Archive of Our Own

Shota didn’t know how to stand up anymore.

In the beginning, in the chaotic, hazy days of war, he’d been working on pure adrenaline and the loss of his leg hadn’t even registered– similarly the loss of his eye had been almost negligible in the face of what was happening around him.

He’d soldiered on without stopping and it was only in the aftermath, in the quiet seconds after all was said and done, that he stared up at the white ceiling of his hospital room and realized– oh.

He was missing so much of himself, now. He’d lost so much to this war– to these villains– and he couldn’t help the anger that festered in him.

The days following the battle were quiet. It seemed the country was still reeling and with most of their heroes in hospital recovering it was a blessing that even villains seemed to be taking a step back and desperately trying to regroup at the loss of their figurehead.

Shota was exhausted, but life moved on. 

In the years following he would probably never forget the first major villain activity directly following the war. It was a small-time villain that they had known about previously but that hadn’t taken an active part in the war. The villain had tried attacking a patrolling hero and the hero ended up killing them during the ensuing fight.

At first Shota had been aghast at the brutality of the footage and had written it off exactly as it was– a hero still too attuned to war and what they’d had to do during it.

But it kept happening.

Shota couldn’t ignore that there was an edge to the heroic world following the war. Heroes all over the country that were just a bit harsher– just a bit too violent with any and all villain or criminal.

He didn’t want to condone it. Sitting in his recovery room and watching them act so violently– and sure, they were villains, and yes, the heroes had a right to be traumatized and angry at villainy– but the first time he watched Red Riot brutally beat a villain with this look on his face– it still sent chills down his spine weeks, even months later.

These kids… they weren’t even graduated yet but the HPSC was sending them out to round up villains left right and center while they waited for their new Icon to wake.

Midoriya Izuku.

Shota couldn’t even think of him without his stomach clenching in horror at what the boy had had to face during the long, lonely months of war.

Once he was discharged and cleared for hero work with an incredibly fancy bionic leg– courtesy of Nezu– Shota vowed not to let the anger get to him the way it was getting to his peers. He’d seen the way the heroes reacted to villains post-war and while he wasn’t trying to toot his own horn, he liked to think he had good control over his anger.

Shota was wrong.

The first time he came across a villain, an actual villain– not just some kid shoplifting a store– but a man who positively reeked of evil… Shota was certain he blacked out.

His vision blurred around the edges and when he counter-attacked, suddenly it was with the deep intent to kill.

What right did this man have to stand before him and do evil? Had they not all suffered enough? Had they not lost enough?!

Shota only stopped when the man was no longer moving. With trembling hands, wet and soaked with blood– none of it his own– he called Tsukauchi and dialled in the capture. He sat by the body of the shallowly breathing man and watched almost apathetically as he was taken away in an ambulance. Tsukauchi said nothing, but Shota could feel the warring disapproval and understanding from a mile away.

Shigaraki and All For One may have lost, Shota realized one dark evening while he sat on the rooftop of Heights Alliance, but they had posthumously succeeded in their mission to destabilize the hero society.

The heroes were broken. He was broken.

UA slowly started up again after a few months. The Hell Class of UA returned for their second year, though they were still missing a member– arguably the most important member– and it showed. Everyone was moving forward but there was an air of anticipation clouded over them as they waited for any word, any small sign from All Might that Midoriya would be okay.

It happened on a random Tuesday, three months post-war. The door to the classroom slammed open with such force that it burst off the hinges with a deafening crash and twenty heroes snapped to immediate attention and defence. Their raised hackles slowly lowered as they took in the sight of a breathless, heaving All Might.

“He’s awake!” All Might shouted, skinny hands raised in defense, “I just got the call! He-he’s awake and already asking about how everyone else is!”

Shota wasn’t proud enough to not admit that standing there among a class of sobbing kids, he also shed a tear.

Midoriya Izuku had, arguably, lost more than all of them combined and it was so frustratingly endearing and “Midoriya” of him to immediately ask after them when he had only just woken up from a quirk induced coma to heal his body from all the exhaustion and trauma he’d endured.

“And his–” Shota couldn’t finish the words. He was sure Yagi knew what he was asking though, because the man gave a tired smile and nodded.

“He’s going to be okay. The doctor said he should be cleared to come home in two weeks time, and be ready for hero work in three.”

So his quirk was safe, then.

Three weeks couldn’t pass fast enough. Everyday they got closer to the day where they could see him again it felt like the whole country was preparing for it. Like everyone was holding their breath for any small glimpse that their hero was okay.

The day he was to be released, the world held its breath. Shota could barely breathe, himself.

Yagi was the one to pick him up despite everyone and their second cousin seemingly offering to be the one tasked with such a prestigious job. Ultimately, it went to Yagi and even though Shota had wanted to see him first– had volunteered before any of his remaining colleagues could even open their mouths to offer the same– he could admit that Yagi was probably the right person for the job.

The black car drove into UA mid-afternoon during their Law and Ethics class and the whole class pressed against the windows, laser sharp eyes following the car all the way until it became a speck in front of the dorm building and yet they still stood there holding their breath and waiting for any small glimpse– just a glimpse– of him.

It was nothing but a speck. Literally, Shota couldn’t see the green of his hair, or his tired, but enduringly kind smile, nor his familiar gait– it was just a speck of a boy climbing out of a car with a hovering blonde speck nearby and yet the sight of it settled something in Shota’s chest that he didn’t even realize was broken.

He heard the way Bakugou sighed shakily. Saw Todoroki’s trembling hands finally cease. Saw the way Uraraka slumped against Jiro, and the way Yaoyorozu clutched Iida’s arm in relief. Asui vibrating between Kirishima and Kaminari, Shinso’s desperately relieved eyes and the way he clutched the window pane in an iron grip, and all of them– every last one of them– turned their tearful eyes to Shota.

“Sensei,” Aoyama whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “He’s back.”

Shota swallowed past a lump in his throat.

“He is.”

Shota was broken, but somehow just seeing Midoriya even from this distance had caused the pieces of himself that were aimlessly wandering a void to tremble with the desire to heal.

Midoriya was in his room by the time class let out and the vibrating Class 2A raced back to their dorm. Yagi was in the kitchen, anxiously cooking a feast for them all and Shota was proud to see his students immediately join him to help. 

It was unspoken that Shota would stay there, that all of them would stand there in the common room and wait for him to come to them.

A part of Shota wanted to go to him first. Wanted to find him and look at his face and reassure himself that he was alive, that he wasn’t still on that battlefield somewhere– his feet were rooted to the ground, though, and so he, along with all of them, forced Midoriya Izuku to once again make the first move and come to them.

The first sight of him was like a balm to his trembling soul.

His face was thinner. He’d lost that baby fat he’d clung to even during war and though he was still muscular, he’d definitely lost some musculature too. That was all to be expected, but Shota– Shota who struggled to sleep, struggled to temper himself in his hero work, struggled to get the horrors of war out of his eyes– he wasn’t expecting to see so much kindness and warmth still in Midoriya’s eyes.

Midoriya stared at them, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of all of them, flicking from person to person until they finally landed on him and Shota’s heart clenched at the tears that suddenly filled his eyes, pushing against his lids and spilling over his cheeks.

“You guys…” he whispered, and his voice– small, trembling, and so achingly brave– “You’re all–”

He didn’t need to finish the words. They all knew. You’re alive. You’re here. 

“MIDORIYA!” 

Shota cataloged the slight flinch that shook through Midoriya’s shoulders at the sudden noise, and the way he settled into the crowding embrace of his classmates and friends. There wasn’t a dry eye among them and Shota was pretty sure even Bakugou was tearing up.

Yagi came to stand beside him, looking ridiculous in a flowery pink apron Yaoyorozu had once made to tease Bakugou with. He was staring at the group hug of students in front of them with a fond, happy expression.

“He was so very worried about everyone,” Yagi told him quietly. “Apparently he asked about everyone the second he opened his eyes and didn’t stop asking until I arrived to tell him everyone was fine.”

Fine.

Were they, though? The world was sick, people had died, and Shota was broken.

“Even if I’m not fine,” Yagi said a second later, and Shota turned to look at him. Really look at him. His eyes seemed even more sunken in and did he look older? “I would try my hardest to be fine for him. He has– he has broken himself in order to give us one single day of “fine”, so how can I be anything but that, for him?”

Shota swallowed.

“Indeed,” was all he said. Later, when Midoriya had pulled himself from the tangle of students, he stood in front of Shota, eyes glistening and so, so hopeful, and he asked,

“A-are you okay now, s-sensei?”

And Shota– still stuck on the battlefield, blood and violence, and pain– so much pain– smiled at him softly, just a quirk of his lips really, “I’m doing okay, problem child.”

Midoriya beamed at him, body trembling from relief and Shota lost his breath at the sight.

How can you still smile like this? You lost so much, you suffered so much, so how? How?

The feast that night went on until the early hours of the morning.

Conspicuously, no one spoke about the heavy topics unless Midoriya brought it up himself and he didn’t, unless it was to ask how someone was healing or if they were okay. Midoriya asked multiple times throughout the evening and even if they weren’t alright, not really, not one single one of them could bring themselves to burden him with their problems.

Shota hated it.

He hated it and yet he couldn’t stop himself from plastering that fake damn smile on his face whenever Midoriya looked at him with that look on his face. The same look he wore throughout the war– the look that demanded that people stand beside him and fight, and give themselves to him– give themselves to strengthen him and allow him to save them all.

You don’t have to keep saving us, Midoriya, he wanted to say. You’ve done enough, so please, don’t try and make us okay. We’ll never be okay and that’s not your fault.

Class was canceled the next day due to the late night, but they started again the day after. Midoriya didn’t join them until nearly a week later, and even then he wasn’t allowed on the field. He was due for a press conference in a week, just before officially rejoining the field with his provisional license.

The HPSC was pressuring Nezu to give the entire Hero course their full licenses after their actions in the war but Nezu had pushed it off by six months or so, determined to let the students experience guided hero work without the threat of war and a whole League of Villains after them.

Shota sat in his room at the dorms with his laptop open in front of him and a bottle of whiskey beside him. He didn’t even bother getting himself a glass, knowing that he would just end up drinking from the bottle, same as always. The screen was buffering on the HPSC website, waiting for the Hero Deku to appear and speak to the nation.

Yagi had picked him up early that morning to prepare for it and the last Shota had seen of him, he looked pale and shaky, terrified of the prospect of speaking to the world. Shota had wanted to grab him and wrap him up in his scarf and demand that he stop– just stop and rest. He, of all people, deserved that.

But he’d said nothing. He was their teacher but even that role felt far-away to him now.

What could he teach them? These were students who had faced the worst of the worst and came out on the other side alive. 

Shota had been a hero for many years now but even he had been unprepared for a full-scale war. What were Law and Ethics in the face of wartime? 

The screen crackled and came to life and Shota’s breathing hitched. He could hear the volume from the gathered students on the other side of his door come to a deafening silence as Midoriya appeared on the screen, Yagi beside him like a looming protector.

There was none of the trembling boy Shota had seen that morning.

This was the Pro-Hero Deku. He sat there, staring at the screen with an intensity that sent shivers down Shota’s spine. He was wearing his hero costume, all repaired and with new trimmings that signaled the start of a New Age. 

He could hear the faint noise of the reporters and photographers in the background and he could see the lights flashing across his face, but Midoriya didn’t flinch at any of it.

“Greetings.” He spoke, and the room in front of him fell almost as silent as the dorms. He spoke, and the world listened. “My name is Midoriya Izuku, also known as the provisional hero, Deku.”

Yagi placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly and Midoriya seemed to straighten slightly. Shota didn’t even realize he’d been slumping.

“I know that what happened to us all cannot be erased. I know that all the pain and suffering we experienced cannot be taken away by simple words,” Midoriya licked his lips and a sliver of the nervous boy Shota knew shined through in that moment. “I know that each and every one of us has lost something, or someone, and no matter what we do we cannot get these things back.”

Something took hold of Shota’s heart and squeezed. Midoriya smiled at the camera and Shota wished he could reach right through the screen and tell him he didn’t have to do that– he didn’t have to smile like the man behind him and pretend that everything was alright for the sake of the world, but he couldn’t do that and so Midoriya smiled.

“I honestly thought I was going to die.” He said, and his voice was quieter this time. “Without the help and support of my fellow heroes, I would have. I want to thank each and every brave hero who put their life on the line for us all– for you all, and for me, because without them I surely would have died.”

Midoriya stood up and bowed right on the floor, the tips of his hair touching against the tile. Shota swallowed past a lump in his throat.

He straightened up, but remained on his knees. “I want to thank each and every one of my classmates that fought bravely despite their fears and losses. Without you, I wouldn’t be alive today, so thank you.” He bowed to the floor again.

“I want to thank the pro-heroes who guided us and never stopped fighting for a single moment, risking their all every single day to not only keep civilians safe, but also to keep their juniors safe. Thank you.” He bowed again, and Shota clutched his bottle so tightly it might have shattered.

“I want to thank my mentor for never giving up on me.” Midoriya looked up at Yagi and smiled tearfully, bowing to him and ignoring it when Yagi tried to make him stand, and then faced the screen, “I want to thank Eraserhead for guiding me and keeping me level-headed even when I thought I would fail. Without him I don’t believe I would have made it as far as I did.”

Shota couldn’t breathe.

“And finally, I want to thank each and every person out there who cheered me on when I needed it the most. It’s thanks to all of you that I felt we could do it, and so we did it.” Shota hated how he refused to take credit. Without Midoriya they all would have died and yet he still included everyone in everything he did. He hated it but he was so achingly proud of him too.

Midoriya finally stood off the ground and allowed Yagi to help him to his seat, patting the retired hero on his arm gently to let him know that he was okay. “With my mentor’s approval, I feel I can confidently reveal to the world that I have changed my hero name.” He announced and Shota’s eyes widened. “I used to think that I was useless and without power. The threat of losing my quirk due to the strain I faced was extremely likely but I managed to pull through and retained my quirk.”

“For a second, when I thought I would lose my quirk, I thought– ah, this is it. Without my quirk, I really am useless.” For a moment he was silent. “But it’s not true. Without my quirk, I would still stand here today and beg you to let me be a hero, to let me be your hero.”

This time, when Midoriya smiled, it was so painfully wide that Shota thought his heart might actually break. He’d never been as beautiful as he was in that minute and Shota thought he would go crazy if he watched this anymore but he couldn’t rip his eyes away from Midoriya if he tried.

“That’s why I’m changing my hero name! No matter what, quirk or no quirk, I’m not useless– no one is– and all of you cheering me on reminded me that I can do it, and I really wanted you all to remember that you can do it to, so,” he took a deep breath and practically shouted, “When you falter, look at me and remember that just like the Can Do It Hero: Dekiru– you can do it too!”

He bowed and Shota could hear the deafening applause through the moderators attempting to mute it on the stream. He could hear his students cheering and screaming on the other side of the door. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he watched Midoriya hug Yagi tightly and let himself be led off the stage. Shota’s eagle eye caught sight of the way his hands trembled with nerves.

Dekiru.

Shota hated so many things, but this– his lips curved into a smile. He could never hate this boy, no matter what he did.

Later, when Yagi brought Midoriya back, it was to another party and when his students looked at him with pleading eyes, he just rolled his eye and said,

“Stay up, go crazy, you deserve it.”

He was almost blinded by Midoriya’s answering smile and he couldn’t help but go forward and squeeze his shoulder, just for a chance to touch him and remind himself that he was real, that he was there and real.

“Take it easy now. Relax for a second before you go out there, you’ve earned that… Dekiru.” And he let his pride seep through the words, holding the new name on his tongue before releasing it. Midoriya teared up and gave a muffled, croaked acknowledgement.

On the surface it seemed like all was well, but Shota was still broken and the hero society was still cracked.

The first time Midoriya went on patrol, it was with a grim-faced Lemillion and he came back wide-eyed and trembling. The next day they had combat training and Midoriya watched his classmates with troubled eyes that were hidden behind a small, encouraging smile whenever they looked to him for feedback, for encouragement and guidance.

It was funny, in a tragic way, the way his classmates looked to him after every move they made, as if to reassure themselves that Midoriya thought well of them.

Shota even caught Bakugou doing it unconsciously, though hidden behind a slew of words that lacked any real bite.

It felt like only Shota could see how disturbed Midoriya was, because the boy was exceptionally smart and he probably knew exactly what Shota knew– that the world was broken.

His classmates’ every move was lined with violence born from war. It had no place in a society that should be trying to move past the unspeakable violence it had endured. A few times during class Shota could feel Midoriya looking at him, as if waiting for him to say something– to scold them, or to explain to them how and why their bloodthirst for any and all villains wasn’t right– but Shota didn’t have the words anymore. It would be hypocritical of him to scold them for their anger, for their pain and their vices.

He was broken too, and he dreaded the day that Midoriya realized that.

❋

Izuku didn’t know what to think.

It’s not like he expected the world to suddenly be alright after all was said and done, but something about this new world he found himself in was making him anxious and upset in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

It felt like no one really got it. He’d tried speaking to his friends about it but they’d just stared at him funny and asked in a quiet voice if he didn’t resent the villains and all that they’d done.

Izuku didn’t have the words to reply, and they’d left him there to think.

It occurred to him that people didn’t know the full story. They didn’t know exactly how much a boy like Shimura Tenko had suffered. They had his name– his fake name given to him by a monster– and because that monster had worn his face it was so easy to hate him and all that his League had stood for.

Izuku couldn’t do it. All he felt when he thought of the glorious end to the war was … oh. I failed.

Izuku had wanted to save that child more than anything in the world. He’d felt this way back then too, when saving Kota, and Eri, and later Katsuma and his sister Mahoro. He felt the same way when saving any random civilian on patrol.

It didn’t matter to him if it was a villain or a civilian. He just wanted to save them, even if it was from themselves– or from what the world had told them to be.

There was an anger in his classmates, though. And it wasn’t just them, even the heroes were angry and Izuku didn’t know how to handle it or who to even speak to about it.

Was he the only one grieving? His anger– was it just lost in grief?

The first time he patrolled alongside Lemillion, he’d watched from a distance as his senpai dealt with the villain that had attempted to rob a bank in front of them. Izuku had been horrified the longer he watched the fight as he heard the vitriolic words the once kindly hero was spewing. He’d stepped in, his brow furrowed in confusion, when he realized that Lemillion wasn’t going to stop punching the villain. There was this look in his senpai’s eyes when Izuku stopped him that still woke Izuku up in the middle of the night trembling.

Later, he’d gone to combat training, expecting to tell his friends about how their senpai had gone way too far, only to watch as his classmates did the same. 

It was just training. The robot dummies acting as villains didn’t even look real, but the moment Aizawa quietly informed them of the scenario they would be facing, calling the group of robots villains who had joined up to fight a group of heroes, it was like a switch had gone off in his classmates’ brains and all of a sudden they were right back in the war. Back on the battlefield.

Izuku had stood stock still, watching in blatant shock as his friends– as his friends decimated the robots.

He looked to Aizawa, then. Surely they had gone too far? Surely this wasn’t what they were supposed to do to criminals– because robbing a bank? Trying to attack a couple of heroes? Those weren’t villains, not really. Those were just desperate people who were unsure how to be anymore now that their version of a hero was gone.

Aizawa didn’t meet his eyes.

He knew his teacher. He knew this man, knew that this– this behavior was everything he’d once tried to train out of them and yet now he couldn’t even meet his eyes, as if he was ashamed. As if he too, carried an anger– a viciousness– that wouldn’t go away.

How was Izuku supposed to handle this? As always, when he didn’t know who to go to or what to do, he went to his mentor.

Toshinori listened to his troubles patiently, a small, sad smile appearing on his lips once Izuku had finished unburdening himself. Izuku was heaving for breath after vomiting his words and struggles out to his mentor, and now he sat with his head bowed in grief for the feelings he’d released from his chest.

“My boy,” he said gently, “I did not want to ever have to teach you this lesson, but it seems I have no choice.”

“After something like this, something that shakes the world at its core– it’s hard to separate yourself from what you had to do. You are so good, Izuku, so terribly good, but not everyone can look at a villain and see the human within, especially after fighting so ferociously mere months ago.”

Izuku’s brow furrowed deeper.

“But… even when we do bad, aren’t we just human?” Izuku whispered desperately. “Don’t they deserve dignity even when they’ve done bad? Isn’t that what it means to be a hero? How– how could Lemillion be so cruel to that man? He did wrong, yes, but-but it’s not like he was starting another war or-or killing anyone, he was just desperate!”

Toshinori stood up and hugged him tightly.

“You’re right, Izuku. But not everyone can see that easily, so once again I must burden you, my successor– you must show them not only your strength, but also your unequivocal kindness. From you, they will learn.” Toshinori squeezed his shoulders and Izuku preemptively mourned the day he would no longer feel this love and constant support from the man he saw as his father.

“What right do I have to tell them how to be? They’re all– they all have so much hatred and what right do I have to say that they’re wrong for that?” Izuku cried. “My friends, they’re all so angry– the way they fight, I don’t know–I don’t know what I expected but it’s not this! He blew up a villain, Toshinori! Okay, it was a robot, but is that the way he’s going to deal with a real villain one day?!” Izuku recalled the way Kacchan had dealt with his robots, shuddering deep in his bones. “Why– why didn’t he say anything?!”

“He?” Toshinori questioned, comfortingly stroking Izuku’s hair.

“Ai-Aizawa,” Izuku sniffled. “He always– he always scolded us for being too violent, or-or causing too much property damage, but now– now he just watches and-and he didn’t say anything. They needed to hear him scold them and he didn’t say a thing. Why?”

“That is a question for Aizawa, I’m afraid,” Toshinori sighed. “However, it’s not just Aizawa that they look to for guidance anymore, Izuku. They look to you now, too. The whole world does, and that is why you must show them the way to be, the way of a hero.”

“I-I can’t– that’s too much pressure– what if I don’t do good?” Izuku sobbed. Tohinori laughed. It was a thin, crackly laugh that he had acquired after his injuries in the war that seemed to vibrate through Izuku’s body no matter how different it was from his once booming laugh.

“My boy,” he patted Izuku’s hair. “I don’t think you could do bad if you tried.”

Izuku crumpled, crying and letting the tears and all the pain and agony out as his mentor held him through it all.

After a few more patrols with his classmates, or with other Pro Heroes who volunteered to go out with him, Izuku went on patrol alone. He insisted on it actually, despite several of his classmates offering to come with him and even a few teachers offering. Even Aizawa had offered, but Izuku couldn’t meet his eyes.

It was only due to Toshinori calmly shaking his head that made them stop offering and let him leave. Izuku dressed in his hero costume slowly, still getting used to the new uniform that Toshinori had presented him with when he’d informed Izuku that it was the start of a new era.

The Era of Dekiru.

The costume had been made with Toshinori's favored company, but it featured his mother’s finishing touches in the embroidery around the lapel and whenever he wore it he was reminded of her and her enduring love those weeks he’d spent in a coma. She had never left his side even once, choosing to take up near permanent residence on the hospital couch, joined frequently by Toshinori.

It felt like everyone was watching him as he walked down the streets of Musutafu. He could feel so many eyes but no one dared to approach him as walked. 

He could feel their awe and surprise, he could practically taste their desire to come up to him, to greet him or to fawn over him– but underneath it all, he could feel a tension that was held as taut as a rubber band. Like the mere sight of him would inspire a villain to appear.

He hated it, and yet he still walked on.

“Dekiru-sama?”

Izuku came to a screeching stop at the small voice calling his name.

He turned around and his eyes met the eyes of a child. It was a little boy standing there in front of him– his mother a few steps away, an anxious expression marring her face a little, though she didn’t stop her son.

Izuku knelt to the ground, uncaring of the gravel against his knees. The child took a brave step closer.

“Hello.” He was hyper aware of the people who had stopped to watch them, but he focused all of his attention– or as much of it as he could spare while still being vigilant– on the child in front of him.

“D-Dekiru-sama, c-can I have your autograph?” The child whispered and something in Izuku stuttered to a stop. He couldn’t help but smile a bit shyly.

“Oh,” he blurted, “I haven’t practiced an autograph yet!”

Behind them, the mother stifled a shocked snort of laughter at the awkwardness displayed from a hero that had saved the world. There were a few titters from those who had paused their afternoons to watch him.

The child giggled.

“Th-that’s okay! We could practice one now, right?” He suggested and Izuku clapped his hands together excitedly. 

“That sounds great,” he said with a beaming smile. “Actually, do you have any ideas for an autograph for me? I’m really terrible at it and All Might had such a great one, I don’t know how I’ll ever live up!”

“We can make a better one!” The kid declared, and pointed over to a group of kids that were hanging back. “We’ve been practicing our future hero autographs too, so we’re really good at it!”

“Wow, I guess I’m in great hands! Why don’t we go do that?” He suggested, straightening up and taking hold of the child’s small hand. He looked at the child’s mother.

“Do you have some time?” He asked. The woman gave a scoffing, incredulous laugh.

“Do you?” she countered and Izuku smiled, looking around at the still street and all the eyes watching them carefully.

“I have time,” he promised, “I have time, until someone needs me. And if we don’t get to it, then you can always find me again. I’ll be here, always.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes and the little hand in his tightened as the impatient child tugged him over to his friends. Izuku went along with it, giving a short, amused laugh.

In the end they came up with a truly terrible autograph, but Izuku vowed to use it for the rest of his hero career, and he really would. It was laughably terrible, and he loved it desperately.

With great pride, he signed the random collection of things the children had for him with the new signature, somewhat aware of people filming it, and later he returned to UA with a beaming smile and showed all of his classmates his new signature.

Ochaco stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“What is it though?” she blurted and Izuku laughed.

“I have no idea, but isn’t it perfect?” He bounced, excitedly waving around the signed page and she smiled at him softly and nodded in agreement even if she was lying. Bakugou had no such qualms, loudly proclaiming that it was the shittiest signature he’d ever seen.

Aizawa came in and Izuku still didn’t know what to think about him or how to approach him, but his friends dragged him over and showed off the signature to him and Izuku embarrassedly explained why it was so terrible.

Aizawa met his eyes and smiled. Izuku kind of hated seeing it– it was too soft, too forced, as if he was trying too hard to make it seem genuine.

“It’s a great signature, Midoriya. Use it proudly.” He said, and then took the paper from Hagakure’s hands. “This is mine now, though.”

Izuku gaped after him as he disappeared into his room with the paper, and a few incredulous laughs surrounded them, but Izuku still didn’t know what to think or say.

Later, lying in bed and filled with too much energy– energy that felt like it was eating through his bones with no way to release itself– he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and trudged his way up to the roof so that he could see the scant stars in the sky.

It was fairly easy to get to the rooftop even though Aizawa usually kept the door to the roof locked. With Blackwhip, he easily scaled up the Heights Alliance and landed softly on the rooftop, only to come to a freezing stop as a pair of dark eyes pinned him in place.

For a moment everything was silent, and then,

“... you know, I keep the door locked for a reason.” Aizawa said softly. 

He was on the floor, leaning his palms against a blanket of his own, his fake leg removed and placed beside him, and there was an open bottle of whiskey beside him. Izuku wondered whether he should leave or join him, but Aizawa made the choice for him, patting the floor beside him in a silent invitation to sit.

Izuku shyly meandered over and placed his own blanket on the floor before sitting beside his teacher and pulling his knees up to rest his chin on.

Aizawa lifted the bottle to his lips and Izuku’s eyes followed the motion. He took a sip, a glug really, and then– to his surprise– held it out to Izuku.

Izuku had never really drunk much in his as of yet brief adulthood. He’d only turned twenty some weeks ago, and he’d spent his birthday in a coma, so he didn’t really have time to drink. Toshinori had taken him out for his first beer a few weeks ago and that was that, Izuku went straight into school and hero work, and never thought about drinking again.

His hand reached out and took the bottle. When he placed it against his lips, he imagined that the immediate burn he felt on his tongue was an echo of Aizawa’s lips on the rim of the bottle.

The whiskey was terrible, and he coughed the second it passed his throat. He could hear Aizawa chuckling and that sound felt much more genuine than the smile he’d given him before, so Izuku was glad for having choked, though he still passed the bottle back to him somewhat gingerly.

“It’s not for everyone.” Aizawa said gruffly, taking another sip, and Izuku watched the bottle touch against his lips, watched the way his tongue darted out unconsciously to catch the little dribble of liquid that passed his lips.

“Something’s been bothering me, and I-I didn’t know how to talk about it, but you’re here now and I feel like I won’t get another chance to talk about this if I don’t do it now.” Izuku blurted. It felt like the words pushed themselves out of his mouth despite that he didn’t actually want to have to say any of this.

Aizawa sighed, staring into the bottle like it held the secrets to the universe. After a moment, he said,

“I thought you might approach me eventually. I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t be anytime soon, but here we are.”

“Here we are.” Izuku echoed. “Sensei… are you okay, really?”

Aizawa looked up, surprised and a little startled, and immediately said,

“I’m f–”

Izuku interrupted him, because he couldn’t stand to hear those words again,

“No, sensei, I mean really. You don’t have to tell me that you’re fine when you’re not just because you think you owe me some facade of peace.” Izuku couldn’t help but snap the words harshly, and he regretted it immediately at Aizawa’s slight flinch. “Ever since I got out of hospital everyone’s been telling me that they’re fine, that they’re doing great, and everything is just wonderful and fine, and it’s not, Aizawa. It’s not fine. The world is–” he sucked the words back in.

“Broken.” Aizawa whispered for him, looking back into his bottle. “The world is broken.”

Izuku swallowed past his dry throat and reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking it out of his slack fingers. Aizawa didn’t stop him even when he choked and coughed again. 

“I need– I need you to be honest with me, Aizawa.” He begged. “I’ve always looked to you for your honesty and you’ve never failed to tell me the truth even when it was hard to hear and hard for you to say, but now– now you’re lying to me just like everyone else and I can’t– I can’t take that from you too.”

“I’m sorry,” Aizawa croaked, his hands tightening around the returned bottle of whiskey so hard Izuku thought it might shatter as his knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry, I just– I just didn’t know what to say to you.” 

“The truth.” Izuku pleaded. “Even if it’s ugly, and unbearable. Even if you have to soften it with a fake smile– just give me the truth, no matter what.”

Aizawa took a deep, shaky breath.

“Then, I’m not fine.” He whispered, and Izuku held his breath. “I’m not fine, and I don’t know if I ever will be. It’s not just my leg or my eye, those are just- just things.”

Aizawa looked at him and Izuku felt like it was the very first time he was really looking at him.

“It’s not even the loss of-of Nemuri, though her loss is sitting on my chest like a viper, squeezing my heart until it feels like I can’t breathe,” Aizawa gasped for breath as he bit out the words. “It’s not the things I did, or the people I had to–to kill. It’s that I couldn’t save any of you from having to do the same.”

Izuku released the breath with a soft gasp.

“I feel like I failed, Izuku.” Aizawa took another sip of whiskey and pulled his good leg up to rest his elbow on, the bottle hanging precariously from his fingertips. “I was supposed to shield all of you from this. I was supposed to shield you from this.”

His honesty took Izuku’s breath away. Almost as much as his use of Izuku’s name. It wasn’t nice to hear. The guilt his sensei was dealing with. The agony in his eyes. The bottle of whiskey that was getting too empty to be half full.

But his honesty was breathtaking after so long being placated.

“I can’t speak for the others,” Izuku whispered, “But for me, sensei… from the second I accepted All Might’s quirk, this was my future.”

“That’s not tr–”

“It is true, sensei,” Izuku insisted. “It doesn’t matter that it happened sooner than expected. It would have happened eventually– it’s the way of the world.”

Aizawa sighed deeply.

“With great power comes great responsibility, is that what you’re saying?” He asked snarkily and Izuku felt a laugh bubble up. He released it and Aizawa’s eye stayed trained on him, making him flush slightly.

“More like excruciating anxiety and impossible pressure to live up, but yes, responsibility too.” He agreed. “And, it’s not over– this is going to happen again one day. Someone is going to slip through the cracks and just like with All Might, they’re going to look at me and expect me to deal with it. And… it’s going to–”

“Hurt.” Aizawa whispered.

Izuku trembled.

“It’s going to hurt,” he hummed. “So you can imagine how much it means to someone like me that people care about me. It would be too lonely, too… isolating, if I didn’t have anyone to sit here and drink themselves into a coma because they stupidly thought they had failed me.”

Aizawa snorted, putting the bottle down between them and sending him a wry look.

“I’m hardly drinking myself into a coma. My tolerance is pretty high.” He defended and Izuku grinned, a shaky thing that probably revealed how relieved he was that his words didn’t cause more harm than good.

“I bet it’s not as high as mine,” he bragged. “With One For All I’ve been cursed with stamina that constantly pisses Kacchan off. Pretty good metabolism too, so I bet if I ever did decide to get shit-faced I’d probably have to drink a whole bar clean to get that way.”

Aizawa laughed properly at that, using his knee to nudge Izuku slightly.

“I meant what I said, you know?” Izuku mentioned, after a moment of comfortable silence. “In my speech for the Press Con. I don’t think I would have made it without you in my life.”

Aizawa released a noise, something halfway between a snort and a scoff. It was self-deprecating and Izuku hated it.

“I mean it,” he insisted, “Aizawa, next to Toshinori, you’re– you’re the most important person to me. I– I genuinely don’t know who I would be without your influence. You kept me grounded, you made sure that I was smart enough to stop sacrificing myself to my quirk, and-and you pushed me and towards the end you pushed me up when it felt like I couldn’t stand up anymore–” he broke off when his voice got too emotional.

“You’re-you’re really important to me.” He whispered in a small voice. He wished he were braver. He wished he could express himself better, or that he had the courage to show Aizawa just how serious he was, but after all was said and done Izuku was only human. It was natural that he was scared.

“You’re…” Aizawa sucked in his breath slightly, “really important to me too.” 

Izuku gasped, head snapping up, and meeting Aizawa’s eye.

He couldn’t help himself. It was like his body moved by itself– eerily reminiscent of how he felt on the field, like his limbs were out of his control and all he could do was move– and Aizawa’s face was getting closer.

Aizawa didn’t move away, not even when Izuku was so close to him he could probably count all of the freckles on his unscarred cheek if he desired.

“Stop me.” Izuku whispered. Aizawa didn’t move, so he repeated, “Stop me, Aizawa.”

“I can’t stop you from anything, Izuku.” Aizawa whispered, his voice pained. “I should– it feels like I’m just taking more of you when you’ve already given so much of yourself, but I can’t stop you.”

“You’re not–” Izuku frowned, his face hovering closer, close enough that Aizawa’s dark hair tickled his cheek, “You’re not taking from me. Can’t it– can’t it feel like giving? Like we’re both giving a little of ourselves to each other?”

Aizawa’s eye traversed his face. Flickering all over him and lingering on his lips before meeting his eyes again and staying locked there.

“I can live with that.”

And their lips met. 

Izuku had kissed before. He’d kissed Ochaco once before they’d decided they were better off as friends. He’d kissed Shoto during a dare, and he’d even kissed Kirishima once, though that wasn’t because of a dare. 

Nothing could compare to how he felt here. Aizawa kissed him like he was something precious, like each pass of his lips against Izuku’s was an act of worship and Izuku could almost not handle that kind of devotion.

He kissed harder, then, and Aizawa took the hint, reaching up and cupping Izuku’s jaw and turning their heads ever so slightly so that he could taste him properly. Izuku moaned into his mouth and felt so overwhelmed that he had to pull away and press their foreheads together.

His lips were tingling and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth as his breath rattled through his lungs. For a moment, all he could smell was Aizawa. All he could feel was the lingering touch at the nape of his neck.

He smiled.

“Don’t-don’t go to sleep tonight and wake up regretting this.” He whispered, or maybe he begged. Aizawa’s hand tightened on his neck.

“... I don’t know if I can regret you, Midoriya Izuku.”

Izuku smiled, pleased at that.

He pulled away and stared at Aizawa properly. In hindsight, mentioning Aizawa out of everyone else who had helped him just as much, and bowing to the floor in his name had been an eye-opening experience for Izuku and he wondered that he never realized that this was where he’d wanted to be the whole time.

“The world is broken.” He said firmly. Aizawa nodded. “The world is broken, and we’re a little banged up too, but Aizawa– when the world pushes us down, we have to stand up.”

“It’s hard to stand up.” Aizawa said softly and Izuku reached out and took his face into his hands. Aizawa blinked and sent him a bemused look, not pulling away.

“That’s because you’ve been trying to stand up alone.” Izuku murmured. “You’ve been bracing yourself on things you know are too weak to fully carry you, so take my hands instead, and let me help you stand, and when I fall… when I fall, maybe you can help me stand too.”

Izuku was startled and surprised when a tear trickled over his thumb and he realized Aizawa was crying. He brushed the tears away anxiously and Aizawa reached up to grip his wrists and hold them still, letting the tears flow free.

“Izuku– how are you– how are you so perfect?” Aizawa asked gruffly. His voice thick from emotion. “You’ve suffered so much, so much, but you’re still so good. I don’t understand it.”

Izuku smiled shyly.

“I’m good because I have good people around me.” He murmured. “I’m good because of you, Aizawa. And my friends, and Toshinori, and everyone who cares about me even a little– it’s for them that I have to be good.”

Aizawa leaned forward and kissed him. It was wet because of his tears and Izuku couldn’t help but cry a bit himself, but it was also perfect.

The world was still broken, but here between them, Izuku thought something small might have been fixed. Small, but with all the possibility to become something greater. 

And when Izuku smiled against his lips, Aizawa Shota smiled back.

Izuku came downstairs the next evening when it was time for patrol. All of them had their own patrol routes with the stipulation from Nezu that they traveled in pairs in coordination with their hero supervisors, but Izuku was slightly apart from them, since he didn’t technically have a supervisor, nor did he really need one in the eyes of the many.

Usually he would shyly pick one of his classmates to patrol with him, because he thought he had to before it all became too much and he’d gone out alone.

Tonight, he stared down at his classmates, finding Aizawa’s eye. His sensei was sitting on the couch and watching over them before he would head out to his own patrol.

“Who will it be, Izu?” Ochaco asked cheerfully. “A lot of our supervisors said it would be okay if one of us skipped out to join you, so all of us are pretty free.”

Izuku pressed his lips together tightly and gathered his courage.

“Today…” he met Aizawa’s eye. “I’d like to join Eraserhead, if he doesn’t mind.”

Aizawa’s eye widened as everyone turned to him in surprise.

“Sensei?!” Bakugou scowled, “He’s an Under, what use is it if you follow him around?”

Izuku hummed in agreement.

“Even so, my choice is sensei.”

Everyone was staring between them like they were a tennis match. Aizawa looked away first, looking away from all of them.

“We leave in five minutes.” He said simply, ignoring all the whispers and Izuku couldn’t help but beam back at him, stepping down the stairs fully and nodding to his friends before sitting beside Aizawa on the couch.

In pairs of two the room started emptying until it was just them two left. Aizawa finally turned his head to look at him and Izuku smiled.

“I really do want to patrol with you, sensei,” He said earnestly. “I’ve already spoken about this with All Might. I want to get an undercover hero suit and take up nighttime patrols, it was my stipulation for the Press Conference.”

“You bribed All Might?” Aizawa somehow sounded prouder of that and Izuku laughed and nodded.

“I did, but the suit isn’t here yet. I could change into something darker if you’d prefer?”

“This is fine,” Aizawa told him. “We’ll just say you’re exploring all heroic avenues as part of your schooling. Also, don’t underestimate the power you have over the criminals and villains of the night.”

Izuku cocked his head confusedly, so Aizawa clarified, pairing his words with a ruffle to Izuku’s hair as he stood up,

“Not unlike your mentor, your presence on patrol is enough to stop most attacks from happening these days, Izuku. The moment you step outside, word travels and those who intend to do evil hold their breaths until you’ve left.”

Izuku blushed. He could understand what Aizawa was saying. He had experienced it himself just by going outside and patrolling.

He’d spoken about it to Toshinori and his mentor had chuckled a little embarrassedly and confirmed that he had gone through the same after his debut as a Symbol of Peace. That his patrols were actually pretty boring, since people were too scared to do crime whenever news of him patrolling hit the streets. 

It was why most of his takedowns as All Might had happened by him patrolling in his smaller form, so that he could buff up and catch them that way.

Izuku was a little too conspicuous to do that, though. So he smiled up at Aizawa and stood up to join him on his patrol.

As expected, they only needed to intervene in two or three incidents before news seemed to seep through all the tiniest corners of their city that Dekiru was out and about.

He was sure, no matter how arrogant it sounded to his ear, that everyone was having a quiet patrol that evening.

The first national disaster after the war happened about three months after Izuku woke up from his coma, and a month after he’d been on the rooftop with Aizawa.

In the weeks following that incident, Izuku patrolled three times a week with Aizawa and found himself learning more than he’d ever believed possible. Things had become a bit more dangerous on their patrols the moment “Dekiru” no longer patrolled with him, but he was joined by a dark clothed, underground junior by the name of “Kibōyoru” instead.

Kibōyoru mostly fought quirkless, and on occasion his punches held a bigger punch than ordinary, though anyone who thought they’d glimpsed a bit of bright lightning flickering in their peripheral were soon convinced otherwise by the way the hero would take them down and then say proudly, to an indulgent Eraserhead, “See? No quirk really needed!”

And Eraserhead would hum proudly and pat the top of his head before helping him call in the capture.

Izuku was on patrol by himself that evening. Aizawa was busy with a class and his friends were all doing their own patrols that they couldn’t get out of.

Izuku was the only one who was allowed to patrol by himself, and he knew that Toshinori and Aizawa, and even Nezu wasn’t exactly happy about it, but Izuku enjoyed the silence of a calm patrol by himself sometimes.

Despite his best efforts, he’d been as of yet unable to get through to his friends about their tendencies that hadn’t abated in the slightest in the past few months. It felt like Aizawa was less vicious during their patrols after that first one where he’d nearly gone feral on a criminal who tried to attack Izuku when he was dressed as Kibōyoru.

Izuku had been unable to inspire the same change in his classmates and he couldn’t even look Mirio in the face anymore. He never went on another patrol with his senpai, but he still saw the boy on patrol sometimes and offered an uncomfortable, tight smile.

In the distance, an explosion rocked the ground and Izuku planted his feet into the ground. He fought the urge to let Blackwhip burst from his chest in response to the sudden stimuli that set his nerves on edge. 

He wasn’t in a war. He wasn’t on that battlefield again. Tomura was gone, and so was his Master.

Izuku took a breath and launched into action, allowing his quirk to wrap around his body as he raced over to the noises of distress. As he ran, he tapped the communicator all of the 2-A students wore that would automatically contact either Aizawa or the Police. It patched him through to Aizawa first.

Without wasting a breath, Izuku rattled off his location. 

“I’m engaging now, send backup as soon as you can!” He shouted, and then focused on the villain at hand. 

The villain was male and seemed to have a quirk not unlike Bakugou’s, though Izuku didn’t know what his activation requirements for it were. For a second he was rooted to the spot as he recalled the disaster footage and the aftermath of Dabi’s attack. 

No, Izuku, focus, he forced himself to engage with the villain.

“You!” The man shrieked, sending a blast of fire at Izuku’s face. Izuku raised Blackwhip in front of him to block the explosion that sent him careening backwards the moment the fire made contact.

He can make fire that explodes on contact, he analyzed. He’d already caused so much destruction to the residential area he’d chosen to attack. Izuku could see buildings teetering unstably and the screams were grating on his ears.

“You fucking bastard, you have no idea what someone like me is going through!” The villain charged, attacking him again and Izuku launched his own attack, not daring to just keep defending himself. In the distance he could hear the whirring blades of a helicopter and knew that the news reporters would waste no time or energy to miss a fight like this. 

Where the fuck was–!

“We’re here! Where do you need us, Dekiru?!” Ochaco and Kirishima were there. Behind them, Bakugou and Shoto were mere steps behind.

Izuku noticed the villain charging at him from the corner of his eye and he responded with a smash, feeling the explosion meet his fist. The resultant explosion blasted both of them backwards, though Izuku planted his feet deep into the ground, barely moving an inch while the villain smacked to the ground. In the scant seconds they had, Izuku gave his words–

“You two,” he looked to Bakugou and Shoto, and to the other heroes who were arriving and starting to take action. “Help out with the villain. I’m going to help with the rescue.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped as Izuku turned his back on the fight.

“Wha– you can’t just–!” Kamui Woods, who had just arrived on scene, blurted in shock, “You’re supposed to be helping with the villain! Leave the rescue to others!”

Izuku looked at him and straightened his back.

“Punching a man desperate enough to act like this isn’t the kind of hero I want to be. I trust my fellow heroes to be able to deal with him, but right now I think I can help out better over there with rescue-work.” He didn’t allow them time to protest more. He turned his back on the fight and ran over to the most dangerous looking building. Heroes and first responders were surrounding it and trying to safely extract the people trapped inside. 

“Dekiru!” Mount Lady cried, “We don’t know how to get them out! I can’t risk using my quirk and there’s nowhere stable enough to use a slide to get them out!”

Izuku opened his mouth to suggest that he use Blackwhip to create a slide more capable of getting to the hard places, but the building gave a deafening crack that seemed to rattle through Izuku’s bones. He watched as it crumbled to the ground as if it were happening in slow motion. It was only the intuitive actions of Blackwhip that saved him and the surrounding heroes from succumbing to the blast as the building came crumbling over them. 

His blood was roaring in his ears and he could barely think through the din of screams and agony around him. Beside him, Mount Lady was passed out on the ground, blood pooling around her head. 

“Help her first!” Izuku snapped to the first responders, “I need to focus on maintaining this shield and finding a way out of here!”

There was rubble all around them and Izuku knew that there were probably still hundreds of people inside the building in various states of agony. He had to be fast and precise in order to make it out of here and save those inside. 

Blackwhip slowly needled through the rubble, pushing it aside and letting it roll over the shield until a pinprick of light appeared in the distance. Izuku felt his body sag slightly with relief, but he didn’t dare lose focus.

It took time, excruciating minutes that could have been spent rescuing others, but Izuku had to focus on making a way out of there and using Blackwhip to carefully construct a cave that wouldn’t collapse on them. When he felt it was stable enough, he told the first responders to get Mount Lady out first and station themselves at the mouth of the cave so that they could help whatever civilians he could find.

“But, Dekiru, you can’t do this alone!” One of them cried worriedly and Izuku forced a small smile to appear on his lips. It was nothing like his mentor’s iconic grin, but the woman fell silent at the sight of it and ran out to join the others, leaving Izuku to it.

He couldn’t keep track of time at all. He found himself wondering if Toshinori had felt this way when he debuted. Wondered if he had heard the ringing of blood in his ears as he dug through the rubble and debris for any sign of enduring life.

Izuku found himself removing civilians from the wreckage in groups of tens and twenties. He directed each whip of his quirk with as much care as he could, pulling them out of their dangerous spots and walking with them through the cave he’d made. He emerged and deposited more and more civilians, vaguely noticing that the fight was still going on, for some reason.

In those long moments of saving people and hearing the battle outside rage on, he wondered if he’d made the right call, leaving others to fight the villain while he and a handful of heroes did rescue work. 

Were they struggling that much? Or had Izuku just grown arrogant because he didn’t think the villain was that much more powerful than those they had fought before?

When he could no longer find any hint of life inside, Izuku started bringing out the bodies and handing them to the first responders with a somber expression on his face. 

With the last of the victims in the building, Izuku stepped out and let his quirk return to him. The building collapsed even more and Izuku held his breath, his ears straining over the sound of battle for any faint sign that he might have missed someone. The woman who had tried to stop him before, reached out and touched his arm softly.

“If there was anyone else that you couldn’t see in there, they wouldn’t have made it regardless of the building coming down more,” she told him gently. “We will work on recovering them. I think the heroes might need your help now.”

Izuku nodded and turned to the fight.

It felt like all his breath left his body at the sight before him. The heroes didn’t look like they were struggling at all. It was like everything slowed down to an almost timeless second as he took in the sight of everything.

Bakugou standing there, his fist raised and about to explode the brutalized villain to death. The sight of all the heroes looking untouched, unharmed, and yet the way the villain was barely standing. He cataloged the way Aizawa was standing there, his eye glowing red and an agonized expression on his face as he screamed something at the heroes, or was it at the villain? Izuku didn’t fully know, but he knew that he had to do something.

Move, Izuku. Move. Do something. Stop this. Stop. Stop. Stop–!

“STOP!” Izuku screamed, just as Bakugou’s explosion was about to touch the villain’s face. Blackwhip burst from his chest and he lurched forward, letting his quirk yank him forward to stop Bakugou’s attack. He was just in time to push Bakugou’s hand away from the villain’s terrified, bloody and bruised face. 

The explosion blasted in the sky with a deafening noise.

“What the fuck, Deku?!” Bakugou shouted, dropping the villain’s body, uncaring of the way he crumpled to the ground without moving.

Izuku stood in front of the villain, protecting him from the bloodthirsty faces of the heroes around him.

“What are you doing, Dekiru?” Ochaco asked, breathless, and shocked, and unable to process what she was seeing. Izuku scanned the crowd until he found Aizawa’s form in the distance. He must have been helping by using his quirk, but now he was standing and staring at Izuku with an aching, pained expression.

“Don’t do this,” he begged. His voice was thick with tears and smoke and dust, but he had to speak, he had to get this off his chest now. “Please– please don’t do this and let yourself become no better than the very villainy you abhor.”

“That’s not–” Bakugou faltered, “That’s not what we–!”

“You could have killed him, Dynamight!” Izuku accused. “There is an order to our jobs, a moral code that you have to adhere to at all times– at all times. You can’t kill him just because you were forced to do it once before!”

Bakugou took a step back. It felt like the world was coming to a screeching stop. Izuku tore his eyes away from Bakugou’s horrified eyes and cast his eyes over the crowd of barely standing civilians and heroes that were in near perfect shape while a single villain behind him was barely alive.

“Look at yourselves,” Izuku beseeched, “Look at yourselves and now look at him and tell me that you weren’t going too far! I know he has done wrong, but to drag it out like this– to taunt him and-and beat him instead of just taking him down–” Izuku could barely talk, he was so angry and frustrated as tears poured down his cheeks.

“You’re dishonoring your role as a hero!” He shouted. “You’re dishonoring the civilians by your side who suffered for longer than necessary because you let your fear and anger blind you! Because you chose to play around with him instead of prioritising his capture and rescuing them faster!”

Danger Sense smacked into the side of his head mere seconds before the explosion could, and Izuku ducked out of the way of it and twirled his fist out, punching the villain right in the jaw and feeling it crack beneath his knuckles. He crumpled to the ground again before anyone could move, let alone blink. 

“S-see!” Sero yelled unsurely, “You were defending him and he still attacked you! They’re evil, Dekiru. E-evil, so why should we– why should we–?!” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Izuku tried to calm himself. His entire body felt like it was vibrating.

“Because we’re heroes.” Izuku whispered, and then louder, “We must, because we’re heroes. We have to remind even the most evil of evil that we’re heroes, that even when they strike us down, another will stand in their place!”

“If evil is all that can combat evil, what good is a hero, really?” Izuku asked, and he couldn’t speak anymore. He could barely stand.

He turned away, and in that moment he thought of All Might. 

All Might who never left a crowd without smiling to assure that they knew they were safe. He really was pathetic. He really was nothing like All Might.

In the silence of the aftermath, a single clap resounded and Izuku whipped around in shock at the noise, his eyes immediately catching on the sight of Aizawa Shota standing there, clapping.

Slowly, he was joined by others, other civilians who were capable of it, and some heroes who perhaps agreed, and then, begrudgingly, the heroes he had scolded– though Bakugou stood still and silent.

Izuku felt tears well over and he crouched to the ground as the sound of their applause filled his ears. Arms touched his shoulders and a voice murmured in his ear,

“It won’t change the world overnight, it might not even change our tomorrow, but for what it’s worth, Dekiru,” Aizawa murmured, “You’ve changed me.”

Izuku clutched him tighter and sobbed. 

Aizawa was the one to help him out of there and back to UA to get treated by Recovery Girl while the others dealt with cleanup and getting the villain properly detained and on his way to the hospital and then to Tartarus.

Izuku barely knew where he was, let alone who was around him. All he knew was that Aizawa’s hand didn’t leave his.

The news articles in the following days were ridiculous and eerily reminiscent of the articles that had come out after All Might’s debut. Izuku read one or two of them but was too embarrassed to see the way the world was fawning over him.

The only good that came from his impromptu, frustrated speech was the re-iteration of Laws for Heroes that had been around since the dawn of the Hero society. 

It was decreed that all heroes who had been found to have acted overly violently in the past few months would attend mandatory therapy and a new course on Ethics and Laws before they were allowed back on the field. Though it wasn't explicitly said, it was implied that the slack that such a decree would cause on the streets of Japan would naturally be picked up by the mere presence of Dekiru.

No pressure or anything.

Izuku made his way to the rooftop of Heights Alliance one night after a particularly long and brutal patrol he’d been on with Kirishima and Fat Gum. The ressurgance of villainy after the Incident was a double-bladed sword Izuku was fighting against. He had succeeded in making his stance known, but in responce to the heroes no longer using brutal force, villainy had also surged.

With the injuries he'd sustained on patrol that night, he knew he should go to Recovery Girl but that could wait for the morning. Today he desperately needed the calm of the rooftop even if Aizawa wasn’t there.

He had nothing to worry about.

Aizawa was lying on the ground, staring up at the stars with a contemplative expression on his face. Despite that Izuku wanted it, they hadn’t really kissed again since that night under the stars.

Aizawa didn’t move when Izuku lay beside him and Izuku inwardly marveled at his sensei’s sharp senses. Tonight there was no whiskey beside him and Izuku smiled up at the stars tiredly.

“No whiskey tonight?” He murmured. Aizawa hummed.

“My therapist said it was a shitty coping mechanism and the world doesn’t have space for a drunkard trying to throw a punch and accidentally punching a civilian instead.” He explained and Izuku coughed through his astounded laugh.

“Sounds like quite a therapist, maybe I should see them too!” He snickered.

Aizawa turned his head and smiled at him.

“It’s just Hizashi,” he admitted. “I haven’t had my official therapy session yet, it’s coming up on Monday though.”

“Well, Present Mic is a great alternative, apparently.” Izuku said and Aizawa shook his head amusedly, turning back to the stars, but not before his eyes flickered over Izuku’s bedraggled form.

“You should be getting checked over by Recovery Girl,” Aizawa mentioned and Izuku sighed.

“I know, but it’s not bad enough that it’s urgent. I’ll see her tomorrow.” He promised. “I… needed a moment.”

“I can’t begrudge you that.” Aizawa said simply. Izuku was so grateful for him. He scooched closer, so that he could rest his head against Aizawa’s shoulder.

“It’s funny, you know,” he whispered up at the stars. “When I was younger and trying to figure out what kind of hero I could realistically be, it was never... this. I thought I’d be the world’s first quirkless hero, so I always imagined I’d be a hero like you– someone who protects people under the cover of night.”

“Sometimes I still wonder if that quirkless kid could have ever made it.” He admitted, like he was confessing a sin. Aizawa turned to look at him but Izuku kept his eyes trained on the stars.

“In another world, you would have made an amazing quirkless hero, Izuku.” Aizawa said, his voice low and honest. “Hell, you are in this world too, as Kibō.”

Izuku snorted softly.

“I still use my quirk when I’m patrolling as Kibō, I just hide it better.” He confessed and Aizawa just shook his head fondly.

After a moment- a long moment in which he spent gathering his courage- Izuku spoke up again,

“Is it selfish of me, Aizawa, to -to want you?” 

Aizawa coughed in surprise, turning his head to look at Izuku. Izuku met his gaze bravely. It felt like he had to be brave all the time and he was exhausted of it, and yet here he was, being brave again.

As if he could see all of Izuku’s turmoil painted clearly on his face, Aizawa’s surprised expression faded away, and his gaze softened.

“I don’t know if you can be selfish, Izuku.” He admitted. “Whatever it is you want… I want you to be happy.”

Izuku frowned.

“But would you be happy?”

Aizawa was silent. He turned back to the stars and seemed to take a deep breath. Izuku braced himself for some reason. Braced himself for rejection, for acceptance, maybe for anger or guilt or more pain, or–

Aizawa rolled over onto his side, framing Izuku’s body with his and leaning his elbows on either side of Izuku’s head. They were so close that Aizawa’s face blocked everything out and the curtain of dark hair closed Izuku off completely until all he could see, all he could smell and comprehend, was Aizawa.

“I would be happy.”

And he kissed Izuku. He kissed Izuku firmly, leading him in the kiss and allowing him to let go of all the pressure his life gave him these days, allowing him to sink into this embrace and trust that someone had him.

Izuku hugged his waist, kissing back with all of his might.

“If I– if I fall–” he murmured the words against Aizawa’s lips, feeling them quirk with a smile. "If I lost my arms again, or-or-"

“I’ll catch you.” Aizawa promised shakily. "I'll be your arms."

Izuku pulled away and stared up at him dazedly. He wasn’t so out of it that he couldn’t think, though.

“If you fall, I will be here to catch you too.” He swore. Aizawa responded by kissing him again, deeper, pushing him against the blanket and promising him through his every movement that from here on out neither of them were alone.

The world was broken. They were a little broken too. But Izuku had never felt so whole before.

Things weren’t perfect. Izuku had too much pressure on his shoulders. Sometimes Aizawa went quiet for days at a time and the whiskey bottle would come back. Sometimes a hero threw a public fit over the new decrees and laws. And sometimes Izuku felt like Tomura had won after all.

But at the end of the day, when Izuku fell into bed, the next day he would stand up again and again after that, and things would be okay.

He knew that one day, as always, the world would follow suit.

❋