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The concept of dying is not new to Izuku. It offered itself to his chubby fingers, small and young, the innocence of youth cupped between his palms even as he received its message. The first encounter he had with death was his father. Izuku was four and understood it in the way that kids do, vaguely and with temporary sadness, just barely understanding that no, daddy was not coming home, not ever again. He didn’t understand the wake, nor the funeral, nor the eulogy his mother gave but he did feel like, strangely, he had lost some part of himself.
It was easy to learn that hurting came before dying. Izuku figured it out quickly after he turned 4 and the doctor officially diagnosed him as quirkless. If he was lucky, people treated him like glass, as if being quirkless made him sickly and weak. They told him it was easier for him to get hurt, to make his mom worried, to never have the chance to get back home. It was around then that kids started learning they could hit him and get away with it too. And they did hit him, him and all his paper thin skin wrapped around fragile bone, and he wondered if he would go away like daddy did too.
It only gets worse, really, as he gets older and learns to take more pain silently. To tune out the world as he is hit over and over again (he gets so good at first aid). He gets intimately acquainted with death when he searches up his chances of survival as a quirkless kid in a world full of quirks. Rates of suicide are higher than rates of quirkless unemployment and those rates are higher than the statistics for quirkless who make it past high school. Quirkless people are going extinct . If they aren’t old, they’re dead. If they aren’t dead, well, they will be. And it is a sort of uneasy comfort with death that Izuku settles into. A resignation that I will die young . It is this steadfast acceptance that he takes to his dreams of being a hero, knowing he will burn fast but desperately wishing that he will burn brightly too.
The kids at his school try their damn hardest to beat that out of him. And they get close, a few times. The first time Izuku really contemplates suicide, he finally understands with a soft oh. This is why people would resort to this. This is what they mean, this crippling urge to crawl into yourself, to unravel every single piece of you so you can finally fucking rest because you are young, and stupid, and so goddamn tired that it hurts. Everytime you close your eyes, you are one step closer to begging you never have to open them again, and it is a cruel joke , he thinks, that he wants to save everyone when he can’t even save himself. It’s here that Izuku goes from being uneasily comfortable with dying to being comforted by the idea of dying. He wonders if something in him dies a death here too, one piece of him that was still innocent and hopeful and naive .
Some part of him dies a third death, he thinks, the first time he plans his suicide. Staring at red spider-lilies and rooftops and cross-referencing his mother’s work schedule. It falls in place, too quickly, too easy. He realizes how fast it would be over, how quickly he could execute the plan. He is so tempted by it, the idea of slipping away, soft and gentle and easy. He is ashamed, afterwards, that he could think of abandoning his mother. But he doesn’t forget, either. Tucks his dreams of flying away into that empty part of him which aches and echoes with a howling wind, long abandoned and worn down. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about the fact that he isn’t scared of dying, just scared of failing at that too. More afraid of the aftermath and what happens if he doesn’t die.
But things like that never stay buried, and it is a long foreshadowed day when Kacchan tells him to jump off a roof for a quirk in his next life, and for his idol, All Might, to so ruthlessly crush his dream to be a hero, the one thing left in his toothpick body still keeping him going.
There must be some irony that I am more shaken from All Might’s words than an attack from a villain. Some foundational part of him shakes loose, rattling around inside his ribcage and clawing at him.
He reflects that he did not realize childhood was something worth grieving over until now. He isn’t lucky enough to grow out of childhood-- instead it’s been gouged out of him, maimed over and over until all its childish comforts were torn free, still scarlet red and leaking blood. Though he’d never understood childhood conventionally, he had still dared to dream, eyes starbright and feverish, heart still thumping to the beat of the universe, a war cry and a scream to come for me because I will rise again. Now these pieces of him are gone too, and all that’s left of him is that young boy who learned quickly how to get hurt and take it silently. How to sit in the quiet until it stole your voice and crawled inside you to make a home beside your heart.
He closes his eyes and imagines stardust climbing into his throat, cloying and choking. Too similar to apocalyptic volcanic ash and cremated remains. Too similar to chalk dust and plaster. Too close to suffocation and drowning, again and again. He’s so good at ripping himself to pieces and watching as the world slips out his fingers, all gray and muddy, molasses slow ( dissociating ).
He wonders if red is supposed to be the color of life, a signal something is still beating, the same color as the flowers on his desk for every day he still shows up. Still refuses stubbornly to just give up and fucking die already. He’s not sure if it is spite or resilience or something else that keeps him on his feet. Would they give me white lilies at my funeral? he thought, would they pray for my forgiveness? Would I grant it?
Izuku knows the answer. As much as he’d like to think he’s learned and built high enough walls, he knows at the core he’s still that same dumb fucking kid with big dreams and a bleeding heart that was going to get him killed one day. So yes, he would forgive them, and he would carry this burden for them again, the weight of their absolution dragging on his ankles like shackles. He doesn’t know how to do anything but hurt, really.
It’s not surprising when he jumps in to save Kacchan. They’re a binary star system, the two of them. Orbiting around each other, helpless to the pull. Unfortunately for Izuku, Kacchan has always shined brighter, been louder, been bigger. In star systems like these, the smaller, dimmer star gets pulled closer and closer, tighter and tighter, until it is consumed, every piece of him siphoned away . He’s a little bit surprised, a little bit disappointed when he makes it out alive. It’s nothing new though, nothing like loose plaster and white ashy dust that rattles around inside him, remnants of what little childhood he had left. Kacchan pushes him aside, tells him he is still worthless, tells him that he did not need saving, and all the heroes on the scene lecture him about recklessness and endangerment. He wonders quietly, when they will realize that he does not want to be saved, or when they will realize that they do not want to save him either. Do not think he is worth saving.
It’s a bittersweet acceptance when All Might offers him his power. Izuku, still that same bright-eyed dumb fucking kid , says, “yes.” He doesn’t know it will kill him at the time, but it is not that part he regrets.
When Izuku goes to U.A., it is with desperation and a dangerous, dangerous kind of recklessness. A telling kind of carelessness. He breaks himself over and over and over and wonders if the teachers can see through him. If they can tell that he sits on a precipice, balancing on the edge of the double-sided blade of insanity, one part genius and one part decadence, always this close to turning the knife on himself and plunging it in. So he breaks bones, fights villains, chases a hero killer, fights more villains and almost-dies again and again and again.
Each time, he wakes up, not quite disappointed, though not relieved either. He wakes up tired and exhausted like he’s never slept and hides it well, behind irreverent, unabashed smiles. All the while, in the back of his head, wondering if there’s a clock ticking in the background. If-- When his luck will run out.
He’s not surprised that it comes earlier than he expects.
He did not ever think he would ever die like this, though.
Sir Nighteye is the one who throws the first accusation, demanding that Midoriya be investigated. He says he’s seen what Midoriya writes in those notebooks of his after touching him upon his short visit requesting to be an intern. Nighteye had denied him then, on principle, thinking that this boy was both unworthy and disloyal. A traitor.
Nedzu sighs. He cannot afford another scandal, and Nighteye knows this. He has no choice but to let the investigation proceed. “If this goes wrong, it’s on you,” he warns Nighteye.
“I know,” is the only response he gets.
Nedzu calls a faculty meeting to update everyone on the situation. Nighteye claims that Midoriya is collecting information on them all in those notebooks of his that he’s always writing in. Even if most of the U.A. faculty have doubts as to whether Midoriya is truly capable of being a traitor, most of them are later swayed by the combination of Sir Nighteye’s influence and the threat the notebooks pose. Once they see themselves written in the notebooks, they become afraid.
Only a few of them still disagree, and even then, they are obligated to inform Midoriya’s class. Aizawa is almost disappointed at how fast the behavior of his whole class changes. Children can be so cruel, he thinks, as friendly smiles take a 180 degree turn. There are suspicious glances and his classmates shy away from Midoriya, save one or two. None of them had believed it for approximately 5 minutes before it was mentioned that Sir Nighteye had launched the investigation. Their trust in heroes was enough to outright convince some of them and cast doubts into the minds of others. Better safe than sorry, most of the class had thought as they shunned Midoriya. They stopped sitting with him at lunch, stopped talking to him except when necessary.
He watches Midoriya go quieter and smiles grow emptier and emptier before disappearing completely. Yamada tries to be extra enthusiastic and crack more jokes, but Aizawa sees Midoriya stay unresponsive. He supposes none of the faculty is guilt-free, though, regardless of whether they believe the accusations or not. None of them fight it, because they are all scared by the sheer breadth of knowledge in those notebooks too.
Fear, crippling and heaving.
Fear, circling at the center of the human psyche.
Fear, the black hole at the center of our galaxy.
Izuku should’ve expected this. Kacchan was right all along, his notebooks were creepy and stalkerish and apparently, dangerous. Maybe he should have taken Kacchan’s advice too. If he were dead after all, he wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be given suspicious looks and treated like a traitor. It was supposed to be better, he thought, this was supposed to be U.A. Once again, his faith is proven as naive and false again. He’s being investigated, treated as a threat. His teachers look away and can’t meet his eyes. Most of his classmates give him the cold shoulder, shun him if they aren’t outright hostile.
Betrayal feels cold these days. Anger turns quickly into something empty and howling, like the parts of him that have already been torn out. An arctic tundra, biting and unforgiving. He wonders if he should be fighting the cold, if he should do something besides watch as ice crystals crawl up his veins and frostbite grapples at his fingers.
I’m so tired , he flexes his fingers idly and wonders if the afterimage of purple-black fingers he sees is simply a hallucination. His mind slips away, in an effort to protect him. The world grays out and he floats around, eyes empty and movements absent-minded. He loses himself there, in the black and white, and does not fight it.
It’s so cold.
“We know about the notebooks, Izuku,” he says flatly.
“Oh yeah, heh, I just think your quirks are so amazing!”
They scoff at him, shaking their heads, and Izuku’s stomach turns, sour bile rising up his throat.
“Yeah right. We know the truth. If your intentions were pure, you would’ve asked us about it. Or mentioned it. I can’t believe we ever trusted you.”
His classmates. His friends. Spitting at him, bitter and resentful. Izuku doesn’t even try defending himself. Doesn’t even try to explain how he’s been made fun of and spat and beat into silence about his notebooks. About how his quiet is learned and more habit than intention. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares on, devastated. Lost.
Izuku runs out of the teacher’s lounge. Clearly, going to All Might during lunch was a bad idea. At least he’s got enough time to collect himself before class. Somehow, Izuku had not expected All Might of all people to believe Sir Nighteye. In hindsight, he was foolish, to believe that good things last long. Even if Sir Nighteye and All Might weren’t on good terms, the truth of the matter was that they had worked together and known each other much longer than Izuku had been around. Most importantly, All Might trusted Nighteye in the way he simply could not— would not trust Izuku.
I am so heavy, he thinks. So cold. He doesn’t feel like he has the right to feel betrayal but here he is, hurting. Aching with it. Abandonment makes him feel unbearably alone, and it creeps in like a winter chill, settling into the marrow of his bones. His skin buzzes and he feels wound up, tense and twitching. He wishes he could crawl into himself and yearns for the gray nothingness, the numbness, the way winter is cold enough that sometimes you forget what being warm is at all. After all, you can’t miss what you never had.
He locks himself in the bathroom after All Might’s hostile and suspicious response to his presence during their brief “conversation.” The buzzing under his skin rises into a hum, overpowering his senses until it is all he can hear. He sits in the bathroom and tries desperately to hold himself together, all the threadbare pieces of himself, staying for as long as he can get away with before it makes him late for class. He realizes that he’s skipped lunch again. You are going to run yourself to the ground, a voice echoes. He smiles, so be it. He wonders how much he can bend before he breaks.
Todoroki watches on, in the back of the classroom, eyes intense. He thinks everyone is wrong. Midoriya would hurt himself far before he hurt anyone else. He knows, from the way he had been vicious and clawing to survive at the Sports Festival, the way he'd seen the chains Todoroki had put on himself and ripped them off.
These days, Midoriya is slower. His movements are more lethargic and he puts up less of a fight as his classmates only hit him harder. He moves like something is weighing him down, as if he is chained to the floor. He doesn’t even look like he feels it anymore. His face is blank most of the time, voice inexpressive. His hands and body are so still. You don’t realize how much Midoriya speaks with his hands and his body, with his tone and his smile, until it’s all gone .
They-- Midoriya and him-- still sit together at lunch, but it’s just the two of them, and Iida. But Iida knows too, that they are all wrong, with the way Midoriya had run towards Stain and not away. Neither of them know how to handle the empty shell sitting with them.
Today, Midoriya only looks emptier and sometimes they can catch him looking down at his hands like he can’t recognize himself. He looks like he prefers it that way. Pushing his food around, he doesn’t actually eat. That’s new too. Todoroki and Iida have to tell Midoriya to eat. He doesn’t put up a fight when they tell him to, but he never eats himself, without prompting. It’s like he’s forgotten, like he’s not even really there anymore. There’s no more mumbling, just this echoing silence around him. It ricochets and bounces off the walls in its own way. It makes Todoroki want to scream . He wants to grab each and every person in his class, turn them around, and shake them to ask is this what you wanted? Do you see the way he is dying? WIll he ever come back?
His classmates take this new Midoriya as confirmation that he is guilty. Todoroki wants to ask if the vindication they are feeling is worth it, is worth this.
Some days, Midoriya is pulled aside during lunch by a third year, the one who had come to their class to talk about internships, Mirio. Mirio tries to get Midoriya to be responsive, but the best he can get is a sad quirk of the lips. This semblance of genuine emotion only seems to come when Mirio gives Midoriya updates on Eri. He’s not allowed to visit Eri anymore, because he’s a “security risk.” Todoroki sees Midoriya whisper, “Take care of her,” and it makes Todoroki wary. It makes him wary because it sounds like Midoriya is saying goodbye.
Midoriya pats Mirio’s hand and drifts away, gait slow and heavy as if he is walking through honey. Mirio stares at his back, eyes shadowed. He wonders if Mirio is also afraid of what these goodbyes mean.
Midoriya arrives back at their table. “What’s going on, Midoriya?” Todoroki asks immediately. He pauses and looks at him and Iida, before saying, “Don’t worry about it. You guys are going to be great heroes, you hear?” He picks up his tray and walks away.
“Wait Midoriya-- Izuku!” They both scramble to get out of their seats and follow him, Iida reaching him first and setting his hand on his shoulder. Izuku flinches. Something freezes inside him, and Iida is similarly frozen beside him. Izuku walks faster. He disappears out of the cafeteria before they can stop him.
When Todoroki gets back to class, Midoriya isn’t there, but there isn’t anyone he can ask about his whereabouts. After class, he shoots up, making eye contact with Iida. They run back to the dorms to look for him. The first thing they do is check Izuku’s room, but when they get there, they find that it’s been ransacked. His notebooks are gone and his closet has clearly been searched through. There are boxes on the floor, as if people have been packing away Izuku’s stuff. He’s gone, Todoroki thinks in disbelief. Iida whispers next to him, “They actually took him. They took him.”
He’d been directed to Nedzu’s office directly after exiting the cafeteria.
They had to ask to search his room but the asking was more like a demand and Izuku knows that if he’d said no, it would appear as nothing but a confession. So he says, “Yes.” While they go through his room, Izuku stays in the office and the Principal watches him, with something like pity in his eyes.
It was pointless anyways. They find more notebooks, and Nedzu nods his head in confirmation as the office door bursts open. He informs Izuku calmly that they are taking him in to ask some questions. Izuku thinks that it’s a nice way of putting it.
They don’t put him in cuffs as they walk him out of the school, though Aizawa-sensei is one of those to escort him to a car waiting patiently outside. The windows are blacked out, and the exterior is an imposing black. He gets in quietly, without fanfare. As soon as the doors are shut, someone snaps on quirk-suppressing handcuffs. Izuku doesn’t even bother fighting, doesn’t have the energy. He just sits, pliant and vulnerable.
When he gets to their destination, no one is around. He gets out of the car and is walked into the building.
“Oh,” he thinks, as he is shoved into a cell.
Izuku shuts down, zones out. Repeats in his head, “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. Anywhere but here.” And the litany of words blurs together and Izuku disappears into the far recesses of his mind. It’s safer there. His eyes glaze over and he drifts, gently. Time passes but the way the minutes tick by feel more like suggestion than reality. He used to think dissociation was a curse. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from climbing out his own body. It’s better this way. Absent.
Interrogation would be a nice way of putting what happens next.
There’s a faint impression of screaming, hands slamming on a table. Endless demands and accusing eyes telling him to CONFESSCONFESSCONFESS. Accusing eyes calling him a traitor.
He’s glad that he’s unable to recall most of it in the end. Dissociation is dangerous but right now, it’s mostly kind.
Tsukauchi bursts in. “ What have you done? He’s a child .”
“You haven’t seen what’s in those notebooks,” Sir Nighteye defends.
Tsukauchi turns towards the cell and its one-way glass. Midoriya gazes at nothing in the room, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, eyes glassy. He looks catatonic.
“Well, was it worth it? Was it?” Tsukauchi demands as they both stare into the cell. Nighteye is silent.
Tsukauchi scoffs, making his way to the door and twisting the knob to pull it open.
He enters slowly, door creaking and clearly projecting his movements as he gets closer, speaking lowly with a soft voice, “Hello, Midoriya, I need you to answer a few questions for me, and then we can get you out of here. Just a simple yes or no will do. My quirk is lie detector and will make this very easy and then you can go home, okay? But I need you to answer me first.”
Midoriya is unresponsive. His eyes barely track Tsukauchi, the only sign that he’s even aware of what’s happening around him. He doesn’t give any reaction that he’s heard anything, so Tsukauchi slowly raises his hand, fully projecting the movement to touch his shoulder. Despite his eyes following the movement, Midoriya’s entire body still flinches when the detective’s hand makes contact. He quickly retracts, “You with me now, Midoriya?”
At last, Midoriya looks at him, but even so, his gaze seems to peer through him, as if he’s a window to see through. He rasps out, “Yes.”
“Ok, let’s get this done quickly. Are you the U.A. traitor?”
“No.” Truth.
“Have you ever given out or considered giving out potentially harmful information about heroes or your classmates at U.A.?”
“No.” Truth.
“Have you ever been threatened or coerced into giving out information or aiding villains?”
“No.” Truth.
“He’s not the traitor.” Tsukauchi gets to his feet, rage barely controlled.
Before he leaves, Tsukauchi turns around, “Midoriya, I will get you out of here as soon as possible.”
“I believe you.” Lie.
He stops and looks at Midoriya.
Midoriya meets his eyes before turning away, saying, “Don’t take it personally. I don’t find it easy to believe in most things these days.” He falls silent, making it clear that he is done talking.
(“HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SHITHEADS GOING ON ABOUT? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID? DEKU WOULDN’T BETRAY YOU GUYS FOR SHIT. He worships the ground you guys fucking walk on. He’d rather chop off an arm than hurt people anyways. Tch. Stupid fuckers. Deku could never fool anyone.”
“Well, we found the noteboo—“
“And? Deku’s been writing those for as long as he could write. He’s not your stupid fucking traitor.”
“There is a concerning amount of detailed information of the weaknesses of several heroes and US, his own classmates—“
“ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF? I just said he’s been writing in those since he could write. You really think he started plotting for some shitty ass villain league at age 7? When the league didn’t even fucking EXIST? I’ve known him since he was in fucking diapers.”
Uraraka snapped, “Bakugou, how would you know? You spent your childhood beating him up. Why would he tell you anything?”
Todoroki watched on impassively, with cold eyes. Judging and harsh. Katsuki wondered if the look was for Uraraka or him (or both).
Katsuki went silent. He was not blameless, though neither were these idiots. But it wasn’t his right to talk about it either.
He waited for the news, to prove him right. Deku was not the traitor. He waited, and waited, and waited some more until FINALLY, it came out that Deku was innocent. He couldn’t bring himself to feel smug though, or victorious. For the first time, winning felt hollow. It was too little, too late. Deku wasn’t coming back. Two stars turn to one. What a lonely piece of universe.)
Katsuki goes to call Izuku’s mom, “I’m so sorry, Auntie.”
“Katsuki? What happened?”
“Hasn’t Izuku told yo—, no, of course he hasn’t. He wouldn’t want you to worry. His self esteem is so low, he always thinks he’s being a burden.”
“Katsuki, explain. What’s happened to Izuku?”
“Well, you know those notebooks of his?”
“Yeah, the ones he’s always writing in?”
“Someone found out. And now they think he’s a traitor. It’s not good, Auntie, the way the class has been treating him. It’s not right.”
Izuku spends a lot of time thinking. All the parts inside of him are scrapped raw, hollowed out and so very cold .
As they start finishing up the paperwork to get him out, Izuku quietly speaks up, “Detective, I have a request.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I want to talk to Mirio,” Izuku says.
“...Alright, we can make that happen,” Tsukauchi responds hesitantly, wavering between treating him like glass and pretending everything is normal. He pauses as if to say something else before shaking his head and walking out the door to deliver the request.
Half an hour later, Mirio quickly makes his way there, peeking in, before widening his eyes at seeing Izuku inside. He rushes forward, going to hug Izuku before drawing back at the last moment after seeing Izuku’s hesitant eyes. Settling backwards, he clears his throat, asking in confusion, “Hey, you wanted to talk to me?”
“Mirio, I know you know about One for All,” Izuku starts with uncharacteristic seriousness, “I— I want to give it to you.”
“Izuku, you want to what.”
“I said, I want to give it to you.” His voice is stronger now, more determined.
“What— no, absolutely not. It’s your quirk, you’ve worked so hard to use it, and you are doing great! You still got a few years left at U.A. Plus, this decision seems kind of rushed--”
“I don’t think you understand, Mirio. I’m not going back to U.A. I don’t think I want to be a hero anymore either.”
“Izuku— no— this is your dream.”
“Was. Was my dream. Mirio, I’m so tired.”
“I don’t know if I want it…”
“I know Nighteye has talked to you about it, and you agreed to take it should anything go wrong. I don’t trust anyone else to take it. Please.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to make the decision now, I mean you haven’t even gone home ye—“
“I don’t think you understand. I’m done. I’m tapping out. Mirio, it’s so cold .” Izuku lets him see his exhaustion, his certainty.
Swallowing roughly, Mirio nods, “...Okay, Izuku. If this is what you want.” Izuku hands Mirio a hair. He feels as One for All starts to leave his body and instead of fighting it...he just lets go.
“You can always come to me if you’re having trouble with it, yeah? You’ll see me again.”
Mirio smiles sadly, “Yeah. After all, you’ve gotta visit Eri sometime too.”
Izuku knows that One for All has never been his quirk in the ways that matter. He’d been a vessel for a legacy and a battle 200 years in the making. Turns out, you can give a boy a quirk but you can’t make it his.
“ Are you sure, Midoriya?”
Midoriya meets Nedzu’s gaze straight on, “Yes.”
Nedzu sighs, taking the withdrawal forms. “I’m sorry.”
Midoriya looks away. Unsaid, sorry isn’t enough.
Nedzu shuffles the papers, “Can I ask why?”
Midoriya looks at him, “The time I spent in there, alone. Waiting, for someone, for something. I did gain something.”
Nedzu glances at him curiously, prompting him, “And that was?”
Midoriya taps the desk with his finger, and his eyes are intense when he says, “ Clarity .”
His dreams should have stayed dreams.
He only makes it home for a meager two days before he’s taken.
That first day he wakes up, alone, knowing that his dreams are well and truly dead, he wonders if the universe would be kind and let him sleep a little longer. Until the end of time and beyond.
The second day is quiet, grieving as he lays the last of his dreams to rest. He’s almost resigned, content with it all when he leaves the house for the first time since withdrawing from U.A.
Of course, of course, he’s an easy target now without the security that the school provides. Izuku’s not surprised he’s taken so quickly.
It happens silently, without raising any alarms. After all, he’s quirkless now. What’s another victim in the scheme of things?
His eyes water, let me carry this for you one last time. He doesn’t think he’s going to make it out of this one. Even if he does, he’s not sure there’ll be enough of him to care anymore.
Join us.
They hurt you.
They betrayed you.
Join us.
“No,” he says with tear-filled eyes.
Shigaraki scratches his neck in frustration, “Why are you still protecting them? They’ve thrown you aside! It’s not like you’re betraying them. You don’t owe them anything! Why don’t you want them dead?”
“Because I’m weak,” Izuku admits. Because all I know of love is pain.
He’s not sure how many days it's been, but it’s enough to know that no one is coming for him. Or if anyone does, they will not make it in time.
Izuku thinks that Tomura’s grown fond of him. They use first names now, anyways.
“Izuku, come on, there’s nothing left for you with them. Do something for yourself, for once,” Tomura coaxes.
Still, Izuku shakes his head, because he’s always been loyal to a fault. Too reckless with his own heart.
Tomura’s eyes are more frantic, “Izuku. Sensei doesn’t like that you haven’t been useful. Please, just give us something.”
Izuku lets his lips quirk into a semblance of reassurance, even as he shakes his head.
“Tomorrow. You have until tomorrow. If you still refuse, there will be permanent consequences.” All for One leaves the room, gait measured and steady.
Izuku looks on, knowing that the end draws closer, knowing that he will not give in. There is only, after all, one option besides surrender. Who will mourn for me?
“You don’t have to die, Izuku. Stay with me, stay here. You can be my player two, you’re worth more than this needless sacrifice,” Tomura pleads, out of character.
“It’s okay, Tomura. I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I would’ve liked to stay, in any other world. In any other universe,” Izuku continues.
“I forgive you,” is what he finishes with.
“Can I have a hug, Tomura?” Izuku asks.
Tomura’s hands twitch as his face settles into defeat, “Yeah. Yeah, you can,” he whispers.
They hold each other tightly, trying to say all the things that will go unheard between them. “You didn’t need to break your heart for them,” he says.
Izuku smiles weakly, “I don’t know how to do anything else.”
Tomura closes his eyes and breathes, imagining a world where there is more than this. More than goodbye.
All for One walks calmly into the room. “You are aware that I will have to kill you now? You refuse to be recruited and refuse to hand over information. You have no use.” Izuku meets his gaze head on, determined and silent.
“Will you die for them, then?” At this, a bittersweet smile creeps up Izuku’s face. He stays quiet but inside, he does not know if he is laughing or crying or how long he has been dying anyways.
Maybe some of this comes across because All for One nods, letting out a soft Ah, and speaks, “Tell me,” he flexes his fingers, “Are you tired, Izuku?”
He stares at All for One, eyes bright and defiant, mouth tense in a tight line, and says nothing.
All for One looks at him intently, “For what it’s worth, Izuku, I think you’ve done beautifully. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. You never had a chance. But I think that’s enough now.”
He sets his hand on Izuku’s forehead, “I’ll make it quick.”
Izuku’s expression doesn’t change, resolute and unwavering, but there is acceptance in his eyes, tired and waiting. Something quiet and yearning. Too old for eyes like his.
He tells All for One, honestly, “I was just a dumb kid, with dreams that wouldn’t die.”
All for One turns toward him, sighing, “I know, Izuku. I know you wanted to do good. It was brave of you. Foolish, but so brave. I can’t fault you for that.” In a parody of parental affection, he rakes a gentle hand through Izuku’s matted curls, who only closes his eyes in response.
All for One gives Izuku one last dignity, leaning down to whisper his name into Izuku’s ear, one supposedly lost to time, so at least Izuku can know whose hands have killed him. Whose hands have given his story its ending.
Finally, he whispers, “Don’t worry Izuku, you can rest now.” A quirk activates, and Izuku’s mind implodes, supernovas exploding behind his eyelids, the birth of a star and the pull of a black hole, infinity running circles around him. He doesn’t fight it. He just... lets go. There is a flash of relief before his eyes, watery and bright, shut for the last time.
All for One looks on, with a distant sadness. There is no room for guilt or regret in a man like him, but he, of all people, has always been able to understand potential. “My brother would’ve loved you,” he says out loud before standing up slowly. Izuku’s body is limp and it looks smaller than ever, frail and fragile and so, so young.
Dying feels like finally settling into his skin, like curling up in a blanket, like being safe again. Izuku feels whole in a way he hasn’t for years, feels like he’s finally weightless. He looks around in awe, this vast space, this inflationary universe, and closes his eyes.
It’s warm again, at the end.
He exhales softly, sagging with exhaustion. I’m done. It’s over . Someone taps his shoulder, and it turns out, All for One’s brother does in fact know him. Has been watching over him, too, even after he passed One for All on to Mirio. One kisses his forehead and hugs him, “Let’s go meet the others, yeah?”
It’s warm, as he drifts off, full of relief.
Izuku smiles, nodding, slipping away, gentle and easy and too young. “Did I make you proud?” he asks, voice small and childish.
One looks at him, smiling gently, “Yes, you did. You were perfect.” It’s easy then, for Izuku to follow him.
It’s warm.
The next day, an envelope is found, sitting candidly in the middle of the teachers’ lounge at U.A. It holds no danger beyond the words written on it, which read:
Originally, I had considered sending you Midoriya Izuku’s body as a form of both revenge and intimidation. You branded him a traitor when he was not, and it cost you a precious hero. I wanted to remind you of your mistakes and watch as your regret made you reckless. I wanted your pain because I do not pretend to be good. Jaded as I am after all these years, I cannot help but think you do not deserve his body. After all you did to him, he denied revenge. He denied to give me information. He protected you, until his dying breath. So no, I don’t think you deserve what little is left of him. Not this, not his faith, nor his love, nor his forgiveness. I don’t think you deserve his body, nor the privilege to bury it. So you see, I am caught in a strange dilemma, because of the fondness I harbor for a boy I’ve killed with my own hands. I suppose in some form, it was a mercy. He was living a half-life anyways, abandoned and alone and so tired. You know, when I killed him, the last thing I saw in his eyes was relief. I don’t think I will give you the body or the ashes. You will live knowing instead that he reached for death with open arms. You will never get the chance to earn his forgiveness. You will never be able to say sorry enough times. You will pay penance for his life until the end of your days. You will never have a hold on him, or a foot in his life. You will never touch him again.
I think he would thank me. He seemed tired of hurting, and that’s all you seemed to do to him. He deserved better.
He was so young. Too young, really.
-All for One
From the envelope, a single photo slips out. It is a boyish face, with closed eyes and pale lips. Serene. Green curls, freckles, and so very dead.
(“Promise me, Kacchan! Promise!”
“What, nerd?
“Promise you won’t let me go alone like daddy.”
“Tch. What the fuck does that mean, Deku?”
Eyes so serious for someone who’s barely 6: “Promise you won’t let me die alone.”)
For some reason, this had not been a promise Katsuki expected to break.