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Izuku has always struggled with anxiety, for as long as he can remember. He knows the sensation all too well, the way sweat clung to his forehead, even when the cool air brushed across his skin, or how his heart thumped like timpani drums, each beat louder than the last. He never really had a day where he was “relaxed”. He’s always on edge and worried about what’s next. And it didn’t help that he was quirkless, targeted because of his one disparity–his weakness. His self-esteem crumbled, and his anxiety crawled endlessly like ants, thoughts spinning like a spiral wishing well with no end in sight.
Things are better now that he’s at UA and working towards his dream, but still, fear coiled around him.
Everyday.
No matter where he is or what he is doing.
He’s handled it well, after all, he is a hero student. He can’t let this anxiety control his life. It’ll distract him from his studies and, more importantly, from his work as a hero. So, he keeps it quiet most of the time. It’s better that way, rather not trouble his classmates with something so insignificant. And he was doing okay…not telling them because he handles it–keeps it locked away.
But that was then.
Things are different now–more difficult. Harder to handle.
The Paranormal Liberation War happened, and shortly afterward, his voluntary leave from UA. He was brought back to UA, but now another threat looms: the battle against Shigaraki and All for One.
He has received various notes and has been briefed on his role in the war. And although he listens, taking it all in with a “yes” and a nod, he can feel a lump fighting its way up his throat. This isn’t new; it happens every time he hears the plan, his involvement. And he nods without saying much; it's safer that way. It’ll prevent the storm of emotions from rising up and breaking through the surface. He can’t let his fear show–this mission was bigger than him. He had agreed to the training, to leading his classmates, to everything…but the doubt never stops growing, and his worries about what he has to do never pause. Not for a second.
And his anxieties simply grow because there are more “what ifs” than ever before. Each one of them builds on top of itself, creating scenarios that are more agonizing than before.
They are horrifying…gruesome. He wants to stop them, and he tries and tries, but the images stay, keeping him trapped.
And his quirk. Danger Sense. It's reacting.
He knows it. He can feel the way it reacts to his anxiety, like it’s a living creature underneath his skin. Something that belongs to him, as natural as breathing, and yet also manages to be completely alien. Izuku can feel the way it lives in his body.
And the knowledge of Danger Sense living inside him only serves to heighten his anxiety. Because he knows that he can’t afford to appear weak right now. The civilians that they are sheltering, the Heroes that Izuku has come to trust, his classmates who proved just how far they’re willing to go for him when they chased him down to bring him back, none of them can afford for Izuku to falter, even the slightest bit.
Too much of their path to victory rests on his shoulders.
So he tries to keep everything locked inside him, deep in his chest, where it doesn’t have the ability to impact anyone. And he tries to tell himself that if he can lock it up tight enough, then he’ll forget about it. That he can apply the same general principle of ‘if I can’t see it, it’s not there’ to the pressure he can feel building up inside him with each passing second.
Izuku tells himself that everything is fine now, hoping that if he repeats the sentiment enough times, then everything will, in fact, become fine.
That’s not how the world works, of course.
Especially not for him. He’s gotten a fair share of lucky breaks to be fair, but for as long as he can remember, he’s known that the world is not a fair place, particularly when it comes to him.
The day starts out like any other day here behind the walls of U.A. Izuku attends the strategy meetings he needs to attend, he does not eat lunch, his stomach is too twisted up in knots to stomach anything down, and then he goes back to more meetings. It’s an unremarkable day, all things considered.
Until, of course, someone mentions to him yet again just how much they’re counting on him. He doesn’t even fully comprehend what exactly they say. All he knows is that one moment he’s managing everything, keeping a lid on it all, then the next he is standing up so fast his chair skids across the floor as he announces, “I need to go.”
And then he leaves, without waiting for anyone’s permission, and before they have the chance to stop him or question him.
The only conscious thought beating through his head is that he needs to get out of there as quickly as he can without raising concern. Because he can’t let anyone see what he can feel coming next, like a thunderstorm on the open sea that seemed far away one second and then right on top of you the next, thunder booming and lightning flashing ominously in clouds nearly the color of pitch.
He manages to make it to a bathroom, latches the stall closed with shaky, trembling hands. His fingers curl and clench, nails digging into his palms hard enough to hurt as he struggles to take in first one full breath and then another.
‘You’re okay, you got this,’ he thinks to himself, trying and failing to focus on the way his chest inflates with air and then releases with his exhales. ‘Everyone is. Is counting on you, you’ve gotta, you’ve gotta—‘
His chest clenches, his breath stuttering in his throat, and he leans his hands against the stall door and bows his head in an attempt to ground himself.
A flash of panic, fear, and anxiety at the thought of all the germs he’s just laid his hands on, and he can’t even tell if it’s from Danger Sense or himself.
‘Focus. F-Focus. Inhale. Feel your chest expand, hold it, hold it, hold it—‘
He doesn’t so much exhale as he does choke out a sob, his forehead pressing against the metal-plastic blend as his heart races in his chest.
‘They can’t do this without you; you need to. Pull yourself together. Y-You’re. You’re stronger than this, you can do it!’
But.
He’s already failed before.
And…
Deep down, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not actually strong enough to do this.
A low keen slips out as he curls even further into the door, bending and warping under the pressure and the weight of all his mistakes.
So young and yet he’d already fucked himself up so badly he’s in danger of losing some of his limbs. His crooked fingers scrabble against the door as he gasps for breath at the full weight of that decision rearing its ugly head.
What had he been thinking? It was just a school sports festival for crying out loud, and he’d already faced both Shigaraki and a Noumu at that point, what the fuck had he been thinking??? All Might’s legacy, All Might’s quirk, bestowed upon him of all people, and one of the first things he did with it was ensure that he could never operate at full power ever again?
It feels like it happened a lifetime ago, and yet the waves of regret, the panic over just how badly he’d screwed up, all crash and course over him and through him, as if it had just happened yesterday.
It clamors in his head, rings through his ears, a never-ending litany of, ‘I can’t do this— I can’t do this— I can’t do this!’
Distantly, Izuku is aware of himself sinking to the ground, of his knees hitting the floor, of his fingers throbbing as they dig into the door.
How is he supposed to save the world when he’s already failed himself?
The sides of the stall loom tall around him, their proximity simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. And while the two side walls extend from floor to ceiling, there’s an 8-inch gap underneath the door where Izuku can see outside— and somebody on the outside could also look in and see him in this pathetic, weak, useless state.
The thought sends another wave of panic through him, accompanied by a sharp stabbing sensation in his skull from Danger Sense. He hasn’t had this bad a reaction for quite a while, but then again, he can’t remember the last time his anxiety was this bad either.
Either way, the message gets across: someone’s coming. He isn’t safe, not now, not even here, someone’s going to see his inadequacy laid bare as what it truly is—
Sure enough, the door to the restroom squeaks open and footsteps come pounding in, every one smacking deafeningly against the tiled floors. Their owner’s ragged inhales and exhales from having sprinted here intermingle with Izuku’s own quickening breaths as Danger Sense refuses to process whatever concern may reside within that voice calling out to him.
“Midoriya? Can you open the door and let me in?”
Danger danger danger danger danger runs like a mantra through his brain along with keep that door shut, don’t open it, don’t let him in at any cost , and he’s on the precipice, moments away from slipping and lashing out—
It’s only the familiarity of the sound that slices through his rapidly spiraling mind, a brief ray of sunlight amidst the storm clouds, and although it’s only temporary, it’s all he needs to regain his senses ever so slightly.
“My boy, are you okay?” The speaker’s voice is wavering now, and something breaks; with all his might, Izuku forces himself to reach up, unlatch the lock, and pull the stall door open, barely avoiding hitting himself as he stumbles forward into Toshinori’s waiting figure.
Because, despite the way Danger Sense is screaming at him that he’s in danger, that he’s not safe, Toshinori has always meant safety to him. Since that first moment that Izuku saw the video of him pulling people out of danger, right up to now, as Toshinori wraps his arms around Izuku and holds him together as he threatens to shake apart at the seams.
“Young Midoriya,” Toshinori says. And he sounds so different from that long-ago video. Maybe if Izuku had more space in his brain for anything other than panic, he might be able to figure out why that is or why Toshinori does not continue on with the sentence. Why he lets it trail off.
Izuku doesn’t have the room for anything else, though, not when Danger Sense is a klaxon alarm in his brain flashing red with every beat of his heart.
Not when Izuku is falling apart and he’s failing. No one was supposed to see him break down; he was supposed to keep it all locked inside him, where it couldn’t impact anyone except him, and when he couldn’t, he was supposed to have kept it secret. Because how was anyone supposed to trust a hero who fell apart, knowing that he was key in saving people?
He had failed in both those things, though. Izuku had failed. He was a failure.
Izuku has always been a failure. Toshinori should never have chosen him to be his successor. He should’ve picked someone more deserving, someone who could’ve shouldered the weight of everything instead of allowing it to crush him.
He should’ve asked Izuku to give his quirk back as soon as they both understood that Izuku couldn’t handle it, and they never would have been in this position in the first place. Because it’s too late now, everyone knows that Izuku has One For All; they can’t make anyone else fit to take it, and even if they could, they would struggle to find anyone willing to take on the risk of being in All For One’s crosshairs.
And so Izuku is going to fail, because he is a failure. He is going to fail, and everyone is going to get hurt because of him. Because he can’t handle his quirk.
“Breath, my boy,” Toshinori says, “with me. You can do it. In. And out. Come on.”
Izuku tries—in and out. Slow and steady.
But he struggles; it’s so hard to get his breathing under control. It’s as if he is breathing through a straw after running a marathon, impossible to inhale and let the life-sustaining substance reach his lungs before the next one clawed to get out.
Toshinori is there, sitting on the floor with him, his gaze gentle and his presence comforting. But his panic—Danger sense—won’t stop blaring at him. And the thoughts…his mind is spinning faster than he can keep up, words tangling into scattered noise.
He is so scared.
Everything hurts.
His head hurts, and he just wants it to stop—let it end.
“Young Midoriya.” Izuku feels something grab his hands. At first, he flinches, startled by the slight chill from his thin fingers. He gently cups them as if to hold all the weight that his protege is carrying. “It’s okay, my boy. You need to breathe. Come on. You can do it—with me. In.”
Izuku follows, letting his embrace guide him.
He closes his eyes.
In.
“Okay, now, out.”
And out.
“Again.”
He repeats it. Again and again, following his lead.
Eventually, he starts to calm down. But he is still shaking, and Danger Sense won’t calm down; it blares at him with its relentless force.
“Doing better?” Toshinori voices.
Izuku opens his eyes and looks at his mentor. He nods.
“Good. Do you want to…talk about it?”
Izuku does, but he just isn’t sure. The big war is coming up, and he shouldn’t be freaking out and crying his eyes out in the bathroom. A hero wouldn’t do something so…weak. But he is struggling—he knows he is. He really should say something.
“I’m…s-scared.” Izuku blurs out, coming out breathy and shaky. “And…d-danger s-sense won’t…s-stop…screaming.”
Izuku gulps, trying to clear the lump sitting in his throat.
“E-Everyone is c-counting on me…but I just—I’m just s-scared I will—fail them…it’s just so—m-much.” He continues, attempting to form words through his whimpers.
“Oh, my boy.” Izuku feels Toshinori’s hands squeeze his hands as if telling him that he is still there and that he is listening. “It’s okay to be scared, you are still a kid after all. But remember, you are not alone. Yes, you are essential to the mission, but you are not fighting this battle by yourself; we all have your back.”
Izuku listens, keeping his breaths slow and steady as he wipes away the tears that slip down without his consent.
“You are going to be okay. Don’t be hard on yourself. You are an incredible hero who is deserving of the title. I couldn’t be prouder of you, my boy.” Toshinori explains with a warm smile.
Izuku can’t help but let his lips form into a shaky smile, taking in his words. “T-Thanks A-All Might.”
“No problem. Come on,” He leads him to standing. Izuku lets him pull him up. “Do you want to take a walk around the area? I know we can’t go far, but maybe some fresh air can help.”
The teenager agrees, smiling at the request, “I would—I would love that.”
Following Toshinori, they leave the bathroom and step outside. As they walk, their conversation fills the silence, giving Izuku something to hold onto—something to pull him away from his thoughts. He’s grateful for it, more than he can say.
Little by little, Danger Sense calms down, the tension easing from both his mind and soul.
He’ll be okay.
No matter what comes, they’ll be okay.