Chapter 41

When he gets home, Izuku watches the news but cautiously.

It's impossible to avoid if he so much as turns on the TV or glances at his phone, but Izuku gingerly dips his toe in, skims headlines as quickly as possible, and shuts off apps or changes the channel the moment things get to be too much. Rei sits and watches with him, and sometimes Ms. Morino and Mrs. Matsuda come in to check on them, and that helps.

He sees recordings of the UA press conference, and has another good cry when he sees what Aizawa-sensei said about him and Bakugou.

And eventually, it all turns to All-Might. Everyone's talking about All-Might's condition, and his retirement.

At a certain point, it's all anyone will talk about.

Izuku turns off the TV and puts away his phone, and goes to find his mother.

She's in the kitchen, wiping down counters that are already spotlessly clean. Izuku makes sure to step loudly enough to announce his presence, and she looks up with a strained smile.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "It's a little early for lunch, but I could—"

You wanted to talk to me about something, he says. What was it?

Her face falls. "Izuku, you don't need to rush. You only just got home, and you've been through so much—"

He doesn't answer, just watches her face until her voice trails off into a sigh.

They sit across from each other at the kitchen table. Mom's hands are folded, and she's looking at them instead of at him.

"The other day—" She starts after almost a minute of thoughtful silence, then stops and starts again. "Yesterday. It was yesterday. Two of your friends came to visit—U-Uraraka and Iida. And, while they were here, well… Rei came home as well."

Izuku looks at her. Rei curls up into an even smaller ball.

"She was upset. I think she'd just found you." Izuku nods; that about lines up with how his day went. "And—and she made a bit of a fuss, while your friends were here."

Izuku's blood runs cold. How big of a fuss? he asks with shaking hands.

Mom's mouth tightens, and she answers, "Izuku, I think they know."

Izuku stares at the table.

"It was my fault," she says. "I forgot about the pictures on the fridge, and—and I should have sent them out as soon as it started, but… one of your ghosts warned me that they were going after you, and I knew I couldn't stop them, so I… I asked Rei to tell us what she knew. So… at least they wouldn't go in blind. I didn't explain things, and I didn't tell them about your quirk or how you have two, but… but they've seem something. And I could have stopped it, but I didn't." Her voice breaks. "I'm sorry. I know you weren't ready for them to know, and I know you deserved to have a choice, but I just… I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry."

Izuku… doesn't have a panic attack.

It's a close thing, but in the end he doesn't.

The Todoroki household is explosively loud for a while, and then it is eerily quiet.

It's cowardly, but Shouto spends the first period locked in his room, blasting music through his earbuds to drown out the sound of his father tearing apart the training room in a rage.

He can't scrub the image from his memory, of All-Might standing half-withered and frail in full view of the world. The news is screaming about his impending retirement—ending his career on the highest of notes, the unchallenged number one until the bitter end, burning up his last drop of power in a battle against a living nightmare.

Unchallenged only because (at least from Endeavor's point of view) Shouto didn't have time to challenge him. And now, no matter how hard anyone fights, how strong they grow, All-Might's record will remain unblemished.

Shouto puts down his phone so that he won't give in to the temptation to hurl it across the room. He never cared about surpassing All-Might, only about rubbing his success in his father's face, and then only about leaving his father behind entirely. All-Might has never been a priority for him, at least not for his own sake. And his father was stupid anyway. Maybe he didn't expect to have to wait for a fourth child before he started, but he had to know that by the time any child of his became strong enough to challenge All-Might, the latter would be past his prime and the victory would be worthless enough anyway.

But now All-Might is gone entirely, when Shouto hasn't even finished one year at UA.

Now everything Endeavor ever did will officially amount to nothing.

Shouto paces his room, feeling caged, but now that the house is quiet, he can't quite summon the nerve to venture out and try to leave. But he wants… something.

It's irritating. There's something he wants, something he might even need, but the feeling is maddeningly vague. He's never been good with his own feelings. He's spent so long suppressing them that he's a novice at identifying them, and it makes times like this so much more frustrating.

He keeps himself sane by texting Iida and Yaoyorozu. It helps; even when they aren't physically present, it helps.

He texts Midoriya as well, but does not expect a reply.

Izuku's friends are giving him space.

There was a bit of an explosion of messages after he got home, but he's replied to exactly none of them, and they seem to be taking the hint. Somehow he manages to gather the courage to check what Iida and Uraraka have sent. They don't mention what Mom says they saw, and he isn't sure whether or not to feel relieved.

He's drowsing on the living room sofa, watching a nature show, when a new message comes in out of the blue. Checking it requires some careful maneuvering, because Mika is draped over his chest and the feeling of her purring is keeping the bad feelings back.

[3:14] Todoroki:

Is it strange that today feels quiet? The news is screaming nonstop but it still feels quiet. Not sure whether it's good or bad.

Izuku reads the message a few times. There's no way he can scrounge together a decent reply to something like that, written or spoken. He sees the little icon that indicates that Todoroki is writing another text, and waits for it to arrive.

But then the icon vanishes, and no message comes through.

Izuku isn't sure why that's what breaks through his silence. He doesn't write back, because he has no idea what he can possibly say about any of this, especially since Todoroki probably has enough on his plate (how did Endeavor react to seeing All-Might look like that?) but that's not the end of the world. Thankfully, he already has a solution in place for when words fail him entirely.

It can't really be called a selfie, because his face doesn't make it into the picture. Instead, it shows him from chin to stomach, dressed in a rumpled All-Might hoodie with his cat curled up on his chest.

He sends it to Todoroki before he can think better of it. And then, because that's awfully unfair, he mass-texts it to everyone in his contacts as well.

A few replies roll in, but no one tries to drag him into a conversation or ask him questions. It's mostly hearts and smiley faces, though Kouda responds by mass-texting a picture of himself covered in rabbits.

But it dies down eventually, and things are quiet until the evening, when another message surprises him.

This one sends him running to his mother to show her. She takes one look at it, and at the silent pleading he knows must show on his face. She doesn't tell him no. She doesn't seem to want to tell him no, either—Izuku only realizes that he expected otherwise when she gives her consent and the relief hits him.

Only a short while later he's breaking ahead of her as the sun sets over Dagobah, eyes fixed on the two figures standing on the beach. He has to slow up at the last minute because All-Might is injured too, and he must be exhausted and in pain with his arm still broken and his injuries barely a day old. But All-Might meets him halfway, and Izuku all but launches himself into his mentor's arms and clings with all the strength he dares.

Somehow they end up kneeling in the sand, and Izuku's voiceless gasping sobs are the most noise he's made since his rescue.

"I thought I'd lose you." All-Might's voice is hoarse, and if Izuku didn't know better he'd think he was about to cry, too. "My boy, I thought—"

Izuku presses his head to All-Might's uninjured shoulder and shakes his head furiously.

"That was a reckless thing you did, talking to him that way," All-Might says. "That was a foolish, dangerous thing, and I've never been more terrified than I was when I saw you in his reach." He is crying, Izuku realizes with a jolt. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm sorry I wasn't there when they took you. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I let him touch you before you were ready to face him."

Izuku can't remember the last time he was pressed so close to All-Might in his true form. He's been caught and scooped up, had his hair tousled and his stances corrected, but that was all before, when All-Might could gather the power within him and make himself look like what he used to be. But now Izuku's arms are around All-Might's rail-thin body, dangerously close to that twisted scar that took so much from him.

All-Might faced All For One like this. No tricks, no lies, no crocodile tears—in direct combat, blow for blow, All-Might faced All For One with a fraction of his strength. And he's still alive to hold Izuku so tightly that Izuku can almost count the ribs beneath his shirt.

"I wanted to scold you," All-Might tells him. "For taking such a risk when he was close enough to—" He chokes on something, either a sob or the blood in his throat. "But—I don't know—what he said to you. What he did. I'm sorry it took so long for me to come. I'm so sorry, my boy."

Izuku shakes his head again, and frustration turns his tears scalding. He wishes he could answer without having to let go.

But he can't, so he thrusts himself back, just enough that he has room to sign. It wasn't your fault. You came. I knew you'd come, and you did.

"I should have been with you from the start," All-Might tells him. "It was a mistake to assume you'd be safe."

I made mistakes too, Izuku answers, pauses to wipe his eyes, and keeps going. I made so many mistakes, and I don't know if what I got was worth it because nothing ever felt right.

"I know." All-Might's hands settle against his arms. "I know. A lot has been lost, and broken, and I don't know if it's more their fault or mine, but—I know this. We're still here, Izuku."

Izuku's next breath hitches and shudders on the way in.

"You're still here," All-Might continues. "You've been so brave, my boy. Whatever mistakes you made, I know you've been brave and clever, because that's who you are. And in spite of everything, you made it through this without breaking yourself to pieces. You're still here, and you're going to heal, and that makes me so happy, my boy."

His hands aren't enough to stem the tears.

"And I'm still here, too," All-Might continues. "I haven't been the best teacher. I—I can't seem to stop letting you down. I keep missing things that are important. But from now on, my only goal is you, do you understand?" He pulls Izuku into another hug, gentler than before. "I'll do my best. We both will. I'll make mistakes, but I promise I'll listen—however you need to tell me, I'll listen."

Izuku has never wished more desperately for a voice than in that moment.

"Take your time." Nana's cool hand slides into his hair, a light and comforting touch as Izuku cries himself dry in All-Might's arms. "Whenever you're ready, kiddo."

He isn't ready, though. He's not sure if he'll ever be ready. But maybe that's not a good excuse anymore.

"Izuku?"

Inko finds him sitting in front of the TV, a controller in hand as he works his way through a stack of his favorite games. He's been at this since last night, when they'd returned home from the beach and he had eventually fallen asleep in the middle of playing Unravel. Mika is sitting in his lap, and there must be ghosts watching as well, because he isn't sitting centered in front of the screen.

He pauses the game and looks up.

Inko takes a deep breath. This… will not be an easy conversation. "Can we talk? It's about… school."

Izuku sets the controller aside and turns to face her fully. She sits beside him.

"I've been in contact with some of your teachers," she begins. "Aizawa-sensei, mainly. And he's told me that—that there are changes coming, to UA. A-and one of these changes is… on-campus housing." Her son's eyes widen. "A-after everything that's happened, and with All-Might… they want to increase security, and in order to do that, they want to convert UA into a—a boarding school, I suppose."

Izuku's eyes never leave her face, but he nods to show he's still listening.

"And I just—I'm so torn, Izuku!" The tears are coming already. Inko wipes at them, but knows it won't do much in the long run. "B-because I… I just have to wonder if UA is really the safest place for you, whatever changes they make."

Her son breathes in sharply and lifts his hands to reply, but Inko shakes her head. "I know this is your dream. I know that… that UA, and being a hero, it's all you've ever wanted, and I don't want to stand in the way of what makes you happy, I never wanted that, but… but ever since this started, it's just been one thing after another, and I've come so close to losing you more times than I can count when once should be too many." She clasps his hands. "Izuku, your happiness means everything to me, but your safety does too, and I… I don't know if UA can give you that. I don't know if—if All-Might can give you that."

With his hands in hers, she feels him tense, and spots a split-second spark of anger in his face before it vanishes. He shakes his head furiously and tugs his hands free.

It wasn't his fault.

"It wasn't not his fault, either," Inko whispers, and her son looks away with angry tears in his eyes. "And that's why I'm torn, Izuku. Because this school is a target, and as your mother, I should pull you out. But I can't just do that, because of—because of this thing with All-Might, and his power, and—" She breaks off, swallowing another explosive sob. "Training to be a hero is one thing, Izuku. But this… doing this, being this, it's forced you to risk your life before you're ready, more than once, even more than your ghosts ever did. You—you were so happy when All-Might gave you his quirk, and I was happy for you, but I didn't realize that it would put this kind of target on your back. I didn't realize that he—that this would drag you into a war that had nothing to do with you. And I know you care about All-Might, I know how much he means to you, but I can't help but be angry with him for involving you in this, without even—"

Her son's hands close tightly around hers, squeezing until she falls silent and looks him in the eye again. She expects to see anger, or even betrayal, but his face is calm as he holds up his hand.

Wait here for a second.

He gets up and leaves the living room, darting into the hall toward his bedroom. Inko takes the opportunity to compose herself, to dry her tears and take a few deep breaths so that her voice will stop shaking so much. She doesn't want to cry, but it's inevitable. If she pulls him out of school, then he may hate her, he may never forgive her, but is avoiding that worth his safety?

He returns with papers in his hands. He sits back down, looks past her in that way of his that lets her know he's eyeing a ghost, and puts the papers down on the coffee table in front of them. One by one he lays them out, four pages in all, along with a small photograph and a little bag containing a lock of dark hair.

He picks up the photograph and hands it to her.

It's not a face that Inko recognizes, and yet it's familiar anyway. The subject is a little girl with black hair, looking shyly at the camera without smiling. She looks to be eight or nine.

She also looks remarkably like the figure that Izuku used to draw in markers and crayons, from the age of five to the end of elementary school.

Inko looks up, eyes wide, and finds her son watching her with weary understanding.

I found this in the place where they kept us, he says. When Rei found me, she was afraid and I didn't know why. She led me to the room where these papers were. I think she found it because of her hair. They kept a piece of her, after all this time.

"This…" Inko whispers. "This is…?"

That's Rei. Her name was Hitomi, but she doesn't like it when I call her that. She doesn't like to remember.

"I-I don't understand, what was this… why did they have this…?" Her eyes skim over the paper, not quite reading it word for word, but just enough to catch a phrase here and there. Her stomach turns.

Izuku touches her hands again, making her look back at him. They tortured her, he says. And then when they were done, they killed her. She died, and thirty years later she found me, and she's been with me this whole time. His eyes bore into hers, begging her to understand. All-Might didn't get me involved, Mom. I was already there, when I was five and I first met her. I've been involved this whole time, because of her. He stops to wipe his eyes as his own tears well up. I know you're scared. I am too. But I can't stop now, and it's because of her. And it's because of Kouta.

"Kouta," Inko echoes. "That was that little boy in the hospital? The one whose aunt…?"

I saved him, Izuku says, so vehemently that he mouths along with each sign. Me. There was nobody else there but ghosts, and I still saved him. I didn't run away and escape, I didn't wait for someone else to come help. A man tried to kill him, and I was the only one who could stop him, so that's what I did. Do you understand?

She does. Heaven help her, she does. She remembers something he'd told her months ago, before all of this started, before the danger and fear began, when he'd cried in her arms and said I can't save people's lives. All I can do is talk to them after they're already dead.

This argument is dead in the water, she realizes as she fights back tears. She had lost it before it even started.

I saved someone. Because I was there, and I was strong enough. And Mom? He taps her insistently again, until she finishes wiping her eyes and looks again. I'm only going to get stronger.

She pulls him into a hug, and he clutches at her just as tightly. "I know," she whispers, and it tears at her to admit it. "I know you are, and I'm so proud but I'm so scared, Izuku."

He squeezes his arms tighter around her.

They stay like that for a while, until Inko's pounding heartbeat eases, and the fear ebbs back to a manageable level.

"Is she still here?" she asks softly. "Rei, I mean."

She feels him shake his head against her.

"This is infuriating," she whispers. "I want to be angry with that man. But I can't, because he isn't the one who hurt you, and he—he helped you find her. Even if he did it in a roundabout way, he—he pointed you in the right direction, without even meaning to."

A nod, this time. Inko pulls back.

"And I can't be angry with him, because when I asked, he was honest with me." Inko sniffles again, drying the last of her tears. "He showed me that secret of his—the one you said you couldn't tell me. Though… I guess it doesn't matter, now."

He must have trusted you, Izuku says.

"Mm." Inko lowers her eyes, thinking. She's done so much thinking, lately. "He trusted you first," she says. "Enough to tell you a truth like that." She sits back, frowning. Izuku watches her, but doesn't say anything else. "Izuku?"

He tilts his head to the side.

"You're brave. You've always been so brave, for the sake of others. So…" Shutting her eyes, she steels herself. "So I can be brave too, for your sake. If—if you want to keep going to UA, then… I won't stand in your way." Even with her eyes closed, she can hear his sigh of relief. "But I have one condition. And I don't think you're going to like it."

When Inko opens her eyes, her son is looking at her with a wary sort of hope. She takes his hand—the scarred, crooked one—and clasps it warmly.

"Tell him."

The wary hope shifts to alarm.

"It doesn't have to be now," she adds quickly. "Or… or even soon. But… before the year is out, at least. Because if you're going back, even after everything that's happened, then that means you're seeing this through to the end. And that means that so is he." She squeezes his hand lightly, until he squeezes back. "I didn't speak to him for very long, but I could tell how much he cares about you. We almost lost him, that night. And I know you, sweetheart. I know it would have broken you up inside, for him to find out… that way." He looks away, like he knows she's right. "Go at your own pace. Don't force yourself to do it too quickly, if it makes you feel unsafe. But… Tell him."

He doesn't answer. But that also means he doesn't say no.

That afternoon, Izuku is cuddling Mika and picking out patterns in his bedroom ceiling when Morino ducks in, grinning from ear to ear. "Hate to bug you, Midoriya, but you're gonna want to come out and see this."

A moment later, Mom opens the door and comes in. "Izuku? You have some—visitors." Something in the way she says that makes him look at her, confused. Her lips are pursed, but not like she's upset. She looks like she's trying not to smile.

Before he can react, Mika springs to her feet and takes off like an arrow out his door. Mom tries to catch her as she passes, but Mika dodges around her and vanishes out into the hallway. A moment later, something barks.

Izuku is off his bed and running out to the living room before either Morino or his mother can get another word out. He isn't sure what he expects, but what he finds are Iida and Uraraka standing by the sofa, with Tensei hovering nearby. Mika circles them excitedly, meowing and racing laps through the room.

The reason for this is that Iida is carrying a dog.

More to the point, it's a very familiar dog, in spite of a few notable differences. When Izuku last saw this dog, it had been painfully thin and filthy, with weeping eyes and swollen tick-covered ears. Now its eyes are bright, its ears are pricked, and its coat is snow-white and fluffy. It looks less like a dog than a small, panting cloud with a black nose and eyes.

Izuku looks at Iida, eyes wide, and his friend gives a sheepish shrug.

"It was sort of my mother's idea," he says, clearing his throat. "After… after Hosu, she thought it'd be good to take my mind off of things, and that perhaps adopting an animal would help, and… well. I remembered. I probably should have asked before bringing her!" he adds quickly. "Considering you have a cat, but… er. Her name is Bell?"

"How're you feeling?" Uraraka asks.

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, hesitates, then runs back to retrieve his phone. Thank goodness for notebook apps.

Mom leaves them to their own devices, and so do the apartment ghosts. Tensei sticks around, and Rei…

He hasn't seen Rei around much. Not since his last talk with his mother. Izuku just hopes she isn't too upset with him.

As soon as they gather on the couch together, Iida carefully deposits the dog in his lap, and Izuku is almost knocked backward by the ensuing faceful of kisses. Mika's a good sport about it, especially with Uraraka giving her attention while Iida apologizes profusely and tries to get his dog under control.

Eventually she settles across Izuku's lap, while Izuku shakes with silent laughter and almost loses his grip on his phone in the process of petting her.

"You look a little better," Uraraka says brightly.

Makes sense, since I've spent almost two whole days not being a hostage, Izuku answers with a wry grin.

He sees Uraraka's smile sadden when she reads it, and tries not to wince as he takes his phone back and deletes the message. He'd meant to lighten the mood, but in hindsight, bringing back his own kidnapping probably wasn't the best way to go about it.

He tries again. How is everyone? I've mostly had my phone on silent. Sorry.

"That is perfectly all right!" Iida gestures forcefully, and Bell licks his hand when it sweeps within reach. "It's perfectly reasonable for you to want time to yourself, after everything that's happened. We just wanted…" For the first time, Iida actually hesitates midsentence. He and Uraraka exchange a quick glance.

"We just wanted to check on you," Uraraka finishes. "And bring you a fluffy dog."

There's something in that look they shared—something that Izuku has never seen before. He's not sure if it's good or bad, but it's there, and it makes him look closer.

Thank you, he says. It's been quiet. A better quiet. Peaceful quiet, not staring-at-death quiet. I didn't realize I missed people.

This gets another sad smile from them, and Izuku is surprised when it frustrates him. He hides it by carding his fingers through the dog's fur.

"But to answer your question, everyone is fine," Iida replies. Izuku glances to Tensei, and sees the ghost shifting uncomfortably.

Tapping Iida's arm, Izuku holds up his next message. But?

Iida blinks at him. "But what?"

What else is there? Izuku asks. What's wrong?

"It's nothing to do with you!" Uraraka assures him. "I mean, it's nothing that you have to worry about. Just focus on feeling better, okay?"

Izuku blinks at her, then turns his head and levels a stare at Tensei. He knows he's looking at what seems to be empty air to them, but it's not as if it's the first time he's stared at ghosts in front of people. And besides, if they notice anything weird about it this time, well…

Iida's brother makes a valiant attempt at a poker face, but after a moment he sighs. "There've been some calls from UA. Aizawa, mainly. He found out about your friends' little rescue mission, and… well, he's always been a stickler for the rules."

Izuku's stomach turns.

"And they won't admit it, but they're kind of worried about Todoroki, too," Tensei adds. "He's been quiet lately."

When Izuku looks at his friends again, he finds them following his gaze in vague confusion, and sneaking glances around as well. And there's that look again. Like they're searching for something. Wondering.

They know. Izuku isn't sure how much they've figured out, but it's far more than he ever wanted them to. And worst off, it happened while he was gone, so he doesn't know what they saw or heard.

He pets Bell, grateful that she's calmed down. The weight in his lap is comforting.

The conversation hobbles onward, stilted and awkward. They're all trying, all three of them, but there's only so much they can do when none of them really want to talk. Or at least, they don't want to talk like this, but talking like they used to is impossible after everything that's happened, and their only other option is to talk about the one thing he knows none of them know how to bring up.

He knows they're trying. He's grateful for it. He's happier with them here than he would be without them. But he's not sure if the distraction is worth the discomfort.

I'm pretty much good on injuries, he types out, when they ask after his shoulder. I just have to rest my left arm, that's all. But that's only for a couple of weeks at most. I'll be all right in time for school.

"I'm glad." Uraraka sounds visibly relieved.

"Are you getting enough rest?" Iida asks. "I know that—that troubling things can make it difficult to sleep peacefully."

Izuku almost snorts at this. Don't I know it, he types.

"You're having trouble sleeping, then?" Iida asks.

Ye ah but that's nothing new.

Uraraka hums sympathetically. "Is there anything that might help?"

He shrugs. I don't know. Maybe death? Considering my luck lately, it's bound to happen eventually.

In hindsight, he's not sure what made him think that was a good idea. He feels the weird looks they give him before he even sees them—so close to how his classmates looked when he joked dryly about drowning in the forest camp's outdoor bath.

It frustrates him, again. It shouldn't, because of course that would worry them—he could have died, for real, just two days ago. Iida's already lost someone he loved, and here he is making light of his own possible demise.

Hastily Izuku erases the message and tries again. Or I could just knock myself out on the headboard or something. Unconsciousness probably counts as sleeping. He quickly deletes the part about hitting his head before he shows it to them.

To his relief, this does get some grins and quiet laughter out of them. He'll take it.

Still, it's sort of what drives him to the limit in the end. Izuku's back hits the back of couch, head tilted upward to stare at the ceiling. A short huff of a sigh escapes him. There's barely a sound to it, no voice at all, but he knows he can hear the frustration.

"I'm sorry, Deku," Uraraka says. "We didn't mean to upset you. If you want—"

He waves at her to stop, already typing. The sour dread in his gut is only building up and twisting tightly into a knot, but for the first time in—

He's sixteen now. That makes it nine years.

For the first time in nine years, he ignores the dread and pushes forward.

I need to talk to you. I can't talk right now, but I don't know when I'll be able to talk again and I want to get this over with instead of waiting forever.

He looks at them again, makes sure they're paying attention.

My mom told me what happen. You came while I was gone, and you saw and heard some weird things.

Uraraka's breathing quickens. Iida goes still.

I see ghosts. It's surprisingly easy to type it. With how long it's been and how much it still terrifies him, it ought to be harder than that. But it isn't. Maybe it's because they sort of already know, maybe it's because he's faced death and come out still breathing, but it feels like the simplest thing he's ever done.

There's no answer.

You can believe me or not, he continues. It doesn't really make a difference. The nice thing about facts is that they're true whether or not you believe them.

Except it does make a difference. Whatever comes out of their mouths next, it's going to make a world of difference.

"I believe you," Uraraka tells him. "After what I saw, it makes more sense than it doesn't."

Somehow, Izuku musters up the courage to look at her. She staring at her hands, fingers laced together.

"There's a little girl," she continues, and his heart skips a beat. "Right? She's got dark hair, and she's dressed in… in a little dress? Or a nightshirt?"

It's a hospital gown, Izuku now knows.

"Her eyes are black." Uraraka's hands twist together. "She was in your drawings. Wasn't she?"

Izuku tries to swallow, but his throat is closing. He nods.

"She led me to you," Uraraka says. "Todoroki didn't see her, but I did. Only a couple times, for a split second. But she led me to the right hallway so we could find you."

Izuku only realizes he's crying when his hands reach up on their own to wipe his eyes.

"I trust you," Iida says softly. It's harder to get a read on him, especially when crying makes his vision blurry. "It may be hard to believe, but you aren't."

I'll explain more when I can talk again, he tells them. I promise. But that's the important part. Ghosts are real and I can see them.

They spend the rest of the visit playing with Iida's dog on the living room floor. Once Mika gets over her initial uncertainties, they get along wonderfully. When it gets late, Izuku is sorry to see them go.

"Midoriya—" Iida turns back one last time, before he leaves. He looks Izuku in the eye, holding his gaze, and for a few seconds they're in perfect harmony. Iida has a question, and Izuku knows exactly what that question is.

He waits for Iida to ask it, and wonders how he can best answer.

"I…" Iida hesitates again, throat bobbing. "I… I'm glad. That you're doing well. And thank you, for trusting us."

When they're gone, Izuku lies back on the couch and tries to settle his frayed nerves. He should think about this, he knows. He should think about what this means, and what it will change, and what else he might tell them. But his mind refuses to wrap itself around what just happened, no matter how hard he tries to make sense of it.

He only expects to lie there for a while and contemplate, and so he's very surprised when he jumps awake in the middle of the night, heart pounding from a half-forgotten dream, with a blanket thrown over him and Mika curled up against his stomach.

A knock at the door comes when Mom is out at the corner store, and Izuku is sitting crosslegged on the couch, game controller in hand. He pauses it and gets up, swallowing his unease, only to jump when Hino appears.

"Heya." His hair is still white; he hasn't reverted to his other appearance. "That's just Shouto at the door, in case you were worried."

Izuku nods gratefully and goes to let him in.

Todoroki looks… bad. Izuku knows he's probably not one to talk, but Todoroki always looks so put together, composed, and in control. Even during the Sports Festival, when he was struggling with himself, when he was trying to be an enemy before they figured out they could be friends instead, he didn't look quite this bad. He looked sad, but not run-down.

Right now, Todoroki looks like he hasn't slept much either.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Izuku is already standing aside, offering wordless permission to come in.

"Sorry for intruding." Even his voice sounds rough and tired.

Back in the living room Izuku picks the controller back up and starts to scroll down to exit the game. He isn't prepared for this, for another afternoon of paper-thin brave faces and awkward, stilted conversation, but he can deal with it. He's missed Todoroki. He might be tired, but he's still happy to see him, and that's worth the effort of dragging one side of a conversation out of himself.

Todoroki stops him before he can start turning everything off. "You don't have to," he says quickly. "Like I said, I… I don't want to intrude. It's just… I don't—" He stops. "I don't know. You don't have to do anything for me. I just don't want to be home right now."

Izuku's attention snaps back to him, and he finds himself scanning Todoroki for fresh injuries. When he finds no sign of any, his eyes flicker to Hino instead.

"Bastard hasn't touched him, if that's what you're worried about," the ghost tells him. "Hasn't hardly looked at him, either. But he tore up his own training room the other day, and he's been in a mood. Can't blame the kid. It ain't exactly a pleasant place to be."

Izuku nods, scoots a little closer to Todoroki on the couch, and continues the game.

And it's… not bad. It's even a little easy. He half-expects awkward, uncomfortable silence, but it's not, because he can tell that Todoroki's watching the screen and paying attention instead of sitting around bored. The combination of Todoroki's presence and Ori and the Blind Forest keep the stress and tension from stirring up.

During a lull in the game's action, his phone vibrates. He checks it, and finds a new text from Todoroki. Izuku glances at his friend, gets a noncommittal shrug in return, and reads it.

[12:18] Todoroki:

You look awful.

In spite of himself, Izuku snorts softly.

[12:18] Me:

You're one to talk.

He gets as far as the next place to make a save point before his phone buzzes again.

[12:22] Todoroki:

I'm not the one who looks like he got hit by a train.

This time, Izuku rolls his eyes before he answers, How sure are you about that? He snatches a quick look at Todoroki, just in time to see him roll his eyes.

[12:23] Todoroki:

Don't exaggerate. I got hit by a truck, at most.

[12:23] Me:

Wow I can't believe we're both fucking dead.

[12:24] Todoroki:

Such a tragedy. I'm sure we'll be missed.

At some point, Izuku pauses the game again and turns his full attention to texting Todoroki while sitting so close he's almost leaning on him. It's ridiculous, it makes no sense, Todoroki's perfectly capable of talking, but somehow the absurdity makes it easier.

[12:26] Me:

This sucks. If I'm dead then why am I still so tired?

[12:27] Todoroki:

Good question. Whoever said 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' was an idiot. Anything I can do?

[12:27] Me:

Just chloroform me. Put me out of my misery.

Todoroki purses his lips at this, and for a moment Izuku thinks he's gone too far again before his reply comes in.

[12:27] Todoroki:

That's hard to come by. I can find a big stick? Would that help?

Izuku laughs.

Well—almost. He certainly tries his best. His voice still won't obey him, but he manages a sharp, breathless wheezing that comes pretty close to the real thing. It's the most noise he's made recently outside of crying.

And maybe that's what breaks through what little pretense he has left. It's not much, just a thin front over a writhing mass of not okay, but it's held up pretty well until now, and that's probably why his next message is a lot less of a joke.

I hate this.

He looks at Todoroki's face, bracing himself for the inevitable mood-darkening worry, but his friend just watches him with a neutral expression, and he takes this as permission to continue. And once he does, it's hard to stop.

I hate that I'm like this. I hate that All-Might won and we escaped but it's still not over and sometimes I might as well still be there.

I'm still scared and I can't sleep and I can't talk and I can't do anything without making everyone around me feel worse.

He can't hurt me anymore, but he's still doing it. Even when he's a vegetable he's still screwing me over.

Somewhere down the line, he blinks and realizes he's scowling through tears.

I hate that all of you were stupid enough to go near that place but I can't even be mad at you because I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there. I'm so happy you came for me and I also hate that you were there.

The urge to throw his phone across the room comes and goes, and he puts it down instead and scrubs at his streaming eyes.

Beside him, Todoroki is silent for a long time. And then Izuku's phone buzzes, again.

[12:35] Todoroki:

I wish I'd been there with you and I'm also glad I wasn't. I don't think it's supposed to make sense.

Izuku's hand fumbles over another message. I'm sorry I broke your wrist. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was afraid they'd pull you in too, or the portal would close and you'd lose a hand.

"I wish I had." Todoroki's voice startles him, for all that it's low and quiet. Izuku jerks his head around, eyes still damp and watering. "That would've been better. Would've been comforting. At least it would've meant I held on." He sounds like he did back at the hospital, when his voice trembled like he was about to cry. "It would've meant I had to lose a hand for them to take you. But I didn't."

Izuku latches on to Todoroki's arm and pulls, drawing him closer, sick with the realization that Todoroki isn't about to cry anymore—because he is crying, and Izuku's never seen that before.

"I let go." Todoroki's voice rasps, broken and shaking along with the rest of him. Izuku hauls him into a hug, hoping against hope that he isn't overstepping. He feels Todoroki's arms around him, tightening until it's almost painful, and Izuku squeezes back as he feels his shirt dampen at the shoulder.

It's not his fault, it's never been his fault and Izuku was never stupid enough to blame him, especially since he was the one who made him let go in the first place. But even if he could say that out loud, he knows Todoroki wouldn't believe him.

"I'm sorry I let go."

I'm sorry I made you, Izuku thinks, even though it's a lie that Todoroki can't even hear.

They stay that way until Mika comes, wriggling in between them insistently until they separate to accommodate her. Todoroki's eyes are red-rimmed but dry, and Izuku feels as if he's found something he's missed. He's not sure it's taken care of, but it's there, at least. It's out in the open so it can be taken care of.

Inko comes home to find her son sitting quietly in front of one of his games, leaning up against Todoroki Shouto's side. Izuku is playing and his friend looks to be dozing, and Mika naps while stretched across their laps.

Whatever remained of her misgivings about UA are gone now. Seeing All-Might weeping while embracing him, seeing two of Izuku's friends bring a dog to cheer him up, seeing a third in front of her quietly keeping him company, she can't think it's a good idea to pull him away from them anymore.

She can't take him away from people who love him just as much as she does.