Archive of Our Own ^beta

Toshinori is an old hero. He knows a thing or two about people.

People are scared, irritable sheep sometimes. Sheep that mostly exist quietly— or cower in the background noise of their loud world, but sometimes sheep change. Grow wiry fur and long legs and sharpen their fangs until they start hunting down other sheep. The shift to wolf can take years, and it can also take seconds.

Either way, it's a terrifying thing sometimes, to be a shepherd.

Toshinori thinks he knows people, and he thinks he knows fear. In one moment, it becomes horrifyingly apparent that he knows neither.

He knows nothing at all.

Not until a shot cracks like thunder over snow in the park, shattering the calm of his and Izuku's walk. Toshinori's brain switches into fight mode, scanning the moonlit trees for the source of the gunfire. Something flickers between the pines, and Toshinori's shout doesn't stop them from disappearing over a hillock.

"We can catch them!" Toshinori snaps, turning. "Midoriya, you c—" He freezes, and all thoughts of the gunman evaporate.

Izuku is standing where he was skipping a moment ago, staring dully at his palm. His other hand holds his coat open just wide enough to glimpse the dark crimson already staining his shirt. Toshinori's heart drops right out of him.

Sometimes, he knows, sheep just kill for the rush. For the thrill of knowing you took another life and got away. They don't even have to turn into wolves first. He just never expects that kind of bloodlust to be aimed at—

"Izuku!" Toshinori cries, lunging to catch him. He isn't fast enough, and his charge lands hard with a yelp that breaks something in Toshinori. Just moments ago, he'd been laughing.

"Midoriya," he pants, trying to let routine take over as he fumbles his phone out with shaking hands. For some reason, he can't remember what to do. Can't go into that trance of stay calm, and it's alright, and tell me where it hurts. He just sits there shaking like an idiot as he manages to punch the power button three times. Izuku just writhes in the snow, clutching his stomach with an agonized groan.

"Hush, hush…" Toshinori gasps, not sounding comforting in the least as he pulls Izuku closer. "Help is coming. It's going to be alright, my boy. You're going to be alright…" Izuku doesn't seem to hear; hissing through his teeth and curling into himself when Toshinori eventually wrestles his arms away.

"Izuku," he tries to speak as levelly as possible, "I need you to be still for a moment while I look. Can you do that for me?" Izuku's streaming eyes meet Toshinori's, and he nods; biting his lip so hard it bleeds. Or maybe—

No, Toshinori thinks, eyes snapping away. No! He just bit his lip, that's all!

That feeble wall of denial crumbles when Toshinori does eventually peel back the soaked fabric of Izuku's shirt, and is met with a much messier wound than he was expecting. But maybe it only looks so bad because it's Izuku who bears it. The poor boy's eyes roll back when the icy wind hits his bare flesh, and Toshinori is quick to cover it again, ripping his coat off to press to his side. Almost instantly, he feels the damp heat soak against his fingers and tastes bile. That's too much. That's way too much.

"Gues— guess it's as b-bad as it feels-s.." Izuku whimpers, smiling lopsidedly as tears run down the sides of his face. Toshinori's own eyes burn. Of course the poor kid would choose now to grow a sense of humor.

"No," he says softly, reigning in his aghast expression to lean in close. "No, no, you're going to be perfectly fine. Everything's fine, Izuku." Toshinori lets a hand off his already-soaked coat to pull Izuku into his lap. His head fits perfectly in Toshinori's palm— and how has Toshinori never noticed that before? Gently, he cradles it to his chest.

"You're going to be fine," he rasps.

"Doesn't fe—eel like it."

Toshinori bites his own lip. "What; you- you don't think this old man can still save you?" he teases shakily. Izuku huffs a mirthless wheeze of a laugh.

"I don't tr- trust myself not to die," he whimpers— and if that doesn't break Toshinori's heart in ways he didn't think possible.

"Izuku…" is all he can murmur before urgency shelves the thought, and Toshinori resumes putting pressure on the wound. He can talk about this later. They can both talk about this later. His eyes burn.

"Well I know you will," he insists thickly. "You still trust me, don't you?" Izuku nods, and this time Toshinori sees the dark line that runs out of his mouth. "So believe me when I say," he chokes around the lump in his throat, "that you are a fighter, Izuku. And you'll fight through this just like anything else. You're—" he swallows. "I know you can."

Izuku just smiles faintly up at him. Then grimaces when weak coughs send more blood dribbling out of his mouth. The pitiful whine of agony that follows cuts Toshinori to his core, but all he can do is shush him gently and brush the hair back from his bleary eyes. He can't tell if the blood seeping into his pant leg is from Izuku's stomach or if the bullet punched through his back, but either possibility curdles the void where his gut once was.

"M'b— maybe we…" Izuku trails off, swallowing painfully. Toshinori tries to shush him, but Izuku shakes his head. "Maybe you should, should—" he sniffles. Fresh tears creep down Izuku's cheeks, and Toshinori makes a soft, sad sound as he tenderly wipes them away. He can't find it in him to draw his hand back.

"Should what?" he whispers, running a thumb over Izuku's cheek as he cups it in his palm. God, he's cold.

Izuku doesn't answer. Not verbally, at least. He just stares up at Toshinori with a sadness too deep for words… and lifts a trembling hand to his head. Horror spears Toshinori's heart, and he snatches Izuku's hand before he can touch one lock.

"No."

Izuku squirms feebly in his grip. "But—" he whimpers, and Toshinori silences him with a frantic shake of his head.

"Izuku, no. You are not going anywhere and you are not doing what I think you were just about to do. You're going to live, damn it! You're going to live…" Tears finally blaze molten trails down Toshinori's cheeks, and he faces away from Izuku to hack a few sobs. When he turns back, the boy has such a morose acceptance written on his face that it splinters the last of Toshinori's denial, and he mashes their foreheads together, sobbing.

"You can't," he blubbers, rocking him ever so slightly. "You can't…"

Izuku is silent, but frozen fingers wrap around Toshinori's hand where it's still foolishly pushing into his wound.

"But," Toshinori finally chokes, whispering to keep another sob from tumbling out. "But even if…" He can't go on, but gingerly pulls Izuku's hand into his chest, feeling the boy's weak heartbeat against his fingers. "… I want it to be yours," he whispers. "Only yours, my boy. Until the very end."

Izuku's tiny wail pierces Toshinori's heart, and he plants a kiss to his forehead before folding him tight against his chest. They sit like that for a minute, Toshinori's ears laser-focused on Izuku's shallow breathing and the sound of traffic in the distance. No sirens yet.

"All—All Migh'," Izuku slurs against the crook of his neck. Toshinori pulls back, meeting terrifyingly vacant green eyes that will haunt his nights for weeks to come. He kisses him again. Presses his lips to Izuku's hairline like he can somehow give the boy some of his life.

"Toshinori," he whispers, cupping his cheek a second time. "Always, always Toshinori for you, my boy." His boy's eyes fill with lazy wonder; a dim spark compared to the glow that normally lights his whole face up. Tiny snowflakes stick to his lashes like stars.

"Toshinori…" he whispers. "You know I— 'm happy… always h-appy…"

Toshinori's chest caves. He will not survive this. Whatever Izuku is about to say, he knows he won't be able to take it. He's a hero; he knows what last words sound like.

"You are?" he whispers. Izuku nods.

"'M happy I got to meet you," he rasps, and Toshinori sobs. "Happy I got to know you. The r-" a swallow. "—real you. Not b-'cause I was your fan. Never. But 'cause l—I finally got to have…" Izuku stops; sudden grief contorting his soft features, and two huge tears roll down as he squeezes his hand ever so slightly.

"… I love you, Toshi-nori," he croaks.

Toshinori shatters. Curling around Izuku, he can only nod and sob incoherently, nearly crushing the poor thing in the process. He can't say a word for all the world-ending grief shredding him from the inside out, so he doesn't try. He just wails uselessly into his son's hair, because Toshinori knows he could never string together enough words to properly convey what Izuku is to him. And he can't imagine what it would do to him to lose that light.

So don't you dare leave. Please don't leave now because if I lose you, I'll never love again.

If I lose you, it will kill me.

The only thing powerful enough to draw Toshinori out of the hug is Izuku's whimpers of discomfort, and he pulls back reluctantly to see his face scrunched up in pain again, though not as strongly as before. Deliriously, Izuku blinks and cranes his neck down, eyes dully confused.

"No, no, no, no…" Toshinori coos, gently tipping his chin up. "No, don't look there… Just look at me, my boy. Only at me." Izuku pliantly obeys, blinking like he's just realized his mentor is there. His mouth moves, but either nothing comes out or the blood roaring in Toshinori's ears is too loud to hear him.

"What was that?" he whispers, leaning closer. Izuku swallows thickly; eyes half closed, and curls crooked, desperate fingers in Toshinori's sweater.

"'M cold," he creaks.

Toshinori bites down on a sob, sending a new volley of tears scattering as he nods. More gently than he's ever done anything in his life, he pulls back the coat from Izuku's side; and this time, he doesn't flinch at the cold. Like a newborn, Toshinori swaddles him in it, tucking the ends securely around his shoulders before he cradles him to his chest. The realization doesn't hit him suddenly, but sinks in slow to his bones, like a venom taking effect.

Izuku is dying.

"I've got you," Toshinori whispers, running a hand down Izuku's back while tears run down his cheeks. "I've got you, my boy. My precious boy. I'm here. You don't have to worry about anything now…" Izuku's lips twitch up in a faint smile before his eyes finally flutter closed, and that stokes a fire in Toshinori's chest.

He doesn't have time to wait for anyone right now, and he doesn't have time to sit and sob while his boy dies in his arms either. It's like a fog lifts in his head; there's a hospital nearby, at the other end of the park. Maybe further. It doesn't matter: wherever it is is where Toshinori will go.

"Izuku," he says in a frantic hush, patting his face. "Izuku. My boy, wake up. Wake up…" Blessedly, his eyes flutter open again— not quite focusing on Toshinori, but he manages to gulp a breath, and Toshinori pastes on a watery smile.

"That's it…" he whispers. "Now we're going to go for a little run, alright? And I'm going to carry you." Izuku blinks blithely at him, giving only the smallest of nods, but it's good enough for Toshinori. There's a moment where he pauses. Takes a moment to look into his boy's eyes, just in case. If the unthinkable happens, he wants to have memorized Izuku's eyes, at least.

"Okay," he finally pants. "Okay. Sit tight— we're going."

Izuku is like a lead weight in his arms, but the hot poker that makes itself known in Toshinori's side only clears his head. Gritting his teeth, he plies Izuku securely to his chest and takes the first few steps, snow crunching underfoot. He hadn't even noticed his legs were numb.

"Izuku," he pants, turning off the footpath. "Are you alright?" One of Izuku's arms dangles by his side, but his glazed eyes are still open and achingly trusting. Slack-jawed and pale, he nods.

"Okay," Toshinori breathes, adjusting Izuku so his head nods against his shoulder. "Okay, here we go."

And then he runs.

Toshinori hasn't sprinted since losing his quirk; not really. He tries— tried not to overexert himself when he was in his true form before, and now he remembers why.

A leisurely jog around campus is nothing compared to this half-crazed dozing through the snow and hills, bearing the full weight of Izuku (who, he is glaringly reminded, weighs every bit as much as Toshinori originally planned during his training). Every muscle in his torso snags fishhooks into every other, and soon tears of pain mix with the blood running down his chin.

"Stop," Izuku whimpers at some point, tugging on his sweater. "Toshi, stop." Toshinori shakes his head wildly, railroad spikes jamming into his ribs with each footfall as he finally stumbles out of the treeline. A neon haze bathes them, and strangely distant horns blare as he careens across the street.

One block to go.

At some point the pain just becomes radio static in his head. The icy air burning his lung is the only dim reminder to breathe at all. Lights leave dizzying trails in his vision, and just when he starts to slow, Izuku's head finally lolls back, and Toshinori surges forward with a guttural howl.

Salvation comes in the blazing red lettering of the emergency room sign, and Toshinori's legs can do no more. He stops and slumps against a pillar under the awning, blearily eyeing the security camera over the door.

Please, he thinks. Please…

Then he looks down.

Under the sickly fluorescents, Izuku is white. White as the snow dusting their clothes. At first glance, he almost looks as if he's only sleeping. A bolt of terror strikes Toshinori, and pushes him the last few steps into the building. Where he promptly stumbles to his knees.

The few people milling about the lobby snap up to look, and suddenly all Toshinori's running catches up to him. He hunches, gasping between wet coughs as he tries to call for help.

"He's dying," is all he can get out. He must look like a journalist's dream right now; the Symbol of Peace on his knees; bawling and bloodied as he clutches his student's limp body. Again, he howls: "he's dying!"

My baby's dying…

That finally spurs them into action. They don't ask questions— they just move. Despite himself, it takes almost everything Toshinori has not to howl when Izuku is suddenly pulled from his arms. There's only a precious few seconds to stagger to his feet and press a parting kiss to his fingertips, brushing them against Izuku's temple while they lay him on a gurney.

And just like that, he's gone.

Toshinori doesn't know how long he stands there watching the door before a light touch on his arm snaps him out of it. He has to crane down to look at the nurse who's evidently talking to him, only idly noticing the insectoid wings peeking out from slits in her scrubs. It's only after he notices them that he realizes he has no idea what she's been saying to him. Izuku's frail body disappearing into the triage room keeps flashing in and out of his mind.

"S— I'm sorry," he murmurs, blinking at her to chase it away. "What?"

"I said, sir," she repeats quietly. "That if you're going to stay, we need you to change out of those clothes. They'll wash everything if you put it in this." She hands him a large, sealable plastic bag.

… My clothes? Toshinori wonders. But he nods numbly, taking the papery shirt and pants she offers him and letting her lead him off to the restroom. The automatic light blinks on as he enters, and the door clacking shut behind him leaves him with nothing but the buzzing fluorescents and his own thoughts.

He leans against the door for what feels like hours, letting the dizziness and chill from his run melt away before finally pushing off. A quick glance at the mirror instantly freezes him again.

He doesn't know why he's so shocked at the huge red blots staining his clothes from collar to shin, but he is. For a moment, all Toshinori sees is blood. All he feels is blood; the cold, sticky cling of fabric he hadn't even noticed before. It makes the whole of what just happened come up and mow him down like a wave of ice water.

His insides turn, and Toshinori barely lunges for the toilet in time before his dinner comes up. The dinner he and Izuku had stopped to eat not one hour before. It isn't much. It never is.

He dry heaves twice— three times afterward, tears of pain and grief rolling down his cheeks as old wounds flare. And when the convulsions finally stop, Toshinori falls back against the wall, covers his face, and wails like he doesn't think he ever has before.

Had he told him he loved him? That he would die without him? Toshinori couldn't remember… All he could see was that sweet, nauseatingly fogged look in Izuku's eyes as he'd told Toshinori the same thing.

He drags his nails through his scalp, sobbing something that sounds less like his boy's name and more like a scream. Izuku is probably dead already. His poor boy's probably lying cold on some table somewhere and he's just sitting here having a breakdown. That's all he can ever do anymore, isn't it? Sit on the sidelines and worry. And now it's gotten his son killed. He cries harder.

Have any of the holders before him had to bury their successors, he wonders? Or will Toshinori be the first? He throws his head back, letting the stout thump of his head against the wall jolt him halfway back to reality. Somewhere in the haze of grief, Toshinori knows there's a chance his boy can live. And if he's so lucky, he'll need to be out of here at some point. Dimly, he looks around, taking in the small room.

Brown door, he thinks, panting over the ringing in his ears.

Brown door. White ceiling. Brown—no. Beige wall. White sink… Red— no! No, damn it, no… no red. Black… He pants, ogling the grout lines. Black… What are those called again?

Toshinori fixates on the chain of thoughts that leads into, and gradually feels his grip returning like the waxing moon. Slowly, his breathing evens out, and he wipes the last of his tears. His hands, however, probably won't stop shaking for the rest of the night.

Pushing unsteadily to his feet, Toshinori shuts his eyes tight before peeling off his clothes and shoving them in the bag like they'd burned him. It's only then that Toshinori can face the mirror again.

The ruddy smears of his own blood that paint his face and neck are nothing he's not desensitized to. No; what makes the buzz in Toshinori's head come creeping back is the red staining his arms and hands. He turns the sink on full blast before another breakdown can rear its head.

Vigorously, Toshinori scrubs with his nails until there's not a speck of Izuku's blood left on him. Then he keeps scrubbing until his skin is clawed almost as red again. It isn't until the water's run clear for a few minutes that Toshinori finally moves on, washing his face far less violently.

Forty-five minutes after he went in, he finally exits the restroom in papery scrubs— though it doesn't feel like but a minute.

A quick scan of the lobby shows that the woman from before is gone, but a middle-aged man in a white coat is quick to approach.

"Mr. Yagi," he says. Toshinori just nods, numbly passing him the bag. Blinking, the man takes it. "Oh— ah. Well, thank you, but I'm actually here to update you on Midoriya."

Toshinori's heart drops. The white coat; of course. But if Izuku's doctor is in here, then…

"He's dead," Toshinori whispers, feeling like he's falling through the floor. "Isn't he?" The man's face blurs. What was left of his heart from before crumbles to dust in the pit of his chest.

I was too late.

"Oh no!" the man gasps, raising his hands. "No, no, far from it! I'm so sorry, I should have opened with that—" he fumbles for something with strangely youthful clumsiness, eventually producing a tissue and handing it to Toshinori, who hasn't even realized the fresh tears pooling under his chin.

"F… far?" he asks, dabbing his eyes. "What do you mean far? He… He's not…"

The man shakes his head. "Midoriya is walking around the fourth floor as we speak. Antsy kid, that one."

Toshinori's jaw drops. Is this man… joking right now? It doesn't entirely seem like it… but Toshinori can't quite make his brain function enough to accuse him.

It's impossible, he thinks.

Toshinori must have said that part out loud, because the doctor says; "well, it definitely was close."

"How close?"

"Well, we had to resuscitate him twice—" (Toshinori feels faint. Izuku flatlined?) "But all in all," the doctor continues, holding up a hand. "I still only needed a second."

Toshinori blinks. He hadn't even noticed before, but there's a strange disk-shaped patch of skin in the middle of the man's palm. Looking closer, he sees it's made up of dozens of concentric rings— like a massive fingerprint. Toshinori narrows his eyes.

"Your... quirk?" he mutters. The doctor nods.

"If you'll follow me," he says, backing towards the elevator. "I can explain on the way." Toshinori's heart quickens, and he hurries after the doctor.

"I thought, for a time, that my power was making people forget things," the man explains once the elevator doors slide shut. "Really short term things: events that had happened less than an hour before. If I touched them and activated it, it was like the prior sixty minutes got scrubbed from their minds. I thought that was all it was— until it made my father's stubble grow back one morning. That wasn't something I thought I could do— and that wasn't all; I grew fast as a kid. Really fast. It was only when I shot up a few inches in a month that we started digging deeper." The doctor raises his hand.

"My quirk is Fallback," he explains. "When I touch someone, I can erase the past hour of their life— completely. Like turning a clock backwards; or cutting film from a tape."

Toshinori's eyes widen.

"So…"

"So as far as Midoriya is concerned, you two only left the restaurant a few minutes ago— kid doesn't even remember being shot. Technically, he never was."

Toshinori's mouth is open again. He doesn't know if he believes what he's hearing. The shock almost makes him forget to step out of the elevator in time, and when he does, he stumbles into the deepest bow he can manage without falling over.

"You saved his life," he pants. "I can never repay that." The man smiles.

"He's a hero student isn't he?" he asks. "I think his life will pay itself forward enough. He'll save a lot of them himself, one day."

Toshinori nods. He almost wants to argue; say Izuku's life is priceless. More priceless than any of theirs, but he's too shocked and hesitantly overjoyed to care. And he's raised enough suspicion tonight as it is. Instead, Toshinori changes the subject.

"I wish I could do what you do, to be honest," he says sheepishly, trailing after the doctor. "Being able to save lives is something I don't think I'll ever stop missing. Especially when something like this happens…"

The man slows his stride suddenly, shoulders slumping.

"Well," he says quietly. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. See, I'm really a lot younger than I look. 'Couple of decades younger, really." Toshinori's eyes widen.

"It's a… double edged sword," the man continues, face darkening. "For each hour of life I give, I lose a day of my own."

For the second time that night, Toshinori's jaw drops. The man chuckles, running a hand through his silver hair, and suddenly the dissonance between his appearance and mannerisms makes sense.

"And you still…" Toshinori murmurs. "I mean, surely not every day..?" The man looks wistfully at his hand, turning it over to study the wrinkles there.

"I have this power," he says somberly. "I'm going to use it."

After a moment, he continues forward, saying nothing more until they reach a glass-pane door. Outside, Toshinori sees the night sky.

"He's right out here," the doctor says, opening it. Toshinori's mouth goes dry. It feels like a trick. Like he'll walk outside and be greeted with a body, but his legs carry him forward.

Still, cold air washes over him; courtesy of the alcove the balcony is nestled in. Down there, the snowflakes felt like needles shooting into Toshinori's skin in his mad dash to the hospital. Here, they float down in gentle eddies to dust the shoulders of the only other person there.

Toshinori's heart stops. There's no bed. There's not even an I.V. pole. The only thing to even indicate something is wrong is the scrubs Izuku is wearing and the bracelet around his wrist. Other than that, he's perfectly fine; blanket pulled round his shoulders as he stares dully at his palm.

Then he turns, and seeing those green eyes clear and full of life slots something back into place in Toshinori's soul.

He can't move. He can't even cry. Toshinori's emotions before this were an overflowing, padlocked tinderbox— and the past hour has razed it all to ash.

Izuku is the first to speak.

"All Might?" he says (and God, Toshinori's legs nearly give out. What a beautiful, beautiful sound it is to hear him speak). "Is it true? I mean, did I really…" Izuku trails off, staring into the middle distance with a vaguely unsettled expression. Like he already knows the answer. He brings his folded hands to his chest, knuckles white.

Without speaking (and a lump is magically growing in his throat again), Toshinori's legs move on their own, carrying him almost robotically to his boy. Izuku looks up at him, breath visible in the cold, and Toshinori's heart clenches.

You're alive…

His hands shake as he cups rosy, freckled, warm cheeks; green eyes clear and undulled by pain. As the boy blushes at the touch, Toshinori can just barely feels his heartbeat against his hand; strong and fast and real. That breaks the illusion. His boy is alive.

His boy is alive.

"Izuku…" he whispers. The boy's shoulders draw up at his given name, but he doesn't pull away. Toshinori doesn't know how he has any tears left to cry, but several break free and cascade down his cheeks— much to Izuku's apparent horror.

"A-All Might?" he stammers. "I…" he trails off, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "… Are… you alright?"

Toshinori laughs. It just comes up without warning, and it sounds like a sob. Of course— of course Izuku would be the first to ask that.

There's a muffled squeak as Toshinori finally wraps his arms around his boy, crushes him to his chest and bawls. At least half a dozen kisses are haphazardly mashed into Izuku's face and hair before Toshinori sinks to his knees, pulling Izuku down with him.

"You're okay," he whimpers, stroking his hair less to comfort him and more to reassure himself that, yes— Izuku is really and truly alive in his arms. "You're ok-kay. Everything's okay. I've got you…"

His charge is quiet, face unseen where it's tucked under Toshinori's chin. In the fray of affection, the blanket's slipped off his shoulders, and Toshinori sniffles as he shakily bundles him up again. Only then does Izuku look up, and unsurprisingly, tears are also flowing openly down his flushed cheeks.

"Wh.. w-what…" he stammers, quietly— almost fearfully dumbfounded. Toshinori softens immeasurably at his innocence, biting his lip as he thumbs Izuku's tears away.

"It's okay. It's okay, Izu-ku" he whispers, taking his (warm— oh so warm) hands. "It's alright if you don't understand. Your teacher just got a—" he hiccups. "A little reality check, that's all."

Izuku stares at him for a while, thinking, and finally his lip trembles as he nods, fingers uncurling to grasp Toshinori's hands. Something small and cold rolls against his palm, and his brows furrow.

"What.."

Izuku jerks back before Toshinori can look, shoving whatever-it-is in his pocket. Toshinori just glimpses the glint of metal in his fingers before it disappears.

"D—doesn't matter!" Izuku crows thickly, leaning into Toshinori's chest. The way he slides his arms around him is so timid; so unsure, but Toshinori's heart sings. Nuzzling into his hair, everything else fades like a night terror. All but one thing. The quiet declaration Toshinori had been too blindsided by to return. Drawing Izuku closer, he whispers it.

"I love you."