Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The end of the world begins with the unrelenting anger of a boy who never truly grew up, and the desperation of another who wants nothing more than for them both to see a better future. While Izuku Midoriya hurtles towards the Coffin in the Sky and a fight he may originally have been destined to win, these two boys — brothers shrouded in fire and pain and bitter, bitter resentment — exchange blows that seal the fate of billions.

“Dad’s ignoring me again,” growls Dabi in resignation. The inferno devouring Kamino Ward roars hot and blue around him. He rises atop a spire of flames, and below him four heroes grit their teeth against the heat. “That always makes me feel a little depressed, you know? You’d think I’d be used to it by this point.” Blue eyes glare down at the youngest Todoroki standing defiantly below. “I can’t believe he didn’t come himself. Instead, I get stuck with his third son and some sidekicks. Guess this is his answer to my question.”

On the ground, there are words exchanged around Shoto Todoroki, but he is rather heedless of everything except the brother he never knew looming above. The brother that, despite how juxtaposed their lives turned out, shares so many experiences with Shoto himself.

“Touya… Dabi,” Shoto grits. “I think you have the wrong idea. I’m not standing here because our dad told me I had to. I’m here of my own accord because I want to be the one who stops this madness.”

Dabi stares him down. Contempt lines his face. “Tell yourself that, but the truth is you’re still acting as dad’s perfect pawn.”

Shoto didn’t spend his entire life rebelling against that title just for his absent brother to insinuate it has any truth. “No. That would only be the case if I kept trying to be a hero while ignoring you.”

“Yeah, sure. Fair enough,” Dabi scoffs. “But in the end, this battle isn’t about soldiers acting on orders. Our armies don’t matter. This is about each of us getting our resentments out on the table, one person against the other… each trying to achieve our own goals.” He exhales a sharp breath, and smoke rolls off his tongue. “This world has been out of balance for a long time now, and some of us won’t accept that. Superhuman society has reached an end. You may not see it yet, but it’s the truth.”

Shoto is fundamentally opposed to the notion. For the sake of his friends — for those who finally taught him what it was to both love and be loved after so many years suffering at the hands of people he loathed to call family — he has to believe there is hope for a brighter future yet. But such a fantasy is one Dabi abandoned long ago, and so rather than ignite a pointless debate, Shoto switches the topic. “You survived the fire,” he says. There’s a pleading note to his voice that, try as he might, he cannot repress. “So why didn’t you come back home?”

There’s a lot left unsaid beneath a pretty little word like ‘home’. The fragile grin on Dabi’s face indicates he’s well aware of it. “Do you really wanna know?” he asks softly. “Okay, then. I’ll tell you. One last story for my little brother.”

Shoto doesn’t anticipate Dabi being quite so raw about his emotions, nor so open about the events following the fire at Sekoto Peak. His brother gains a far-off look after uttering the first few sentences, and from there seems to forget he’s in the middle of a fight entirely. Shoto knows he should take advantage of the distraction, but neither he nor Endeavor’s sidekicks move as the eldest Todoroki son recounts the last decade of his life. It doesn’t feel right to attack someone so deeply, mentally entrenched in the past, nor does it feel right for Shoto to interrupt his brother when he’s finally getting answers to the questions he’s had for months.

At some point, Dabi’s flames roar high around him, shrouding him from view of those below. When he concludes his story, they flicker apart to reveal a figure that looks minutes away from total cremation.

Shoto’s jaw clenches at the sight. “You’ve been prepared to die this entire time,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question.

Dabi doesn’t grin, but his eyes scrunch in a way that implies he would, had he still had lips. “I’ll burn all that dad holds dear,” he rasps. “That’s the reason I’m still alive. His suffering will be proof I existed! ”

“I told you I’m not going to let you do that, big brother! ”

And so their fight begins in earnest.

More words that are meaningless in the grand scheme of things get exchanged as the broiling heat of Dabi’s fire skyrockets at an unbearable rate. It takes all of Shoto’s concentration to maintain the cold flames rippling across his chest, strength building slowly as he waits for Dabi to make the first move.

When Dabi unleashes whip-like arcs of fire upon the battlefield, a larger and more sloppy imitation of Endeavor’s Hell Spider attack, the few heroes and villains scattered around go flying. Ingenium — Tenya Iida — gets blasted to the fringes of the flame-shrouded arena, where he hesitates. With his metal armour and engines prone to overheating, Iida is a very large liability in this fight. Already he can feel the sharp pain of sizzling skin where his exhausts meet flesh. Although he had jumped at the chance to help Shoto, nothing about him is built to withstand the blows these brothers will exchange; so he hangs back, observing every detail he can to determine when his speed may be needed.

On the front lines, Endeavor’s sidekicks try to push through the brunt of Dabi’s inferno as Shoto prepares to launch a counterattack — but Dabi is fast, and in less time than it takes to blink he’s skittered behind Shoto and sent his younger brother flying. He screams words that the youngest Todoroki doesn’t hear, mind too preoccupied with ensuring the only upper hand he has against his brother doesn’t flicker out of existence. Then Dabi is upon him, and it’s all Shoto can do to keep focusing on the flames licking his chest as Touya rains down hit after hit with burning fists. The younger Todoroki’s head snaps to the side with every punch he’s forced to endure until suddenly he’s in the air, one last quirked punch from Dabi propelling him painfully into the side of a building.

Dabi takes a moment to breathe after his onslaught — but his breath catches when through the billowing smoke he sees the flames on Shoto’s chest grow brighter. Ice creeps its way across the building face, and a glance down at his charred, frost-covered fist confirms what his little brother has accomplished.

“Flashfire,” Shoto whispers, pained and reverent. The roaring blue fire around them dims under his presence. Dabi’s mind hooks onto every word. “I want to show you how I turned it into something better. A move meant to stop you.” His little brother brings his hands up to cup the air on either side of his torso gently. The two-toned fire flares. “Call me half-baked if you want, but listen to me. Our father was a madman! Our family was a nightmare! Even so, you’re the only one of us who chose to burn people.”

Oh, how Touya hates.

“No one else! ” Shoto declares, bracing his feet against the shattered glass of the building. “I won’t let you destroy any more innocent lives!”

And then he’s plummeting.

The fourth story is a long way to fall. Harnessing the pull of gravity to enhance the strength of his punch may be enough for Shoto to inflict serious damage against Dabi, should the hit land; especially when it means clashing blizzard-cool determination against Dabi’s scorch-blistered spite.

With that in mind, maybe in another universe — one that isn’t exactly kinder, but does perhaps simmer with a dash more hope — this moment would culminate in an outcome that’s enough to sideline Dabi for a time.

In this universe, however, as Shoto falls like a shooting star and Touya’s rotted skin alights under a sight almost seraphic, something primal snaps deep within the mind of the older Todoroki.

Time canters left. Perception shifts right.

Dabi inhales, and the fire that’s been roaring mindlessly around the arena since the beginning of the fight leans closer.

Dabi exhales, and it physically whips him back, like a dancer pirouetting their partner away for a momentary lapse in song.

Shoto’s eyes widen when Dabi neatly evades his blow at the last second. He reroutes his offensive blast into something soft that peters out at the edges, desperate to cushion his fall before he hits the ground hard and takes himself out of commission. Frost and ice bloom broad around the point of impact, but it’s not enough to catch Dabi in the aftershock.

From his position almost halfway across the battleground, Dabi watches the fire on Shoto’s chest flicker out. He doesn’t hesitate; there’s a window of mere seconds for him to get the upper hand, so he takes it.

Breathe in.

Blue fire enters blackened lungs.

Breathe out.

It spews forth from the palms of his hands, rocketing him forward in a twisting inferno. Flames leap from the landscape to adorn his charred shoulders. Even more fall from his lipless maw in liquid-like waves.

When Endeavor’s sidekicks tumble into his path in an attempt to slow his approach, Dabi doesn’t spare them a glance. The fire of the arena strips them to ash before they become relevant enough for him to spare them a thought.

He’s almost upon Shoto by the time his little brother understands what’s happening. Reflexively, Shoto summons an enormous wall of ice that spears its way out of the ground, but Dabi was prepared for this. He guides the fire off his shoulders with a jerk of his wrists, and it hungrily throws itself against the frost like rabid dogs snapping at prey.

The meeting of such extreme temperatures skyrockets the pressure of the surrounding air. Shoto and Dabi are forced apart as a thunderous snap rips through the space between them, ice obliterated in milliseconds. They go flying, and it is here that Dabi’s inability to feel pain makes all the difference.

While Shoto fights to regain his bearings beyond ringing ears, full-body whiplash, and the dark spots that threaten to consume his vision, enough of Dabi’s mind grounds itself in the present for him to truly, consciously understand what Shoto’s Flashfire actually means.

His hatred breaks him.

That move is something far beyond Endeavour’s wildest dreams. It exceeds what their old man could have possibly hoped for when he conceived the idea of a perfect child. Dabi doubts it’s something his younger brother learnt from their father at all.

To have found a way to not only perfect both quirks, but wield them simultaneously with such complete, independent mastery…

That should have been Touya’s birthright.

Jealousy bites an acrid kind of poison deep into Dabi’s veins. He may have lived and breathed hatred like a drug for the past decade, but this fresh rage that rears its fanged head in Shoto’s direction is something else entirely.

It tastes like battery-acid antipathy collapsing under the weight of a supernova. It feels like being ten years old, and realising your father no longer thinks you worthy.

It makes Dabi’s hatred of Endeavour seem almost juvenile. 

An ungodly scream rips itself from Dabi’s scorched vocal cords. With such newfound white-hot fury bolstering him beyond the limits of his useless limbs, he blasts his charred corpse of a body towards his younger brother. Shoto gets precisely two seconds to cough, look up, and witness all the hellish glory of his brother shrouded in a maw of writhing, hungry blue fire before the flames are upon him.

It’s in these last few milliseconds of heat and ash and anger where Shoto Todoroki realises the incredible pointlessness of his existence.

For so long he’s felt like a wild horse toiling after his father, bucking at the reins but ultimately helpless to do anything but follow the fool towards an oasis he claimed lay ahead. Shoto couldn’t see their destination, nor most of the path towards it, but he had let himself be soothed by the idea that, eventually, there would be an end. Maybe it would take years, and sure, he would probably lose most of himself in the process — but one day he would be free. That honey-rich prospect was enough to keep him begrudgingly docile about his position.

At this moment, though, as he stares at flesh and bone and blood who, a decade ago, was in a position not too dissimilar to Shoto now, he can see that his hope for an unshackled future was nothing more than his own foolishness obstructing his vision like blinders. Karma’s been dogging Endeavour’s heels far longer than Shoto’s been alive. Of course it was only a matter of time before it snapped around to consume not just him, but all those in proximity as well.

All that pain. All that anger. All those dozens and hundreds and thousands of hours and days and weeks and months spent being broken over and over again to satisfy his father’s lust for power, and this was always going to be the outcome.

Shoto was never destined to be free.

When Dabi just about comes face-to-face with his little brother — all torched flesh, and lolling jaw, and eyes boiling from his skull, unable to withstand the furious heat that sears him from the inside out — Shoto doesn’t see a villain before him. Instead, there’s a white-haired fourteen-year-old child who, for all his monstrous qualities, has perhaps never looked quite so human.

Shoto can’t understand the all-encompassing need for their father’s acknowledgement that roils hot beneath Touya’s skin, but he can remember the only thing he ever actually wished Endeavour would give him. Coming from Shoto the act is all but meaningless, but at the very least he hopes it will provide his brother — and maybe even Shoto himself — some comfort before the inevitability of their situation consumes them.

Shoto opens his arms right as Touya collides with him. He wraps blistering forearms around broad shoulders, fingers sinking grotesquely into once-flesh, but at this moment Shoto isn’t entirely present, nor does he care for the deteriorated costume that calls itself Dabi. Instead, he’s four years old, clutching a brother he wants to love more than anything else in the world, and all he can think of are the hazy, half-there memories of a boy with fire in his eyes and the drive to be a hero just like their father.

Shoto will never forgive Endeavour. Perhaps he can never forgive Touya, either, for the part he played in clawing their family towards this exact moment in time. But forgiving and understanding are two vastly different beasts, and Shoto finds — in the great, miniscule clarity that fills his lungs in his last choked breath — that although peace is beyond him, acceptance is not.

It’s this he clings to as the world whites out.

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It’s Iida who makes the call, of course. There’s nothing left of anyone else who could. His psyche is so deeply saturated in shock that he doesn’t realise his comms have switched to broadcast what he says next to the entire hero network instead of strictly HQ, where all reports are supposed to be sent before being disseminated to necessary parties.

“To… Todoroki is down.”

There’s a split second where the heart of every hero collectively drops before they remember who Shoto’s foe was. Tsukauchi is the one to voice the hope that flickers gingerly in everyone’s chests.

“Iida— please confirm. By Todoroki, do you mean Touya? Has Dabi been defeated? Over.”

The next moments of silence are unbearable. Iida doesn’t reply.

“Tenya Iida, please confirm. Has Touya Todoroki been—”

“Dabi is dead,” comes the whisper. Then, in a hoarse voice that can barely be heard over the dull roar of fire in the background: “Shoto… Todoroki is dead.”

And so begins the end.

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The dominoes so carefully aligned by the heroes in their desperate plight to halt All For One and Shigaraki’s destruction begin to fall, but in all the wrong places.

On Okuto Island, the news of Shoto’s demise shocks Uraraka so badly that she staggers while attempting to sidestep one of Toga’s knives. The blade drives itself into her heart instead of her shoulder, and as Uraraka falls, Toga’s eyes widen. The blonde bridles at the sight, caught off guard by a throw she didn’t anticipate being fatal — but before she can begin to process the light fading from Ochako’s eyes, Froppy barrels towards her with an anguished war cry and lashes her tongue to send Toga flying.

The two brawl. When Toga finally manages to disable Tsu long enough to rush to Ochako’s side and check for a pulse, licking the brunette’s blood off her wrist and shedding sharper features for Ochako’s softer ones, desperately intending to start a blood transfusion, she’s halted mid-transformation when no beat presses against her fingertips. She tries for a pulse again, clutching at Ochako’s neck, but when the other girl’s head rolls lifelessly to the side and her half lidded eyes remain unfocused, something snaps deep within Himiko.

Her breath comes in stabbing gasps for a moment. Then she’s giggling madly, with an expression that doesn’t match the sound. When she turns to Froppy and draws a vial from her pocket, Tsu can’t do anything but helplessly watch from the ground. Toga had severed her Achilles tendons earlier; now all that’s left is to stare down the absent gaze of someone only halfway-there, and watch as the killer brings half a dozen drops of blood to her lips.

Toga swallows. Then she shifts. Then she splits.

Gang Orca is too far away to intervene when Toga, now wearing the face of Twice, levels a finger at Tsu and orders Sad Man’s Death Parade to tear her limb from limb.

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At the Jaku Hospital Ruins, in front of the warehouse currently keeping a sleeping Gigantomachia contained, Ashido hears Iida’s message and freezes. Beside her, Mineta asks what’s wrong, but Mina can’t have heard that right. There’s no way Todoroki, of all people, could have lost — let alone been killed. He was one of the strongest in their class. If he was… defeated, because she refuses to believe he is dead, what chance did the rest of them have?

“Pinky, watch out!” Kodai from 1-B shouts, and the sound of metal slamming into something hard rings out from behind Ashido’s head.

Mina jolts forward and tosses up her arms in defence, pieces of splintered rebar cutting her skin as the debris Kodai had managed to enlarge between Ashido and a villain wielding an enormous hammer gets smashed apart. The villain growls and lets the momentum of his failed swing carry around into another smash, but Pinky’s head is back in the game now, and so she manages to jump up and off the hammer’s flat head instead of taking the hit full force.

When she lands, a brief scan of the perimeter shows the tail end of a sludge villain she’d seen once on the news vanishing from the fringes of the fight. She’s about to mention it to the 1-B heroes present, worried about what a quirk like that might do to an ally unprepared for its attack, but then a nearby villain with a skull-shaped gas mask says something that makes her mind blank all over again.

“Let it be known that any who attempt to stand in our path will be annihilated,” the villain growls. “Trampled, just like that pathetic U.A. teacher.”

The battlefield goes quiet. Or maybe it’s that Mina’s ears have stopped working. All she can hear is white noise as she looks over at the villain, and tries to comprehend what she just heard.

The fact that this villain knows the details of Midnight’s death at all suggests…

“I’ve got you now!” the hammer villain shouts, weapon pulled back over his head for a crushing blow — but then Kirishima is there, knocking him out with a rock-hard punch to the face, and the mallet goes flying.

“Sorry I took so long!” Red Riot barks. “Has there been any sign of Gigantomachia waking?”

But Mina doesn’t hear him. In fact, she doesn’t even turn around. She’s still reeling from Iida’s damning words, and now, with what the skull-mask villain had just said…

Ashido doesn’t realise she’s moving until her acid-covered fist slams into that bastard’s face, cracking his gas mask and sending the villain reeling with a grunt. Mina uses the opening in his defence to press her advantage.

So much for not fighting for revenge. Mina had never wanted to be the kind of person who responded to violence with more violence, but with Todoroki out of the fight, and the distressed voice of one of Gang Orca’s sidekicks relaying what’s currently happening on Okuto Island through her comms, Ashido realises that this is real. People — her friends, those she cares for — are dying. Nothing she’s done so far has been of any significant help, and now hearing about how the rest of their operation is falling apart, Mina becomes utterly terrified that if she doesn’t fight viciously to put every single villain before her out of commission, there mightn’t be anything of her friends left to return to.

She screams as she gets up close and rains down hits on the villain. Behind her, Kirishima swears and leaps to cover her back. The masked villain tries to pull away from the onslaught, but right as Pinky is stepping back with hands pressed together, intending to down him with a funnelled spout of acid, the villain gets pulled into the air by another enemy with a purple cloud-like quirk.

Before Mina can adjust her attack angle, the masked man holds some kind of device high in the air and presses a button. Immediately, a deafening, high-pitched noise screeches across the battlefield. Ashido winces and clamps her hands over her ears instead.

“That’s enough of that!” the villain snarls. There’s a kind of bubbling noise when he speaks. Ashido thinks his nose must be broken. “Even if you pathetic heroes try to stand in our way, we’ve outsmarted you. These sound waves have been fine-tuned to perfectly mimic All For One’s voice. They can slip past any obstacle, no matter what measures you may have put in place.”

Mina only has a second to feel her gut plummet before Gigantomachia bursts from the warehouse behind her with an earth-rending roar.

“Damn it! ” Kirishima yells. “Okay, Plan B! I’ll get Shinso!”

But when Kirishima moves, the skull-mask villain crashes down on top of him and gets him pinned. It’s a slight delay, and one that Red Riot ultimately shrugs off quickly, but those thirty seconds of struggle mean that when he reaches where Shinso should be safely hidden behind a small building, he instead finds the purple-haired boy in the clutches of the sludge villain.

Shinso’s eyes are rolled back. He’s lax in the hold of the amorphous ooze clogging his airways. It doesn’t look like he’s trying to fight any more, and Kirishima is suddenly very, very afraid he may already be dead.

“Looks like another brat has blown my cover,” the villain gurgles. “And just when I was about to slip out of here in this new meat-suit, too. He was so much easier to subdue than that kid from last year.”

Kirishima is already moving, tearing hardened fingers through the parts of the villain that aren’t in Shinso’s throat, but a quirk like this isn’t something his own power can combat. His fingers slide through grime, and it splashes right back into shape.

Kirishima’s fear escalates when he sees Shinso’s eyelids flutter — but then Ashido is there, and she’s mixing her acid with the villain’s body, and the sludge is retreating out of Shinso’s airways as the villain roars in pain. Kirishima stoops to lower the boy to the ground while the villain flees, cursing them with words neither he nor Ashido pay any attention to.

Shinso doesn’t move. Kirishima swears, voice strained with panic, and begins CPR.

It takes two and a half minutes, all of which Mina spends fending off villains that try to take advantage of such vulnerable prey, but finally Shinso chokes. Eijiro stops pumping his chest to frantically roll him into the recovery position. The purple-haired hero vomits until he coughs up bile, and when his body finally goes limp, utterly exhausted from the strain of expelling fluid from his lungs, Kirishima lets his own shoulders drop. He tugs Shinso into his lap to check the boy’s neck for a pulse. He finds it weak, but steady, and is relieved to know that although his friend absolutely needs a doctor, he will be okay without one for now.

“Kiri— Kirishima,” Ashido pants to his left.

Eijiro turns his head. Mina’s surrounded by downed villains, some of which look frighteningly still, and is staring at him with empty eyes. When she turns her head to the stretch of battleground outside the ruined Jaku Hospital, Kirishima follows her gaze. His relief over Shinso being alive abruptly shatters into a brutal kind of horror when he remembers exactly why they needed their friend in the first place.

Mt. Lady is down. Down, down. The kind of down where her head is missing and Gigantomachia is over her body, grinding his teeth, hands pinning her limp arms to the ground, roaring at the place her skull used to be with a breath that showers bloody rain onto those below. Then the monster tilts his head as if he heard something, swings his gaze southbound, and begins to lumber towards whatever has called for his attention.

More than likely, towards All For One.

With the giant gone, the battlefield falls eerily silent. Even the villains don’t seem to know how to react.

“Oh my— oh my god,” Eijiro whispers. “Oh my god.”

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Near Makeshift Fortress Troy, Fat Gum and Aoyama finish cuffing the last of the Tartarus escapees and turn to face All For One’s assassin, Kunieda. It’s only when they lay eyes on him that they realise the villain’s quirk has been spreading unfettered this whole time, slithering across the battlefield to restrict the movements of the other thirty-one heroes present.

Aoyama tries to take a few steps back, but a vine slides around his waist before he can and rips the navel laser belt from his body. It retreats to deposit the ruined support gear into Kunieda’s hands. Aoyama feels sick knowing that without it, his quirk is more a hazard than a help.

He falls into a panic when the villain strokes a flower by his head and Fat Gum goes down, smothered beneath writhing flora. Then Aoyama’s own arms are being tugged into suffocatingly tight bindings, and when he tries to pull free, the plants thicken to keep him rooted in place.

The villain starts singing All For One’s praises. It’s all Aoyama can do to ignore the slimy feeling bubbling in his gut.

Kunieda says he is a fool for going traitor, but Aoyama already knows this. He was a fool before, thinking he could betray his friends, and he’s a fool now to turn on the single most powerful man in the world. The only redeeming part of it all is that by already being a fool, making more foolish options becomes all the easier.

Even though he knows this plan could go horribly wrong, Aoyama stops fighting his quirk and lets it spill unrestrained from his body. The battlefield glows under the arcs of light that shoot across it. Aoyama doesn’t have faith that his attack will cause any substantial damage — is just hopeful that maybe a stray blast will be enough to break free of Kunieda’s plants — but then Hagakure is there, absorbing Aoyama’s power and refracting it back at the surprised assassin. The villain falls dazed to the ground.

Hagakure quickly cuffs All For One’s lackey. Then she’s at Aoyama’s side, stripping the last of the plants from his feet, and they both rush to free the other heroes before Kuneida’s plants devour them whole.

Ultimately, this fight is the only one that goes according to plan. Aoyama, Hagakure, Fat Gum and the other heroes round the villains up and obey Tsukauchi’s command to return to the U.A. bunker before their luck can go awry.

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At the brawl with All For One, Endeavor hears the news of his sons’ deaths and utterly shuts down right there in the middle of the fight. The flames around his feet keeping him air-bound flicker and die. Hawks curses and sends feathers he can barely manage to do without into the other hero’s costume to keep the man from plummeting to the ground.

All For One can’t stop the hysterical laughter that bubbles in his throat at seeing his enemy so distraught. After a few words of gloating that go unanswered by a vacant-gazed Enji, the scourge of Kamino launches his attack.

Hawks rushes in and desperately tries to redirect the blows, but with All For One simultaneously using five different projectile quirks that all move in unique, unpredictable ways, there’s only so much he can do. A serrated, bone-like lance spears Endeavor in the gut, while a crystalline crescent cuts deep into the groove between his neck and shoulder. Hawks’ eyes widen at the pained grunt that rips from his hero’s throat.

In the split second Hawks freezes, All For One jolts forward in a flurry of blue-grey. Bruised flesh and grooved metal teeth snap into existence to replace his arm; he plunges his fist towards the hero, and the mouth his hand has distorted into bites deep through Enji’s side, punching clean through his lung and severing one arm from the elbow down.

The man goes limp. All For One’s grasp becomes the only thing preventing him from falling to the earth far below. Hawks screams Endeavor’s name, but the man is unresponsive.

All For One wishes this broken hero before him could see the delighted smile that spreads across his face. With his helmet in the way, however, he satisfies himself by conveying this insane glee through his voice as he leans in to whisper damning words next to Endeavor’s head. A perverse ripple of euphoria makes his fingers twitch when Enji coughs, and the hero’s blood splatters against the side of the villain’s mask.

“Poor Touya’s body,” the scourge tenderly sighs into Endeavor’s ear when the man stops convulsing. “You never found it.” He leans back just enough to see a void of hopeless realisation flicker through Endeavor’s eyes. “Of course not,” he continues, “it wasn’t there anymore. The son you thought dead was returned to you through my work and foresight, and where is he now? Dead at the hands of your youngest. What a waste it was to lose them both. All that effort, on both our parts… I suppose our work is quite thankless.”

Pure, unbridled hatred kindles deep within Endeavor. With the last of his fading strength, the number one hero tries to detonate himself in the hopes of wounding All For One even slightly — but this shattered father was defeated the instant word of his son’s deaths filtered through his comms. All For One merely chuckles and lets a cocoon of slime-like liquid wash over the man’s fickle attempt to harm him, and Endeavor’s fire snuffs out for good at the same time his eyes go glassy.

To the side, Hawks watches in horror. Endeavor was the only shot they had at defeating this demon; without him, their fight is hopeless.

When All For One turns the hero’s way with an outstretched hand and a snide: “Now, Nagant’s replacement… tell me, are you quick enough to dodge this?” Hawks knows he doesn’t have enough time to evade.

This was… this was really it.

Well, then.

God.

How disappointing.

Keigo had always known that his dream for a future where heroes had too much time on their hands was a far-fetched one, but he’d… he’d really hoped he’d be proven wrong one day, you know? Maybe he would never get to enjoy a society like that himself, but at the very least the next generation could have enjoyed that time of peace. With the way things have been going, though, Hawks would honestly be surprised if there was going to be a ‘next generation’ at all.

There’s not much to do other than close his eyes and accept his fate. All For One’s arm swelling with power is the last thing he sees before he surrenders himself to his inevitable death. He mentally braces for the pain and nothingness — and then he’s flung to the side, a bright flash stinging through his eyelids, ears suddenly full of a painful screech. His eyes snap open, and he takes a second to right himself in the air before looking around, bewildered, to see who saved him.

“Go, Hawks!” Tokoyami shouts. On the kid’s back is Jiro, her earphones extended and blasting whining soundwaves towards All For One. Somehow, it’s nullifying the villain’s power.

Shit.

Shit!

What the hell are the kids doing here?

“Get away!” Hawks screams. “This is no place for you! You’ll die!”

“That they will,” All For One growls. Hawks whips around and slams his wings down, thrusting himself as fast as he can into the villain’s line of attack — but he’s a fraction of a second too late to stop one of the five boomerang-like projectiles that peel themselves from All For One’s cuticles and grow in size as they slice through the air.

Hawks manages to stop three of the remaining four with one of his wings. His feathers get torn to shreds, and he falls lopsided for a second before he can right himself; then the fourth projectile lodges in his shoulder, and he stifles a shriek as it digs into his flesh, rolling over the top of his arm to create a crescent cut before coming to a stop.

The hero frantically turns to see where the last boomerang ended up, hoping beyond hope that Tokoyami dodged it. He’s relieved when he realises the kid has — then his heart plummets when the projectile swings sharply around in midair and hurtles back towards All For One on a path that will cut right through the student’s new trajectory.

Hawks opens his mouth to shout a warning. Jiro sees the look on his face and whips around, raising an earphone in an attempt to stop the boomerang’s return slice, but the projectile is moving too far, too fast. Before she can pump out another shockwave, it slices clean through her ear lobe and comes millimetres away from slashing her neck. She rears back in pain and topples from Tokoyami’s back.

There’s blood pooling in Hawks’ mouth. “Tsukuyomi! Retreat!” he bellows, coughing and turning to spit the fluid to the side. He flinches when this action puts him face to face with All For One, who looks like he’s done playing games.

The villain grabs his neck; Hawks chokes, and sends all the feathers he has at the bastard in an attempt to slash something vital that will get All For One to drop him, but the demon king’s arms turn bruised blue again, and mouths on black-red tendrils unfurl from his wrist to snap up Hawks’ quirk. With only a handful of feathers left, there is little the hero can do to break free.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hawks sees Tokoyami just barely manage to catch Jiro. He’s far too close to missing the girl for comfort. All For One cocks his head and follows Hawk’s gaze, even though the hero knows his enemy is blind.

A chuckle rumbles in All For One’s chest. “You’re trembling,” he says in the kid’s general direction. Jiro’s got one hand clutched over her ear and the other fisted in Tokoyami’s cloak. She’s staring at All For One with abject terror. “Pitiful child. You’ve been training in the classroom… but this is real life.” Then he’s raising a fist, and it’s distorting into more of those black-red tendrils to form an enormous cannon-like mass that he levels at the fledgling heroes, and Hawks knows that whatever attack he’s about to launch, if the kids don’t dodge it they’re dead.

There’s no better use for the last of his feather’s than to save lives. Hawks manages to get them under the cannon-mass and forces its trajectory up into the sky, right as All For One looses a gigantic golden blast. Tokoyami swoops down at the same time; the beam just barely misses the top of Jiro’s head.

Hawks has never felt more relieved in his life. He meets Tokoyami’s frightened eyes and hates what he knows his baby bird is about to witness. “Run… now,” he grits. His voice, unfortunately, garners All For One’s attention.

“Lucky move,” the villain says, hoisting Hawks higher into the air, “but, little bird, you forget your place. You are nothing, and these extras are delusional supporting characters, never meant to stand beside those who could pose an actual threat. They are but children who presumptuously thought they could best the Demon Lord. Tell me, did any of you really think you were anything special?”

It’s rhetorical, of course. All For One’s hand clamps tighter around Hawks’ windpipe before the hero can reply. Hawks thrashes and claws uselessly at the bastard’s hand. He can’t— he can’t breathe.

”Hawks! ” Tokoyami screams.

The world is going black on the fringes of the hero’s vision. Good, he thinks when he sees that, despite Tokoyami’s desperation to help, the kid’s keeping his distance. There’s time yet for him to flee.

“G— Go,” the hero chokes, eyes fixated on his mentee. “Go.”

Then, with a revolting crunch, the world ceases to exist.

All For One tosses the hero’s body aside and dusts his hands as the bird falls. Well, less a bird now, without his wings. The number two hero crashes to earth, much the same as any mortal man. Perhaps there’s something humorous to be said there about wax wings, but now is not the time to gloat.

When All For One turns to dispatch of the foolish children who thought they could stand against him, he is distracted by several apparitions that fade out of nothingness and wrap their ghostly hands around his arms in an attempt to forbid him the use of his power.

Disdain curls his lip. Seeing the vestiges of those he has stolen quirks from is nothing new, but their ability to prevent him from using his power certainly is. All For One can only guess that they have managed to find a foothold in his own immense strength somewhere, and are using it to rebel against him.

It’s no matter, though; a well-placed thought that bends them to his will forces their hands off his skin, and he returns to the task at hand.

Unfortunately, when he looks up, it’s to find that those U.A. brats have already turned tail and fled like the cowards they are. They are both still within hunting distance, of course, but although their fear provokes an almost canine instinct in All For One to chase and kill, he decides pursuit is not worth the bother. It’s not like they will be alive much longer, anyway, once Tomura emerges victorious from his own battle.

No, demon kings do not waste time with side characters. There are more important matters to attend to.

All For One turns to the horizon as the lumbering figure of Gigantomachia makes itself known, and he waits until the beast has come to a stop, panting, at his heels. It awaits his directives like the good dog it is.

The supervillain takes a self-indulgent moment to place a hand on his pawn’s brow. Its power is just as immense as it was designed to be.

“Finally,” All For One says coolly. “Next time, do not keep me waiting. Especially not when I have such an important task for you to complete. Tell me, Machia, are you ready to do my bidding?”

The beast roars its assent. A grin stretches wide under All For One’s mask.

“Very good. The task is a rather simple one, really. All I want you to do is find any survivors,” he purrs, “and kill them.”

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At Takoba National Stadium, Sato, Sero and Ojiro’s fight goes as well as can be expected. Their job of rounding up and taking down stragglers from the Paranormal Liberation Front is a long and tedious one, but comparatively not as difficult as most fights their classmates are currently engaged in, considering they don’t need to deal with any of the Front’s Lieutenants. 

When their comms start to flood with disaster reports, the three grit their teeth and do all they can to focus only on the battle at hand. If what they’re hearing is true… then there is time enough to mourn later. Right now, if they don’t deal with the flood of P.L.F. villains surrounding them, they will ultimately end as three more names on an already far too long list.

After a stint of relatively easy takedowns, real trouble presents itself in the form of Gashly Eijiiu; a tall and shadowy man with a top hat and white mask, who summons a swarm of baby-like puppets from the black mist in his overcoat. His presence on the battlefield results in one single minute where too many individual mistakes collide into one nightmarish scenario.

Ojiro gets overwhelmed by puppets and goes down, earpiece ripped from his head by tiny hands and crushed under stubby feet. Sero uses his tape to pull himself from the mass and screams his classmate’s name, whipping around as fast as possible with the wind roaring in his ears to try and tug his friend free. A few dozen meters away, Sato springs to action, downing ten sugar cubes and entering a mindless rampage to destroy as many puppets between him and Ojiro as he can. All three 1-A students are so preoccupied with their respective panic that they don’t hear Tsukauchi’s frantic alert ring through their comms.

Sero’s first attempt to free Ojiro fails when a stray blast from a P.L.F. villain slams into the side of his helmet, breaking his earpiece and sending him flying off trajectory.

His second attempt almost works; Sato manages to crush enough of the puppets to let Ojiro extend a hand and Sero grabs hold, but more baby-like minions swarm over Ojiro’s lower half, dragging him back down before the tape hero can pull him to safety.

When Sero is swinging back for his third pass, a shadow falls across the stadium. The hero looks up — and the blood in his veins freezes when he does.

Gigantomachia looms above.

Gigantomachia looms above.

“Shit! ” Sero yells.

He needs Ojiro free now, but Sato’s quirk-induced rage means the muscled boy has lost sight of his original target and is moving off course, pummelling villains in the wrong direction to where Tailman is flailing.

Ojiro fights like hell to get himself free, but the sheer quantity of puppets dragging him to the ground is an impossible force to best. Sero can’t pull him out like this; not without getting on the ground himself, which will put him at too great a disadvantage.

Ojiro strains to look up, and sees the giant looming over the stadium right as an enormous hand smashes down, collapsing part of the overhanging roof and flattening a cluster of P.L.F. villains. His face drops; then he’s craning his head towards Sero as best he can, trying to ignore the puppets that use his shoulders as a foothold to attack his face.

“Sero! ” the tailed hero screams. “Get Sato somewhere safe now! ”

Sero doesn’t want to leave Ojiro in the writhing mass of lackies any longer, but he also knows that if he ignores Ojiro’s command he may waste precious time on another failed rescue attempt that could very well result in his other classmate’s death.

With that in mind, he bellows his understanding — then uses the momentum of his swing to deliver a crushing blow to the side of Sato’s head that knocks the rampaging boy unconscious. Using a coil of tape, Cellophane pulls Sugarman’s prone form to the side of the stadium, where there are relatively stable looking chunks of debris piled in a way that leaves a sizeable crack between the topmost slab and the ground.

If Sero doesn’t want Sato to be seen by Gigantomachia, and therefore not made a target, he’ll need to make sure Sato is hidden — and while under any other circumstance dragging an unconscious hero under debris instead of away from it would be stupid at best and lethal at worst, if it really comes down to it Sero knows that with Sato’s strength, his classmate will survive being crushed by this small part of the stadium’s roof.

What he will not survive is being crushed by Gigantomachia’s fist.

Sero positions Sugarman under the concrete slabs and dances out of the overhang as another giant hand crashes to the ground, making the shelter shake precariously but thankfully not collapse. Then he spares his classmate a brief, mournful look, silently wishes him luck, and thwips himself back into the air.

By the time Sero arrives back at Ojiro’s location, there’s barely anything left visible of his classmate. A shock of blonde hair flashes between the puppet’s bodies every now and then, but otherwise the only evidence of Tailman’s presence is a slightly deformed lump in the sea of enemies.

From above, Gigantomachia roars, and must decide that fists are no longer an efficient form of attack. The giant stoops a shoulder and crashes through the side of the stadium, collapsing a huge chunk of the wall and sending debris flying that squashes a number of puppets on the fringe of Ojiro’s fight. When the towering figure steps into the arena, the ground rumbles enough to dislodge some of the faux-babies from Tailman’s head.

Sero takes advantage of the opportunity. He sends a quick prayer off to whatever gods will listen, and throws himself into the fray. Ultimately, he knows there will be no coming back from this decision. But what is a hero if not someone who puts their life on the line to try and conquer the impossible?

When puppets shroud both student’s visions except for a tiny patch of blue sky that soon grows dark under the descending heel of Gigantomachia’s foot, Ojiro hates that he finds comfort in the fact he will not die alone.

Small mercies, he guesses bitterly.

The world goes black.

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At Central Hospital, Koda hears the news of his friend’s deaths and goes immobile. His control over his animals slips. Shoji sees the flock of birds that had been swooping across the plaza disperse, and leaps back from his fight with a scalemail-clad Spinner to see what’s gone wrong with his friend.

When he spies a shellshocked Koda being smothered by kicking and screaming heteromorphs, he doesn’t hesitate to fling himself off the side of the building he’s perched on and descend into the fray. He’s too focused on ripping bodies out of his path to notice how Spinner takes advantage of the distraction and scuttles towards the hospital. Towards Kurogiri.

Present Mic sees the lizard go and is about to pursue, but a yelled: “Sensei! Catch! ” draws his attention instead. Koda’s in his arms before Mic can react; he gently sets the hyperventilating kid against the building ledge they’re on, and glances down at Shoji, who is struggling to get loose from the heteromorphs without inflicting them with any serious wounds.

“Go! ” Shoji yells. “I’ll be fine! Stop Spinner!”

Yamada only hesitates a moment before sucking in a breath and letting loose a powered scream at the crowd, dispersing them enough for Shoji to get the upper hand. Then he’s nodding at the kid, leaping to the ground, and yelling at Rocklock and the police to back up his students while he sprints towards the hospital. As he goes, he hears the spider heteromorph who had been acting as Spinner’s right-hand man yell something at the crowd that has the people screaming their assent. He forces himself to put their battle to the side and focus on the task at hand.

He needs to get to Kurogiri — to Oboro — and do whatever he can to ensure the nomu doesn’t break free.

When he rounds the corner to the hallway leading to Oboro’s room, he skids to a dead stop. Spinner is at the far end, in a pool of his own blood from where he’s bled around the scalemail armour that’s ripped through his flesh, and is laughing to himself in stilted hiccups. When Yamada looks at the chair where Kurogiri should be, no one is there.

His gut plummets.

Fuck. They had one job, and somehow he’d managed to arrive too late and lose track of the single most important person in this entire war. With Kurogiri on the loose, there’s no telling how their fight will go. Everything is about to be turned on its head.

Yamada retreats around the corner and lets his back hit the wall. He radios in the bad news to Tsukauchi. Then he turns the corner again and stalks down the hall, intent on disabling the villain who caused everything to go awry.

By the time he’s done with Spinner and re-emerges relatively unharmed from the hospital, most of the heteromorphs have fled.

There’s a defensive group of armed policemen surrounding a lump on the ground. A small group of doctors from the hospital have laid out a stretcher, and several of them alongside Rocklock are gingerly moving someone onto it. Koda stands off to the side with a blank look on his face.

Hizashi’s heart leaps into his throat. He can already tell what’s happened before he sees the kid’s face. When the doctors hurry past with the stretcher held between them, Yamada gets a clear view of Shoji looking beaten, battered, cut up, and bruised. He isn’t sure which wound is the one that took the kid out, but the amount of physical trauma he has sustained doesn’t look good.

When Shoji’s time of death is called thirty-five minutes later, Hizashi has no idea how he’s going to break the news to Shouta that one of his kids has died under his husband’s watch.

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Out at sea, lunging between American fighter jets and unable to do anything except listen to the world fall apart through his comms, Izuku forces himself to move faster, faster, faster. He can barely believe what he’s hearing. His friends can’t  be dead. It has to be All For One trying to trick him — he refuses to believe they aren’t okay. He kicks One For All into overdrive and prays the raw power flooding his veins will get him to the Coffin in the Sky before any more of his world breaks.

When he finally crashes through the Coffin’s electromagnetic barrier, everything falls off-kilter once he realises the worst-case scenario has already happened.

He’s too late.

Izuku whips his head around wildly, barely hearing himself ask if everyone’s okay. He takes stock of the heroes he knows are here; Mirio’s doing— whatever he’s doing, halfway sunk into the ground in front of Shigaraki; Nejire and Tamaki are down, but he can faintly see their chests rising and falling; Mirko is limp against a tree and missing both arms, but there’s no blood, so that has to mean something; outside the barrier, Aizawa, Monoma, Manual and Mandalay are staring in with wide, shellshocked eyes. Edgeshot is missing, and when Izuku turns around, Best Jeanist is frantically lurching between clutching his head desperately and hovering jittering hands over Kacchan’s—

Kacchan’s—

There’s—

Blood, everywhere, and—

But—

Kacchan’s—

There’s a hole, why is there—

           blood—

                     blood —

                               blood—?

What?

There’s a— a wound, a gash, there’s something on Kacchan’s —

In Kacchan’s—

Gone from Kacchan’s—

His chest is missing

there’s just—

it’s—

blood

blood

blood

His eyes are blank.

Why are his eyes—?

He’s dead.

He’s—

He’s dead?

He’s not.

He can’t be—

dead

dead           

dead.

           dead

dead

but,

Katsuki cannot die.

Izuku won’t allow it.

If anyone speaks, Izuku doesn’t hear. He stopped hearing everything the instant he saw

blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood

He doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything but give in to mindless instinct.

Katsuki will die —

is already dead?

—so he moves.

It will take too long to power Fa Jin, so Izuku crouches, pulls Black Whip taunt against the ground, thrusts over 100% of One For All into his legs and shoots towards Katsuki in the blink of an eye. As he moves, he raises a hand to his face and bites down hard into the skin at the base of his thumb. He doesn’t flinch when he tears out flesh and tendon and sees bone and spits it all to the side heedlessly.

He’s kneeling next to Kacchan, torso cradled to his chest, in his lap, tilting his friend’s head back, pressing his hand to Kacchan’s lips, nobody has time to stop him and Izuku is pleading, pleading, pleading, please, please, please this needs to work, this needs to—

And it’s futile, but what else is he supposed to do?

Kacchan is—

Can’t be—

Surely isn’t—

“Swallow it, Kacchan. Please, please, come on, I need you to drink, Katsuki, fucking— One For All— Nana, En, Banjo, Hikage, Bruce, Kudo, Yoichi, keep him alive. He can’t— he— fuck, come on! Kacchan!”

Kacchan isn’t breathing.

His mouth is flooded with Izuku’s blood, and his red, red eyes are staring at the blue, blue sky and Katsuki isn’t breathing and Izuku is rubbing his neck with the side of his hand to force him to swallow because his fist won’t respond because he bit through nerves because Kacchan needed to drink his blood, ingest his DNA, become his vessel and he can’t feel three of his fingers but that doesn’t matter because Kacchan needs to swallow his blood because he’s—

He’s going to—

He won’t—

He can’t—

He swallows.

It’s faint, but Katsuki swallows, Izuku sees it, One For All is in his system and that has to—

That—

He has to be okay, because One For All is going to—

“Midoriya! ”

Izuku is yanked to the side and Katsuki tumbles from his lap and Deku is reaching for him with a strangled cry but there are hands on his shoulders forcing him back, away, turning him to look at —

“Midoriya, get it together! ” Mirio snaps, grasping Izuku’s cape and shoving them both down to dodge the hands, hands, hands that lash the space directly over their head. Mirio sinks into the ground and rockets back out with Izuku clutched tight, propelling them both onto the side of a building right before the space they were occupying gets crushed by what Izuku realises are Shigaraki’s hands, hands, hands.

“I’m sorry about your friend, but Edgeshot is doing everything he—” Mirio launches out of the way of another strike that shatters windows in his wake and drags Izuku further up the building, “—everything he can to save him! Right now we need you, Midoriya, so get it together! ”

“But Kacchan—”

Shigaraki swipes his hands, hands, hands horizontally and Mirio pulls Izuku to his chest, leaping them further up the building and then across to another rooftop as the top half of the structure they were on topples to the ground far below.

“Your friend will be okay!” Mirio says. He motions down. “See? Jeanist has already moved him out of the fight, they’re doing everything they can to—”

Another swipe of those hands, hands, hands arcs down from above, and this time Izuku has the wherewithal to drag himself onto a floating platform with Black Whip. Mirio is hot on his heels.

The older boy skids to a stop on their new perch and looks imploringly at Izuku. “Deku— Izuku, I know it’s hard to see him hurt. I can barely stop myself from going to Tamaki and Hado right now. But you know how dangerous Shigaraki is, and you’re the only one who stands a chance at fighting him. We’ve done all we can to hold out — now we need you, or no one is making it out of the Coffin.”

The weight of his statement hits Izuku square in the chest. A glance down shows that Mirio is right; Best Jeanist has used spools of thread to move Kacchan to the very fringes of the battleground and is doing what he can to stem the bleeding. From here, Izuku can just barely see Katsuki’s chest pumping up and down rhythmically — Edgeshot’s work, he guesses.

A glance to the side shows Aizawa yelling something he cannot hear, with a desperation and intensity that Izuku knows is directed at him, even if his sensei’s glowing eyes cannot stray from Shigaraki. Across the field, Amajiki, Nejire and Mirko still haven’t moved.

An ice-cold jolt of fear lances through Izuku’s body when he realises that if he does nothing, if he doesn’t wrap his fight up with Shigaraki quickly, there is a very real chance that four more lives — at minimum — will be lost here today.

Izuku can’t do anything for Katsuki right now. He can’t do anything for his friends on the other end of his comms. What he can do is enact what they spent countless hours planning, and ensure Shigaraki does not leave this arena.

Knowing what has already been done to his friends in his absence makes an ugly kind of fury roil beneath Deku’s skin.

Below, Shigaraki glares up at him and sneers. He whips his hands out to the sides, as if to accentuate the pathetic state the heroes are in. “Poor, poor Kacchan,” the villain snarls. “Do you wanna tell ‘em why you’re late? I’m sure you have an excuse. Toga’s the one to blame, right, Izuku Midoriya?”

Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever really felt hatred. Not until now.

To his right, Mirio gives him an evaluating look before nodding and vanishing through the ground.

“Why don’t you say something?” Shigaraki presses. “How about, ‘Nobody expected this to happen’? Or maybe, ‘It couldn’t be helped.’ Go on. Avoid taking responsibility, just like everybody else.”

Energy is burning so hot through Izuku’s veins that he’s barely keeping a lid on it. The excess sparks off his skin and leaks from his tear ducts and uncoils from his mouth and whips the air into a frenzy throughout the entire perimeter of the Coffin. There’s something acrid pressing against his sinuses; perception narrows to only him and Shigaraki. The absolute rage he feels knowing that fate has allowed his world to be stripped raw by someone who desires nothing but its destruction bucks at his hands and leaks purple-black-green from his skin.

Shigaraki’s face twists into something beastly. “I hope you liked the present,” he bites. “Sorry it wasn’t wrapped.”

“Kid…” Daigoro says from Izuku’s left. Ninth doesn’t react. Banjo eyes the tendrils of Black Whip spooling from his protégé’s skin, observes how it seems uncontrolled — and notes how, deep within their shared One For All bond, he senses a clarity he knows Izuku hasn’t felt in weeks. Something wild replaces the caution Fifth was going to offer; it’s reflected by the feral grin that splits his face. “Hah. I shouldn’t have underestimated ya, eh? You know what you’re doing. Go give him hell.”

And like a bloodhound let off its leash, Izuku launches from his platform and descends on Shigaraki with crucible-like power.

The villain doesn’t have enough time to move his hands, hands, hands between them in defence. He only has a split-second to bring his arms over his head and plant his feet solidly on the ground before Deku smashes into him with enough force to make his legs buckle. Before he has time to retaliate, Izuku rebounds low and surges up from the ground with a roundhouse kick that launches Shigaraki back a few dozen meters. The villain digs clawed hands into the ground to halt his backwards trajectory and roars something terrible. Deku roars his grief right back.

Their fight becomes a clash of brute force, billowing purple smoke, chains of black-green and enough pressure whipping the air heavy that it makes the ears of all present pop. A cold part of Izuku watches how each of his attacks are met with either casual indifference or strained loathing, catalogues what doesn’t work, and tries to determine how much of Shigaraki is currently being occupied by All For One. He’s not sure there’s any Tomura left.

Izuku glimpses Mirio moving Amajiki, Nejire and Mirko off the immediate battleground before the other hero loops back to assist in the fight against Shigaraki. The older student propels himself forward to take advantage of the sparingly few openings that present themselves. With him covering the brief periods where Izuku can’t retaliate, they very, very slowly begin to whittle Shigaraki down.

It’s when Izuku is slowly ramping up his power for another ultimate attack that it happens.

In mere seconds his comms, which he had been largely ignoring to focus on his fight, descend into absolute catastrophe. Over all the voices, Izuku can just make out Tsukauchi screaming, “ALL FOR ONE— SUSPECTED DESTINATION— DEKU, BRACE FOR—”

And then he hits.

The electro-magnetic shield flickering offline is the only warning Izuku gets of the imminent threat before All For One crashes into the centre of the arena with a shockwave that blows everyone back. On the roof outside the now disabled force field, Aizawa, Monoma and Manual barely stop themselves from being flung off the edge of their perch entirely. On the fringes of the fight, Best Jeanist curls protectively over Kacchan; the other downed heroes tumble back like rag dolls.

Izuku doesn’t even stop to think. He immediately whips his head to where Mirio has frozen and shouts, “Lemillion, get everyone out of here now!”

It’s enough to spur the other student into action. Mirio doesn’t acknowledge the command, he just moves.

Izuku spins back to All For One when the villain chuckles a low laugh full of far more amusement than the situation warrants. “How noble,” the demon says, “but ultimately pointless. Regardless, what a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance, Ninth.”

Beside the villain, Shigaraki snarls and tries to fling himself towards Izuku, but All For One holds up a hand that brings his other self to a dead stop.

This is bad. It is, quite possibly, the worst outcome that could have occurred. Shigaraki alone was already an impossible matchup — against both him and All For One, not only is Izuku woefully unprepared, but there is almost no way he can possibly emerge from this fight victorious.

Time, time, time. Izuku needs to buy time.

He doubts there is anything to be done now, but at the very least he can stall long enough for Tsukauchi, All Might, Nedzu, and whoever else may be in the command centre to try to figure out what the fuck to do.

At least Izuku knows the self-anointed demon king likes the sound of his own voice.

“All For One,” Izuku growls.

“Izuku Midoriya,” the villain purrs. It sounds like he’s tasting the words, rolling the syllables in his mouth to see how they feel. It makes Izuku physically sick.

“Was Endeavor not enough of a challenge? You just had to come and personally fight a sixteen-year-old, too?”

All For One makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh and not quite a growl. It’s a noise more akin to that of a monster than a man. “Oh, come now, little hero,” he says. “Don’t sell yourself short. You are far more a challenge than those phony heroes thrice your age, even if your power is still incomparable to my own.”

“God, do you only speak in backhand compliments?” Izuku quips. “I have no idea how Shigaraki tolerated it so long. I would have expected someone of his temperament to have tried to disintegrate you years ago.”

Shigaraki snarls. All For One’s mouth lilts into a not-quite-grin.

“Believe me, he tried,” the villain says. “But that is to be expected from a child disillusioned by society.” Then he tilts his head, and though Izuku knows he has no eyes, he feels intensely scrutinised. “If anyone should understand such misfortune at the hands of the world, it should be you,” All For One continues. “I have looked into your history, Izuku Midoriya. I know how your peers despised you. I know how your teachers overlooked you. I know how the heroes you admired rejected you on countless occasions. So how is it that, despite everything, you came to be All Might’s successor? Do you not feel slighted? Do you not seek revenge?” He pauses slightly and rolls a wrist. “Would you not have rather wrought vengeance on the world by my side?”

The insinuation that Izuku could ever be anything less than a hero is almost enough to give him whiplash.

To be honest, it wasn’t something that had ever crossed his mind. Not even at his lowest. The thought of being anything other than a force for good — of being anything other than someone who would take the hands of all those kids misfortunate enough to be in the shoes Izuku himself once filled, and telling them they can do it, they can be heroes, too — is, quite frankly, unfathomable.

Perhaps some people grew lost the older they got, when they lost sight of all the childish dreams that once drove them. Perhaps it took others most of their life to determine exactly what, if anything, they wanted to contribute to the world. But for Izuku, the instant he had learnt what it was to be a hero, he had known he found his calling. Truthfully, there wasn’t room for anything else in his life.

Amid all the bullying, all the rejection, all the jeering words and cruel eyes and I’m sorry, Izuku’s, anything less than that all-consuming, helpless need to save would have broken him long ago. He’d seen the statistics for kids like him, after all. He’d known that without that something in his life, without the underlying drive to be more than what he was born that came hand in hand with heroism, life would simply not be worth living.

Izuku’s merit had always been tied to his capacity to give. If his ability to sacrifice was the only thing of worth he could contribute to the world, then of course he would relinquish everything he had. What else could possibly be greater than that? Why would he ever need anything more than that merit?

Izuku meets All For One’s gaze head-on. “I would see myself dead before I ever even thought to become what you are,” he spits.

All For One considers him for a few moments. Then he hums. It’s a dissatisfied kind of sound. “How interesting it is,” he says emotionlessly, “that two people can be so different.”

Izuku doesn’t think it’s all that interesting at all. There had obviously been something deeply wrong with All For One long before he gained the power he has now. All the time in the world, all the power at his fingertips, and the villain consciously chose to become this. Izuku will never be capable of understanding it.

“I suppose it makes little difference to our situation now,” All For One sighs, “although I had hoped you would indulge me with a more detailed answer.”

Shigaraki shifts restlessly, and after a glance down, All For One raises a hand in the hero’s direction. Izuku falls into a battle-ready stance.

“I think the time for talking has passed, don’t you?” the villain questions.

Izuku grits his teeth and steels himself. One For All bubbles just under his skin, ready for any kind of attack their enemy might throw his way. Then All For One clicks his tongue and swings his arm towards where Aizawa and Monoma crouch on the edge of the Coffin’s perimeter, and Izuku’s stomach plummets.

“Tomura,” the villain drawls. It sounds like he’s lavishing every syllable. His head doesn’t turn from Izuku. “I’d say those ants have meddled in your fight long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shigaraki’s face splits into a gleeful grin. The villain doesn’t hesitate before launching himself towards the heroes, and though Izuku throws himself after him, he knows he’s going to be too late, late, late, he won’t—

Shigaraki whips his arms in front of him. With their length, all those hands, hands, hands converging together on a horizontal trajectory to crush those caught between them, there’s no time, time, time for Deku to whip them out of the way, they’re going to be—

A scream tears itself from Izuku’s throat and all he can picture is Katsuki, all he can hear are those damning messages over his comms listing which of his friends have died. Now his sensei is— Aizawa’s going to— and Monoma and Manual, they’re—

Izuku reaches forward. Black Whip bridles at his wrist and leaps into what will be a futile attempt to drag Shigaraki back, because he’s too slow slow slow slow slow slow slow slow—

And then another comet is plummeting from the sky right in front of the heroes, so fast Izuku can’t track its movement. It’s only when Shigaraki’s arms get halted right before they clap together, caught by the armoured figure’s jet-black gauntlets, and the new hero raises his head with the mask over his mouth sliding back to reveal that smile that Izuku realises it’s—

“All Might! ”

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With All Might present, the fight evens out. Izuku has rarely had the chance to fight by his side, but they fall into a rhythm quickly, and from there rotate between combatting All For One and Shigaraki as the battle demands.

Even with their combined might, however, All For One’s mere presence destabilises what might have otherwise been their win. All Might’s gear takes several harsh blows and starts to spark; Izuku suffers a bludgeon to the head and remains stunned long enough for Shigaraki to dislocate his shoulder and break his wrist. The villains remain relatively untouched, and press their advantage.

At some point, the American fighter jets arrive and assist in the evacuation of the wounded heroes. Mirio stays long enough to see his friends and comrades safely loaded on board — then he shoots back to the perimeter of the Coffin and helps protect the aircraft from stray blows that come their way. The jet carrying Aizawa, Monoma, Manual and Mandalay falls back a considerable distance from the battleground, but within a close enough range to let the two quirk-erasing heroes keep their eyes fixated on the villains.

Out of the corner of his eye, Izuku catches a glimpse of the electro-magnetic barrier flickering in an attempt to be brought back online, but whatever All For One did to take it down persists.

There’s a palpable frustration building in the air. Without his quirks, All For One is weaker and easier to handle — but where he falls short, Shigaraki’s physical strength prevails. Similarly, although All Might’s armour puts him at a level significantly above the average hero, he doesn’t have anywhere near the power he did in his prime. He cannot wield One For All’s inferno any longer, and so his and All For One’s matchup becomes secondary to Deku and Shigaraki’s almost deific brawl.

Although their injuries mean that the heroes are being whittled down, neither side makes any significant progress. They fall at an impasse.

When the break needed to tip the scales finally arrives, it does not lean in the hero’s favour.

Izuku has rended some of Shigaraki’s larger limbs from his body, and All Might has just gotten All For One on the ground to rain hits upon a now maskless face, when the grin All For One has worn throughout the entire fight splits into something positively demonic.

All Might halts, fist drawn back, and something in his gut sinks deep. He’s well accustomed to All For One’s flair for the dramatic; he knows that a smile like this means something worse is coming.

“What did you—” Yagi starts, but All For One is already speaking.

“Poor, poor Toshinori Yagi,” he purrs. “It seems your plans have already taken the lives of so many fledgling heroes… and in a matter of hours, no less. That you would come here, after all that, and put even more in danger speaks to your arrogance.”

Yagi lets his fist fly and strikes a square hit to All For One’s jaw before wrapping both hands around the villain’s neck. “What have you done, All For One?”

The villain chuckles past the blood that bubbles from his mouth and spits to the side. “Me?” he asks with a false affronted tone. He turns that sickening grin back on his adversary. “Why, I haven’t done anything at all. You should be aware by now that every action in the world is either a provocation or retaliation. Hero society has already issued the challenge by disparaging those who may have otherwise thrived under proper guidance. Now you are merely experiencing the consequences of such inaction.”

Toshinori roars and raises the villain’s head, only to smash it back into the ground. “Speak plainly, bastard! ”

The villain wheezes out a bark of laughter. Then he presses himself off the ground, ignoring the hands crushing his windpipe, and bares bloodstained teeth in his rival’s face. In a voice All Might will never forget, he hisses; “Look up. ”

Yagi freezes for less than a second. Then, with a mounting horror greater than anything he has ever felt, he cranes his head back to see—

Oh.

Oh, god.

The sky is dark and swirling with black-purple mist.

As Toshinori watches, Sad Man’s Death Parade writhes from the portal and plummets into the Coffin below. Those in the first wave don’t survive the drop; those in the preceding waves drag themselves from the filth of the deceased and thrash towards their master’s enemies with long, syllableless wails and grasping fingers. For every second they move, more copies of Twice peel themselves from the existing clones’ bodies.

Toshinori looks at Izuku. Izuku stares at the nearing horde with aghast despair. Terrified eyes meet terrified eyes for a split second, and then All For One is surging beneath All Might, and Shigaraki is whipping a crushing fist towards Deku. They both go on the defensive against demon kings and infantry.

All For One swipes at Yagi, then sidesteps a retaliatory punch. That damned grin is still on his face. “Toga Himiko’s power is so lovely,” the villain snarls. He dances away from an armoured blast and ducks under a kick, shoving a clone between him and Toshinori to briefly distract the hero. “So many uses. So much potential. I’ll have to take it as my own someday, but for now young Toga knows exactly how to use her ability. Do you not agree that sitting by the wayside can be just as effective as assault, All Might?”

Yagi throws the clone aside and grits his teeth. “What are you—” but a shadow suddenly rears behind him and cuts off his question. The hero whips around, and his eyes draw up to where hundreds of Toga’s clones of Twice have piled themselves high around the perimeter of the Coffin.

The realisation of what’s about to happen hits him like a freight train. “Shit! ” he bellows, turning desperately to lay frantic eyes on where Izuku is barely holding his own against both Shigaraki and a score of the villain’s lackeys. “Izuku! Watch out, they’re blocking Aizawa’s line of—”

But before he can finish his sentence, a shrill bark of hysterical laughter rings out behind him. The next thing he knows is dirt in his teeth and pain shooting up his arm from where All For One’s wrist has inflated and warped itself into a draconic mouth with too many fangs that don’t pierce All Might’s armour, but are enough to wrench his shoulder back at a painful angle.

Across the battlefield, Izuku’s eyes widen at the sight of the clones. Then he’s frantically scrabbling away from where Shigaraki reaches with a grasping hand towards him. The villain misses the hero and disintegrates a large square of the ground instead; Izuku catches himself with Float before he can tumble through, and touches down a beat later when a section of replacement cement rockets up to fill in the hole. He goes on the defensive when Shigaraki realises his quirk has been reinstated, and the villain switches from using brute force to moving as fast as possible in an attempt to land a lucky hit.

Yagi breathes a sigh of relief knowing that Izuku won’t be caught off guard by the villains’ sudden ability to use their powers. He issues a voice command to his armoured suit and wing-like appendages snap out from his back, careening into All For One and freeing All Might’s arm so he can roll to his feet and continue his fight.

The villains aggressively switch up their attack patterns and go on the offensive. As they fight, Deku and All Might begin to realise that despite their best efforts, there might not be anything they can do against the combined force of powers like these.

It’s not until a few minutes have gone by that something significant changes. Izuku manages to land a lucky hit that sends Shigaraki flying, and the villain’s back smashes into one of the poles formerly keeping the electromagnetic barrier operational. When the villain pushes himself to his feet, his quirk disintegrates the metal, and with there being no replaceable ground beneath it, Decay leaps from the metal to the rim of the Coffin and keeps spreading. Izuku’s gut goes into freefall and his feet lift from the ground even though he’s not using Float; he realises that the horizon is at an angle, and the city below is rising to meet them.

Deku whips around, scanning the perimeter of the battlefield to make sure there’s no one liable to plummet off the side of the rapidly descending structure. Yagi is holding his own; his suit unfurls jets from his back, and he and All For One continue their fight in the air. The distraction gives Shigaraki the opportunity to slam one of his oversized fists into Izuku’s shoulder, which sends the boy flying off the side of the Coffin. He’s over open air long enough to see Gentle Criminal’s quirk spill into existence at the bottom of the floating island’s mass — then he’s catching himself with Float and rocketing back towards Shigaraki, who attempts to bat him away again. He dodges and touches back down on solid ground as the Coffin levels out.

Their fight continues, but now both heroes are aware they have a time limit. They do what they can to try and wrap the fight up quickly, but there’s nothing to be done when their every blow is matched by the villains. The swarm of clones multiplies, and multiplies, and multiplies until there’s a shout over the comms telling the heroes on the Coffin to take cover.

Izuku glances at the horizon and realises it’s rising too fast. Gentle’s quirk must have failed; the continually increasing mass of Sad Man’s Death Parade must have exceeded his weight threshold. He dodges another attack from Shigaraki, and launches himself over to where Mirio staggers and almost falls off the edge of the Coffin. Perhaps the boy’s quirk could prevent him from being killed by a fall this high, but Izuku has no desire to take the risk. He scoops the third year up and jets off the side of the Coffin with Float, launching to the right when Shigaraki leaps after him and tries to bat him off course.

On the Coffin’s rim, All For One throttles All Might off the side of the structure and the pair continue exchanging blows as they fall.

“Deku! Get me close to the ground and I’ll be fine!” Mirio yells over the wind. Izuku nods and disables Float, shaking his legs as the pair fall to power up enough Fa Jin that he can kick at the air and send them both careening faster to the ground. When they’re about fifty meters from the earth, Mirio pats Izuku’s arm and goes intangible; Izuku immediately pulls himself up and zips to where All Might and All For One are close to hitting the planet’s surface. Neither are doing anything to slow their descent.

Izuku sees All For One rip the last wing from All Might’s back and doesn’t think twice; he shoots out Black Whip and catches his mentor around the waist, letting Yagi swing around in a circle and careen back towards the sky so the inertia of his plummet doesn’t break the man’s back.

Izuku sees Yagi’s ascent reach its zenith and the incoming fighter jet that zooms to position itself beneath the hero — then Shigaraki’s there, and All For One’s right behind him, and Izuku only barely dodges an arm that might decay him before plummeting into the path of red-black tendrils that latch around his ankle and slam him to the ground.

The impact hurts. Izuku was able to prevent his bones from shattering by activating Float at the last second, but that doesn’t fully stop him from hitting the ground hard. He groans, and manages to lift his head right as the Coffin finally collides with the city.  It’s only when he hears the deafening sound of metal rending, earth crumbling, and structures collapsing that he remembers with gut-wrenching horror that there were people inside the Coffin.

There were teachers in there. His classmates were in there. Cementoss and Powerloader and Mei and the other support course students and Yaoyorozu and Kaminari and others from the hero course were in there.

Shigaraki and All For One land explosively fifty yards from Izuku. Izuku cannot tear his eyes from where the Coffin is still coming to a rest in the enormous crater its mass has created. Mirio appears at his side at some point, but Izuku can’t look away.

“Izuku, come on, you need to get up,” Lemillion pleads desperately, shaking his lower classman’s shoulder. “We need to fall back. Tsukauchi gave the command — we need to leave.”

“See what happens when you try to play hero?” Shigaraki jeers from somewhere to the side. The villain steps forward, intending to put an end to Izuku Midoriya now — but All For One raises a hand to block his way.

“Tomura,” All For One says, a wicked smile pulling his face into something inhuman, “let them flee. We have all the time in the world to chase, after all.”

A guttural noise bubbles in Shigaraki’s throat. “But they’re weak. If we strike now—”

“Why rush? They will not recover from the damage we’ve inflicted today.” The villain turns his head, and Izuku’s nerves burn under the intensity of his eyeless scrutiny. “Let them rest. Let them recover. It will make the hunt all the more fun, don’t you agree?”

A pause. Then Shigaraki’s chapped lips also tug into an equally feral grin, and his head swings to rake Izuku with an evaluating glare. “Well, master, when you put it like that…”

And that’s the last Izuku hears before Mirio gives up on trying to rouse him and scoops him into a bridal carry, fleeing with Izuku held tight to his chest.

Izuku can’t think much beyond the nausea eating him alive. There are twin pairs of eyes dissecting his departure, failure and horror devouring him whole, and guilt submerging his brain into something horribly acidic.

He knows, in the innate way one does when faced with the unthinkable, that there is nothing that can stop the way he is about to break.

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After their retreat, the survivors fall back to the U.A. bunker. There are pitifully few heroes remaining.

Of the twenty class 1-A students, only half return alive. Of the ten deceased, only four bodies are recovered.

Shoji, Sero, and Ojiro’s families elect to have closed casket funerals. They want their memories to be of bright-eyed young men — not partially-recovered corpses in no state to be seen by the living.

When Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo demand to see Kacchan one final time, Izuku curls outside the door to the morgue and forces himself to listen through their grief. He flees like a coward before they emerge, and cannot bring himself to answer when they knock on his door hours later.

Despite their need for a respite, the surviving heroes aren’t given any time to mourn the dead. Their failure to put an end to All For One and subsequent return to the bunker sends the civilians into a terrified frenzy, fearful that All For One will retaliate and put them all in the crossfire.

The fragile tolerance society had for Izuku shatters completely. Protests break out; the only way the few remaining heroes will be allowed to stay in the bunker without the public initiating a full-blown civil war is if All For One’s largest target leaves.

All Might, Aizawa, Present Mic and what remains of 1-A fight viciously in his name, but Izuku could barely bring himself to be happy with his situation at U.A. the first time 1-A brought him back from his brief stunt as a vigilante. This time, the crowd’s demands for him to leave are too logical to ignore. He cannot make peace with the fact that his mere presence in the bunker may cause the death of thousands.

In the dead of night three days after their failure, Izuku writes a note apologising to his mother and uses Float to ascend to the surface. When he gets past security and feels brisk wind on his face he takes off, Fa Jin roiling sharp beneath his muscles to put as much distance as he can between himself and the only people who ever felt like home.

He doesn’t stop moving until he’s two hundred kilometres from the bunker and collapsing to his knees in a field of rotting crops. The concerned murmurs of the One For All vestiges surround him, and in that moment Izuku wants nothing more than to tear them from his head because he doesn’t deserve their sympathy. He was too late to the Coffin, and look what happened. Things couldn’t have resulted in a disaster any larger than this.

The everything of the last few days catches up to him, and he can’t support his body as the weight of it all finally settles in his brain. His hands crash to the ground, and then he’s scrabbling at his chest because he— he can’t breathe.

Izuku had been in shock for the last three days, and now that he’s alone and realising his friends will never come back, it’s like someone’s punched a hole clean through his lungs. Yaoyorozu and Kaminari and Shoto and Uraraka and Tsu and Sero and Ojiro and Shoji and Mineta and Kacchan are gone, they’re gone, they’re— they’re not returning, not ever, and they’d all just brought Izuku with them to U.A. not two weeks ago but now that’s gone too and— now they’re gone, and he’s never— they’re never going to—

It’s a miracle All For One doesn’t sic Shigaraki on him, because Izuku doesn’t move for fifty-six hours. Every last second of that time is spent in a state of delirium between slightly more conscious panic attacks. All he can think of are those red, red eyes. His red, red shoes with Kacchan’s red, red blood staining the soles get ripped off at some point in a fit of suffocating fury and tossed somewhere into the distance. Izuku can’t get those glassy eyes, eyes, eyes out of his head.

On the sixth day post-failure, Iida finds him. With the help of Nedzu predicting where Izuku may have ended up based on his trajectory, 1-A had been sweeping the countryside desperately trying to find their missing comrade. The engine-powered boy notifies the rest of their class, and after placing a tentative hand on Izuku’s shoulder that goes entirely ignored by the boy, Iida realises that Izuku is far too out of it to respond to any of the questions he asks. He carefully scoops his friend up and moves to reconvene with their teachers and the rest of 1-A.

They head to Makeshift Fortress Troy, where Aizawa, Yamada, Yagi and their classmates have set up their new base of operations. Izuku may not be welcomed back into the U.A. bunker, but they’ll be damned if they let him deal with the aftermath of… everything by himself.

After they get him comfortable and Aizawa works on grounding his student and bringing him back to the present over the course of a few weeks, Izuku is treated rather like a wild animal. No one has any idea how to help him, especially not when they’re each dealing with their own grief. After all, what is there to say? Nothing that happened was okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.

In the brief periods of lucidity Izuku has, he tries to leave. It’s more halfhearted than it was that first time. His classmates take to keeping a guard over him, and eventually he realises that all he’s doing is causing them trouble. He curls up in his room and keeps himself bed bound even as his limbs scream for him to move.

Aizawa runs himself ragged trying to support his class. It’s only because of Yamada that he remembers to eat and drink — both of which are stunted and hard to track when the weeks blur together in a haze of nightmares and dissociative episodes.

Yagi tries to support his students and fellow teachers where he can, but it’s obvious his primary concern is Midoriya. Izuku flits between being unable to let the man go and incapable of looking him in the eye. Yagi lets the boy cry into his chest and wraps protective arms around his protégé. It’s not much, but it’s all Toshinori has left to give. He buries his head in Izuku’s shoulder one evening after the boy has exhausted himself into a fitful rest, and finally lets himself weep.

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In the fallout, Izuku becomes intimately familiar with grief in all its forms.

He sees it in Iida, in how the boy stares with a detached sort of disgust at the mufflers in his legs, in how his fingers twitch as if he wants nothing more than to rip the offending quirk out over and over until he’s faster. Until he’s the fastest. Until there’s no one he can’t save in less time than it takes to blink, because he failed Shoto, and maybe if he hadn’t been worried about overheating engines he would have been there for every other classmate who didn’t make it off their own battlefields. As class president, the weight of his inaction bears heavy on Iida’s shoulders. He shuts his emotions off from the world and throws himself into any busywork he can find. When chores run dry, he cobbles together what he can to make his classmate’s lives a little more comfortable, determined not to let anyone go without anything that could give them strength.

He sees it in Kirishima, when the unbreakable boy shatters in the wee hours of the morning and his quirk won’t turn off as he gasps through panic attacks. In how he perks up at any sound resembling an explosion, and teeters off-kilter when he realises it didn’t come from Bakugo. There’s more black in his hair than red now, roots reverting to their natural colour since hair dye became a luxury, and Izuku sees how Kirishima takes to avoiding his reflection. The boy is less confident in his interactions with his peers; he makes up for it by being thrice as protective, throwing himself heedlessly between his classmates and any perceived threat with a snarl on his lips and a wild glint in his eyes.

He sees it in Ashido, in the brief moments of hilarity that so rarely grace their camp, when the girl forgets everything that’s happened and turns to make a snarky comment to Ochako, or Tsu, or Denki, or sometimes even Bakugo, only to find empty air that breaks her all over again. When a Tartarus escapee with a pink-tinged gas quirk assaults their base, her body locks up. Izuku barely has time to jerk her out of the fight with Black Whip before the toxins put her out of commission for good. She breaks down after the villain is cuffed and admits she had only been able to think of Midnight. Kirishima finds her hours later scraping her arms raw in an attempt to stop seeing pink, and when he gently gets her to return to their dorm’s common room for the night, where the whole class has taken to sleeping as a unit, Izuku watches her acid slowly burn through a long sleeved green shirt and sweatpants she won’t change out of despite the sweltering heat of the dorms. She doesn’t look at her hands for five hours.

He sees it in Jiro, in how she fashions a necklace she refuses to take off from one of Momo’s smallest nesting dolls that she scavenges from the girl’s dusty room, in how he finds her at the crack of dawn practising bo staff techniques with a metal pipe and distant eyes. She takes to pausing each of her classmates in their tracks at least once a day, gently rolling back sleeves to rest her remaining earphone on their wrists, needing to hear their heartbeats as loud as possible so she can be positive they’re still alive. On the nights when everyone tosses and turns, sleep too far beyond their reach, she retrieves a battered guitar from her dorm and plucks soothing melodies into the night.

He sees it in Tokoyami, in how it’s rare now for him not to be wrapped in Dark Shadow’s embrace, in how the boy grows closer to Jiro in the way only two people who have looked Death in the eye can be. When there’s not much for the class to do other than wait for attacks or opportunities to retaliate, the bird-headed boy brings an inkwell and reams of paper down from his room and spends days creating protective ofudas that he plasters over every available surface. He insists that everyone carries at least three on them at all times. His feathers grow unkempt; it’s only at the insistence of Dark Shadow that he finally allows Koda to preen them. He falls asleep halfway through the process, and doesn’t wake for thirteen hours.

He sees it in Hagakure, in how the girl masters keeping herself visible, but flickers like a ghost when the dorms grow quiet and there’s less to distract her from the fact that every classmate she was closest to is now dead. When the sun goes down, she paces the dormitory halls restlessly. From sunrise to sunset, she stands out in the light and tries again and again to make the rays her body refracts stronger, more blinding, quicker to heat and easier to control. It comes as a dull surprise to Izuku that for someone so expressive, he never sees Hagakure cry.

He sees it in Sato, in how the boy could always bake but never cook, in how he wakes early and practises preparing lunch and dinner meals for the class in an attempt to create foods he knows the survivors will enjoy despite the limited ingredients they have available. He slightly burns the first few dishes and undercooks the next couple, but no one tells him anything other than thanks. It may not be Kacchan’s food they had all grown used to, but Sato is the only one keeping them on a somewhat healthy diet, and there’s really not enough words to express their gratitude for his determination to keep them well-fed when there’s so little else to look forward to in their new routines.

He sees it in Koda, in how it was rare for him to be without an animal companion before the war, but now is nigh impossible to find him without at least a few trotting at his heels. The survivors take to leaving their doors open so the dozens of stray cats and dogs that flock to their base have more room to roam, and no one complains about the handful of times the animals create a mess. The dorms had felt unbearably empty without half their class, and while the animals aren’t anywhere near a replacement, they do provide comfort on the nights where everyone needs to feel a weight on their chest or fur in their hands so they can remain grounded when memories of pale faces threaten to break them. Izuku finds it devastating that Koda becomes somewhat of a chatterbox when there are so few people to listen. The boy gets into the habit of nervously rambling about everything and nothing whenever a silence drags on too long, as if he can’t stand knowing that the people who would once fill the quiet will never voice their thoughts again.

He sees it in Aoyama, in how the boy practically becomes mute, in how he refuses to voice his input when the class debates battle plans, in how he accepts any directive without question, because he’s absolutely crushed by the guilt of thinking he’s responsible for their friend’s deaths, and although he could never do enough to atone he can put himself into the survivor’s servitude. The class tries to encourage him to join in on daily discussions, but Aoyama shuts down entirely and isolates himself, holing up in his room until it’s time to complete a chore or attend a meeting. Izuku watches how after the boy has to engage with more than one person at a time, he retreats to the roof of Troy and collapses, raking nails across his skin with a frantic, vacant gaze, as if trying to physically scrape off the feeling of being watched.

He sees it in Aizawa, in how the man’s eyes pause too long on the crumbling buildings that now make up more of Japan than intact ones, in how his sensei sits with his back to corners and face buried in his capture weapon, head counting their class over and over as if to reassure himself that in the five seconds since he last laid eyes on his students they haven’t been captured, or injured, or killed. He’s the first to his kid’s sides when they have panic attacks, and draws them into carefully firm hugs when they wake screaming from nightmares. His students try to return the care he shows them, but he brushes off their concern. Only Yamada’s persistent reminders to eat, drink, and sleep keep him somewhat functional.

He sees it in Yagi, when the man leaves a room and believes himself to be alone, and his legs can’t support the failure that weighs on his shoulders. In how he slumps against the nearest wall with a whine in his throat and a sob caught between his teeth. In how he seeks Izuku out every day, sometimes spewing apologies he can’t bite back, sometimes just to lay a hand on his kid’s shoulder for the reassurance that Izuku is, at the very least, still breathing. Izuku finds him more often than not spending hours in a dogeza, prostrating himself before the headstones the class had placed behind Troy. There are no bodies buried there; Yagi pays his respects to the dead all the same.

Izuku feels it in himself, knows it’s there through the pages, and pages, and pages of notes he feels compelled to write about everything — from the villain’s weaknesses, to what All For One might be planning next, to all the aforementioned observations about his surviving classmates, and every single detail he can remember of the deceased. A desperate kind of anxiety drives him; he fears that, without it all scrawled down, he’ll forget what made the people he considers family so special. When he runs out of ink and paper and his hands get too shaky to keep within the lines of a notebook, he writes on the walls of half-decayed buildings using ash, or the sharp end of rebar, or sometimes even his own blood.

He needs the world to know their heroes. He needs future generations, should they be so lucky to exist, to understand the people who gave everything to save them. He needs there to be tangible proof of what they sacrificed, and why the universe is all the darker for it.

Yes, grief has made itself known to Izuku.

These days, there’s very little else to feel.

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More people join them after a time. Tsukauchi, Sansa and a handful of other policemen arrange for a limited number of envoys to move supplies and civilians between the U.A. bunker and Troy. Shinso and Fat Gum arrive on the first vehicle over, alongside enough supplies to last 1-A three months. Subsequent envoys bring the families of most 1-A students.

When Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo see Izuku, they drag the kid into a hug and refuse to let go for the next two hours. Inko flits around them anxiously, wringing her hands with a heartbroken expression as her boy wails endless apologies. Mitsuki opens an arm when she realises Inko is hesitant to intrude on their grief, and, with tears tracking down both their cheeks, the two mothers gently lower their huddle to the ground.

They quietly comfort Izuku and each other until the kid sags into an exhausted sleep. The families of the other deceased slip past silently, trailing light hands across the adult’s backs in wordless gestures of support. 

Troy becomes a community of its own. It’s crowded with so many people, but not uncomfortably so. The surviving 1-A students had already mostly taken to sleeping as a group in the communal lounge, so they collectively decide to offer up their rooms to their families instead. When they go to pack necessities from their dorms to take downstairs, they hear muffled sobbing through the walls as the families of the deceased go through what few possessions their children left behind.

Time trickles slow from there. With so few heroes remaining in reasonable enough condition to fight, going on the offensive is impractical. Life becomes a simple matter of survival and defence against the few Tartarus prison escapees who are psychotic or desperate enough to attack Troy.

Although many of the jailbreak villains intend to do harm, their skirmishes are more an annoyance than a legitimate threat. The real danger lies in the fact that All For One and Shigaraki go radio silent, keeping everyone in a dreadful sort of suspense for months. July has almost come to an end before the villains finally make their move.

Izuku had thought that by obeying the civilian’s demands and leaving the U.A. bunker, he was keeping the people there safe. He had thought that, since he was the largest target, if anywhere was to be attacked it would be Troy.

He’s proven fatally wrong when Shigaraki launches his assault. The worst part is that with 1-A’s dorms situated so far away, no one knows the underground stronghold is under attack until it’s far too late to mobilise.

Without Aizawa there to disable his quirks, Shigaraki makes laughably quick work of the bunker. It takes, at most, forty-five minutes for the last of society to be reduced to dust. Aizawa finally receives a distress call when the carnage is almost over, and with fracturing sanity bears witness to Nedzu’s final words. When the line goes static, he slams his earpiece to the ground and punches a hole clean through the nearest wall. As he slides to his knees, hyperventilating, he wonders how he can possibly break the news to his kids.

Eri had been at the bunker. Troy had been deemed too dangerous for her, what with the target on Izuku’s back. The kid Aizawa had grown so attached to was likely now buried beneath a hundred and fifty feet of rubble, and he was too late to help and too crippled to dig her body out, if she somehow hadn’t been decayed.

What the hell is he supposed to do with this knowledge?

Telling everyone could never have gone any way other than poorly. Aizawa will go to his grave with those expressions branded into his mind. He will never stop feeling the aftershock of Izuku slamming him against a wall, blind anger overtaking his kid when Aizawa’s quirk robbed him of his own before he could throw himself out the nearest window and pursue a delusional compulsion to save people that no longer exist. The bunker had been too far underground, and Shigaraki too fierce a bloodhound to have missed a chance to kill. Aizawa knows there will not be survivors.

He doesn’t get a wink of sleep for the next three days, and doesn’t rest more than a few fitful hours a night for the next four weeks. There are too many distraught children to comfort. There are too many false images of a little girl’s broken body stamped into the space behind his eyes. That he can only imagine what end befell Eri and not know with certainty how she died — that he doesn’t have a body to bury, and doesn’t even know for sure if there is one — makes everything worse.

It dawns on everyone, after the shock wears off, that this is really it. The end is truly in motion. They’re long past being able to fix things — nobody could come back from this.

The only thing Troy is any good for now is being a coop for sitting ducks, and All For One is sure to tire of their inaction eventually. Time is a commodity they have frightfully little of, and there isn’t much they can do with it other than wait to be killed.

It isn’t fair.

They’ve learnt, in the hardest comprehensible way, that nothing ever is.

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They’re largely left alone for the next three months. They hear, through almost indecipherable radio frequencies, that All For One has turned his gaze towards eliminating stragglers across Japan. The only chance anyone has at surviving is if they flee the country, but airports closed down at the start of the war, foreign nations refuse to supply aid in fear of incurring Shigaraki’s wrath, and anyone with a quirk who could get them out has already long since departed.

Food and water become the biggest threat to their daily stability. When the U.A. bunker was destroyed, their supply of both went with it — and with most resources in the region having already been claimed by now-dead civilians, there’s nothing left to loot within an eighteen-mile radius of Troy. 

They lay out every container from the kitchen on the roof of the dorms to catch what little rain falls. It tastes like rust and something acidic. Koda locks himself in his room when the few woodland creatures that had hesitantly taken to sheltering outside their base need to be butchered. It’s enough to keep them going for a few weeks, if everyone keeps their water and food intake low, but with so many mouths to feed it’s nowhere near enough.

Yamada, Yagi, and half the parents and older siblings volunteer to venture further from Troy in an attempt to find a supermarket or grocer that’s been overlooked by scavengers. The idea is met with reluctance by everyone, but they have no choice if they want to remain alive.

The goodbyes that follow are teary and final. Nobody wants to imagine the worst, but at this point anticipating anything else would be foolishly naive.

When Izuku wakes twelve days later drenched in sweat to the feeling of something fundamentally wrong shifting inside One For All, it’s to see the vestiges comforting Yagi.

At first, caught in the bleariness of having just awoken, Izuku feels his heart soar knowing that his mentor is safe and back home. Then he glimpses the kitchen through All Might’s shoulder, and it finally clicks why the sight of the dead comforting the man is so out of place.

The understanding of what’s happened hits Izuku’s gut hard, and he desperately heaves himself up to lean over the back of his couch and empty his meagre stomach contents on the ground.

Half of his classmates are already awake. The other half have slept light ever since the start of the war, and quickly come to consciousness from all the noise Izuku makes. They try to comfort him, assuming his bile to be because of a nightmare — but they don’t know. They have no idea that their teachers are dead. They can’t yet comprehend that their parents have been killed.

Aizawa rises from where he’s taken to sleeping between his students and Troy’s main entrance. When he meets Izuku’s eyes, he falters. He sees how Izuku glances to the side and chokes around a panic attack. He tracks the kid’s eyes to empty space and, with a bone-cold horror pervading his skin, he understands.

They’re all dead. Yamada is dead.

Shouta’s expression shatters; he barely catches himself against the side of a couch when his knees give way. His students stumble to action, caught between comforting Izuku and panicking over their sensei’s sudden illness — but Aizawa wards them off, unable to bear the thought of being touched or coddled when his world is collapsing. He clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from expelling his own stomach contents, and staggers to the kitchen sink to gag on bile.

The sun is peeking over the horizon, and 1-A has come to their own understanding of what’s happened, by the time either Izuku or Aizawa are ready to speak. They wait for the parents who had remained at Troy to come downstairs; then Izuku explains what Toshinori’s vestige says of his demise.

There is nothing in the entire fucking world Izuku hates more than All For One.

His fury reaches its melting point five weeks later, when Shouta has to drive rebar through the chest of a nomu that assaults their base with Hizashi’s voice. When night falls and Aizawa ascends to the roof to scream his grief at the world, Izuku launches himself into the darkness with the intent of finding and killing the bastard who did this to them; but all he finds are high-end nomu that, in the face of his rage, he spatters like ticks.

When he returns to Troy early the next morning, worn out and frustrated and so, so broken, he only feels worse knowing that, just like Yamada, there were people behind those monsters too.

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All things considered, Izuku has to be grateful for how his mother passes. Heart failure, Shinso’s father — a doctor Izuku had unknowingly met in passing — concludes.

The man drapes one of their least dirty blankets across her body. Izuku hadn’t realised she had been sleeping without one. Likely, she had given it away to one of the other families who had small children to warm. He stares at the new blanket, at its clashing red and blue polka dot pattern and the faded blood from somebody else that stains its hem brown, and can only think about how in life his mother would have hated it. In death, she can’t complain.

Izuku knew the insurmountable stress of their situation would take its toll on her eventually, but he had childishly refused to give the thought any credence. He hadn’t been able to truly grasp the idea she might die before him. Seeing her now, laid out like this — cold to the touch and so distinctly absent — he finds he still cannot process the fact she is actually gone.

He spends half an hour fixing her hair. It’s messy from the night’s sleep she hadn’t woken from. He smoothes her clothes and dispels any rumples from the blanket, muttering gentle nonsense she will never hear. Although he tries not to glance at her face, he can’t help but hate what he sees when he inevitably looks.

Even in death she doesn’t look at peace. The frown lines on her brow are more pronounced in the absence of her pallor, and without life to give her colour, her eyes and cheeks show just how sunken and hollow they really are. She’s lost so much weight in so little time. She almost looks like the mother he remembers from when he was a child, but more emaciated.

Izuku isn’t sure how long he sits by her bedside. No one interrupts his mourning. When what must be hours elapse and the weight of his loss finally hits him, Izuku realises he has no more tears left to cry. He slides out his dorm’s open window and mindlessly loses himself in the burn of muscles that comes with running through unsteady terrain.

The inertia of catching himself with Black Whip each time he leaps off a ledge too high and falls too fast is the only thing keeping his mind off the grief that pounds through his skull. In those moments of free fall, and if not for the ghosts hovering over his shoulder, Izuku thinks he might find some comfort in the view from halfway down.

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Shigaraki descends on Troy late one afternoon in what the survivors can only guess is November, based on the way frost nips at the air. His arrival isn’t quite a surprise; they knew All For One would grow tired of waiting eventually, and the sparse radio communications they’d been receiving had gone silent weeks ago.

All things considered, they put up a good fight. Everything is still over in less than fifteen minutes.

By the time the villain decides he’s had his fill of death, only Aizawa and Izuku are left standing. Shigaraki bares his teeth in something too feral to be a grin and tells them they have a week. Then he leaves, taking the last of the heroes’ strength with him.

Izuku collapses. Shouta turns to the side and heaves. They both stare at piles of dust being blown away by the wind and choke on the fact that when they die, the only proof class 1-A existed at all will die with them.

Death has come to be numbly expected. Izuku just wishes he had something left of his friends to bury.

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Four days after they lost what little remained of the world, Aizawa gives up on his attempt at an early morning sleep and finds Izuku sitting on the only intact ledge of Troy’s roof. His kid’s staring out over a devastated landscape, watching sunrise paint Japan in bloody hues. There’s a faint breeze in the air that stirs up the dust coating what used to be a city, and as Shouta breathes it in, he wonders which of his students are poisoning his lungs.

Unseen by Aizawa, the vestiges of One For All drift aside from where they had been hovering around Izuku, giving the man a clear path to their Ninth. All eight had spent the night in a sickening kind of silence, lending Izuku what little comfort their presence could offer whilst giving him the space he needed to get his thoughts in order.

They had all felt the shift — or perhaps the nauseating halt — of something deep within their kid. The knowledge that their time within One For All was coming to an end was a difficult thought to bear.

From his place to Izuku’s right, the youngest vestige of Toshinori Yagi spares Aizawa a mournful glance. As the other vestiges drift away, he tries his best to provide one last gesture of comfort to Izuku — but he’s painfully reminded of his new ghostly reality when his hand phases through the boy’s shoulder and his kid doesn’t react. Yagi closes his eyes, turns his head away in grief, and prays as he floats back that Aizawa will do what he cannot.

Although it’s awkward to manoeuvre with only one good leg, Shouta hoists himself up next to his kid and settles down on the ledge beside him. Izuku inclines his head in acknowledgement, but his eyes don’t stray from the skyline.

They sit like this for a time. It’s despairingly companionable, in the way only dead men can be.

Aizawa glances sidelong at Izuku and can’t help the way his face darkens at the sight. His kid’s eyes are deep-set and distant, red-rimmed with dark purple smudges below each. His sunken cheeks belie the fact he is starving. He’s entirely missing freckles on one side of his face, grazed off from some wound he had suffered after U.A.’s collapse, and a deep cut along the opposite cheekbone has all but claimed half the freckles on that side as well. His hair is longer than it’s ever been, swept back and brushing his shoulders; it doesn’t exactly look messy, if only because it’s full of enough grease, sweat, and hopelessly matted knots to keep it off his face. His hero costume is unsalvageable, tattered and stuck to congealed blood in places Aizawa knows the kid’s been wounded. There’s the faintest smell of something sour in the air that tells Shouta an infection is starting to set in.

His kid looks wrong. The vacant expression on his face is wrong. Everything about their reality is so absolutely fucking wrong that Aizawa wants nothing more than to beat his fists bloody against a wall, angry at it all for being so wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

Shouta will forever curse himself for allowing a child to bear the world’s burdens. Especially when that child is Izuku, of all people. Someone so good should not know what it is to suffer this much evil.

His kid should be at U.A., stuffing himself on Lunch Rush’s food, laughing with his friends, working to become a hero beloved by the public. He should have the chance to find a partner, settle down, maybe have a few kids. He should grow old and wise and ridiculously fond of hellions who look at him with stars in their eyes and pleas for guidance on their lips.

He shouldn’t be here, in a world on its precipice, in a Japan that blames him until its dying breath for incurring the wrath of a demon all because he had the selfless ambition to take on the impossible mantle of his idol. He shouldn’t have inherited a war he was never warned of (and didn’t that fact make Shouta want to wring Yagi’s neck when he learnt of it). He shouldn’t know what it is to lose everyone he had ever known. He shouldn’t know what it is to be orphaned. Not yet.

At just seventeen years old, Izuku Midoriya should not be staring daybreak in the face and making peace with the fact that this will be the last sunrise he ever sees.

It would be remiss of Aizawa to think the boy would want it any other way, though. If the world was always destined to end in dust and blood and infinite fucking could-have-beens, his kid would never accept anyone else taking his place. That was just the kind of self-sacrificing he was.

Hero seems too small a word to describe a man like Izuku. It reminds Aizawa all too painfully of another too-bright boy from another too-dark time.

When bloody hues finally give way to grey-laden sky, Izuku takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets his head tip back. Aizawa almost wants to fill the silence, but what is there to say? He knows his kid hasn’t slept, knows today is no better than yesterday, and has nothing in the way of food or water to offer. Comfort is a luxury they haven’t been afforded in over half a year.

Ultimately, however, he doesn’t need to say anything. Izuku speaks first, and proves himself every bit the hero Aizawa knows him to be.

“How many civilians do you think are left?”

Shouta grimaces at how parched the kid’s voice sounds. His own words don’t sound any better when he replies; “If I had to guess? None.”

Izuku nods. Silence lapses.

“I tried, Sensei. I really did.”

“I know, Problem Child. Fuck, I know.”

Silence again. One beat passes, then two.

“The vestiges don’t know where to go from here.”

“Good. If Yagi and the others expected any more of you, I’d find a way to bring them back just to kill them myself.”

A light snort. After a moment, Aizawa lifts an arm to drag the boy into a side hug, and Izuku melts in the embrace. They both hide wet eyes and downturned mouths behind capes and capture weapons.

“I’ll be leaving today, Shouta.”

“And I’ll be leaving with you, Izuku.”

His kid nods. After everything they’ve been through, it would be almost offensive to assume Shou would be anywhere other than at his kid’s side.

Where Izuku goes, Shouta will follow. When Izuku falters, Shouta will be his crutch. Should Izuku die, Shouta will raise Hell on his own way out.

In the end, it’s really as simple as that.

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It’s not difficult to find All For One. There’s a dark cloud of dust on the horizon where Shigaraki is going to town with Decay, and as Izuku and Shouta draw near, it becomes apparent that the villain has spent most of the last four days quite literally carving his way through Japan. For as far as the eye can see there are enormous chasms full of disintegrated matter and grotesque, overgrown, writhing amalgamations of what used to be hands. Thousands of fingers scrape the landscape to even more nothingness as they approach.

At the centre of it all is a delirious Tomura. His head is tipped back, eyes wide and sightless, face etched into a too-wide grin that spills forth disturbed, deranged laughter. He staggers in circles as a man without purpose, arms dragging like chains behind him, appearing to be more fixated on the decay decay decay of it all rather than any goal in particular.

Floating above the fringes of the destruction is a white-haired man who Izuku realises must be All For One. He turns when Izuku and Shouta enter audible distance, and the pair halt under the villain’s empty eyes and languid grin.

To his right, Yoichi steps into Izuku’s line of sight. The boy has to admit he can see the familial resemblance.

“Ah, if it isn’t the hero of our story,” All For One says in lieu of greeting. “You kept me waiting ever so long, Ninth.”

Izuku grits his teeth. His left foot shifts back into a weary, battle-ready stance. At his side, Shouta follows suit.

All For One’s grin widens even as he clicks his tongue in disdain. “Oh, come now, child. You know fighting me is pointless.”

His gaze shifts back to the destruction before them. He extends an arm, as if to casually encourage the heroes to bear witness to the end of the world.

“Tomura’s true power is quite something to behold, is it not?” he asks. It’s rhetorical, of course. “I’m allowing him to indulge in some of his more… primal desires. His body may be nothing more than a vassal for my will, but even I have to admit that his drive to destroy is quite powerful. It’s more than skin-deep, you see. In all my time alive, I’ve found it quite rare for someone’s soul to resonate so strongly with their ambition.”

Izuku’s gaze flits to the side, where Nana is staring at Shigaraki — at Tenko Shimura — with a quiet, resigned grief. Yagi is a step behind and to the side of her, his hand resting hesitantly between his mentor’s shoulder blades. The sight puts a foul taste in Izuku’s mouth. A sense of overwhelming failure crashes onto his shoulders, which is exacerbated when All For One idly tries to follow his line of sight and knowing stretches his wicked grin wider.

“How interesting,” the villain drawls. He drifts down from his place in the sky and steps softly onto the sand-like consistency of Shigaraki’s destruction. “You see them, don’t you? The vestiges of One For All.”

At this distance, a mere few dozen feet separating heroes from villain, there’s something naggingly familiar about the man’s face. Izuku tries to dismiss it as his resemblance to First, but the thought coils furtively at the back of his mind.

Izuku doesn’t respond. It makes little difference to All For One.

“I had theorised you would,” the villain continues. He begins to pace slowly around the heroes. Izuku and Aizawa shuffle in place, keeping the villain firmly in their line of sight. “After all, One For All mirrors my own power, if more… underdeveloped.”

“And yet you kill to have it all the same,” Izuku says evenly. “What, haven’t had your fill of ghosts?”

All For One seems to be implying that he has vestiges of his own. Izuku doesn’t particularly care. Knowing the bastard, he probably derives a sick sense of pleasure from seeing what remains of all the people he’s stolen from and killed. Izuku wishes he could help them, but unless he can kill All For One, he doesn’t see how that would be possible.

The villain chuckles slightly and waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, no, I’ve had quite enough of these side characters. There’s only one I wish to see returned to me. You should come willingly, Yoichi, if you do not want your Ninth to suffer.”

Beside Izuku, Yoichi laughs sarcastically. It obviously falls on deaf ears. “If only that was enough to stop him.” He glances at Midoriya, and his expression softens into something full of regret. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry it has come to this, Izuku. It was never my intention to let my brother drag our feud out over so many lifetimes. You should not have to endure the failings of a ghost.”

Something must shift in Izuku’s face, because across from him, All For One makes a sound of faux resignation. “Of course not. Just what I would expect of my little brother. Perhaps he and I are not so different after all, hm?”

Izuku doesn’t respond. He grits his teeth, and after a second lets One For All spark across his skin. The villain eyes him contemptuously; Izuku sees the moment his enemy realises their current line of small talk won’t lead anywhere.

“Speaking of similarities…” All For One trails off languidly and takes a moment to consider his foe. “You know, child, there is one hilarious truth behind this entire ordeal that none but I am aware of. I personally find it to be quite the humorous thing. Would you like to know what it is?”

Izuku wants nothing less. “No. I don’t want to hear anything you want to tell me. You’re just a psychopathic lunatic with grandiose delusions. Nothing you say means anything. Not anymore. Fight us, All For One, and we can finally bring the last two hundred years to an end.”

”Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh, come now. I’m sure it will mean something. Especially to you, boy.” The villain leans forward. A crazed smile stretches wide across his face, and there is real mirth in his eyes. “After all, is that any way to speak to your father?”

Silence. Izuku’s brain short circuits. It’s almost like the time Toga told him she loved him, but even more incomprehensible. Because— what?

Just— what?

How does— and, come on, does he think Izuku is stupid? It’s so obvious he’s lying, but then why—

“Bullshit,” Aizawa hisses. Izuku startles. He had quite forgotten his sensei was there. “Stop trying to mess with the kid’s head. Every longevity quirk ever recorded comes with the drawback of declining fertility, and you’re at least two centuries old. You can’t be first-generation related to a teenager.”

“Can’t I?” All For One asks in amusement. “Eight billion quirks in the world, and you don’t believe there may be a single one that could bypass such a fickle restriction?”

Aizawa hesitates at this. The fact is, statistically, All for One is right — but the notion there may be any truth to his claim is something he can’t help but vehemently reject.

“Honestly, finding the quirks to make it possible was easy,” All For One continues. “Finding the women was, too. Love may be the single greatest currency in the world, right after fear. Thousands are so desperate for it, they’ll let you do quite anything you please with so little persuading. That’s why it took so long to realise Izuku here was one of my own,” the villain purrs. “There have been so many failed experiments over the years. You can understand why I rather lost track of them all.”

“Failed experiments?” Shouta seethes. “You’re talking about children, not science projects. Do none of them mean anything to you at all?”

“Of course not,” All For One sneers. “Why should they? Quirkless brat after quirkless brat — none of them inherited my quirk. I’m still at a loss over whether it’s the first generation metahuman blood, or if my power is simply so incompatible with the human body that it cannot be replicated in my offspring.” His gaze shifts to Izuku. He looks rather like a predator watching prey. “Ultimately, the reason it never manifested makes little difference. All attempts were met with failure, Izuku here included. The only reason he is worth anything now is due to sheer, idiotic luck.” His lip curls. Something dangerous prowls behind his eyes. “I bet Yoichi is laughing at the irony of it all.”

Yoichi certainly isn’t laughing. None of the vestiges are. They’re looking between All For One and Izuku with a looming kind of horror, and Izuku is doing everything he can to ignore the way his skin prickles under their eyes, eyes, eyes.

He— he doesn’t want to believe it, because—

Because—

He can’t believe it, because if it’s true, then all this time—

But then, it makes sense, doesn’t it? In a brutal, fucked up, unimaginably terrifying way, it makes sense, because although the quirked population totals 80%, that’s a global statistic. For Japan, the number is closer to 89%, and of the 11% quirkless population the primary demographic is older generations, or families where there are less quirked people in their heritage.

Izuku had researched it once, in the dead of night at seven years old, and from there it had become something of an obsession to pore through in his free time. Quirkless kids were just so rare these days. And then he’d checked his mother’s lineage, asked her about his grandparents, and his grandparent’s parents, and as far back as Inko knew her family had always had some kind of affinity with simple mentality quirks. Which didn’t make sense, because that should mean that, genetically speaking, Izuku should have a quirk. Traits like that don’t just skip two hundred years worth of lineage only to spontaneously reappear one day. There had to be a connection, and there wasn’t, unless—

Unless.

Unless the connection wasn’t on his mother’s side, but his father’s. Unless his father, or his father’s father, had the quirkless gene. Wisdom teeth. An appendix. The pinky toe joint.

It didn’t make sense, unless his father was a first generation metahuman, meaning that Izuku directly inherited his quirklessness from his grandparents.

It was—

This was all—

And Izuku hates how it—

But there’s no way, right?

“He’s trying to get in your head, Izuku,” Shouta says. “It’s a lie. Don’t let him shake you.”

“But it’s not,” Izuku whispers. He looks up from where his gaze had dropped to the sandy ground, and All For One meets his eyes intently. The villain’s face looks younger than it did five minutes ago. Izuku thinks that if only he lived long enough to do just a little more growing, there might, one day, be a resemblance between them. “He’s not lying,” Izuku repeats. “He doesn’t lie. Hasn’t — at least, not since we’ve been fighting him. He manipulates the truth, but he’s never outright lied.”

“How correct you are, child,” All For One croons. “After all, why lie when the truth is often so much more delicious?”

Aizawa eyes his student like he’s something delicate about to break, but Izuku honestly doesn’t feel much of anything right now. He’s not sure what to think. Not sure what to feel, even. Is there any room for emotions in this situation?

When All For One sees that the child’s face hasn’t fallen, that the kid’s just staring at him with impassive eyes the villain can’t read, he cocks his head. “Too shocked to speak?” he crows. “I can’t say I blame you. Learning that your mortal enemy — the man who killed every one of your quirk’s predecessors, and most other loved ones in your life — is your blood relative must come as quite the shock.” When Izuku still doesn’t respond, he chuckles. “This all reminds me of a rather interesting debate, actually. I’ve entertained it here and there over the years. Nature versus nurture; which do you think wins, Izu-kun?”

“Nurture,” Aizawa says in his kid’s place. He must be trying to stall so Izuku has time to process. “As a teacher, I’ve seen it time and again. Children are complex beings, but if you know how to help they usually grow into upstanding adults.”

“Hmm. Even in your own response, you use weak terminology.” The villain raises a hand to his chin in feigned interest. Izuku hates how similar it is to his own subconscious habits. “You claim a child will usually respond well to nurture, but that implies you know it’s not always the case. Nature does win out in some regard, then, does it not?”

“Sure, but there are exceptions to every rule,” Aizawa argues. “We don’t define normalcy by those exceptions. Chemical imbalances in the brain may be misconstrued as one’s ‘nature’, but those instances are clear outliers to the debate at hand.”

“Then let me pose a scenario,” All For One says. “A son is never given the chance to meet his father. They have zero contact with each other for all seventeen years of the boy’s short life. The child doesn’t learn a single thing about the parent he’s never met. So then why, as the boy grows older, does he begin to mimic his father’s habits? Why does he begin to love the same interests? If it was only nurture that influenced his upbringing, how can he be so similar to a man he’s never met?”

Aizawa looks furious. “Similar? To you?” He scoffs. “If I believed you were being truthful about being related to Izuku, that question makes it obvious just how much of a deadbeat you are. You don’t know the first thing about the kid. He’s nothing like you.”

“Perhaps not in the ways that matter to a hero,” All For One growls. “But there is more to a boy than his misguided—”

Izuku has had enough of All For One’s manipulative prattle. He waits until the villain lets his guard down — then he rockets forward and smashes a full-powered punch square across the man’s face.

All For One goes flying. He tumbles across the ground once before catching himself with his levitation quirk, and when he whips around to face the heroes he’s forced to throw up his arms at the last second to block a furious kick Izuku aims at his torso.

The two begin exchanging furious blows. Behind them, Aizawa curses and activates Erasure to prevent All For One from getting the upper hand on his kid. He can’t keep it up for long, but Izuku’s fighting hard enough that hopefully the little he can contribute will be enough.

Kick. Kick. Block. Punch. Block. Block. Swipe. Izuku’s mind goes blank. The world doesn’t exist beyond this brawl. There isn’t a chance in hell he’ll win, but at least he can inflict as much damage as possible before he dies.

Block. Block. Block. Punch. Swipe. Block. Kick. Despite not having access to his quirks, All For One is a formidable foe. Even so, the real challenge is going to come when—

Now.

Izuku’s almost got Aizawa’s quirk timed down to the millisecond. The instant he knows Erasure is about to drop, Izuku flings himself directly between Aizawa and All For One’s line of sight. It’s just in time, too — he takes a spire of bone that juts from the ground to his gut, and manages to deflect a crescent projectile into the air. Behind him, Aizawa and the vestiges make worried noises as the bone rips itself from the boy with a squelch and sinks back into the ground.

Izuku ignores the pain and keeps moving. He looses another full-powered kick that All For One blocks with a slime-like quirk. Then the goo cascades to the ground as Aizawa’s quirk once again activates.

Punch. Punch. Block. Kick. Block. Swipe. Block.

“Throwing a tantrum because you don’t want to be like dear old dad, is that it, Izu-kun?” All For One hums. Izuku doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. “Falling back on the silent treatment, then? How glad I am to have missed all those years of teenage rebellion.”

Izuku doesn’t care. All For One is provoking him, but he knows how the bastard works. All this talk is pointless, especially when the only thing Izuku lets himself focus on is trying to pulverise the villain’s head into the ground.

Block. Swipe. Block. Block. Kick. Block. Punch.

“Keep fighting like this, and I’ll start to think—”

Now.

Izuku wrenches All For One’s arms into the air as he kickflips over the bastard’s head, but at the height of his arc the villain manages to pull a wrist free, directing a stomp and a flick of his fingers in Shouta’s direction. Izuku grits his teeth and prays neither hit lands.

Aizawa dodges the boomerang-like projectile that flies is way, then leaps high into the air as a block of solid stone punches its way out of the ground. He manages to land on the stone block right before it reaches its zenith, and uses the last of the upwards force to propel himself higher. He flips around and shoots his capture weapon out to catch the boomerang quirk on its arc back towards him, whipping the projectile up and over his head to throw it at All For One. Izuku uses Float to dance out of the way of the projectile, and it slices a shallow cut along the villain’s shoulder where All For One manages to dodge just in time to not get an arm severed.

Smash. Kick. Block. Dodge. Block. Kick. Block. All For One’s moving faster now. Izuku goes from being the attacker to the defender as the bastard rains down hit after hit that he barely manages to avoid. The villain strikes a glancing blow across the same place the bone had speared Izuku’s gut earlier, and the boy involuntarily curls into a crouch, grunting in pain. He frantically rolls out of the way when All For One tries to bring his foot down on the kid’s throat.

Dodge. Block. Float. Dodge. Kick. Dodge. Block. Aizawa manages to bind one of All For One’s legs, sending the villain to the ground with a sharp tug, and Izuku rockets into the air to gain extra force in the kick he sends down at the villain’s stomach. All For One blocks half the hit, and wheezes when the toe of Izuku’s boot slams into his side; then he’s grabbing the kid’s leg and forcing Izuku to the ground beside him, rolling over on top of the boy to pin him so he can level a punch at his face. Izuku kicks up the dust around him and releases an explosive burst of Smokescreen, because if he doesn’t get up then Aizawa’s going to—

Now.

Shouta takes a gamble and flings himself to the ground right as All For One whips out an arm that sends five heads of bruised flesh and metal teeth to chomp through the place the man was just standing. As the heads retreat back on black-red tendrils, one of them snaps at Aizawa’s prosthetic leg. Aizawa slams a hand into the emergency release button on his thigh, and rolls out of the way when the head tries to spit the prosthetic back at its owner at mach speed.

“You pathetic side characters don’t know when to die,” All For One snarls. When Erasure kicks in again and the heads deflate to the ground, he turns back to Izuku and slams his fists down again and again at the boy’s head, which Izuku only just manages to block. He keeps punching until the boy’s arms audibly crack, and when Izuku is briefly distracted by the shock of pain, the villain launches himself at Aizawa.

Shouta curses and tries to fling himself out of the way, but without the stability of his second leg he can’t get to his feet nor roll a significant enough distance to dodge the villain’s blows. He tangles his capture weapon between his arms and uses it as a net to ensnare one of All For One’s feet when the villain tries to kick his head. He pulls the limb with him as he rolls away from the man, and once more sends the bastard to the ground. All For One roars his outrage and rips himself up onto his knees, grabbing Aizawa’s hair and yanking the teacher’s face up to deliver a punch that knocks Aizawa’s goggles from his head and momentarily breaks the teacher’s line of sight. All For One plunges a hand into the dust beside him and rips up the bone spear from earlier, gripping it over his head and bringing it down to skewer Shouta in the neck—

Izuku smashes into the villain with a screech, tearing the spear from All For One’s hands, and they both fall into a feral tussle. Aizawa takes a second to recover from the dazed feeling of being clocked in the skull, then turns to re-activate Erasure — but before he can, All For One punches a hand into the ground that sends a wave of dust flying back at Shouta. The teacher is too close to react; the dust assaults his eyes and nose, and he reflectively blinks, gagging away from the villain.

Not good. Izuku tries to use Float to shoot up from the ground, but All For One’s quirks are back. The villain uses slime to shroud Izuku, slowing his movements — then he pins the boy with rigid black-red bars that prevent Izuku from moving more than an inch in any direction. For good measure, he summons the bruised blue-grey heads and directs them to tear at Izuku’s armour, biting off fingers and wrists and feet while Izuku screams and tries to thrash free. It’s futile.

Something odd happens, while all this is going down, though. All For One grows more tense, and even has the heads bite away at his flesh, Izuku feels a hauntingly familiar sensation creep across what should, by now, be phantom limbs. He grits his teeth and looks down to see that every chunk of muscle the heads bite off writhes its way back into existence almost instantly.

Izuku knows this power.

All For One makes an exasperated sound and swats at the empty air next to him. “Pesky quirks,” the villain growls, looking at something Izuku can’t see. “You listen to me. I won’t tolerate such insolence. Submit, or I’ll make your precious Izuku regret it.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Izuku pants. He can’t see who All For One is talking to, but that doesn’t mean they can’t hear him. “He’s going to kill me anyway. We might as well make him suffer for it. Wherever you are, don’t give up. You still have a way to fight back, so fight.”

All For One slams a fist into Izuku’s jaw that whips the boy’s head to the side. Blood pours from his nose. “Thank you for reminding me you can’t see them,” the villain snarls. “I intended to give this to you as a parting gift, but I think we’re close enough to the end that I may as well reward you now.”

Before Izuku can process what exactly that means, All For One places a hand over his face and there’s a sensation of something being forced into his skull. Izuku can’t stop the hoarse yell that tears from his throat.

Something almost smokey seeps into his bloodstream. His eyes become two spheres of solid pain. Nausea washes over him alongside dizziness, and it feels like the earth ticks to the side even though Izuku is lying flat and knows he can’t move. He writhes, keening pathetically; somewhere, he thinks Aizawa shouts. Then the muted sound of a crowd roaring slowly reaches his ears, and whatever bubble was separating Izuku from the full brunt of the noise pops when All For One withdraws his hand.

Immediately, Izuku’s ears are assaulted by an absolute cacophony of noise. His eyes shoot open, but he grunts in pain when everything is suddenly too bright. It takes half a minute of rapid blinking and the rising feeling of being way too overwhelmed before he can focus on what’s happening around him.

When Izuku squints up at the world, he, Shouta, and All For One aren’t alone anymore. Ghostly apparitions are absolutely blanketing the landscape around them. There isn’t a single square inch as far as the eye can see that isn’t filled by ghosts. The vestiges of One For All are in their midst, somewhere — Izuku gets glimpses of them trying to struggle their way towards him, but the ghosts are too busy screaming profanities at a hysterically grinning All For One to pay any mind to the new figures in their crowd.

Izuku makes a noise of distress and struggles, trying to back up and put some distance between him and the apparitions — but he can’t move. He’s starting to fall into a full-blown panic attack when a tiny voice next to his head shushes him.

“It’s okay, Deku! The others are nice. They won’t hurt you. And I’m here anyway, so I’ll make sure they don’t if they try!”

Izuku freezes. Then, ever so slowly, his head turns to the side and he sees Eri with her hands over his wrist, looking at him with eyes he can, quite literally, see through.

Izuku’s gaze gets stuck on her for a second. Then he looks past her shoulder and sees 1-A, and, beyond them, too many familiar faces of U.A. staff and heroes.

His friends. The people who are dead.

Most are fighting for a spot between All For One and Izuku. The few who aren’t are looking at him, and when they realise he’s making eye contact, their eyes grow wide.

“Holy— can you see us, Midoriya?” Kaminari asks. Kaminari. The boy who died the day the end began.

Izuku nods, too speechless to reply. Before the ghosts can say anything further, All For One speaks.

“Wow,” the villain says breathlessly. He’s staring at the sky and grinning like the maniac he is. “So this is what silence sounds like. I can’t say I’ve heard it in… well, it must be well over a hundred and fifty years by now. I’d quite forgotten how empty the world could be. How delightful.”

It’s hard to make out what he’s saying. The villain might have transferred away the quirk that allows him to hear all the voices of the people he’s killed — because, God, that’s what this is, isn’t it? These are the people whose death All For One has played a part in — but now Izuku has it, and the only way he can piece together the words he barely hears is by reading the villain’s lips. The apparitions are just so loud. They’re loud and overwhelming, and Izuku feels like if this lasts too long, he’s going to legitimately lose his mind. It doesn’t help that he is stuck to the ground and can’t so much as wriggle his limbs. Everything is suffocating, and Izuku can’t— everything’s getting to be too much, this is all—

A length of capture weapon shoots out and wraps around All For One’s throat. The villain gets yanked forward; Izuku can’t shield himself when the man half-collapses on him before being dragged off in Shouta’s direction.

Unfortunately, the force of his fall doesn’t break Izuku’s bindings. The bruised heads that had fallen limp when All For One realised they weren’t inflicting lasting damage get dragged off after the man, and as they pass over the wound in Izuku’s side, Eri jerks forward and slams her tiny hand on the boy’s stomach. He flinches when there’s that writhing feeling again; the gash hurries to heal itself before the quirked mass slides away. The instant the heads are no longer touching his skin, the regeneration — the rewind — stops. Izuku looks at Eri, astonished and not quite believing what he just saw.

His wild thoughts go into overdrive when he hears the sound of a scuffle behind him. He can’t see what’s happening, so he makes himself useful in another way. Shoving all the emotions that are roiling inside him to the side, Izuku turns back to the ghosts of his friends. Kaminari is running between his classmates and frantically gesturing in his direction. There are more eyes on him now than there were before.

“Midoriya?” Iida asks, and, holy shit, it’s going to be harder to ignore his emotions than Izuku thought. “Kaminari says you can see us. Can you really…?”

Izuku frantically nods his head. “I— whatever quirk All For One had that let him see you, I have it now. But— but this isn’t the time. Listen. All For One’s control over his quirks is slipping, Eri is proof. You can all do something. I don’t know what quirks he has or how you can influence them, but find a way to—”

A loud thud right next to Izuku’s head startles him. He whips to the side and sees—

Sees—

Izuku hasn’t seen Shouta like this in years. It’s almost too similar to the day of the U.S.J. attack. Izuku’s throat tightens impossibly and tears flood his eyes.

His sensei’s head is right there, a ruler’s length from his student’s own, and there’s blood spilling from his temple. His nose is broken. Blood is smeared around his mouth. There’s dust in his eyelashes, and his eyes are open, but they’re fluttering. The man strains to focus on Izuku.

“Kid,” Aizawa wheezes.

“Sensei,” Izuku sobs. “No, no, no, Shouta, please, don’t—”

“Iz’ku,” his teacher struggles to get out, “’m sorry, kid. Y— y’need— gotta know… how proud… ‘m… ‘f you.”

“Shouta, no— no,” Izuku begs— pleads, but it’s pointless now. Aizawa’s eyes aren’t fluttering, they’ve halted half-open, and Izuku can’t hear the bubbling rasp of blood in his mentor’s throat anymore. The man just… stops.

He stops, and Izuku breaks.

“Finally,” All For One says. There’s a nasally sound to his voice. When he trudges into view, Izuku sees why. One of his eyes is hanging from its socket and half his nose is missing, shredded in a way that it looks like it’s been bitten off. He’s similarly missing an earlobe, and there are scratches along his cheeks and jugular that look like someone’s physically tried to rip his throat out with their nails. His neck is one enormous bruise.

Fuck, Shouta did a number on him. A sick, fierce satisfaction rips a peal of laughter from Izuku’s chest amid the tears he can’t stop, and he chokes on the sudden hilarity of it all.

All For One glares at him, then swipes a hand over his face. Eri gasps as she’s tugged towards the villain by an invisible force, and when her hands touch his leg, All For One’s wounds rewind until he’s flawless again. But Izuku doesn’t stop laughing — largely because, by now, he can’t. His mind is broken and he can’t move and he’s surrounded by ghosts that won’t shut up and Shouta is dead and fuck, this is all hilarious, isn’t it? It’s all just one incredible joke, and Izuku, as always, is the punchline.

“So you’ve finally broken,” All For One hums. “I was wondering when you would. It seems you inherited your mental fortitude from me. Most everyone would have long given in by now.”

“I am nothing like you,” Izuku chokes around his laughter. “I would never be the kind of monster you are.”

“Interesting choice of words there, son of mine,” the villain says. He crouches next to Izuku and tilts his head. “I admit I could never see you being my specific brand of monster, but you know, deep down, that you do have the capacity to do monstrous things, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” Izuku bares his teeth and hisses. “Oh, the things you wish you could do to me. I always find it fascinating how when you strip a person back to their instincts, you often discover that nature wins after all.”

Izuku spits in his face. The bastard isn’t right, but Izuku would be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking monstrous thoughts right now. What he wouldn’t do to rip All For One apart.

All For One gives him a condescending look and wipes the boy’s saliva from his face. “Classy,” he snarks. “You rebel against the idea because you’ve been nurtured into the mindset of a hero, but I see what you really are, boy. It’s a pity you won’t be walking off this battlefield. So much fire in your eyes… in another lifetime, perhaps you would have made the perfect successor to my own power.”

Izuku strains against the bindings holding him down. They flex, but don’t give way. There’s little keeping his sanity grounded, now. He screams and thrashes and tries to bite at All For One’s fingers when the man brings a hand to the side of his face.

“I have to admit, it is surprising you held onto your heroic urges as long as you did. After all, people love to overcorrect. There’s a fine line between integrity and righteousness, and after finding the world at its worst, many see fit to cross it. Perhaps, if you had more time, you would as well. I would have loved to see the things you could have wrought.”

“Fuck off, All For One,” Izuku snarls. “Just— just fucking kill me, already. End it. Stop with all the fucking talk.”

All For One pouts. He pouts. “Oh, but Izuku, I never got to hear what you truly think of your father. It would be a shame to kill you before I got that reaction, don’t you think?” Izuku doesn’t offer up a response. “Do you really feel nothing about this revelation? Was it not a surprise? Is it not as world-altering for you as I theorised it would be?”

The fight leaves Izuku in an instant. His head falls back to knock against the ground. He pants, chest heaving, and clenches his jaw. He refuses to meet the villain’s eye.

In all honesty, the news is world-altering. But right here, at the end of everything, with everyone he’s ever loved dead and staring at him with transparent eyes, Izuku is utterly at the end of his tether. He’s suffered so much defeat and so little success in his seventeen short years of living. Existence has thrown him more challenges and curveballs in the last two years than most could expect to face in a lifetime. Izuku had grit his teeth and adapted, and adapted, and adapted, and when things went from bad to worse to unfathomable he just accepted it and kept moving.

But now there’s nowhere to go. Why keep striding towards nothing? Izuku had held onto hope for as long as he could, but there wasn’t any point to it anymore. He couldn’t hope for anything when everyone was gone.

Izuku has been running on fumes since Kacchan’s death. If he had the wherewithal to care, perhaps he would loathe how numb the news of his relation to All For One makes him feel — but he just can’t be bothered anymore. For months, he’s been floundering under the pervasive expectation for things to get worse, and they had. Now Izuku is simply too exhausted to clutch at each new life-shattering revelation that comes his way.

All For One’s proclamation is just another needle in the pincushion — and, in the grand scheme of things, a rather insignificant one at that. After all, it wasn’t like Izuku would live long enough to need to care about what it really meant. He’s been running short on time for so long now that here, on this battlefield, he can’t think much beyond how thick the air is with the scent of finality. Every inhalation is so laden with his impending death that it’s threatening to make Izuku drunk off the anticipation.

He’ll be gone in minutes, and he is so, so desperate for it.

The fight has spluttered out of Izuku entirely by the time he mumbles; “I don’t care.”

The ghosts are keening. All For One’s expression freezes. For a few beats the villain does nothing; then his grin twists into an enraged sneer, and in the absence of responding to whatever reaction he had predicted Izuku would have, he lets out a thin, high-pitched laugh behind clenched teeth. His fingers dig into Izuku’s scalp. Izuku can’t bring himself to wince.

“Pathetic, ungrateful whelp,” the villain snarls once he regains control of his fraying sanity. “Not even an ounce of respect for your father? No appreciation for all the time I let you have left in this disgraceful world, even though I could have killed you the day the Coffin fell? How disappointing. And here I thought I was being generous.”

He yanks Izuku’s hair sharply, eliciting a grunt of pain from the boy, and tosses the kid’s head back harshly. Then he stands, and turns to move a few steps away. Izuku hisses when his head slams into a red-black bar beneath his head. Through flickering vision, he sees All For One pause and roll his shoulders.

“No matter,” the man sighs. “I’ll be able to revel in the despair of my brother and his vestiges soon enough.” He turns to glare down coolly at Izuku. “Give me One For All.”

Izuku barks out a strained laugh. “No.”

“Hmm. I can’t say I didn’t expect that. But you will hand it over soon enough. No one can handle being revived forever, and thanks to our dear little Eri, I have all the time in the world to drag you from death’s clutches as often as I want.” A bland smile worms its way onto the villain’s face. “You know, you should have heard her scream when I plucked her from the rubble of that U.A. bunker. She claimed you’d save her right until the very end. Now, with that Other Sight quirk I’ve bestowed on you, hers will be the first face you see every time I bring you back from the brink.” He tilts his head. “Do you really want to suffer that guilt? Does submitting to my will and receiving a permanent end instead not sound so much more appealing?”

“Go to hell,” Izuku spits.

All For One sighs. “I guess there are some lessons a father cannot teach his son. The child must simply endure it himself and learn from the experience.” His hands bend into a clawed shape, and around him the earth trembles. “It has been fun, son of mine, but I’ve grown rather tired of your hero complex. Perhaps a taste of death will make you reconsider your childish resistance.”

Izuku tilts his head to get one last look at 1-A. At his family. He’s surprised to see the One For All vestiges by their side, and that they’re all exchanging rapid words.

Someone Izuku can’t see behind Shoji seems to be doing most of the talking. First has his hands on Eri’s shoulders, and the girl is listening to whatever’s being said with a determined expression. She nods seriously along to something Izuku can’t hear.

“Guys,” Uraraka says quietly. Izuku hadn’t realised some of the ghosts were so close to him, but he sees now that there’s several. Ochaco seems to be trying to run her fingers through his hair, even though he can’t feel it. Shoto is crouched next to her, staring at Izuku intently. Tsu, Eijiro, and Aoyama are standing just behind them with varying degrees of anger and heartbreak on their faces.

“If we’re going to do something, it needs to be now,” Yaoyorozu says from the cluster that’s still in conversation. Those around her nod, and turn to face the only member of their class who still has a pulse. When Shoji turns, Izuku sees—

He sees—

Kacchan stares back with a grim expression. His red, red eyes meet Izuku’s green, green ones. There’s a lot exchanged in a gaze like that. Then he’s looking down at Eri, giving her a gentle push and whispering, “Go.”

His is the last voice Izuku hears and the last face Izuku sees before All For One clenches his hand into a fist and four bone lances erupt from the ground to spear up through Izuku’s chest.

Izuku’s eyes are involuntarily jerked from the vision of his family as the piercing pain makes him convulse. He tries to cough, but can’t expel any air; his lungs must be punctured. Blood wells in his mouth and leaks over the edges of his cheek, and he struggles to not-breathe around the pain pain pain.

“Farewell for now, Izuku Midoriya,” All For One says. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

The choking might be the worst part of his death. It doesn’t make the end come fast.

Through half-lidded eyes, Izuku sees the transparent figure of Yagi on his knees, leaning over him. The skeletal man is curled forward, fingers of one hand digging into the ground and fingers of the other clutched tight over his heart. His eyes are trained on Izuku, but there’s a thousand-yard look to them that tells the boy his hero is too caught up in his own head to really be seeing his successor. He thinks there might be a million whispered apologies on his lips.

Through a rapidly fading mind, Izuku idly hates knowing that he’ll die having failed his hero in one of the most violating ways possible. The knowledge that All Might had given his quirk to the son of the worst supervillain the world has ever known cannot sit right with him.

But, Izuku thinks listlessly as the lack of oxygen kills his brain, that’s all in the past. For now, at least.

He sees his classmates with their hands over their mouths and tears running down their cheeks, and then he doesn’t have the energy to keep anything in focus anymore. He thinks he might feel tiny hands skimming over his heart, as if trying to find something, but for all he knows that’s just a trick of his imagination.

Death has come, just as Izuku prayed it would, but he can’t help but wish he had just a few more minutes. Then he realises that wish is a rather redundant one, seeing as he will be brought back to life soon enough.

This, though, feels final somehow.

The sky blurs out. Everything Izuku once knew frays into abstracts. Then the world tilts and Izuku is

           falling

                      falling

                                 falling

                                            falling

                                                       falling

and

           he couldn’t

                               process the

                                                       world

anymore,

                                         mind

           too far gone

                                                             to

                                         acknowledge the

                     ground

                                                   sluggishly

                               rising

to meet him;

                     eyes

                               rolled back,

                                                   eyelids

           fluttered

                                         shut,

                                                   nothing,

                     but

                                                             a

                               sensation

outside

                                                   arm’s

           reach

                               of

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                      falling

                                            falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                      falling

                                                       falling

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                      falling

                                                     falling

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                      falling

                                                       falling

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                      falling

                                                     falling

           falling

                                            falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

falling

                      falling

                                                       falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                      falling          

                                            falling

                                 falling

                      falling—

He’s not.

“Hey— are you okay?”

           falling

                                 falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                      falling          

                                            falling

                                 falling

                      falling—

Falling, that is.

“H— hey? Uh— hello? Are you… what’s wrong? Do you feel dizzy?”

There was—

           falling

                                 falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                      falling          

                                            falling

                                 falling

                      falling—

Not falling.

—an urge in the back of Izuku’s mind to open his eyes, because that voice in this—

           falling

                                 falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                      falling          

                                            falling

                                 falling

                      falling—

Not falling, I’m—

—context was both familiar, and shouldn’t—

          falling

                                 falling

falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                 falling

           falling

                                                       falling

                      falling

falling

                                            falling

           falling

                                 falling

                      falling

                                            falling

           falling

                      falling          

                                            falling

                                 falling

                      falling—

but I’m—

I’m not falling, I—

—exist, but his body is weightless and that might mean—

“Hey, you’re starting to freak me out. Can you open your eyes? If you don’t reply soon I’ll need to— uh, I mean, I probably do need to get the school nurse already, but I don’t… hey, can you please open your eyes?”

.

..

…

….

…..

……

…….

……..

………

Izuku’s eyes fly open, and he inhales so forcefully his throat hurts.

The girl next to him squeaks in surprise at his sudden action and jumps back. Izuku abruptly goes from feeling light as a feather to deadweight; his body sprawls, hand-eye coordination beyond him, and he can’t do anything to break his fall. He lands awkwardly on his stomach, arms pinned beneath him, and the breath he just fought to inhale is roughly expelled from his lungs.

He chokes and spasms in a juvenile attempt to free his limbs enough to claw at his neck, struggling to remember how to breathe. He’s ever so faintly aware of someone crouched over him fighting his flailing arms to roll him into the recovery position, saying— something in rhythmic intervals. Izuku can’t make out the words, but her tone and the steady pace of her voice gives him an anchor to match his shuddering breath to. Ever so slowly, he’s able to draw in more and more oxygen until the world stops spinning quite so much.

At some point in the chaos, Izuku had once again squeezed his eyes shut. Now that he’s coming back to himself, he opens them a crack to see well-maintained concrete, and beyond it even better-maintained gardens. He struggles to remember why this doesn’t make sense.

“Hey, just hold on, alright? I can see some medical bots coming our way now. They’ll get you to Recovery Girl soon.”

Izuku is entirely out of it. Recovery Girl? She died months ago. What is this hero talking about? Did she misspeak and mean someone else? But no one else should be alive right now. Izuku was the only one left.

Maybe she’s one of the no-show foreign aid heroes Japan was promised a year ago? Did All For One’s power finally become threatening enough for the world to realise there’s no other choice but to make Japan his final stand? It’s late— too late — for their intervention to mean anything, but at least they could give it one last shot.

Right. All For One. Didn’t he just…? How is Izuku even alive right now? All For One had finally seemed done toying with him. That last attack should have been it.

Izuku raises a shaky hand to clasp weakly at his chest, trying to crane his head down to see the damage that’s been inflicted. He’s expecting to see his grime-soaked, ruined hero suit and swathes of blood — but instead finds a clean, dry, buttoned-up black blazer that looks like it was ironed just this morning. It’s so out of place, it makes Izuku freeze. His mind lags, unable to piece together what the hell is going on. Because is that— is this his old middle school uniform?

“Are you still having trouble breathing? Oh no. I’m sure Recovery Girl will help, so don’t worry! You’ll feel better soon!”

Recovery Girl again? What does this hero get out of bringing her up? Izuku doesn’t want to speak, let alone think, about the dead. It’s too painful to live in the past.

He’s shaking his head before he even realises he intended to. “No, I’m—” he says, and surprises himself at just how normal his voice sounds. Between being deprived of clean water for months, endlessly sobbing over his dead friends, breaking his voice screaming at the world’s injustices and going entirely mute on occasion, Izuku’s voice shouldn’t sound normal. It shouldn’t sound this high, either. It’s a subtle difference, but the pitch of his words is just… off.

“Oh! You can speak! I mean, of course you can, I just— wasn’t expecting it, is all! I’m really sorry about dropping you earlier. I didn’t mean to make your condition worse, you just gave me a bit of a fright when you breathed in so suddenly. Not that that’s a reason to drop someone— uh… yeah, that sounds like a really lame excuse in hindsight. I guess I just want to say I’m really sorry.”

Izuku has no idea what the hero’s talking about — and, he realises, he can’t see her either. Her voice is coming from behind his shoulder, opposite the weird well-maintained concrete and garden. He makes an effort to look over his shoulder, but before his head turns too far, there are two very familiar medical bots setting a stretcher down in front of him.

“Examinee number 2234. Please climb onto this stretcher, and we will escort you to the nurse’s office.”

“Ah— actually, I’m not sure how well he can move yet. Let me help. Is it alright if I use my quirk on you again?”

Izuku jerks his head down into a nod. Perhaps he should be more cautious around an unfamiliar hero and her unfamiliar quirk, but—

There’s a touch on his shoulder, and he rises a few inches off the ground, body once more blissfully weightless. And that— that power, that means—

This quirk isn’t unfamiliar, it’s—

The heroine pushes Izuku gently over the top of the stretcher and tilts his shoulder towards her so he’s lying on his back. Izuku cranes his neck to look at her and comes face to face with—

Uraraka.

But Uraraka is dead. How could she possibly—?

And she looks younger here, without the beginning of frown lines marking her brow.

Her hair is longer than it was, less a military cut and more something she used to wear. Like it was back at the start of their first year, when they still had time to worry about trivial things like good looks.

Her eyes are missing the dark purple bruises beneath them, and there’s a hesitant lilt of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Her expression isn’t warped into the defiant gaze of someone desperate to persevere that Deku had gotten so used to seeing.

She looks like Uraraka, but Uraraka hasn’t looked like this since Kamino.

Izuku’s tension skyrockets. Not-Uraraka says something to the robots that he’s too disoriented to catch. He opens his mouth to say— something, he’s not quite sure what, but before he can make a sound, a splitting headache rocks his skull. His eyes screw up tight, and he groans, lifting a hand to clutch at his head.

………

……..

…….

……

…..

….

…

..

.

           “Izuku…”

                                            “Izuku…”

                      “Izuku…”

“Kid…”

                                 “Izuku…”

           “Izuku…”

                                         “Izuku…”

.

..

…

….

…..

……

…….

……..

………

The headache must have completely knocked Izuku out, because the next thing he knows, he’s cracking open his eyes in a place that was once uncomfortably familiar and definitely should not exist anymore. People are talking, and they sound like they’re trying to be civil about it, but they’re doing a poor job. Their words are heated and tinged with desperation.

“—the kid to go through that again, are you insane? We need to find a way to speak to Eighth, he—”

“The power belongs to Izuku, Daigoro. You know why he can’t just pass it off to someone else. I hate this whole situation as much as you, but—”

“Then let him rest! I can’t believe you want him to dive straight back in and—”

“I’m not saying he should dive straight back in, I’m—”

“Guys?”

“He’s going to have to at some point. He is the only one who knows—”

“That’s a load of bullshit, Kudo. You can’t reasonably expect Izuku to—”

“All For One isn’t going to stop because a fifteen-year-old needs a break, Fifth. You’re being unreasonable—”

“We get where you’re coming from, Daigoro, but we don’t have a choice, and Izuku doesn’t either. He needs to keep One For All or—”

“He doesn’t need to do anything! All of you saw how much the kid went through, asking him to rehash everything is inhumane— ”

“And we don’t disagree! But what other choice do we have? There aren’t any other suitable wielders—”

“Hey, guys—”

“Not to mention I, for one, am not letting him out of my sight. This is Izuku we’re talking about, do you really think he’s just going to—”

“I know what the kid’s like! But I can’t just sit here and watch him relive—”

“He won’t relive it, we can make sure this time that—”

“We can’t control shit! We have no idea how this is gonna play out, what if—”

“It can hardly get worse than it was, Fifth.”

“I agree. We—”

“I can’t believe you guys. You’re all perfectly okay with Izuku—”

“Everyone. The kid’s up.”

The infuriated debate that six of the seven One For All vestiges currently present are engaged in screeches to a halt at En’s words. Simultaneously, they all whip around to stare at Izuku.

Izuku, for his part, woozily pushes himself into a sitting position. Once he’s upright, he squints at his companions. “Are any of you going to explain what this argument is about? Or are you just going to keep interrupting my beauty sleep?”

Now that seems to catch all the vestiges off guard.

“Wait— kid, you can still hear us?” Daigoro asks in disbelief.

Izuku frowns. “Of course I can. I’ve been listening to you all for over a year, why would I suddenly stop?”

“You can see us as well?” Hikage confirms, waving a hand in front of Izuku’s face for good measure.

Izuku leans back and makes a confused noise. “Uh, since when have I been able to do one and not the other?”

“We just need to be sure, kiddo. This didn’t happen last time,” Nana says gently, floating forward to hover next to the hospital bed Izuku is in. She exchanges a look with En, who is leaning against the wall on the other side of the bed. En shrugs and goes back to watching Izuku. “How are you feeling? Can you do a full body evaluation for me? We need to know if anything feels off.”

Izuku flashes her a bewildered look. “Wait— what do you mean, ‘this didn’t happen last time’? What didn’t happen? When was ‘last time’ ? And— hold on, where are we right now? This looks like— but it can’t possibly— and I could have sworn I saw—”

“Okay, Izuku,” Nana says seriously, holding up a hand to get him to calm down. “First, I need you to know you’ve been passed out for about forty-five minutes. We’ve been taking turns leaving the room to get a full read on the situation, and it’s… look, kid, I’m not going to sugarcoat it — this is a lot to process. I need you to take a second to get your head on straight, okay? Because when I tell you what happened and where we are, it is not going to help how disoriented you probably feel right now.”

Izuku hesitates. Then he jerks his head into a nod, and lets his eyes drift around the room.

The more he observes, the more certain he is of his location. Which doesn’t make sense.

The visual stimuli is too much. In fact, everything Izuku remembers happening since his battle with All For One is too much. Nothing pieces together logically.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to force his racing thoughts to slow. Now isn’t the time to get caught in disbelief over what is and isn’t possible. He needs to determine the facts.

What he will do with those facts… well, he can figure that out later.

Step One: Review What He Knows.

Izuku knows he can’t possibly still be alive, because he knows he finally conceded to All For One. He hadn’t gone into their battle expecting nor wanting to come out of it. There was no point, after all. There hadn’t been anything left to fight for.

The giant hole All For One had put through his chest should have guaranteed Izuku never opened his eyes again; and yet… not only is he somehow still alive, he doesn’t appear to have sustained so much as a paper cut. 

This is… troubling.

Izuku guesses that his lack of injuries and overall living status could be explained away by the use of Eri’s quirk. All For One had said he was going to make a game out of reviving and killing Izuku whenever he wanted, after all. But if that’s the case, where is he? All For One needs to be present when using Eri’s quirk to revive Izuku, but he wasn’t there when Izuku stopped falling — which meant Eri’s quirk can’t have been what brought Izuku back. Right?

Izuku also knows he saw Uraraka. It feels like a cruel joke, played on him when his mind was still too muddled from all the dying-and-then-not, but Izuku knows he saw her. She was— she is real. She touched his shoulder and used her quirk. It was absolutely Uraraka — and yet, when she had looked at him briefly whilst conversing with the medical bots, Izuku hadn’t seen any familiarity in her eyes. She had looked at him like he was a wounded stranger — not her best friend and comrade.

And then there’s Recovery Girl and the medical bots themselves. Izuku hasn’t actually seen Recovery Girl yet, but maybe-Urakaka mentioned her several times as if the heroine was still alive. Not only that, the old lady’s bots were what had carried a stretcher out to retrieve Izuku from… wherever he had fallen. Not to mention that right now, he knows he is sitting inside her nurse bay at U.A.

U.A.

The school that doesn’t exist anymore outside piles of rubble and fond memories Izuku can’t bring himself to remember.

The school Izuku knows he’s sitting within, because this clinic looks exactly the same as he remembers.

Izuku had spent so many hours in Recovery Girl’s ‘office’ throughout his time as a student that he had come to know this room more intimately than even his own childhood bedroom. From the contents of the medical infographics on the walls, to the slightly dented headboard where a previous student with a strength quirk had obviously leant back too hard, there isn’t a single detail Izuku hasn’t memorised. He hadn’t had anything better to do in the dozens of hours he’d spent here recovering from various fights and mock battles, after all.

No, this place can’t be a faithful recreation or anything of the like. Everything isn’t just accurate to his recollection, it’s identical. This is the nurse bay, which means this has to be U.A.

Which means U.A. is still standing. Which is, quite obviously, impossible.

And then there’s what the vestiges said: “again”, “again”, “Izuku can’t go through this again”, “rehash”, “relive”, “you can see us?”, “this didn’t happen last time.”

Those are extremely specific words to use in a situation like this.

Eri’s quirk.

All For One’s ghostly victims.

The falling, and then the not.

Uraraka catching him.

His black middle school blazer.

Eri’s quirk.

Recovery Girl’s office.

U.A.

Again, again, again, again, again, again, again—

This didn’t happen last time —

You can see us?

—because I didn’t have the quirk ?

Last time.

This didn’t happen—

Eri's quirk.

Again, again—

You want him to—

REHASH—

RELIVE—

AGAIN, AGAIN, AGAIN—

We have no choice…

AND THAT’S BECAUSE—

“Oh,” Izuku breathes. “We looped.”

There’s dead silence. When he opens his eyes, it’s to see Nana staring at him with parted lips, a startled look on her face. The expression is mirrored by the other vestiges behind her.

“We did, didn’t we?” Izuku whispers in disbelief, slowly glancing between the seven One For All wielders, as if daring them to denounce it. “We’re back at U.A. — the U.A. before everything went wrong, right? But then if we’re here, which day…”

Falling, falling, falling—

Anchor, we’d need an anchor to—

Eri’s quirk?

Other Sight?

One For All?

Rewind, rewind, rewind—

Back to an origin point.

Middle school blazer.

U.A.?

Uraraka caught him when he fell —

“Oh my god.”

Izuku feels the blood drain from his face as he processes what it all means.

This is— this is impossible, but if he’s right then— holy shit, they have a chance, a real, actual chance, because if Uraraka doesn’t know him, and if she caught him when he fell, and if Eri’s quirk can rewind, rewind, rewind someone— something along its existence, then that can only mean—

“Today’s the Entrance Exam.”