i'll set the table (you can make the fire)
Izuku knows before he even gets home that he's in trouble. As grateful as he is that his last fight happened at the end of his shift, it was still thirty minutes between his last text to the others and even leaving the agency, let alone driving home. He hasn't bothered to try and change out of his uniform, knowing he only has a limited amount of time before he completely shuts down.
He pushed too hard. He knows better. The angry—frustrated—texts that he's leaving on read are proof his boyfriends know he knows better.
Making it home under his own power, not making more trouble for them than he's already caused, is the only thing that keeps his hands on the steering wheel when it's perfect agony to move.
Finally, finally he's pulling into the driveway. He allows himself a few seconds to breathe, but he can't stay still for long. His joints will lock up, rust over, Tin Man in the forest. And the other Oz hopefuls are mad at him.
Izuku laughs a little at himself imagining Kacchan as Dorothy, but it trails into a low groan as he shoves the door open. At least his legs are okay. His knees are aching and his muscles shake, but he's not in danger of collapsing yet. He never pushed them as hard.
It's all he can do to turn the knob of their front door, grateful that Eijirou forgot to lock it again.
His three boyfriends are waiting for him in the living room. Izuku closes the door behind him with his foot and lets his shoulders slump. All his joints burn, too stiff and swollen to move, and his bones that are more fracture lines than marrow ache like they haven't in a long time. Every single muscle feels like he's pulled it again—he probably has, at least a few. He needs a bath, maybe something to eat, and then he can sleep and let this go away.
If he could will himself to move.
He doesn't have anything left. Resignation is a bitter and painful pill to swallow, but he's getting more used to it. He just faced down four villains to protect a dozen civilians. If his partners want to scold him for being an idiot he can handle it.
"Izuku," Kacchan says, and that gets his attention. He never calls him that unless it's serious.
In slow motion Izuku watches their faces shift as they take him in, annoyance bleeding to shock burning into worry. His costume, the dirt and blood still marring his skin, the dead weights of his arms at his sides.
Eijirou and Shouto are on either side of him in a second, supporting him around his waist without having to ask. Izuku lets himself be moved to the couch without protest, even though he is perfectly capable of walking on his own. He is.
As soon as he's sitting Kacchan leans close to him, cupping his jaw. His thumb strokes over a smudge of dirt at his cheek.
"Where are you hurt?" Eijirou demands, prodding at his ribs, his stomach. "There's no bleeding, did you hit your head?"
He jostles Izuku's arm and he can't stop the sharp whine of pain from escaping his gritted teeth.
"It's not that," Shouto says quietly, because those mismatched eyes have always seen more than Izuku wanted to reveal.
Kacchan swears, but then, he's known from the start. Izuku can barely meet his eyes.
"I can't move my arms," he admits.
"You damn idiot," Kacchan growls. "Okay, we're doing this. Ei, run a bath. I'll make dinner. Shouto, help him with his uniform."
"What's happening?" Eijirou asks.
"Overused his fucking quirk," Kacchan snarls. "Makes his pain flare up."
Shouto and Eijirou have known about Izuku's chronic pain since high school, but so far he's managed to keep the worst of it from them. They've been living together nearly a year, and he's been so careful not to let them see, but, well. He was always going to screw up eventually.
Kacchan stomps into the kitchen and Eijirou runs off to the bathroom, leaving Shouto to help Izuku limp to the bedroom. He can already feel the fatigue settling into the spaces between his molecules, and when Shouto lets go of him he sways dangerously. Instantly the hands are back on his hips, one warm and one cold.
"I've got you," Shouto says, certain. "Everything will be okay. Come here, lean on me, like that."
Izuku tips forward with the smallest push, slumping most of his weight on his boyfriend. He buries his face in the warm junction of Shouto's neck and collarbone.
"'M sorry."
"You don't have to apologize. You think we weren't watching the news? We saw you. We know what you were doing, what you had to do. You did a good job, Izuku. You took care of everyone. Let us take care of you."
He tugs down the zipper on Izuku's back, eases the costume off his shoulders. Izuku's hiss turns into a whine at the movement, and Shouto pauses.
"I'm hurting you."
"It all hurts," Izuku gasps. "It's fine."
"It's not." Shouto slides his left hand under the fabric, heating his skin and warming the wrecked joint. "This help?"
It does. It's warm. Izuku can feel his bones melting. They've done this before, on some of his bad days, but not like this.
"Yeah. Yeah, please—don't stop."
"I'm not."
Shouto keeps easing the costume off, moving his hand from shoulders to elbows to wrists to fingers, over and over again. It doesn't stop it from hurting—Izuku doubts anything could, at this point—but it helps. And Shouto keeps murmuring to him, reminding him that he's safe, he kept everyone safe, he's home now.
"You don't have to be a hero right now," Shouto tells him as he rubs warmth into his knuckles. Neither of them says anything when a tear escapes Izuku's eye.
He tugs on the loose undershirt still left on. "You particularly attached to this?"
Izuku squints down at himself. His undershirts are meant to be ruined. That's why he wears them. He shakes his head.
Shouto produces a small pair of scissors from somewhere—nightstand?—and carefully cuts the shirt off. Then he sucks in a breath.
"'Zuku, you didn't."
Izuku winces at the open pain in his voice, one of Shouto's least-revealed emotions. He's ruined it. In his defense, he sort of forgot. Shouto skims his hand across the binder, considering.
"Sorry. Just…was bad, this morning."
Shouto shakes his head and kisses the corner of his eye. "Don't apologize now. Is it still bad?"
Izuku tilts his head, the best shrug he can manage. It's hard to tell when everything hurts, exactly which parts hurt more.
Shouto nods. "This is the old one?"
He runs his fingers under the shoulder strap, confirming that it is Izuku's worn-out binder, a bit too loose on him now. A compromise between a real binder and just a sports bra, because he wasn't completely an idiot, even if it did still break the rules.
"Okay. I can try to take it off, but I'd need to get your arms over your head for that. Other option is cutting you out."
Izuku bites his lip, weighing the agony of trying to move against the agony of destroying the binder. It is an old one, and he has others, and it's not as though hero work doesn't pay well.
"Cut it," he whispers.
Shouto nods and works the scissors through so, so carefully. Izuku doesn't realize until the fabric is falling away how much the extra bit of effort to breathe was hurting. Shouto cups his jaw, leaning their heads together.
"You're a good man, Midoriya Izuku."
Izuku swallows, half embarrassed at the casual gender affirmation, half grateful for it. Shouto doesn't give him much time to wallow in it before pulling away.
"Here, can you lean back on the bed for me?"
He stumbles back until his back hits the mattress and leans away, allowing Shouto to tug his boots off and slide the costume over his legs. He does it with the same slow, methodical care he did the arms, and Izuku doesn't really have the heart to tell him he doesn't have to. His legs are okay.
Then Shouto pulls him up again, into the semblance of a hug from before, still gently pushing warmth into all the parts of him he can reach. Izuku lets his eyes fall half-lidded, basking. He's done. There's nothing else he has to do. Shouto—all three of his boyfriends—have him.
"Okay. I think Eijirou's ready," Shouto murmurs.
Izuku hums. He's too tired for words. Shouto nudges him back, cups his face.
"Can you walk?"
He's not sure. His bones feel like jelly, a bit, but there's nothing wrong with his legs, so he should be able to.
….To what?
Thinking feels like swimming in molasses. The warmth is starting to fade and it hurts.
"'Zuku. Hey. Midoriya. "
Eijirou appears. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"
"Sorry," Izuku mumbles, swaying until Shouto's hand grips the back of his neck.
"He stopped responding." There's a genuine note of panic in Shouto's voice as he looks between them. "I, I thought-"
"'M not…not…" but the rest of the words are slippery, hard to hold.
"He's not dissociating," Eijirou supplies. "Right, 'Zuku?"
"Yeah," he tries to nod. "'S jus' fuzzy."
"Yeah, I got you. See, Shouto? Nothin' to worry about."
The smallest frown is still creasing Shouto's face, but he nods. Izuku should apologize for scaring him.
He blinks, and he's being lowered into warm water. There are bubbles, and it smells like lavender. It's like what Shouto was doing but everywhere. Their tub is massive, to accommodate either four fully grown superheroes soaking together or one with the kind of injuries warm water alleviates, so only his head and neck are above the surface. Tilting his head back, he finds the bright red of Eijirou's hair above him, his sharp-toothed smile.
"Hey there, 'Zuku."
"Hi," he says.
"Shouto went to check on Kats. Don't want to do too much and make you move around, but I'm gonna wash your hair if that's okay."
Izuku nods. It's hard to fathom anything not being okay at this exact moment. Eijirou grins wider and grabs a cup from somewhere, pouring water over Izuku's hair without getting it near his eyes. He leans back into the touch with a little sigh, letting his eyes fall closed. Conversation starts to drift around him.
"How is he?"
"Good, at the moment, as far as I can tell."
"Fucking idiot." (This is fond.)
"You seemed to know what was going on, Kats. This happen a lot?"
"No. He avoids it. But once or twice since we started dating, yeah. I don't know who he went to before. If anyone."
A very soft growl. Izuku tenses, opening his eyes, but no one is looking at him. They're not angry with him. He spots Shouto, and without thinking about it "I'm sorry" falls out of his mouth.
Kacchan turns an accusatory look on Shouto, who doesn't notice, crouching down and resting his arms on the side of the tub.
"What are you apologizing for now, bunny?"
Izuku…doesn't know. He gets momentarily distracted by Shouto flushing over calling him the pet name, even though Eijirou started it originally and his costume doesn't even look like a rabbit, he swears… oh. Right. Apologizing.
"Freaked you out," he mumbles. Kacchan frowns, confused rather than angry, and Izuku realizes he's not speaking loud enough. Kacchan rarely wears his hearing aids at home anymore.
He tries to move his fingers, to lift his arm, to sign, but despite the warm water his joints are still stiff and aching.
"Stop moving, Deku," Kacchan says. Snaps. He glances at Eijirou. "What'd he say?"
Eijirou's hands leave Izuku's hair for a moment as he repeats, "He says he freaked Shouto out. I was there. Shouto thought he was dissociating for a minute."
Kacchan scoffs, a gentle noise. "Must'a done a good job, IcyHot. He gets all mushy, like now, yeah, Deku?"
Izuku hums, half lost, but Kacchan is smiling at him, so it's nothing bad. Eijirou's hands have returned to his hair, so he tips his head back and closes his eyes. An eternity could pass him by like that and he wouldn't notice. He can stay perfectly still and forget that anything has ever hurt.
Then, abruptly, there's the sensation of the world tilting. Without thinking he moves his arm to catch himself, smashing his elbow into the side of the tub, and his eyes fly open on a choked yelp. He bites his tongue, hard, and sits in it, the little pool of pain rippling out from his elbow, because he can't even convince his other hand to come up and support it.
Just ride it out, just wait.
There are three voices around him, but it takes several seconds to parse any words.
"Sorry," he grits out. "Falling asleep."
"How many times am I gonna have to tell you not to fucking apologize for being a person?" Kacchan asks, all harsh angles and rough edges, but his hand carding through Izuku's hair is soft.
Izuku swallows another apology.
"I know you're tired. I also know it hurts. If you want to get out now and try to eat something or just sleep, that's okay."
Izuku runs his tongue over his teeth, tastes blood. "Don't wanna."
"Yeah?" Kacchan nods, half to himself, and glances at the others. "What do we do, then?"
Fabric falls to the floor. Izuku follows a sea of pale skin and burn scars, skittering on the crescent-moon marked chest, and finding Shouto's two-toned eyes.
"It's big enough for us both. Plus this way I can keep the water warm."
Eijirou and Kacchan help lever Izuku forward so Shouto can slip in behind him. In any other circumstance, Izuku would be embarrassed at sitting on his boyfriend's lap, but at the moment he can't bring himself to care too much.
"Sleep if you want to," Shouto murmurs. His gaze is weighted with concentration as he thumbs a dried smear of dirt or blood from Izuku's cheek. "We'll take care of everything."
Izuku leans his head on his shoulder. Left side. He's warm, everything is warm, and he doesn't intend to fall asleep again but-
"Shh, shh, you'll wake him up."
"They're so cute. "
"Katsuki, if you take a picture I will freeze you."
"You'd have to dislodge Deku for that."
A hand lands in his hair. Soft laughter. He sighs, burrowing closer into…someone. That's a person.
"Here, I'll take him."
"Gentle…his head."
"I know how to pick up my damn boyfriend."
Izuku snuggles closer to Kacchan's voice. There's fabric. It's wet. He must make a noise, because the voices stop.
"Deku?"
"'M gettin' your shirt wet."
"Don't worry about it. Hey, Ei, dinner's probably cold as fuck by now, but you can handle not blowing up the kitchen reheating it."
"And I can't?" Shouto asks dryly.
"Absolutely not."
Izuku is deposited on the bed, with what feels like a layer of towels under him. Kacchan and Shouto help dry him off, even though his arms hurt less and he could probably do it before they locked up again. Shouto presents him with a zip-up hoodie instead of trying to lift his arms, but when he tries to at least help slip it on he gets pushed down and threatened with handcuffs. Which he wouldn't follow through with, but Kacchan might.
By the time he's in the sweatshirt and sweatpants and tucked halfway under the covers—and awake enough to start to feel embarrassed again—Eijirou brings in food.
"Katsudon!" Izuku starts to push himself up. "Kacchan, you didn't-"
Shouto's palm on his forehead shoves him back down. "Stop moving. "
"Damn," Eijirou says. "That's the serious face."
"All his faces are serious." Kacchan says. "And yes, Deku, I did have to. Sit still."
Izuku reaches for the chopsticks, only to have his hand (gently, of course) grabbed and pushed back to the mattress.
"I said stop."
Everyone looks at Shouto. There's a glint in his eyes, a fire Izuku's seen plenty of times, but out of place here.
"Shouto-" he starts, but suddenly he's gone, the skin his hands covered feeling cold and too bare.
"Just—stop." Shouto stumbles back, half turning away. "No, Katsuki, don't-"
Kacchan takes Shouto's hands and steps between them, so close they're practically breathing each other's air.
"Tell me to let go and I will," he says. "But I don't think you're gonna."
A little of the fight bleeds out of Shouto. Eijirou climbs onto the bed on Izuku's other side, sitting beside him to pet his damp curls. Silent reassurance that it's okay, even as their two more fiery boyfriends look a step away from fighting or kissing.
Shouto looks at the ground, so Kacchan touches his chin. "What's going on?"
"I want him—" his eyes flick to Izuku, who has the strangest urge to duck and hide "—to stop hurting himself."
Kacchan chuckles. "Don't we all."
But Shouto isn't looking at him. He steps toward the bed, hindered by both of Kacchan's hands holding his arms again, eyes on Izuku.
"I watched you," he says, soft and furious and exasperated and hurt. "All through school, I had to watch while you destroyed yourself and I couldn't say a damn thing because you weren't mine. Those scars on your right hand are my fault, and-"
He cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. There's a subtle shift in the lines of his body that hurts Izuku more than anything he said, because it's the way he stands when he steps out of his body. Kacchan notices, reaching to cradle the back of his head, pulling him down to his shoulder in a mirror of what he'd done with Izuku before. In a whisper, he counts. Square breathing. His hand moves on Shouto's back, drawing patterns.
"You should eat. You're gonna fall asleep again." Eijirou holds out a piece of fried pork.
Izuku shakes his head, too busy watching. Eijirou makes no move to eat either. After a moment, Shouto lifts his head from Kacchan's shoulder, his eyes clear. Immediately he looks back at Izuku.
"Shou, maybe this isn't a great conversational topic," Eijirou tries.
Shouto ignores him. Kacchan digs his thumbs into the pulse points of his wrists, expression grim, but lets him speak. "Those scars on your right hand are from our fight at the sports festival. Do you know how much it hurts to know that it didn't need to be like that, except you sacrificed your win, your hand, just to help me get over myself?"
Izuku opens his mouth, but Eijirou covers it with his hand. Shouto doesn't wait for a reply, starting to pace. Frost crawls up his right side, sparks flickering on his left. Eijirou lets go, and Izuku can see him and Kacchan holding a silent conversation over his head.
"And even when you finally learned there was such a thing as beyond repair, you didn't stop," Shouto continues. "You broke yourself over and over and over, do, do you remember…dammit…I'm fine, let me finish." He waves off Kacchan's concern, pinching the bridge of his nose for a beat before he keeps going. "Training camp."
Izuku nods.
"You ran all over the woods for Katsuki with two wrecked arms and all I could think was how much agony you'd be in when the adrenaline wore off. And you wouldn't listen, not to me, not to the doctors, not to anyone. Now we're here and you're hurting and I can't change that. You can't undo the damage anymore."
Izuku's vision blurs. Eijirou hugs his head. "I think we get the message, Shou."
"We know about quirk damage," Kacchan says quietly.
The two of them better than most.
Shouto shakes his head. "I watched you put everyone else before your pain for years, 'Zuku. So I don't care how small or stupid it is. I'm not letting you put yourself second for a damn thing in this house."
Izuku swallows. "I'm sorry."
Shouto closes his eyes. "Don't… don't. I'm not angry with you."
"Doing a bang-up job of showing it," Kacchan mutters. "C'mere, you idiot."
Shouto gets no chance to protest before he's being pulled into a fierce hug. Izuku might be crying a little.
"He likes taking care of people," Eijirou whispers in his ear. "Just let him for tonight, okay?"
"Okay," Izuku mumbles.
He accepts a few bites of katsudon from Eijirou until Kacchan and Shouto return to bed. Like the tub, it's also gigantic enough to accommodate them all. Eijirou moves down to Izuku's feet while Kacchan and Shouto take turns eating and feeding him. Eijirou's hands are warm as he pulls the covers back and runs them over Izuku's legs. Izuku tries not to feel too much like a weakling, a burden. Defenseless little Izuku.
"Hey." Kacchan taps his cheek, forcing him to look over. "Stop thinkin' so loud. It's distracting."
"I just hate that I'm taking up your whole evening," Izuku admits, hunching into his hoodie.
"Oh, right, thanks for reminding us the outside world exists. Come on, guys, let's abandon Izuku to his devices and watch TV." Shouto says, without any inflection. That's still how he says most things, though. Izuku eyes him.
"He's being sarcastic," Eijirou supplies. "'Zuku, you done eating?"
"Yes," Izuku says, at the same time Kacchan says "No."
"Tiebreaker?" Eijirou asks with an amused look at Shouto.
"Why does it matter?"
"Cause what I'm about to do'll probably put him to sleep. Hopefully."
Shouto gives Izuku a long, considering look. "We can do a big breakfast."
"Easy for the one who doesn't cook to say," Kacchan grumbles good-naturedly.
The remains of dinner are pushed aside. Eijirou hardens his skin part of the way and starts a massage all the way down at Izuku's feet. It would be uncomfortable, but his rocky fingers dig harder and deeper into pressure points, a pleasant kind of pain.
"I think we established the problem is my arms," Izuku tries.
"Relax. I'm getting there."
Slowly Eijirou moves from his feet to his legs. Kacchan slides a callused hand behind his back and starts tracing nonsense shapes, and Shouto's hand finds a home in his hair. Eijirou was right; by the time he even starts gently manipulating one of Izuku's hands he's half asleep, head resting on Kacchan's shoulder and eyes barely open. Eijirou glances up, his sharp teeth gleaming with soft triumph.
"Go to sleep," he murmurs, lifting his hand just enough to brush a kiss over his knuckles.
Izuku does.
❆❆❆❆❆
In the morning the worst of the pain and stiffness is gone (he swears), but all three of his boyfriends insist on breakfast in bed. Which is when they announce that they've all taken the day off to stay with him.
Izuku sits straighter, alarmed. He feels briefly guilty at the way all their faces fall, but…
"You can't skip work for me."
"Too bad, nerd. We already did," Kacchan says, ruffling his hair mostly because Izuku can't lift his arms high enough to stop him yet.
"You don't all need to stay here."
"Mm, kinda do," Eijirou says, patting his ankle. "We need Katsuki because he actually has experience with this and also can cook without risking a house fire, we need Shouto because otherwise I think he's liable to go a bit feral—"
"I am not."
"—And we need me to be the team peacemaker."
"I object to us being a team," Kacchan says.
"Also," Eijirou continues, "none of us would get a thing done knowing you were here and hurt."
"Also," Shouto adds, "because we kind of love you, and we want to be with you, crazy as it sounds."
Izuku considers protesting, then deflates. "Okay. Fine. But I should at least do something productive. I can dictate my emails, or my reports, or something."
"Nah," Kacchan says. "Disney movie marathon."
"We are not-"
"We're still catching Shouto up on sixteen years of missed pop culture," Eijirou pipes up. "Also, you're stuck in this bed, so you have to do what we say."
"I can walk," Izuku says, prompting three grown superheroes to immediately drape themselves over him. "Fine. Children."
"You love us," Eijirou says.
Izuku smiles as Kacchan goes to pick out a movie. Yeah. He does.