The pond his notebook fell into, unfortunately, is one that hasn't been tended to for some time; when Izuku scoops it out the pages come away covered in algae, soaked through with water and unreadable.

The water lilies look nice, at least, and the koi seem to have flourished in the absence of care. There's not much that could cheer him up right now, though.

Izuku hasn't cried in front of Bakugou in years, and that hurts almost worse than the bruises forming along his shoulders and spine from being knocked out of his chair.

His gloves are soaked through by the time he throws it away- cheap, made for gardening and bought with the extra money he earns working for Aoki-san. The sun's just beginning to droop in the sky, a sharp breeze numbing his fingers and ears as Izuku trudges his way to the shop.

Aoki-san must see in his face some of the misery he feels, because she shoos him quickly into the back room and tells him to rest.

Izuku tries to protest- he wants to help, it's not fair to Aoki-san for him to laze around on the job- but she shushes him firmly.

"I've been working this shop for fifteen years on my own," she tells him, uncharacteristically gentle, "I think I can handle a few more hours."

Izuku looks at her wheelchair and wants to insist, but his eyes are still sore from crying and his back hurts from the weight of his bag, and Aoki-san ushers him away before he can muster up any real resistance.

There's a tiny bathroom back here, the size of a small closet and the door tucked away behind some boxes, but the appliances work. He washes his face in the sink and looks at his eyes, still red and glassy for crying. Shame rises like bile in his throat.

The cot unfolds easily from the low shelf, a few blankets and a single pillow folded neatly nearby. Izuku curls into a ball in the middle of it all, the smell of clay and flowers tickling his nose.

His thoughts wander despite himself. He thinks about Aoki-san, laying where he is now. It's easy to imagine her spending nights here, the discomfort and cold tolerable next to the loneliness of an empty home, the absence of her husband.

Izuku's eyes begin to burn, too tender to produce more tears but trying to anyway. He shoves those thoughts away and clamps his eyelids down.

Aoki-san wakes him from dreamless, restless sleep at what must be the end of his shift. His joints are stiff when he sits up, his uniform hopelessly wrinkled and his eyes crusted at the corners.

He feels a little better for the rest, able to focus less on the events of the day and more on pulling his shoes and gloves back on, putting away the cot and everything else he'd disturbed. Aoki-san sends him away with a pat on the back, not unkindly ignoring his shaky apologies.

"Be careful on your way back, hmm? One of the regulars mentioned a villain on the loose nearby- make sure to head straight home, Midoriya-san."

Mom texted while he was asleep, saying the same thing. She's probably worried, then, since Izuku's usually quick to reply. He sends off a quick reassurance and bows one last time to Aoki-san, then hurries out.

The smell of smoke grows stronger and stronger the closer he gets to his apartment, the wailing of sirens in his ears near deafening by the time he's just a few blocks away. Mobs of people rush by, pushing their way past the main crowd that's gathered, presumably, near the source of the destruction, cell phones held aloft. A news helicopter hovers overhead, and rescue is already underway for those trapped inside burning buildings.

Sweat drips down Izuku's face as he begins nudging his way through the observing horde, shoulders ducked low and hands clenched tight on the straps of his backpack. Fear tickles the back of his mind; he doesn't think Mom would leave home with a villain out and about, but if she thought he'd been attacked-

Boom.

His arms twitch reflexively upwards, instinct and muscle memory, to protect his face. For a brief moment before realization hits the noise is almost too much to handle, the uproar of the crowd swelling and battering at his ears.

Izuku knows that noise, that special sort of explosion, almost better than his own heartbeat, has it burned into his muscles as deep as the fear that accompanies it.

His mind clutches at this realization, feels it slip away oily and slick, the enormity of it too much to bear. The crowd shifts and there it is, a vaguely humanoid shape, a monstrous thrashing of wet limbs and white-hot explosions, and it turns and rears back and there's eyes there, bulbous and alien, and below them a shock of bright, pale blond hair-

Red eyes blink, unseeing and tearful and terrified in his direction, and the world is nothing but white noise, whining like a lightbulb burning out, trapped inside his skull.

An elbow slams into his side as he shoves his way past, legs moving mechanically forward, forward, gaze glued to the writhing figure and why isn't anyone helping?

Izuku breaks free, nearly stumbles over his own feet at the sudden lack of resistance. Here he has an unobstructed view of everything and saliva floods his mouth, hot and sticky, the taste of bile a threat creeping up the back of his throat.

He's coming closer and closer to the monster, he realizes, with dawning horror. Izuku's still moving.

The closer he comes the farther away he wants to be, legs stretching into a sprint against his will, bag thumping uncomfortably against his side. His heart will explode if it pounds any harder, pulse beating against the inside of his skull, too loud for him to hear whatever the villain roars when its eyes alight on Izuku.

Sludge drips down Bakugou's face, eyes and nose only just visible amidst the quivering folds of the villain's body. It's in his mouth, Izuku realizes, and he really does throw up a little, then, vomit thin and acrid coating his tongue.

One chance, Izuku thinks. He's got one chance- and he skids to a halt on the cement, leather biting unmercilessly into the flesh of his fingers as he hauls his bag up and over his shoulder and hurls.

It soars, stronger and straighter than he could ever manage without pure adrenaline driving his arm, and nails the villain in the eyes, dead-center. It shrieks, flailing backwards and taking Bakugou with it, a twitching marionette being pulled this way and that by its strings.

The stench nearly sends Izuku reeling, mud and rot like the fish that washed up on the river shore in the summer, baked and decomposed simultaneously in the unforgiving sun.

His feet slip on slimy concrete and his heart stops, just for a moment before he regains his footing.

Izuku lunges, forces one last burst of speed out of his legs and reaches, sludge sliding wet against his skin and Bakugou's eyes locked on his.

Please, he thinks.

For the first time Izuku can feel the strain of using his quirk, a muscle he's never used flexing with all its might, stretching to encompass him and Bakugou. The light's a supernova, so bright Izuku's eyes burn, and there's nothing, then, nothing but the light and the twist in his stomach and-

Him, the taste of blood and decay and rust coating (his/their) mouth, sludge stinging his eyes, four of them, what the FUCK-

-and the rage, at least, is familiar to one of them, so hot it boils his blood, cracks open their bones with its force and carves a swathe through his body, anger and hatred and terror sitting heavy in their gut, useless fucking fear like ice rattling his limbs down to his fingers-

-twenty of them, that's unusual, four arms-

-fucking WEAKLING-

-and they scream when the villain starts to move back towards him, brief hesitation overcome and it's coming back to curl in their throat, twisting joints as it suits it like he's some sort of plaything as it whispers silky in their ears-

-the fear and the anger escalate, then, exponentially, raging up his chest to battle furiously in his throat, teeth rattling and he howls, louder now-

-and rage wins, the way it always wins for him, and the slime is on his skin now, sliding its way towards their mouth-

-and they burn.

Izuku comes to with blood in his mouth and gravel digging into his cheek. His whole body hurts like one big bruise; he tries to lift his head and lets it fall back when the muscles of his neck burn in protest.

There's noise, lots of it nearby, but it's all muffled, distant, the sound of someone speaking underwater. The ground is cool against his skin, solid and present in a way Izuku isn't sure he himself is. He fights to open his eyes and loses.

The world lurches and spins around him abruptly, collar tightening around his neck as something drags him upward. His eyelids peel away, and Izuku just has time to feel grateful when his back slams into the wall next to him, air whooshing out of his lungs.

It takes- too long, probably, for his eyes to focus in front of him.

"Kacchan," he rasps unthinking, and the hand holding him in place crackles threateningly, a series of loud pops that makes Izuku wince.

Bakugou has two arms, though, and the second introduces itself roughly to Izuku's throat, pinning him in place and forcing his head back, until the back of his skull rubs painfully against brick.

"You pull that shit again, Deku," Bakugou snarls, and his breath is hot on Izuku's cheeks, so close he can taste sludge and rot secondhand, "and I'll fucking kill you, I'll fucking crack your skull in with my heel like the ant you are and I'll-"

Izuku can't breathe, eyes and ears going fuzzy, leaving him stuck watching the flex and stretch of Bakugou's mouth as he rages. Spittle lands on his chin. He doesn't think he's ever seen Bakugou this angry, in all the many years he's known him.

He would, Izuku thinks, and is painfully unsurprised by the revelation. He'd kill me, if he thought I deserved it.

He's wavering on the edge of passing out when the weight as his throat eases unexpectedly. He sucks in air furiously, almost wishes he was unconscious as he breaks into dragging, scraping coughs.

"Now now, that's enough of that, I think," a familiar voice booms, and Izuku wheezes. A warm hand, so big it covers half of his torso, easily, settles soothingly on his back.

He forces himself to look up, throat still bucking, and stares.

Maybe Izuku did die? But the heat of All Might's hand holding him up feels real, and his smile, so intimately familiar to Izuku, looks real, and oh, Bakugou's there too, silent and stunned where All Might's holding him back.

The world blurs rapidly after that, a rush of people and loud voices and hands tilting his head back, shining a light in his eyes as All Might holds him propped upright, the rumble of his voice a constant presence in Izuku's ears.

"Shock," he hears someone say, and that probably makes sense, at least explains why he can only stare absentmindedly as All Might fends off reporters, ushering Izuku carefully away to sit in the back of the ambulance now parked nearby.

His hands are shaking when they wrap blankets around his shoulders, eyes listing shut when he hears "Izuku!" and blinks awake to his Mom rushing towards him, tears streaming down her face.

She bundles him up in her arms and doesn't let go for what seems like hours, even after the ambulance closes up and begins to rumble away.

Bakugou's there too, and his parents, tucked so close together their conversation is like soft water, running off Izuku's ears.

"Izuku, I was so scared," Mom says, red rimming her eyes and voice muffled where it presses against his shoulder.

There's a small window back here, high enough that he can only see through it when he tilts his head back. The lights from the ambulance seem surreal, highlighting streetlights and the leaves of trees as they pass, artificial and unearthly against the dark of dusk.

"Me too," Izuku tells her, a soft, ragged whisper, and promptly bursts into tears.