Whumptober Day 7

“You know, normally people don’t scream because it doesn’t hurt,” Rory jokes. He looks down at the mangled hand slowly turning blue.

“Just fix it!” James shouts.

“Ready?” Rory asks. He grounds James’s forearm with his left hand and pulls firmly and swiftly on James’s hand with his right. Bones click as they shift back into alignment.

James yelps. “OW. Now I am screaming in pain.”

AO3

Summary: 

‘Once he’s a little more present, Izuku’s not quite sure how long that takes which is quickly starting to become annoying but the thought drifts away before he can really comprehend it, he speaks, “It doesn’t feel real.”

The quiet droning of Aizawa’s calming voice stops before starting again, but this time Izuku is able to understand what he’s saying, although it takes him a moment to process, “What doesn’t?”

He shrugs, “Everything.”’

OR

Izuku has had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. After being hit by a quirk that makes you emotionally numb, he finds himself struggling in the common room. Bakugou, Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi are here to help.

–

Whumptober Prompt:

No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING

helplessness | numbness | blindness

(you can find other whumptober prompts on @whumptober2021)

(full content warning on ao3 (also the formatting is a little off bc/ of tumblr so it might be a better read over on ao3))

–

Izuku sits on the common room couch, back straight, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He stares blankly in front of him. His eyes take in the T.V. in the distance and the other chairs and blankets that are scattered about the room, but he doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see anything.

There’s just Izuku and his thoughts. Not that there’s much going on in his head right now. He’s not really thinking.

He can hear his heart beating distantly in his head, a grounding thump, thump, thump that repeats over and over. But it doesn’t ground him. His feeble attempts at bringing himself back into his body slip away into nothingness – there’s really no reason for him to focus right now anyway. No one else is in the room with him. There’s no one to pretend to be okay for.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on the crusty common room couch or when exactly he got down here in the first place. It’s dark, so it must be night, but that’s all he knows. He doesn’t know what day of the week it is, or what happened yesterday, or even what happened five minutes ago.

It’s not like it would matter anyway. What’s the point of thinking when you can’t feel anything?

Sitting here, in the dark, Izuku tries to remember what happiness feels like. Or sadness. Or any emotion, really. The harder he tries the more his mind seems to block him from feeling. Like it was trained out of him.

That thought’s a little terrifying, not that Izuku can feel it.

He sits there a while longer. How long he isn’t sure, but when Bakugou comes down the stairs (he’s almost always the first one up and hated using the elevator for a reason that Izuku was never privy to) the soft light of early dawn is starting to trickle in through the windows.

He registers Bakugou’s presence in the back of his mind – despite the encompassing numbness he’s experiencing right now his training doesn’t fail him. He can hear the soft thudding of feet on the carpeted staircase and the quiet breathing of another person as Katsuki enters the common space.

Izuku doesn’t look up. He just stares straight ahead, unable to feel the other’s calculating eyes on him.

“Oi, what’s up with you? You look off.”

Izuku doesn’t answer. Bakugou’s voice sounds like a distant buzzing in his ears. His heartbeat remains steady and his breathing remains deep, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

Katsuki stands there for a moment, taking in Izuku’s expression – or the lack of one – before his eyebrows furrow in thinly veiled concern, “Deku?”

Izuku sluggishly registers the now-broken silence, Katsuki’s voice slowly beginning to wash over him. He must be talking to me, Izuku belatedly realizes, but he doesn’t make too much of an effort to string together the sounds he can hear into words. It’s taking all of his energy to just exist right now, how could Bakugou possibly expect him to be able to understand anything that’s going on around him?

“Izuku,” the urgency in the voice cuts through the pounding in his skull and Oh, that’s me. I’m Izuku.

He blinks, slow and sluggish. It’s a struggle to get his body to cooperate right now, his very being having to take two extra steps just to comprehend what his mind is trying to command his limbs to do.

Faintly he registers a light touch on his upper arm and suddenly everything is unfamiliar to him. His eyes seem to remember how to work and he glances over and sees a familiar (though his mind stutters when he thinks of the hand as familiar. Like he shouldn’t know that, shouldn’t be able to recognize anything at all but he does until abruptly something in his mind snaps! once more and it’s almost as if he can’t remember anything because remembering takes willpower and thinking and he can’t do that anymore) calloused hand on his shoulder – and here Izuku pauses for a moment – is that really his shoulder? When was the last time he looked at himself, really looked at himself, took in his own appearance and committed it to memory? Are those freckles really his? Does he really have a scar – no those are two scars – that cross over one another to form some kind of twisted ’T’? The rational side of Izuku, the one that’s deeply buried right now under something that Izuku can’t quite place, tells him that Yes, this is your arm you know this. You just need to focus.

But Izuku can’t.

He hears that sound again – the voice from earlier – and the grip on his arm tightens ever so slightly and finally, finally, his eyes are able to focus on the person in front of him, “Kacchan?”

Katsuki is silent, taking in the younger boy before him. He notices the distant look in his eyes, how they’re glazed over and struggling to focus on his own, the pupils dilating and contracting repeatedly. He notices the boy’s strange reaction to his touch and the weird, monotonous tilt to his voice. His brow furrows, deeper than it had been previously. He had never seen Deku like this – had never seen him so out of it and he’d known him practically their entire lives. He had been there when Izuku had lost his father, had helped manage the aftermath – the depressive episodes Izuku would go through (though they never called them that – that would make everything a little too real), but he had never seen him like this. Something was definitely wrong.

“How long have you been sitting here?”

Izuku doesn’t respond. He just continues to stare at Katsuki – looking but not really seeing.

“Izuku, how long have you been sitting here?” Katsuki repeats, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. Freaking out now wouldn’t get them anywhere.

There’s a long pause and Katsuki lets the silence echo throughout the room, giving Izuku time to process the question.

Izuku blinks.

Only then does Midoriya notice the aches in his body. His arms hurt, but they normally do to some degree, the constant ache of strained and overused bone finally making themselves known once again. His back and shoulders are stiff from sitting in the same position for … hours? He’s not quite sure. Definitely a long time.

Izuku’s gaze drifts and he shrugs, his movements lethargic.

“Izuku, what’s going on?” Katsuki asks slowly.

There’s another long silence, and Midoriya finds Bakugou’s gaze again and his reply is monotonous, “I don’t know.”

Bakugou gives the boy in front of him another once over. As the room slowly begins to fill with the light of the ever-rising sun, he’s finally able to notice the bloody tracks on Izuku’s legs. They’re no longer bleeding and appear to have scabbed over hours ago, but the shape makes what happened obvious – Izuku had scratched and scratched and scratched at his legs until they bled. Katsuki’s gaze wanders to Izuku’s hands. There’s dried blood under his fingernails.

He must have noticed himself starting to slip into whatever state this was and tried to ground himself in any way possible. Even if it meant hurting himself. It’s no secret that Midoriya has an incredibly high pain tolerance and a concerning lack of self-preservation skills.

“I’m getting Aizawa.”

Katsuki must say more after that, but none of it register’s in Izuku’s mind. There’s just a droning noise that gets louder and louder until he eventually realizes that it’s gone.

Izuku barely recognizes the passage of time. He doesn’t know how long he was left alone in the common room. He doesn’t even realize when Aizawa enters the room. He blinks and it’s like his teacher suddenly appeared in his line of sight, but based on the position he’s in, kneeled in front of Izuku so that they’re eye level, he must have been here a while. The room’s certainly brighter than it was before.

He can hear the droning, whining noise again, deeper than it was last time but just as not-present. He sees his teacher’s mouth moving and realizes that his sensei is speaking to him, but he doesn’t understand anything he’s saying. He just stares at his mouth, entranced by the way his mustache moves with every curve and twitch of his lips, the repetitive movements making it easier to sink into this feeling of non-existence.

Once he’s a little more present, Izuku’s not quite sure how long that takes which is quickly starting to become annoying but the thought drifts away before he can really comprehend it, he speaks, “It doesn’t feel real.”

The quiet droning of Aizawa’s calming voice stops before starting again, but this time Izuku is able to understand what he’s saying, although it takes him a moment to process, “What doesn’t?”

He shrugs, “Everything.”

The energy that he had mustered up to say those meager sentences to one of the few adults in his life that he trusted quickly fades away, his mind suddenly exhausted.

Izuku’s consciousness does that weird time-skip thing again, but he can’t find the energy within himself to care.

“Hey, kid. Can you do me favor?”

Izuku grunts, but his eyes don’t meet Aizawa’s.

His teacher lets out a stifled sigh of relief at the actual response he was able to pull from the kid and continues, “Can you tell me what you hear right now?”

Izuku grunts again but doesn’t make any more effort to respond.

“What about touch? Can you name something you feel right now?”

Izuku shakes his head after a long pause.

“That’s okay, kid. It’s hard, I know. You’re doing great,” Aizawa reassures him.

His teacher turns towards Bakugou, When did he get here?, and speaks to him, the other boy running back up the staircase.

Izuku starts to drift again, but then Aizawa begins to speak and then Izuku finds himself stuck in the in-between. Only half-aware.

And it’s exhausting.

Bakugou returns and then something is being shoved into his palms, a set of larger hands gently coaxing his fingers to grip onto it.

“Alright, Izuku. Can you look at what I just gave you?”

At first he doesn’t move, but after Aizawa patiently repeats himself a few too many times, he sluggishly looks down at the object held in his lap. He’s distracted momentarily by the multitude of scars on his hands. The lines seem to sparkle and move as he stares at them, a gentle ache, a vague impression of the pain that he knows he should probably be feeling right now, making itself known.

“Can you describe what you’re holding to me, Izuku?”

Izuku blinks, eyes focusing on the object once more. He runs his hand over the smooth plastic and tries to remember how to speak.

“It’s- uh…” he stutters before eventually trailing off. His mouth feels incredibly dry, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth.

He licks his lips and attempts to speak again, but words fail him once more. He lets out a slow, high-pitched whine.

“I don’t- I don’t know-” Izuku slurs. He drops the object and begins to scratch at his legs, his nails digging into his skin in an attempt to satiate whatever this empty, painful feeling was.

“Woah, kid. Izuku, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” Warm hands grab onto his, carefully pulling them away from his legs. Aizawa holds them tight, but not in an uncomfortable way, the warmth slowly seeping into his fingers, trying to breach his very core. His teacher’s voice fades into the background once more and Izuku drifts.

When Izuku comes back to himself there are more people in the room, but he can’t find the energy to care. Bakugou’s sitting in a chair across from him, his leg bouncing rapidly while he bites the dead skin on his thumb, his expression unreadable. Present Mic and Toshinori stand huddled together near the back of the room, talking in hushed voices amongst themselves, glancing over to Izuku every once in a while, their concern clear.

“Can you tell me your name, kid?”

“Huh?” Izuku blinks.

Aizawa repeats himself.

Izuku shrugs, “I don’t- I don’t know.” He distantly realizes that his speech is concerningly slurred.

If he wasn’t feeling so numb right now, Izuku would definitely be freaking out. Not knowing your own name is a different type of unsettling, especially when every part of you screams that you should know it. But those responses are on pause for the moment – so instead he continues to sit.

“Izuku. Your name’s Izuku, kid.”

“Oh.”

“Can you repeat that for me? Your name?”

He grunts but does as he’s asked, repeating his name monotonously.

“Good. That’s good. Can you tell me how old you are?”

He hesitates for a moment, struggling to remember, “17.”

“Good. You’re doing great. I’m so proud of you, Izuku.”

Aizawa continues to ask him questions. Sometimes he knows the answers and is able to respond but other times, most of the time, it’s too hard to think. The answer’s on the tip of his tongue, but his brain doesn’t want to put in the effort to recall the information that’s stored there.

His teacher repeats his name a lot – like he would forget it if he wasn’t constantly reminded. He hates that that’s probably true.

He forgets it thrice more in their knock-off, dollar-store version of 21-questions.

Sometime after the questions end, Aizawa gives him an ice cube to hold, but he can’t feel it. He just stares and watches it melt, the numbness spreading from his mind to his body, pins-and-needles stabbing him over and over and over but he pays them no mind.

Izuku drifts once more.

In a rare moment of hazy clarity, he vaguely hears Aizawa mention something about retrieving Recovery Girl to Katsuki before he falls back out of his body.

Time fails to exist.

Izuku’s not quite sure when he came back into himself, but he’s here now. He still feels like he’s drifting a bit, a comfort that he wants to just sink into but knows that he shouldn’t.

The silence in his mind starts to become painful, and he clenches his hands into fists, submerging himself into the calming sensation of his fingernails digging into his palms.

Aizawa must notice because his large hands are quick to encompass Izuku’s, his long fingers gently prying the boy’s fingers from the fists he had created.

“Can you hear me, Izuku?”

Izuku nods jerkily, humming in acknowledgment. His voice sounds distant in his ears and the past few hours begin to blur together in his memory.

His teacher asks him a few more questions, but Izuku struggles to respond to them, his sluggishly returning thoughts overwhelming him after an eternity of silence.

An ice cube is placed into his palm once again, except this time he’s actually able to feel it. He blinks in surprise, looking down at the small cube in his hand.

“Can you feel that, listener?” this time it’s Hizashi who asks. He must have joined them when they started to notice Izuku becoming more present.

Izuku nods, “Yeah.” His voice gives out at the end but no one mentions it.

“Good. That’s good, kid. We’re going to ask you some questions now and we want you to answer them to the best of your ability. There are no wrong answers. Do you think you can do that?”

Izuku takes a moment to process the question before shaking his head 'no,’ pausing, and then nodding his head 'yes.’

“Thank you,” Aizawa shifts on the stool that he had pulled from the kitchen, he leans on his elbows, his gaze falling heavily on his student, “What can you hear right now? Can you list it for me?”

There’s a long pause before Izuku begins to answer, his voice hoarse, “You, Mic-sensei,” he falls silent, closing his eyes to listen, “I can hear the birds outside and the buzzing of the lights.”

Aizawa’s lip twitches into a semblance of a smile, “Good. You’re doing great, Izuku. What about touch? What can you feel right now?”

The boy looks down, “I can feel the ice cube. It’s cold.”

Aizawa nods, following his words, “Good, what else?”

“I can feel the couch. And this blanket,” he holds the fabric between his fingers, the ice having finally melted. He’s not sure when the blanket was draped over his shoulders, but one of the adults must have placed it on him while he wasn’t mentally present.

Once Aizawa and Hizashi have run through the rest of the senses with Izuku, they move on to other easy questions, just trying to keep the kid talking. At some point, someone shoves a cup of hot chocolate in his hands (they used his favorite All Might mug, which he was thankful for. It must have been Bakugou then. Or perhaps just a lucky guess). He lets the heat of the mug warm his hands and his mind, slowly sinking into semi-full awareness.

Toshinori sits down next to him, his bony hand coming up to rub slowly up and down his back, “How are you feeling, my boy?”

Izuku sniffles, “Cold.”

His mentor frowns, “Would you like another blanket?”

Izuku nods, and another blanket is quickly given to him.

“What’s going on?” Izuku asks, the panic that he’s slowly beginning to feel seeping into his voice, “What happened?”

Toshinori continues to rub his back, “Don’t worry about it right now, my boy. We can discuss it at a later time. Just try to relax right now, you’ve had a long day.”

If he didn’t feel like he had been run over by a runaway train, he probably would’ve put up more of a fight, but exhaustion was slowly beginning to creep up on him, “I’m tired.” His voice sounded weak and pathetic, even to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I know, my boy. I know. It’s okay, you can rest now. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Izuku leans against his hero’s shoulder, slowly sinking into the warmth that radiated from him and allowed his teacher’s voices to wash over him as he drifted off.

When Izuku wakes, the sun has set once more. The room is cast in the yellowish glow of the few lamps that are scattered throughout the room and he can hear the distant chatter of his classmates wandering the halls a few floors up.

He lays there for a moment, taking in his surroundings. He can feel Toshinori breathing underneath him – sometime after he fell asleep he must have been shifted so that his head lay in his mentor’s lap. A large hand cards gently through his hair, calming the pounding in his head and helping to soothe the ache that had settled deep within his bones.

Izuku groans and buries his head within his mentor’s lap, hiding himself away from the world.

Toshinori chuckles, “How are you feeling, my boy?”

Izuku groans again, “Water.”

It doesn’t take long before a glass is placed into his shaking hands as Toshinori helps him sit up, one of his arms placed permanently on Izuku’s shoulder – either to ground him or keep him from falling over. Or both. Probably both.

Aizawa approaches him after he’s had a few sips of his water, “How are you feeling, kid?”

Izuku sniffs, “Like shit.”

The gathered teachers chuckle and Izuku cracks a thin smile.

He takes another sip and when he speaks his voice sounds half-dead, “What happened?”

The adults share a look before Hizashi speaks, “You were hit by a quirk. It took us forever to figure out – we had to sort through a bunch of security footage from the mall your class went to last night. Apparently, the League of Villains kidnapped Takahashi’s kid-”

“Takahashi?” Izuku interrupts.

“The woman who used her quirk on you,” Aizawa explains.

“Oh.”

Hizashi continues, his voice surprisingly calm, “The League threatened to kill her kid if she didn’t do what they asked.”

Izuku takes another sip and tilts his head, “And they ordered her to use her quirk on me?”

Toshinori’s grip on his shoulder tightens, “Yes.”

Izuku drains his cup, “What is her quirk, exactly?”

Aizawa takes the now empty glass from his student’s hands, “She calls it Emotional Numbness – she can make whoever she touches emotionally numb. Though normally the people that it’s used on don’t experience it quite as strongly as you did. Takahashi’s a therapist and normally only uses her quirk in small amounts if one of her patients is experiencing an extreme panic attack or somehow otherwise at risk of harming themselves. The League demanded that Takahashi use her quirk to its full extent on you, specifically.”

Izuku nods, he appreciates the in-depth explanation of her quirk, “Are they okay now?”

“We’ve recovered the kid and the mother is currently at the police station downtown for questioning.”

Izuku frowns, “Is she in trouble?”

Aizawa stares down at him, his face unreadable besides the conflicted look in his eyes, “No.”

Izuku nods, “Good,” he takes a long, stuttering breath in an attempt to ground himself, “So what now?”

Aizawa-sensei takes a deep sip from his mug, it must be some kind of coffee, Izuku thinks, before responding, “Your mother has been moved to a safe house and the same offer has been extended to the other parents. Class 2-A is no longer permitted to leave campus without adult supervision and only in small groups. Other safety measures are being discussed but will take a while to be finalized. The students’ safety is our number one priority.”

Izuku looks up at his teacher, “And the League?”

“Is being handled. The only thing that you should be focused on right now is recovering.”

Izuku nods.

Aizawa levels him with a heavy stare, “I mean it, Problem Child. If I hear about you or any other member of the hell-class causing trouble there will be hell to pay. Do I make myself clear?”

Izuku nods again, a small smile on his face, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he stands, “Now are you ready to head up to your room?”

Izuku hesitates and glances up at Toshinori, who still has his hand on his shoulder.

Toshinori senses his hesitance and is quick to reassure him, “You can stay down here with us as long as you need, Izuku. We won’t judge you.”

The boy nods shakily before turning back to his homeroom teacher, “Does the class know-”

Izuku isn’t able to finish his sentence but Aizawa knows what he’s trying to ask, “No. No one besides Bakugou. Feel free to tell them however much you want to. If anyone gets too pushy let me know and I’ll handle it.”

Izuku’s lips twitch to form a weak smile, “Thanks, sensei.”

“And Izuku,” Izuku hums in acknowledgment and Aizawa continues, “Take Monday off, okay. You need to rest. And let Recovery Girl or myself know if you need more time than that. We’re here to help you in any way possible. If there’s anything that you need let us know. We’re here for you, kid. We’re here for all of you. Don’t forget that.”

Izuku sniffles and wipes at a stray tear, his voice strained, “Thank you, sensei. I appreciate it.”

Aizawa leans over and squeezes his shoulder in a brief moment of affection, “Of course, kid.”

They sit there for a few more minutes until Izuku stops feeling so lightheaded. The pain in his arms comes back gradually until the pounding in his skull matches the pounding in his limbs. His chronic pain is always more noticeable after he’s had some kind of mental crisis. It’s like a nice little reminder: Oh, you’ve had a bad day? Well, it’s about to get worse. Have fun! ;)

Izuku rubs his arms before turning towards Toshinori again, “Okay. I’m ready.”

Toshinori smiles softly down at him, “Alright. Would you like me to walk you to your room?”

Izuku smiles. Yagi always knows what to say. Sometimes he still has trouble believing that All Might, Japan’s greatest hero, cares about him. Genuinely cares about him. For as long as he could remember, Izuku had placed All Might on this pedestal. He was cool. He was great. He was powerful. A wonderful hero that no one could ever hope to surpass. And he knows his name. Izuku is on a first name basis with All Might. All Might chose Izuku to be his successor. All Might trusted Izuku with his greatest secret, despite some of his closest friends (ie. Nighteye) saying not to. All Might trusted him. And on the days when Izuku still doesn’t feel like he’s worth it, on the days where he feels more like useless, quirkless Deku than Izuku, All Might has been there to help him through it. Almost bitterly Izuku is reminded that All Might has helped him through his roughest days while his mother had done nothing but apologize. She had never believed in him the way All Might does. And it stung.

“Izuku?” Yagi prompts.

The boy clears his throat and nods towards his mentor, “Yes, please. I would like that.”

As they make their way to the elevator, an object on the coffee table catches his eye. It’s one of Eri’s toys – a toy pony. That must have been the object that he was handed earlier. He should probably return that to her tomorrow. It would give him an excuse to visit her. Visiting Eri always made him feel better.

Recovery Girl, Aizawa, and Hizashi stand in silence while they wait for All Might to return. They have a lot to discuss.

Yagi returns 15 minutes later, his eyes looking especially sunken after such a long day. His hair falls flat around his face, its usual buoyancy having fled long ago. His shoulders sit stiffly by his ears, his stress obvious to the other teachers. Everyone with a working pair of eyes knows that Midoriya holds a special place in Yagi’s heart. Having to watch his mentee suffer couldn’t have been easy and Hizashi’s heart aches for him.

As soon as the elevator doors slide closed and Yagi has joined them, Recovery Girl begins to speak, her tone urgent, “We’ll need to monitor Midoriya to make sure that there are no lasting effects from the quirk.”

Aizawa stiffens, “You think there will be lasting effects?” Hizashi places a comforting hand on his husband’s shoulder.

Recovery Girl nods solemnly, her lips forming a thin line, “Possibly. There’s not a lot of information about the quirk that was used. Izuku’s the only case of such an extreme use – we’re going into this blind. Keeping a careful eye on him these next few days is crucial.”

“What exactly should we be looking for?” Hizashi asks.

“Anything, really. Trouble focusing in class, a longer response time than usual, an increase in time spent daydreaming. Anything out of the ordinary for him. I’m just worried that this could trigger future dissociative episodes. It’s a common trauma response and Kami knows that these kids have got plenty of that. Midoriya especially.”

All Might and Recovery Girl share a meaningful glance and Aizawa can’t help but feel like he’s missing something, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Recovery Girl and Toshinori refuse to meet his eyes and shake their heads dismissively.

“If this relates to my student’s mental health then I should be properly informed. We all want what’s best for the kid and I can’t help him if you’re all keeping things from me.” Hizashi’s hand on his shoulder tightens for a brief moment in an attempt to placate him.

Yagi clenches his jaw, “It’s not our information to share. You’ll have to ask young Midoriya sometime when he’s feeling better.”

“Yagi-”

“I’m serious, Aizawa,” he interrupts, “This is something that he has to choose to share. I’m not taking that away from him.”

Aizawa nods, “Okay. But I better be informed, whether Midoriya wants me to be or not, the second this endangers him, mentally or physically,” he narrows his eyes, “Do you understand?”

Yagi nods.

“Good.”

Toshinori walks Recovery Girl to the door, the pair muttering to each other about whatever it was that Aizawa and Hizashi weren’t privy to. Yet. Because Aizawa would find out about it. He would make sure of that – he wasn’t one to let his students suffer in silence despite the reputation he had amongst the other Yueii teachers.

Hizashi’s hand runs down his arm and gently grabs his partner’s hand, “You’ve gotten soft, Shota.”

The man scoffs, “Please, someone’s gotta watch out for the kids. Who else would get them out of all the trouble they’re constantly getting themselves into?”

Hizashi grins, “That wasn’t a denial.”

His husband rolls his eyes, “If you had my hell-class you would be just as protective of them.”

Hizashi hums and tightens his grip on Aizawa’s hand, “He’ll be okay, Shota. He’s got a good support system here and half the staff is practically wrapped around his little finger. He’s gonna be just fine.”

Aizawa takes a deep breath, “I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

Izuku wakes up in the dead of night. He fell asleep not long after Yagi left, but it wasn’t very restful and he kept waking every few hours. Eventually, he gave up on getting any meaningful rest and sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of his bed. His covers were piled on the floor, thrown off of the mattress long ago.

He runs a clammy hand through his sweat-dampened hair, pulling at the knots. He stops after a moment, the pain pulling his mind out of the half-sleep haze it was in. He rubs his nose with shaky hands and grabs his water bottle from his nightstand and takes a sip.

Izuku sits on the edge of his bed for a while, surrounded only by the darkness and his too-loud thoughts. He feels his mind start to slip away, up out of his body, but he tightens his grip on his legs until his knuckles whiten and he can smell the metallic scent of blood. He gasps and drops his water bottle and hugs his arms tightly around himself.

He misses All Might.

He misses his comforting arm around his shoulders. He misses Aizawa-sensei’s comforting voice, the gentle look in his eyes that he was starting to notice more and more on his usually stoic teacher’s face. He misses Present Mic’s natural ability to make everything seem okay, no matter how bad the situation was.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Izuku hugs himself tighter, his arms painfully squeezing his chest. He curls into himself, his hands coming up to tug at the knots in his hair once again, but nothing makes it better. Nothing lightens the weight on his chest. His arms hurt. His hands hurt. The scars on his body scream at him, a constant reminder that he wasn’t worthy of the power he wields.

His body couldn’t take the strain and the lines and zig-zags that permanently mar his skin serve as a warning to his classmates, to his teachers: danger follows Izuku everywhere he goes. He was putting others at risk just by associating with them. They didn’t deserve that.

Izuku didn’t deserve them. He was hurting them. How could he do that? How could he do that to his friends? To the few people that actually care about him?

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

Over the pounding in his skull and the racing of his thoughts, Izuku register’s the painful gasping sound that he must be making. His gasps echo throughout the room, his wet coughs and gasps bouncing off of the walls as his lungs convulse.

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

He stands up suddenly, and sprints out of the room. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going but he lets his feet lead him, the thudding of his bare feet on the carpeted hallway in tune with the pounding of his heart. He’s knocking before he realizes whose door he’s in front of.

The door opens before he has time to even think about running away, “Deku?” Katsuki’s voice is heavy with sleep and he rubs a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to straighten it.

Izuku chokes on a sob and Katsuki is suddenly much more alert than he was two seconds ago, “What’s wrong?”

“Kacchan-” his voice breaks.

Katsuki opens the door all the way and grabs Izuku’s hand before yanking him inside, “Come on, nerd.”

He helps Izuku sit on the edge of the bed before joining him, “Now tell me what’s going on. What’s wrong?”

Izuku chokes again, “Can’t breathe,” Bakugou shifts and through the haze of his panic Izuku register’s that he actually looks concerned, “Katsuki, I can’t breathe!”

Izuku gasps again, though no oxygen enters his lungs. He’s inhaling air but nothing takes, nothing reaches the bottom of his lungs. He can inhale all he wants but it doesn’t matter if he’s not breathing.

“Woah, woah, Izuku. Hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Katsuki grabs one of his trembling hands and holds it to his chest. He takes an exaggerated breath, “Breathe with me, okay? In and out,” Izuku attempts to follow along, “In and out, just like that. Good. Good, you’re doing great, Izuku, just like that. Keep going.”

They sit like that for a while, Izuku’s hand on Katsuki’s chest and Katsuki rubbing his free hand up and down Izuku’s back in an attempt to soothe his distressed … friend. Katsuki felt strange calling Izuku his friend. Their relationship was complicated – they had been inseparable when they were younger, at least until Izuku’s diagnosis. Katsuki’s honestly not sure how to feel about the way he treated Izuku afterwards. He was horrible, he knew that, and he felt … guilty about it. That was a new feeling for him.

At least acknowledging the guilt was new for him – it was something Hound Dog had helped him work through after the mandatory meetings with him started at the beginning of their second year. Apparently, Nedzu and Aizawa felt the need to force Class 2-A to talk about their feelings so they wouldn’t become 'emotionally-stunted’ or something like that. Whatever their reasoning, Katsuki wasn’t a fan. But it worked. Really well. Who would’ve guessed that therapy could be helpful? Not Katsuki, that’s for sure. But Bakugou had grown a lot since he became a student at Yueii, and you could measure his growth by studying his interactions with Izuku. Somehow it always came back to Izuku.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Katsuki asks once Izuku’s breathing has slowed down to a semi-normal pace.

Izuku shakes his head, “Later. Not right now. I - I can’t,” he stutters.

Katsuki nods, “Okay,” he pauses and looks his friend over, “Do you want to stay here for the rest of the night?”

Izuku nods, “Please.”

Izuku’s still shaking when Katsuki gestures for him to lay down. The adrenaline from earlier hasn’t quite worn off yet and his throat hurts with every breath he takes. The pounding in his ears grows stronger as he lays his head on Katsuki’s spare pillow, the boy in question laying down next to him a moment later.

“Try and get some sleep, Izuku. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Izuku chuckles, “You keep calling me Izuku. It’s weird.”

Katsuki shrugs, “It feels wrong to call you Deku right now.”

He smiles, “It’s okay, Kacchan. I know that you don’t mean it that way anymore,” he yawns, suddenly feeling exhausted, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Katsuki stiffens, “You shouldn’t have.”

Izuku shrugs, “Probably. But I did. So deal with it,” his words are starting to slur together as sleep begins to take him, “Are you gonna be here when I wake up?”

He scoffs, “Yeah. Yeah, Deku I’ll be here. Don’t worry about it.”

Izuku’s eyes drift shut, “Good. Thank you, Katsuki. I’ll explain in the morning.”

“Only if you want to.”

Izuku hums and mutters some unintelligible response under his breath.

Katsuki chuckles, “Go to sleep, nerd. I’m right here.” He places an arm over Deku’s slowly relaxing body, his breath finally beginning to even out.

And as Izuku finally drifts off, he smiles. He’ll have to explain everything in the morning – even if Katsuki wouldn’t force it out of him Izuku felt like he owed him an explanation. He had sat with him through his dissociative episode and had helped him through his panic attack (because that’s what he belatedly realized had just happened). And he had offered him comfort and let him into his bed, something that they haven’t done since they were little. Kacchan really had changed.

He was proud of him.

But for now he can rest and recover and bask in Kacchan’s attention and presence and just breathe – something that he was able to do half an hour ago. He would be okay.

Katsuki cards a hand through Izuku’s hair, and he realizes that he had never felt more safe. He could sleep now.

And when the night came

his eyes were silent

his mind was dead

while the shadow danced over his bed.

Und wieder ertrinke ich im Meer, das lautlos meine Tränen vergießen.

I don’t even have the strength to hurt myself anymore

I’ve never known myself

Does the pain ever get so bad that words can’t even describe what it’s doing to your mind?

No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING

@whumptober2021

@whumptober-archive

helplessness | numbness | blindness

Finn still wasn’t used to his flares, and he certainly wasn’t used to dealing with them on his own.

Living with Fao was great, but he missed the constant availability of his parents, as much as he’d hate to admit it.

He’d been putting off giving into his flare for several days, too busy with uni to allow himself to rest. When he woke up with another migraine, he didn’t have a choice but to reconsider. That didn’t stop him from trying to ignore it, of course it didn’t. He made it to the edge of the bed, sitting up shakily. The nausea was horrendous and overwhelmed him, growing worse with each breath.

He couldn’t be sick in his room, the panic rising quickly. It was Fao’s flat, he’d tell him off, not to mention he was an adult and he shouldn’t do that.

Finn let out a quiet whine, torn between crying out for Fao and just letting it all overwhelm him and giving in. After fighting with himself for a few minutes, he gave in, calling for Fao.

No response.

His phone wasn’t in his bed either, so he couldn’t call him, or his parents, or Jess. He was stranded.

The dizziness overwhelmed him as he stood, immediately stumbling into the wall. He kept muttering to himself, trying to encourage his body to work, to let him get to Fao.

His feet felt like ice, numb and barely under his control. It was spreading too, he was sure of it.

Electric shocks jarred his brain with every step, the pain making the dizziness worse. He stumbled, falling to his knees with a cry. With his arms outstretched, he caught his wrists as he fell, instinctively pulling them to his chest and overbalancing. He tipped, shoulder slamming into the wall and then the floor.

He couldn’t get back up, his body no longer under control. His vision was starting to go too, a seizure definitely looming. Slurred and barely there, he cried out, desperately calling for his brother. He needed help, needed anyone.

Nobody came, and he curled up, helpless and alone, stranded on the landing.

It sucks when you are so numb you don’t realize when you cry until someone asks if you’re okay.