Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first crack appeared on his arm. The right one, because of course it did. He could appreciate the irony, he supposed.

It didn’t really hurt. It more felt like an absence of something.

He sat on the edge of his bed, just staring at it. Staring and staring. He thanked whatever was up there that he was alone.

Well, not really.

After what felt like an eternity he raised his eyes to meet Hikage Shinomori’s. For a minute, they were both silent.

“I’m sorry.” He said, because what else was there to say? Izuku just nodded, drawing in a shaky breath and looking at the crack again. “How long… how long do you think I have?”

“I lived a while, but I think it just proves we don’t really know much. There isn’t exactly any… precedent to this. I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Maybe we should get Nana…”

“No, no, I’m fine, I got it.” The Vestiges responded to the current user’s feelings. They both knew that. Hikage opened his mouth, as if to argue, but decided against it and slowly fizzed out of Izuku’s view. Message received.

He finished putting his pajamas on and reached for the laptop. He hesitated for a minute, hands hovering above the keyboard. Was it really a good idea?

Having ordered a longer compression sleeve, one that reached all the way to his wrist, he decided that, for the time being, he didn’t have any other ones.

Toshinori knew something was wrong.

It jerked him awake in the middle of the night. His first instinct was to check his surroundings, assuming that it was nearby danger waking him up. Laying still in the darkness, listening for an attacker, he felt something settling over his bones, realizing it was a different kind of danger. It wasn’t the first time he felt this way, and was far from being the last. Either something happened, was happening or was waiting to happen. Naming the exact emotion proved difficult; it was both mourning and panic, sadness and fear. Dread seemed to be the best word for it.

This time, though, it was different.

Toshinori could recognize, without a shadow of a doubt, that the dread was not his own.

He looked at his phone, wondering if he should call, or at least send Izuku a message. The matter at hand was serious, but not urgent, that much he knew. He would know if his boy was bleeding out in an alley somewhere. There wasn’t much else he knew; while he did feel the One For All connection, it wasn’t frequent and remained muddled, his metaphor of listening in on a conversation in another room still holding more or less true, even after all these years.

But… his boy hurt, somewhere out there… his boy hurt.

Without much further thinking, he reached for his phone and settled on the simplest option.

Toshinori

I felt it through One For All. Do you need help?
3:37

Toshinori stared intently at the screen as if that would make his son’s answer any quicker. The bubble kept appearing and disappearing – not reassuring, but to be expected.

Izuku

No, its okay. Go to sleep
3:41

Sadly, he suspected his response to be some variation of “I’m fine”. Ever since his high school days Izuku steadily, slowly but steadily, improved in asking for help. He still struggled often, and something of this importance was bound to send him back to his old habits. Briefly, Toshinori considered pressing, but past experience told him it would yield no results – at least, not for now.

Toshinori

Always remember, I am one phone call away. I am here for you. I love you very much, son. See you tomorrow.
3:43

Make sure that you rest as well.
3:43

Unsurprisingly, sleep eluded him. Toshinori and sleep hadn’t been friends in years. He spent the night in and out of consciousness, in that peculiar state in between wakefulness and slumber, and when he did manage to doze off, nightmares of what could have sent Izuku into such a state plagued him.

During the day, the dread remained. As muddled and distant as it was, it wasn’t what was interfering with his duties.

It was the worry.

He congratulated himself for not pushing Izuku for details, for giving him his space, for allowing him to come to Toshinori out of his own volition – which was far from easy, since the majority of him needed the details now, needed to ease his boy’s pain now.

He was at his wits end trying to figure out what shook him so last night; there were far too many options to choose from. Maybe it was a particularly disturbing, triggering nightmare. Maybe he saw something no person should ever see, as hero work led you wont to – especially if you happened to be in possession of Danger Sense. Maybe Katsuki got hurt on the job. Maybe it was one of his friends. Maybe it was Inko- maybe, maybe, maybe-

The worry quieted at the sight of Izuku – there was no other thing in this world that calmed him like his presence – and then roared back to life with twice the force.

As many heroes did, his boy had a habit of coming in through open windows. He sat there, crouching on the windowsill, trying – and failing – to keep up a brave face. The sight was heartbreaking.

Now, Toshinori was aware that Izuku, at twenty years old, was no longer a child. He was the Number One hero with a promising future. He was featured in all the places where All Might was once featured – the news, magazines, countless forums. He was a public figure. His physical appearance itself reflected these changes; his voice deepened, he grew taller, more muscular.

Now, with his eyes brimming with tears, with shoulders way up to his ears, holding himself like a scared child, all Toshinori could see was the nervous, insecure teen he met all these years ago.

He got up from where he was sitting, waiting, and opened his arms. Izuku flung himself into his chest, immediately bursting into tears.

Toshinori readily embraced him, leaning down to bury his face in Izuku’s curls, inhaling deeply. Partly to stop himself from crying – the worry was eating at him more than he realized – but also to surround himself with Izuku’s scent. He was pretty sure that’s what sunshine itself smelled like. It assured him that his son was here, he was safe. The fate didn’t take him.

He brought one of his hands to Izuku’s head, the other one to gently stroke his back as he held him. He pulled him closer, but that only seemed to make Izuku cry more.

What happened?

“Shhh, Izuku, everything is going to be fine, okay? Whatever it is, we are in this together, you hear me?” that didn’t seem to work either. His son just shook his head and burrowed deeper into the embrace, clinging tightly. His sobs were so violent, they shook both of them. At loss, Toshinori simply held him, rocking from side to side, shushing him. He closed his eyes and worried.

With time, Izuku’s sobs started to quiet down. The front of Toshinori’s shirt had a huge wet spot on it – he didn’t mind, not the first time it happened, either. He glanced to his right, eyeing the paperwork that was laid out on the table, which they had planned to do together, as per their routine. Judging by how Izuku’s weight sank into him, he was in no shape to take care of it.

“Son,” he started, running his hand through his hair, twirling it around his finger. It calmed both of them. “how about we skip the paperwork today and lay down on the couch? We’ll cuddle and watch that documentary together? You can point out all the inaccuracies to me.”

“You already heard all about them…” responded Izuku hoarsely. Toshinori couldn’t help but chuckle. “And I’d love to hear it for the second, and third, and seventh time.” He felt Izuku smiling weakly. Success. “So, what do you say?” Izuku stilled, considering it, clearly tempted. Finally, he shook his head and pulled away. Toshinori knew the look on his face very well. It was determination.

“No, I’m fine. It has to get done anyway.” Toshinori, avid, long time user of “I’m fine”, in that moment wished he could personally erase that phrase from existence.

“You and I both know you’re not.” Izuku just pursed his lips. He wasn’t backing down. With a sigh, Toshinori pressed on.

“My boy, it doesn’t have to be now, doesn’t have to be to me, either, but you need to talk about it. With someone, anyone, sooner rather than later. Can you promise me that?” momentarily, Izuku’s eyes glistened again. He wiped them swiftly with his sleeve and nodded.

Toshinori shook his head. It wouldn’t do. “I need to hear it. We have been through this, you need to ask for help when you need it. It’s very important to me to hear you say that.” Izuku grimaced and lowered his gaze. Toshinori hated pulling this card, but it was clearly important. He grasped his son’s shoulders.

“I promise that I will… that I will get help.” Staring at his face intently, he saw less conviction that he would have liked, but it was there. He trusted Izuku with everything that he was and then some, he had to trust him on that. As assured as he could be he pulled Izuku closer to himself and gave him a big, smacking, completely embarrassing kiss on his forehead. His son’s mortified groan told him that it yielded the desired effect.

“I’m so proud of you, son. Now let’s go tackle that paperwork. I made genmaicha.”

With how many times Izuku’s been to the hospital, you’d think he would have gotten used to the setting.

But truth was that, at least according to Izuku and several sources with similar enough circumstances (read: Toshinori and Kacchan), the hospital setting, unless you worked there, didn’t really get familiar. It was always unpleasant to varying degrees, ranging from ‘inconvenient’ to ‘severely traumatizing’, for both parties.

You either waited to hear how bad your health had gotten, you ate the bland food, you wore the uncomfortable hospital gowns, you were in pain and felt generally violated, you were close to death, or you waited to hear how bad your loved one’s health had gotten, you waited for them to wake up, you ate the vending machine snacks, you sat and slept in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, and watched your loved ones be in pain, or narrowly escape death.

Izuku wasn’t one to complain. He just… he didn’t like hospitals.

Which made him feel selfishly glad that when the person who set up this appointment had figured out who he was they insisted on putting him on the VIP list and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“So.” Began the doctor. “I hear your quirk is an odd one.” She was an older woman, with a red buzzcut and a very well fitted quirk called Interoception. As the name implied, it allowed her to feel another person’s internal state as well as hers through skin-to-skin contact. This ability was dependent on her own understanding of her body, as well as being able to adapt – everyone’s physiology was a little different, after all. Quirks were most definitely a variable, but what else was? Would it be something as simple as blood type? It was known to influence quirks. If so, would that potentially make him, a person with a blood type O the best suited for her quirk, or maybe-

“Kid, you’re mumbling. It’s a bit distracting.” She said impatiently.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It gets worse when I’m nervous.”

Her golden gaze was almost as piercing as her quirk. “Well, I suppose what you’re mumbling about is at least somewhat valuable, given the quality of this.” She said, smacking a file which Izuku recognized to be notes that he sent via email. “Usually when patients try to ‘help’ and do their own research it’s such garbage it melts your brain, but this here was pretty informative. And one hell of a doozy. So kudos to you, kid.”

A few days after he had discovered the first crack he managed to get over his shock and actually start trying to get ahead of the situation. Because. Because maybe, hopefully, he overreacted. So he, Hikage Shinomori and other Vestiges pooled their resources and tried to make sense out of it.

Their previous theory was that Toshinori’s and Izuku’s Quirklessness protected them from the damaging effect One For All had on the Fourth’s body, and was what allowed All Might to be a shining beacon for more than three decades. And it was true. The crack in this theory, however, came with the appearance of the additional quirks, which hadn’t happened to Hikage and hadn’t happened to Toshinori, either.

All of them tried to logic their way out of it, claiming that the quirks should have become a part of One For All, and therefore, remain it be a single quirk, similarly to Todoroki’s Half-Cold Half-Hot. Someone shyly proposed that maybe Izuku did have a very subtle or a very specific quirk, but it was quickly shot down. Truth of the matter was, anyone could agree that there were seven distinct quirks in his body, and while his Quirklessness maybe could have protected him against one, it stood no chance against seven.

What made the whole situation worse were the differences. Between Izuku, who was born quirkless and received One For All as a teenager, within whom it reached Singularity. Who could use all the other quirks, and Hikage, who had been an adult with his own quirk, with no access to the quirks. Were they even comparable? Hikage lived for a few good years after the cracks first appeared. Would Izuku? Longer or shorter? By how much? Were their cracks even the same thing, or were Izuku’s something entirely different?

There was also one detail that bothered him.

The autopsy report stated that Hikage died from ‘old age’, which was a fairly loose term. Digging deeper showed that in this case, it meant ‘multiple organ failure’, typically associated with patients so sick that there was no telling the exact cause of death. His organs, supposedly, showed signs of such advanced aging that the doctors were pretty convinced of the culprit.

And yet his skin didn’t show any. Other than the cracks, it looked like that of any forty-year-old who spent a lot of time in the sun.

And the skin was an organ – the largest organ in the human body, actually, one that was responsible for thermal regulation. Looking at a person with a life style such as his, it would have been in constant use – be it from the intense training, fighting, living in the wilderness with no thermostat around, or experiencing frequent anxiety attacks due to his quirk. His skin should have looked the same, if not worse, than his other organs, yet it didn’t.

There was an explanation, however. In the autopsy report, almost as a footnote, it was mentioned that Hikage’s internal organs had cracks in them, as well. Far less impressive, a lot harder to miss, attributed either to the decay of the body or to the accelerated aging itself.

Upon reading it, Izuku had an inkling of suspicion that…

“… it wasn’t the aging that caused the cracks. The cracks appeared on the organs in such quantity and places that they severely impaired their functioning. They didn’t even need to be longer than half an inch to do a lot of damage. In essence, it appears to be the opposite: the cracks caused the aging.” Which is exactly why he chose a doctor of internal medicine, who specialized in widespread quirk usage damage.

“Cracks on the inside tend to be far smaller – presumably from the lack of exposure. They spread in a web-like manner.” She pulled up his full-body MRI scan on the screen and pointed with her pen. He did just enough research to know she was pointing at a close-up of his left kidney – the organ that so far collected the most cracks. He looked at the screen again – it was less than he was expecting.

“From what we’ve seen from the previous case and our own examination the cracks seem to favor connective and epithelial tissue,” Izuku suddenly raised his head. He didn’t consider that. “which is good news. We were most worried about the nervous and muscular tissue – a crack could appear in your brain, for instance, rendering you blind, paralyzed, devoid of empathy, or killing you instantly, take your pick. A crack could also appear in the muscle tissue of one of your arteries. Due to the blood pressure the arteries experience, even the tiniest crack could start to widen on its own pretty quickly, causing you to bleed out internally in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, there is no evidence so far indicating that it can happen.”

“Now our biggest concerns are: preventing one of the smaller blood vessels in the brain from getting a crack and bursting, causing a stroke, and taking care of all your organs, to at least slow down what killed your predecessor. Which brings us to the matter of your… recommendations.” Izuku lowered his gaze, looked at his hands, clenched on top of his knees. He knew what was coming.

“Did you know I was a part of All Might’s medical team for a time?” well. He wasn’t expecting that. “I know you heroes. I wouldn’t imagine you being his successor and genuinely listening to me, because yes, you guessed correctly. The best advice I can give you, to our current knowledge, is to avoid strenuous activity and stress. To have a healthy lifestyle, regular meals and sleep schedule. But we both know you’re not going to do it, you’re not going to even try.”

“I am going to try…” defended Izuku weakly, agreeing with her in his heart of hearts.

“Of course, I’m gonna prescribe you a few pills… supplements, adjustments in diet… if you even stick to those, God knows he didn’t…”

Silence filled the office, as she scribbled and printed out prescriptions.

“Stitches aren’t really a… solution, are they?” he already knew the answer, but it was worth a shot. For the first time since his visit, there was sympathy in doctor Nakagawa’s golden eyes.

“We can and will try, but as you know, the cracks aren’t wounds. They don’t behave like wounds. There is, essentially, dead tissue there. It would be equivalent to sewing two pieces of fabric together and expecting it to merge. We are lucky enough that it isn’t actual dead tissue, because otherwise you would run a risk of contracting sepsis. However, if that changes, and you notice the signs, go to the hospital immediately.” She paused. “That is the one recommendation I absolutely expect you to stick to, got it? I don’t care how many kittens die.” She passed him the documentation and moved to stand up.

“I also expect to see you a month from now. We need to monitor their progression closely.”

“Doctor…” He wanted, he needed to ask that question, but he couldn’t bring himself to. There were already tears in his eyes and his throat was so tight that swallowing was painful, the question far too big to pass through.

“I… there isn’t really a way to know, kid. As you mentioned yourself, you and the only other case to ever exist aren’t exactly comparable – but that might be a good thing. Maybe you will live decades longer. We are going to monitor the cracks, figure out the pattern in which they spread, take appropriate steps. We aren’t powerless against it.” He wanted to believe her. He truly, really did.

“In the meantime, I’d advise you to seek comfort in others. You have a support system, use it. Don’t bear it alone. Share the pain, it will get easier to carry.”

Izuku, sadly, wasn’t exactly known for following doctor’s orders.

But then again, luck hadn’t been on his side lately.

He remembered saying that he wanted to become a kind of hero that didn’t worry anyone. He was sixteen then, he changed, he matured, a war happened, his worldview evolved, so did his thinking.

But he couldn’t help but agree with his sixteen year old self.

He knew, now, that making people worry was simply unavoidable in this line of work. No matter how sure you were of your skills, no matter how much time you’ve spent honing them, there were always going to be accidents, fights going wrong.

He also knew that he made people worry by his nature alone; he still fought while sleep-deprived pretty frequently, he skipped meals and went out saving people at the slightest twinge from Danger Sense, sometimes in the middle of a conversation. Nothing as drastic as during the war, but at times, disturbingly close – he gained enough self-awareness to realize that, but not enough to change it in a meaningful way.

So the thought of making people worry more… and adding a whole new level to this worry… it did not sit right with him, not at all.

It wasn’t like he was going to drop dead any minute, either. They had no clue how long he had left, exactly, but…. but he had time.

Time that, there was no question in his mind, was best spent helping as many people as he possibly could, while he still could. People around him already gently prodded him into slowing down, resting more, but if they found out? Would they even let him work at all?

That simply wouldn’t do. He wanted it all to go back to normal. He wanted to feel normal.

He didn’t want to tell anyone, for as long as he could.

He really, really didn’t want to tell his dad.

So, leaving the doctor’s office, he fully planned to carry the secret alone, for as long as possible.

What he did not know was that ‘as long as possible’ meant ‘less than a week’. It happened by sheer luck, in such a dumb way that he absolutely should have seen it coming.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Kacchan, where the hell are your keys?! It’s your apartment!” he yelled, hurriedly making his way down the hallway in a hastily wrapped towel. The doorbell still rang.

“I left them at the agency, your tracker said you were here, idiot! I just need this one thing!” came from the other side of the door. He opened it and Kacchan’s angry face came into view.

“Oh, damn, sorry.” He said, noticing Izuku was still very much all wet from the shower that he did not finish taking. He desperately needed one after a particularly nasty fight with a villain who had a particularly nasty quirk, and Kacchan’s apartment was the closest. They did this frequently.
“Don’t worry. I will come in a minute.” He started turning on his heel, quickly, because it was cold in the hallway, only for Kacchan to grab his hand. His right one.

“No wait! I have something to- what the fuck is that.”

Understanding passed Izuku in a flash, and he yanked his hand out of Kacchan’s increasingly tighter grip and hid it behind his back.

“Izuku, what the fuck was that.” It was either his panicked reaction, or Kacchan’s extensive knowledge of the past One For All users, or both, which clued Katsuki in on what exactly, ‘the fuck’ that was. So many emotions passed his face it was hard to keep track – shock, horror, fear, betrayal and eventually they settled on anger, as they usually did. Izuku could see him inhale, and interjected.

“At least let me get dressed. You… you go make tea.” And fled the scene, in hopes of somewhat gathering his thoughts. It was too early, it was far too early, he wasn’t ready-

“Tea?! Like hell I am fucking making tea-“ but Izuku already slammed the bathroom doors closed. He quickly dried himself off, and shrugged on his still damp T-shirt, which added to his mounting discomfort. He reached for the compression sleeve, almost out of instinct. Running his fingers through the coarse fabric he thought – what difference does it make. The truth was out. Looking at his reflection in the fogged up mirror, he realized he had to actually act as a hero he proclaimed himself to be and face it head on.

The stiff sleeve wouldn’t want to go on damp skin, anyway.

He found Kacchan in the kitchen, sitting by the table, no tea in sight. He removed his gauntlets, at least.

Izuku reached for the cupboard holding the tea containers, trying to hold off having to have this conversation. So much for facing the truth head on.

The water boiled. Kacchan remained silent. The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Izuku had learned long ago that Kacchan’s shouting and yelling weren’t actually to be feared.

Him being silent was far, far worse.

“When were you planning to tell me?” he asked at last, after Izuku sat down, eerily calm. “Were we supposed to find out reading your fucking autopsy report, is that it? Because if you didn’t tell me you sure as shit didn’t tell anyone else.” Izuku’s silence was answer enough.

“I… I went to the doctor.”

“Congratulations for acting like an adult for fucking once.” Kacchan took a deep breath, then in a softer tone asked. “What did they say?”

“She, uh.” Izuku sniffed. Already? Could he have a single conversation about this without immediately bursting into tears? He bawled right outside the doctor’s office, having to duck into the nearest restroom. For God’s sake, he wasn’t fiftteen anymore!

“We- we don’t know how much time I have, Hikage isn’t exactly a good, uh, estimate, he uh- you know, our situations are so different- we just, we don’t know, we don’t have any ideas for treatment, either, it’s just, we have to, we have to observe it, see if there is a pattern, maybe, hopefully, and maybe- maybe it’s okay! Maybe I’m just overreacting! Because, because who knows- maybe-“ he was hyperventilating. Great. “maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be! You know, maybe-“ at some point, Kacchan got up, circled the table and hugged him. He started to stroke his hair, as all his loved ones did when they tried to calm him – or themselves – down. It did not work, as Izuku promptly burst into tears.

“I’m so scared! I thought, I thought I had more time! I don’t want to die!” he wailed, wailed so loudly he thought it was bouncing off of the walls. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! It’s just, talking about it makes it so- so re-real!” By that point he was reduced to messy sobs and didn’t seem to be able to articulate words anymore.

He cried and he cried, Kacchan held him and stroked his hair. The worst part was that he knew he wasn’t done crying about it, not even close.

He had no idea how much time has passed when Kacchan spoke up again. “Holy shit.”

“What?” There were so many answers to that question.

“The old man is going to blame the hell out of himself.” And here Izuku thought he was almost done crying for now. He started anew.

“He- oh my God, Kacchan, how am I going to tell him?! I- don’t want to tell him. How? I can’t- I wouldn’t have done anything differently, not for a second- but- how do I tell him?!” His dad. His wonderful, kind-hearted, world-weary, filled with silly jokes gentle giant of a father. He loved him so dearly. Toshinori didn’t deserve this. He did his best, how could he have known-

“Wait a minute. How come that didn’t happen to him, yet it happened to you?” He wondered if Kacchan was genuinely curious, or if it was an attempt at distracting him. He was glad for it all the same, though.

“Because while Toshinori used One For All, it was still a singular quirk. Similarly to when Hikage had it, only he had his own quirk on top, that’s why the cracks appeared in him. In my case, though, the quirk reached Singularity, and the other quirks awoke. One For All became seven quirks. Why did that result in cracks, but didn’t result in something we usually see in people who were given more than one quirk? We don’t know. We just don’t know. One For All is a weird quirk. My doctor says that with quirks you have to ‘expect the unexpected’, and One For All is the poster child of that.”

“Why now, though? The other quirks go back years…”

“The theory is that the cracks did start appearing at some point, but I just didn’t notice until now. They don’t hurt, or tingle, they don’t really… feel like anything” Izuku said, tracing the crack on his arm. It really didn’t.

Suddenly, he wished his dad was here. It was the same during the doctor’s visit, it was the same every hour of every day since he discovered the crack – he wished for his experience, he wished for the comfort he seemed to exude so naturally. He wished to hear his deep yet soft voice telling him it was going to be alright. He wanted his dad here.

He expressed so to Katsuki.

“You gotta let him in, then. He’s probably worried out of his mind. Also, don’t you think I didn’t fucking notice the new sleeve, and I bet he did, too.”

“He also told me he felt something was wrong via One For All.”

“Bring him out of his misery, then. Imagine how you would feel if the situation was reversed.”

“You’re right…” murmured Izuku, taking his phone out. He stared guilty at his dad’s messages he more or less ignored during the past two weeks. He suddenly felt terrible. He was so focused on Toshinori’s future pain, he didn’t consider how he felt now.

His heart hurt. He wanted all of this to go away. He wanted his dad.

Wiping his tears and blowing his nose with the tissue Kacchan passed his way, he typed out a message.

Izuku

I’m gonna take the afternoon and evening off this Thursday. Are you free?
16:51

You’ve mentioned you found a bunch of these old American superhero movies that we haven’t seen yet.
16:51

He actually had plans that day. He canceled them the minute he received that message. He had been waiting for it every hour of every day for the past two weeks.

To say that worry had been eating him alive was an understatement.

It sadly wasn’t unlike his Izuku to completely isolate himself this way when things were serious. He did this exact thing during the war, he did it plenty after the war, he did it sometimes when hero work got to be too much. He would begin isolating himself, just like Toshinori but then, unlike Toshinori, would end up confiding in someone. Sometimes it was his friends, sometimes it was Katsuki, but most often, to his selfish joy, it was him.

It never, save for during the war, went on for that long.

Izuku read his messages, messages he had to physically restrain himself from sending every other hour. Izuku sometimes reacted to them, responded with rotating versions of “I’m fine” that were slowly driving him insane. Sometimes Izuku just read them. Sometimes he didn’t.

It sounded a bit silly, but he was also becoming… bored. He had plenty of work to keep him busy, of course, still being a part-time teacher and a consultant in many active cases. But the work he didn’t do with or for Izuku didn’t feel as meaningful. Even at his most irritated and tired Izuku’s very presence made it worth it.

His days felt lonely without it.

Toshinori honestly needed to put himself together. He knew, deep down, that he might be a little too attached, his mood, well-being and sense of purpose a little too dependent on someone decades younger than him. It was unfair to put that much responsibility onto Izuku, and it couldn’t be healthy.

Izuku’s presence was a constant in his life, he was used to having him around, having him come here, ravished after a full day (or more) without food, tired and therefore, rather clingy.

Izuku split his time three ways: alone at his apartment, at Katsuki’s place, or Toshinori’s. That could change at any minute, though. His work could start taking even more of his time. Maybe he would have to move altogether. Toshinori realized, rather embarrassingly, that then he would move, too. Maybe they would simply grow apart, as a lot of children and parents did.

This thought, for some reason, hurt the most. He decided to push it away as he focused his attention on the katsudon currently on the stove. He could cook something different, of course, but today it felt appropriate. He also liked making it - had it down to a science.

“It smells amazing, dad.” Came from his left. He smiled on reflex.

His son came wearing sweatpants and one of his ridiculous ‘T-shirt’ T-shirts that Toshinori loved so much. A grocery bag dangled off of his wrist – it was full of snacks that fit into his post-gastrectomy diet, he was sure. Izuku always complained that Toshinori never had enough of them at home. With a sigh of relief he spotted something else on Izuku’s wrist – a silver band.

It was his and Katsuki’s idea not too long after the war. Danger Sense, like all quirks that resided in One For All, became powerful. Powerful enough to notify him of anything posing as a danger to those he cared about within a few miles.

Problem was, Izuku cared about everyone.

After the war, crime was falling steadily, but slowly. Danger Sense made sure Izuku was aware of it, disrupting him in the middle of class, while trying to sleep, while eating. Desperate, Toshinori reached out to Melissa, and with Katsuki they persuaded Izuku to help design a device that would block, or at least dampen Danger Sense.

Getting Izuku to actually wear it was truly a hassle, he usually chose not to. But sometimes he would relent, and there would be those few rare moments of silence when his precious son could at least attempt to take a breather.

While they ate Izuku launched himself into a retelling of battles he fought during the last two weeks. With bits of rice stuck to his cheeks (how did he manage to do that almost every time?), and sparkles in his eyes he looked younger, like the energetic, eager kid he first met six– six? – years ago. Toshinori chuckled. Oh, how he missed it (and it was only two weeks?).

They cleaned, got out the snacks, and then firmly planted themselves on the couch. Approximately one second after Toshinori sat down Izuku curled into his side. Even for him, it was a little eager – he wasn’t complaining, though.

Maybe Izuku just missed him, too.

Not needing much prompting he put his hand on Izuku’s curls and began stroking them. Izuku wrapped his arm around his torso.

With his free arm Toshinori reached for the remote and put the movie on, and while the movie sounded interesting enough, he just had to close his eyes for a minute or two. To enjoy the moment. To enjoy the warmth – not only physical, but also the one that Izuku seemed to just exude naturally. To enjoy the feeling of his thick curls between his fingers. He kissed the top of his head. Izuku turned to meet his eyes and gave a small smile, which made Toshinori’s chest hurt like nothing else did.

He took a moment to observe his son’s youthful face. The many freckles that adorned his cheeks, his wide, green eyes so full of life, the delicate brows. He cupped his face in his hand and gave his forehead another kiss before turning back to at least try to watch the movie.

If he could make this moment last forever, he would. 

But he couldn’t, and it was made very apparent the longer the movie went on.

See, usually Izuku was considered a person who was a nightmare to watch movies with. Toshinori didn’t agree, as he loved hearing what Izuku thought about a particular scene, actor, or wardrobe choice. He could listen to it for hours upon hours.

Now, however, his son was completely silent. He stayed still and watched the movie with unseeing eyes. Toshinori knew full well there were already at least two scenes he would usually comment on. Yet he didn’t.

It seemed someone needed to rip the band-aid off. He paused the movie.

“Son. I think you came here to tell me something.”

Izuku straightened himself and gave Toshinori a long, long look, gazing right into his eyes. He seemed to gather himself, exhaled, and without saying anything pulled off his new compression sleeve.

There was no explanation needed. Toshinori recognized the crack immediately.

It was fair to say that he was an accomplished man, he thought. An experienced one. During all his years as a hero, he had seen a lot of things, dealt with a lot of emergencies, with a lot of difficult cases. He was a pro in every sense of the word.

Yet, all of his skills and all his experience proved meaningless in this single moment.

Shock and horror unlike any other he had experienced so far flooded him. There was roaring in his ears, his hands shook. No. It simply couldn’t be.

What have I done.

What have I done-

“Dad! Dad, wait a minute!” Izuku’s voice pierced through the blood rushing in his ears. He took his face in his scarred hands. Oh, God. “Dad, listen, you gotta listen to me, okay?”

“There is no guarantee that it will be like it was with Hikage! Maybe mine are different! We aren’t alike enough to tell, maybe there isn’t anything to worry about!” said Izuku, said his son, the very light and center of his life. The very purpose of it. He said it and Toshinori had to wonder if he believed in it himself. He could feel his tears pooling on Izuku’s palms.

“Dad, just-“ he started crying too. “just know that whatever happens, I never would have changed anything, not for a minute, you hear me? Meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. You didn’t know, you had no way of knowing. I- it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay…” what was he doing? It should be him doing the comforting, not Izuku. He pulled him into his chest, and started stroking his hair, in an attempt to calm - himself? His son? He didn’t know. Tears continued to run down his face, while Izuku sobbed noisily into his shirt.

It suddenly made sense, his initial reaction, the dread, the silence. It made sense.

It also suddenly made him feel very guilty for sulking over feeling bored of all things. Izuku spent the last two weeks dealing with the thought that he was going die, a lot sooner than he expected.

Izuku… Izuku was dying.

His boy was dying.

And he had no one else to blame but himself.

Toshinori was the one it began and ended with. He was the one that had given him this godforsaken power. He was the one who lit the fire under him. He was the one that-

He was the one that was going to do something about it. Because there was no possibility, no reality in which he was going to accept, was going to allow his Izuku to die. There was simply no way. He would never accept that.

If there ever was someone who had to live, it was Izuku. He was too good, too kind of a person, too perfect of a hero. The world needed him, pure and simple. It needed his light.

Toshinori needed his light.

And- something could always be done. Always. They were going to brainstorm, and they were going to figure something out. Hikage Shinomori, to the best of their knowledge, didn’t seek medical help, but Izuku would.

At some point, he stopped crying. Izuku still sniffled in his arms. “Have you- have you consulted someone, anyone?”

“Well, yeah.” Izuku pulled away, wiping his face. Toshinori desperately wanted to pull him back into his chest. “The Vestiges and I talked about it, and I went to the doctor. I’m gonna email you all the notes and everything… they did a bunch of tests, with different quirks, they did an MRI…”

“And…?”

“Do you remember this doctor, this redheaded woman called Nakagawa Ume? Kinda scary, very to the point. She mentioned she was a part of your medical team for a bit?” Toshinori searched his memory. Ah, yeah.

“Yes, I remember her. Very to the point, I agree, but a specialist unlike many.” Izuku nodded.

“She uh… she agreed with our theories. I’m gonna explain everything. She said, I uh. She said I have time.” Izuku sniffed again. “We just have to monitor them.”

“Monitor them…?”

“The cracks.” Toshinori felt his heart drop all the way down to the floor. Did this mean? “They’ve spread to my left kidney and they found them on my liver. It’s like” Izuku chuckled. There was no humor in that sound. “It’s kind of like I have cancer.” Realizing what he said, he hurriedly followed up with “In a sense that it spreads, and needs to be monitored! And is not the death sentence everyone seems to take it as!”

“It isn’t.” Toshinori said simply. It wasn’t. He was going to make sure of that. “What did she recommend?”

By the way Izuku’s gaze shifted to his right, he knew he wasn’t going to like that. “What is it?”

“I think you know. You were given the same recommendation once.”

Toshinori did. “Yes, but unlike me, you’re gonna stick to it.” Izuku shook his head.

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.” He put more force into it. Izuku shook his head again.

“No, I won’t, dad. I won’t sit at home and worry about my left kidney when I know there are people out there that need my help. No. There are important things and then there is this. Dad, you have to understand. I know you understand.”

“I do understand, Izuku, and that gives me all the more reason to say no. You are going to at least limit the time spent if that’s what it takes to prolong your life. I thought my death was guaranteed, yours isn’t.”

“That’s no excuse! Dad, how- no. I will save people until my dying breath, even if that comes tomorrow. There is simply no question about it, I can’t-“ Izuku got up. “That’s my purpose. I’ve wanted to be a hero all my life, ever since I found out what it was. I understand you’re scared, I’m scared too, but I am not backing down, not on this. I already fought Kacchan about it and I am going to tell you the same thing I told him: if I stop, then what was it all for? What was… what was me receiving One For All for? I am going to save people if that’s the last thing I do. I have this power, I have to use it.”

Toshinori got up as well. His goal wasn’t to intimidate Izuku, never that, rather to establish authority. He was secretly glad for all these inches now.

“I understand all that very well, trust me, but I simply can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself! I did it far too many times, but now I have to draw the line. I cannot allow you to throw your life away. Look at where being this way has gotten me, learn from my mistakes! Learn from yours!”

“It’s completely different this time! Besides, it’s my life, I get to decide how I live it! It’s my choice to make! Besides, you- you destroyed yourself no problem for so many years, then why can’t I?!”

“Because-“ because what? Because Izuku had something, someone else to live for? Because his life was more important? Even if Toshinori thought that he couldn’t just say it. “Because I love you. Because I don’t want you to die.” And it really was as simple as that, wasn’t it?

He watched Izuku deflate, all fight leaving him. He put his face into his hands, shoulders shaking. “I- I don’t want to die! I don’t want to leave you!”

“And you won’t, son. You won’t. We will figure something out.” Because they had no other choice. Izuku sobbed, this time quietly, brokenly, like he was mourning already. Listening to these sobs was akin to having his heart pulled apart.
Toshinori pulled Izuku back against his chest, where he belonged, and let him cry.

They stayed like that, glued to each other’s side, for the whole night.

Toshinori, being as tall as he was, owned a rather large bed. Occasions like these always made him appreciate it even more, as they laid down together, comfortable.

Though, with the way he held Izuku close, even a twin bed would suffice.

His son fell asleep first.

No wonder, given the day, hell, the two weeks he had. He usually ended up falling asleep first, anyway, be it in Toshinori’s bed, or his own.

And, as usual, he took advantage of that, moving to simply look at him. Watching him take deep breaths, his face peaceful.

Everyone looked younger when they slept, no question about it. But with Izuku, who always looked younger than his age, it was especially apparent. Or maybe it was just Toshinori, who never got to be with Izuku when he was a small child and was making up for lost time.

His long, green eyelashes rested against his freckled cheeks. Toshinori brought up his hand to gently map them with his thumb. It was summertime, so it meant that there were more of them. He felt silly for enjoying that so much.

Under his palm the skin was largely smooth, as Izuku always made sure to shave regularly – he didn’t have the ambition or the capabilities, really, to grow a full beard. Toshinori felt silly for being glad for that as well.

His hand could reach his son’s soft curls while still cradling his face. Running his fingers through the strands he made a promise.

“I won’t let that happen, son, you have my word. I will do whatever it takes. I will fix this, I will find a solution. I love you, my boy, more than you could ever possibly imagine.” He got closer and planted a kiss on his son’s forehead. He was warm. Izuku was still there, his child wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

Toshinori was no closer to finding the solution now than when he first found out about the cracks.

True to his word, Izuku shared all the materials with him, everything he managed to gather so far. Coincidentally, summer break started soon after that, allowing Toshinori to focus solely on Izuku. He did plenty of research, read and took notes, sent emails, consulted specialists, set up appointments.

Recovery Girl was the first he reached out to, pretty confident her quirk was a good match.

Only, to his great horror, the crack on Izuku’s arm didn’t budge. During all the meetings, not a single thing changed about it – as though it was mocking him.  

So focused he was, he made Izuku worry about him. Which was as ironic as it was ridiculous.

“Dad, you have to sleep, too.” Chastised him his son, peering at his eye bags. He set the tea before him, carefully avoiding all the pages covering the table, containing both Toshinori’s research and Izuku’s paperwork. “By the way, do you remember when my fight with the Reinstigator took place?”

“The fourteenth, I believe. Around noon.”

“Yeah, thought so too, thanks.” Mumbling to himself, Izuku went back to his work. Toshinori saw that fight – had it recorded, same as with all the other fights that Izuku fought which got media coverage. He had a whole YouTube playlist dedicated to them, as well, which both Izuku and Toshinori laughed at, seeing as it mirrored Izuku’s own.

He watched that fight, teared up a little seeing Izuku’s wide smile at the end of it. Watching it, watching the fluidity of Izuku’s moves, his speed, you would never guess he had a spider web of cracks on his left kidney, that his liver was beginning to crumble, as well.

Because, as Izuku’s doctor explained to him (he was given full access to all his medical data a long time ago), the cracks weren’t like wounds. They, which Toshinori was eternally grateful for, didn’t hurt and didn’t really impact his functioning in any way, at least not yet. Had the crack not appeared on Izuku’s skin, they would probably have no idea they were even there.

As he thought that, across from him Izuku began to cough. Great, like he needed the flu on top of everything else.

But then he continued to cough, to hack, really, and Toshinori’s heart dropped into his nonexistent stomach. He recognized that sound, knew it very well, in fact.

And surely enough, after he was done, the palm he pulled away from his face was bloodied.

They shared a horrified look across the table. None of them said anything for a full minute, just staring at it in mutual horror. Stiffly, Toshinori reached for his pocket and did something that he never, not in his worst dreams, thought he would do. He passed it to Izuku. He accepted it with a nod.

“I guess… I guess One For All at least has a sense of humor.” He started shyly, and the hoarseness in his voice wasn’t helping any. Toshinori spent months trying to get Izuku to laugh after they first met, and he chose to grow a sense of humor now?

Only fitting, he supposed.

He was on the line with doctor Nakagawa a second later.

At some point, Toshinori had assembled a team. He was very, very grateful for the authority that All Might still had.

And at some point, an idea appeared. No one really remembered who started it, but they all knew it gained more and more traction with every meeting.

A partial nephrectomy – removing parts of the kidney.

With the way the cracks spread, it was apparent that it would become non-functional sooner or later. The theory was, that if they removed parts containing the cracks and then some, they would stop spreading there altogether, leaving him with a half of his left kidney, which was, as everyone agreed, better than relying only on his right one. 

This surgery would also tell them if that could potentially be a last-ditch treatment option – outright removal of the affected tissue. Which, again, was a lot like cancer. They all knew that, but it was left unsaid. The last person who made that comparison received the full force of All Might’s glare and walked out of the meeting on shaky legs.

Some of them, privately, wished it was cancer. At this point, not only did it have a mortality rate of about 15%, it also had decades upon decades worth of research, and plenty of treatment options with high success rates. This? This was brand new, and nothing seemed to work so far. The only bright side was that, unlike cancer, the cracks didn’t seem to cause suffering. Not the physical kind, anyway.

Izuku didn’t particularly enjoy being reminded that something was wrong. The more time passed after the initial diagnosis, the less concerned and involved he was with the matter at hand. They counted themselves lucky he showed up to doctor’s appointments at all. He was actually the most opposed to the idea of surgery, seeing as it would take him away from his hero duties for a few weeks, and wasn’t guaranteed to work, anyway.

It wasn’t until he looked into his mother’s tear-filled eyes, who begged him to at least let them try, that he agreed.

They were sitting outside the operating room, him and Inko, in what you could describe as not-so-comfortable silence. They hadn’t spoken since Izuku broke the news to her, when she called him in tears, demanding a more in-depth explanation than the one her son offered. Toshinori, sadly, couldn’t help much – there really was so much they didn’t know.

He took a discreet peak at her red-rimmed eyes and thought, as he often did these days, I did this.

“Stop that.” She said. It seemed he wasn’t as discreet as he thought.

“Stop what?”

“Blaming yourself.” She wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “It’s not helping anyone, least of all Izuku.” She sniffed. “He can see how hard this entire thing is on you, too.”

Toshinori didn’t reply, just looked away. Inko continued. He wanted to tell her to stop. “One For All was totally different when you used it, wasn’t it? Nothing liked that ever happened with you?” He shook his head, focusing his gaze on his clenched hands. Never. He was always absolutely, utterly convinced that One For All was a true blessing. “Not the bones breaking, either, I take it?” He shook his head again.

“I had no reason to believe it wasn’t a gift. I knew a thing or two about the previous users, but it was mostly anecdotes my master told me. But then… then Izuku…” he hid his face in his hands. “… I’m so, so sorry, Inko. I truly didn’t know. There were so, so many things I didn’t know that day, back at the beach…” One For All shattering your bones. All For One, still alive. The other quirks. The cracks.

“I understand that. However, what I can’t understand is that you never saw fit to talk to me beforehand, at least once. Izuku, I can understand – he was fifteen. He was given the opportunity of a lifetime, from someone he always admired, practically worshipped. Logical thinking was out of the question. But you?” he winced. “You were, are, the adult. I understand One For All was considered top secret, but I’m his mother. I’m his mother, why do I have to find out about everything last?” She started sobbing again, and Toshinori moved closer to hold her while feeling entirely unworthy of it.

The truth was, the thought had never crossed his mind at the time. It was only after he started teaching when he realized how much teenagers were still dependent on their parents; permission slips were needed everywhere, so much so it was ridiculous. Any little outing required one.

He tried looking at it from Inko’s perspective and thought back to Izuku’s high school days with the worry he felt now. Knowing and feeling what he knew and felt now, would he have signed them? And he was familiar with heroics, unlike Inko, who knew them only from her son’s stories.

Suddenly, he felt like a monster. Without her knowledge or permission, he took her beloved son away into a world she didn’t understand, with a brand new quirk she didn’t, couldn’t recognize, giving her information about her son’s wellbeing almost as a second thought, removing him from her home, sending him on adventures that regularly landed him in the hospital, making him into a war veteran and a Symbol in one at sixteen years old, destroying his body with a so-called ‘gift’.

And he had the gall, the absolute audacity, to proclaim himself as Izuku’s father.

He didn’t mean to do these things. Well, he didn’t mean to do most of these things.

He vividly remembered sitting at Izuku’s bedside, who had been critically injured in his fight with Shigaraki. Fearing he wouldn’t wake up.

And, for the first time, regretting his choice for a successor.

Because Izuku- Izuku was perfect. He could not ask for a better successor, would never find one, not in a million years. There wasn’t anyone else capable of carrying the burden of One For All, of being the Symbol, there never could be. He knew that, the previous users knew that, even All For One himself knew that.

Yet, sitting at his bedside then and waiting for him now, he asked: Why him? Why does it always have to be him? Why does it have to be my boy?

Before he knew, he was sobbing right with Inko.

“He’s so happy, I know, he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted, but… sometimes I wish it was still just the two of us…” She sobbed into his shirt, just as her son often did. With a pang, and a whole new level of guilt, he realized he understood exactly what she meant.

How often did he long for the hours spent at Dagobah beach when Izuku was still an easily flustered beanpole of a fanboy. Sure, they didn’t have the same level of intimacy and mutual understanding then, but he still longed for the simplicity of these days. He wished he appreciated them more when they lasted, took more pictures, had more conversations, went out for ice cream more.

If he had access to a time manipulation quirk, he would have used it. If only to slap his past self. And maybe slap that hair out of his hand as well…

As wrapped up in their heads and in each other were Inko and Toshinori, they almost didn’t notice the nurse come in.

“He’s awake now, if a little loopy. The surgery went well.” They almost knocked heads getting up.

And there he was, their boy. They had both gotten far too used to seeing him in a hospital bed.

“Heyyy mom, heyyy dad!” he waved, smiling widely. They exchanged a glance. Definitely loopy.

They sat at opposite sides of his bed, both grasping his hand firmly. He kept moving his head from side to side, looking at them. “I love you guys.” He slurred. They both chuckled.

“And we love you too, Izuku. More than you know.” Said Inko. Toshinori simply nodded. Nothing much to add, here.

“Nnnooo, I love you moreee.” He said, then tried to follow up with something else, but it was too slurred to make out. It must have been very funny because he suddenly burst out laughing.

It was obviously a laugh of someone high off of anesthesia, slightly off, slightly delirious.

It was still one of the most beautiful sounds Toshinori had ever heard in his life.

See, the thing was, Izuku didn’t laugh often. He laughed very rarely, in fact. He smiled often, scoffed sometimes, maybe chuckled, but a laugh like that was… was rare. Toshinori had known him for years and only heard it a handful of times.

Toshinori always thought it was such a shame. You didn’t have to love Izuku with all of your heart to admit he had a beautiful laugh – it was such a fresh, gentle sound that made him indescribably happy and emotional at the same time.

His hands itched for his phone, wondering if he should record it, then decided against it, opting to hold Izuku’s hand tightly and try to fend off more tears.

Unbeknownst to him, he would come to regret that deeply, as it was the last time he ever heard Izuku laugh.

Izuku’s leg was numb.

He thought it was like that ever since he woke up, but he wasn’t sure – Danger Sense jerked him awake and he left in a rush, barely getting dressed.

He thought it maybe had something to do with the way he slept, or maybe it was something that happened as a result of a fight.

But days passed, he massaged it and tried every stretching exercise there was, and the numbness was still there. He could still use it fine, it was only slightly uncomfortable.

As things usually were, when it came to the cracks.

He glanced at his abdomen. The scar from the surgery was slowly heading into the ‘old scar’ category – it was several months old, still a little pink around the edges. It healed well. So did his kidney.

Sadly, despite that, he couldn’t say the surgery was a success. Cracks continued to spread as though nothing happened, sprouting from the place the surgeon cut with their scalpel.

They were officially out of options.

Now, he was one kidney down, one third of a liver, a small piece of lung (he coughed up blood only periodically. He tried to joke about it. Dad did not enjoy it). The cracks started to eat away at his stomach and intestines, and they discovered a new one on his spleen.

There was one that spread down from his right temple. Izuku purposefully grew his hair out to hide that one – if not from reporters, then from his loved ones.

Maybe from himself too, a little bit.

At some point, the cracks did start to hinder his day to day functioning. He tried to hide it, but they knew.

They all had to come to terms with the fact that there was no stopping this. There was only waiting. What gave them hope, the smallest bit of it, was that the cracks were insanely irregular and unpredictable. They could grow in a matter of days and then remain the same for months. If they spread out, like they did in Hikage, maybe, just maybe, he could live a while, a good while. Maybe it wouldn’t be a comfortable life, but he would live to see himself turn thirty, potentially forty, if he slowed down.

But he should have known, he should have known, that taking anything for granted when it came to them was foolish. Someone once hypothesized that they only attacked certain kinds of tissue, and so far nothing disproving this theory happened, so they accepted it as fact.

Because of course they would end up attacking his nervous system at some point.

Running his fingers over his unfeeling calf, he picked up his phone and made a call.

“Uh, dad, hi. So, we have a problem.”

This visit was going to be a different one. That much was apparent.

The circumstances were different. The day of the week, the time of the day were different. The atmosphere was different.

The results were different.

“So, yes, a crack appeared on one of your nerves. Contrary to popular belief though, it’s not our biggest issue today.”

Doctor Nakagawa’s attitude was different. She was always no nonsense, straight to the point, a little dry.

Today, she was urgent.

She looked between the two of them, as though considering something. She continued. “In the beginning, we theorized that cracks only attacked certain kinds of tissue. I underlined why that’s a good thing, and I gave you several reasons. Do you remember?”

“Yes, damage to the brain itself and to the muscle tissue of the arteries.” Toshinori nodded along with him, aware of that as well. Izuku raised his brows. “Ho-hold on, are you saying there are cracks in my brain?” He was suddenly very cold.

“No. It’s the other one. We’ve found beginnings of cracks in the muscle tissue of your aorta. It’s at risk of bursting any minute, really.”

She let that sentence hang in the air.

Toshinori felt as though his own heart had stopped, only to start beating twice as fast. What- no no no…

She didn’t give them any more time to process the news, kept going on. “As I’ve explained before, even the smallest hole in the arteries can kill in a matter of minutes.” Kill? “I had a patient once whose quirk produced spikes on random areas of her body. One of the spikes only grazed a major artery… she died of blood loss before the ambulance could arrive.”

“The only good thing I can say is that, as we know, the cracks are in no way, shape or form predictable. There is no pattern, only guesses. We can… hope, that the cracks don’t go any further, any deeper. But we absolutely cannot ignore the danger at hand.”

Having said that, she reached for a drawer in her desk and took out a plastic bag with official looking stickers on it. Inside rested a silver band, not unlike Izuku’s anti-Danger Sense one. It had one simple black button on it. “I went forward and got it approved. When… if you feel that you’re bleeding out, and trust me, you will feel it, you will have to press the button three times. An ambulance carrying plenty of blood type O will be dispatched to your location immediately.”

She slid the bag across the desk. Izuku stared at it.

“I’m not taking it.”

What? “What?”

Izuku shook his head, still staring at it. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it.”

“What do you mean you can’t accept it?” Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as though in pain. Toshinori’s heartbeat was so loud in his ears that it threatened to drown out all else. He managed to push the panic down thanks only to years long experience.

“I… the average time for an ambulance to arrive is about nine minutes, am I correct?” the doctor nodded. “It takes less to bleed out from a major artery. Unless I’m basically outside the hospital, I don’t stand a chance. You’re not wasting an ambulance ride to transport my dead body, not when someone else could still make it. No, I refuse.”

It was too much. Too much all at once. Toshinori’s mind was so loud it was empty. He could just stare and stare at Izuku, trying to process what he just said.

“What on Earth” he managed out. “are you talking about?!”

“Besides… I’m guessing you didn’t extend that offer to that poor woman, no?” doctor Nakagawa didn’t reply, which was all the answer he needed. “You only proposed it to me because I’m a hero, Number One at that, am I right?” he was met with silence once again. “So, no, I appreciate it, but I can’t take this.”

“Izuku.” Toshinori reached out and grasped his foolish, foolish son’s shoulders. He shook him once. “Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s not fair, Dad, I can’t agree with that. I know it’s hard, but-“

“Take the bracelet.”

“I just explained, I-“

“Take it.”  

Silence fell over the office again. Izuku looked at him, stunned. Maybe it was his voice, booming and cold and dead serious. Maybe it was his face, more furious than Izuku had ever seen it.

“That’s not funny, Izuku Midoriya. This is serious. I am not joking around.”

“Well, neither am I! As I just explained, not only is it deeply unfair, it-“

“I don’t care.” He looked straight into his eyes, into his brilliant, green eyes, trying desperately to make him see reason. To make him understand. He felt a bit bad about it, but he was not giving him an option. They weren’t about to discuss it, as Izuku seemed to believe. That was, simply, not up for debate.

Izuku was concerned about someone else’s life, because of course he was worried about some random, hypothetical stranger instead of himself, but Toshinori wasn’t. It was as he said, he realized with startling cynicism, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about some rando that probably lived an unhealthy lifestyle succumbing to a heart attack at seventy years old.

While they were leaving the doctor’s office, the band securely around Izuku’s wrist, he realized they had a similar argument, once.

They were seated at his living room table, mugs of tea in hand, not having much of a conversation. It was some time after finding out his surgery was unsuccessful. It was late, and Toshinori had spent the entire day crying his eyes out. It wasn’t his proudest moment. He knew it was pointless. He knew that Izuku would never, not in a million years, agree to it. He felt terrible even thinking about it, even more so suggesting it.

But he had to ask.

Izuku, my dear boy, maybe you should consider passing One For All, after all?

We remembered Izuku’s head jerking up, shocked. Indignant. No, he said. It wasn’t a possibility even before we found out being quirkless doesn’t make you immune. I was always going to be the last user. I would never, ever consider hurting someone, even if it meant I died at ninety.

But Toshinori would, he realized with startling clarity.

He never thought himself truly capable of murder, with one obvious exception. And even then, he explained to himself that it wasn’t revenge driving his fist through All For One’s skull, but necessity.

He couldn’t truly wrap his head around even considering taking someone’s life, someone undeserving.

But now? Now, if it meant saving Izuku, hell, even giving him just a little bit more time… now, he could understand it. Now, if given a choice, he wasn’t fully sure of what he would do.

There was, after all, no pain grander, more soul crushing, more devastating, than a grieving parent’s.

As always, Toshinori was the one it began and ended with.

His birthday was rapidly approaching. For most of his life it was a day like any other, he didn’t particularly like or dislike it.

And then came Izuku, for whom it was always a special day. Hence, it became a special day to Toshinori, too.

Now, however, celebrating his birthday was the furthest thing from his mind. It felt a little insulting, to be honest. Yet, Izuku insisted, and Toshinori easily relented. Denying Izuku anything was always hard, not when he looked at him with those wide, childlike eyes of his, but it was especially challenging these days.

So, as per tradition, he headed to the Dagobah beach.

He had mixed feelings when it came to the Dagobah Beach. On one hand, so many of his treasured memories were from there, but on the other, it was there where he had given Izuku this… this curse, for lack of a better word. He went anyway.

He and Izuku had set a time, and he was late. Toshinori, familiar with the way pro hero schedules worked, didn’t mind waiting. He walked some, then sat down on a bench to look at the sunset. Sunsets at Dagobah were always a sight to behold, but this one was especially beautiful. The sky was a breathtaking mix of blue, yellow and red hues, changing so rapidly it felt a little unnatural. The abandon of crimson told him it was probably going to rain tomorrow.

It was practically dark when Izuku showed up, a little out of breath, fresh out of a fight. Toshinori, chuckling, had to literally shake the battle dust off of him while waving away his apologies for being late.

They headed into the direction of the water, and Izuku launched into a detailed retelling of the fight. His voice was going a thousand miles an hour, Toshinori could only smile and listen closely. No matter his mood, he would always enjoy Izuku being passionate about something.

“And then he turned, he looked at his hostages and that gave me a second to- to…” his voice faltered, and he fell silent. Curious as to what made him stop, Toshinori turned to look at him, and came to face a sight he would never, as long as he lived, forget.

Izuku’s eyes were blown wide, his face pale as a sheet, frozen in an expression of pure shock. He held one of his hands over his chest.

He started to fall over and Toshinori caught him before he had the chance to hit the ground. He gently lowered both of them onto the sand. It couldn’t be happening.

But it was, he realized as he watched Izuku press the button on his bracelet.

But it was, he realized as he watched Izuku’s face morph from shock into determination.

“Dad.” Izuku’s trembling hands reached out and grasped both sides of his face. “Dad, listen, you gotta listen to me, okay?” he just kept shaking his head, saying no no no no no over and over, as though it would change anything.

“Dad, you-“ Izuku gave a choked exhale, already crying himself. “please, tell my mom I’m sorry. And- and tell her I love her, okay?” Their tears mixed on Izuku’s face. He wasn’t telling Inko anything, Izuku was gonna tell her himself-

“And Kacchan… oh, Kacchan.” He smiled wobbily. “Tell him to keep on fighting, okay? Tell him… tell everyone that I… I love them, and I’m sorry.”

“Izuku, no, my prince of nonsense, stop. The ambulance is on its way here. It’s going to be okay, you will see, and you will wake up in the hospital bed as always, everything-“

“Dad. Please.” Interrupted him his son, his one and only joy, his purpose, his everything. He felt him wipe one of his tears with his thumb, smiling that damned, weak smile that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Izuku’s eyes traced over his face, as if committing it to memory.

“I… meeting you was the best, the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know? I was thankful for it, every day. If given a choice, I wouldn’t have changed anything, anything, you hear me? You have given me a life I could only dream of. I love you. I wish I said that more often.”

“I love you too, my boy, I love you. And you will see, you will, we will be saying that every day, every day, it’s- it’s going to be okay.” He stroked his hair, pushing one of his curls away from his face, revealing the ugly, ugly crack. He stroked his cheek. It was going to be okay.

“I want you to know, dad… I want you to remember that I… I…“ he took a deep inhale and exhale, his whole body relaxing with it. His hands slipped from Toshinori’s face and hanged limp at his sides. He fell silent.

“You want me to what, Izuku?” Izuku didn’t reply, his eyes half lidded, staring at nothing, when he was previously studying Toshinori’s face. “Izuku. You were saying something. You didn’t finish. You’re not done. Izuku?” he shook him gently. Izuku didn’t react. “What do you want me to remember? What is it that you want me to know, my boy? My boy what is it? Izuku? Izuku? Izuku?” He supported his son’s head, limp as it was, the same way you would support a little baby’s head. He never got to do that when Izuku was actually this small, but at least he got to do that now.

“The ambulance is on its way here. Just… just hold on. It’s going to be okay.” No reaction. “Izuku, son, say something.” He gave his shoulder another shake, this one a little less gentle, a little more urgent.

“Izuku…” he looked at his lifeless, blank face, and suddenly, he knew. He raised a shaking hand to his mouth. No… no… “No, no, no…” he cradled his son to his chest, ever so gently stroking his hair, as though he was made from glass.

“My baby, my little boy, my baby boy… no… no, no no no!” The world ceased to exist.

He has never cried harder in his life. He cried, he sobbed, wailed, and screamed, clutching Izuku – clutching Izuku’s body – tightly, rocking. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

The pain was so great he thought he was being torn apart, piece by piece. It was so great that it was practically indescribable. Toshinori never thought something could hurt so much, that a person was capable of feeling this much pain.

He wailed and he cried, his tears falling into Izuku’s hair. My boy… my little boy…

Belatedly, he realized that someone was shaking his shoulder. “Sir? We’re here for Midoriya Izuku?” he heard, but it was far away, so far away, it was as though he was submerged in water. He just shook his head, his face still firmly buried in his boy’s curls. “Sir, you have to move.” He wasn’t going anywhere, ever. He realized his grip on Izuku tightened defensively, and he loosened it, afraid of causing his boy pain. 

It seemed that whoever was shaking his shoulder had no such qualms when they started pulling him away. Not really seeing anything, he hit that person right in the face, kicked another one trying to approach. They were not taking his boy.

More hands, suddenly, were on him, and to his absolute horror even more hands reached for his son, his treasure, his world. People were yelling. He kicked and he punched and he thought he screamed at them, but he wasn’t exactly sure, everything felt far away. He thought, briefly, about reaching deep into himself for those little embers of One For All that would never truly go out… and then felt violently ill.

He was distracted for just a fraction of a second, but apparently, it was enough. He more felt than saw Izuku being pulled away from him.

Some rational part of him was aware that he should let the paramedics do their job. That the situation was out of his hands, literally and figuratively.

But he could only see Izuku’s pale face, strangers swarming around him, putting their hands on him, their foreign machines, and all he felt was anguish and rage. Distantly, he heard someone say: “Dead upon arrival. Full six minutes. We were too late.” And his heart broke anew.

He struggled in the hold of the people around him, bystanders most likely, he thought he hit someone in the face again.

It allowed him, for just a second, to glimpse his boy’s face for the last time, before the bag was placed over him, zipper zipped into place.

“Sir! Sir, you have to listen to me! Are you the boy's family?”

“Yes. Let me ride with him.” He had no clue how he got his voice to work, managed the words out. The paramedic grimaced with empathy. He knew how this worked before they even replied, he had seen this situation a thousand times from the other side, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t understand. He had to be with his boy. “Sir, that as much as I would like to let you do that, I’m simply not allowed. We are going to the nearest hospital, do you know where that is?”

“Let me ride with him. You- you don’t understand. You have to let me ride with you.” His voice shook, so did his hands, tears were streaming down his face again. They couldn’t do this to him. “You have to let me ride with you.” He said again, attempting to put more authority into his voice. “He’s all alone. He-” He needs me there. I need him here.

“I am really, deeply sorry for what happened, sir, but rules are rules and I’m afraid they don’t bend, not even for All Might. We need to go. He’ll-” their voice faltered. “he’ll be there.” 

He wanted to scream at this person, force his way in, but the ambulance left before he could gather himself. There was no siren. They left in silence.

Hands were all over him again, gentler this time. He wanted to attack them again, but he could only stare ahead, following the ambulance with his eyes, watching it leave with everything he ever held dear in life.

People slowly dissipated, leaving as they always did. He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at nothing in particular, just ahead, just like Izuku did a moment ago.

This thought jerked him into action. He vaguely realized he was crying again, tugging his phone from his pocket, and ordering a cab using an app, because he didn’t trust himself to speak. Ever again, as a matter of fact.

At some point, he would have to, he realized with what felt akin to a kick to the gut. He had to let everyone know. He had to let Katsuki know. He had to let Inko know.

The taxi driver, seeing the location and his wet face, decided not to ask him any questions. They rode in silence, punctuated by Toshinori’s heavy breathing and an occasional sob.

He hated hospitals. He hated hospitals, he hated them with a passion.

He had a feeling he was about to start despising them even more.

Toshinori tore his way through the usual crowd. He took one look at the people waiting in the queue in front of the front desk, and they moved to let him pass. He did not have the presence of mind to feel bad about it.

He had to ask for the information twice. He’s been to this hospital more times than he could count, but never to this part.

In a daze, he followed the directions and all but collapsed in one of these godforsaken plastic chairs.

Waiting. He did not know what he was waiting for. What… what was he waiting for?

His phone burned a hole in his pocket. In the taxi he tried to call, or at least text anyone, but could not bring himself to do it. How could you share news you couldn’t actually bring yourself to believe? How did you find the words?

He was temporarily saved from it by someone briskly approaching him with a clipboard.

“Mister Yagi Toshinori? You’re listed as a family member of one Midoriya Izuku, correct?” he felt his throat seize up. “Midoriya Izuku is registered as an organ donor, but we do need approval from a family member.” He thrusted the clipboard towards him. Toshinori could only stare at it, incredulous. He was certain the man spoke to him in clear Japanese, yet he didn’t understand a single word.

Of course, Toshinori knew Izuku was a registered organ donor. He did the paperwork as soon as he was able to, excitedly sharing the details of organ transplantation in one of his infamous rants. It was one of the few occasions when Toshinori had to ask him to stop – just listening about it made him feel ill.

The same case was with blood donation – Izuku, aware of how valuable his blood was, being type O with a quirk that didn’t leave chemicals in his bloodstream, went as early and as often as he could, and gave as much as legal limits allowed him. Even more than that – he didn’t remember if it was Izuku persuading the staff, or the other way around, to draw more than the limits dictated. It happened a few times, until Izuku ended up passing out and needing to call Toshinori for a ride, as they wouldn’t let him leave by himself. He distinctly remembered berating him while Izuku sipped on a sports drink in a hallway that looked a lot like this one.

He remembered having half a mind to sue the place, for allowing something like that to happen, more than once. It wasn’t until Izuku promised that he would let Toshinori drive him every single time he went that he gave up on that notion. Didn’t keep him from side-eyeing the staff once in a while.

“I understand your concern, sir.” Said the man, completely misunderstanding his silence. “We were made aware that the patient suffered from a certain condition, but there is still a chance there are tissues or organs that can be harvested. We would at least like to try.”

He wanted to break the clipboard over the man’s head, and then strangle him. How dare he utter these words aloud, how dare he even think of getting anywhere close to his boy with a scalpel. Toshinori was just getting up, fully attempting to scream at him to leave his baby boy alone, to leave him alone, but then he remembered that Izuku would want this. If there was a chance that someone could be saved, Izuku wouldn’t hesitate.

With a shaking hand he signed the paper, giving that man what was essentially permission to mutilate his son’s dead body. It was the right choice. He hated himself.

How was he supposed to look Inko in the eyes now? Ever?

How was he supposed to look himself in the eyes ever again?

He might as well go with the punch. He brought the phone up to his ear.

The silence in the Midoriya residence was deafening.

Toshinori didn’t know whether it was the shock, the overwhelming sadness, the tiredness, the crushing helplessness, or the distinct lack of noise.

The two of them rarely met alone. There was usually someone else there.

“Toshinori.” began Inko. Her voice sounded haggard. “We have to plan a funeral.” They did.

He bit his lip to try to stop more tears from spilling. That was Inko and Izuku’s space. He shouldn’t sully it. “Don’t worry about the money. I’m going to pay for the whole thing.” They both knew it wasn’t the issue, and it wasn’t what she meant. Inko nodded anyway.

He wasn’t exactly sure what exactly you had to do to plan a funeral. He had never organized one. He hadn’t attended many, either.

You would think that with him being a hero for almost forty years he would have plenty of experience with funerals. You would be wrong. He wasn’t close enough with people to be invited to funerals. Wakes, he attended, to show his respect for the fallen, to maybe provide the mourners with some hope as the Symbol of Peace. But funerals? No, he hardly had any experience with those.

He went to Mirai’s funeral. He remembered Nana’s funeral too well. He hardly recalled his parents’ funeral.

He only remembered bits and pieces of it. He remembered holding his grandfather’s hand, the only time he would be able to do it freely. He remembered thinking the flowers were just like his mommy’s hair: pretty and yellow. He remembered the faint smoky smell of the crematorium.

He shivered, eyes widening. The crematorium…

Pushing these thoughts away, he desperately searched for something else to focus his attention on. Everything in his field of vision, however, was the wrong option.

The pictures. The faded All Might merchandise that remained, because how could it not. Inko.

He hadn’t looked her in the eye once. He simply couldn’t bring himself to. How could he?

Her precious baby boy was dead. Toshinori killed their… her son. Now, he was in the house where she raised him, as though he had any right to be here.

How could he look her in the eye, when she… when she looked so much like him.

Their resemblance was striking – it was one of his first thoughts when he first met Inko Midoriya. That her son took after her a lot. He had her wide, green eyes, her face shape, her height, her hair color, her tears. It became less obvious as Izuku matured, but was always quite clear.

Now it was clearer than ever before.

Carefully keeping his eyes trained on the tea mug, he gathered all courage he had, more than he ever needed in all his decades as a hero, and managed out: “There is a… there is a hero cemetery nearby. I think that…” I think that’s something Izuku would choose. “… that it’s a good place.”

“I agree.” Replied Inko softly, as though reading his mind.

“I can handle it, then.” No, he could not handle it. But for Inko, he could try.

But for Izuku, he could try.

The rest of the conversation trickled by in a similar way. One by one, they added details, and Toshinori grew more and more nauseated with every single one. They took turns pulling the tissues out of the tissue box, passing it to each other.

They decided on a traditional Buddhist ceremony, save for one detail: they both agreed to forgo the white kimono in favor of his hero suit. Most heroes were buried that way.

They both knew that from the same source. Neither of them mentioned that.

Izuku had several copies of his suit, in various places. It proved necessary rather quickly – Danger Sense interfered with all of his daily activities, and that included doing laundry. Toshinori was sure he had at least two copies in his apartment. It was one of his tasks, to deliver it, laundered and pressed.

His first thought was, Hero suits aren’t supposed to be laundered and pressed.

His second was the grueling realization that he had to return to his apartment at some point.

Impulsively he thought about asking Inko to let him stay here, but scrapped that notion almost immediately. It was so wrong for so many reasons.

Funny, during the course of the conversation he glanced at the door many times, fighting the urge to bolt through it, wishing he was anywhere but here. But now, when it was actually time to leave…

He wasn’t the one who initiated the hug. He was sure he would never initiate another hug ever again. It was Inko who cautiously put her arms around him as he was heading out. For a moment he stood still with his hands up in the air, not sure what to do with himself. Then, he leaned down to return the hug, having plenty of experience embracing people much shorter than himself.

She hugged differently than Izuku did, that much was clear. She was shorter, softer. She smelled differently. While there was always gentleness in Izuku’s hugs, in everything that he did, really, they were still firm. Izuku knew how to work around his injury, whereas Inko clearly didn’t and decided on a careful approach.

Nonetheless, it made him sob like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn’t. It didn’t feel like it.

Inko shook in his embrace as he shook in hers. He got the distinct feeling that maybe she didn’t want him to leave, either. That she didn’t want to be left alone, alone with a loss so great it hurt to breathe. That she didn’t want to be left alone in a house filled with memories that were once happy, were once mundane, even, and felt like a knife to the chest now. Where every single thing was a reminder.

He understood. There wasn’t a single part of Toshinori’s apartment that remained untouched by Izuku’s presence.

They were too tired for words, and really, were there any? It’s going to be okay? We will get through this?

He took a cab back. This driver was less observant, and it was darker, making his red-rimmed eyes harder to spot. They recognized him and attempted to chat him up, but soon found it to be no use after he replied to every question with stony silence.

His house – it was no longer a home, couldn’t be – was just as he had left it, in the exact same state. He did the dishes before he left – they were still on the rack.

It felt like it had been emptied out, turned upside down by a burglar. It didn’t feel like the same place.

Breathing deeply, he took small steps and somehow made it to the kitchen. He filled a glass with water, and sat down. He spilled some of it, his hands shook.

He drank in small sips. He hadn’t had any liquids in hours. He would rather not throw it up.

Toshinori thought, in some faraway part of his brain, that his mind must have realized it needed to cut him off from his emotions for a minute. He felt numb, could only stare ahead. He wasn’t really there. Maybe it was protecting him from a heart attack, or something.

Or something.

With a pang, a thought cut through the silence – how did he know there was a hero cemetery in the vicinity of Midoriya’s house, anyway? He had never been there. Mirai’s funeral was held in a different one, further up north. Nana’s was in her hometown. It wasn’t an unknown cemetery per se, but he had no reason to know about it.

Then he realized why he knew.

It was at this same table where he sat right this moment.

Toshinori had had a medical scare, and he landed himself in the hospital for a three-day long stay. In his humble opinion it was completely unfounded, but the staff and Izuku seemed to believe otherwise.

The atmosphere after they had gotten back home was far from pleasant. He remembered Izuku asking him to sit down, pushing a protein shake his way, because he knew Toshinori hated hospital food. He also grabbed one for himself, though it was clear he did it just to keep him company.

And then, sipping protein shakes, and later tea, as they usually did, they talked.

Both of them cried a significant amount during that conversation, with Izuku taking the lead. Toshinori, ever since his first fight with All For One and Mirai’s prophecy, was well aware of his mortality. He had come to accept it… even awaited it, at times.

But then came Izuku, illuminating his world like the rising sun.

The thought of leaving him behind hurt, filled him with a different kind of sadness, a different kind of guilt. He cradled his son’s face, wiped his tears, and told him it’s going to be okay. It will be difficult, but you will pull through. And he would have. His boy was so strong.

He remembered Izuku asking him where he would wanted to be buried – Izuku supposed it would be a hero cemetery and as an example, started talking about one he knew. It was in the vicinity of his house, he went there sometimes to honor a hero’s death with humble flowers bought with even humbler pocket money. Toshinori replied that he wouldn’t mind being laid to rest exactly there – he enjoyed the idea of being close to his boy even after his death.

Then Izuku asked some more, even though it was clearly too much for him. He pressed on, because he was the bravest soul Toshinori ever knew. He asked about the details, about the clothes, about the Buddhist sect, about the grave. He attempted, fought, to look calm, but he shook and tears streamed down his face.

Toshinori took his hand and said that he didn’t really care that much, that any decision Izuku would end up making was fine by him. That he just hoped he would visit his old man’s grave sometimes, he tried joking, but that just led Izuku to burst into tears and they more or less cuddled the rest of the day away.

There was one point in that conversation when Izuku got that conflicted look in his eyes. Toshinori caught it and firmly shook his head.

A similar look crossed his eyes after finding out that the surgery was unsuccessful, during the same conversation when Toshinori suggested sharing the burden of One For All with someone. His reaction was similar; quick dismissal. Discussing the details of Izuku’s funeral, to him, felt like admitting defeat.

They should have had this conversation. They should have had so many conversations… he looked at Izuku’s seat, right across from his.

And then it hit him again.

Izuku was gone. He was gone. His boy was gone. He was gone and he was never, ever going back.  

The wails bounced back at him in this empty, empty apartment. He hid his head in his arms, but it brought him no comfort. There was only one thing that could bring him comfort now.

It was hard to breathe. It was hard to move. The sadness, the despair, the grief, felt very much like a physical thing, pulling him down. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

And the guilt. Oh, God. The guilt.

Because it was his fault. Pure and simple. There was no arguing about it, it wasn’t his mind blaming him for all of the world’s misfortunes as it liked to. Pure, cold logic dictated it.

He had given him One For All. One For All killed him. Simple as that. Any court would find him guilty.

Toshinori would have never, ever, given him, or anyone for that matter this power if he knew. Wouldn’t have even considered passing it down. He had no reason to suspect how much of a toll One For All could take, in exchange for the power that allowed Izuku to bring the war to an end. He never had reason to think of it as anything but a blessed gift. But he should have. Should have wondered at how convenient it was. Should have researched the previous users.

But he didn’t. And with his ignorance he had gotten his boy killed. He took him away from this world just as he was beginning to change it, to bring it forward, to warm it with his light.

It hurt more than any wound ever could. The tears ran down his forearms. When he thought he was done crying, he started crying again.

He had no idea how he made it into his bed. Trying to change, brush his teeth, anything, was out of the question. He laid down fully clothed, with sand still in his pockets. As drained as he was, sleep took him instantly, a small mercy. He was probably still crying when it did.

He woke up to rain pitter-pattering on the windows.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. 6:17, it read. It meant he slept six hours, more or less, which was not bad. For him, it was quite a lot.

Which did not explain why he was so tired. His head was heavy. He felt muddled, crusty.

Splashing water on his face helped a little bit, but only a little. He almost grabbed the wrong toothbrush by accident.

It was only after he put toothpaste on his did his heart skip a beat and he looked again.

Izuku’s toothbrush rested innocuously in the white cup. It was All Might themed. The reason for that was, mostly, because he had always been surrounded by All Might merchandise and he found it comforting. Having heard that Toshinori didn’t argue against it, and some private part of his heart squeezed tightly. He felt it was his duty to tease him gently, though, how he would always remain a fanboy. Izuku didn’t disagree, and they both laughed at the silly little toothbrush.

Toshinori dropped his own. Salty tears mixed with water on his face, his breath quickening. There was no time for a panic attack yesterday, no time and no place for it, either. He had both now.

All but collapsing on his bathroom floor, he drew in wheezing breaths. He knew all the techniques, it being hardly his first time. He could do this. He tried looking around himself, five things I can-

The first thing he saw was the fancy shampoo that helped Izuku’s curls a lot, but he was too modest to buy it for himself. But Toshinori gladly did.

Next, Izuku’s towel, just hanging there.

The next, it was Izuku’s- he squeezed his eyes. No. That wasn’t taking him anywhere.

He had hardly gotten up and the world was ending already. The floor was unstable, he was dizzy. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. He coughed up blood into the toilet, half panting half crying.

He had no idea what to call this all-consuming feeling – panic, sadness, loss, anger, fear, pain, all in one. What was he going to do? What was he going to do?

He hugged his arms to himself, a pale imitation of what he truly longed for. He was cold, everything hurt. He has never, ever, wanted anything more than to have his boy right here, with him.

To hold him, to run his hand through his mess of curls, to feel his warmth, to hear his voice, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t-

His eyes caught a peek of the laundry basket. At Inko’s, he automatically started to wonder where he would find a copy of his suit. His first guess has Izuku’s room, obviously, but for the life of him, he could not fathom going there… not in the near future, or ever.

His second guess… here it was.

With shaking hands he took it as though he was holding something made from delicate silk, not reinforced fabric. He brought the green, green suit up to his face, and started wailing into it. He knew it wouldn’t help, the achingly familiar smell would bring him no comfort, just deepen the wound.

He had no idea how long he sat there, curled around the suit as he would once curl around Izuku, curled around like it was a lifeline, trying to hold onto pieces of him, imagining he was still there, in his arms.

If Izuku was still here, he would probably encourage him to get up. To brush his teeth. To eat something.

Prompted by that thought, he got up, still clinging to the suit as though it was keeping him tethered. His legs were wobbly, but he managed, imaging Izuku’s reassuring hand at his back, urging him on, leading him through the hallway. He recalled a memory of something similar happening – back when Toshinori had gotten sick with the flu.

He thought he heard a ghost of his voice, it squeezed fresh tears out of his eyes. But as he had back then, he kept going.

Feeling ridiculous, he hanged Izuku’s suit on the back of his usual seat. Yes, Toshinori was losing it. He was being delusional.

He didn’t care.

Relying on the memory of Izuku’s chiding voice to keep him afloat he fixed himself breakfast.

He had to keep moving. There was a task in front of him. Several of them, really, each one of them harder than the other. But for Izuku, he had to. And for Izuku, he would.

He could start with calling the cemetery.

Plugging his phone in, since he didn’t charge it overnight, he was greeted with the sight of a smiling face.

He should be getting used to the pain stabbing him directly in the heart, but every time it did it just hurt more.

Izuku was a little younger in the photo, it was not too long after the war. They were out, he didn’t remember why. Maybe there was no reason whatsoever. They were passing by a taiyaki stall and Izuku commented on how it was such a shame there was no place for it in his meal plan. Toshinori bought two. Izuku finished the first one in what seemed like seconds, then started to pretend like he wasn’t eyeing the second one. Toshinori, laughing, handed it to a flustered Izuku – he bought that one for him too, he couldn’t have them anyway. It was one of many lessons on how to not deny yourself small pleasures.

Before getting started on the second, Izuku, suddenly remembering, asked Toshinori to snap a photo of the taiyaki, to send to Sorahiko. Toshinori told him to smile at the camera, instead, which an embarrassed Izuku did. The old man didn’t seem to find it as funny as Izuku did. Toshinori ended up loving the picture so much, the crumbs on his son’s smiling, blushing face, the golden light of the setting sun illuminating it, that he set the photo as his wallpaper immediately. It remained that way ever since.

It remained that way now.

He could have changed it whenever he wanted. He kept an embarrassingly big collection of Izuku’s photos, always did, ever since the very beginning. It only grew over the years.

Plenty of photos to choose from.

He knew the job of choosing a photo fell on Inko, who was in charge of organizing the wake. Toshinori felt equal parts relief and guilt over that.

Trying to breathe around the gaping hole in his chest, he faced his phone again. He had a task ahead of him, a task he wanted to do well.

Izuku wasn’t the only one he owed it to.

The place he chose was ordinary.

That was all he could think, standing there in the rain, looking at it. That it was ordinary. He dragged the poor woman all around the cemetery for what felt like hours, and every single place she showed him was wrong. Desperately, he thought about the other hero cemetery, maybe they had nicer places there.

But the realization slowly trickled in, as they passed one grave after the other. No place was going to be the right one, not ever. He was going to hate every single one, no matter where they went, no matter how visually appealing the place might look.

Because there wasn’t supposed to be a grave at all.

Because death wasn’t supposed to happen to people that young.

Because death wasn’t supposed to happen to Izuku, not until many, many years, not until Izuku was old and grey and could rely on his grandchildren to arrange his funeral.

Finally, he decided on the place he hated the least.

It was relatively far from the gates, near the wall surrounding the entire area, making it somewhat private. There was a tree nearby, and there was plenty of space between the graves – hero cemeteries were less populated than the ones the general public used. There was enough space for a bench, even.

He stared into the gaping hole, stared and stared. It wasn’t really happening, was it? He couldn’t possibly be choosing his son’s final resting place.

The woman, used to people in mourning, interrupted him before he could spiral and break down again.

“Sir, now that you’ve chosen the place, would you like to take a look at the gravestones?” it took him several seconds to understand her words. No, he didn’t want to take a look at the gravestones. He nodded anyway. He had a duty, as a father.

He had to make sure his boy rested comfortably.

That included everything, the place, the grave, the casket, the urn. The clothes in which he would be laid to rest. He chose the best fabric softener he had, he had never been that thorough ironing clothes before. He felt that Inko had a similar mindset when they met up again. He passed her the bag that contained Izuku’s suit, and he thought that he had never held anything heavier before in his life.

Toshinori watched her hug the bag to her chest, hugged her when she started crying into it. He knew it likely brought her as much comfort as it brought him – that being barely any.

Guilt struck him anew. Embracing her, his gaze fell on one of the photos that seemed to cover every inch of her apartment; it was Izuku, smiling bright like the sun, wearing his well-loved All Might onesie, sitting on a swing. He stole that precious child from her, that smiling boy.

He had been to their home quite a few times during the years and loved each and every visit. He respected Inko, she was the one who gave him – and the world – Izuku. Both of them always made sure he felt included in their humble Midoriya household.

And yet, he always felt like an alien. Inko would have every reason to treat him as such.

Especially now. She could very well not let him inside this place, this place where Izuku once ran around, barely off the floor, decorating the walls with childish scribbles, bumping into furniture and apologizing to it. He wasn’t sure about whether Izuku would draw on walls, but he could definitely imagine him apologizing to furniture. He knew that he and Inko played heroes when he was only three – Inko, to the mortification of a teenage Izuku, loved to tell that story.

The feeling that flooded him was sudden, hot and heavy. Ugly.

He hated that they were just stories. Wonderings, musings. He hated that… that he hadn’t been there. He would have loved to take a three year old Izuku to the park, to push him on a swing, to throw him high in the air. To make him dinner and listen to him talk about his day. He got to do that, in its own way, for just a few too short years. Years he treasured like nothing else on this Earth.

He hated that there was only six of them.

He hated that out there, there was some bastard who had had that opportunity, something he would do anything for, and he threw that away, wasted it. Inko was the only one who got to enjoy that privilege, who had a lifetime of quiet evenings with this precious, brilliant boy.

That feeling was envy. He squeezed Inko tighter, feeling disgusted with himself.

He swooped in, out of nowhere, and ripped her boy away from her loving arms, all those many years ago. Now he was well and truly gone, never to come back home. And here Toshinori was, being envious of all things.

He would have to start avoiding her completely, before she realized she was comforting and seeking comfort in a monster.

He would understand. He didn’t want to have anything to do with himself, either.

Unlike everyone else, it seemed.

Everyone looked to him for answers, as they always did when tragedy happened.

Usually, he didn’t mind the press. He had grown used to them, became a master at handling them. How else could he have done what he did for as long as he did? How else could he have convinced everyone that he was trustworthy while falling apart inside?

Toshinori knew how to talk to the press.

Just… not today. Not now. In a month or two, maybe. He didn’t know.

Just… just not today.

He stared at the crowds surrounding the temple. He and Inko knew that people swarmed to Izuku, eager to bask in his warmth, that there were a lot of people he had saved, who owed him their life. Izuku was a public figure, Number One hero. Of course there were going to be a lot of people who would mourn him, would want to come to the wake before his funeral to pay their respects.

The crowd he was currently staring at… those people weren’t here to pay their respects. They were here to ask questions. To profit off of a tragedy. Most of them hadn’t even bothered to wear black, to pretend like they cared.

You would think that after the war, society would change, even a little. That they would at least honor their savior and his loved ones.

But of course they didn’t. And now, Toshinori had to go face them.

Ever since the world somehow found out, they kept following him, demanding answers, and admittedly, he hadn’t given them much.

He taught classes on how to handle the press.

And yet here he was, having another panic attack at just the thought of leaving the car and having to explain how he essentially killed the pro hero Deku. The public knew enough about One For All to draw their own conclusions. They were going to be either sympathetic or out for blood, looking to put the blame somewhere.

Toshinori did enough of that himself.

For a moment, he thought about staying in the car. It had tinted windows and was parked far away. Maybe no one would notice him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go there, face the reporters, look at people whose hero, whose friend he killed, see his own pain reflected in their eyes.

But he couldn’t. He was All Might. He couldn’t.

The moment they spotted him, he was swarmed. There were cameras, microphones pushed into his face. They kept shouting at him, demanding answers, shouting accusations.

For the first time in days, he was furious. He welcomed the change, it kept him going, tearing into the crowd, heading in the direction of the temple. It kept his eyes fixed ahead. It kept him from crying, though he was sure his bloodshot eyes were enough of an answer that they looked for.

All eyes turned to him when he entered, all rage immediately leaving him.

He wanted to maybe channel some of his past self, of this fake persona he had created and maintained for so long. To reassure them it was going to be alright, they would pull through this, that the future held hope.

But it would all be a lie, and those people didn’t deserve to be lied to.

So he said nothing.

They allowed him to sit in the back, even though he most certainly had the attention of the entire room, even though they were all aware that he had a place in the section dedicated to family members.

No one said anything. They followed his lead, and no one spoke a word to him. They wanted to, he could feel it. To maybe ask. To maybe just say “I’m sorry for your loss”. Maybe, to demand an explanation, God knew these people deserved one.

Instead, some of them just stood next to him in silence. Some of them gently touched his shoulder, his back. Some of them didn’t look in his direction at all.

They knew.

Once, he would have hated the thought of being so vulnerable, in front of people he knew and strangers alike. He would have hated people tip-toeing around him.

Now, he didn’t care. Let them see. It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

He was not ready for the funeral.

Days leading to the wake and the wake itself were at least partially cloudy, it rained some.

On the day of Izuku’s funeral… beautiful sun shone.

Toshinori thought that Izuku would have appreciated the irony. For someone who didn’t laugh much, he had a way of finding even a little bit of humor in the most unlikely of situations.

To Toshinori, it felt almost like an insult.

It was a beautiful, warm day. The world around them was flourishing, it was so alive, so green, it hurt to look at.

None of this was right.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed and prepared, for what must have been hours before actually leaving.

Because… because after that, it will be over. Because after that, his boy will officially be gone.

Because fathers are not supposed to attend the funerals of their sons.

Because after this funeral, will he still be a father?

After all, are you still a parent if you no longer have a child?

He was always going to think of Inko as Izuku’s mother, but will he be able to always think of himself as Izuku’s father?

Izuku, after they both came forward and admitted what was unspoken for a long time, seemed to have no doubts, or hardly any, regarding their relationship. He liked to hear Toshinori say it, but that was probably because he was the sweetest person that Toshinori ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Toshinori, on the other hand, liked to hear it and liked to say it to reassure himself. That it was real. That it wasn’t just him conjuring up a perfect reality, or Izuku just humoring a sad, lonely old man.

Because while Toshinori had no one, Izuku did. Izuku had a mother, Izuku (supposedly) had a father. Izuku already had parents. He maybe needed a role model, but did he need another parent? Izuku seemed to think he did, and nothing he ever did was disingenuous. His love for Toshinori always felt so palpable, so tender. He wanted to hold it in his palms, basking in its warmth. It never, not for a second, felt insincere. It was the single purest thing he had ever touched, felt.

The doubt lingered, though. For a long while it remained dormant, only choosing to reappear now, stronger than ever.

He had never, could never, doubt his feelings for Izuku, though.

While many of his relationships were complicated, sometimes hard to put into words, this one was achingly simple to define.

He loved Izuku unconditionally, with his whole being. There was nothing more important to him than his son.

He loved him for so long, far longer than when he had actually realized it. It came to him as naturally as breathing, of course he didn’t notice. Izuku was ridiculously easy to love.

He got up, deciding that no matter what the truth was, he was Izuku’s father. He was going to remain Izuku’s father for however long he lived, for being his father was the most worthwhile thing he had ever done.

And he was going to go see his son.

He was going to see his son for the last time.

Avoiding others at the wake was far easier.

The crowd there was rather mixed, both strangers and loved ones. When he focused enough, he was only dimly aware of their presence.

Here though, with so few people there… people he had known for years, with whom he talked with every day… people Izuku had known for years, with whom he talked with every day…

Here, you could practically feel the deep sorrow rippling through the air.

Coming here was hard for so, so many reasons. All these grief-stricken faces were one of them.

So many of them were so young, not a wrinkle in sight. Those faces were far too young to look this way, and did far too often.

Those promising people… like Izuku was, just a week prior… they had their whole lives ahead of them. Now, they grieved, they cried, but eventually, they… they would move on. They had their purpose, their other friends and loved ones.

It was another reason why coming here was so hard. He knew that all these people would, one day, move on. They would remember, but they would move on. The world would move on, it was already starting to. Beautifully green trees were, for once, a grim reminder.

Briefly, his mind flashed to his students, sitting in a classroom, waiting for him. The sentiment was soon forgotten when he realized that whenever he would see their eager, enthusiastic faces he would only picture a freckled one.

His students deserved better, anyway. Because who was he now? He was no longer only a shadow, but a mockery of his former self. And it was becoming increasingly clear that it would never change.

He was never, ever, going to feel whole again. It’s like something took half his body all over again, but this time, much worse. This time, he had only himself to blame.

His injury, after all, could have been considered a natural part of being a hero, an expected outcome, even. He had known, going into this fight, that it wasn’t going to be like his other ones, but he was fighting it for a good cause. He was going to stop others from suffering by suffering himself. It made the crippling injury at least purposeful, in a way. It had meaning.

This? There was no purpose in it. There was no meaning. There was raw pain, not much else. An open, throbbing wound that was there only to hurt. A part of him, gone, only for it to feel empty - and he could have just as well amputated it himself.

Part of him wanted to sit in the back, like he did at the wake. It would be a little easier, just a little bit.

From there, you couldn’t really see the finer details of the casket. You only saw the general shape of it.

From where he sat now, in his designated seat, right next to Inko, he could see all the finer markings that caught his attention back when he had bought it very well.

He could see, very well, that it was open.

He could feel it very well, too.

His boy… his boy was right there.

The casket was placed a little higher than their seats were, making it impossible to look inside, even with his height. That part would come later.

Part of him was glad for that. He was, simply put, not ready.

Part of him wanted to climb up the platform and gaze upon his sleeping boy right now. Maybe then that’s when he would find out he really was sleeping, after all. His son would open his eyes and look at him, all confused about the whole mess. He would get up, immediately hugging Toshinori, assuring him that it was all actually an effect of a quirk. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That he was alive and well. He would this smile of his, the one that always seemed to brighten up the whole room.

God, he missed this smile so much. The absence of it felt like a physical thing.

The whole funeral, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the casket. He couldn’t look at it. He couldn’t look away from it. Every single hair on his body stood on end, every muscle was constricted. His hands were balled up into fists, nails digging into his palm, and his jaw was clenched. He walked up and put the incense up to his forehead with stiff movements, his joints protesting.

He sat so rigidly, why? To keep himself from bolting from that godforsaken temple? From running up to the casket in the middle of the ceremony? From falling apart completely right there and then?

It simultaneously felt like eternity and a single minute have passed before it was time.

He was not ready, he was not ready-

He walked up the steps, bending to look inside.

That…

That was not Izuku.

He looked like Izuku, that was for certain, had all of his features. The curly, green hair, his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, his freckles.

But it was all… wrong. Wrong shape. Wrong colors. Too yellow. Someone, most likely aware of the reason of his passing put too much make up on his right temple and cheek, attempting to hide the crack, hiding some of the freckles from view, as well. They put one of his curls there, as well.

Toshinori brushed it away, on instinct, really.

A full-body shiver ran through him. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it sure wasn’t that.

What was once his beloved boy now felt like a physical object. Rigid. Cold.

He looked at his face, at his closed eyes, all at once remembering them half-lidden as he took his last breath, remembering how at funeral homes they glued the eyelids if they refused to stay closed all the way.

He suddenly felt sick.

He needed to leave.

Acutely aware of how much of a scene he was making he hurried to the exit, ignoring anyone who glanced his way.

Outside of the temple he was met with a sight of Katsuki. He was sitting on the curb, smoking a traditional cigarette. The young man glanced at him, not a word was spoken. With a start he realized Katsuki never went up to glance into Izuku’s casket.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“’s a new thing.” He replied, trying very hard to sound like his old self. “Izuku convinced me to go get a checkout, too. Turns out, my explosions, other than fucking up my hearing, fucked up my lungs, too, with the smoke.” He looked at the cigarette he was holding, then took another drag. “And what better time to start than now?”

Toshinori sat down next to him. “Pass me one.” Katsuki scoffed.

“Don’t you have one fucking lung? Barely functioning, at that?”

“What better time to start than now?” he echoed. He could almost hear Izuku scold both of them, could see him reach to take the pack from Katsuki’s hand. It almost made him stop. He could tell Katsuki felt similarly.

But Izuku was no longer here.

Katsuki passed him the cigarette.

He didn’t finish it. It was disgusting, it made him hack up so much blood he thought he would lose another lung. But strangely enough, it helped him, on the edge of a panic attack as he was.

Toshinori looked at the fire burn away the rest of the cigarette, all the way up to the filter, leaving grey ashes behind.

Their next stop was the funeral home, where the crematorium was.

On the way there, his mind was blank. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t the one who got into the car, who sat in the waiting room. It was as though a safety switch had been flipped once again. To keep him from feeling. From thinking. From imagining. From remembering.

He had seen many fires in his career.

Izuku’s innermost circle was here. They all sat on the couches, none of them spoke, only sniffles could be heard. As many before them, they were offered tea and something to eat.

It took around two hours to cremate the remains of a healthy man of average height, after all.

He kept telling himself the faint smell of smoke was because of Katsuki’s cigarette.

The staff member inviting them in was very polite, spoke softly.

Despite his stature, he was the last one who arrived in the room which was one of the very last destinations of Izuku’s journey. Inko was already there, Katsuki was already there, the others were already there. All of them were already holding the chopsticks, gathered around the table.

He hadn’t even fully crossed the threshold when his eyes caught what could have only been Izuku’s jawbone, with teeth still in it.

Immediately, he turned on his heel and left, ducking into the first open door he saw.

Toshinori curled up against a wall, bringing his knees up and putting his arms over his head. His throat hurt, he didn’t know why. Was it because he was screaming? Or crying? Maybe he threw up?

It was Katsuki that came after him. His voice shook as he told Toshinori to get up, clearly fighting with himself to not join him. And that’s what gave him strength, just the tiniest bit of it, just enough to get up and follow him through the hallway. As they were about to go inside again, he faltered.

He could not do this. Not now, not ever.

But, for Izuku… his mind supplied. It pushed him into reaching deep into himself, pulling out that piece that didn’t allow him to feel much of anything for days on end. That stared at horrors beyond comprehension and still saved people with a smile.

He picked up the chopsticks.

Once, back in college, a few of his friends went to try out the new Chinese place. One of them didn’t know how to use chopsticks, so Toshinori patiently showed him how to correctly hold them, how to pick up food, taught him some etiquette.

That friend, while holding them for the first time in his life, must have been holding them more firmly and with more certainty than Toshinori did at the moment.

He picked up the bone fragments from where Izuku’s hand once was, thinking of all the days he spent worrying over them. Of how he stared at them in X-rays and hated himself for not being able to do anything.

No one told him he would miss worrying.

No one told him… about a lot of things.

As always, he managed to shut his emotions out just long enough for everyone to leave. They were standing before Izuku’s grave, and people started chipping away one by one. The Bakugous took Katsuki and Inko, who were the last ones there. They offered to let him join them to go eat something at their house, but he refused, just as he had done with every other person that tried to pry him away from his son’s grave. He even attempted to reassure them with the barest of smiles, but it was clear that they didn’t believe him.

It was also quite clear that he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how hard they tried, even if they were to use force to get him to leave.

At some point, yes. He would have to go back. Drive to his apartment. Eat something. Physically, at some point, he would leave.

His soul, though… his soul was never leaving this place.

When Inko’s silhouette disappeared from view, he finally allowed himself to break down. With no strength to keep him upright, he sat down on the grass. He did that a lot, lately.

The sobs were quiet at first, but got louder and louder the more he cried. His whole body shook, he reached out to caress the stone, spotted with dots as his son’s cheeks once were, and that just made him sob harder. He’s really gone… he’s gone… he’s gone and he’s never, ever coming back.

The memories are all I will ever have of him.

There is nothing left.

His throat was sore, he more croaked than cried. Someone visiting the cemetery could have mistaken it for the wailings of an unfortunate ghost, forever trapped in this place, lamenting their fate.

Toshinori sure felt like one. He was ready to lay down with Izuku right there and then. It was a warm day, made even warmer by his black suit. The grass was almost inviting, saying that it would take him gently.

There was nowhere else where he could possibly be.

The cemetery workers seemed to disagree. One of them came up to him, tapping him on the shoulder, informing him that he had to head home soon.

Home, thought Toshinori, I no longer have a home. My home is here. Everything that made that place into a home is gone.

Or… was it?

He got up, shaking the grass off of himself.

It was a little pathetic, he supposed. But with everything else gone, pathetic was just about what was left.

All that remained for him was holding on to what had already passed.

And that's what led him to stand in front of Izuku's room, and that’s where the reality of what was happening fully settled in his brain.

Ever since June the tenth, he was deathly afraid of going there. Why, he couldn’t exactly say. Maybe it was because once he did, there really would be nothing left. It would truly be nothing but shadows and ghosts. He would come in and find it empty, and maybe that would be the final straw. Keeping it closed was keeping up pretenses that someone was waiting on the other side.

Maybe it was because opening this door would be akin to killing him a second time.

Suddenly, Toshinori remembered that Izuku had an apartment of his own, too. An apartment that he and Katsuki promised Inko they would clean up, sooner or later.

Later. That was going to come later. Now… Toshinori pushed the door open.

Izuku's room looked as it always did, deceptively so. Yellow walls, All Might merchandise, rumpled sheets on a bed that was made in a hurry. Izuku certainly wasn't tidy, but didn't live in a pigsty, either. The room felt and looked lived in in the most heartbreaking way. It was as though whoever lived here would be back any moment to irately pick up the clothes, and lay down for a minute, waiting for dinner to be made (even though he tried to help!), or to take a short nap while he could. To catch a breather before Danger Sense alerted him of another emergency, forcing him to quickly change and leave his proud but worrying father behind.

The shirt still laid there, on the bed. It was one of those ridiculous ‘T-shirt' T-shirts of his that Toshinori loved so much.

He didn't even have enough energy to shrug off his suit jacket before lying down on the bed. He brought up the fabric to his face, feeling ashamed like the last time, knowing that like the last time, it would bring him almost no comfort at all.

But it was all the comfort he had.

His head was empty in that specific way one got after crying their eyes out. He could feel a headache brewing. His limbs felt like lead, his chest hurt.

He laid down not exactly planning to go to sleep, but it still took him before he could notice.

Toshinori had another dream. It was becoming a routine of sorts. He felt it happened more often when he decided to sleep in Izuku’s bed, though he couldn’t be sure.

It was mostly dark in the dream. The darkness had a purplish quality to it. Toshinori didn’t recognize this place, but at the same time, it felt somewhat familiar.

Izuku was there.

He was in his hero suit, and he was crying. Crying so hard his whole body shook from the source of the sobs. He was saying something, but Toshinori couldn’t make out what it was – it was muffled, as though Izuku was far away.

He always, every single time when he had that dream, got the distinct impression that Izuku was begging him for something.

His poor boy looked so distraught, in so much pain, Toshinori always bolted right in his direction, wanting to comfort him in any way he could. But then he would realize what Izuku was most likely begging for.

He was begging for his life. For Toshinori to spare him.

He would always stop in his tracks, realizing that. Guilt would flood him, Izuku would start crying harder, trying to reach for him, looking more desperate than ever. Then, the dream would end.

Toshinori toyed with the idea that the dreams were, indeed, the Vestiges inside the faintest embers of One For All trying to reach him in some way. The idea had some merit – one of the first times they managed to talk to Izuku was inside of a dream.

It made further sense when you considered the other person who visited him in the dreams – Nana. She, like Izuku, was crying, trying and failing to reach him. She also begged him for something.

Maybe to not pass on One For All. Maybe to save her, all these years ago. He didn’t know – guilt woke him up every time before he could touch her hand.

It was the same guilt that made him realize it could not have been the past users. He had far too little One For All for that, and he never had that particular connection with the Vestiges that Izuku did.

Toshinori was jealous, once – jealous that Izuku got to talk with them, interact with them as though they were still alive, while they were absent for all of forty years when he held One For All. He would never admit it out loud, certainly not to Izuku, but he did feel the sudden sting of jealousy once or twice.

He fought with himself, fought with himself hard whenever Izuku would mention Nana. Would say a random comment that only she would make. Ask a question about things only Toshinori and her knew. He wasn’t proud of it, the way the jealousy would start to eat him alive. How many times had he wished for just one conversation with her, even for a moment, to tell her what he should have back then, to ask for her advice, to simply ask if she was proud of him.

But he never got that. The wound never closed, not really, but over time, it started hurting less. Back then, he was just at the beginning of his hero journey, he had plenty to occupy his mind, to distract from the soul-shattering grief. He had a mission, he had to make Nana proud, carry on her legacy. There was a world to save.

Now, the world had been saved. Not by him, mind you, but by his brilliant, amazing boy. His boy who, like Nana, died far, far too young.

The shrine that both of them shared caught his eye. He looked at their pictures, both smiling, blissfully unaware of what the future held. Looking at them, side by side, he realized that if you added their ages, Toshinori was still older.

He didn’t do much on the day when he realized that.

Not that he ever did much these days. He took the rest of the school year off. He split his time between four places: his apartment, Izuku’s apartment, trying to not have a breakdown, Izuku’s grave, where he usually had one, and the Dagobah beach.

You could argue that it was an odd choice, for him to go there, and Toshinori would probably agree. It was odd that he willingly returned to the place where Izuku drew his last breath, the place where he handed Izuku the curse that would one day end up killing him.

But it was also… their place. By going there, and sitting in the same spot – he thought he could still make out the imprint in the sand – in some truly awful way, he felt… connected. It hurt beyond words, but it was like that from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep, anyway.

It was the same spot where Katsuki found him, one day.

From what Toshinori knew, he hadn’t been working either. Looking at his face, blank with bloodshot eyes, it was no wonder. He was sure he looked the same.

Pleasantries were never Katsuki's style. He was glad to see that it hadn’t changed.

“So… that’s the spot." It wasn’t a question. Toshinori could only nod. This time, it was Katsuki who sat down next to him, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with practiced ease. He took one, two drags. “You know, he asked me not to come here, begged, really. Claimed it's where you bonded and shit. It's our place, Kacchan, he said… and now he’s gone, so I can do what I want.”

There was a beat of silence.

“If Izuku had never met you, he would still be here.”

It was the truth. They both knew that. Katsuki went on. “I want to hate you for it, a little bit.” He sniffled, brushed the tear away from his eyes. “But… if he hadn’t met you, he would never… it wouldn’t…” he tried to go on, he did, but Toshinori understood. He pulled Katsuki in, and the boy didn’t fight him, went willingly. Soon, he started to sob into his chest. “Why… why?! Why him?! Why did it always have to be him?!” Toshinori just held him. He asked himself this question often enough.

“He… did he do something to the universe, with his stupid fucking kindness?! Did he offend it in some way? Why?! How is any of it fair?! What do I, how do I-“ past the point of comprehensible words, Katsuki just cried, clinging to him, the cigarette long forgotten, put out by the sand.

Toshinori had no words either.

It was also on the beach where he made that phone call which, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have.

He sat there, staring at the water, as he often did these days, as he did on the day Izuku was taken away from him.

And remembered.

Well, were you really remembering something, if you thought about it constantly? In his head he replayed that day, that moment, over and over again, wondering if there was ever something he could have done.

He always came up empty. What he wished he had done differently was what Izuku himself did: reassure.

Thinking about his last words over and over again, he thought how Izuku seemed to only have others on his mind, even as he could feel the life draining from him. How he knew and did all he could to make it a little easier for Toshinori, never for himself. Even though he was scared, and probably wanted to be comforted, he was only thinking of the future, dealing with his mess of a father, who was in denial, who only cried, useless as ever.

Even in his death, Izuku thought about someone else.  

Even after death, Izuku thought about someone else. On impulse, he made the call. He didn’t expect to be answered – doctor Nakagawa was, after all, an expert in her field and as any doctor, always seemed to run short on time.

She answered almost right away. “All Might? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Was he really about to ask that? Did he truly want to know?

“Is there any way to find out if they…” he swallowed. “If they succeeded? If anyone’s received… if there is anyone…” he let the words hang in the air. He was positive she understood.

“… well, yes. And the agreement you both signed did include all information, including those post-mortem, so I can tell you.” She sighed into the receiver. The sound crackled.

“Mostly, no. There were signs of the cracks in too many places. But none on his heart, it was in prime health. From what I know, there was a waiting patient in that very hospital, and they had it ready to go, but the go-ahead was canceled basically at the last minute.”

The sound of the waves roared in his ears. “Why?” she sighed a second time. “Izuku is- Izuku was perfectly healthy, save for the cracks.”

“They didn’t want to risk it. There was a chance there was a crack was missed, and what if that crack started to widen inside another patient? I would have made the same decision.”

“But- the cracks were caused by One For All and One For All only… and with Izuku, after he… they should have used it.”

“There is no way to know for sure. I am… really sorry, All Might. Midoriya asked me about the same thing, once.” Of course he did. “And he was aware the chances weren’t high.”

They were both silent.

“I wish you well, All Might. Goodbye.”

There went his last hope that Izuku managed to save someone even from beyond the grave, as would have been his wish. There went his last hope that there was someone on this Earth who carried a piece of his boy with them.

He looked down at the sand. He swore he could still make out the imprint… but it was a delusion, he knew. It rained the day after it happened. It was summer, people frequented this beach.

He burst into tears.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Toshinori opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember closing them. Did he doze off? It didn’t feel like he did. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks that the blinds didn’t cover. It didn’t exactly tell him much about the time, not that he paid a lot of attention to it these days. A few days ago he discovered himself eating dinner (?) at 3 a.m. – the delivery boy informed him of that.

The person kept knocking. He let them.

If he ordered food and then fell asleep, forgetting about it, the delivery person would eventually realize knocking was pointless and simply leave whatever it was at his door. He already paid and tipped.

If the person who was knocking wasn’t someone with a delivery… well, sooner or later they would give up and leave him alone. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

People knocked. His phone chimed and vibrated. He ignored it. 

This one was persistent, though.

“I am not leaving, Yagi!” It was Aizawa. “I got the whole day. Open the door.” Toshinori had no intention of doing that. If getting out of bed sounded hellish, then interacting with another person for more than three seconds sounded damn near impossible.

And Aizawa certainly was planning to stay a little longer than three seconds.

“Get up, or I will take the doors off the hinges!” When did Aizawa become so loud? He was the last person Toshinori would ever expect to be loud. The knocking and the shouting felt as though hammers were repeatedly striking his skull. Just listening was exhausting. “Hizashi is one phone call away. Do you want me to get him?” Toshinori didn’t; his head hurt just imagining it. Replacing the door would be a hassle, too.

Well. He could get up right now and just be done with it.

With what felt like inhuman strength, he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The motion was enough to leave him feeling dizzy; he needed a minute. Whether it was because he hadn’t moved in God knows how long, ate or drank in God knows how long, or took his meds in God knows how long.

Or maybe he did do those things, and it was just his low iron. He honestly couldn’t say he remembered.

Eventually, he got up, shuffling his feet towards the door, where the infernal knocking persisted.

Aizawa was good at hiding all his emotions behind a passive mask, but even he couldn’t stop an expression of shock passing through his face.

Toshinori couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t need a mirror to know he lost weight. It was nothing short of a miracle he ate at all, being kept alive by a single restaurant with 24/7 deliveries that carried dishes he could eat. Cooking was well beyond his capabilities. He sometimes wondered if it was going to be starvation that would end up taking him.

Shaving and showering felt like a distant memory. Crying was a recent one. How he looked must have reflected how he felt.

That’s to say, not very good.

He moved to allow Aizawa to pass.

His apartment didn’t fare any better. Dishes piled up, so did take-out containers in the overflowing trash bin. He did have a sudden burst of energy not too long ago and almost cleaned the entire place.

But then, as he moved to clean out the fridge, he saw the food that he kept for Izuku, that only Izuku could eat. The same was true with the pantry. Giving up the kitchen, he at least thought about vacuuming, but as he started he spotted something on the floor. He almost didn’t notice it, but once he did, it was unmistakable.

A single, curly hair. Shorter than his, and green.

Izuku used to always leave those behind; he never had the time to fully brush his hair, and Toshinori liked to tease him that he was like a cat, shedding everywhere. He joked that someone just might catch One For All this way. Annoyed Izuku would always reply that Toshinori probably shed like a cat too, but since his hair was blonde you just couldn’t see it, like you could see Izuku’s dark hair.

Clutching the hair in his hand, thinking of all the memories, of all one that single hair signified, and sobbing on the floor, he abandoned all notions of cleaning.

Watching Aizawa look around the mess, he wished he had the emotional capacity to at least feel embarrassed about it.

“We need to talk.”

Toshinori stayed silent. They probably did.

“You can’t go on like this.” He just stared. Aizawa was probably right. He didn’t really care. “You have until the staff meeting to gather yourself, we all expect to see you there.” Was the staff meeting approaching already? The passage of time wasn’t a thing he was aware of anymore.

He vividly remembered July the fifteenth happening. He spent all day at the cemetery, came back to his apartment, and hadn’t left it once since then.

“I am not going back to teaching.” He didn’t remember when he last used his voice, and it sounded like it, too.

“What do you mean you’re not going back to teaching? Do you have another job offer lined up?” asked Aizawa, pretending to be daft. Toshinori shook his head. They both knew what he meant – Toshinori had enough saved-up money to not go back to working for a long time.

“We can’t let you go on like this. You can’t let yourself go on like this. What would Izuku say, if he were here?”

And just like that, a switch was flipped.

Aizawa felt it, too, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

Maybe Toshinori wasn’t All Might anymore, would never be again, but that didn’t mean he lost all what had made him into the Symbol of Peace. The air got heavy, as though buzzing with energy. As much as he hated it, the remains of One For All came alive in his veins once more.

He didn’t transform, but it was a close thing.

“But he isn’t here now, is he?! He’s dead! He’s never going back! What does it matter what I do, if he’s not here?!” he took a step towards Aizawa and his colleague, probably against himself, took a step back. “How on Earth could you possibly expect me to just… go on, teaching, with a smile on my face, if he is not here?!” he took what was nearest, a cup of tea he didn’t manage to finish because it reminded him of too much, and smashed it on the floor.

“No one expects you to go back to your old self! But you can’t keep destroying and tormenting yourself. I know…” he stopped, considering his next words. “Izuku wouldn’t have wanted you to isolate yourself like this. You know this. Think of how he would feel.” Toshinori did, for just a second, and then started crying.

“I just- I can’t. How can I? When he- he’s never…” he covered his face with his hands and wailed into them. “I just want my boy back home! That’s all I want!”

And day by day, Toshinori could feel him leaving, too.

Dust began to cover things Izuku once touched. His clothes and his bed didn’t smell like him anymore. Not too long ago he rubbed his fingers together, as he would once do with Izuku’s curls between them, and realized he didn’t remember how that felt exactly. He thought he still did…

He memorized all the videos that he had available. He rewatched the fights. The interviews. Voice messages.

Izuku was all he thought about, and yet, he could feel him slipping. Already.

His boy.

He started crying harder, he could feel Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder.

Toshinori didn’t want to live in a world where Izuku was but a vague memory, and a name on a tombstone. He simply didn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He would sooner join him.

They all knew Nao would leave them sooner or later. In Saori's opinion, though, it was far too soon. She felt selfish for thinking so.

After the injury during one of the fights, her brother’s life was a complication after complication. Just as they started to have hope again, to make plans to move him to the rehabilitation center, he would get worse, would get transported back into the ICU, would fight to breathe yet again.

He lost that fight, just once. It was enough.

Her brother was one of the best people she ever knew, and the decision to go into heroics didn’t surprise her in the slightest. Not to say that he didn’t have outside influence, too, seeing as all of their family members pursued similar fields. Herself, a nurse. Their mother, a firefighter. Their father, a nurse too.

His quirk, in her opinion, also helped. It allowed him to predict other people’s intent. When he was small, it was knowing if they were going to be yelled at or not, but with practice, he started to be able to utilize it in a fight, predicting his opponent’s next move.

It worked very well, until one day it didn’t, just once. It was enough.   

Her quirk was, of course, similar, though she couldn’t see it ever being used on a battlefield. It had less to do with intent and purpose, and more to do with emotions, predicting where they would go just seconds before the person felt them. It served her well, as a nurse in the psych ward. She knew if the patient was going to attack themselves, or her, with the object she just handed them, or rather planned to use it as intended. She knew who to watch out for, who maybe needed to be observed more closely.

Her shifts exhausted her. Being constantly aware of how the other feels would make anyone exhausted – especially given the place she worked at. It made her well-suited, but it took a toll.

She went to great lengths to avoid burnout. Lived far away from everyone, had an emotionally stable partner.

Visited the graveyard during the day, when no one else did.

Until recently, that was.

While of course, she did run into other people, that man was… was something else. She thought it began somewhere at the beginning of September, maybe late August.

No matter what time she came, he seemed to be just… always there. Does he not have a job? She thought before she realized… sitting in front of that grave was probably his job now. Protecting whoever rested there.

She could feel it.

Usually, the stronger someone felt, the more intense the emotion they were experiencing, the easier it was for her to pick up on them.

The graves they visited were nowhere near each other, and yet whenever she visited Nao she was acutely aware that the man was there, too.

It was hard not to notice him.

Especially not when she recognized the despair that surrounded him, recognized it from patients who screamed at night, the ones who just stared ahead, or the ones who tried to smile, assuring them that no, they were not a danger to themselves, that they could be trusted to be released from the hospital.

The ones that she always made sure to pay extra attention to, the ones that she warned her coworkers to keep an eye on.

Was there… was there someone keeping an eye on that man?

Day after day, every time she saw him during her futile attempts to visit the cemetery without him present, it was becoming clear that no, there wasn’t anyone who kept an eye on him – and even if they tried, it didn’t amount to much.

She did not want to go talk to him. She needed to talk to him.

It was a familiar struggle. She was still very inexperienced, not trained very well to talk. A part of her knew that talking to patients didn’t even entirely fall into her duties, but she did not become a nurse because she didn’t care about people.

She did. She cared so much, so much so she simply couldn’t bear talking to patients in such a state. No matter what she said she couldn’t make a difference, not a dent. Some of them didn’t react and some of them simply nodded or shrugged. Some of them attempted, it was clear, to make her feel better, they smiled and even laughed, but she knew her words didn’t change anything.

She felt powerless.

And well, strictly technically speaking she wasn’t even working… she could just ignore him, she could try…

She was standing next to him before she realized what she was doing.

The man was tall, very tall in fact. He was sitting on the grass and it was apparent he would tower over her if he were to stand up.

“Hello.” The man raised his head to look at her and nodded. He was a bit surprised to see her, but that was all.

Saori imagined that if she weren’t a nurse used to people arriving in all sorts of states she would have gasped.

It looked as though he had not eaten in a very long time, skin pulled tightly over his bones, eyes deep set, shadowed. He had been crying recently. His hair was in disarray, he hadn’t shaved in a while – and she didn’t think it was a conscious decision. There was blood in the corner of his mouth.

She was right in thinking that he needed help.

Not really knowing how to start the conversation she looked at the grave, and felt herself go stiff with shock.

The name ‘Izuku Midoriya’ didn’t mean anything to her. ‘Deku’, however… it rang a bell. She knew who Deku was, everyone did. Her brother was something you could consider a fan.

She was glad that he didn’t know that the new Number One hero died.

The new Number One hero… who had, as her brother excitedly told her, a deep connection with the former Number One hero…

No wonder he looked so familiar.

That man, that deeply depressed man who looked like he was not a visitor, but an inhabitant of the cemetery… that was All Might.

She recalled Nao talking about the rumors of their supposed familial connection. He showed her pictures, and she thought the way they were looking at each other was the sweetest thing. She could picture it, them being father and son.

Guess… guess she was right.

“All Might, sir…” she felt at loss. Of course she did, coming up to talk to him was a stupid idea- “I- I think that in this case, you’re the one that needs help. I have a quirk that allows me to, well, know when someone does. I don’t know what option you would like to choose, but-“

“A quirk that allows you to know when someone needs help? Izuku had a similar quirk. How does your work? He would have loved to know.” Oh God, she could feel the inexperience choke her. He was crying already, and she was about to.

“Well, uh, no, it rather- it allows me to predict emotions of other people and- sir. Yours are not going in a good direction.” She sat down on the grass, and hesitantly touched his shoulder. He was desperate for human contact. She spoke more softly this time.

“Sir, your- your son was an amazing hero.” He reacted well. Good, she was going somewhere. “And no one is going to forget that, ever. Especially not if you let people know that Deku, your Izuku, was once here.” It felt a lot like balancing on the edge of a knife. If this man was capable of selling his guilt he could become a billionaire overnight.

“You’re allowed to grieve, but I also think that… you should try to find something that brings you… happiness. That has meaning. Both for you and your son.” And she was losing him again. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, and not now… but some day. And I do think you can do it- remember, I know.”

She considered bringing up the fact that she was grieving as well. Considered mentioning that she worked with patients that suffered similar losses, who felt as strongly as he did right now, and managed to find meaning again. Managed to move past it.

The fact that some didn’t she would keep to herself.

But it became clear no words she said were going to truly reach him, which was what frustrated her so when she tried reaching out to patients in a state such as his.

Nothing she ever said would make a difference, it seemed.

They could start getting better only when they themselves said those words. When they believed them. When they allowed themselves to heal.

She could stand next to them with a megaphone and shout, but it would be to no avail if those words didn’t come out of them first.

Saori sat some more with the Symbol of Peace in front of the Symbol of Hope’s grave, this time in silence. To honor both of them.

She got up, bowed and left, hoping that the day All Might forgave himself came sooner than later. 

That girl had a good heart, he could tell. Suffered a great loss, too.

Toshinori wished her all the best.

It was somewhat uplifting, to be reminded that there were still good people out there. People who would go out of their way to try to help an old man like himself, expecting nothing in return.

It was a good thing to be reminded of the goodness still existing, still remaining somewhere out there, because remembering it himself… remembering it himself was not something that came easy.

How could it? When someone he had considered goodness itself personified left so quickly and so unfairly, seemingly taking all that was good with him? Leaving his world empty, dark, and gray, where light previously filled it?

The girl spoke of finding meaning… how did you find it if your world no longer had it, never would again?

He was not sure how her quirk worked, though he was sure if Izuku were her he would be able to come up with a few theories already, and he would probably surprise her by hitting the mark exactly with one of them. He would probably ask a few more questions, whipping out his notebook seemingly out of nowhere, and get into the details. He would be able to tell her something about her quirk that she had never considered before, and she would thank him, a little bit overwhelmed, but beaming, eager to try out new concepts. He had seen this exact situation play out more than once.

If Izuku were here, he would not only explain the quirk's potential uses, what made it great, but also what its weaknesses were.

That girl said she knew that he was capable of finding meaning again. But prophetic quirks were always quite fickle, and did hers work in such a manner, anyway? How did she know?

He had no idea. Even with all his smarts, he was no Izuku.

Maybe the girl lied to make him feel better. That was one of the more believable explanations he came up with. Maybe it was her youthful hope clouding her judgment.

Because he simply couldn’t envision himself finding happiness and meaning ever again. It was as though those words were erased from his dictionary.

Looking at the stunning sunset, he asked himself just that. Was there meaning?

He remembered dozens upon dozens unread messages on his phone

Was there meaning?

He thought of Katsuki, who had been slowly going back to full-time hero work.

Was there meaning?

His mind flashed to his students, who went back to school, studying to become heroes without him.

Was there meaning?

He looked at Izuku’s grave, illuminated by the golden sun rays.

Was there?