Foresight

Chapter 9: Smile

"There is a smile of Love

And there is a Smile of Deceit

And there is a Smile of Smiles

In which these two Smiles meet

—William Blake

"It never really heals when you lose your dad…"

It took Toshi a moment to actually process what the other man had said. He was too busy trying to help his boy just get through whatever it was that had upset him so much.

Then one word settled into his mind abruptly.

Dad? Did he call me dad?

Toshinori's mind blanked for a panicked moment as he tried to work through everything that single, simple word meant…

…Dad…

Instinctively, Toshi's grip tightened on his boy, now a full decade older than Toshi—scarred and grey and worn down, but still so strong and so brave—sobbing in painful gasps and broken whimpers into Toshinori's shoulder. You miss me… and you called me dad… not just father, but dad. Even Toshi, who had never properly had a father figure in his life aside from Sorahiko, understood that simple distinction.

"My boy," he murmured softly, painfully uncertain about what he could possibly do to help this Midoriya. This pain of loss was a feeling that Toshi was all too familiar with, and the boy was right… when a parent died, even if they weren't flesh and blood… that kind of pain never died. It just sort of faded into the surrounding material of your life like a stain on a favorite well-worn shirt. It was always there, but you became so used to it that you just convinced yourself that it was part of the pattern of the fabric—that is until something reminded you of its presence, be it something as simple as some durian mochi and tea and an old man for company.

And that was when Toshi finally, finally, fully processed who his boy had been talking about all along. "My boy," he whispered again, gentler this time, holding back tears of his own. He'd be damned if he cried right now. One of them had to hold it together, right?

Gently, he steered Izuku away from the bookshelf and back to the sofa, depositing the older man on the cushion beside him before easing himself more slowly down into the unforgiving seat. He was abruptly and unexpectedly annoyed at how uncomfortable his furniture was. He never used it, having really just purchased it to get Nezu off his back about having a more livable space when he'd moved in. Nothing was broken in but the bed and an old armchair he'd bought resale that some previous owner had broken in during its past life.

He irrationally wished his space was more like a home. He wished his boy didn't have to see how sparse and hard and empty it was… no… that he was.

Those photographs were the only spark of life in the entire apartment. It's probably why they kept drawing young Midoriya like a moth to a flame. His boy, now so much older, and with Toshinori gone from his life for so long, was probably trying to find some small touch of humanity in the man he was in this time.

Something twisted painfully in the remains of his gut.

How disappointed you must be. I'm so sorry.

He was interrupted from his melancholic thoughts by a sudden sharp squeeze. After a moment he was abruptly released, and Toshi heard Izuku's shuddering breath as the boy managed to get his emotions under control. He pulled back and Toshinori reluctantly loosened his own grip.

Flustered by the onslaught of emotions, Toshi averted his eyes for a moment, trying to give his boy a chance to properly compose himself.

"All Might?"

The name was barely more than a whisper, but it was powerful enough to command all of Toshinori's attention in an instant. His eyes snapped up to meet Izuku's, and Toshi couldn't help but notice the worry lines now etched into the face of this man his boy had become. The scars woven in among them were mostly faded, but some were alarmingly fresh, crisscrossing too close to those vibrant green eyes.

Toshi swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight and dry. He managed to choke out a short, "What is it, my boy?" He suddenly regretted stopping Izuku from getting them more tea when he'd offered.

Izuku hesitated, seeming to grow flustered under Toshinori's careful scrutiny.

He looks like a different person. The flicker of pride in the boy that Toshi always carried within himself suddenly burst into a small flame, warming him. No. That's not true. He's just finally let the hero I saw in him that first day finally fully shine through. He's become the hero he wanted to be. I can see it. He's strong and far more confident now, even if he isn't showing it at the moment. His eyes ran over the other man critically. Looks like he might have finally stopped copying me now, too, he thought with some satisfaction, but also an uncomfortable touch of sadness.

When did you stop needing me, boy?

He was surprised by how unhappy that idea made him.

"All Might," Midoriya repeated in a steadier voice. He took a deep breath, and then another. He shook his head as though clearing out his thoughts. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have said—"

"No." Toshinori couldn't let him finish. "You're fine." Then he glanced up, a suspicious look in his eye. "You are fine, aren't you? It sounds like you've let a lot build up over the years…"

But Midoriya just shook his head. "I'm sorry about that. This has all been… a lot. Good—amazing, actually—but a lot to wrap my head around." He grinned then, adding in a much lighter voice, "I think I'm just channeling my younger self now that I'm back here. I always did cry too much. I remember you always telling me that. I shouldn't have taken my runaway emotions out on you."

Toshi didn't answer for a long moment. Midoriya's smile was too wide—too abruptly open after his meltdown—and it didn't reach his eyes. Izuku's eyes were still hurting—asking for help that Midoriya wouldn't—or perhaps couldn't—voice. "Don't do that," Toshinori responded..

"Do…?"

"Smile at me like that."

Midoriya seemed to have no words, so Toshi just continued. "I was wrong to tell you not to cry."

"All Might…"

Toshi held up a silencing hand. "No. Just hear me out. My master, Shimura-sensei taught me to smile to hide the fear inside. And Gran Torino taught me that heroes don't cry."

"Yeah, that sounds like him…" Midoriya muttered, the false grin finally slipping off his face.

Toshi leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. He stared at them—covered in scars… fragile and bony… a sad testament of what being a hero could do to a person. Still… how many would be dead now if he hadn't pushed past his own personal hell to keep fighting? Heroes can't cry every time bad things happen. Sometimes they have to just grin and bear it.

Sometimes…

"I cried when Shimura-sensei died." He took a deep breath. "She was like a mother to me after my parents were killed by villains. She had lost her family because of All for One, so she understood what it was like. When her husband was killed, she pushed everyone away in order to keep them safe. It… didn't end well."

"Yeah, I know…"

Toshi's head snapped up at that. "You…?" But he shook his head, stopping himself. Of course the kid knows. It's been fifty years. And he's an inquisitive boy. He took that moment as an opportunity to lock eyes with his boy. "It didn't end well," he repeated more firmly this time. "But I didn't know that until much later. She, thank goodness, didn't live long enough to find out." He had to stop for a moment to keep his own emotions in check at that. "She taught me to convince the world that nothing is ever wrong. The last time I cried for a long time was the day she died. I promised myself I wasn't going to get close to anyone else after that." He smiled faintly. "I walked in her footsteps for a long time."

Midoriya nodded, running a hand through his shaggy grey hair, a sheepish smile twitching his own lips. "I can relate to that."

Toshi noted that this smile seemed more genuine. Still, something was wrong in his eyes. Toshi leaned forward, seriously. "I know, my boy. And I'm sorry for that. I taught you all the wrong things. Shimura-sensei was a strong woman, but that's the only lesson of hers that I taught you. She was also kind and caring, but I never really let you see that part of heroing. I'm afraid that I wronged you. I only showed you how to be a hero and push people away." His eyes dropped. "I forgot to show you how to get close to people."

"That's not—"

"It is true," Toshinori interrupted. "But you should know something. I told you that the last time I cried was when she died. That was true… until I saw you at Kamino." Internally he flinched. He dropped his eyes, unable to watch the boy's expression as he spoke. Could he say this? He knew he needed to. Something inside of him knew that the boy had to understand, even if it was decades too late—but could he actually say it to his face?

"I saw you at Kamino, and I was afraid I'd lose you. I had no right to feel that way, my boy. You were my student, and you certainly weren't the only student there, or even the student in most danger. Still, I was afraid. I was ready to fight to my own death to keep you safe. And when I saw you finally, finally use your wits to get everyone to safety instead of just barging in like—well, like I would do—I was so proud of you. I cried at the beach when I saw you, my boy, for the first time in almost forty years because you were safe." He unclasped his hands then, fidgeting with his long hair instead. "I guess what I'm saying is that I realized that day that my sensei was wrong to have pushed her family away. Our families make us stronger. We shouldn't push them away. We should never push them away."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Midoriya replied in a hushed voice of his own, "Our families…?"

"Families aren't just flesh and blood. They're the people who give you a reason to live."

"All Might…"

Toshi still couldn't make eye contact with his boy, so he instead circled back to Midoriya's earlier accusation. "You asked me why I don't take my medications properly—especially pain medication. I don't like how they make me feel."

"You don't like… You'd rather be in pain?"

"Yes. Frankly, I'd rather feel pain than be numb. And I'd rather be in pain than not feel like myself. I spent forty years numbing pain with work. I've spent the past six years not feeling like myself anymore." He looked up at his boy finally, blue eyes meeting green.

Izuku's mouth hung half open as though he wanted to say something, but simply couldn't find the words. For a moment Toshinori could see the man's younger counterpart in that worn, scarred face. He had that look in his eye that he always had when he learned some new tidbit about a quirk and suddenly was able to put enough details together to really understand how it worked.

Toshinori wondered if that had been the last piece in the mystery of All Might that his boy had likely been trying to solve for decades. He suddenly hoped so. He wanted to give his boy peace. Izuku deserved that much at least.

Impulsively, Toshinori reached out and rested his own hand around Izuku's smaller one, then squeezed his hand firmly. "You've been worrying about me," he commented, stating the obvious.

Izuku nodded, his eyes growing suspiciously glassy again.

"All this time? All these years?"

Another nod.

"And you've been blaming yourself for my mistakes? For my pain and whatever else happened to me?"

A tear trickled down Izuku's cheek. "I couldn't save you."

Toshi smiled. "But I'll bet you reached out your hand and tried anyway. It isn't a hero's fault if the one you're trying to save doesn't take your hand." He squeezed the boy's own hand again at those words before straightening. "What do you need me to do?" he asked softly. "I can't change who I am, but what's one thing I can start doing now that you think might make it a little easier for me to take your hand when you need me to?"

"Anything?"

"I can't promise I'll do it, my boy, but I can promise that I'll try. Is that enough?"

Izuku nodded so forcefully that his shaggy grey hair bounced in a familiar way. His eyes lit up with what could only be described as hope.

"It's more than enough, All Might," he whispered. "Thank you."

Toshinori smiled warmly at him, feeling that his smile somehow was more genuine than any he'd worn in a long, long time. "That's what families are for, right? What… dads are for…?"

With those words, Izuku reached out and pulled Toshinori into a tight hug. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, it is."

It wrenched at Toshi's aching arm, but he didn't care. Never in his life had pain felt so wonderful.

Author's Note: Thank you to granny_griffin for betaing this chapter. Also, thanks to all of you who patiently wait for my slow updates, read, and engage! Thanks so much!

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Sincerely,
Sirius:)