Chapter Text
“Young man... you, too, can become a hero.”
A small, skittish, doe-eyed Midoriya Izuku had knelt to the pavement at those words, hand clutching his chest as he'd cried and cried.
Yagi Toshinori had looked down at him with newfound purpose, excitement flaring something in his chest that had long gone unlit, because today he'd happened across a boy who was so much like him. Quirkless, determined, and brave to a point that almost crossed the line of ‘crazy’.
This child had all the makings of a hero. His passion to do good perfectly mirrored Toshinori's, and Toshinori would help make this deserving boy’s dream come true while also fulfilling his own.
He would do so by bestowing a great gift upon him. The greatest gift he himself had ever received.
Yes, Toshinori had known with absolute certainty that very first day. He had made the right choice. He had made an excellent choice.
He’d been filled with nothing but hope at the sight of the good-hearted, dauntingly emotional kid before him. Hope, and already a spark of–
– familiarity, because somewhere along the way, muddled amongst countless days turned to months spent clearing Dagobah Beach, this little fanboy had started to become his boy. Toshinori's encouraging pats on the back had progressed to playful tousles to the boy's wild, green hair, and to pulling the squealing boy into easy half-hugs. Asking Izuku things like “Did you eat enough today?” came without thought and out of genuine concern, rather than just checking to make sure that the kid was sticking to his training plan.
“Look, All Might! I did it… I did it!”
He'd taken in the sight of a spotless beach with awe, jaw dropping while Izuku roared his victory from atop the trash heap. This kid’s drive actually gave him goosebumps, made his heart prickle with–
– pride, pride so large it had practically puffed out his chest when the boy barely passed UA's entrance exam, even while his insides had knotted with worry when Izuku destroyed his arm.
They would figure this out. They would, because Izuku was the most determined, hardworking person Toshinori had ever met. And with Toshinori continuing to guide him, the two of them would not fail.
Because, if nothing else, Toshinori could admit he was pretty good at being a hero. And that alone should be sufficient in helping lead the boy to become one, too.
Right?
“I have to work harder than anyone else to make it! I'll never catch up otherwise… I want to be just like you! The world's strongest hero.”
That he may have been, but Izuku; he'd be better than All Might ever was. The glimpses he'd been getting of his protege’s bright future filled him with total–
– reverence, and he wondered if this kid would ever stop surprising him when Izuku, in his own unconventional way, made a name for himself at the Sports Festival. He had taken Toshinori's instructions so to heart with proclaiming “I am here!” that he was now fully convinced the boy could make anything happen if it was asked of him.
Now…
On that same thought.
It was flattering, deeply humbling that Izuku thought so highly of Toshinori that he'd drive himself to impossible lengths to make him proud. But that very same trait of his was beginning to cause Toshinori to–
– worry.
Fiercely so.
That knot in his chest? It never went away. In fact, he suspected that it had made a permanent home for itself. Twisting at his insides when it came to any threat of harm nearing this boy.
Izuku had broken his limbs again. Again, and again, and again. Chiyo warned them that this time of healing him would be her last.
He wasn't worried about Izuku’s potential for a bright future as a hero. That was never a concern, never.
He was worried for the boy, because something was wrong, here, with the way Izuku kept sacrificing his limbs and his health whenever he strived to meet Toshinori's expectations. (He'd long surpassed them; didn't Izuku know that? Had Toshinori ever told him he'd already exceeded any hope and dream he'd ever held for a successor?) He was going through the growing pains of adapting to a quirk too powerful for his young body, sure, but he was concerningly dismissive of the damage done to himself in the process. As if getting hurt was an afterthought; a perfectly acceptable price to pay to fulfill One for All's legacy.
Injuries were… unfortunately, nearly inevitable in their line of work. Even still…
Concern for his successor crept further through Toshinori by the day. He gravely needed to step things up. Where was he failing his boy? Were his instructions unhelpful? He was a good hero, sure, but he was starting to realize that that didn't necessarily translate to being a good teacher.
The thought that he'd been missing something important, something vitally important gripped him with–
– self-loathing, because God, he hadn't killed All for One. The sacrifice of his lung, of his stomach, of decades off of what could have been left of his hero career meant nothing, because that monster still lived on.
Which also meant that Toshinori had passed this burden down onto Izuku. He had all but placed a glaring target onto his boy’s back. His boy, who was still finding new ways to manage a quirk too powerful for his body because he was an amazing child, thriving in spite of a mentor that, Toshinori was realizing more and more, was amateur; woefully inadequate. But the kid was still not ready. And if Toshinori had done his job right the first time, Izuku would never have to be ready.
With his whole heart, he'd believed he'd given his boy a wonderful gift. But, as he was learning more and more, he may have damned him instead.
The weight of that threatened to crush him, some days. Made him feel–
– desperate, and it was all he could do to bow down to the boy's mother, forehead touching the floorboards as Izuku's had once touched the pavement before him. And Toshinori was filled with newfound purpose, just as he was on their fateful first day, but his purpose was no longer just one so broad as fulfilling his destiny within One for All. His purpose was now more simply Izuku.
Because even if the boy left UA– even if he was forced to abandon a career as a hero all together today– Toshinori would not be leaving him.
Inko's tearful response corrected that Toshinori needed to choose to live for Izuku, not die, and when he accepted these terms he felt–
– hypocritical.
Because it all made sense, now. Why Izuku struggled so. Why Toshinori struggled with knowing how to help him.
Never before had his own mistakes been so glaringly obvious until they'd reflected back at him from off of his successor.
He didn't know how to help Izuku because he'd never known how to help himself. Toshinori had all but modeled these self-destructive behaviors for him.
Hypocrite, his mind chastised, because Toshinori had picked Izuku based on the way the brave-hearted boy had thoughtlessly thrown himself into danger. And now he was berating his successor for continuing that very same tendency.
Hypocrite, because he himself had many times ignored the pleas of others wanting for him what he now desperately wanted for Izuku.
God, he was so, he was so–
– cowardly.
“You can’t be a hero long-term with that kind of mindset. You can't, Midoriya.”
He'd said it out of fear. He’d said it to make a point, because imploring Izuku to consider the importance of his own safety never worked, but pointing out how it might affect his heroics did. His words had stung in a way he'd never intended, though, based on the crumbled look on Izuku’s face.
Him and his damn fear. It either caused him to clam up all together, or when he did manage to speak it out loud, he said things so very wrong.
And when Toshinori choked at Izuku's question…
“Does any part of you regret giving me One for All?”
Nothing had changed from the day he'd met Izuku. Nothing. He'd known he'd made the right choice then, and he knew it now.
And yet, everything had changed from the day he'd met Izuku. Everything.
Time had tied a dizzying flurry of emotions to this boy and his place in Toshinori's heart; a laundry list’s worth. Pride, guilt, adoration. Sheer gratitude, endless worry, absolute joy. Things were so much more complicated than that day when Toshinori had first looked upon Izuku through a lens tinted by One for All.
Because now, overriding anything and everything else, he looked at Izuku with–
– love.
And when Izuku, his son in all but blood, nearly died in his arms without Toshinori ever even having told him as such, the old hero made himself a fervent vow.
If his boy had been left any room for doubt before, any at all, then things had to be different moving forward.
Midoriya Izuku would never go another damn day without knowing just how cherished he was.
Midoriya Inko is, unfortunately, no stranger to having to wait back.
The first call of the day she gets is from a member of UA's staff she doesn't recognize– Thirteen, she thinks they say their name is?– updating her on the crisis as she scrambles to find a television in the middle of her workday. She catches the tail end of a replay showing her sickly looking son being abducted by criminals at gunpoint, and the phone slips out from her hand.
The second call isn't until later, harrowing hours later. Work has long since relieved her before she could even tearfully attempt to tell them what's happened; news of an attack on UA students is travelling quickly, it seems. This second call is from a doctor. A weary sounding one who gives her a staggering amount of information. Information she has to force herself to take in, because after the brief elation of knowing Izuku has been found, her brain stutters to a screeching halt at the word “flatlined”.
Her baby. Her baby’s heart had stopped. The fact that the doctor had led this call with “the worst of it is over now, Mrs. Midoriya,” is all that keeps her numbly nodding along with the rest of his updates instead of shattering like fallen glass. Part of her does, anyway, but Inko has had to steel herself against the possibility of bad news for a long time, now. Starting the minute her son chose such a dangerous path. The stronger part of her remains standing to do what needs to be done– the part that chants “he's alive. He's fighting. He's alive.”
She has been Izuku’s worried, fearful mother all of his life. What he'd needed her to be all along, though, was a mother who believed in him. She'll try her very best to be so now.
The third call of the day is from All Might. Where the first two callers had been professional, clinical yet encouraging, All Might is sincere and haggard. She hears how he tries not to be for her sake; how he clears his throat to cover the crack in his voice. Strangely enough, the vulnerability is what reassures Inko more than anything else today.
At least Izuku has someone with him who loves him like I do.
She has not yet been given permission to enter the city they're in, let alone the hospital. None of the families of the victims have– not while the villains remain loose with who knows how much more gaseous poison on their persons. Especially with one of them having an elusive transportation quirk. Security at the hospital containing the victims is on high alert. As willing as she is to try her hand at kicking out a few kneecaps to get through, she sags a bit in relief knowing that All Might has been with Izuku through the worst of it all.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Midoriya. I'm so sorry. But please be assured that neither heaven nor hell will be moving me from his side until you can get here.”
“Why are you sorry?” She demands through her own tears. He doesn’t answer that. He doesn't need to; she knows enough about him to infer that he blames himself. She would never have let her son go back to that school if she hadn't been certain about one thing, though. Whatever things All Might believes he's failed at, caring fiercely for Izuku isn't one of them. “And, I– I know it won't. Thank you, All Might.”
“We have promising intel that should help uncover the villains’ whereabouts sooner than later. My hope is that you'll be able to visit no later than tomorrow. In the meanwhile… try to get some rest, maybe,” All Might suggests halfheartedly. She nearly laughs at the ridiculous notion.
“I think you know as well as I do that won't be happening. But… I will wait a bit more easily knowing you're with him. Please, please keep me updated on how he's doing. And thank you… thank you so much for being there.”
All Might clears his throat again. “Truthfully, ma'am, there's nowhere else I could be.”
When their call ends, Inko blinks. She hadn't realized she'd anxiously paced right into her son's room. Mostly untouched for the last few months, ever since he's been living in the school dorms.
The light from the doorway just reaches the head of the bed. She remembers all too well the nights the pillow had been filled by a tousled head of green. One who’d dreamt of nothing but heroes and of greatness. After years and years of waking up and telling his mother all about said dreams over their breakfast, she'd known in her heart he'd never be satisfied with a life of anything less.
She sits on the edge of Izuku's old bed, sinking into it a little. The comforter is crisp and cool, like new. She lets out a shaky sigh into the dark.
Because Midoriya Inko is, unfortunately, no stranger to having to wait back.
But she is a stranger to being able to trust someone else, anyone else in this world with her only son.
No; she won't be getting any rest tonight. But she will wait the slightest bit more peacefully knowing Izuku is in the most capable hands besides her own.
Toshinori dutifully switches out the cool cloth on Izuku's flushed forehead by the half-hour. In between, he helps to carefully pull the boy onto his side as a nurse holds cooling pads to his back. As a miserable Izuku shivers under his hands, Toshinori bitterly reiterates to himself that poison is a coward's choice of weapon.
He's biased, of course. His own combat style has never been sneaky, sinister, or slow to get the job done. He prefers upfrontness and efficiency, though he's never been averse to fighting with some flair; but as much pain as his peak form had once been capable of inflicting, he'd never desired to be excessive with it.
(Well– there was one exception. He can't say he had minded All for One’s pained roars when Toshinori had delivered the blows that would end up permanently disfiguring the demon's face. Not even a little bit.)
But Plague's particular flair aims to hurt, to needlessly draw out the suffering, to punish. For such a vile substance to be administered to innocent civilians, to children, to his boy…
He knows as well as any hero that most villains inherently don't fight fair. But Toshinori will never find himself quite able to look back on today's events without experiencing a simmering unforgiveness. Snaked around the part of his heart that had broken when Izuku's had stopped.
(And when, in the not so far future, Toshinori decides to hold a rare lecture in his Hero Training course– one about weaponry methodologies– and he lets himself rant and rave until he's a bit red in the face about how only the most dishonorable and spineless individuals use indirect means such as poison against unsuspecting opponents… well, people may end up looking at him like he's a little unhinged. At least like he's being a bit narrow-minded. Certainly like he's overly passionate about the matter. But he won’t be budging from his stance anytime soon.)
After several rounds of swapping out cooling packs to Izuku's forehead and torso, Toshinori breathes out a sigh of relief when their ministrations help to bring the boy's alarming fever down a bit. When the most recent dose of pain medication starts to taper off, however, Izuku’s body stiffens right up. He curls into fetal position, clutching at the bedsheets with whitening knuckles, sucking in with a pained hiss. His back trembles with every inhale and, heartbreakingly, he cries for his mother.
Toshinori presses at the ‘call nurse’ button a few more times than necessary, even though one had just left the room minutes ago. It's either that or he'll start to pull his own hair out.
The cause of Izuku's torment isn't something Toshinori can punch, smash or throttle, much as his hands ache to.
Then his boy starts tearfully calling out for him, even while Toshinori tries to assure him that he's right there, and the nurse who's arrived gently hands him tissue for his own fresh rush of tears.
But when the kid, eyes unfocused and glassy, looks around the room and mumbles out the name “Nana”, Toshinori barely stops himself from gripping at Doctor Furuta's coat lapels as the man leans over Izuku's bedside. Worry quakes his voice as he demands to know if Izuku's condition is deteriorating again.
Because Nana? Toshinori's Nana? He's heard stories of people seeing the deceased right before they pass. Spirits appearing to accompany the dying into the afterlife. If Izuku is seeing the dead, if he's currently seeing Shimura Nana in this room with them, then–
Please– please don't take him from me, he silently pleads with her unseen ghost. Not again.
“His condition is still critical– but he is fighting this, All Might,” Doctor Furuta tiredly assures him, gingerly patting at– oh. One of Toshinori's hands had made it to clutch at the tail of the man’s coat like a scared child. He can't even find it in himself to feel too sheepish, but Doctor Furuta handles it calmly, likely having decades under his belt of dealing with distressed family members. “It can be worrisome to watch someone experience delirium, I know. But I assure you he's not knocking at death’s door. Not anymore.”
Toshinori tries to slow his panicked breathing after that (because death's door had opened for Izuku, and Toshinori will stand vigil until he's certain the damn thing stays shut). He passes off Izuku’s mention of his old mentor as a fever induced hallucination, as Doctor Furuta had said, barring the fact that Izuku has never met the woman outside of the vestige world.
Perhaps One for All is showing up for Izuku in its own way, doing its part to comfort the boy, too. That thought is a little more reassuring to Toshinori.
Furuta is a good doctor, he thinks distractedly. The man had called each of the student's parents, along with the families of any other victims under his care, to give them detailed updates on the health and steps of treatment for their loved ones. He's overheard some of the chaos out in the hallways, and he sees the shadows under the old man's eyes. He knows firsthand how these emergency scenarios can cause medical personnel to forgo the finer things, such as tending to the emotions of the loved ones involved, but this one has made certain to do so. He will have to properly thank him at some point– whenever Toshinori is a bit more right of mind, that is.
He himself had waited for a lull in Izuku's pain before he had called Inko, in an attempt to shield her from hearing her son's anguished whines in the background. If being held back wasn't hard enough, hearing Izuku's suffering from afar would make it even worse.
(He knows all too well. He... hadn't reacted all too hotly when he'd heard a frightened Yaoyorozu plead for the villains to stop harming Izuku.)
Toshinori had been fully prepared for Izuku's mother to be upset with him. He'd have understood that. He had taken Izuku back to UA under the promise he'd protect him, after all, and now here they were. She was certainly upset over the situation, but instead of reprimanding or blaming Toshinori, she'd thanked him.
Her implicit trust in him while her son is in this state… he doesn’t feel worthy of it. He holds it close to his chest, anyway.
He loses count of how many dampened cloths he swaps from Izuku's flushed forehead, or how many half-hours have gone by. Enough that his bladder has filled and begun to scream at him. It takes some patient coaxing from the night nurse that Izuku will be fine if Toshinori leaves for a bit. Even then, he strokes Izuku's hair for another full minute, eyes not leaving the boy's face. “I'll be right back,” he finally says. He hardly recognizes his own voice. “Alright?”
Izuku doesn't respond. Not that Toshinori had expected him to. The boy's brow is pinched, and his muscles twitch here and there, as if his nerves are all recovering from shock. Toshinori frowns, squeezing Izuku’s hand with his own before moving to stand. He will be quick.
His knees pop in protest. His back is awfully stiff from being hunched over for so long. He bites back a groan of discomfort as he beckons his legs to move.
The dusky red evening has long since faded into night. Toshinori hadn't pulled himself out of his own head long enough to notice until now. He winces when he flicks on the lights of the restroom. They're a fluorescent white, an unforgiving shock after hours at Izuku's bedside, which has been dimmed except for the soft glow of bedside monitors. City lights wink back at him from out the window. A helicopter whirs as it glides across a faraway rooftop. The city is awake with him tonight in its search for Plague. He should soon ask Aizawa or Chiyo for an update.
The smell of disinfectant is heavy in here. He must have gotten accustomed to the smell of sweat and iron. His chest spasms, and he's caught off guard when he abruptly coughs up blood; suddenly he's very aware of how the rest of his body aches, knees and back aside.
He must have pushed himself too far by running while carrying Izuku, who is quite heavier than he looks. Even moreso, though, he'd pushed past any physical limits he thought he had when he'd broken out into his muscular form. It's been ages since he'd last done so, and it had only been for a few seconds, but his ability to even do that surprised him almost as much as it had the villain chasing Izuku. The adrenaline that had raced through his veins must have masked the wear and tear it'd done; his weary body certainly feels the pang of it all, now.
Toshinori accidentally locks eyes with himself in the mirror and startles. If he'd looked disheveled earlier today– enough that Nezu had commented on it (and, God, was that really today? Anything before Izuku's kidnapping feels like a lifetime ago)– now he genuinely looks like he'd been the one to flatline and come back instead of Izuku. Heavy bags under already shadowed eyes make him look like the undead. Izuku’s blood stains his twisted, crinkled shirt. His clothes are tattered, his unexpected bulk up having ripping through them. Toshinori sighs, diverting his eyes from his unkempt reflection, hurrying to dry his hands and get back to his successor.
Even as he's tried to be fast, he comes back to the sight of an incoherent Izuku. The boy's eyes are only half open, but he's semi-awake for the first time since…
Since coming back to them.
The poor kid is trying to sit up, crying weakly for the kind nurse to let him go. Crying for Toshinori again. Toshinori's chest caves in with it. “Oh, Izuku,” he says thickly, hurrying back to the boy's bedside. “Come here, my boy. Come here.”
Izuku's gasping hiccups are so hard that Toshinori fears he'll start to hyperventilate.
“Shhhh. Shhh. You're alright.” He pulls his boy to his chest and coos into his hair, taking his place to sit up at the head of the bed as he'd done before. He rubs what he hopes to be soothing circles at Izuku's back. He hates that he has no other means to help Izuku. All he can give him are the most tender expressions of his care. He is far beyond caring who is or isn't in the room when he does so, too rundown to notice who may be witnessing him at his most emotionally threadbare.
“I w-want my m-mom…” his boy cries hoarsely.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Wh-where’s All M’ght…?”
“I-I’m right here, kiddo.”
Not only is it off-putting that the boy is too out of it to recognize that his mentor is right beside him, but the thought that Izuku has been crying out for him and may believe that Toshinori has not been responding... it grabs and twists at something inside him, just as it does every time. I will always be there when you ask for me, my boy, always.
He isn't certain how long they remain like that for. Toshinori's voice seems to help ease the boy's distress, so he starts to ramble off some personal stories of his; ones he knows Izuku has enjoyed hearing before, and ones he realizes he might not have told him before (and if he hasn't– he will be sure to rectify that whenever his boy fully wakes up, should he want to listen). He doesn't know how much Izuku understands. When his voice goes ragged from use, and his mind is too tired to pull together the details of any more stories, he hums, instead. He loses track of what tunes; some are classics, some are lullabies, but Izuku doesn't seem to care either way. He gives his voice a break only whenever Izuku's discomfort seems to hit a temporary lull. In those moments, he merely drags his hand up and down the boy's back, rocking him in the silence.
And then– during what must be one of the more ungodly hours of the middle of the night– a hopeful spark lights within Toshinori when he dares to think that Izuku's breathing might sound just a little less wet, a tad less labored.
Doctor Furuta comes to check in on them, then, the lights of the bedside monitor washing over his tired face. His mouth twitches in a relieved half smile when he notes Izuku's less erratic vitals. “There we go. Slowly but surely, he's getting there. His most recent set of lab work shows a small amount of progress with the damage done to his organs, too. I'm comfortable with giving him a higher dose of pain medication,” he says, his hint of a smile dropping when Izuku flinches again. He places a hand on the boy's shoulder. “His body can tolerate it, now, and getting a proper handle on his pain will allow him to get real rest. That's the main thing he'll need from here on out.”
"Yes, that's– that's great, thank you,” Toshinori rasps out as the man titrates Izuku's dose.
Within a few minutes, Izuku's breathing slows, and his twitching become much less frequent. His grimace finally fades into something more peaceful. His body slumps where it had before been tense.
Toshinori lets out a near silent sigh of grateful relief. He stays seated where he's been at the head of the bed, wary of moving much when his boy is finally, finally showing signs of being comfortable.
The predictable, robotic beeping of the medical equipment nearly causes him to nod off. Toshinori's sleep the night prior had been unrestful, and the sheer adrenaline of the following day's events have left him bone-tired. With his boy now safe in his arms, finally restful instead of trembling, he leans his head back against the headboard. At last he allows himself to close his eyes– just for a few minutes. He is lulled by the steady rise and fall of Izuku's chest against his own.
Everything’s fuzzy.
Izuku doesn’t have a more eloquent word for it– not one he could conjure up right now, anyway. Not when his thoughts feel about as well formed as putty. Sights and sounds and sensations fly around him just out of reach, as if he’s watching his own life through a kaleidoscope lens.
He’s smooshed up against a warm presence. One with wheezy breaths that rattle into Izuku’s ear. A hand large enough to cradle his entire head is all that keeps it from lolling back. He can feel the long fingers splayed through his hair.
He’s not with Nana anymore. Where did she go? He crinkles his nose. His lids are too heavy for him to open to see who he is with. He groans wearily with the effort, which causes the presence next to him to stir.
“Wh–m,” his sorry attempt at speaking is muffled by the noisy thing on his face. He tries to cough, but it’s too weak an effort; his throat feels thick, full of something he wants to clear out. His tongue is like a brick. He tries again. “Whe-r ‘m I–?”
“Izuku? It's– it's alright, kid, you don’t need to talk…”
“B-t–” His eyes ache in a way that’s familiar. Oh, no, he’s been crying again, hasn’t he? How much? He’s always been such a crybaby. His eyes sting with embarrassment at the thought. “M’ s-rry–”
“S-sorry? Whatever for, dear boy? Shhh… hush, Izuku, none of that,” says the voice. A hand smoothes his hair out of his face, a hand much larger than Nana’s. Even more calloused, too.
He can’t help it. The voice is so nice, so full of affection, that he cries again. The voice shushes him even more gently.
“Oh–” the tone changes, “is your pain getting worse again? We– we need to up your dose, then. Here, I'll call the doctor–”
He doesn't think he's in pain though, not right now. He just feels weird.
“‘m jus’… weird.”
A beat.
“You're… my boy, did you just call yourself weird?”
Ha. The change of tone from concern to choked bewilderment is funny, he thinks. He means to laugh, but he sneezes, instead. The movement makes his ribs spasm strangely; he doesn't feel any pain with it, though. “Whoaaa,” he drawls out in surprise.
Another pause before a wet, almost hysterical sounding chuckle. “Ah– I think this means your pain meds are finally working.” The voice sounds relieved, so impossibly relieved, shaky with it. “And… bless you, Izuku.”
“Blessed,” Izuku sighs, pointing to himself with a heavy hand. At least, he thinks he does. Hard to tell with his eyes closed. Laughter thrums through whatever Izuku's lying against. Far too big of laughter for whatever Izuku’s just said. Izuku's too tired to laugh along; instead he lets his hand flop back down with a long exhale.
“Ah... I don’t think you’re ready to wake up quite yet. Go back to sleep, little one.”
The tone is low, rumbling like thunder into Izuku’s ear, but that term of endearment is one he’s only ever been called by–
“Mom?” he asks groggily. Hadn’t he asked for his mother earlier, too? Where has she been? He wriggles in an attempt to sit up and look for her, but his limbs are all weighed down by lead. His head spins like a ceiling fan with the effort. He huffs his frustration. Is this what being drunk feels like? If so, he never wants anything to do with it. Something brushes away more hair that’s been tickling his face.
“No, she’s… not here yet, my boy, I’m sorry. She will be soon.”
Oh. Oh, of course. This deep, gravelly voice can’t be his mom. It sounds nothing like her. Silly, his loopy brain chastises himself for ever thinking as such. Silly, silly. His soup-like thoughts stir around his head, arranging alphabet noodle letters to try and make sentences. It is a masculine voice, he reasons simply. One that he knows and that sounds like it loves him.
And the adjacent of a mom that loves him is a–
“Dad,” he deduces in a mumble. No; that can't quite be right. Midoriya Hisashi wouldn’t be here, living in America being one reason of too many, but it’s got to be a dad.
The presence around him stills. So do the breaths that have been rattling into Izuku's ear. He manages to crack his eyes open. They quickly droop back closed again, but he gets a glimpse of who is holding onto him. Sharp features with piercing blue eyes. That’s All Might, his bogged down brain confirms. I made it back to him, Nana! Did I tell you that already?
Izuku struggles to reopen his eyes– he’s got to tell All Might about his time with her, about what he's managed to do!– but he gives up the effort when one of the calloused hands cups under his chin. A large thumb runs once over his cheek. He melts under it. Maybe he doesn’t need to be in such a hurry to do anything, after all.
“I m’de it,” is all he whispers.
It's a very, very long time before he gets any response. He thinks of maybe going back to sleep. Until an abrupt sob shakes the bony surface he's been resting against, jolting Izuku slightly.
“Yes, son... yes you did.”
The feeling of something warm hitting his face has his mouth pulling a frown. Those aren’t his own tears. Why is All Might sad? His favorite hero should never, never ever ever be sad.
“D’nt be sad,” Izuku slurs. What was it All Might had said to him, once? All Might’s phrases are usually good ones to repeat for pep talks. Even if the pep talk is being given to the man himself. “‘S on-y room for one cry-aby.” His brow furrows. He can barely open his mouth, let alone get words out correctly. All Might seems to understand what he said, though, because he lets out another laugh. A brief, gurgled sound, as if he’s been caught off guard and is fighting not to spit up blood. A thumb continues to rub the side of Izuku’s face.
“There’s only room for one crybaby, hmm? Is that so?” Fondness fills his rumbling voice with a warmth that washes over Izuku like a bath. “You might have to just relinquish the title over to me for the day then, kid. God knows I've put the work in.”
His tone still sounds suspiciously warbled. Is he still sad? Izuku blindly pats where he’s guessing All Might’s shoulder is in what he hopes is a comforting manner. He thinks he accidentally hits something else, like a chin, but oh well. This is what his mom does when Izuku is feeling down: a gentle, reassuring touch, and a simple ‘I love you’. Hopefully it makes All Might feel a little bit better, too. “D’nt be sad,” Izuku mumbles again. “Love you.”
A large hand holds Izuku’s more firmly against– oh, yeah, that's definitely All Might’s chin. The prickly stubble of it tickles his palm. He means to apologize for batting at the man’s face, but the hand holds his own right in place where it had landed, giving it a long squeeze.
“... I love you,” All Might croaks. His voice sounds even worse than before. Maybe Izuku’s pep talk hasn’t been very helpful. “I love you so much. Do– do you know that? Did you know that?”
Izuku doesn’t know much of anything right now. He huffs tiredly.
“I need you to know that, kid. I…” an unsteady inhale. “I don’t know what I’d have done with myself if… if you hadn’t…”
He feels his own breathing start to slow. A quick kiss lands on the hand of his being squeezed. Another kiss, followed by half a dozen or so– he loses count– land themselves onto the top of his head, onto his closed eyes. Izuku melts again.
“I'm sorry that… that I neglected to tell you before, that I neglected to tell you many things before. But I love you, Midoriya Izuku. With everything I have. Do you hear me?”
“Love you,” Izuku drones out again. His mind isn't picking up all the details– not right now. All he knows is that he feels calm, and safe. He thinks it's been awhile since those things have felt true, so he relishes in it. He further sinks into the warmth wrapped around him, and he yawns quite dramatically. “‘‘Mmm' tired."
Another wet sounding chuckle reverberates through his cheek. “Yes, I can see that. Go back to sleep like I told you to, then, you stubborn boy.”
For once, Izuku simply does as he’s asked, and he goes to sleep.