Chapter Text
The world was closing in, collapsing on itself further and further with every second, until it squeezed the air out of his lungs and ground his flesh and bones to bloody dust, and there was nothing Izuku could do to stop it. There never was. The common room had been deathly quiet, and then it had been uproariously loud, and then it had been nothing at all or maybe everything at once, because he could no longer tell over the fervent beating of his heart in his ears and the static of blinding panic in his mind.
Izuku was vaguely aware that the darkness prowling ever closer and trying to devour him was caused mainly by the fact that his eyes were screwed tightly shut, and pressed against the stiff fabric of his school uniform besides. But he couldn't bring himself to unclench his aching fingers from their death-grip on the fabric around his ankles, to uncurl himself from the small protective cocoon even just enough to look up. Because if he let go, if he moved, he was a bigger target, he was an exposed target, and they would go for the vitals, predators always went for the vitals (the places hidden by baggy clothes and a uniform-). His body knew that lesson better than it knew almost anything else.
Why, why did this have to happen? Everything had been fine , he had been fine and the common room had been safe, and now it wasn't or maybe it was, but he was too afraid to check, and how could it still be safe, when everyone knew, they knew they knew they knew he was useless and Kacchan was better, that no one wanted him, just to hurt him and anyone could and they would find out it was fun and then, and then-
Strong, slim arms wrapped around Izuku, and a warm body was pressed against his side. His first instinct was to recoil, to get away from the hands that would surely hurt him, but there was nowhere to go, because on the other side was another body penning him in, bigger and warmer and just as solid. And after a few seconds, Izuku's panicking animal brain decided that this was fine, that the bodies and the arms were familiar and grounding and safe (even if the rest of him screamed that they weren't, not anymore, not now that they knew- ) and the sounds being whispered into his ear were gentle and soothing, and he could stay here.
He could stay here, in this cocoon of warmth, couldn't he? He could stay in the terrifying, liberating darkness, could let himself get swept away by the incessant waves of his own frantic heartbeat, until his newly-patched fingers turned numb and his muscles ached from the tension, until the smells of shampoo and campfire and dorm-issued washing powder filled his nose and allowed the oxygen to flow a little easier into his lungs, until the quiet, barely-heard murmuring in his ear eroded away his racing, ricocheting thoughts and resolved itself into words of reassurance.
It died down, eventually, as it always did, the tide receding slowly and begrudgingly, allowing him to snatch a blessed lung-full of air and start reassembling the tattered pieces of rational thoughts left in its wake, like driftwood after a storm. (He used to fear, once, that one of these days he wouldn't resurface, that he would drown under miles of water and stay forever at the dark bottom of his personal ocean, never to see the sunlight again. He had since learned enough about psychology and brain chemistry to know that such an outcome was extremely unlikely, but it didn't make him any less grateful every time he came back to himself.)
Izuku's senses, still tingling and over-sharp after the recent turmoil, started picking apart the stimuli around him, cataloging and reassembling them into a single coherent picture. It was instinctual, now, a familiar and grounding procedure that barely required any conscious decision, not to mention practical. Izuku could rarely afford not to have his bearings, after all.
Uraraka was still wrapped around him in a tight hug, face buried in his hair, though she had stopped talking a while ago. Todoroki's hand was also slung across his shoulders, his left side pressed against Izuku, pleasantly warm in a way that wouldn't be healthy on someone with a different quirk. The back of his uniform shirt was wet, where it had been pressed against the newly-defrosted couch. His knees were also wet, for a very different reason.
Three people were standing in a cluster several steps in front and to the left of him. Two of them (Iida and Yaoyorozu, judging by their voices) were conversing in distressed tones, just loud enough to hear but not to make out the individual words. The third, by the quiet, involuntary ribbiting sounds, must have been Tsuyu. Someone was climbing the stairs (loud steps made by a heavy body, so Sato, because Shouji was too stealthy for that). Two other people a few couches away, also talking, too quietly to make out voices. Another one by the window, which was open and let in a gentle breeze fragrant with the smell of blooming cherry.
Izuku allowed himself one more deep, shuddering breath to gather himself, and then forced himself to look up. Uraraka immediately released her octopus-like hold on him and slid back far enough along the couch to allow him freedom of movement, but not enough that she couldn't still put a hand in his hair and start carding slowly through the tangled locks. When he chanced a glance at her from the corner of his eye she smiled, gentle and encouraging as always. Izuku was dauntingly, pathetically thankful for her, for the instinctual way she always seemed to know what he needed after his… episodes.
Todoroki didn't move, just adjusted his grip around Izuku's shoulders and nudged the temperature up a bit more, enough to start soothing away the residual tension in his exhausted muscles, enough for an entirely different kind of warmth to start blooming in his chest. Izuku was thankful for that, too.
Another deep breath, steadier this time, the oxygen heady but still scraping raw on its way down his throat. The residual tears on his face were cooling, drying out under the caress of the late-summer breeze, and the skin felt hot and sticky and too-tight, but he could take care of that later, in the safety of his own room. Right now he had to… He had to do something, didn't he? He had to gather his jumbled, mismatched words into a pile and tell them that he was sorry, had to somehow convey to them his love and his gratitude and his fear and his desperation, had to show them all these warm, enormous things squished into his chest and threatening to climb up his throat, beating to the rhythm of his heart. He would do it, even if he had to pry his ribs apart one by one. He owed them that much.
"I… I'm sorry guys." There, that wasn't so hard, right? Yes, his voice was hoarse and it cracked a bit at the end, sounding too loud in his own ears, and yes, the words were nowhere near eloquent enough to convey the depth of the emotion, but, well. Izuku wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for, really. All of it, probably. For keeping secrets, for breaking down, for causing trouble, for upsetting everyone. For being his broken, useless, inadequate self, even after everything they had done for him, all the support and love and effort poured into him every day, wasted on him-
"There is absolutely nothing you should apologize for, Izu-kun." Uraraka's voice was still gentle, still soft enough not to grate on his overstimulated senses, but it had a note of steel underneath that wrenched Izuku out of his downward spiral with a practiced ease (it was by far not the first time she had had to help him through a panic attack, after all, though it was probably the worst one yet). The words themselves helped too, if only to tilt his thought process unexpectedly into a new angle, distracting him enough that he finally turned to look at her head-on.
"Y-yes I do. I… I should have told you guys the truth. You are my friends, you deserve to know, and K-kacchan is- I mean, was your classmate too, a-and what if he-"
"Midoriya-kun," Yaoyorozu, this time, also gentle and a little stern (and when had she and Iida and Asui ceased their conversation and come so close, his vigilance was slipping-) "we are your friends, yes, and as such we have the privilege of knowing you better than most. It by no means makes us entitled to all the details of your past, especially not ones this painful."
All around him, the others nodded decisively in a show of agreement. Izuku's head spun slightly, and he wasn't sure if it was from relief, or simply an aftereffect of the stress. Probably both.
"I'm kind of glad you didn't tell us, actually." Said Uraraka in a tone that was trying for levity but fell a little short. "I'm not sure I could have stopped myself from punching Bakugou in the face. At least now I don't have to face the temptation every day."
There were a few feeble chuckles, and a grunt that sounded suspiciously like agreement from Todoroki. Iida put on his stern face and attempted to lecture them about un-heroic behavior, but Izuku could plainly see that his heart wasn't really in it. He had learned the hard way to read the signs of hidden rage in his friend, and they were all there now, clear as day, in the dark depths of his eyes and the brittle edge in his voice. Izuku would have to watch him, to make sure that his friend's anger wouldn't lead him astray again. Hopefully this time, at least, the stakes were lower.
Yes, Izuku was aware that he was actively trying to avoid thinking too hard about Uraraka's actual words and what they implied. About the undertone of coiled tension that still slithered around the common room, like a snake ready to bite. About the distressed, disbelieving faces of his classmates he had caught from the corner of his eye before it became too much and he had had to bury himself in darkness. About the way they had all gone up to their rooms already, even though the hour was still pretty early, and the common room should be teeming with laughter and conversation and last-minute cramming.
There was only so much Izuku's battered heart could take in one day, however, and compartmentalizing was an art he had mastered long ago in the interest of survival. He would deal with it, fix what has been broken and damaged by any means necessary. And this time, he won't even have to do it alone, which made everything easier. It would have to wait for tomorrow, however. Right now, he needed to extricate himself from the comfortable nest of bodies and arms, to say his goodbyes and drag his weary body upstairs into bed. It still took him by surprise most of the time, how difficult it was now, to tear himself away from his friends, to resign himself to the loneliness that had been his shield for so many years. Still, Izuku could feel he was at the end of his rope for the day. He wouldn't survive much more of this tension, let alone an interrogation about his past with Kacchan. Luckily for him, that was the exact moment Tsuyu, bless her blunt and honest nature, chose to rejoin the conversation.
"You look tired, Midoriya-kun. It's been a long day, you should go to bed and rest. Anything else you want to tell us can wait for tomorrow, kero."
Every time Izuku thought he couldn't love them more, that more simply wouldn't fit inside his more-compact-than-average body, and then they would do something like this and he would be left feeling lighter than air and also bursting at the seams. He could only hope that his smile conveyed at least a portion of his gratitude, because he knew he would never find the words to voice it all.
Reluctantly, he rose off the couch, wobbling slightly on weak knees before he found his balance, suddenly feeling cold and bereft at the loss of contact. To his surprise, however, Todoroki rose as well just moments later, after what looked like uncertainty had had the time to flash briefly over his features and disappear into the usual cool collectedness.
"I will come with you." He said quietly, almost shyly (though Izuku doubted anyone outside of this group and maybe Todoroki's sister could have spotted the difference). "I need to put back my books anyway." As proof, he picked up what few of his study materials were strewn around the table and floor, and offered Izuku a hand (still the left one, always the left for his cold-sensitive patchwork bones).
The excuse was slim, and they both knew it, but it didn't stop Izuku from gleefully taking the proffered appendage, with a blush and a smile that felt like they were collaborating on their efforts to break his face. Izuku didn't really care, though, as he picked up his forgotten school bag from under the table and walked slowly up the stairs, with the steady, warm presence of his friend by his side, shoulders brushing just slightly every once in a while. They had both come a long way, and Izuku dared to hope that maybe tonight, despite everything, they would manage snatch some actual sleep from the Jaws of the nightmares.