Chapter Text
It was quiet.
The kind of quiet that disoriented, weighed heavy, left a ringing in your ears. The kind that made you not want to breathe. Still enough for the rain to sound like thunder against the windowpane. Enough for the shallow rise and fall of a chest. His eyes cracked open, the sleep riddled green standing in stark contrast to the dark purple almost black bruise surrounding the left and bleeding out onto his cheek. He attempted to scratch at the gauze wrapped around his head, but found it difficult to move his arms and even his legs. His entire body was a cement brick. He blinked, eyes heavy, the cloud hanging over his vision permeated only by the fluorescent lights glaring above him. Whoever thought it was a good idea to hang lights right over the bed was a godforsaken idiot.
Antiseptic and medicine assaulted his nose, the sheets slightly itchy under his bare torso, and going by his multiple trips to Recovery Girl’s office, he knew he was in some sort of medical facility. Probably a hospital. He managed a glance down, finding both of his arms and his left leg in casts.
But why?
What happened?
He didn’t get hurt that badly again, did he? He shouldn’t have. He’d learned how to better control One for All, how to make it his own, how to proudly tell the world, “I am here!” just like All Might. What the hell happened?
“Deku?”
Midoriya Izuku turned at the garbled but familiar voice that danced on worried notes, and the blurry face before him focused on the chestnut strands of hair framing an oval face, catching the light, and he met Uraraka’s warm coffee eyes that were wide with relief and shone with traces of fresh tears.
He willed himself to speak past the dry itch in his throat. “Ura…?”
“I’m here, Deku. We’re all here.” She smiled, watery but steady. She looked over her shoulder when another voice drifted from another part of the room – he couldn’t quite understand a word – and she nodded before turning her attention back to him. What was going…? He shifted, trying to make his body move under the lull of fading anesthesia, and Uraraka’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him back down with no real force behind it. Damn, he really was out of it.
“Try not to move so much. They had to sedate you to set your arm and leg since you hurt yourself so badly. You almost shattered them. You hit your head pretty good, too,” she said. Her hand slipped into his, palm brushing the tips of his fingers and the roughness of the cast. “They said you might be in and out of it for a while. Iida went to go get the doctor.”
Iida… he was here?
“Where…” Izuku rasped. It was getting easier to talk now, to blink, to hear the world milling about him. “Where’s… everyone else?”
“They’re out in the waiting room. They haven’t moved for hours.”
“And… And All for One?”
Uraraka’s smile grew wider. “It’s over. We won, Deku. We beat him.”
A considerable weight lifted from Izuku’s chest, making it a little easier to breathe. They won. They defeated All for One. Someone who could only be described as a pure force could no longer hurt anyone, could no longer steal anyone else’s Quirks. Battered and bruised, they had won. It was a goddamn miracle.
He looked to his right, the setting sun leaking in through the window in potent reds and oranges.
What time was it?
What day was it?
What year was it?
It was so hard to fit the pieces back together. Everything was fuzzy, blurred at the edges in explosions of color and noise. Fragments. Nothing concrete. Uraraka said that he hit his head so it was no wonder he was a jumbled mess, and the anesthesia wasn’t helping either. He wanted to rub his head, wanted to try and mop up this mess his brain thought was useful information. A chill warming over his face. Searing heat kissing his skin. A surge of electricity that crackled through the air, making his hair stand on end. A flash of red hair. Acid water glistening on the ground. The powerful whip of a tail.
Explosions.
A flash of white.
Bakugou.
Kacchan.
“Where’s Kacchan?” Izuku asked. “Where is he? Tell me… tell me he’s all right.”
It was all coming back to him now. They were fighting… they’d been fighting All for One and his band of cronies. Wearing them down inch by inch. Not giving them any room to breathe. Using their Quirks as a single force with such rapid succession and fluidity it almost looked like dancing. Experts and novices coming together, working as one. But something… something happened. All for One found a gap… a hole in their defense.
He’d had Izuku cornered, intent on ridding of the successor of One for All with predatorial confidence. Izuku, with one arm and leg completely out of commission and another arm nearly there, was a sitting duck. There was a flash of white light – no doubt a stolen Quirk. And Izuku’s certain demise. But then Bakugou… Kacchan was suddenly in front of him, his fingers already curled around the pin protruding from the grenade gauntlet around his arm, expression twisted into a sneer. A sneer that used to set Izuku on the edge of his seat, wondering what was going to fly out of his mouth next. But not this time.
“Uraraka?” Izuku said when she didn’t answer and instead stared at him in an obvious struggle to hold back tears. He didn’t like that look, and it brought an unwelcome roll of nausea. “Uraraka… tell me –”
A knock at the door cut him off. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I’ve brought the nurse and doctor,” a new voice said. Iida.
“Ah, Midoriya-kun.” She smiled. Her nametag red Dr. Fujioka. “Glad to see you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m all right,” he croaked. Other than feeling like I weigh 10,000 pounds.
“You may feel some nausea and grogginess, which is normal after waking up from anesthesia,” she explained. “You gave your friends quite a scare there. They’ve been out in the waiting room since you were brought in.” She picked up a clipboard. His medical chart, Izuku assumed. “I’ll keep it brief, but we had to set your left arm and legs…”
Izuku tuned her out after that, nodding occasionally to give the impression he was listening. He should’ve listened, this was his health on the line. He was only 25 years old, a young hero with a year fresh license. If he injured himself badly enough, his dreams would fly out the window. He’d already wrecked his right hand in his fight with Todoroki when he was barely a freshman at U.A. He didn’t need the rest of his body to suffer the same fate. There were only two things he truly wanted to know about right now.
1. Where was Bakugou? And,
2. Why did Uraraka have that look on her face when he asked?
Izuku wanted answers. And he wanted them now.
The doctor left after giving him instructions on the medication for the pain that was starting to creep on him. It wasn’t too bad, just a dull nuisance, like pressing on a small bruise. Take it in another hour or so or when the pain starts getting really bad. They may make you drowsy, but if you feel any sort of nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness, or start vomiting let us know right away, she had said. He’d take it in a little while. He wanted to stay awake long enough for the answers he was looking for.
“Thank you, doctor,” Iida said, giving a small bow along with Uraraka.
“When will our other friends be able to come and see Deku?” Uraraka asked.
“They can come in now since he’s doing fine, but try and keep it brief. He needs to rest,” the doctor said before taking her leave with the nurse.
They thanked the medical professionals again and turned their attention back to their bedridden friend.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Midoriya,” Iida said, fixing his glasses. “We were worried there for a moment.”
Izuku appreciated them being here, he really did. The fact that all of his friends were here, waiting outside, made him feel warm and loved. But… “Kacchan,” Izuku rasped. “What happened to Kacchan? Where is he? What room is he in?”
“Deku –” Uraraka started.
“Please just answer me, you guys. Please tell me what’s going on. What happened to Kacchan? I need to know.” Izuku pushed himself to sit up despite the second roll of nausea that washed over him, and he was careful not to put too much pressure on his arms, ignoring the protest in every single fiber of his body. “Kirishima has to be with him, right? I’ll go see for myself.”
“Midoriya, you shouldn’t be walking around,” Iida said.
Izuku huffed, probably sounding more irritated than he intended. “Then why aren’t you two answering me? I just want to know what happened to Kacchan. He’s all right, isn’t he?”
Iida and Uraraka traded a look, a look that made a chill creep along Izuku’s skin, a pit worm deep into his stomach, and it took everything in him not to shudder. Not to vomit into the plastic bin on the floor next to the bed. He steadied his breathing. Swallowed the tears back.
He didn’t like this.
“There’s no easy way to say this, Midoriya.” Iida’s hands twitched at his sides, seemingly wanting to curl into fists. A tic. A way to expend unwanted energy.
“Then just tell me,” Izuku said. “No need to beat around the bush.”
Uraraka was quiet for a moment, her usual light fading, her body almost folding into itself. “You can’t… you can’t go see Bakugou-kun, Deku.”
“What? Why?” Izuku asked. “Is he hurt? Is he in surgery or something?”
“No. No, he’s not in surgery.”
“Then, where is he?”
“He’s… he’s…”
“He’s gone, Midoriya,” Iida said, an obvious crack in his voice that he failed to control. “He’s gone.”
That was the first time Izuku remembered drowning on dry land.
**
Pushing aside the fact that he was practically bedridden, Izuku didn’t move much those first few days. He was heavy and weightless all at once, tired but restless. He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t, well, think. He kept replaying those last few seconds in his head. The last few seconds he saw his childhood friend alive before being consumed by light and explosions.
His friends still came to visit, bandaged and bruised just like him, with get-well wishes on their tongues and what had been going on in the hero world. His mother had come all the way from another prefecture where her new job was to visit, almost in hysterics. All Might had come, too. Both were equal parts worried, proud, and relieved that Izuku was okay. And Izuku took it all in stride. Even if they could see through his paper-thin smiles. Even if his eyes didn’t sparkle like they used to. He still tried.
You’re not the only one grieving, Izuku, he’d tell himself. They’re hurting just as much as you are.
Night had already fallen, stars drowned out by the city lights, and the assorted dinner on the tray sat on the end table next to the bed, cold and untouched, and the TV murmured another news coverage about All for One and the League of Villains and the group of young heroes that worked so flawlessly with the experts to bring down this formidable foe, or something like that. Izuku wasn’t really paying attention. Iida had mentioned there was going to be a memorial for Bakugou within the next day or two to honor his service, and they all knew Izuku would crawl to that if he had to. Not that anyone was going to stop him from attending.
He watched the news anchor move onto the weather report for the week – sunny, but chilly as autumn made herself comfortable – and Izuku didn’t quite know how to feel when there was a knock on his door. He was expecting to see Uraraka or Iida or both. Maybe even Kirishima, Kaminari, Yaoyozuru, or Tsuyu. Any one from his graduating class was fair game at this point, but even though they’d been by once already, even though he’d spent months and months on end working with them, pushing and pulling old tires, busted refrigerators, and whatever else happened to be in his path, after grinding himself down to the very last essence of his strength, Izuku never got used to it.
“All Might,” Izuku said, almost blaring over the television.
All Might, as some might say, had seen better days. He couldn’t activate One for All for very long anymore, a couple of minutes maybe, ten on a good day. He’d obviously aged, but his eyes were still as bright as ever, that electric blue that never seemed to fade even when he was on the verge of collapsing. Even though he was retired, he still managed to say, with only his presence, “I am here!”
Izuku guessed he always would.
“Midoriya, my boy.” All Might ambled over. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Izuku said. “The doctor says I can go home in a few days. Guess she thinks I’m gonna break in half or something.” He chuckled, but it felt odd on his lips. Misplaced.
All Might sat on the edge of the bed. “Given your track record, her worry is well-founded.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” Izuku smiled. That, too, felt off. Heavy. Required too much effort.
All Might paused, obviously reading his protégé. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m positive. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You know you’re not alone in this, Midoriya. You’ve got everyone here – me, your mother, all of your friends and teachers. We’re all here for you and for one another.”
“I know, All Might,” Izuku muttered, staring at his wounded hands. “I know.”
Osaka traffic grew louder, more intense, overwhelming.
“He was supposed to come back, you know?” Izuku’s voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed the lump caught there. “We were all supposed to… We were all supposed to celebrate our first successful mission as professional heroes, you know? And now…”
He was starting to feel sick again, his eyes burned with missed rest, thoughts flowing louder than the world outside, and he didn’t know when All Might wrapped his arms around him or when the sobs finally passed through the pathetic dam he’d built. Izuku gripped tightly onto All Might’s shirt. Because if he didn’t…
Then All Might could disappear, too.
**
The months inched by, almost leisurely, the leaves changing color at a painstakingly careful pace, as if every hue, every shade had to be perfect to the very last bit, only to drift to the ground in brown, lonely crisps and be covered in snow when winter rolled along.
The basement was quiet, cool, safe from the sounds of the outdoors and rowdy neighbors. Being out of the hospital was nice
“The doctors did all they could, but… it was too late.”
Izuku kind of felt like those leaves. He felt something change within him, something that was once bright and colorful now left on the ground and buried in the heavy cold, wilting with each tick of the clock, a piece of him changed forever even as spring came to thaw the ice. After moving around in a wheelchair and crutches for a while he was finally discharged from the hospital and able to go home. He focused on healing – ran through the motions of his physical therapy, for both his body and his heart, made them stronger. More reliable. He’d become a foundation for his friends, a pillar for them to lean on.
“Bakugou died saving you, Deku. And despite everything he’s ever said… he didn’t regret it.”
He dealt a solid kick to the punching bag, and he caught it when it swung back towards him, sweat beading and trickling down the side of his face, staining the athletic tape wrapped around his hands and arms.
Izuku bore the most severe injuries out of everyone involved in the fight, so he was therefore excused from hero duty (more like mandatory leave) to make sure he healed properly and could grieve. But like most of his friends, he couldn’t sit still. Kirishima, Kaminari, and a few of the others jumped right back into hero work, unable to find another outlet. Uraraka took some time off, mainly to check on Izuku, no matter what she said. Not that Izuku minded. He enjoyed her company. Iida came by sometimes, too.
Another hit.
“You and Bakugou make a great team, Midoriya, my boy. Even if you do argue a lot.”
Bakugou’s passing hit everyone hard despite the stillness of it all. If Bakugou didn’t make it to retirement, they’d at least thought he’d go out in a way similar to his personality. With explosions and fire and a sharp remark on his tongue. Instead, it was quiet. Seamless to the world. Seamless to everyone outside of the little bubble of the former Class 1-A.
Especially Kirishima.
According to Kaminari, Kirishima and Bakugou had been talking. And the plan of a date the weekend after the All for One fight never had a chance.
Another hit. And another. Again, and again, and again.
“If anyone is gonna defeat you, it’s gonna be me, you Quirkless idiot!”
Faster. Faster. Faster.
It should’ve been me, it should’ve been me, it should’ve been me!
“Stupid Deku.”
Heat swelled and spread throughout his right arm, aching, burning, and he swung, making the punching bag burst in two and fly across the room before thudding quietly along the floor, the two halves bouncing to a stop. Izuku took in deep breaths, chest heaving, relaxing from his stance. He glanced at the clock. 8:30. The sun was high in the sky when he first started working out and now it was dipping lower and lower on the horizon, a canvas of deep crimson and orange. He’d been going at it for a few hours, and he could already hear Iida and Uraraka chastising him for pushing himself so hard.
Izuku wiped his face with the towel he threw off to the side, grabbed his water bottle to take a swig and hurried up the stairs, his phone chiming in his hand. The sound of the ringtone immediately let him know who it was – Iida. Izuku read over the request to meet up with the others for a late dinner, maybe even a movie at someone’s house if he wasn’t too busy. He looked at the calendar on his wall, a blank slate save for a few memos, and found that today’s had something scribbled in it.
April 20th.
Izuku smiled “Happy birthday, Kacchan.”
He took a quick shower, made himself look presentable enough to face the outside world – a white t-shirt with a red button-up over it, jeans, and his favorite red shoes – and grabbed his keys. Izuku knew that today was important, that today would be difficult for everyone, and that whoever needed support would always have it. Kirishima even came over to Izuku’s place to crash when days were particularly hard for him, and Izuku would often do the same.
Izuku smiled at the thought of seeing his friends. Today would be a happy occasion, a day where they wouldn’t dwell too much on the loss and try to make the best of things. The evening was tender but bold, turning the usual pastel colors of the neighborhood into daring undertones and bursts, and Izuku took a deep breath to steel himself. He took a step outside but stopped when his toe nudged something.
He looked down, taking a small step back.
A wicker basket?
A blue blanket was draped over the top of it, and there were two plastic bags placed right next to it. Izuku knelt down to inspect it, pulling the blanket back and – oh my God, was that a baby? A living, breathing infant? No way, it couldn’t be. But going by the soft rise and fall of a tiny chest, this was an actual baby in a basket on his doorstep. At night. Alone. A baby that could start crying at any minute.
An infant with no parents.
Izuku looked around, hoping to catch the eye of a passerby or neighbor, but given that the street was oddly deserted Izuku didn’t have a barrel of choices to choose from. He looked back down at the baby and the sack of supplies next to the basket, picked them up, and toted them inside his house. He placed the basket down next to the couch, chewing on his thumbnail.
Who in the world would leave a helpless baby on some stranger’s doorstep?
They didn’t know who Izuku was. Or, well, maybe they did because he’d been rising up in the hero ranks despite being a rookie but they didn’t know where he lived. The parents didn’t know if he was a hero or a villain, if he was even home – okay, his house lights were on so that would’ve been a good indication but still. For all those people knew Midoriya Izuku was a villain who would love to take in a young protégé and raise him in the ways of a criminal. And how did they know that he would have time for a baby? Maybe –
A small whimper broke his train of thought, and it soon turned into a full-blown wail that had Izuku scrambling to pick the infant up and hold him close to his chest despite how awkward it felt. He didn’t hold many babies. Or any babies at all, really. He tried to remember the times he’s seen parents toting their children in their arms – make sure to support the baby’s head with your arm, hold them close to your chest. Easy, right?
Well, maybe.
The baby stirred in his arms for a moment longer, his wails softening into whimpers before finally slipping into silence that came with sleep, listening intently to the heartbeat echoing in his ears. Izuku took that time to study the infant, noting the ash blonde strands of hair that stuck up in unkempt tufts everywhere. And the situation fully hit him.
“Shit.”
Izuku fished his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts and pressed the phone icon next to the name, tucking the phone in between his ear and shoulder.
“Hello?”
“Hey, uh, have you told anyone else about our plans for tonight?”
Iida paused. “Uh, well, not everyone. Just Kirishima and Kaminari but they haven't responded. I was gonna get ready before I told anyone else.”
“We might need to cancel.”
“What? Why?”
“Do you, uh, have any idea how to take care of a baby?”
Iida was silent on the other end of the line.
“Should I call Uraraka?”