Chapter Text
On the night that Ochako Uraraka almost dies, Mikumo thinks a lot about the nature of armor.
He sits near Ochako in the infirmary, on the medical table across from her, feeling distinctly the way the seconds count down, tick-tock, tick-tock. He doesn’t look at the clock, knowing well how time passes with an agonizing slowness. He sits with his hands clasped in his lap as technicians come and go, sometimes Hawks, and sometimes he is left alone. The time draws down so slowly, yet he feels distinctly like it’s running out, a terrible thought.
His gaze is empty, faraway, not really seeing Ochako as his mind wanders.
He remembers carrying her, perhaps most vividly of all of it. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that he could. He remembers bumbling through hallways and smacking into the walls with his shoulder, almost falling each time, trying his best to make sure he didn’t hurt her more. Her blood was on his clothes, and sweat ran down his brow, tracking through the makeup he uses to cover his freckles. It was agony, not because it was physically difficult but because every second that ground down, tick-tock, tick-tock, was a potential difference in whether she lived or died.
He got her there, though; for just a moment, he felt like her hero, even if he was also the reason she was hurt. The technicians say that she’ll live, as they poke and prod, using their quirks and their technology to try to keep the most powerful Hero in Japan alive. She may not be the Number One Hero - not yet, anyway - but she’s undeniably the most powerful. There is a reverence that the staff of Detnerat uses when they work with her, equal parts awe and wonder, and fear and loathing, for her power, her meta ability.
Mikumo does not yet know the full breadth of her power, of course. He doesn’t know the truth of Ochako Uraraka, why her quirk doesn’t seem like it makes sense, and the weight of legacy she carries. But he sits across from her in that infirmary tonight, her dried blood still on his clothes and the memory of her weight in his arms, and thinks over and over again about how she was able to defeat his armored design, yet that should have been impossible.
She is impossible, is his conclusion. She was presented with impenetrable armor and she carved through it, anyway. Even if her own armor wasn’t enough to protect her body, just like her impassive emotional wall is not enough to hide her day-to-day sadness, her armor faulty in every aspect. But then, she is still Infinity, a true terror in the field, and maybe the problem is merely that he is not imaginative enough yet to conceive of truly impregnable armor.
“Hey, buddy.” Mikumo doesn’t have it in him to jump, too exhausted. He looks over, up through his black hair matted to his forehead by sweat, and finds Hawks, his hands clasped behind his head and his stance casual. But it’s his expression that says it all, the stiffness and tension there in his smile. Hawks is a liar in every aspect of his life and he’s very good at it. So Mikumo knows that he’s just not trying very hard right now. “You need to get some rest.”
Mikumo blinks slowly, his eyes irritated by the contacts he wears, and he’s too tired to formulate a coherent response at first. His eyes shift over to Ochako, and over and over again he sees her exceeding what he understood her limits to be. He remembers screaming at her in the booth, trying to tell her that he couldn’t turn off the test, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
He felt something in the air then, a bone chilling freeze, something ethereal and dangerous. Like all the forces of the universe collapsing on them at a single point. When she moved after that, it didn’t feel like it was just her anymore. He can’t explain it. It was like there were others there with them, ghosts in the machine, hanging over proceedings with a dangerous severity and uncompromising disapproval in their gaze.
Mikumo Akatani carried Infinity from that room, but he doesn’t think he did it alone now.
“I want to be here when she wakes up,” Mikumo says, quiet and sad, like he usually is. He is very well-aware of the realities of his life. Maybe Ochako sees it and doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t understand the simple truth of how the world is.
There are people born with power, and there are people born without. All people are not created equal, and those with the greatest fire should shine the brightest. What is the point of Hero society being organized to prop up the weak when the strong should rise to the top as the natural course of things? Why should people like Mikumo matter altogether much, when people like Ground Zero should be at the forefront of society?
What place do people like Mikumo have at all when they are born without individuality, and consequently, without hope?
For a long time, Mikumo was angry at this. Angry at the nature of the world and angry that it had failed him. It wasn’t fair that Kacchan… that Bakugou was born with everything, while he was born with nothing. Bakugou did not truly see the best way to approach Hero work, while Mikumo had believed so desperately that he could be a great Hero, too, if only someone would give him a chance.
But he had met his Hero, the greatest Hero who ever lived… and All Might reminded him of the truth. He reminded him of the way the world is. He reminded him of the reality that those born without power should know their place. He didn’t phrase it that way, but Mikumo internalized the message well enough. Later, when All Might tried to see him again - and who knows why he would ever want to do that - Mikumo avoided him, because he didn’t need to be told things twice anymore.
Bakugou had imparted these lessons well enough on him, and he should have listened the first time with him, too.
But no. All Might chose Ochako, born with incredible power, as his successor, and Mikumo could understand that. Mikumo wasn’t worth All Might’s time. He wasn’t worth anyone’s time, and he only counted himself lucky to contribute to a cause under Re-Destro and the Meta Liberation Army. At least here his work would accomplish something useful, even if he's still useless. But Ochako isn't. Ochako is the new Symbol, and looking at her hurt here in the hospital…
Twistedly, Mikumo is proud. He built armor that even the new greatest Hero who ever lived could only barely defeat. He thinks that's success, in the end. He thinks that in some small way, he has risen to the top of his craft, and that's a dangerous thing indeed for the future of Japan. A new order will be shaped, one which codifies and admits the reality of their world out loud, rather than hiding behind the shadow of ‘legal equality and regulation for all types of quirks.’ A farce. He will be a small part of ushering in a more honest world, and maybe that’s worth it all on his own.
These are the things he tells himself to try not to drown in the guilt he feels for what has happened to Ochako tonight.
“Mikumo?” Hawks asks, drawing him back into the present. He drifts sometimes. Keeping a single train of thought is hard when he’s not focused on work. Mikumo clears his throat, nodding slowly. He knows that if he sits here without something to occupy his thoughts, he will pass out regardless, and then what use will he be to Ochako when she wakes up? “Take a break, buddy. I’ll wait here for a bit. It’ll be alright.”
“I… Right. Alright. Thank you, Hawks. I’ll try to rest.”
He doesn’t say he’ll try to sleep. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to without being close to Ochako to know that she's safe. But he says the truth, because unlike Hawks, he’s not a good liar. He lies all the time, too, as his false name and appearance can attest to, but he’s no good at it.
Hawks just offers him a little wave, producing a magazine to read as he takes Mikumo’s spot.
Mikumo lets autopilot guide him back to his room. He plans to change out of his work clothes and lay down for a bit. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but maybe he’ll get lucky and exhaustion will take him. The stark, concrete bunker-like design areas of the complex give way to a more metallic section where the sleeping quarters are, but it’s all a blur for him. It's been his day-to-day life for so long that the details don't matter anymore.
He steps into his room without a word, still tired and sad. It lists his false name near the door there. No one ever bothers him. Before, that used to be how he liked it. But now he wonders if he liked it or he merely accepted it for what it was. Does loneliness suit him or did he just not expect any better before Ochako?
They told him that changing his identity was for the best. Little Izuku Midoriya had nothing to offer the world, so what difference did it make if he died? Izuku always blames himself for his mother’s death. They only went out for a trip to the countryside to cheer him up, after all. If he wasn’t so useless, maybe they wouldn’t have gotten in that accident.
So he allowed himself to be convinced to lose his name and face. To become someone different, someone useful to the cause. Mikumo Akatani, ‘Watchmaker,’ now an important element of the Meta Liberation Army. All it took for him to be useful to someone was to lose everything.
He still remembers that day in the tea shop when he confronted Ochako about her interest in him. When he did his first internship at Deternat, Curious had so politely brought up his young 'girlfriend,' All Might’s apprentice, asking general questions about her. When he expressed confusion, she showed him photos, intercepted emails, even a design assistance request from the UA Support Department for her costume redesign, signed by All Might himself.
It was incontrovertible proof to him then. Now he regrets not being more critical. Now he knows how Curious is. Now he knows how much Ochako cared about him. It hurts to know he threw away everything in life just to spite his Hero. But he was only sixteen and he was heartbroken, because he’d loved Ochako, too.
Now she’s so close, close enough to touch, and he’s too afraid to take that last step. Because he’s still useless and he doesn’t think she’d ever forgive him. Never mind the furor of Detnerat at him blowing his cover. What matters is that he doesn’t deserve to be in Ochako’s life like that.
Mikumo considers this as he looks in the mirror in his room, trying to work his tie off. It’s knotted and stuck, though, and he mutters incoherently at it in annoyance. Then he freezes, as he realizes the mirror image has shifted.
In the mirror, he doesn’t see himself, standing in dress clothes. He sees… a different Mikumo. Still with red eyes and black hair, but his expression is frenzied and furious, smiling without happiness. He wears a black and red jumpsuit, and Mikumo is terrified to realize that crimson lightning crackles across his alter ego’s form—
Your birthright, little Deku, taken from you by fate.
Abruptly, the not-Mikumo punches the mirror, and it cracks as his hand comes through it. Spider lines snake across the surface as he grabs Mikumo’s stubby, improper tie, his grin twisted and angry.
But then, his smile falls into a frown as he drags Mikumo towards the mirror. He looks so devastated, tears leaking from his eyes, and he pleads with Mikumo, except when he speaks, it’s not with the angry, booming male voice of before. It’s a feminine voice, not like any he’s ever heard, yet familiar, and others echo behind it—
“You were important. She needed you. Tell her the truth, Izuku.”
—Mikumo blinks. Not-Mikumo is gone, and his mirror is not broken. He has his hands on it, staring at it with a faraway, confused expression, realizing he must be truly exhausted to be seeing things like this.
Still… maybe that’s just his subconscious. Maybe he’s just a fool, in love with a woman who was always too good for him. But he’s seen the way she looks at Dabi now. He’s seen the way she looks at Curious. Even now, as Mikumo, not Izuku, he thinks she would kill for him, and with her power she could kill a lot of people for him, if she had to.
Later, he will learn exactly how true that is, his regret for what he puts her through immense.
But in the here and now, he ponders what it’s like to be born with nothing, only for the most powerful woman who ever lived to look at him and see something worth protecting. She sees something worth saving. He doesn’t understand, because such a notion is alien to him. He’d be lying if he said the notion isn’t appealing, though.
Still, in a fit of confidence, he grabs the bottle he stole from Dabi before, which he has determined removes hair dye. He decides that while this may be a terrible idea, he won’t shy away from what he should do. If nothing else, he owes Ochako this much, because he loves her and he thinks she deserves better than him. Maybe if he shows her who he really is, she’ll be able to make a real decision for herself. He owes her that much, at least.
He texts Hawks that he’ll be in the lab resting. Then he tries to rehearse what he’ll say to Ochako Uraraka when he tells her the truth about who he is.
It’s only later that he learns she already knew, because he’s a terrible liar, his own armor deeply faulty and broken.
Izuku is not proud of running.
He’s done a lot of running in his life. Not necessarily intentionally. He ran towards the danger to save Kacchan, but his reward for that was to be admonished as foolish and unworthy. Since then, he’s done a lot of running away from battles he didn’t think he could win.
He doesn’t think he should be blamed for that, necessarily. He’s not anybody special. Having the right attitude isn’t what people need for Heroics, anyway. They need power, too. Even though he’s slowly realizing that his thinking about quirks for the last several years has been wrong, he actually doesn't think All Might was incorrect in what he said, really.
That’s the hardest part, he contemplates as he sits in his room and gets ready for bed. Reckoning with his belief that he thinks All Might was right in the advice he gave, and with how much that belief hurt. Would it have been better if All Might babied him, softening the blow with kindness? Maybe. But Izuku was just some kid, and there’s always more people to save and villains to fight.
He sighs, tossing his phone on the bed. It’s been a hard few weeks, trying to avoid Ochako after… after that night with her, and… when he met Nana.
He wishes he hadn’t. Remaining ignorant would have made his life easier. It was simpler to believe he was always going to be useless and worthless. It’s so much worse to know that he could have been someone, only to miss his chance.
But you’re not the chosen one, Izuku. I need you… I need you to understand how hard I try to keep you safe…
That’s what she told him in the dream he had in Ochako's bed. After all the emotional confusion and fear wore off and he slowly began to realize he’d made a terrible decision in running away from Ochako’s apartment, he began to parse that statement. It's so simple, yet so vast, and he turned it over in his head for hours.
He’s not ‘the chosen one.’ So fate is not fixed. On obvious reconsideration, this makes sense. If fate was fixed, he would be the Ninth Bearer of One for All, which he now knows was Toshinori Yagi’s quirk. But he’s not, and that means something went ‘wrong.’ Did he do something wrong? Did someone else? Is it time travel?
He filled a notebook with these ideas, and at one point he was so excited that he almost went blundering over to Ochako to ask her about it. He didn’t have any answers, of course, but he had theories. Then the reality that he had done something very cruel to Ochako, yet again, crossed his mind and he left her alone. She left him alone, too, and he couldn’t tell if she needed space or they were just mutually avoiding conflict.
At this point, he’s not even mad at her. He’s just sad. He’s frustrated. He wants to know why Ochako wasn’t more honest with him and why Nana saw fit to do this all this way. She alluded to Ochako being an instrument of change as much as she’s involved because she was meant to be, but what does that mean?
It’s the middle of the night and Izuku is consumed by these questions, rather than sleeping, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at his hands. He’s only been focusing on three things: doing the bare minimum of his job not to get in trouble, making a new visor for Ochako, and understanding this stuff about One for All.
He drew a line graph on his notebook. He thinks there may have been a… a ‘base timeline.’ An original way things played out, incidental and unguided, because fate is not fixed. He suspects, based on what Nana said, that that timeline doesn’t have any inherent privilege in reality over his own now, Nana just feels it should, and that distinction is so important.
Because fate is not fixed and he is not the chosen one, but what happens when a guardian angel out of time tries to make him into the chosen one?
He becomes aware then that he’s not alone; he’s been lost in his head for long enough that he’s not surprised someone came to check on him. He looks up from his perch on the edge of the bed, not sure who he expects to find. Perhaps Hawks? Hawks has gently been trying to prod him into talking to Ochako. Or maybe it’ll be Ochako, so justifiably disappointed in him, though she’s still been avoiding him. Will it be one of the MLA officers, here to chastise him, or maybe… maybe that terrible vision of the Mikumo who never was from the other night. He suspects that, for a moment, that mirror was not a mirror, it was a window.
But Izuku looks up and it’s none of those people. He blinks slowly, realizing that every light has gone out in his room, though he can see by the soft amethyst glow of the Seventh Bearer of One for All, wreathed in cloudy lightning.
He looks up at her in the dark and doesn’t know what to say at all. But he thinks she looks like his mother. She’s very beautiful, and she smiles at his awed expression, looking so full of love. So tears begin to leak from his eyes, tracking down his face, as he looks up at his… his guardian angel.
He’s tempted to think of her as grandmother, except he doesn’t think they’re actually related. Maybe he’s wrong. Would it make a difference? Does love become lesser beyond blood, or does the fact that it exists beyond infinity make blood irrelevant?
The amethyst draws down to nothing, leaving them in a perfect pitch black, so dark as night that Izuku isn’t convinced that light exists here anymore.
“Let me show you something special, Izuku.”
Izuku can’t see her, but he can feel her, like the warmth of a little candlelight made of love. She reaches her hand out to him, both of them cloaked in absolute lightless infinity, and he reaches out slowly as well, hesitant.
Not because he is afraid, but because he wonders, if he doesn’t reach out for her, will this moment last forever?
Still, his fingers make contact with hers, gloved but ephemeral, because she’s not quite really here, superimposed across every possibility all at once, then reality shatters like glass.
They’re in a field of stars, a carpet of infinite night, endless pinpoints of light against nebulae and an all-encompassing black, threatening to swallow them whole if they stray from the glow.
True infinity, the dream provides, is not to be trifled with, too fickle to be used as a plaything. There is a rueful edge to the statement, nine voices in the dark judging and chiding, but Izuku looks around and finds Nana, and she ignores it with a studious, schooled, neutral expression that is uncharacteristic for her, he feels like.
Perhaps that’s what she was like in death, not that he would know. He’s used to seeing her smile so far, always so warm and reassuring. But she admitted to him last time that she lost her son, then her grandson, a cosmic act of sin that the universe did not look kindly on. Nana Shimura, burned up at the end of all things after her death, made a deal with god: a second chance, not to save her son, or her grandson, but to save Deku.
But why me? Why Deku, Nana? Why… What is the point of all this? Izuku thinks, desperate and sad. But he looks down and is momentarily struck dumb by the fact that he’s… he’s wearing a Hero costume.
It’s like what he drew when he was young, shoddy and makeshift. Like the kind of thing a parent would make for Halloween, not support company work. It has his red shoes he used to wear, and it’s a lime green color mostly, with black and white highlights. Izuku would never call it attractive, but it’s… Something about it feels comforting, so he looks back up to Nana, pleading with his expression, hoping she’ll explain everything to him.
That she’ll explain these feelings that he has, but he doesn’t understand why or what they mean, even if he'd like to.
Nana begins to slowly circle him, a sad, somber expression on her face as her cape billows as if in a wind. As Izuku looks at her, his eyebrows pinched and his eyes glistening, he realizes… he can hear music? It’s a piano, soft and insistent, sounding like it’s coming from far away but also like it’s coming from everywhere at once, all at once, at the same time.
It’s sad, yet full of love, too. Izuku listens, looking around through time and space. Reality operates in four dimensions, he learned in school under his assumed name, but space-time curves around gravity. Here, the dream provides, they are at the center of a supermassive black hole, true infinity threatening to swallow them whole, and the best they can hope for is to curve around that space-time and cheat, to get the outcomes they’d like.
Nana holds out her hand and a brilliant blade materializes in her palm. It’s a sword, long and thin, glowing in every color of the universe. One for All, the dream provides, the blade to slay the best. She twirls it over her hand and wrist, like it’s weightless, and only then does she offer Izuku a small, sad smile.
“There are rules, Izuku. We had to learn them slowly. There are consequences for playing god.”
Reality flickers.
Izuku is treated to a scene of Ochako fighting Stain, the Hero Killer, in an old warehouse. His breath catches in his throat as she loses, slowly but surely, not yet trained enough to fight the likes of him. She is still young, weak and not fully fledged, and she is first paralyzed, then run through centimeter by ragged centimeter of his sword, straight through her sternum, her hands cut open trying to hold it back. The blood drips from the blade on the other end, plopping silently against the floor, as her eyes go dull.
Reality flickers.
A new scene. One of Ochako, lunging desperately for a villain with a portal quirk. They’re in UA’s state-of-the-art training facility, the USJ, but they all look so young. Izuku begins to cry, realizing just a moment before it happens how it’s going to play out. The portal villain opens a portal on Ochako… and closes it when she’s halfway through.
Reality flickers.
Ochako fighting a villain Izuku recalls the press named as ‘Overhaul,’ except her partner, Lemillion is better suited to this. They let the little girl - he doesn’t know who she is but she feels important, and the dream provides that her name is ‘Eri’ - go, only to change their minds and engage Overhaul. The wall of spikes comes quick, so quick, and Lemillion phases through it, but Ochako doesn’t—
Reality flickers.
Izuku is treated to dozens of these scenes. In some of them, it’s not Ochako who dies. It’s him. It’s him who dies to the Sludge Villain, or in the car crash, or from the fall with Dabi, or any number of things. Because Izuku slowly realizes that Nana is also showing him things that haven’t happened yet, or could happen, or could have happened, yet did happen.
She shows him himself, tortured to death by Dabi in the future, tied to a chair as fire scorches him.
She shows him Ochako, cut down by robots and support gear of his own design using hails of bullets.
She shows him himself, bled out against a console after he pushes a Hero he knows is named Ingenium out of the way of encroaching soldiers.
She shows him Ochako, crushed by a suit of powered armor that he built to kill her, and it’s all just too much.
Enough! He thinks, and all at once, it pauses. He… he thinks he understands now. This isn’t just a single timeline, it’s a loop, playing out with an infinite number of possibilities… and failures. Nana and the Bearers are doing whatever it takes to bend or break that timeline back into place, the best they can, just one of many they’re desperately juggling.
What will it take to avoid that? Izuku demands, pointing at the frozen image of Ochako about to be crushed by his design. This can’t be inevitable.
He pauses briefly, looking at his arm, and realizes that his costume has changed. It’s a darker green now, with a long white glove on his arms, as well as black armored boots that partially cover the red shoes. It’s better made now, clearly professional work, more refined, just like he feels as he challenges the ghosts that surround him for answers. It gives him a kind of confidence he's never felt before, and that's a dangerous thing indeed.
“You can’t fight fate—”
Bullshit! I can stop that from happening! I know I can! You didn’t bring me here just to tell me this is impossible! He storms over to Nana, not sure what he’s going to do. She’s unfathomably taller than him, too big to shake like he wants to. He’s just so frustrated and angry, because what is the point of all this if they’re doomed, anyway? We didn’t die. Ochako is here, now, alive and well. I am here, now, alive and well. You told me that fate is not fixed. There must be an answer!
Reality shatters like glass again.
They find themselves in a remarkable field of sunflowers, as far as the eye can see. Izuku stands next to Nana, curious, because there’s a strange unreality to this place. There’s a thrumming energy, something unnatural and ethereal. It’s like… magic, except that seems preposterous. But there, in the field, are another Izuku, and another Ochako.
The other Izuku is very unusual, with an eyepatch over one eye, the other one glowing viridian. One of his arms has been replaced with a prosthetic made of that same energy, black with green and pink veins of light. It absolutely is magic, impossible to move like it does without mechanics or reinforcement as he hugs Ochako, and he looks so small and hurt, not physically but emotionally. He reminds Izuku of himself, and the thought aches in his chest.
Ochako is strange, too, with white hair and long black gloves that cover her hands and forearms. The dream provides that there are consequences for overusing their power, there are consequences for Bearing One for All, and Ochako has borne those consequences in this life. She has also borne those consequences in his own life, and the two intermix, superimposed infinitely, for just a moment, as the two discuss something in the silent dream.
The other Izuku leans forward suddenly, pressing a chaste kiss to Ochako’s cheek.
“I love you,” the other Izuku says, and the dream is silent but Izuku reads his lips and knows in his soul what he said. Then the other Izuku flickers out of existence, as if he woke from the dream they’re sharing.
The Ochako who is not Ochako - she is, but she isn’t his Ochako - stares blankly at where the other Izuku was. She brings a hand up to touch where he kissed her, as if disbelieving. Izuku slowly walks around, between the endless sunflowers, and looks at her face. He can’t decide if she looks disbelieving because she doesn’t love the other Izuku back, or if it’s because she can’t believe he loves her.
Or maybe, the dream provides, he shouldn’t.
Then she turns, eyes locking with Nana, and when she speaks, she has sound in this dream.
“Requiem?” She asks, tilting her head in curiosity.
Reality flickers, and the scene is gone.
They are amidst a festival now. Tanabata? Izuku has never been to one of these in person before, though of course he knows of them.
In front of them, another Izuku stands. This one wears a dark kimono, appropriate for the festival, but he’s undoubtedly a Hero. He has the right build for one, muscular and focused, his hair slightly better trimmed. He can’t be that young - maybe still a teen, but only barely - and Izuku watches on at the him that never was, perplexed and curious.
This Izuku looks… frozen. His posture is taught, rigid, and he has blood on his arm. Fires burn in the distance, smoke rising amidst the festival. Izuku looks around, confused. A villain attack? It uncomfortably reminds him of the Sludge Villain trying to choke the life out of Kacchan, while… while the adults just watched.
Where are the other Heroes? Why isn’t anyone coming to help the him that never was?
He looks to the side, where there is another man. This one is older, looking haggard and angry. Izuku’s expression softens looking at him. He doesn’t know anything about him, doesn’t know his name or face… but he recognizes someone who’s angry at the world, and maybe, someone who has been misled about the world.
He turns back just in time to watch a different Ochako run up. This Ochako wears a beautiful kimono, colored various pinks and burgundy shades. The dream provides that in another life, Izuku would have known the answer to his question: would Inko have liked Ochako Uraraka if he had the chance to introduce them? The kimono flutters in the heated air, and the dream provides that the answer was always yes.
Ochako talks to the other young man, the villain, for a moment. Izuku intuitively understands that he’s a villain, even without context. It’s plain to see, because their superhuman society has made it abundantly clear who are Heroes and who are villains. But still, the dream provides that Ochako reaches out to the young man, trying to save him - trying to offer him a second chance - and that is why she is so remarkable. Unlike other Heroes, Ochako will see the worth of someone just because they're a person, not because she needs a reason, and that above all else is what makes her special.
Then Izuku’s breath is taken away when the him that never was uses One for All, flicking his finger to create a sudden gust of wind. Izuku’s tears water at seeing himself use a quirk, and even though reality flickers on the gust, he wants to commit that memory to his mind forever.
They appear in a place that is unfamiliar, unusual… ethereal. This place feels like magic, too, but not like the sunflowers.
There’s something surreal about this place, a world of floating, half-formed structures suspended between infinite stars. Izuku walks through the space, platforms of concrete materializing at his feet as he steps. He registers that his costume has changed again. Where before, he wore the more advanced costume with the long white sleeves, now they are gone, replaced by red armor and tattered, smaller gloves. He steps onto a larger platform and brings his hands to his neck, realizing he now has a yellow cape, stained and worn, as is the rest of his costume.
He looks up and over, finding Nana standing next to him. She smiles, even if it’s sad, and gestures with the sword she’s been carrying towards three other people.
Izuku looks up and finds… himself. But he’s awfully young, maybe fifteen, wearing pajamas and looking out of sorts. Above him, two other men stand. One is feminine and beautiful, and the dream provides that One for All originated in an imperfect vessel, just as Deku was when it was passed to him.
The other man… reminds Izuku of Kacchan, actually. It’s not really his face - the resemblance is only in passing - but his stance, his demeanor, and the gauntlets he wears. He’s not Kacchan, because if anyone would know, it’s Izuku. But the dream provides that everything happens in seasons and cycles, endlessly and infinite, and history does not repeat, but it does rhyme.
“Combined, those two factors caused both copies of One For All to fuse together, forming a single quirk shared between the two of you,” One for All says, a soft smile on his face.
“Which means without the two of you, everything's incomplete.”
The Second Bearer speaks, but then… the scene freezes. Izuku walks between infinity, feeling the way reality shifts around him as he approaches. But he’s startled when both One for All and the Second Bearer look over at him, aware of his presence… They look briefly confused, then the dream clicks into place, realities aligning like the curve of space-time.
“Ah… Another one. You grow like weeds,” the Second Bearer says, dismissive. He flickers, One for All and Nana beside Izuku disappearing, leaving only the Second Bearer. He walks around the space as it begins to disintegrate away. “We did what we thought was appropriate. The Seventh calls it ‘playing god,’ but I call it desperation. No point in sugarcoating it. It had to be you.”
But… I didn’t do anything that impressive… Izuku thinks, looking up as the Second Bearer steps close to him. He’s tall this close, imposing and disapproving. Yet the dream provides that he’s not just the Second Bearer, but all of them, superimposed and shattered across reality.
Izuku looks to his right, and there are an infinite number of variations of him, wearing an infinite number of outfits, and in front of each of them is Nana. He looks to his left, and the same is true, except it is One for All. Then he turns back to the Second Bearer, who looks grim, rolling his neck back and forth.
“You were important. We needed you.”
He flickers, becoming Nana, who has a more reassuring expression as she puts one of her big hands on his shoulders.
“You are like my second child, Izuku. Like a grandchild.” She looks up and away for a moment, a wry smile on her face. “Sometimes more literally than other times, but reality is flexible. You bend and bend, until it breaks, and you just can’t ever quit, until it’s bent back into place, the best you can.”
She says it, voice echoing like nine in the dark, but she looks more and more pensive as she goes, until her smile is gone. She squeezes his shoulder gently, assessing him in his new costume. Even though it’s battered and damaged, she looks… proud. Like she’s glad to see him the way he’s supposed to be, rather than the way he’s been. The thought is comforting, soothing, and loving.
“You were not the chosen one. Sometimes you have it. One for All, that is.” She holds her other hand out, the blade humming with frenetic energy in her grasp. “Sometimes, I make sure Ochako gets it. Sometimes… it’s others. We make do with what we must, and what we are given. But I will always try to save you, and her, I promise, and—”
She flickers, but as if she’s disappearing. The dream begins to flicker out, like a battery losing power.
They are running out of time. But the dream provides that sometimes, it’s not just Izuku, or just Ochako, that have One for All. Sometimes it’s both, superimposed and mirrored, and together, they are unstoppable.
Even without One for All, together they are unstoppable.
Reality flickers.
They’re on a pier now, black waters sloshing gently against the edges of the boat launch on a deeply blue, lightless evening.
Izuku looks down and finds another Izuku and another Ochako, battered and out of it on the edge, near the water. They look… odd. Like they’re not moving because they can’t, not because they don’t want to. Izuku steps around them, eyeing them curiously. After what he’s seen tonight, he merely winces slightly at the state of them - clothes ripped, bruises on their skin, sweat dripping off them - and how they look like they’ve been through… a rough night.
He’s seen them die enough times now that he feels numb to it. Will they die? Is this another failure he’s seeing? But the dream provides that death is not the reason they’re here tonight.
He turns and looks back, finding… a villain. He must be, anyway, with the way he’s so sinister, imposing in the dark, and he carries a cinderblock as he approaches Izuku and Ochako. The dream is silent, but Izuku realizes that they’re speaking. He doesn’t know what they’re all saying, though, unable to read their lips in the blackness of the evening, so the dream provides some of the ideas to him.
I want to prevent her from becoming a Hero.
Why? What did Uraraka ever do?
She pretends she deserves it.
I believe Stain should have started with the children…
Izuku turns back to the young version of himself and Ochako, watching as the villain cuts excess rope from the Izuku that never was, then walks away again, busying himself with something. Izuku watches on, seeing his alternate self so small and scared, an all too familiar expression. But then he realizes that Izuku is whispering, just barely, and although he can’t see her, he realizes Ochako must be whispering, too.
Deku.
She whispers it so reverently, like a prayer, but firm, too. It’s a reassurance, and a command, and a goodbye, and Izuku begins to tear up at hearing it said in so many different ways with a single breath.
You’re the Deku who always does his best, so I’ll be the Uravity who does her best. That’s what a Hero would do… right?
U-Uraraka…
I’ll save you. I will.
Then, Izuku watches in agonizing slow motion as the villain ties the block to Ochako and throws her off the pier. There is a resounding splash, silent in the dream but kicking water everywhere. Little Izuku cries, standing up to the villain, and Izuku watches on, reminded of his younger self standing up to Kacchan at the playground. But this is not Kacchan; he is a truly terrifying villain, drawing up to great size in an inky blackness of shadow, like a monster from the night poised to eat little Izuku alive.
Izuku walks through the scene, knowing it isn’t physical - it can’t interact with him, he’ll just phase through it - and tries to figure out what this quirk does. Every quirk has strengths and weaknesses, a form and function. What is this villain’s quirk really? Can he figure it out in just a few moments before the end?
Can little Izuku, the Izuku that never was, figure it out, even if it’s too late to save Ochako? Because he’s always running away, metaphorically, from his problems, until it’s too late to deal with them properly. He was too slow, and now Ochako has suffered for it. Just like Izuku, the adult, who watches on from the side.
Then he turns, realizing that he’s wrong. Because fate is not fixed. Perhaps, the dream provides, you cannot fight fate… but you can become fate.
Izuku watches as Ochako rises from the water, and they move as one, in perfect unison, like a duet. Like the piano from before, playing soft notes into infinity, but now Ochako’s voice is added to it. Izuku watches on with such pride as his younger self uses One for All, blowing away the villain’s quirk for just a moment, letting Ochako take him down using the cinderblock like a flail.
Together, they remain unstoppable.
The dream flickers, more sluggish now, slowly running out of energy, the flashlight dying ever faster.
They materialize amidst a ruined city.
The city is shattered, broken, like it’s been hit by a tidal wave. But it’s inland. There’s no water here. Yet buildings are overturned, shattered glass scattered across the pavement and destroyed vehicles strewn about. Izuku walks through the scene, stepping straight through a street sign like it’s not there, and is briefly confused.
He turns, finding Ochako, moving through the city with purpose. But here, she is not Ochako. She… is Uravity, the dream provides. Not Infinity, the Ninth Bearer of One for All, but Uravity, a young Hero course student, doing her best to save who she can after the other Heroes have given up.
Their hearts are not strong. Their resolve is not pure. They do not care about saving smiles like she does. That is why the girl who came to Hero work ‘for the money’ has always been a more worthy Hero than most of her peers. More justified in her position in the Hero course than cocky boys born with power or granted legacy, because she had to work to be here, and because she chooses to stay when others cut and run.
But Heroes are just people. People are fallible. People are not guardian angels, fighting back fate to protect those who can’t protect themselves. As much as Heroes failed here, the problem is not their weak hearts, but the system that created them.
Izuku stops, turning back to Nana for a moment, who looks on with an even expression. Because she, too, failed. She failed her son. She failed Toshinori. She fails over and over again, countless times. As proud as she is of Uravity, Nana has failed Uravity, too, just like the other adults around her. Nana did not protect Uravity’s smile like she should have, and that is another reason that she, too, will go to hell in the end.
Little Uravity ponders whether she could have saved Sir Nighteye, had she been faster. But Uravity can not fight fate. Not the way that little Deku did, in another life that never was, when he defeated Overhaul and saved Eri. It’s not Uravity’s fault that Sir Nighteye did not live in this lifetime. In some lifetimes, people die. In other lifetimes, people live, for now. But life is temporary, and entropy is inevitable. She blames herself, as she walks through the ruins of a city devastated by the legacy of One for All and All for One - by Nana’s legacy - and she doesn’t even know the truth of that legacy, so she blames herself.
She doesn’t know the truth of that legacy… yet.
He watches as Uravity meets a new person. He reads their lips carefully, and determines that the man is a doctor. He is not a Hero… but he is a hero. Izuku thinks back to All Might’s words. Can you be a Hero without power? No. But… but could he have been a hero, even without power? Izuku is dismayed to admit that the answer is probably ‘yes,’ had he just stopped to think about it.
But Izuku was a child, and it isn’t fair that that burden was placed on him. He feels himself start to get upset, except Nana walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, comforting and quiet.
They watch the doctor fill Uravity’s cup, helping her recover so that she can do her work. It’s such a small, subtle thing. Is this heroism, too? Izuku thinks so. The simple act of filling someone’s cup, maybe only halfway, but he has to make sure she doesn’t drink too fast. Izuku watches on, his feeling of being upset fading as he smiles softly.
And as reality flickers, the dream provides that he fills Ochako’s cup, too, and she fills his, and heroism doesn’t have to be more complicated than that: love, in every form, and telling each other the truth.
They are left standing in a parking garage, chemical fires burning around the space to provide the barest light.
Izuku looks around, confused and curious. He looks down and is surprised to find that he now has a prosthetic, robotic right hand. He flexes both hands, the gloves on the end removed, comparing his organic left and his mechanical right. It’s… eerie. He feels older, like he’s not the younger Hero-in-training he saw before, but older even than he is in his own time. He has a nicer cape, and as he flickers, too, the gloves reappear, now with better-maintained red armor on his sleeves.
He looks up and frowns, seeing a young woman fighting a handful of men. They have vicious-looking quirks, but he focuses on her, surprised because… because she looks so familiar. She looks like him, with long, light-green hair, and she wears a costume colored dark green and black. But… but her costume doesn’t look like his, even if it has those colors. Her costume looks like Ochako’s costume, albeit more like what she used to wear as a kid.
Is that… me? Izuku thinks, confused. He winces as she’s thrown into a car. A villain tries to stab her, except she sends the attack wide with a pulse of green energy, then kicks him away with a rocket in her boot.
“No, Izuku. She’s your daughter.”
Izuku snaps his gaze over to Nana, mouth hanging open. The scene speeds up, and he looks over only for his head to spin at the pace of it. His… his daughter is tossed about, confused and disoriented as a large armored villain approaches her. Izuku doesn’t understand, but he’s instinctively distraught. He’s never thought that he’d make for a good father, never responsible enough or in the right headspace for that. But… but they’re watching his daughter die.
We can’t just stand here! Izuku thinks, desperate. He turns to Nana, pulling at her arm. Help her! Or… or let me help her! Why are we just watching? He turns and watches his daughter get pulled up by her neck. Instinctively, he runs towards them, throwing a wild punch, but it just phases through the villain. Let me save her!
As if he said the magic words, the ceiling shatters, and another presence makes itself known in the room as outside light floods the space. Izuku hesitates, turning, trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s… there’s all this smoke, but it isn’t just from the debris of the impact. The villains that have come into the room fan out, trying to surround the intruder, and Izuku walks fearlessly through them, knowing it won’t make a difference what he does, because Nana can’t grant him power here.
But… but the other Izuku, the one that snaps through the smoke with One for All, does have power here.
Izuku watches in awe as… as Deku, the Ninth Bearer of One for All, shatters through the smoke with all of his power. He stands, blinking slowly as the energy tendrils crash through him like a ghost, taking villains apart one-by-one. He turns just in time to watch his daughter knock the villain away from her, and irrationally he’s so proud of her. She’s not… she’s not his daughter, she’s Deku’s daughter, but he’s still proud of her, all the same.
The villain with the armor reaches for her as she throws up, overusing her quirk just like… like her mother, only for the villain to be dragged backwards into a devastating strike by Deku. Izuku watches as Deku’s mechanical hand shatters under the force. The dream is silent, but he’s sure that must have been so unbearably loud, yet Deku doesn’t even stop, tossing the villain around like a ragdoll using his energy tendrils.
Nana? Izuku thinks, turning back to his daughter as she passes out.
“Yes, Izuku?” Nana says, walking up to him to lay that same gentle hand on his shoulder. He hums, letting his eyes close, because even if she doesn’t quite feel physical here, her touch feels like love. The love of his mother, and it’s such a crushing thought, reminding him of all his mistakes.
Will I ever have children? With Ochako? Or… with someone else? He says ‘I,’ and he means this specific version of himself. Will he, specifically, live long enough to share this joy that Deku, the Ninth Bearer of One for All shares? He hopes so. He’d like to share something like that with Ochako one day.
“You won’t. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have to disappoint you.”
Oh… Izuku thinks, saddened. But there’s so many different reasons that could be true. He refuses to believe that it’s because he loses Ochako. He refuses to believe that it’s because they can’t do it. Maybe he’s a fuck up. Maybe he wronged her and pushed her away. But he… When he wakes, he will make this right, he resolves to be sure of it.
The dream provides that this is what Nana has been hoping to hear so far, as the scene freezes and begins to flicker. But Izuku holds his hand up, biding the dream to wait, and it does.
What… what’s her name?
The dream… hesitates.
“Her name… is Nana. Nana Midoriya. Her Hero name is ‘Infinity.’ And she loves her father more than the whole world.”
Izuku feels fat tears roll down his face as he reaches for Deku, who has picked up Nana in a bridal carry, broken hand or not. They are frozen, but he can feel the surety of Nana Shimura’s statement in every way. That Nana Midoriya loves her father, and that she is a good Hero.
Am I a good father?
“You… you did your best. But you made mistakes. Like all parents.”
Izuku frowns, slowly dropping his hand. It’s… it’s a sad thing to accept. But he understands. This may be Deku, a Hero, but he’s still Izuku Midoriya, imperfect and always making mistakes. The dream provides that Deku means ‘do your best,’ but… that doesn’t always mean he succeeds.
Even still, there is only one choice: to do better, and to keep trying. That is the meaning of ‘Deku’ now, thanks to Ochako Uraraka.
Reality flickers…
Izuku finds himself amidst a crowd in the rain, on a miserable day at UA High School.
It doesn’t feel good to be here. Izuku looks around, curious, however, because… this is not UA as he recognizes it. A place he dreamed of going to for school. A place often on television, in magazines, and in news articles online. But the UA before him is a fortress, not an academy. The people here do not look happy… This is a mob, not a crowd of well-wishers.
Then Izuku notices himself, young again, so small and afraid. He’s soaked, wearing the tattered costume from before, filthy and covered in grime and mud. Izuku still wears the costume of his pro Hero self, clean and pressed, even if his hand is still prosthetic. But this Izuku wears a ruined costume, looking like a dog pulled out of the storm. He’s so sad and pathetic, and maybe that’s fitting, because that’s how Izuku feels, too.
He looks around, confused at what’s going on. Then he sees it: he sees her, Uravity, little Ochako, as she jumps into the sky, towards the roof. He watches the trail of her shooting star, blazing bright in the rain, and so does little Izuku, and his other friends. He stands there with Kacchan, and they are two young Heroes together. Isn’t that remarkable? They watch their light of hope, and Izuku can’t think of anything more fitting.
She has a megaphone in her hand. Once she gets to the roof, Izuku can’t see her very well. He’s not sure how he’ll know what she’ll say. The dream remains silent, the pitter-patter of the rain and the shifting, angry voices of the crowd muted like a television. How will he know what Ochako says?
And the dream provides, with a force of conviction that surprises Izuku, that this was a young woman’s declaration, but what he is about to hear is different. A different Ochako, from a different life, but the message remains the same, each statement punctuated by a reverberating pound through reality itself.
His name is Izuku!
I was supposed to call him Deku!
He was supposed to be the Ninth Bearer of One for All!
He was supposed to be a Hero!
But Deku doesn’t mean weak! It doesn’t mean useless! It doesn’t mean worthless!
Deku is the name of a Hero, and Deku is my friend!
And you. Can’t. Have. Him!
Izuku understands that what he’s hearing is something else. Not what this Ochako said. He watches his younger self that never was collapse to his knees, distraught, and realizes that this is the moment he understands that he’s in love with this Ochako. How beautiful it is, to see such a moment rendered through infinity. But Izuku can’t quite focus on that, because he calls out to Ochako, thinking as loud as he can.
Do you really mean that?
And when Ochako screams in response, he hears it out loud, like nine voices in the dark through her megaphone.
“I’ve always meant it!”
The dream provides images for him. Images of Ochako Uraraka, the Ninth Bearer of One for All, and Mikumo Akatani, the successor to All for One, fighting in the dream together. It is beautiful, superimposed with this crowd and little Izuku, and little Ochako fighting for him, too. Izuku watches, not fully comprehending the face of what he sees, but understanding the message just fine:
That Ochako will always choose him. All he has to do is choose her. And all he wants to do is choose her, and to beg for her forgiveness.
The dream flickers, one last time.
When it returns, it’s already fading into white and ash, as if it can’t sustain itself.
Izuku is treated to a curious scene. It… appears like All Might, fighting a strange man that Izuku has never seen before. The dream provides that this is All for One, fighting against the embers of One for All. But All Might does not use a quirk, because… because he no longer has a quirk.
He fights with armor. Izuku wonders about that, watching as All Might… loses. The Symbol of Peace, and the Hero that Kacchan so fervently believed always won, yet he loses. Izuku watches, but he thinks about armor, and how no armor is perfect. Every armor has a weakness to exploit, a gap to slip a blade through, a fault in its design. No armor is invincible, and no armor is impenetrable.
Izuku watches All Might’s armor fail. Then… then he watches Kacchan arrive, and he saves All Might. It is a remarkable thing to witness, and Izuku feels deeply privileged and proud to see it.
But he also thinks, as the dream fully fades away as ash and dust, that armor can be defeated. Maybe Nana thinks that he can’t fight fate. Maybe she thinks that he can’t save Ochako.
But as he wakes up, he decides that she’s wrong, and maybe that’s what she wanted all along, as he springs into action to grab Ochako’s new visor and rushes to find her before she leaves for the day.
After a long, silent car ride, he makes it about two meters into her apartment when she attacks him.
She pushes him against the wall, still messy and tired, because she was in such a rush to get him out that she didn’t even want to shower. Now she has him in her apartment, where they’re safe, and she’s all frenetic energy. She pushes her hands against him, still wearing the body suit of her costume, though she collapsed the armor and headband and put them away. She kisses him desperately, one hand ripping at the buttons of his shirt, the other grabbing the back of his neck to pull him closer, even as she presses him further into the wall.
Izuku is not perturbed. He kisses back, his hands on her side, but for now, he doesn’t push back. He can feel her fervor, her need to impart every bit of emotional energy that has hung between them for the last several weeks and push it back at him. She says with actions what words can’t: her kisses say ‘I missed you,’ her grip in his hair says ‘I’m still angry at you,’ and the way she tears his shirt open, sending buttons flying, says ‘I need you, you’re so important, please don’t leave me again.’
Izuku only stops to flail out blindly, turning the low light on so they don’t trip. Ochako kisses at his chest as he tries to get his shirt off, stepping away from the wall to do so. She bites him, leaving marks, and he groans, caught off-guard. This isn’t their first time, but this is still a relatively fresh habit for him. Even compared to the sex they’ve had recently, this is an entirely different level of neediness and intensity from her. She told him she’s never had anyone else, and he believes her, but this feels like instinct and fear, redirected into passion.
He throws his shirt aside, ignoring how his shoulder throbs from her teeth, and grabs her face with his hands, pulling her up to kiss him. She tries to push him into the wall but he stops her, leveraging his foot against the baseboard. She growls, hands just ripping his belt out of the loops in his pants. One of them tears, then the belt clatters to the floor as she tosses it aside.
“Off,” she commands as she breaks the zipper on the front of his pants. He pushes them down, obeying, content to let her be in control. Privately, he’s thrilled to be here. He’s thrilled to share this with her. He’s thrilled that she’d forgive him.
He’s acutely aware that the come down on this will be hard. He suspects it will be worse for her than for him. Being apart has been hard enough, but he is starting to realize that it’s been worse for her than for him. Something about that is validating, how much she needs him, but it’s also scary. He wants to support her in any way he can, but he’s also afraid he’s not enough to do so, even if he would do everything he could for her without hesitation.
If he could carry her to the infirmary when she was a step from death, he can support her emotionally when she’s a step from breaking, or at least do his best trying to.
She sinks to her knees and he’s surprised. He didn’t expect this at all, really. He fully expected to spend the rest of the evening making her feel good. That would seem fitting. But she tugs his underwear down to his thighs, not even waiting for him to step out of them fully, then takes him half-hard in her hand.
“Ochako, wait… We should—”
“Please,” she whispers. There’s a hard edge to the word. It’s a request, but it’s more than that, too. Like if he makes them move to the bedroom, something about this moment will break. So he nods slowly at her, growing more aroused by the moment, then she begins to stroke him slowly, looking at him with uncompromising, upset eyes the entire time. “I’m… I’m still so angry at you, Izuku…”
She says it with his cock in her hand and there’s a stark incongruity to that. He nods slowly, mildly intimidated, but she looks so magnificent in spite of it all. She is truly a born superhero, in control wherever she goes and whatever she does. Yet he’s also seen the incontrovertible truth that she’s not, that it’s all a front and she could fall apart at any moment. That this is not the role she was meant for, even if she has stepped into it as gracefully as she can, and stupidly, he’s proud of her.
“I missed you,” he says in response, and he watches something in her shatter in response, the way her eyebrows knit tight and her eyes shimmer. “I’m so sorry, Ochako. I missed you.”
She looks away for a moment, angry and defeated, shaking her head. She has the tell-tale expression of a person who refuses to cry, refuses to lose this… this emotional tug-of-war they’re having. Except he’s not tugging, only she is, as she looks back up at him with determination, as if demanding him to match her in this. She takes him in her mouth and Izuku groans, licking his lips as he arches off the wall, and he reaches out to thread his fingers so gently in her hair, pushing her bangs back.
Her eyes flutter closed as she blows him, moving up and down with less precision than she’d probably like. They haven’t done this enough yet to be ‘practiced.’ It’s messy, and she struggles in her emotional haze. He can feel the way her hand shakes, her other hand reaching up to grab his leg for balance. But she still holds him at the base, making wet, slick sounds as she moves up and down. Izuku rocks his hips forward into her, just slightly, and she moans, pulling him closer, telling him to do it more.
“Ochako… Ochako, you’re so good,” Izuku says, voice low, praising her in the quiet evening, and Ochako grips his leg hard enough that he knows it’ll hurt later. He throws his head back, grunting incoherently as she pulls off him to stroke him, now wet with saliva, and coughs slightly. “Are you alright?”
She looks up at him slowly, eyes rolling at a snail’s pace, as if she can’t believe the question. She looks up at him through her lashes, still stroking him, and shakes her head. As if saying it out loud will make it real. Izuku’s face falls, though he understands, and he nods. Her strokes become firmer, quicker - she’s better at this part than with her mouth, because it’s easier to practice - and he swallows thickly, rapidly approaching the edge.
She must know it, feeling him twitching, because she takes him in her mouth again. Izuku is surprised when she pushes forward, taking all of him, gagging on it. He takes a harsh breath, not quite a moan, and lets go of her head, not wanting to hold her if she needs to pull away. She doesn’t right away, and she’s so hot and warm, so his head hits the wall as she scratches down his thigh with her nails. He feels a trickle of blood there, but it just adds to the sensation of it all.
“Ochako,” Izuku hisses, and then she pulls back, holding the tip of his cock between her lips and stroking quickly. He comes just like that, and she takes it in her mouth, holding her hand steady, keeping him relatively still. She doesn’t quite stick the landing, though, pulling away as he drips a bit on the floor, coughing as she holds her mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry!”
“I don’t… want you to be sorry,” Ochako says between coughs, but he doesn’t think that’s true. He wonders if she just feels guilty for wanting it. Because he knows that he’s hurt her, and maybe she’s hurt him, but he’s less concerned about that. He doesn’t think he’d ever hold that against her. “I just… dammit…”
She stands, turning towards him and stepping right into his space. She grabs his face with both hands, planning to pull him into a searing kiss, which he plans to meet happily. Except she hesitates, because he hisses in pain when her hand touches his cheek. He’s caught off-guard - he almost forgot the pain from before, the small bruise that remains from earlier, and she definitely did - and both of them freeze.
It’s like time stops.
He watches that thing that shattered in her chest before completely dissolve, poisoning her bloodstream as tears shimmer in her face. She pulls her hands away like she’s been burned, and he watches as everything that’s happened for the last several years hits her, all at once, more than anyone could hope to deal with. She tries to walk away suddenly, beelining for the kitchen, except he catches her by the wrist and pulls her back into a hug.
“Let— Let me go, I can’t…” She goes quiet as he wraps his arms around her. “I hurt you. I hit you, and I…”
He just shushes her, and she slowly sinks to her knees, while he follows with his arms around her, rubbing her back gently and kissing the top of her head. The feel of her costume against his skin almost chafes right now, but he pushes that aside. He can feel her crying, tears tracking down her face and hitting his skin, but she doesn’t sob. He realizes that she’s spent, emotionally raw, and the sheer horror of her entire life is simply too much right now.
“Izuku… I’m a monster.”
“So am I. But I love you. Do you love me?”
“I… Of course. Of course, Izuku. I’ll always love you…”
And he remembers the dream.
Did you really mean that?
I’ve always meant it.
So he stands, offering his hands to her as she continues to kneel. She looks up at him, pathetic and sad, the Ninth Bearer of One for All but also an emotionally vulnerable, damaged young woman. A worse partner would exploit that, driving something sharp and hard into the cracks of her heart, piercing what's left of her armor. What would they find in that damaged core in this lifetime? Would they find Ochako Uraraka, or Nana Shimura? Izuku doesn’t know, but he knows that he is her Hero.
She looks at his hands, then away for a moment, ashamed.
“Come on. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
“You shouldn’t ever let me touch you again…”
“Don’t… don’t tell me how to feel.” Izuku surprises even himself with how firm his voice is. Not angry, but it is not an argument, it is a command. She looks back up at him, dim in the low light of her apartment front hall, and her mouth parts in a little ‘O.’ “I love you. And… and you hurt me. You’re not perfect. You… you fucked up. But that’s alright, because I forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I do. So are… are you just going to wallow, or are you the woman I’m so proud to be with, Ochako?”
There are an agonizing few moments of silence. Then Ochako reaches up and takes his hands with her own. He struggles to haul her up - she weighs more than him, between the raw, coiled muscle that makes up her form and the gear she’s still wearing, and he’s not strong - but he does, and she crashes right into a hug. He hugs her back, fierce, and she rubs her hands all over him, her hands on his bare skin. It’s nice for a few moments, just him, and just her, and their arms around each other.
“I need… I need this costume off, please,” she whispers into the crook of his neck. He hums, squeezing her, then steps away. She lets him, but he takes her hand and leads her towards the bedroom properly now.
The energy begins to thrum between them again, that desperation and neediness, as they reach the bedroom. He’s still naked, recovering from their first round. When they get there, he turns, quickly dispensing with the neck brace of her costume, then finding the zipper cover and tugging it down her front. She lets him, looking mildly surprised, as if he hasn’t memorized everything about this costume, as if he couldn’t recite its specifications and details in his sleep now. Her breath hitches as the zipper drops low, low, low, revealing a sports bra, then her navel, and finally her underwear.
The night takes on a surreal, quicksilver quality to it, flowing downhill like molten metal sizzling with thermal energy. She reaches out for him, kissing him desperately. He spins her around towards the bed, knocking the back of her knees into it so she slips backwards. She catches herself with… with One for All, as he realizes she has two different ways to fly and he’s never noticed before now, but he’s already got his hand down the front of her costume.
“Izuku—” She gasps against his lips, and he finds her hot and wet already. His fingers slip down and she takes harsh breaths, rutting against his fingers. He finds the peak of her clit and rubs circles on it, focused and intent. “Izuku, Izuku…”
She chants his name, over and over again, as his fingers slip inside her. First one, then two. In his mind, he hears the her that never was saying Deku, instead, for a moment. It’s intoxicating, the way reality layers over itself, and he imagines an infinite number of variations of them, doing exactly this together. Making love, desperate and needy, as he hears the squelching sound of three fingers inside her and looks at how her head falls back, eyelids heavy.
She reaches out, blindly palming at his front, finding his cock growing hard again. He’s sensitive, so he hisses as she strokes him, but he still bucks into her hand, seeking friction, seeking touch. She pulls her head back up to look at him, only for him to grab the back of her head and pull her into a kiss. She moans, half a protest, and rocks her hips forward as he slides his fingers back up to her clit.
When she comes, she grabs his bottom lip in her teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood as she shivers, and he loves that. Then she pushes him back, frantically wrenching her costume off her arms and tossing it aside after stepping out of it, then her underwear. She’s left naked, turning back to him to pull him onto the bed.
They land a tangle of limbs, hands all over each other without a plan. He rolls on top of her first, grinding against her inner thigh as he kisses her, not concerned about the way his lip and cheek hurt. She drags her nails down his back hard, and all of it feels incredible, right down to the warm sensation of blood on his shoulder blades. Then she flips him, effortless with her strength, and straddles him.
It’s here that she stops for just a moment, both of them sweaty and out of breath. She places a hand on his chest, four fingers pressing their pads into him, and looks at him with such a mournful, tempered expression. It’s the expression of someone who is well-practiced in managing her own sorrow.
“I—” He cuts himself off, swallowing. He was going to say that he’s sorry for running away again, but that feels cheap and pointless. What good does saying sorry really do? “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her expression becomes slightly curt, her eyes narrowed, as she looms over him. He lets out a broken exhale as she presses her weight into him, adjusting, pressing her slick heat against his cock. Then they both let out shaky breaths as she slides onto him, letting him sink into her to the base, and stays there for a moment. They’re connected again, back where they should be, but he can tell that this isn’t enough yet. It’s not enough to reassure her, and it’s not enough to reassure him.
She shifts aimlessly, trying to get comfortable, only to make a noise of surprise as he scoots up on the bed, grabbing her and pulling her down to him, front-to-front. Her hair curtains around them, and she brushes it aside with one hand on one side, while he does the other side for her. She’s left nose-to-nose with him, their breaths hot on each other’s faces, as her other hand tangles in his hair.
“I missed you, too,” she whispers, and he feels wetness prick at the sides of his eyes.
He steals a quick kiss, then a second, then they become longer. She moans into his lips as he moves his hips up, not practiced at this any more than she is, but they are equals in this specific way. In this one, single way, they are perfect equals, and Izuku distantly contemplates this as he begins to rock his hips up quicker, his hands trailing down to steady her ass. He watches the way her eyes flutter shut, a bead of sweat dripping down her chin and onto his neck.
“I missed you so much,” he whispers back, and she lets her face fall to his ear, letting him hear every little pant and moan she makes as he fucks into her. He finds his rhythm, going faster and faster, their bodies slapping against each other, and she cries out right into his ear.
Then she bites his earlobe, reaching up to pin his wrists above his head. He arches his back, unprepared, as she takes over, rising up slightly to look at him as she moves. He feels like he can’t focus on anything except her eyes and the heat between them, threatening to drown him as she fucks him. He reflexively struggles, trying to tug his wrists away so he can touch her, but her grip is like iron and he moans in frustration.
“Please… let me touch you…” He says, voice so loud in the quiet of the room. She ignores him for a moment, her movements relentless, then she lets go of his wrists, a pleased smile on her face.
It turns into surprise and a yelp as he moves quickly, his hands on her waist to flip her onto her back. He suspects he will never flip Ochako Uraraka on her back ever again in the rest of their lives, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasts. A half-formed protest from her dies as he slides back into her, rocking all the way forward, and she grunts as he bottoms out. Her hair fans out beautifully as he looks at her, her lips pleasantly parted in shock and pleasure, and he reaches down to rub at her clit as he fucks her, moving quicker and quicker.
“Are you… close, Izuku?” Ochako asks, voice airy as he moves. She bounces with the motion, eyes half-lidded and heavy, and he nods quickly. “I want to feel you. Finish for me, please? You look so good when you finish for me…”
He makes a profoundly lewd moan, feeling her praise tingle down to the base of his spine. His hips stutter and his hand slips on the bed, so she uses her legs to pull him forward, keeping him in her. He’s lasted longer this time than their previous experiments, less on a hair trigger after her blowjob in the hallway. Still, he knows he’s close, and he watches as she twists at her own nipples, her breathing quick and ragged, knowing she’s close, too.
He falls first, letting out almost a cough as he comes. She makes such a satisfied sound, like watching him do this is one of her favorite things in the entire world, and he feels like that makes it all the more alluring. Still he focuses, fucking her through it, rubbing messy circles on her clit even if his hips stutter, and she makes a mess when she finishes a few moments later, her eyes screwed shut.
Slowly, he draws to a stop, propping himself up on two hands on either side of her. She holds him close with her legs on his hips, not letting him draw away yet, but her eyes are closed. He knows she just needs a few moments, so he tries to catch his breath again, wondering what she’ll do next.
“We should shower,” he suggests, with no particular urgency to it. It’s just the next thing that comes to mind for him.
“Not yet,” she says simply. He makes a noise of curiosity, a little hum. “I… I was afraid I’d never have you close to me like this again. Don’t move now.”
He hums again, an acknowledgement. There will be time to unpack that later. For now, he only insistently pries her legs off him, as much as she makes a noise of protest otherwise. He pulls out of her, sticky, and makes a small noise of distaste at the mess he’ll have to make sure to clean for her later. She opens her eyes, glaring half-heartedly at him, but he motions for her to scoot up to the head of the bed, where before they’ve been on the bed the wrong way, horizontal and close to the foot of it.
She acquiesces, looking quite adorable as she pouts. He lays on his side, accepting that they’ll be sweaty and messy for a moment, and she immediately cuddles up close to him, pulling him towards her, and closes her eyes as she steadies her breathing.
There is an eventual shifting, as he rolls onto his back. She lays her head on his shoulder, which grows more sore by the moment as the consequences of their activities set in now that the afterglow is wearing off. He grabs the covers from where they were inadvertently kicked halfway off the bed and draws them up over them, as it is chilly in the room with the fan on. Then, for several minutes, it is generally very quiet, save for steady breathing and the ambient noise of an apartment.
He thinks there’s almost a spell-like quality to it. It reminds him of that magic from before. He thinks of sunflowers in a dream, and of a smoking Tanabata festival, and of superimposed Bearers of One for All, and of young Heroes on a pier in the black of night, and of a half-filled cup amidst the rubble of a failed superhuman society, and of their daughter, the girl who will never be, and the girl who is at the same time, the spitting image of him but with the heart of her mother.
He thinks of armor, and how even the hardest armor can still be cracked. How the armor that Ochako wears on her heart is cracked near to the point of falling away, and how he has the choice to twist a knife in that crack or to do his best to fill it like a cup, to make sure that she is never wanting for love. That he can make her life worse or he can be the greatest thing that ever happened to her, like he was always meant to be.
And when Ochako asks him to move in with her, he says yes.
When Ochako is the unstoppable force against an untouchable object, he is there to pick up the pieces of her in the aftermath
When Ochako stands up to bright sapphire flames in the dark of night, the brightest candle in the room, he chooses to stay and do his part as the Hero she believes he could be.
And when Ochako fights fate, he is the one who twists it, for just a single moment, and gives her the opening she needs to become fate.
Because he is the boy without a fate, and she is his guardian angel.
They live a long life together, eventually happy, and eventually fulfilled. While it is a struggle to get there, he thinks that every single second is worth it, in the end. He is so proud to be by her side, and he eventually comes to accept that she feels the same.
Because maybe he doesn’t have a quirk, and maybe he isn’t a Hero.
But he is her hero, and he thinks that’s the greatest thing he ever accomplishes in his life, at the end of all things.
It is a good feeling, as the beep, beep, beep eventually draws to a flat line.