If I don't indicate a source for the quotes, it means it's made by yours truly

CW: mentions of abortion, miscarriage, domestic abuse

"What use was a farmer without land,
A hunter ithout tools,
Potter thout hands,
Town out rules,

What then a human with no limbs,
Or not an angel missing wings,
What use they but sin?"

Chapter 3: Yearning

Humans weren't that different from dogs.

They were born bloody, nursed by their mothers, would stumble blindly before learning how to move. The only difference, Izuku thinks, was the matter of fumbling over the act of articulation; being able to speak their mind, showing their emotion, and living with no inhibitions.

In that way, dogs were a bit better.

Humans, for Izuku, were creatures who thought themselves a bit too important; a bit too superior; a bit too smarter. He was curious on what scale they decided that they were all of that and that anything else couldn't possibly beat them.

But Izuku couldn't be too hard on them. Especially since his existence was a byproduct of them and their choices. It'd be hypocritical of him to say he preferred any other living creature (even the fungus that grew on rocks) in place of humans.

Still, he liked to stick with that dog analogy most of the time. He didn't even remember where he picked it up. Judging from its condescending nature, it was probably from one of the demons he encountered in his youth.

Most likely, a deliberate slip of the tongue meant to 'corrupt' him. A poor (Izuku didn't want to call it successful since it wasn't) attempt to make him fall.

Him, Midoriya Izuku, hate humans? Impossible. He was a guardian angel. One of the few beings allowed to descend without falling; to touch the untouchable, and live the impossible– human life.

But him, Midoriya Izuku, look down on humans? Ah, well, he wouldn't exactly call it that way. Using those words made him seem standoffish and snotty– something he definitely wasn't.

There was a better word for it, Izuku thinks.

Doting. He was doting on those curious and interesting creatures. Especially– mainly, only– on his Katsuki, who'd pout and ignore him when Izuku didn't call him "Kacchan" instead.

Humans were interesting, but Izuku didn't bother digging deeper into them and how they ticked. That was something for someone else interested enough in something other than making Katsuki smile and laugh rambunctiously.

So they weren't that different from dogs.

When Izuku had descended to witness the birth of his charge– a messy business he'd gotten used to with the occasional carcasses his demon peers would 'torment' him with– there wasn't much difference.

Pain hung in the air. Anticipation and tension. Panting and whimpers breaking out. A shrieking cry from the mother and a grunt from the father whose hand was crushed.

Not that different, but so, so much more.

Because Bakugou Katsuki cried, and his scarlet eyes– vivid even among the sheen of fluids covering him– were staring right at Izuku.

If asked, Izuku would let himself be run over a speeding vehicle to rescue a dog.

But Katsuki? His Katsuki– Kacchan– who'd been born as a roaring flame that only grew fiercer and brighter?

Oh, Izuku would give his wings up for his charge. He wouldn't let himself be run over for Katsuki, no. Instead, he'd reduce every vehicle to ash and make everything that could hurt his charge disappear– lives of others be damned.

Doting, yes. That's what Izuku would call how he was towards humans.

For Katsuki? Well, would obsessed be taken any other way but not in a good way?

The only time Izuku resented being a, well, not human was his time with Katsuki– still young, and still 'Kacchan.'

The questions were easily dismissed. It was something they've been trained to handle and gently sidestep. 'Them' being Izuku and fellow others like him. Innocent questions like "what do i call you," "how do i write your name," "do you like red" were safe and easy. Izuku couldn't count the number of times he went on a tangent on questions like those until Katsuki would snap and he'd laugh.

He wasn't worried about any serious questions coming up like "how come only i can see you," "am i crazy," "so does this mean heaven and hell is real?" Children weren't as introspective as the grown humans were with their thought processes fleeting and jumping, memories lost just as new ones were made.

No, it wasn't that that made Izuku feel the first buds of resentment against those who bore the same burden of 'Midoriya.'

Izuku wanted– ached, whined– to have been able to grow up with his Katsuki. He wanted, desperately, for his hands to not have been bigger and dwarfed Katsuki's own when they held hands. Not having to take a knee for scarlet and pine eyes to meet and share thoughts through them.

What would've it been like, Izuku often wondered, to have lived as a human? He mulled over what would've happened if his birth hadn't been halted and stopped– the tiny spark fizzled out before it could catch aflame.

Would Midoriya Inko and Hisashi have met and bonded with Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru? Would they, after moving from Kagoshima to Yamanashi, have introduced him and Katsuki to each other?

"What do you think, Kacchan? Would we have been friends?"

Izuku smiled when Katsuki tilted his head back, eyes meeting his. There was a furrow on the child's brow, scrunching up as they always did when Katsuki was on about something serious.

Finally, after a few seconds, Katsuki puffed out his cheeks. He looked cocky even with him nestled on Izuku's lap and a coloring book before them.

"No. 'Course not, Deku."

Izuku bit his lip, eyes drooping. "Oh?"

"We'll be the bestest of friends, idiot." Katsuki grinned and, well, Izuku couldn't be faulted for cursing up an internal storm against Inko and Hisashi now, would he?

Damn them for not letting him have this. Because instead of guiding Katsuki's hand to write down kanji characters or avoid going past the lines when coloring, Izuku could've done more; been there to write with and color with.

Everyone he'd met with before descending had told him of the wonders of being a guardian angel. Being drunk on freedom, upholding the responsibility of a human life– learning and living.

Izuku thinks, as he watched Katsuki catch bugs with the high of the sun turning vanilla blonde strands silver, they should've warned him of this.

It was amazing, definitely, to be Katsuki's guardian angel.

It was cruel, definitely, to be shown a life that he could've shared with if not for actions of humans that had never been under the influence of anyone else but themselves.

Izuku's situation wasn't unique. It was like all the others if not all. Especially not with humans progressing more and more– them coming up with more ways to make guardian angels.

In the past, it was herbs. Then, it was clunky silverware. And now, pills. He wouldn't be surprised if someday it'd be with a simple push of a button that another winged being came up to be schooled and trained. Or maybe just a really hard wish, hands clasped together in supplication.

If anything, Izuku envied angels like Ochako, who had the chance to live for a few years before they became what they were now. He knew it was wrong and unseemly to envy his friend who still rubbed at her skull that'd been caved in from the construction accident.

Wrong, but Izuku had never been much of a stickler about the rules.

Ochako sighed. "It's really not that big of a deal, Izuku. You're going down before all of us so you'll get to try it yourself."

"But what if I do it wrong? Then my charge will just laugh, lose respect for me, then they'll be a delinquent and then–"

"It's just gacha, Izuku."

"You know it's a 'just' for you, but a whole other thing for me," said Izuku bitterly.

Her hand went up to the back of her head again, Ochako not noticing. "Ah, well, I don't know if there are still things like that. It's been so long, you know?"

Izuku, rubbing at the sore spot that Tsuyu hit him, cocked his head to the side. His voice was softer now. He hoped the subtle apologetic tone would get through.

"It's only a few years, I think, down there. Or is it months, I'm not sure," He scratched the back of his head, laughing. "You know I'm not that good at the time calculations, Ochako."

"I'm pretty sure the only thing you aced is the pop culture part, Izu," said Shouto. "If your charge doesn't end up being a hero from trivia about them the only thing you know–"

"Hey! I know other things too!" Izuku huffed.

"–then I'm not eating zaru soba for a millennia."

Time was, well, obviously something Izuku didn't have that much of a masterful (or even mediocre) grasp on. There were too many calculations, factors that'd change with no break, and did he mention the numbers?

So, yes, time wasn't precisely Izuku's strong suit. He'd forget whether a second for humans was an hour or a day for those above and below. Had it been just a few months or almost a year since Inko and Hisashi gained their freedom while Izuku was already a couple years ahead?

Not sure. It didn't help that a 'couple' for Izuku meant a couple millennia give or take.

Though right now, a few days (for him) before Izuku would finally be going down and meet the human he'd be sworn in to protect, he looked not a day over twenty. He could maybe even pass for an aspiring university student who had the liberty to continue studying instead of going right into the workforce.

"While that bet's tempting, I'm not buying it," Izuku rolled his eyes. "In the time I've known you, Shoucchan, you've never been not eating that."

Shameless, Shouto shrugged. "It's the only thing Rei was eating when she was pregnant with me, so go blame her."

From Ochako (plus Tenya by extension) and Tsuyu's glare paired with the silent threat of a good beating if Izuku dared to speak badly of a domestically abused woman, he kept his mouth shut. Not that he would ever stoop that low just to get the upper hand in an argument.

Izuku could be envious sometimes. Of Ochako's swiftness in flight, Tenya's speed, Tsuyu's grace in making loops, and Shouto's wingspan. But he was a fast learner and good-natured enough not to dwell on things that mustn't be dwelled upon.

Izuku smiled, turning back to Ochako. "Are battle pencils still a thing? Think I can make some for my kid?"

"Are guardian angels just the children unwanted by the humans?"

"No, Young Izuku. They're the ones I've favored and couldn't let go."

If given a chance, Izuku would have wanted to spend the rest of Katsuki's lifespan with him.

He would've been there throughout everything– the first time his Katsuki saved someone, made his name a household one, fell in love, and everything in between and after. That, Izuku thinks, would be what the best guardian angel was.

Wouldn't that be a sight? Him, Midoriya Izuku, getting to be there at two beds– the one sullied by liquids of birth and the other the container of Katsuki's last breath. His charge, closing his eyes and opening them the next to a forever with Izuku.

It was a nice dream that Yagi listened to when Izuku shared it with him. The all-seeing, all-knowing being would smile bitterly and wish him well in making that dream come true.

But a dream was a visionary creation of the imagination that every guardian angel had but could never make true. It was, well, as humans called it– 'a pipe dream.'

There was a reason why guardian angels were forgotten. Lost. Pushed back into the subconscious along with the memories of sunshine-filled days of youth. It was just that Izuku forgot, temporarily when Katsuki would call him 'Deku,' why that was so.

"You can't hang around here forever, Midoriya."

Izuku didn't turn towards Tougata. "I know, senpai."

A gust of wind blew away the rain that clung onto Izuku's haori. His soaked kimono and hakama were left dry with a shadow of the archangel's wing keeping them that way.

Izuku's throat burned. Had been for days now (human days). A warning, he knew. A call to come back as he should've done. There were scratches on the brand on his neck that Tougata didn't point out and one Izuku didn't provide an explanation– a defense– for. Nevertheless, it was still there, beautiful and intricate in its feather-white hue with specks of gold.

Katsuki liked it. Izuku loved when his charge would frown as Katsuki's small hands tried to copy the intricate brand and go red in frustration when they couldn't get it right.

"If you know then why haven't you come back? You know he's–"

"Fine. Yes," Izuku paused, smiling softly. He brought a hand up, resting it on the windowpane of Katsuki's room. "He's just sleeping now. Got tired from the wish-you-well party."

Lightning flashed, and he caught a reflection of himself and Tougata.

How could angels look so different from one another? They were different, he knew, but he had never noticed just how much. Humans had always added a bit of a glow to works and creations featuring them. A glitter there, a shimmer here, a play of light and shadow and colors. Anything to try and emulate that sense of 'divinity' that Tougata practically breathed and one that Izuku was weaning off on– losing.

He could see it all– the hardened breathing, his fading hands, pine green eyes left going dull by the hour, and the shedding of his wings that Katsuki would stare at in wonder.

Thunder rumbled in the background, and the lightning left, leaving only moonlight and a small nightlight in Katsuki's room illuminating them.

A hand landed on Izuku's shoulder, squeezing. "You need to go back home, Midoriya."

"I know," said Izuku.

"You knew this was going to happen when you saved him."

"I knew."

The hold on his shoulder was an iron grip now. Almost painful. Izuku wouldn't know. He'd been feeling numb lately. Only Katsuki's soft 'good night' to him the past few days made him feel something.

Tougata sighed, squeezing Izuku's shoulder once more before letting go. "If you knew– know– then why are you still here?"

That was a trick question. Izuku knew that Tougata knew the answer to that, and the archangel knew that the opposite was true. He didn't have to fulfill an inquiry that was already resolved.

Well, half-resolved.

Izuku's hands, now marred with freshly-laden scars and fingers wrangled, were still on Katsuki's window. Still caressing his charge's– Kacchan's– face through the rain-marred pane.

It had always been so easy to focus on Katsuki. Even through the glass that reflected his and Tougata's faces and the occasional flash of lightning that made the room lost in sight, Izuku's eyes always found their way back to Katsuki.

Just as now, with the blonde on his back, slack-jawed with a bit of starting drool already dribbling down onto his pillow as he slept. The downpour of rain and rumble in the background didn't stop Izuku from hearing Katsuki's soft grumbles, snorts, and snores Katsuki. Even with the smoothed-over features, he could already see a ghost of a semi-permanent scowl on Katsuki's face. Izuku should set him straight about that. Heroes needed to smile, after all. Wrinkles that early wouldn't be too good too.

"What if he falls again, senpai?" asked Izuku. "What if he goes to that creek again, walk across that trunk, slip, and this time–"

I wouldn't be there to save my Kacchan.

There was still blood on Izuku's white kimono. Some mud and bits of grass. The sleeves of his haori took the grunt of it. They soaked in both the golden blood from wounds that ripped across his arms and the crimson red of Katsuki's that didn't want to stop–

"Then it means you've done all that you can as his guardian, Midoriya."

'Guardian angel.' The name for them was a bit false. The general lore circulating around them was that they were the invisible helping hands– nudging people away from an accident, helping them cough out that stuck fishbone.

Izuku liked that version better. More proactive. More helpful and guardian-like.

Thunder rumbled again. Lightning flashed more and more frequently through the night. The rain wasn't letting up. Tougata's hand back on his shoulder and squeezing. Brand on his throat burning and new scars aching. The cold of the windowpane made Izuku flinch and bring his wrangled hands away. He cradled them and wondered if Katsuki would still hold his hand the way they were now.

Through it all, Katsuki slept. He looked healthy with only a tiny scar hidden in his hairline. His charge seemed perfectly safe and alive, not cold and pale from losing too much blood.

Tougata squeezed his shoulder again, now pulling Izuku away from the window. "Let's go back home, Midoriya."

Izuku wanted a lot of things. He was greedy. Drunk on dreams of forever and scarlet eyes that would never forget him. He wanted to thrash in Tougata's hold and fly back through the rain that'd batter him down. He'd slip right into Katsuki's side again just as where he should be till time weathered both of them down.

Instead, Izuku slumped in Tougata's hold and turned away from Katsuki's sleeping form– safe, alive, happy.

"Okay. Let's go home."

And that had been that. Another guardian angel sent back after using powers that the mortal realm couldn't handle more than once. With it came another life saved– children, danger-prone as they were.

'Guardian angel.'

Izuku felt like a joke, but no one laughed.

"And you spent the rest of your time looking over occasionally, resignation turning into excitement at the thought of meeting Bakugou Katsuki-san when he… died."

"Yes," said Izuku.

The man across continued reading over the paper. "Then you discovered that his name wasn't on the gatekeeper's book–"

"Sasaki. Sasaki Mirai-san's book. The list of names pop up there randomly."

"–and discovered he was going to… hell. Had some talk with," The man coughed. "God and the Devil–"

"Actually, Aizawa-san prefers Lightbringer. Or Lucifer. Or literally anything else but that. And Yagi-san's recently been hooked on that All Might phase of you lot."

"–who you persuaded to let you come… down and save Bakugou Katsuki from eternal damnnation." The man, Tsukauchi Naomasa, let out a breath before finally looking up from the written statement and meeting Izuku's smiling face. He glanced at the dark mirror to the side. "Well…"

Izuku waited for the detective to continue speaking. Tsukauchi didn't follow up, looking quite at a loss and befuddled as he loosened his tie and popped off a few buttons.

Izuku frowned. It wasn't hot in the interrogation room (there was an AC above him), making the detective's actions look out of place. To be honest, he looked pretty different from how he was when he entered.

Tsukauchi's hat was on the table. His prim and proper black hair stuck up all over the place from how his hands– gloveless (those were discarded with the hat)– had tugged at the strands. The tan overcoat had long pooled to the floor, most likely from being jostled too much from where it hung over Tsukauchi's chair.

Rather than one of the best detectives in Japan, Izuku thought he looked more like a frazzled rookie who couldn't crack a case.

"Tsukauchi-san? Are you okay?" asked Izuku with obvious concern.

The man flinched. His answering smile was strained. "Of course, Midoriya-san." When he looked down again at Izuku's messy scrawl, the smile turned into a grimace.

Tsukauchi sighed, pushing the paper aside. Black eyes stared dead-on at Izuku's pine green ones, hands steepling in front of him. It was meant to be an intimidating gesture, Izuku was sure, but he could see the slight tremble in the man's hands.

What was Tsukauchi's quirk again? Detection?

"Is everything you wrote down in this statement," The man gestured at the paper. "True? Word per word?"

Izuku felt something run across his mind and poke at his heart. The feeling of it was somewhere in between downright unpleasant and ticklish. But, of course, he couldn't exactly call something like this invasive when he'd done something of a more drastic degree to Katsuki.

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, Tsukauchi-san. It's all true. I wouldn't lie."

Watching the man who'd been assigned as the primary investigator and interrogator of the person who managed an attack at the No.3 Pro-Hero of Japan have an existential crisis was, well, amusing.

Izuku thinks Tsukauchi may be experiencing once again the drawbacks of a quirk that detected the truth. Some part of him pitied the man, another found the whole thing fun, and the other ached to ask a question he wanted answers to.

So with the detective in a mentally frazzled state– two hands now in his hair coupled with labored breathing– Izuku decided to just go for it before he lost his chance.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward, handcuffs clinking against the table. "So… has Kacchan dropped by?"

Is he okay? Did he go crazy? Ballistic? Did he retire as a hero to settle in the countryside and live a humble life? Does he remember me now?

"Kacchan…?" Tsukauchi mouthed the name, frowning. "Bakugou Katsuki? Dynamight?"

"I believe he prefers the full Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight moniker."

The hazed look on Tsukauchi's eyes was fading fast and gaining focus again. Izuku wouldn't let this chance slip him. The handcuffs clinked against the table again.

"Yes, him. Has he been around? Dropped by to see me?" asked Izuku desperately. He glanced at the dark aluminum-covered glass. "Or is he there right now? Behind that mirror?"

When Tsukauchi frowned, hands mussing his hair back to normal, Izuku's heart dropped at the missed opportunity. But there was still a slight disbelieving haze in dark eyes when the man answered. "No, he's not. Around here, I mean. Last I checked, he was still being cleared for work."

"Oh."

Then with an almost unnatural sixth sense (it was just a buzz of the detective's phone in his pocket), Tsukauchi began to clear his things. Rolling down his sleeves, fixing his cuffs, buttoning his collar, tightening his green tie, standing.

Contrary to what Izuku expected, his written statement was the last to complete the man's ensemble. Hat on, gloves worn, and coat snug around his body, Tsukauchi looked like he wanted to do anything but take the piece of paper with him.

With one last glance at the dark mirror, he sighed and took it.

Izuku didn't follow Tsukauchi on his way to the door with his eyes. No, they were downcast from the disappointing news. It could've been a lie. Maybe he was right in thinking that Katsuki was actually behind that mirror veiled as one-way. But angels were truth-sayers and truth-seekers; an ability that was not lost on him even with his wings absent and powers hidden.

A lie would've been better, Izuku thinks.

The footsteps he heard in the background faltered before stopping entirely. He looked up, curious.

Tsukauchi's gloved hand was on the knob, but his body was turned towards Izuku who remained shackled at the center of the room. Even with the shadow cast by the detective's hat, Izuku could perfectly see the furrow of the man's brow.

"You say you want to save Dyna– Bakugou-san. Why don't you just use your… powers to do that?"

Izuku cocked his head to the side, unmoving from his seat. "Powers?"

"You know…" Tsukauchi struggled before letting out another resigned sigh. "That myth– well not so much a myth now– about demons influencing us– humans that is– to sin and angels influencing us to do good."

"Oh, that," Izuku laughed and regretted it as soon as he did when instead of dispelling the tension running across Tsukauchi's shoulders, it simply made him paler. "Well, that's another thing humans got wrong."

The handcuffs clinked against the table when Izuku moved to rest his cheek against his hand. "We don't– I mean, no one influences you at all. You're all bound to your decisions and other factors you take into account for those. Us angels and demons, control humans?"

The spoken-out assumption made Izuku let loose a disbelieving snort. He shook his head, giving Tsukauchi a bitter smile. It was meant to be reassuring for the man, but the bitterness he couldn't control.

Controlling humans? Unthinkable.

"No, no… it's you humans who control us. Our existence depends on you and the decisions you make. What's good and what's bad, a sin or not... everything's determined by you," whispered Izuku. He tore his eyes away from Tsukauchi's black ones, focusing on the splinters of the wooden table.

"That…" started Tsukauchi before trailing off unfinished again.

The thought that everything Izuku was saying seemed to make the renowned detective speechless at every turn made his lips quirk up. He looked at Tsukauchi again, smile now reassuring.

"Ah, can't grasp it? It's fine. I couldn't either. To think that us with so much power is subservient– just byproducts of your decisions, good or bad– to humans isn't easy to understand."

It wasn't every day that Izuku got to talk with someone like this– someone not an angel, demon, or otherworldly being. So it would have to be a first, for him, to share an irrefutable fact that Izuku lived by to the someone from the same group that cemented it.

The silence that followed was a bit disappointing yet expected. Tsukauchi took in a shuddering breath and let out a shaky one before his hand– still on the doorknob– began turning.

"Well," Tsukauchi gave him a shaky smile. "I hope I can understand just as you do."

Izuku hummed, smiling still. "I hope I can too."

What he managed to say next was spurred on by what, Izuku wasn't exactly sure. A sense of shared camaraderie from both of their existential crises? Just plain desperation? Maybe so.

"If you see Kacchan around for me, tell him hi?"

Tell him I miss him. I want to talk to him. Is he still angry at me? I miss him.

Tsukauchi was already closing the door behind him when he tipped his hat and gave Izuku a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do, Midoriya-san."

The door closed, and he let out a breath.

"Two lines, two pills, two people free."
—BEE

AN:

A reminder that works of fiction doesn't necessarily reflect the author's personal views and shit. Everything written stems from the narrator's (in this case, Izuku) characterization and personality. I'm just the medium through which stories are shared.