Work Text:
Kacchan’s funeral was quiet.
No one spoke, except for the near-silent sniffles and muffled sobs from the attendees. There was the faintest scent of smoke in the air, but Izuku couldn’t bear to rip his eyes away from the casket to see where it was coming from. The rain pelted down on everyone, except the casket. There were intricate drawings carved into the wood from Class 1A, along with long messages in black marker on a posterboard, filled with fond memories and inside jokes. The ink was smudged with tears in some places, but no one said anything about it.
A hand touched his arm, and Izuku flinched. He looked down at his mother.
“Would you like to say goodbye before they close the casket, dear?” She asked in a broken, watery whisper.
Izuku didn’t say anything. He paused for a moment, before slowly making his way to the pedestal. He selected a marker —dark green, not black— and answered the last question his Kacchan had asked him.
You could never catch up to me because you never fell behind. You’ll always be the best. You’ll always be my hero.
Tears slid from his eyes, slow and meticulous, falling onto the fresh ink. It dripped onto the cardboard, staining it. Izuku capped the marker and flicked his eyes towards the body.
Kacchan was beautiful, even in death. The blood was cleaned off his face, leaving a scab on his cheek. His eyes were closed, something that left a pang in his heart. Was it selfish for him to want to see his eyes before he was cremated? Not the lifeless ones he saw when he saw Kacchan’s body that fateful night. He wants to see those bright red eyes shining with determination. He wants to see that smirk again, confident and proud. He wants to hear him yell about winning, claiming that he was the best. He wants to see explosions spark out like shooting stars. He wants to see Katsuki, alive and smiling. Katsuki, not Kacchan, because Kacchan was that little boy with big eyes and an even bigger dream. Katsuki was the teenager who wanted to be better than every hero who had ever been born. The teenager who pretended to hate everyone, but still stayed up late to help with studying and homework. The teenager who, despite their past, sparred with Izuku every time he asked. The teenager who pushed and gave nothing but one hundred percent. The teenager who had that spark of determination until he took his last breath. The teenager whose last words were Izuku’s name.
Izuku reached out to trace Katsuki’s face, cold and pale. His breath hitched, tears falling onto the body.
Katsuki always hated feeling cold.
Part of Izuku wished that he could hear that gruff voice complaining about not being able to feel his nose. Part of Izuku wished that he could see those eyes flutter open and glance at him. Part of Izuku wished that he could feel warm fingers brush away the tears sliding down his face, just like Kacchan used to.
He was only sixteen.
Izuku sniffled, pressing his fingers to his own lips. Slowly, mechanically, his fingers lowered to graze Katsuki’s forehead, brushing the blonde, spiky bangs aside. He leaned down to whisper breathlessly into his ear.
“I hope the afterlife treats you better than we did. I’m so sorry, Katsuki. I love you.”
No one spoke as Izuku walked back to his seat. No one spoke as Kirishima stood up and walked away from the group, silent sobs shaking his shoulder. No one spoke as Todoroki came back with tear streaks and multiple cigarette burns on his arm. No one spoke as Masaru Bakugou broke down in his wife’s arms.
No one spoke.
Kacchan’s funeral was quiet.
————
Kacchan’s parents found a will on his nightstand, neatly folded, with a few envelopes with different names scrawled on the paper. It was Aunt Mitsuki who gave Izuku the letter addressed to him, adorned with a shimmery, chibi All Might sticker doing his iconic pose. It took a few hours before he opened it, though, because it felt like opening it would mean that Katsuki was truly gone. That he could never come back. The realization scared him, but Izuku knew he needed a reality check, or else he would live in denial the rest of his life. So he grabbed his scissors and thinly cut a piece of the envelope from the side, not trusting himself enough to rip it open. He wanted to keep as much of it as intact as he could.
Inside, Izuku found a bunch of single stickers, each a different shimmery hero. There were even a few custom-made ones of Class 1A. He immediately took the one of Katsuki and stuck it onto his phone case. The actual letter was somewhat long, the ink smudged and a coffee stain in the corner. Izuku kept the letter far from his face so he wouldn’t get any tears on the paper.
Izuku,
If you’re reading this, then I am dead.
I feel so stupid for writing this, but I’ve got to prepare for the worst. I made a bunch of letters, one for my parents, one for Eijirou, one for the “Bakusquad” (which is a horrible name btw), one for the class, one for Aizawa, one for Jeanist, and the last one, for you. Despite writing so many letters before this, I still don’t know what to write to you.
I’m sorry, to start off. I’m sorry I left you alone in this world. I’m sorry we couldn’t be heroes together, just like we dreamed when we were kids. You better not quit just because I’m dead. If anything, it should fuel you more. If you don’t want to be a hero for yourself anymore, then be one for me.
I’m not good with words. You know that better than anyone else. They never seemed genuine to me, and the same thing applies to letters. The last time I wrote a letter to you was when we were eight, I think? It was for a school assignment, or something, I don’t know. I don’t remember that far back.
I don’t know what to write. I’m just putting words on paper at this point. I just don’t want to go without leaving something behind for you. You can take anything you want. My hero merch automatically goes to you (I wrote that in my will), but you can take whatever else you want that used to be mine. I’ll let you take my costume too, if you want to study it or do whatever nerd stuff you do.
Don’t worry, Izuku, I’ll be okay. I’m sure that despite whatever happened to me, it doesn’t hurt anymore. And, thank you. Thank you for never straying far from me. Thank you for being my Number 1 supporter. I don’t deserve you, not after everything I did when we were kids. I hope you know that I love you so much, and that I’ll always be rooting for you.
With all the love in my heart,
Katsuki
The letter shuffled with his shaking hands, tears staining the dress pants he hadn’t taken off since the funeral. Quietly, he folded the letter up and placed it back inside the envelope, laying it on the wooden surface of his desk. His mind was numb as he lowered his body onto his bed, but he stopped. He sat back up and peered underneath his bed, pulling out a dusty box. The lid was opened and shut quickly, only one item taken out.
The fur on the plush rabbit was rough and worn out, the orange faded slightly, and one of the button eyes hanging by a thread. Izuku lay back on the bed, bringing the plushie to tuck it under his nose. Kacchan had given it to him when they were kids, showing off two matching rabbits, one in green and one in orange. It was for Izuku’s birthday, or maybe they won it in a carnival game, but he didn’t remember. All he could focus on was the fact that he could still smell the familiar caramel scent on the rabbit.
He let out a shaky sigh, more tears forming at his waterline. A wet, ugly sob tore out of his mouth, muffled by the old fabric of the plushie.
No one bothered him.
Kacchan was taken to the crematorium the next day. That was in his will, they said. Everyone else met them at the park near the Bakugou house, the park where Izuku met Kacchan for the first time. It was night when Aunt Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru arrived, holding a medium-sized black urn with orange and yellow explosions painted on it. Uncle Masaru was holding a small firework and a lighter, unshed tears in his eyes.
They were ten years old, hanging out in Kacchan’s bed, when Kacchan suddenly turned to him.
“If I die a hero, can you put me in a firework?”
The question caught Izuku off guard, and he whimpered out, “You’re not gonna die! You can’t!”
Kacchan snorted, “Stupid Deku, ‘course I am. If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die destroying the strongest villain in the world!”
Fat tears welled up in Deku’s eyes, his voice high-pitched and whiny. “I don’t want you to die, Kacchan!”
Tsking, Kacchan gathered Deku in his arms. “I’m not saying it’s guaranteed, ya idiot. I’m just saying that if it happens, put me in a firework.”
Deku sniffled, “Why a firework?”
A grin formed on Kacchan’s face, confident and strong. “So I can fly one last time before I go.”
A hand touched his shoulders, and Izuku flinched, snapping out of the memory that happened years ago. He turned to look down at Ochako, brown eyes filled with concern, sorrow, and sadness. Izuku smiled reassuringly, but Ochako didn’t smile back. She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.
The crowd of friends and family and teachers parted, allowing them to continue to the front.
No one spoke.
No one had to.
Katsuki never believed in words. He always said that actions spoke louder. So no one said anything. They watched as Masaru and Mitsuki swapped, the man cradling the urn like a baby (the same way he used to hold Kacchan, Izuku noted) while Mitsuki placed the firework on the ground. They watched as Mitsuki lit up the lighter, bringing the small flame to the wick. The firework hissed as the two stepped back. Izuku’s eyes were transfixed on it, watching sparks fly out. He heard deep sobs next to him, and mindlessly brought his hand to rest against Kirishima’s broad shoulder, his own eyes filling with tears. He didn’t let them fall, no, because he’s cried enough. Furiously, Izuku used his free hand to wipe them away; he didn’t want his last memory of Katsuki to be blurred.
At last, the firework flew, higher and higher, a trail of smoke following it. A high whistle shot through the air as it rose. The sky was replaced by a singular explosion, orange and yellow and bright and so, so Katsuki. Loud, bold, always drawing attention to himself, always saying that he would surpass everyone who came before him.
“And you did,” Izuku whispered, “You did in the most beautiful way possible, Katsuki.”
Everyone stayed until the last spark had been snuffed out, until the scent of smoke faded away, until the heat drifted with the evening breeze, until the only sound that could be heard was the crickets chirping. One by one, the guests shifted, tearing their eyes away from the dark sky and gathering their things to leave. Soft condolences were passed around, tears were wept, and the grass rippled as people walked away. A hand squeezed his shoulder before walking away as well.
And then, quiet.
Izuku was the last one left.
His eyes were glued to the sky, pupils jumping from star to star, as if Katsuki would descend from them like an angel.
Five minutes.
Ten.
The cicadas began to buzz.
Twelve.
Fifteen.
Izuku lost track of time after that. The chill had begun to bite at his skin, the thick black suit scratchy against his scars. Grief weighed heavy in his chest. But, despite all of that, a wave of tranquility passed over Izuku.
He’s okay, the wind whispered, embracing him. I’m okay.
A warmth enveloped his chest, and this time, tears didn’t water his eyes.
Why should he be sad? Katsuki’s okay. Katsuki wouldn’t want him to cry.
They were five. Deku was playing alone at the park, because Kacchan was at home experimenting with his new quirk. It was so cool! He could make explosions! Deku couldn’t wait to see what kind of hero Kacchan would be in the future! But because of that, Izuku had to play alone while Mommy went to the store across from it. But then, the mean kids down the street came.
Deku didn’t like the mean kids. They picked on him and pushed the others around and they laughed about Deku not having a quirk. But it was okay! His quirk was gonna come in soon! He was just a late bloomer, ‘cause that’s what Auntie Mitsuki calls him.
But the mean kids pushed him off the slide, and they laughed when Deku told them to stop.
“Why?” The boy in the middle sneered, “Are you gonna cwy? Waah! The cwybaby is gonna cwy!”
“Leave me alone!” Deku tried to scream, but it came out as more of a whine. Tears pricked at his eyes.
The mean kids laughed, and the boy, Hiro, grabbed him by the shirt collar and reeled his free hand back, his quirk activating. Deku squirmed, weakly punching at the hand that held him. Whimpers escaped his mouth, growing more panicked as Hiro’s quirk intensified, then-
“Hey!”
An explosion. Small, but still big enough to scare the kids into letting Deku go. He scrambled back, hiding under the slides.
“He said leave him alone! So do us both a favor and beat it!”
Deku saw a tuft of spiky, blonde hair and hands sparking with explosive sweat. An awed smile grew on his face. Kacchan was so cool!
The boys had run away, and Kacchan was wiping the sweat on the new fireproof sweatpants Auntie Mitsuki had bought for him. Kacchan looked around, red eyes locking onto green.
“Deku!” Kacchan ran towards him, examining his face, “They didn’t hurt you, right? If they did, I’ll blast them into tomorrow!”
“They didn’t,” Deku giggled, sniffling. Tears still ran down his face, but the smile stayed. “You were amazing!”
Kacchan tched, a smirk growing. “I know, now stop crying!”
Deku quickly wiped away the fat tears that had trailed on his cheeks, and while he was, Kacchan added, “I don’t like it when you cry.”
“Huh? Why not?” Deku questioned, cocking his head.
“‘Cause it makes you look weak, and you’re anything but weak. From now on, I want you to smile, okay?”
“Like All Might?”
“Like All Might!”
Izuku smiled, then chuckled wetly. A pull from his chest called out to him, and a voice echoed in his head. Izuku felt a tingle at the tip of his fingers.
One For All.
He didn’t turn around to see who had arrived. It was probably one of the past users expressing their sympathy. Honestly, he was tired of hearing people apologize for his death, a death that Katsuki chose. Katsuki knew what he was doing. He knew the risk that was on the line. He knew what was going to happen, or else he wouldn’t have written the notes.
The invisible string in his chest pulled harder, urging him to look behind. Izuku sighed inwardly, ripping his eyes away from the twinkling night sky and towards whoever had come to him.
He was yellow-orange with mist circling him. His arms were crossed, head back in a cocky manner. The only thing that wasn’t yellow-orange were his eyes, bright and glowing red.
Izuku froze.
The new vestige grinned.
“Hey Izuku,” Katsuki smirked, “Miss me?”