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Izuku closed his eyes.
He is drifting. The water took hold of him, his arms, legs and torso disappearing into the ocean. Nobody could hear him here. Nobody could see him. He was alone. Is that good? Is that bad? He doesn’t know. He never does.
No one had the answers. There weren’t any answers to anything, anyways. Nobody even would answer him. Why would they? He’s quirkless. They’re not. He has always been different. They weren’t. He was. They weren’t. He wasn’t. They were. THEY WERE ALWAYS BETTER.
It doesn’t matter, not anymore. Why would it? 'Because you’re worth something!' Toga would yell. He’d spit in her face and tell her to fuck off. 'It doesn’t, but prove the people who think the opposite wrong.' Dabi would say. Izuku would hit him in the face and yell at him, telling him to fuck off. 'Life is like that. Ya gotta stick with what you have.' Shigaraki would say. Izuku would nod and tell him to fuck off the next day.
Kurogiri and All For One wouldn’t say anything. They’d stare into his soul, looking at every part of him, taking him apart from the inside. He’d walk away and mutter a ‘fuck off’, knowing that they’d hear it. Magne, Spinner, and Compress would give him weird looks. He’d tell them to fuck off after a while. Twice would say something stupid. Izuku would be annoyed by it and tell him to fuck off.
Why can’t life just fuck off?
People are always onto him.
His classmates at Aldera. The teachers at Aldera. His current classmates. His current teachers. His mom. All Might. His neighbour. The heroes. The villains. The vigilantes. The civilians. Everyone. Everyone. EVERYONE. EVERYONE. EVERYONE.
Fuck it.
His head sank with the rest of his body. He heard voices. There isn’t anyone here. Is there? Izuku can’t tell. He doesn’t really care. He shouldn’t care. But he does. He doesn’t.
He’s sinking. His heavy wet coat is pulling him back. Does he have a coat? He can see the top of the ocean. He’s still near the surface. He reaches out a hand. No one responds.
He’s holding his breath. He lets it out. His hand is extended. He pulls it towards his body. He can feel the bottle in his left hand slip away. It contained his whole life. It was empty. Izuku tries to find it. He doesn't care. He lets go of the dream.
His only dream was to become a good person. A helper. A caretaker. It didn’t work out. It never does. Why would it?
Izuku is sinking. The water is in his mouth by now. He hears something. It’s nothing. Go deeper. So deeper he goes. He tries to swim, but his limbs are locked in place. He tries to turn. He can’t.
He’s cold. It’s so cold. Water was never this cold. It was always tolerateable. Izuku hates changes. He tries to cry. Nobody would see him anyways. He can't. There are no tears left to cry. The water is surrounding him. Or are these his tears? Izuku can’t tell. Nor can he speak. He can’t do anything.
Deku
Fuck fuck fuck. That’s it. He’s a deku. A useless deku. He tries to trash. The water doesn’t allow it. It’s thick. Too thick. It’s hard to breathe. Was it always this hard to breathe? No. Maybe. Perhaps. Yes. Definitely. The air is thick.
The air would wrap around his lungs--squeezing him until he can’t do anything. Until he can’t breathe. He can’t. The air wouldn’t get into his lungs. It’s thick. He tries to grab it. He can't. No one can. Deku should.
Deku.
Deku. Not Izuku. He has always been Deku. A stupid useless Deku, who can’t do anything right. Deku is him. He is Deku. They’re one. They’re so separate. He isn’t useless. But he is. He fails. He tries and fails over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over aND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND–
Deku!
H3 0pens h1s ey3s. Wh3n h4s he cl0sed th3m? H3 c4n’t r3memb3r. DeKU c4n’t. IZUKU Deku c4n fe3l h0w de3p int0 th3 w4ter he h4s g0ne. But h3 c4n’t. Why w0uld h3? H3’s a deku. Deku 1s wh0 h3 1s. DEKUs c4n’t. Th3y nev3r c4n. Th3y’r3 useless. Th3y d0n’t kn0w 4nyth1ng.
Something gr4bs his hand.
What?
He’s underw4ter. No one is h3re. They shouldn’t be. Th3y aren’t. But… He can fe3l it. The touch of a w4rm h4nd. Someone came. Someone…
Someone…
Someone…
Someone…
Someone…
Someone…
S0m30n3 c4m3?
S0m30n3 c4r3s?
…
DEKU—-IZUKU………………………
He can’t take it anymore.
He feels like he’s dying.
Shouldn’t that feel more…
He should have drowned.
IZUKU! PLEASE, STAY!
His head hurts.
HANG ON JUST A SECOND MORE. PLEASE. W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! HURRY U–
His arm is throbbing.
BUT THAT’S JUST A KID. SURLE-- NO! THE HELL? NO. SHUT-- GET OUT OF HERE, YOU--
His legs feel like jelly.
HOLD ON. YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT-- BUT THAT’S-- FUCKING HELL. GET ME SOMEONE ELSE HERE.
He can’t…
NO! WHAT DO YOU MEAN? THAT’S-- NO! I WON’T CALM DOWN. S-SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON’T CARE.
He can’t breathe.
W-WHAT… BUT HE-- YOU SAID-- I KNOW, BUT-- LET ME THROUGH. WHAT THE HELL?
There is a light.
It’s bright and warm.
It’s calling to him.
It chose him.
Izuku knows.
LET ME SEE HIM. WHA-- I DON’T CARE. LET ME IN THERE.
Because maybe he’s dying.
PLEASE! NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. JUST F-FOR A SECOND.
And he has so many regrets.
YOU HAVE TO SAVE HIM! THAT’S YOUR JOB! YOU’RE–YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO--
But he’s happy.
WHAT PART OF ‘I DON’T CARE’ DON’T YOU--
He smiles.
FUCK! FUCK IT! FUCK IT ALL! YOU DO--
He walks towards the light.
PLEASE, JUST HOLD O--
He reaches his hand out.
WAIT. WHAT? BUT--
And it consumes him.
IZUKU!
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no…. he isn’t.. he.. I-Izu–... what– why- h-how…
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Shota opens the drawer. It has kitchen supplies in it.
Forks, knives, spoons, all that yadda yadda.
He grabs the knife. It's just to make a sandwich. Is it? Yes. No. Fuck.
Shota goes upstairs. He can hear his cats meowing after him. He fed them, at least. One last time. He’s going to turn Izuku’s his favourite song on. A classic– some may say. To Shota? He loves it. The melody takes him whole when he hits play.
The song lasts a beautiful three minutes and thirty four seconds. He loves it. It brings back memories. That’s why he hates it. He hates everything. There is nothing to hate.
Shota can see his phone vibrating. He doesn't pick it up. He doesn’t care. He wants to. He doesn't. No one cares. Why would he? He failed as a father. He failed as a teacher. He was supposed to be safe. Now he can’t be anything. He never will be able to. He’s gone.
…
His breath comes in short gasps. The air around him has vanished as he claws at his chest. It’s cold. It’s warm. It is. It isn’t. He sinks to the floor near his bed. He still has the knife.
The knife.
IZUku used that too. It was red. So red. Red all over. Shota saw it. Hizashi saw it. The doctors saw it. They said it was too late. It wasn’t. It was. Shota used to love red. His quirk. His mother’s eyes. His knuckles after a patrol. Izuku’s shoes.
He hates it. It’s blood. Blood is red. Blood is swimming down his bare arms, creating a red river. It’s red. Everything is red. He sees red. When has the knife gotten so close to his skin? Shota doesn’t know. He drags it across. He creates art. He's ruining himself. He loves it. He hates it.
The knife stops. He’s dizzy. Red is covering his arm. Red is inside him. It should be. It’s on the floor. That's bad. He doesn’t care. His left arm is useless now. The knife is in his right hand. He brings it closer. Towards himself. His stomach. His heart. He doesn’t have one. His throat.
Mika is waiting outside. She’s scratching at the door. She’s meowing. She’s howling. She’s crying. He gave her food. She should be good.
Plats is also there. He’s with Mika. The cats are both there. Hizashi’s going to be here soon. They shouldn’t worry. They’ll be fed. Plats is crying too. That bastard never cries. Neither does Shota. But Shota cries. He cries now. And so does Plats. The cats have been crying non-stop over the past few days.
Ever since–
He’s dizzy. His vision is swimming. He isn’t breathing. He’s breathing too quickly. He still has the knife. He can’t concentrate. He’s losing it. He’s lost it several times already. Never like this. Always like this. His eyes are blown wide. They’re closed. He cries. He has no tears. He cries anyway.
The knife.
Shota hesitates. Does he want this? Yes. No. Fuck. He wants to meet IZUKU. He can’t. He has to. Shota wants to see him. He wants to hold him. He wants to yell and ask what has gotten into his head. He tries to. He already has tried to. He failed. Many times. He won’t fail now.
The knife is near his throat, he realises.
Shota is calm. It hurts. He presses the knife against his skin. Not enough to cut. Enough to feel. It hurts. Shota’s numb. He presses harder. He pulls the knife back. He sees red. There is red on the knife. Blood. He presses again. Deeper. He falls to the ground.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
He doesn’t feel anything.
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Hizashi is humming a low tune. His day at work has been exhausting, but productive. Thankfully, he was only at his Radio Show today, so he didn’t need to be in his hero costume. The show has been going well, and he’s been staying at work more and more. He wants to consume himself with it until he doesn’t feel anything. He turns the lock to his apartment.
“I’m home!’ He calls out. He doesn’t see Shota in the living room or the kitchen. He’s probably upstairs in their room, sleeping. He spends most of these days sleeping.
Hizashi smells blood. He ignores it. It’s probably nothing, he reminds himself.
He walks to the kitchen and starts dinner. He’s making katsudon a simple soup. Hizashi thinks about all that has been happening lately. With the funeral and Iz-- his son’s de– disappearance. He’s not fully gone. He’s just resting. They’ve all been a mess. Nemuri was admitted to a psych ward. Shota… He wasn’t okay, but he goes to therapy thrice a week.
Hizashi? Oh. Hizashi isn’t bothered by it. He is. It hurts. He doesn’t need therapy. Nobody said he had to go. So he doesn't. Simple. It’s anything but simple.
He doesn’t see Mika or Plats here. They’re probably with Shota. Or hiding somewhere in the house. He huffs out a small laugh. The soup is almost ready, it just needs five more minutes or so. He goes to sit on the counter
His phone vibrates. The screen lights up with ‘Tensei’. He sighs and picks it up.
“Hello? Zashi?” Tensei’s voice comes over the speaker.
“Heya, dude! I’m making dinner, so if it isn’t anything important, I’d rather not burn the house down.” Hizashi tried to sound cheery, but he doesn’t know if he succeeded
Tensei huffs out a laugh. “Nah, nothing big.” he pauses, voice sounding more serious now, “Could you… check up on Shota? I know he might be sleeping, but… He isn’t answering and I have a bad feeling. I know it might be nothing, but..” he trails off.
“Of course, man! Just let me turn the gas off… Alrighty!” he hops off the counter and turns the gas off, preventing any fires, “Stay on the line, and we’ll check on him together, okay?”
On the other line, Tensei thanks him. As Hizashi is walking up the stairs, he can feel the smell of blood intensify. He’s never liked that smell, especially after IZUKU, so he puts his shirt over his nose to block it out. It doesn’t work as well as Hizashi would like it to, but ya gotta stick with what ya have.
He’s standing in front of their room. He sees Mika and Plats asleep on the floor in front of the door. Hizashi moves them a little so they won’t block his path and he slightly opens the door, enough so that he sees the bookshelf that’s right next to it, but not the rest of the room. The smell gets worse with every second.
“Shota? You alright?” He clutches his phone with his hand, “I’m coming in!”
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He screams.
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Somewhere, far, far away, a son and a father are hugging. They both have wings. The son is crying heavy tears, apologizing for everything. For what he did. For what he didn't. The father is also crying, although silently. He's saying that 'it's okay' and 'we're free now'. He's comforting his child. His everything.
So they stay like that. For the rest of eternity.