Chapter Text
Just as he always has, Kacchan continues to perplex Izuku.
His behavior those two nights makes sense now. Izuku’s a little less worried about him now that he knows what’s going on.
Kacchan has avoided him like the plague since that conversation they had. That’s…understandable. Honestly, Izuku wouldn’t have expected anything different. He gives Kacchan his space, not wanting to risk snapping the delicate thread of trust that’s been sewn between them.
And he seems better, at least, than he did before. He isn’t isolating himself as much, he’s been hanging out with his friends again. He’s less tense, finally beginning to relax a bit more. This goes on for a few weeks.
But then…he starts going backwards. Slowly, Kacchan begins to withdraw again, quieting down ever so slightly, eyes dull with the weight of everything he’s carrying with him; guilt, nightmares, anxiety, trauma. It’s getting bad again.
Izuku waits, cautiously, to see if it gets better on its own. It doesn’t. He hates seeing Kacchan like this. It’s so unlike him; it feels like a stranger has moved into his old friend’s body, inhabiting his space and stealing him away.
It would be a lie if Izuku said he wasn’t a little bit afraid of Kacchan. Not because he thinks Kacchan will hurt him—and for one thing it’s not that he won’t, it’s that he can’t anymore—it’s mostly because of how incredibly unpredictable he is.
That used to mean that he was dangerously volatile, like a ticking time bomb; any little thing could set him off and it was impossible to know what.
There’s a little more to it than that now.
Maybe he’ll yell at Izuku and continue on with his day. Maybe he’ll yell at Izuku and then decide he never wants to speak to him ever again. (Although…this, admittedly, doesn’t mean much, because Kacchan has tried to decide this several times already to no avail. It’s rather hard to avoid seeing as they go to the same school and see each other all the time.) Or maybe…maybe he’ll agree to talk to him.
This is the thing that perplexes Izuku the most, that legitimately honest-to-God scares him in a way it probably shouldn’t.
“Kacchan, could we maybe just…talk for a minute?” Izuku says.
Kacchan stares at him with an indecipherable expression for a moment. Then he replies, “Fine.”
This is never going to go away. He’s never going to get better.
Pressing his face into his pillow, Katsuki tries to hold his breath and does his best to ignore the way that everything hurts. It doesn’t make sense anyway. He’s gotten beat up during spars with Kirishima and it hurt less than this. It feels like he has a mouthful of ash, with the way his lungs are burning and his throat is aching and his chest is heaving and god, he feels like his insides are on fire.
It was a dream. It was a dream. It’s not real. (But it felt like it.) It’s fine. (It’s anything but fine.)
Katsuki won’t cry. He won’t do it. He refuses. No matter how much it hurts, he bites down on his tongue and swallows around the lump in his throat and doesn’t make a sound.
He wants to go home.
Don’t you fucking dare start with that shit again, Katsuki berates himself. You’re done playing house. You need to get over this already.
But…but if they got him once they could get him again, and next time All Might won’t be there…next time, when… if. If it happens again, All Might wouldn’t be able to save him…not that he’d even bother to try even if he hadn’t lost his powers, of course, because if Katsuki is really so goddamn weak he gets kidnapped on the regular, nobody will spare him a second thought. Nobody will want him.
It doesn’t stop.
He allows himself to take a breath and digs his nails into the back of his neck when he feels the way it hitches.
He thought he was finally over it. It had been three weeks since his last nightmare. Then out of nowhere, it just…
For god’s sake, he can’t even remember anymore what this one was about. All he remembers is the paralyzing fear, which still has him tensed up like he’s actively in danger, here in one of the safest places in Japan, while the leader of the League of Villains is locked up in a maximum security prison and he knows, he knows, that nothing is going to happen.
It won’t stop. It won’t go away. No matter how much he tries to reason with himself that he has to be better than this, has to let it go and move on, it just…doesn’t…get…better.
Katsuki sits up slowly. He’s trembling. He tries to care. He can’t.
He reaches for his phone on the nightstand.
You can’t keep doing this, the last bit of rationality begs him.
“Katsuki?”
“Mama,” he whispers. “Had a bad dream.”
There’s a pause before she answers, “Yeah? Do you wanna tell me about it?”
“Don’ remember it.”
“You don’t even…then why are you calling me?”
Is she mad? Is she gonna get mad at him? Katsuki whimpers quietly. “‘Cause ‘m still scared.”
“...Right. Okay. Yeah. Uh…you talked to Izuku, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why don’t you go and knock on his door?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. He’s sleepin’.”
“Yeah…I was too.”
“Oh,” Katsuki blinks. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Wait, no, it’s fine. I’m just saying…I don’t think Izuku will mind.”
Katsuki considers this, and then says, still whispering, “Want you come get me again.”
“Katsuki…” she says slowly, “ we talked to Izuku about your regression so that I wouldn’t have to take you home.”
“But…” Katsuki’s tears spill over. “I…I don’ like it here. ‘Ven when…when ‘m big.”
“Even when you’re big?”
“M-hmm. Always wa-...wanna sleep at home.”
Mitsuki sighs. “Oh, kid,” she murmurs.
“Want Mama.” His voice is still terribly quiet. Last time he called her like this he’d all but screamed. Last time, he’d felt much worse than he does now; he was so hysterical he couldn’t help himself even if he tried. But it was also the only way he thought he could get her to listen to him. Katsuki really doesn’t want to scream if he can help it. He’s still trying not to cry even though he’s not doing a good job, and he knows if he raises his voice he really won’t be able to stop. Not to mention, he’s still practically scared stiff—what if the bad guys hear him?
“I know, Katsuki, I know. I’m sorry. But I want you to try and fall back asleep if you can, okay?”
He blinks tears out of his eyes. “You don’t want me.”
“No,” Mitsuki breathes. “No. That’s not true. I love you.”
She said love.
She didn’t say want.
“Okay,” Katsuki whispers.
“You can stay on the phone with me until you fall asleep if you want.”
“No.” He hangs up. No as in, no I can’t. Not as in, I don’t want to.
And she doesn’t call him back. She texts him: ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ But just once. She doesn’t try again when he doesn’t respond.
Mamas are supposed to love you, but as far as Katsuki knows, there’s no rule about them wanting you.
He lays down alone with his fear and breathes with it.
He wakes up normal and even then, even when he’s not little, behind all the mentally yelling at himself for regressing again there’s this little voice in the back of his head.
She said love. She didn’t say want. She didn’t say want.
Izuku, as always, is impossible to read.
No one is just that nice. There’s got to be something he wants. Blackmail? He already has plenty…and to be honest, Katsuki knows blackmail isn’t Izuku’s style. He’d say it wasn’t very heroic. And Katsuki would roll his eyes because he’s sure there’s all sorts of blackmail going on in the pro hero world. Not every hero is as noble and virtuous as All Might…and even All Might had unflattering secrets.
No, most likely, Izuku’s just using this as an opportunity to-
Wait. Izuku? Why does he keep thinking of him that way? That’s not right…
Deku’s just using this as an opportunity to boost his own ego. He gets to see his rival weak and vulnerable, to make himself feel more powerful. And he’ll feel like such a good person, too. So selfless and heroic, taking care of a helpless child in a 16-year-old’s body.
He’s been over all this before, reminding himself for when he’s feeling fuzzy that Iz- Deku is not his friend anymore.
Weeks go by.
The nightmares are on and off. The regression has slid back into that half-little half-mortified state that he was in constantly when this first started. It’s not as bad as it was back then. Every other night, maybe, for a couple miserable hours.
He can handle it on his own. He knows he can. Only…
He doesn’t…really…have to?
Don’t be stupid. Of course you do.
Maybe you should at least see a therapist again or something…
You don’t need a fucking therapist. There’s nothing wrong with you.
There’s everything wrong with you.
There’s everything wrong with everything.
There’s everything wrong with you and she only said love she didn’t say want.
Katsuki’s phone buzzes. There’s a text from his mom. He does not read it. He stares at his lockscreen until it goes black, and then he sets his phone down on the chair next to him and drags a hand down his face. His head hurts and he’s so goddamn tired…
“Kacchan?”
The headache increases. Katsuki glares at Deku, standing at the bottom of the stairs wringing his hands.
“Could we maybe just…talk for a minute?”
No. No. You say no. You’re supposed to say no. You know he doesn’t actually care about you. You have to say no.
“Fine,” Katsuki hears himself saying.
I fucking hate my life.
Deku’s in his room. God, that’s so weird. Katsuki really wants to change his mind and tell Deku to get the hell out and never talk to him again, but he…doesn’t. For some reason.
Deku gestures to the chair at the desk and asks timidly, “Is it…okay if I sit there?”
“No, I want you to stand there awkwardly in the middle of the room,” Katsuki deadpans.
Deku blinks. “So is that…a yes?”
Katsuki waves a hand dismissively. “Just don’t touch any of my stuff.”
“I won’t,” Deku nods. Under his breath, he says, “And if I see an extremely rare limited edition All Might action figure on your shelf I will not pretend to drop it.”
“What was that, nerd?”
“Nothing! Sorry!” Deku clears his throat. “So, your, uh…your mom sent me an email about…me…looking after you sometimes. When you’re like that.”
Katsuki huffs. Of course she did. “Yeah, whatever.”
“So…well, I was wondering if we could talk about it?” Deku instinctively cringes in preparation for an outburst that doesn’t come.
Katsuki stretches out on his bed and grunts.
Deku bites his lip to keep from grinning and pulls out a notepad from his pocket and a pencil from behind his ear. Katsuki doesn’t know whether to feel amused or patronized.
“Seriously? You’re taking notes?”
“This is just a list of things I wanted to discuss with you. I did some additional research after I got your mom’s email and I wrote down a few things I wanted to ask you about. So, first, your age range. You don’t need to give me an exact number, just an estimate should be fine, although I’ve heard that there can be different ages associated with different things, like someone could feel younger in terms of how they communicate and older in terms of what kind of things they’re interested in, an-“
“Do you want an answer or not?” Katsuki snaps.
“Sorry!” Deku whispers.
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Right, so I guess I sort of slide around a lot. I’d say, like, four to nine. But I couldn’t tell you specifically how old I am at any given time. It’s just somewhere around there.”
“Alright, but there’s a big difference between a four-year-old and a nine-year-old,” Deku says.
“Yeah, I’ll…” Katsuki throws an arm over his face, to cover up the way it’s turning red. “I’ll let you know if I’m on the younger or older side.”
“Okay, great!” Deku says cheerily. He jots something down before asking, “What kind of things do you like to do when you’re regressed?”
“Cry,” Katsuki says without thinking. This was the wrong thing to say, he decides, when he turns to see Deku’s face. “I, I mean…” he clears his throat. “Sorry. That’s…that’s pretty much all that happened the first…I dunno, maybe twenty-something times that I…” he mutters the last word almost under his breath, “Regressed.”
“Well…let’s see. When we were younger you used to like to play heroes—“
“No one said anything about playing with me,” Katsuki snaps. “You’re just here so I don’t have meltdowns and beg my mom to take me home, and to make sure I don’t kill myself. That’s all.”
Deku writes something else down and Katsuki scowls, feeling like he’s in therapy. Only he’s pretty sure therapists aren’t supposed to look rejected and forlorn.
“What else, Deku?”
Izuku clears his throat. “I…you know what, I think this might be an easier conversation to have when you’re little.”
Katsuki stares at him for a minute. “Oh. Well, so that’s another thing,” he waves his hand dismissively. “I can’t do it on command. I don’t have control over it.”
“You’ve actually tried doing it on command?”
Katsuki pauses. “Well…no, but…”
“Why don’t you try it?”
“Why would I do that!“
“To feel more in control?”
Katsuki glowers at him for the crime of making a good point. “Fine!” he says. “But I can’t do it with you staring at me! Go away and I’ll text you if it works.”
At first Izuku doubts he’s actually ever going to hear back from Kacchan, but about eight minutes later he gets a text:
‘k zuku m little now’