his teeth, holding back a screech of his own.

The dull teeth of that metal clamp sharpened, the hinges morphing into a spring-loaded monstrosity. Climbing up the stairs of the station was treacherous, what with the bear trap biting into him, but he managed. He wasn't even given the courtesy of limping; the awkward motion only jerked his head enough to make fresh waves of pain wash over him. He walked like an automaton made of sugar glass; even the slightest wrong movement was a risk of total destruction.

Walking to their meeting place felt like dragging his feet through the desert, his water supply long gone. His throat grew parched and flemy in one moment, his eyes dazed and hyper-focused the next. It was like he was the living embodiment of slow death; like the guillotine was falling, but gravity was taking its time.

The first step onto the bridge's walking lane felt like his last, yet his body kept moving. Never before had a headache been this debilitating, this mindrendingly destructive. The second step felt more prolonged than all of the preceding steps combined, like he was wading through liquid time. The next wasn't easier, nor the one after that.

When he finally arrived at the intended meeting spot, the walk had taken its toll. Izuku became a dried out husk of a human, drowned to death. He crumpled to the floor, leaning against the rusty railing dividing him from safety and a nauseating free fall. His heart wasn't beating fast, but hard. Powerful, but slothish, like it was pumping sludge instead of blood. The world moved in slow motion, like every bird's wing flap took days, like the rolling waves far below took decades.

He was in this slow world when Setsuna arrived, walking towards him normally, like she was the exception. Like his warped sense of time and space revolved around her and her alone. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, but it was like she was glowing, a small golden hue outlining her figure just as the rest of the world had lost its color.

The guillotine may have been halfway through his neck, the bear trap may have taken his leg, and that pinprick may have turned into a rapier splitting his skull in two, but it mattered little when she finally arrived, standing before him.

"Hey." He offered.

[x]

"Fuck." Setsuna said, gripping her right wrist as it spasmed, ruining her eyeliner. A thousand emotions were bubbling in her gut. Anger, for one. She'd been borderline non-function since Izuku asked to meet up last night. Nerves gripped her so fiercely that even doing the easiest of tasks—makeup, eating, even putting on clothes had become demanding.

Anxiety, for another. The sheer fear that'd laced her whole body upon that text had managed to make her throw up her dinner. What did he want? Was he confessing, was he finally throwing her away? It could be anything, but didn't want to hear anything. Her stomach had been doing flips, cartwheels, and corkscrews any time anyone had wanted to "talk" with her, and the last person she wanted those feelings associated with was Izuku.

Her dad had been trying to reach her for months, but she'd slipped out of his grasp each time, never giving him the chance to really grill her. Though her mom had left the task to her father, she still tried to sneak in her own interrogation once in a blue moon. They'd grounded her a few times, but it was all they could do to try and get through to her. Setsuna didn't like being like this; she wished she could just dump it all out, honestly, but she couldn't. It was like her blueprints designed her to bottle it all up, to hide away. Questions made her nervous, and her nerves made her skittish.

Her left hand wasn't her dominant hand, but it wasn't shaking. So, awkward and clumsy, but better than spasming uncontrollably, she managed to wipe away the mess on her eye and try again, this time going for a more simplistic and subtle look. She couldn't manage anything fun today, with such a loose cannon of a hand.

The morning had been like this since she woke up. Her shoulder blades felt raw and hurt in her bed, abused to the point of strain. Still, she forced herself up and did her morning stretches, adding in a single pushup for good measure. It didn't matter how much hurt she piled up onto her body; even a pulled muscle would heal itself in a day or two.

Her shoulders felt like lead, as if some giant man was always following right behind her, pushing down on them at every moment. Her knees ached with each step, sending her stumbling every few minutes. She couldn't bring herself to eat breakfast, with the boiling hot bile in the back of her throat. The following shower was good to her body, but nothing could really dilute the pain in her abdomen, blood seeping out of her like an uncorked wine bottle.

This whole situation wasn't helped by her period, spiraling her already foul mood into something far more abysmal.

Pimples and purple eyebags littered her face, despite her best efforts. Sleep was something that rarely came by, these days. Dreams even less so. It was nothing makeup couldn't fix.

She could barely stand to look at herself in the mirror, but she had to. Meeting with Izuku was special; she couldn't just go haphazardly, ungroomed and filthy. He didn't get to see that side of her; he only deserved her best.

She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling out the occasional knot. Even though she'd showered this morning, her roots were still sticky and oiled, like she'd forgotten to wash. Annoyance welled up in her gut; her hair was freshly bleached again, so her natural roots couldn't hide the grossness of her scalp. Thank the heavens she had a few millimeters on Izuku, so he wouldn't see the top of her head.

Sighing, she stepped out of the bathroom, her phone held loosely in one hand and her bag in another. The little device was about dead; one more call and the phone would black out. She'd forgotten to charge it after scrolling through it all night, trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay.

She slipped past her father eating lunch, not saying a word. It was a bit early, but the man's days had been growing earlier and earlier, waking up and going to bed like some sort of old man. A twinge of guilt went ignored at their lack of farewell.

Not bothering to brace herself, she walked over the hatch, bisecting at the midriff to slow her descent. Though the fall was slow and stylish, the landing was awkward, her kneecap buckling under her.

Though the nerves had been a massive bundle of discomfort since waking up, they only really hit once she walked out her front door. She was walking to a mysterious location, her phone almost dead, with a boy. Without context, the prospect was scary, like she was walking into a disaster waiting to happen. The prospect of it just being Izuku should've comforted her, but it didn't. The mysterious reasoning behind the encounter began to eat at her more and more, anxiety wanting to spill from her stomach onto the pavement.

She kept her walk brisk, trying to keep her mind off the incoming conversation and failing. There was no best-case scenario. Even if he said something sweet or kind, like a confession of his affections, Setsuna thought she might throw up. Everything in and around her felt awful. She was ugly, she felt ugly, and she couldn't hide it today, no matter how much she tried.

Thinking about the worst-case scenario made it even worse. Maybe he'd finally noticed how she clung to him, how she forced him to spend time with her when he obviously could be doing something more productive. How weak and lame she was without him, how much of a leech she was. Her gut was like a python, twisting and crushing her intestines against themselves even as her mind grew more traitorous, whispering all that could go wrong.

Perhaps today would be the last day she ever saw him, or maybe she'd have to keep meeting his eyes, feeling the way she does. Either option seemed tall, foreboding.

The train felt long, stretched out beyond the norm. Her lack of a phone was proving to be more troubling than she thought, cutting out all viable distractions from her anxiety. Missteps, wrong turns, and apprehension filled the walk to the bridge. She'd crossed the bridge plenty of times, but never as a pedestrian. Even the briefest hesitance made her legs quiver; what if she was going to the wrong bridge? What if she got there at the wrong time, or Izuku didn't show up?

Turning the last corner before the bridge, her fears eased. She was being dramatic. It was just a bridge; nothing to be afraid of. Steeling herself, her eyes cut a path to her destination, seeing the tiniest puff of green hair about halfway across. He'd beaten her there. How long had he been waiting?

Actually seeing Izuku was different from thinking about him. It did a number of things to her body, each a paradox to the last. It confirmed she was at the right spot, but it also made the situation a million times more real. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but her stomach dropped like a rock. Her cheeks flushed, but her nails dug into her palm.

The suspension bridge formed a slight arc, like a large hump, while the adjacent pedestrian path was flat. The cars and those walking were on two separate planes, leaving no room to worry about human-vehicle collisions. Halfway across the pedestrian path was an outcropping for tourists, but the safety railings were taller than the average man, leaving them unclimbable.

Her stomach did another flip, thinking about the suicide prevention design. The setting made for an awkward, ominous meeting in her mind. She hoped it didn't turn out like that.

Setsuna hovered, fiddling with her hair and clothes; was she presentable? Had the commute messed up anything? She stood frozen for what felt like ages, obsessing over herself. Could she really do this? There was still time to turn back, after all, enough battery in her phone to call him and cancel.

A million similar thoughts swarmed her skull like gluttonous pests, biting at her most vulnerable places. Through the hurricane of negativity, she felt her heart shift, her hand reaching for her phone to cancel.

It was in her hand before she knew it, her finger hovering over the "Call" button. She didn't know what stopped her, at this moment. Maybe a cold gust of wind, maybe another spasm of her hand; whatever the reason, instead of pressing that button, she hesitated. One second. Two seconds. Five, ten. At fifteen seconds, the phone went dark; dead.

Setsuna sighed.

She marched across the bridge, taking it as a message from the cosmos. At the very least, going would satisfy her yearning to see Izuku. The walk was awkward, full of her anxieties, but she pushed them to the back of her mind. Her fingers trailed against the cold iron of the railings as she walked, realizing the bridge was a bit chilly. As Izuku's puff of green hair grew closer at hand, she felt lighter and heavier, shoulders firmer than ever yet relaxed. The only consistent feeling in her body was her uterus, like an anchor of pain. She latched onto it, holding onto it for stability.

After what felt like the longest walk of her life, she arrived. Looking at Izuku up close brought a whole new host of emotions bubbling than she expected, however. Her personal anxieties faded away, concern evolving in its stead.

Izuku looked like a wreck, even more so than she felt. His eyes were glazed over, dull as they trained onto her form, his eyes tracing the outline of her figure. He was sitting on the filthy ground, seemingly unaware of the muck and grime of the bridge. His hair was slick to his forehead, like he'd just walked out of the rain despite the cloudless sky. His breath came out haggard, uneven and scratchy. Despite all of that, however, the boy seemed to glow somehow. Some sort of brightness shined through his skin, the smallest smile on his lips.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice coming out shredded and dry. Setsuna, as had become common for her, had no clue how to react. What was she to do? Sit with him? That was disgusting, no offense. Stand over him? That sounded so awkward. Her fretting came to an end as the boy suddenly lurched forward, his hand absently grabbing at the railing and pulling himself up. His spine bent like a crone's, his stance as uneven as her own.

"H-hey… w-what's up?" She asked. "A-are you alright?"

"Mmmm… no. No I don't think I am." He replied, turning away from her to look out at the water. She walked over, matching him. Waves were coming in steady, the water a beautiful blue. The walkway rumbled as cars zoomed past behind their heads, wind whipping up behind them. She didn't know what to say.

"I went back to therapy. Shoto asked me to. Made me realize some things." He said, his eyes drawing pictures over the water. It was like he could see things she couldn't, imagine things she didn't.

"O-oh? L-like w-what?" She asked, digging the ball of her foot into the floor. It was odd, to stutter in front of Izuku while he himself wasn't. Then again, everything about today was weird. It was good he'd gone back to therapy. He'd been unwell for a while, no thanks to her.

Izuku didn't answer right away, content to watch his invisible show. She neither rushed him nor exercised patience, her thumbs twiddling and her mouth sealed shut. Whatever had brought this about had been serious.

"Me… you. Being honest, I guess. I don't—I don't fucking know." He muttered, turning to her. "This is long overdue, Set."

Heat flushed to her cheeks as he knelt before her, taking her hand in a princely fashion. What was going on? He pressed his forehead to her knuckles, sweaty bangs and all. She couldn't bring it out of herself to care, mesmerized by his action. Was he—?

"I'm sorry."

The millisecond illusion broke, reminding her of his downtrodden state. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, unbidden and unwelcome.

"W-what? Why are you sorry?" She asked, her voice an inch above a whisper. He leaned his forehead harder against her hand, still holding it.

"It's my fault, isn't it? Everything you do. You… you're pushing so hard, too hard, and it's hurting you. It's my fault. I just didn't want to see it."

It hurt. That was all she could understand, in the moment. His words hurt, and she wanted that pain to go away. She didn't mean anything by what she did next, but that didn't excuse it. She ripped her hand free of his, stumbling away from him.

"What the—fuck, what the fuck? D-do… Do you really think—no! No!" She said, scrambling further and further away. Anything but this, she thought. Anything.

Her mind flicked to her father, all those months ago, confronting her after a late dinner with the Midoriyas. She thought of all those sleepless nights she spent, aching and lonely. Of all the time she'd spent going out of her way for others, of trying to be better.

"You… you don't get to say that! I'm fine!" She said, throwing an accusatory finger at him. His disheveled state seemed to wither with it, his eyes widening and lips parting.

"Set…" He whispered, before letting his voice raise. "Please don't do this. You—you're not well. Just… listen—"

"No! You're the last person I want to hear this from! Everything I do… everything is for—" She cut herself off, before she exposed herself. For you. Every anxiety, every nerve she'd been juggling since last night came rearing to the front, sending her spiraling even deeper.

"You don't need to! There's more to life than slaving away to heroism!" He continued, his hoarse voice growing into a yell. Even to her rebellious body, she could see how the scream somehow hurt him, literally. Like yelling physically ailed him, like it drained him of life. His shoulders twitched just before they tensed, his hands slapping against his ears as if he was trying to keep something crammed within. Blood trickled out of his nose at the effort.

Terror gripped her, but also righteous anger. Concern was drowning her, but her fear was a snorkle.

"You can't say that! You can't, you can't, you can't! You're such a hypocrite! You push harder than anyone, work harder than anyone! Why can't I?" She begged, pulling her crude pointing finger back to her chest, gripping her hand like letting it loose would spell the end of the world.

"Because it's—ack," Izuku began, forced to stop by a wet cough. "It's all I am, all I'm good for! You're amazing, Setsuna, you're so much more me! I'm just a shell, and I need to destroy myself every day to even be half the person you are! It's not healthy to be like me!"

Every word felt like a hammer blow, like an insult. Was he being ironic?

"What do you mean I'm more than you? What the fuck does that mean? Do you even understand how much work I put in just to fall short of you? Do you even understand in the slightest how it feels to stand next to someone braver than you, better than you? Do you think it's "healthy" to know for a fact that I'll never amount to you, and still be trapped in the same future? How will I be able to call myself a "hero" when you're standing next to me!?"

Whatever damage she'd taken from his words, whatever insult he'd inflicted, even unknowingly, paled in comparison to what she just said. Just with her eyes, she could see how his entire body locked in place, the way every muscle on his face strained against each other.

"That—that's the thing, you… you're not trapped. Not like me. You're more than a hero, Setsuna, you're a good person. You don't need—ptui," he paused, spitting a wad of blood out of his mouth as it rolled down from his nose, "to be a hero to be a good person. You just are. You're better than me like that." He whispered, exhausted.

The tears welling up in the corners of her eyes threatened to fall, sitting on the edge between crying and staying strong. Izuku shuddered, his hand rubbing circles into his temples.

"You—you can't know that. You're so…" Setsuna said, her voice cracking right before a sob. Izuku shook his head, staring at her shoes, unable to raise his head.

"I do. This whole… blonde thing was a symptom, right? Well I just need you to know that it was unnecessary. You were amazing as you were, Set, green or blonde."

She couldn't help the way tears stained her cheeks, or the way her eyeliner fell away with it.

"W-what… What if I'm not that person anymore? What If this new me is worse than the one you first met?" She asked, her voice airy and empty, apprehension filling every inch of her lungs. She thought about the way she'd been hiding things from her parents, the way she'd kept all these feelings locked up in a cage. She thought about how what she'd been doing, at the end of the day, was lying.

"She isn't. I promise. You don't need to lie to yourself to be a good person. Just be you."

Then Izuku cried out in agony, and the world exploded.

[x]

"Just be you." He said, blinking away the pain as a thousand hammers bludgeoned his mind, stabbing him with a million swords. Every word was a truck rolling over his skull, every sentence like a head-on collision with a train.

Even then, he'd pushed past it, all for the sake of getting his point across to Setsuna. She deserved her pride returned, her character praised. Even this magnificent pain wasn't worth stopping, worth leaving Setsuna feeling the way she was.

He thought he was on the home stretch, that he'd gotten through to her, that they could go home happy. He was wrong.

His world, sluggish and slow for everything except Setsuna, froze. His vision dulled, growing blurry and grayscale. The tears rolling down Setsuna' cheek paused, her animated show of emotions grounding to a stop alongside the rest of the world. It was like a god had plucked him out of time itself, allowing him a glimpse from a fourth-person perspective.

The pain, along with time, also slowed to a stop. It was an odd sensation, feeling pain "slow" instead of stop, but that was what it was. Like slowing down a video so much that you could count the frames, and then slipping between the gaps.

He was in a blurry world of gray, stuck between seconds, and scared.

"You might be the toughest nut to crack I've ever seen, or maybe just the stupidest. How the fuck did you manage to avoid an anuerysm, at the very least? Please, I'm curious." A masculine voice said from behind him. Izuku felt his jaw go slack, his unbeating heart fluttering in his chest. He turned slowly, as if the voice came from a dream and turning too fast would wake him up.

It was his head he saw first; bald and reflecting the sun like a mirror. Then the goggles, and the square jaw. The open leather jacket hanging around his broad shoulders; the combat boots.

"F-five? Is that you?" Izuku asked, his voice unbelieving. He hadn't seen Five, let alone the other vestiges, since seeing Nana on the train. Five, otherwise known as Banjo, threw him a thumbs up.

"Sure as shit, Nine. Good seeing ya."

"W-w-what are you doing here? What is this place? I'm not asleep, am I? Where're the others? What about—"

"Woah! Settle down kid. Castle's still up here," Five said, pointing a thick finger up to his temple. "We're… well, I guess you could say we're in the moat."

Izuku stared at him, incredulous. He glanced at Setsuna, blurry and mid-sob. He wondered if she could see this.

"Moat? I don't remember having a moat." He said. Five huffed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Fine. More accurately we're inside a mix of One for All's heart and a fraction of Four's quirk. Shit's been overloading you for ages now. No clue how you're still alive; if I was going through all that, I'd probably have committed by now. Been trying to reach out for a while; I got close last year, but I guess you just weren't ready." Five said, flippant. Then he twitched, looking over his shoulder to something Izuku couldn't see.

"Oh. Uh-huh. Yeah? Fine. Whatever, dawg, hop off." He said, talking to the nothingness beside him. Izuku could only stare, flabbergasted.

"Alright, Bossman called. Said we only got a few more seconds left, so listen up, capiche?"

"O-okay?" Izuku said, beyond confused. The world around them was starting to unfreeze, regaining its color and motion at a snail's pace. Behind Banjo's head, a light was starting to bloom.

"Nana fucked up, reaching out like she did. Messed up our whole order; not that Six giving you his quirk was much of a help. Basically, you've had mine and Four's quirk for a while now, you just weren't ready for 'em. Mine is Black Whip. Gnarly energy whips you can control with your mind if you assert some dominance. Four's, on the other hand, is a little… different." He said, the world gaining speed and color faster. The light blooming behind Five's head wasn't close, he realized; it was a trick of perspective. It was on the other side of the bridge. A quick glance around revealed it wasn't the only one. It was happening all over the bridge, as well as directly above them.

"Danger Sense gives you a heads up on, y'know, danger. Unfortunately, according to the quirk, you are about to be in a lot of that. One told me to remind you that it's gonna all catch up with you the second we return to the real world, so hold onto the edge of your seat, Nine. It's about to be a rough ride." Five finished, before dissolving into a black whisp that seeped into Izuku's skin.

Izuku had the briefest moment to realize those blooming lights were explosions before it happened.

All the pain hit him at once, squeezing a scream out of his throat. Overhead, the bright light of a bomb went off, tearing through the concrete and iron of the bridge keeping them safe. He couldn't react. His body couldn't catch up with his mind, the pain dulling his reactions into nothing. All he could do was stand there as a massive chunk of concrete cracked and began tumbling down to where he was standing.

"Move!" A shrill scream echoed across the walkway as Setsuna tackled him to the side, saving him just as the concrete slab tore through the spot he was standing, metal and all. Blood, he realized, was all over him; but it wasn't from his own body.

One of Setsuna's legs was gone from the calf down, stolen by the slab. For a brief moment, he froze. The image of a tree flashed through his mind, bloudstained knuckles and grief so thick in the air it could've been yogurt. He threw up, his breakfast splashing across the walkway.

It was All Might all over again, his blood a crimson wine in the chalice of his palms. All for One stood over him, the dimples on his cruel cheeks digging deep into his skin as he smiled. Helicopter blades filled his ears, bile filled his throat. EMT's staring at him, aghast.

Then it all fell away, a spike of pain striking his head as the walkway beneath him groaned, structurally unsound. The headache kept him grounded, kept him lucid just enough to remember himself.

Setsuna sprawled over his chest where she'd tackled him, unconscious. His vomit had touched her hair, but that was the least of their worries. Setsuna—she might not heal from this. Neither of them knew what happened when she lost such big limbs, when they were destroyed rather than lost. There was a chance she'd be okay, and there was a chance she wouldn't be.

His hands were shaking, but he rolled the girl off his chest, ripping his shirt off his chest in the same motion. With only one arm, tearing the piece in two felt impossible, but Setsuna was bleeding out, and if he didn't do anything soon—

He bit into the shirt, shredding it with his hand. Overhead, flames were beginning to lick down the supports, screams filling his ears. His heart was beating like crazy, his mind going in and out of focus as both real and phantom blood covered his hands. Using the shirt like a rope, he tried tying a knot around her calf, cutting off as much blood loss as possible. The task was haphazard, poorly done, and wouldn't last, but it managed to delay her death for a few more seconds as he gathered his breath.

The girl groaned, coming in and out of consciousness. Izuku wracked his brain, trying to think of what to do. Everything was so wrong—what the fuck was happening? Why them? How? Why? Why?

An epiphany hit him, lurching him out of his stupor. Overhead another small explosion went off. A car crashed somewhere, and someone was screaming for help. He gripped the girl by her shoulders, shaking her awake. The girl's eyes cracked open but stayed unseeing. Gritting his teeth, he started shouting.

"Wake up, Set! Wake up, wake up, wake up!" He continued to shake her, almost tempted to slap her awake. "Disconnect your leg! Bisect it at the knee!" He screamed.

The girl's eyes fluttered, foggy but almost awake. More, she needed more.

"C'mon, Set! We can—we can go to that museum you used to rave about, or the arcade!? Doesn't that sound fun!? I'll do anything you ask, if you just wake up. Anything you want in the world! Just pop your leg off!" He cried, cupping her cheeks. A light seemed to gleam in her eyes, of primal understanding. Perhaps she heard him, perhaps she did it by instinct, but everything below the knee popped off.

The blood loss ceased almost instantly, the girl's pale features stabilizing.

"Alright, kid, good work. Now listen," the voice of Five tickled in his ears. "Heroes are on the way, but what these people need isn't help in ten minutes. They need help now. Can you do that?"

Izuku staggered, surprised. He wanted to question how Five was speaking, but he didn't. It was like Setsuna's health stabilizing calmed his raging nerves, pushing his confusion to the back of his mind.

"I-I think so."

Overhead, a portion of the bridge groaned. Though he couldn't see it, he could almost feel the way the pavement was cracking, the supports withered away by the explosion. The driver's seat of a nearby car had collapsed, crushing the driver against the steering wheel; the airbag had failed. Across the bridge, almost two dozen cars had crashed, and the bridge was weak enough in three separate spots to collapse if a car drove over them.

Blood spurted out of his nose as his mind became overloaded with knowledge. Four people were dead; seventeen had broken a bone. One woman was dangling off the edge with a newborn. Two cars were teetering over the ledge, a single gust of wind enough to push them over if nature became cruel. Gas was leaking out of an oil tanker, slow pooling closer and closer to the lingering flames of the farthest explosion.

"Woah, relax kid, Narrow it down, keep it simple. Focus on yourself first, then expand from there. Are you in danger?" Five whispered. Izuku floundered for a moment, unsure of what he meant, before he felt it.

Now that he was aware of it, it was almost insulting. Like a knob in the back of his mind, it was so present that he could almost reach out and touch it. Gripping it like a dehydrated man does a water bottle, he twisted it, closing his connection to the outside world.

Immediately, the pain receded. The part of the pedestrian walkway they were on was unstable, if there'd been a third person, or even if they'd been adults, it would've collapsed under their weight. That was it. It was all he could feel; no pain, no overstimulation. If not for the four dead, he might call this bliss.

His limbs felt like lead and ice and fire and everything terrible, but he slipped his arms under Setsuna's prone form, picking her up bridal style. He wasn't sure what to do with her bloody nub, so he rested it against where their torsos met, keeping it safe. Blood had already ruined her shirt, so no need to worry about that.

Flaring his nostrils and opening his lungs wide, he launched himself into the air with Smokescreen. It took more energy than usual with the extra load, but without the debilitating headache, it was manageable. It didn't matter to him that using his quirk was a crime, nor did it matter that all he could see was fire and destruction. He twisted the knob a bit, expanding by a few feet in any direction. Finding a true safe spot for his friend was impossible, but he wouldn't settle for anything but the best. It took him a few seconds of propelling around, but eventually he found a good, stable spot that was far away from either fire or weak infrastructure.

"Good, good. Can you find that woman again? The teetering cars?" Five asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Izuku nodded; the quirk seared the knowledge into his brain. Turning it off wasn't nearly enough for him to forget it. He placed Setsuna down, brushing her bangs out of her face, cupping her cheek for a moment.

She saved him, and he was leaving her. A deep shame slithered through him before Danger Sense crushed it, reminding him of the ongoing peril. Everyone around him needed help, and needed it urgently, yet his feet felt rooted to the spot, like abandoning her would ruin her.

"Come on!" Five whisper-shouted, mentally tugging him in the opposite direction. Izuku's headache spiked again as the quirk forcibly reminded him of the situation, of the dangling woman, of the teetering families.

"Fine!" He roared, bending down and giving Setsuna's forehead a chaste kiss. "Forgive me; I'll be right back."

Not wanting to waste more energy flying, Izuku ran over to where he'd last felt the woman, dodging crashed cars and burning flames alike. Without his shirt, he couldn't use a makeshift ventilator, so he just plugged his nose and hoped for the best.

A burning jungle of mangled cars and shattered concrete was between him and the woman, the difficult terrain slowing him as he rushed to her. He'd never been more thankful for the obstacle course training.

Blitzing around one final abandoned car, he spotted a pale hand clinging to the side, bloody and rubbed raw.

"Hey! Give me your hand!" He yelled over the roar of the nearby flames, surprising her.

"Oh, thank god! Take my baby, take him quickly!" She said, ignoring his offer and shifting the newborn up for him to grab. Grabbing the baby was hard without two arms, but forgoing its comfort, he was able to lift it to safety via its shirt. In the brief moment of securing the child, however, the woman's hand slipped a bit.

"C'mon, gimme your hand!" Izuku yelled as the woman relaxed, her strength failing her.

"Take him… far away from here…" She said, before her fingers slipped entirely.

"No! Izuku screamed, vaulting himself over the edge after her. His mind was screaming as she fell—he couldn't catch her in time.

"Use me! Dig deep and scream!" Five yelled in his ears as wind whipped past his eyes. He didn't have time to think, to feel out how the power worked. He let One for All roar in his stomach, taking his mental fingers and gripping the power's very core, ripping free what he needed in the moment. Whatever came out of his lips next was irrelevant, but to an outsider's ears, it was like a wild animal.

Black energy burst out of the tips of his fingers faster than he could blink, circling the woman before she fell even half way down. His animalistic scream was cut short as he suddenly inhaled, ejecting enough Smokescreen to stop and reverse their momentum, taking them back up.

He was coughing as they flew back up to the bridge, having breathed in too much exhaust. Setting the dazed woman beside her baby, Izuku tried to let go, but found the quirk wouldn't release her.

"C'mon, c'mon…" Izuku said as he strained against the wildness of the quirk, trying to tame it. After a few moments of furious conflict, he settled for cutting off One for All entirely, killing their energy source. The tentacles dispersed into ether around the woman, allowing her to scoop up her baby. She checked the infant over for any injury, and finding none, settled for staring at Izuku, transfixed. Her eyes narrowed in on his amputation, lips parting as if to say something, but only air came out. She pulled the baby closer to her bosom, never taking her eyes off him.

"Uhm, I gotta, uh, go… Please get to safety." He said, backing away from the mother. His words seemed to break some sort of spell. Exploding into motion, she rushed him down, pulling him into a deep embrace. He couldn't do anything but reciprocate, despite the ticking clock of everyone else's danger. It wasn't the first person he saved—but it was the first by his power alone.

"Please, I'll never forget you. Thank you… thank you so much. Is there anything I can do for you? Please, thank you so much…" She said, whispering into his ear. The baby between them squirmed, a low cry escaping it. Uncomfortable, Izuku slipped out of her grasp, eager to get back to moving, before an idea struck him.

"My friend—she's injured, and I laid her out over there," Izuku said, pointing over to where Setsuna was vaguely. "Can you get her off the bridge? Please, she needed an ambulance."

"I'll—I'll try. What will you do?"

"Someone needs to save those who're trapped or too injured to walk. Until the heroes get here, I need to do everything I can." Izuku said, before pivoting into a full blown sprint, speeding up with the help of Smokescreen. He didn't stick around long enough to hear the woman's reply.

[x]

Tatsumi stared at the empty space where the boy had just been standing, now nothing more than a puff of… smoke? Little Sai wriggled in her arms, reminding her that she had children to take care of. The thought filled her heart with warmth; for a few brief seconds, she thought she'd never have the chance to take care of a child again. Gratitude choked her, tears welling up in her eyes. Wow.

"I think a hero's already arrived." She whispered to herself, before making her way over to where the little lopsided hero indicated.