Archive of Our Own ^beta

The jarring click of the car’s door locking had Izuku jolting, gaze snapping to the plastic sinking into its holding.

“Kacchan, what are you doing?” he asked, trying to fiddle with the lock. He’d just asked Kacchan to drive him down the road to where Ochako was mingling with the class.

Today has been very good. Class 1A had reunited for a wonderful dinner, and the night filled Izuku with a buzzing warmth he hardly recognized. He missed the feeling of being with his hero class.

Now, Izuku wanted to meet up with Ochako to talk about some things. She was a close friend in first year, and he was disheartened by their distance the last eight years. He wanted to see if she was up for rekindling their connection. The idea made Izuku a little warm. A little happy. It was enough.

But now, Kacchan had locked him in his car. Scarred, knobby fingers fiddled with the door, but gave up when Katsuki didn’t respond to his questioning. With a small, confused frown on his face, Izuku turned to face the other man.

The expression on his old friend’s face was… a touch overwhelming, at first glance. Izuku instinctively swallowed. 

Katsuki’s jaw was clenched, eyes squinted and brows furrowed. His jagged stitch scar under his eye stretched and wrinkled under the expression. 

He was staring straight ahead, arms taut and straight where he gripped his car’s wheel with whitening knuckles. 

Izuku leaned away, and averted his gaze. He was still so unused to the pure emotion Kacchan would express with him. Oftentimes, it was just too much. What had upset him? They had such a good night. 

“Is this, uh-,” he paused, looking to the side to remember the earlier offer. Kacchan had seemed a little upset then, too. “About your agency? I’m sorry, Kacchan, I’m just busy-,”

“Izuku.”

Izuku flinched. 

“Where the hell are you right now?” 

The question catches Izuku off guard. 

“Uh. In your car, Kacchan?” Izuku words it like a question. What kind of question is that, anyway?

Katsuki’s fists make the plastic of his steering wheel creak. 

“The fuck you are. Some fucked up, diluted, bland version of you is in my car. Where the hell did you go?”

Izuku frowned, brows furrowing as insult and anger nestled into the space under his sternum. “Kacchan, don’t… Don’t be mean just because-.”

”This isn’t about the goddamn agency!”

Katsuki huffs and puffs, like the one sentence was enough to make him breathless. It quickly devolves into something tighter, and Katsuki is leaning forward, knocking his forehead against the backs of his hands. 

“Did you just… change?” Katsuki asks, his voice breaking pitifully. Izuku feels nervous. What's going on?

“Kacchan, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but the words leave him like a confession. His head aches with concern and confusion. Guilt builds with his anger. Is he missing something?

Katsuki heaves a breath, turning his hands around to press the knot of his palms tight against his eyes. 

“I thought maybe things would change once the suit was finished. All this time, I thought you were… mourning One For All. Mourning a quirked hero career. I understood it. I gave you your space to… figure it the fuck out,” Katsuki spoke, tension winding hot in his shoulders. 

The words immediately put Izuku back- he felt again like that little hero-to-be, so hopeful for a future that would never come. Izuku looked down, breathing through the blooming ache in his chest. 

“But then you got the suit,” Katsuki started, his voice wobbling slightly. “You got the fucking suit and it was just a costume. You put it on, had your fucking fun, placated us, and went back to teaching. I can fucking- I can accept if you want to be a teacher too, like Aizawa. Of course. Hell, If you… if you just want to be a teacher. If that’s what you want. But- fuck, Izuku,” 

Katsuki lingers in silence for a moment, then sits back. His face is wet with tears, eyes squeezed closed as he lets his head thump back against his headrest. 

“What happened to surpassing me? What happened to your fire? Your drive? You’re…. You’re already the world’s best hero. Nothing will change that, of course, but… Izuku… It feels like the unyielding passion you were born with was left on that goddamn battlefield.” 

The pain encompassing Izuku is unlike anything he’s felt since the days following that battle. It was constant then. Every waking moment was one type of pain or another.

The guilt of watching Tenko die for being related to a hero. The terror in the memory of his own limbless torso. Izuku’s tongue went dry as things that were so carefully boxed and packed away came flooding forward. 

The pain Izuku has snuffed out under layers of quiet acceptance comes burning through the fortress. Izuku turns away slightly. 

“Maybe it was, Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice unbearably quiet. “I did it. I saved Japan- saved the world. The fights over. Teaching is… good. I can help heroes save more people in the future. Why isn’t that enough?” 

“When has anything ever been enough for you?” Kacchan cuts in quick, blade sharp and bright with unflinching emotion. He turns on a dime, staring into the back of Izuku’s head. “The Izuku I know encompasses the essence of going beyond. He never knew when to fucking give up. Save everyone. Become the number one. Smile, like All Might. You haven’t smiled like that since…” his voice trails as he avert his eyes. 

“Since what, Kacchan,” Izuku snaps, his own fists curling. “Since the only person I was meant to save died? Sacrificed himself to end the man who ruined his life? Since I wasn’t enough to save the one boy who needed it the most? Since I lost a multigenerational quirk because I was too weak to do anything else? Since I failed, and nobody but me seems to even care? To care about the boy who died?”

Izuku can feel the heat of red eyes on the side of his face. Izuku turns to meet him head on, and something deep in Katsuki’s eyes starts to brighten. 

Izuku’s rage flares at the sight. 

“His name was Tenko. Did you even know that?” Izuku says, and his voice breaks around the words. 

Katsuki is silent, face unreadable. Izuku wants to hit him.

“He had a dog. He played video games. He had an older sister. He had a mother who loved him. But I’m the best hero the world has ever seen, and he’s dead.” 

Katsuki watches him, and Izuku turns away. It’s odd how the tables have turned. 

Izuku, enraged with guilt over the end of someone important, pouring feelings he’s never expressed. The anger making clenched hands shake with the urge to strangle the man beside him.

Katsuki, listening.

“Thank you,” Izuku starts robotically. “For the suit. I don’t know the-,” 

“Don’t, Izuku,” Katsuki starts, his voice softer. Something tender to it. Izuku isn’t sure how it makes him feel. He turns to look at the man. “Me bringing this up- I’m not looking for thanks. Or an apology. If you never use the suit… that's fine. It’s your choice,” Katsuki accepts. Letting one of his hands fall closer, resting between them on the center console. 

“But, Izuku,” Izuku’s attention is taken from Katsuki’s palm back to his eyes. “This… This is the first time I’ve felt like you’ve been alive since everything,” he admits, almost looking guilty to say such a thing. 

“Trust me, I’ve had my own shit. I can’t explain how fucked my night terrors have been,” he continues, and Izuku’s eyes shift downward at the vulnerability. “I’m not… pissed that you’re reasonably affected by what happened back then. I just wish you talked to someone. Anyone.” 

Izuku sighed. “Nobody understood. The only one who did, couldn't stand to look at me,” Izuku says, his voice airy as he remembers scaled hands, lilac hair and heavy sobs. The word murderer rings in his ear. 

“A fucking therapist, Izuku. I mean anyone,” Katsuki pressed, his hand moving to rest on Izuku’s forearm. “You don’t have to be a hero, but damn it- I miss my fucking friend.” 

Katsuki watches him, and Izuku stubbornly avoids his gaze. Izuku tries to ignore the harsh stinging in his eyes. Katsuki continues. “This consumed you, and no matter how many times I visit your class or bring you lunch, I feel like I haven’t seen you in eight years.”

Izuku’s face tightened, hands clenched in his lap. What could he even say to that? Deny it? That would mean lying to Kacchan’s face. Izuku isn’t stupid. He sees it too. The lack of energy in his bones. The excuses. The terror. A fear he never knew till he was face to face with All For One on that field, moments from his own bloody end. A horrifying emptiness when coming upon the pale corpse of the boy now living and breathing next to him. 

Izuku stared forward, into the night outside Katsuki’s windshield. Gentle flurries of early winter fall. 

Izuku heaves a gentle, shaky sigh. 

“I carried the strongest power in the world and killed the most dangerous villain in history,” he says, and it’s with no pride. It’s with the weight and exhaustion of someone who endured the wishes of nine generations. 

“What’s left, Kacchan?”

Izuku turned to look at Katsuki, suddenly feeling not a day over sixteen. Twenty-four year old Kacchan looked back. A warm, heavy palm reaches up, resting gently onto the back of Izuku’s head. 

“Aren’t you the guy who wanted to show everyone who has suffered a brighter future?” Katsuki asks, and Izuku swallows. He had said that, didn’t he?

“Save everyone with a smile. When you show up, everyone knows it’s going to be okay, because they know they’re safe. Isn’t that you?”

Izuku’s face warms. Kacchan can’t be serious. 

“You’re the one who said that even if you’re hurt, you have to keep moving. If you can move at all, you have to.” 

Izuku reaches up, covering his mouth with his palm. 

“You said that there will always be people you can’t save. People beyond your reach. You said that’s why you have to save those you can reach.” 

Izuku’s body heaves forward, overcome with a harsh, overdue sob. 

There’s a click of Katsuki’s seatbelt, and he’s grunting as he reaches over the center console, lifting himself half off the seat to reach and pull Izuku close, crushing him to his chest. Izuku turns and his hands curl into Katsuki’s nice shirt. 

Katsuki holds him through overwhelming, childish sobbing. His body is quivering and shaking, Katsuki's shoulder quickly turning wet with tears, spit and snot. Katsuki pets through his hair, heaving a relieved sigh. 

“And I said I’d be the guy who steps in when you can’t handle it on your own. For the rest of our lives. I don’t say shit I don’t mean, and I don’t do it halfway. I may not have known Tenko, but I can. You can tell me.” 

Katsuki holds him through Izuku’s sobs and cries. It doesn’t take too long for him to relax enough to suck in a shaky breath and finally respond. 

“I don’t know if I can be that boy again,” Izuku admits, ashamed. 

Katsuki shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair. 

“You won’t be. You’re not. That’s okay,” Katsuki assured, and Izuku hiccuped. 

“Do you want to try and follow his dreams?” Katsuki asks. His tone is soft, devoid of push one way or another. He’s genuinely trying to find what this Izuku wants. 

“I… I don’t know,” Izuku says. “I’m not the same person, but… I feel like I’ve lost a lot more of who I am than just growing up,” Izuku confesses, and Katsuki hums. 

“Then let’s figure out what you want, and go from there. Hell knows we can stand to do some self improvement without waiting another 8 goddamn years, hah?”

Izuku takes in a slow, shaky breath, and exhales. He feels just some of the eight year old weight on his shoulders dissipate as he reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Kacchan’s waist. 

With a soft, light-hearted giggle, Izuku murmurs, “right.”