Generally speaking, everything was far from good right now.

But dawn had arrived anyway.

From your place on the rooftop, balanced delicately atop the narrow steel railing, the world feels so... so alive. Your quirk keeps you from falling a good five hundred feet or so, but you're long past feeling afraid of such heights.

You tilt your face toward the sky, where you know the sun has risen, its warmth bleeding gently through the air — a slow, golden spread brushing across your cheeks.

In every direction, autumn is unfolding.

The air is different here in the mountains — it's crisp, dry at the edges, but still soft. Carried on it is the scent of turning leaves and the faint sweetness of roasted chestnuts.

Somewhere below, trees must be shedding their gold and rust and crimson, scattering across the streets like confetti. The leaves are just heavy enough to register with your quirk — you feel them brushing by like tiny gloved hands.

Hawks once told you it looked like the whole world was catching fire — but in a 'gentle' way.

He had tried his best to describe it all to you, tripping over too many metaphors, making a mess of his words — until both of you gave up and just sat there quietly, side by side, enjoying the breeze.

Back then, when he was less than a phone call away, the silence hadn't felt so loud.

Now, it's deafening.

You reach out with your power, sifting the wind through invisible threads, tracing the grooves of the rooftop tiles, the curve of the water tank, the gentle sway of the trees far below. You can feel the shape of things. But the view — the real view, the one he described to you so vividly — it still escapes you.

You don't need to see to know it's beautiful. But god, you wish you could remember the sound of his voice when he said it was.

Behind you, a door closes.

Someone says your name and you're torn from the last of your memories.

It's not Keigo. No, this person is someone you fully intended on meeting today. You'd made the long trip to Musutafu just for him, after all – for this exact moment.

You drop from the railing, a slow gust softening your descent.

You begin to slowly approach your new companion atop U.A. High's uppermost level.

"Long time no see, old man. Though, technically speaking, it's not like I've ever really seen you," you start, a severe smirk curling your lip. "What's it been, a couple of months? Who's counting, eh?"

Your senses take stock of Japan's former Number 1 Hero.

"Two months and twenty-one days," All Might responds after a beat, "give or take."

You don't dwell on the fact he knew, focusing on something else instead.

He sounded... apprehensive. That was good.

"Some of the students thought they saw you up here," he starts to add. You pick up on the way he nervously curls his fingers. "Climbing up to see you, I didn't quite know what to expect. Still don't. I figured you might want to throw me off the railing."

You huff an amused breath.

"And still, you came."

The blond man's shoulders are slumped, but he braces himself for whatever you were about to say, or throw, his way next. You pause, still several feet away from him, letting the wind curl around you both. It carries the scent of his aftershave — and something tired beneath it.

You register how much less weight he carries on him now, how he feels so much more weathered and skinny than ever before.

It offends you.

"Well, you're as wise as ever," you drawl, the air beginning to bristle around you. "I hope you came ready for a fight."

Let's see if those hero instincts of yours are still up to snuff.


Class 1-A Homeroom, several floors below

Morning sun spills in through the windows, golden and warm. The clock hadn't yet struck eight, but Class 1-A was already up and at it, full volume.

At the back of the room, Kaminari balances a mechanical pencil across his top lip like a mustache, leaning back in his chair with dangerous confidence.

"Behold," he announces to no one in particular, "the height of intellectual evolution."

"Behold the sight of someone about to crack his skull open," Jirou mutters, not even looking up from her textbook. She keeps her voice down because of how Ojiro, in the seat next to her, is catching some shut-eye – using his tail to block out all light.

Next to them, Yaoyorozu flips neatly through a small stack of flashcards.

"We have a quiz on the importance of support items first period, Kaminari," her anxiety is palpable. "Maybe focus?"

The boy in question rolls his eyes. "I am focusing. Focusing on not dying of boredom."

"Then you'll die from your grade instead," Tokoyami adds dryly from across the aisle, Dark Shadow snickering in support. Aoyama, at the front of the class, looks affronted at the sound – but after making sure that the laughing wasn't aimed at him, goes back to primping his hair in a little hand mirror.

On the other side of the classroom, Ashido is perched sideways in her seat, braiding Uraraka's hair with a few glittery scrunchies she'd somehow snuck past homeroom inspection. She'd just got done with Asui's hair too, but the accessories had already begun to slide out of her excessively silky, and somewhat always a bit damp, hair.

Ashido smiles at her handiwork. "You'll thank me for this later, when you're voted 'Most Stylish Gravity Girl' in the yearbook."

Uraraka giggles. "Is that a thing? I don't think that's a thing."

"It should be. Along with 'Cutest Student with Animal Characteristics,'" she adds, much to Tsu's delight.

At the front of the room, Sato is sharing some homemade sweets with Shoji – a new recipe for carrot cake he'd found the other night – much to the disapproval of someone else in the room. Iida is already standing beside the teacher's desk, arms chopping the air and making serious air-time.

"Everyone, please refrain from treating the classroom like the food court! Homeroom starts in three minutes and your behaviour—!"

"—is tragically under-caffeinated," Aizawa mumbles as he shuffles in, sliding the classroom door close behind him. He's half-wrapped up in his capture scarf, as per usual, his grip on his takeout cup so intense it looked as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

"Good morning, sensei!" Hagakure waves, despite being mostly invisible, save for her uniform and bouncy sleeve.

"…In theory, it is," Aizawa replies, eyes barely open as he begins to get his things in order. "I'm yet to be convinced."

Hero patrols were tough last night, and all he needed was to get through the short, ten-minute homeroom before he could wrap himself up in his duffle and doze back off.

Near the windows, Todoroki sits with his back straight, watching the skyline through the glass with a kind of quiet alertness. His fingers tap a slow rhythm against the desk — not anxious, just… aware.

"Something feels off," he says flatly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Sero, lounging sideways in his chair with his arms draped over the backrest, raises a brow. "Off how? Like your sixth sense is tingling?"

Todoroki blinks. "I don't have a sixth sense."

"That's exactly what someone with a sixth sense would say," Kaminari cuts in, his chair striking the floor as he narrowly saves himself from a nasty fall.

"I think Todoroki's just got that 'brooding protagonist intuition,'" Jirou adds, chin propped in her palm, shooting Kaminari a look that said 'nice save.'

"Brooding?! I'm not—" Todoroki starts, getting the closest he could to being outraged – which wasn't much different from his usual demeanour. He pauses, collecting himself, puffing out an icy little breath.

"…I'm not brooding," he says, suddenly sulky.

A snap breaks through the light chatter — Bakugo, three rows back, has flipped his notebook open with a crack, slamming his pen down with practiced violence. Kirishima, struggling to make sense of his own notes from last night, is unperturbed by his friend's theatrics, more so worried about him incinerating his stationary.

Despite it being early, a vein in Bakugo's forehead is already bulging. "If you extras don't shut up and start prepping for the midday combat drills, I swear to god—"

"Good morning, Kacchan!" Midoriya cuts in, coming to the rescue. He attempts a warm smile from the adjacent desk. "I was actually going to ask if you wanted to pair up for the agility circuit today—"

"I SAID SHUT IT, DEKU!"

"And there it is," Sero mutters, resigned. "Wondered if we'd finally gotten a morning, free of one of Bakugo's tantrums. Guess not."

Ashido leans over to Uraraka and Asui, stage-whispering.

"Ten bucks says Midoriya still gets him to agree."

Uraraka grins back. "I'll take that bet."

The mood is a happy, jovial thing, despite everything. That is, until the door bursts open.

"Guys!" Koda of all people, who rarely ever raised his voice above a whisper, comes stumbling into the room. He's wide-eyed and out of breath.

"There's… there's something going on! On the roof!"

The room stills. Even Bakugo pauses mid-rant.

"Like what?" Midoriya stands quickly. "Another villain attack?"

Koda shakes his head, still catching his breath. "No, not that. A bird-pal of mine saw them. All Might… and someone else. I think they're… fighting?"

"Who was the other person, Koda?" Aizawa asks the boy, wiping his own eyes.

He trusted All Might to dispose of a threat – the man was still strong in his emaciated form – but even so, all teachers had a responsibility to protect their students if push came to shove.

Koda gulps. "It's… it's Valkyrie."

The silence that followed was all-encompassing. You'd have been able to hear a pin drop.

And then, like someone had flipped a switch, chairs were scraping back, half-finished conversations were dropped, and the students of Class 1-A were surging toward the windows, toward the door, toward any possible view of the rooftop above.


Your arm sweeps outward and a razor-thin arc of wind screams across the roof.

It cleaves the air in two, snapping with barely-contained pressure. All Might twists his body, spine curving in a fluid roll that pulls him away from the blow by mere inches. The edge of his coat is torn as it passes by.

The tile behind him explodes in a burst of dust and debris.

"You've gotten slow, old man!" you bark, pulling in the air around you, in preparation for your next attack. You bend it to your will, guiding it into a corkscrew around your leg, wind hissing around your ankle. You drop low and snap your leg, unleashing a crescent of compressed air his way.

"Just because you're retired now doesn't mean you get to slack off!"

The gust hits where he'd stood a second ago, scattering broken tile like shrapnel.

You groan in annoyance, already prepping for the next hit. "What if the school gets hit by another villain attack and it's just you around to stand in the way?"

All Might exhales hard. Even without One For All, he moves with an old grace that hasn't quite left him yet.

He plants one foot and slides back with a grunt, steadying himself.

"I'm not slacking," he says, voice low, breath dragging. "I'm just not fighting you."

Uh-oh. Wrong answer.

A single beat and your chrome-lined wings are cracking through the air like thunder. You push off the rooftop, surging into the air. You go so high you can feel the whole world breathing — the wind at your command, the current sliding against your skin, ready to be shaped.

You drop.

The fall is controlled chaos, limbs tucked, wings closed, wind spiralling around you like a vortex. Just before impact, you flare — wings wide, wind recoiling like a blast wave. It shoots outward pressure, which you concentrate into a single forward punch.

You land on one knee, slamming your fist into the roof. All Might had ducked once again, jumping sideways and shielding his head.

Still no counterattack, huh?

You rise slowly.

"You can dodge all you want," you call, brushing dust from your clothes. "But you're not leaving this roof until I'm done with you."


Class 1-A was in full-blown chaos.

"The hell is going on up there?!"

"I thought this place had reinforced roofing!"

"Are we under attack?! AGAIN?!"

Mina shrieks as the ceiling tiles give a pitiful creak. Kirishima leaps out of his seat, already hardening instinctively. Bakugo was still at his desk, more annoyed than anything, while Kaminari was spinning in his chair like it might give him answers if he rotated fast enough.

"What reason would they have to fight?" Uraraka shouts over the commotion, hands clenched at her sides. "They're both heroes! Aren't they, like… friends?!"

"Maybe it's training?" Tokoyami suggests, though even his cool voice cracks with uncertainty.

Iida was furious at the thought. "How dare they train on school grounds without alerting the Student Council first?!"

"Training doesn't usually involve that kind of air pressure," Jirou mutters, pressing her ear-jacks into the wall. "I can feel it — whatever's going on up there, it's serious business."

Amid the whirlwind of voices and panic, one student remains still.

Izuku Midoriya sits quietly at his desk, brows furrowed, gaze far away.

It was… strange.

Everyone in the class knew Midoriya adored heroes — not just in the "I have their posters in my room" kind of way, but in the encyclopaedic, emotional, soul-deep way that meant a clash between two legends – his all-time favourite included – should have had him bouncing in his chair.

But he… wasn't.

Lately, he'd had this distant look in his eyes. He'd smile when spoken to, offer helpful advice in group work, train like usual — but sometimes, like now, he'd just stop. Eyes narrowed. Breathing quiet. Mind somewhere else entirely.

If anyone had asked, Izuku would've waved it off with that nervous, caught-out grin. Said something about homework or strategy simulations.

But the truth was much heavier than that.

Tenya's body had been slumped on the floor, blood pooling fast under his armor. Native was unconscious, his uniform soaked and ripped. Todoroki's cheek was torn open, his left arm impaled and useless as he was forced to crouch. Flames sputtered out, weak and flickering.

Izuku was kneeling, paralyzed — Stain's Quirk freezing him in place, cold sweat dripping down his neck as he screamed at his muscles to move. To go. To do anything.

And then—

The wind shrieked. Like a sonic boom condensed into a breath. Like a storm descending all at once.

He could barely duck for cover before she landed in the alley with the weight of a verdict.

The girl stood there with her wings unfurled, hair whipping in the wind. She took stock of the situation around her and didn't say a word – the look on her face said it all for her. The very air warped around them to emphasise her point.

Stain turned to face her, laughing, so amused that the heroes today were basically serving themselves to him on a dish.

But that look on her face… it was the scariest thing Izuku had ever seen. The hero-killer wouldn't stand a chance.

The memory cuts off as Midoriya slowly goes to stand.

"All Might could be in danger," he says firmly, his voice low but clear. "We should at least try—"

A hand clamps down on his shoulder. It's… Aizawa-sensei?

"Sit down, Midoriya," the man sounds unperturbed. The same way he always had. He begins to address the rest of the class.

"All of you, for that matter. Get back to your desks. Class is starting."

Deku's eyebrows shoot up in utter disbelief. The building was still shaking. He couldn't be serious.

"But, sir—!"

Aizawa sighs, rubbing at his temples as another distant boom echoes from above. He glances up — though the ceiling held no answers — and exhales through his nose.

The students wouldn't understand the complexities of… whatever was going on up there. They just couldn't.

But he did. And he knew, that despite the noise, despite the ruckus—

"THEY'RE GOING TO BRING THE BUILDING DOWN!"

—there was no real danger here.

Just tension. And history. And old wounds flaring up.

Aizawa closes his eyes and sighs again.

Family drama really was the worst.


Your shoulders are heaving.

You try to mask it — keep your breaths steady, posture upright, chin lifted like you still have more fight in you.

But your wings drag low. Your knuckles are scraped raw. And the wind, once sharp and responsive, begins to calm.

All Might stands a few meters away, hunched slightly in his civilian attire, hands on his knees, catching his breath. His hair sticks up at odd angles from the breeze you threw his way, and his coat has definitely seen better days.

Slowly, he straightens, brushing dust from his pants.

"You know," he begins, his tone light and jokey. "For someone who seems like she doesn't want to kill me, you've got alarming aim."

That cracks something in you.

You don't laugh — not the way you usually would. You don't have a return quip, or some phrase that you, as all heroes did, would practice in the mirror.

Instead, you just exhale. A quiet, shaky exhale that ends in a barely-there sniffle.

"I really can't believe you, Toshi," you mutter, curling in on yourself, voice brittle with exhaustion. "Seriously."

The nickname freezes him in place – he hadn't heard it in months, after all. It's all he needs to begin making his way over to you.

"Hey…" he says cautiously, his tone softening. He pauses — just in case you're trying to fake him out.

But when your wings don't rise, and you don't even make the effort to lift your head, he crosses the final few steps and wraps you up in his arms. It's instinctive.

You don't respond right away, your arms hanging limply by your sides. Then, slowly, you move.

At first, your hold on him is weak — half-hearted. But it doesn't stay that way. You pull him in tighter. And tighter. Until it was a bear-hug in the works.

He wheezes, coughing on some blood. "Careful, I do still have ribs, y'know."

You ease up just a fraction, muttering into his shoulder. "God, it's like hugging a skeleton."

He chuckles, low and sheepish. "Sorry. I could take on All Might's form for a few seconds, but, well, that's the longest I can hold it for these days."

"Don't you dare," you snap, saving him the effort. He was perfect, just the way he was.

Silence settles again, save for the wind finally quieting around you. The moment stretches. After a minute, it's you who pulls back. Your eyes are red-rimmed, but your face is dry. Your lip catches between your teeth.

This was a conversation you had been steeling yourself, and yet you still had no idea how to go about starting it.

"I wasn't going to… show up like this," you admit, not quite meeting his gaze. "I know you're working… I didn't mean to interrupt you. Sorry."

All Might– no, Toshinori waits on you to finish your thought with the kind of patience that makes you want to kick something. "It's never an interruption."

You nod faintly, then say, like it's almost painful to bring up, "It's just… yesterday, at the awards... I met Bubble Girl. She told me about Nighteye."

He doesn't speak. Just places a large, weathered hand on your shoulder, his expression turning somber, distant.

Nighteye. His old sidekick. The one who used to bring you candy in sterile white boxes like you were a dignitary instead of a kid. The one who used to reprimand you for flying indoors and "disrupting the airflow of logical conversation."

The one who'd still message you on the holidays, despite how busy he was – despite being estranged from his former boss, and therefore having no real reason to stay in contact at all.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Toshi," you say softly, hiding your own grief for his sake. You knew it likely paled in comparison to what he'd be feeling. "I hadn't heard about it until then. These last few months have been… hard. I haven't checked the news. My phone's been off. I just…"

Your voice trails off.

"Ever since Stain. And then your fight..."

The news had been broadcasting it live. Your limbs were useless in a hospital bed, your torso taped up. You screamed at the screen, screamed at the nurses, listening to your mentor stare death in the face and fight back.

All For One had returned.

And All Might… he was fading.

"Stop it!" a red-winged man was holding onto you, keeping you from falling out of your sickbed.

"You can barely move, let alone go save him. He made me promise to stay by your side," he brushes your hair back. "Keep you safe."

Why were you the one who mattered? Someone you loved was dying – Toshinori was dying and you couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't help.

You didn't even get to say goodbye.

Luckily, you hadn't had to.

"I had a suspicion that's why you disappeared from the public eye. And why you… why we stopped talking," Toshinori, alive as the day was long, murmurs gently. You were sure he had that sad look on his face right now – it took a lot to get it to show up.

"It was," you nod, still upset. "In part."

He sighs, turning to look up at the sky.

"Ever since I took you under my wing, I've told you," he begins, falling into that 'lecture cadence' of his. "Being the Symbol of Peace would always mean putting the people first. They needed hope. They needed—"

"—I needed you."

You say it fast, before you can stop yourself.

"I know what you've always said," you add quickly. "I know that being a hero comes first. It's just that…" You exhale hard, your voice trembling despite yourself. "You've always thought that the world only cares about 'All Might.' And that you have some obligation to be everything to everyone. But what if I lost you? Would the people of Japan be losing the closest thing they have to a parent?"

That seems to stun him, his words failing.

You know that you're just adding onto that weight. Just one more person who expected things of him.

I mean, what was the alternative? Let Japan crash and burn? Let millions die?

You didn't know what you wanted from him. Just wish he valued the man on the inside more – valued Yagi Toshinori.

It's been a beat too long of him not saying anything. You don't want him to either.

"I haven't been doing so well, Toshi," you say, and you wouldn't be surprised if it had seemed to come out of nowhere. Your voice is flat. Just... numb. "I haven't been well."

He looks at you like he wants to ask a hundred questions. He smothers that worry, not wanting to go full mother-hen on you just yet. Instead, he nods his head and holds out a hand.

"Come with me," he says. "Let's talk. My office is on the second floor. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

That — finally — gets a small spark out of you.

You tilt your head, faintly amused. "Oh? Fancy-teacher-man's got his own office, huh?"

"It's more of a closet, really. You should see Aizawa's – seniority gets its privileges," he says, scratching his neck. "Don't get excited."

You give a tired chuckle, brushing your hair from your face. "Right. Well… do pass my apologies on to Nezu and the other teachers. I'll pay for the damages, of course. Or clean it up myself. Or…"

"Still the most polite whirlwind I've ever met."

He grins wide — something warm and achingly familiar — like he's seeing you again as you were fifteen years ago. That tiny girl who bowed so low she smacked her head on the floor and immediately apologised for that too. You'd thanked him profusely for saving you from that place.

You thanked him every day since too, for letting you stay by his side. You thanked him for training you, for not giving up on you even when you struggled to control your Quirk, or for when you would cry throughout the night and he'd have to stay by your side, holding your hand.

You glance at him sideways, catching the fondness radiating off his being. You could guess at what he was thinking.

"I just… didn't want to be a burden," you murmur.

His grin grows soft. "You never were."


The city blurs beneath you as you glide overhead, wings stretched to their fullest possible span, each beat kicking up bursts of wind that ripple through the narrow alleyways below.

Your patrol tonight has taken you farther than usual.

Hawks was supposed to be with you now, the two of you covering more ground when you worked together, but he's been gone for days – off on some 'work trip,' he had said. He's been brushing you off more and more lately, always with some stupid joke or riddle that downplayed your worry.

You don't even know why it bothers you this much — he's always been flighty, pun intended. And it wasn't like the two of you were… y'know…

He didn't owe you an explanation, is what you mean.

It's just that something feels different about him nowadays. Like he's slipping away.

And All Might too… damn him. You'd never been so angry with him before. He's been pushing himself harder than ever — more press appearances, more patrols, more time dedicated to teaching the next generation of heroes.

You could feel it, that something bad was coming. He doesn't say it out loud, but you see it in the way his eyes linger on your face each time you pay him a visit. The weight in his voice when he says goodbye during your usual late-evening phone calls.

You want to kick him each time he walks out of a room like it might be the last time he does so.

The wind shifts.

Hold up a minute…

You jolt, mid-air, your quirk pulling at your senses — somewhere down below, you sense distortion in the flow of oxygen. Blood in the current. You zero in immediately, banking hard towards an alleyway two blocks down.

You land with a strong impact, unwilling to sacrifice speed for stealth. Your boots kiss concrete as you fold your wings tight behind you.

The scene in front of you makes your stomach twist.

Bodies. Four people. You think you recognise one of them. It was Native, barely breathing. He was supposed to be out on his patrols, same as you. But, clearly, someone had got to him.

There were three others in the street that rank of blood – they were all relatively smaller in stature.

Children.

One of them is conscious but fading, heartbeat too fast to be steady. You can feel blood pumping out of another's arm and leg, pooling fast. There's a third — standing. Power crackling off him like static. He's young. Raw.

And then there's a fourth presence — moving like he owns the place.

You know exactly who he is.

Hero Killer.

"…Kids?" Your voice is low – a blind hot rage filling you. "You're killing kids now?"

The wind around you thrums.

A heavy, suffocating hush falls over the alley. You can taste it — the grin in his breath, the ease in his stance. He's enjoying himself.

Stain straightens slightly, nostrils flaring. "So. Another so-called hero with a skin-deep moral code."

You step forward, the gravel crunching under your boots.

Ingenium was in a hospital bed right now. Tubes in his arms. He had tried to smile when you visited. Called it "a small thing," despite the fact that he'd be wheel-chair bound for the rest of his life.

He was one of the good ones, and t his man had hurt him... to send a 'message.'

Stain motions to say something, but you cut him off. You knew enough about him to know his words meant fuck-all.

"You don't get to speak," you bite out, as if you're chewing on glass. "You don't get to preach about what you believe in when you're ready to gut teenagers in the street."

It must be something about the energy that wafts off of you. Stain's smile drops.

Seeing that the time for words was over, he lunges, knives gleaming in both hands.

You don't give him the chance to make contact.

The moment he moves, you're already ahead of him — the wind pulses once, and suddenly he's choking. He stumbles, grabbing at his throat. His knees buckle. His knives hit the ground with a clatter.

You don't move. You just watch, dead-eyed, as he claws for air that's no longer there.

The oxygen you've stripped from the space around him curls in lazy spirals around your hands, thick as smoke.

It would be so easy.

You're breathing hard now. Not from exertion — but fury. Blinding, full-bodied rage.

He hurt them. And now you'd hurt him. See how well his 'message' fared on the other side.

The wind whips faster. Your wings flare open. A low sound builds in your throat. It wouldn't take much longer now—

"Wait!"

Your eyes snap to the voice.

It's soft. Weak. From the kid with the lightning aura.

He's bleeding, barely on his feet and swaying where he stands, eyes wide with desperation. "Don't," he says. "That's not what heroes do."

His voice wavers, but it's loud. It carries. And it cuts through to you. The killer gasps again, desperately clutching at his throat.

"We don't kill, no matter how angry we are. No matter how much we want to. That just… makes us as bad as they are."

You freeze.

The air in the alleyway goes from a gale, to completely still.

You look down — your hands are shaking. Stain is on the ground, breathing, his chest rising and falling raggedly. You recoil from his direction as if he's poison, like the horror of what you almost did is just now hitting you fully.

You clutch at your forehead in utter disbelief. "Oh my god…"

And then — before anyone can even blink — Stain moves.

You feel the blade before you see it.

A sharp slash across your torso, deep and sudden and wrong. Pain rips through you like acid.

You crumple.

The alley spins. Your knees hit the ground. You hear lightning-boy moving toward you, screaming something you can't make out. The last thing you register is energy, sparking off of him.

It's oddly familiar, you think.

And then everything goes black.


You finish recounting the story, as you remembered it. The stench of blood was finally clearing from the air.

Was that day really just three months ago? So much had happened since; it felt like years had rushed you by.

Your confrontation with Stain had resulted in a single, extremely deep laceration to your chest and stomach – which was now completely healed over on account of the generous efforts of the doctors who cared for you. You imagine that, without their healing quirks, you'd likely still be in their care. Or worse.

There was the physical therapy that followed too, and the phantom pains that twinged whenever you contorted your upper body – but generally speaking, you were on the mend.

Your mental state on the other hand… it had taken quite a hit.

You had started refusing visitors, including most of the people closest to you. Your colleagues, Mirko, Toshinori, and more. You were told that the students who'd been involved in the fight were also keen on meeting with you… but honestly? You wouldn't have been able to face them.

Even Hawks, who had been by your side the whole time – taking a break from his intermittent disappearing act – suddenly couldn't get through to you.

You had never felt more isolated in your life.

But you weren't there anymore.

This was Toshinori's office. Boring mint green walls, shiny new furniture. Closet, my ass.

You're sitting slumped on one of the leather couches in the centre of the room, and he'd taken the seat across from you.

You clench your fist, too tight.

"I… I tried to kill him, Toshi," your voice is a sad, breaking thing. "It wasn't an accident. It wasn't me losing control of my quirk. I… I weighed the risks. I saw the options in front of me and just came to a conclusion…"

You look up, face set. "He needed to die."

A beat passes you by, filled with the weight of your sentiment. You couldn't read your mentor's thoughts in the slightest.

"Stain was a monster," he starts, grounded, "There was no doubt about it—"

You stand, unable to contain yourself.

"I know! God, I know. What kind of person can justify killing teenagers? But that wasn't the point!" you begin pacing. "The point is, that in that moment, I thought I had the power to decide who got to live and who had to die. That's… a villain's mentality. It goes against everything you fought for. Everything you trained me to believe in."

You think about lightening-boy from that night, sinking back down into your seat.

"That kid was right," you mutter into your palm.

Toshinori stays silent for a long breath.

"When I was starting out as a hero, back when I first got One For All," he begins to say. "I was so… eager to start putting villains away. My mentor and Gran Torino were taking extreme care with me, and I started growing stronger and stronger with each passing day."

You concentrate on his voice, its slower cadence.

"One day, while on patrols, I found myself fighting a villain with a quirk that let him control sound, or something to that effect. He had tried to steal from a bank, taking half a dozen hostages," he continues, lost in his memories. "His quirk made it so I couldn't call for back-up. I remember being so anxious – knew I was risking the safety of the hostages with each moment I spent inactive. So… I took matters into my own hands. I broke in through a wall, near-crushing the villain."

You try and imagine the scene in your head.

Yeah, seemed like the kind of thing you'd do too, just starting out.

Toshinori continues. "Once everything settled, the medics and police came to apprehend him. In the debris, I spotted something they'd left behind. It was his wallet. A picture had fallen out of it, of a woman and a child, smiling," you feel the way that Toshinori's face takes on this thoughtful look. Considered.

"Since that day, I'd always pause to wonder about the people I fought. And even though I didn't have to, I started pulling my punches," he looks up, smiling at you.

"No one is born a villain. Nor is it ever too late for someone to be a hero. When people like Stain make themselves known to the world, and to you, it may help to remember that."

He leans across and lays a hand on your shoulder. Even though he's so much smaller in stature now, it feels just as heavy as it once did.

"There are people out there that kill and hurt others – they make the choice to do it over and over again," he says, grim. He fixes you with a look. "…You think you'll ever use your quirk like that again? With the intent to kill?"

You shake your head no, a pressure building up behind your closed eyelids.

Toshinori's voice is nothing but radiant kindness when he replies. "You have your answer then. We heroes need to keep ourselves in check every now and again. That's all."

"Thanks, Toshi," you breathe, a weight lifted from you. "I should've come to see you weeks ago."

His hand goes to ruffle your hair, and you duck with a laugh.

"Not at all, my girl. You needed some time," he says, the matter already forgotten, as if the three-month silence between you both had never happened.

He snaps his fingers. "That reminds me, I wanted to invite you to speak to some of the students, when you can. I think they could really benefit from what you'd have to say about developing your quirk over the years."

You shoot him a pointed look.

"You mean that boy, don't you? The one you gave One For All to?"

"Ah, yes. Young Midoriya," Toshinori seems sheepish, a touch called out. He waves his hand. "I don't pull favourites, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't want you both to meet. He was one of the students you came across that night, after all."

You balk.

That was him? Lightning-boy? No wonder his power felt so familiar to you. He'd been there, that day. He'd seen you at your lowest.

You sigh.

"Maybe next time, Toshi... I still need to better myself before I can face them," you stand up, a somber look to you. "Before I can call myself a hero that's worthy of giving anyone advice."

"I don't think so… but alright," Toshinori says, standing up with you and following you to the door. "In the meantime, say you won't be a stranger. You have no idea how badly I wanted to congratulate you on your new hero ranking."

You smile. It was the lightest you had felt all day.

You wanted to call him too, so bad — wanted to geek out over every single detail, the same way you did each year since you had cracked top ten. Toshinori was the closest thing to a parent you had left in this world, and to not have him around, even just these three months…

You pull him in for a hug once more. "Don't you ever die, okay?"

Surprised, he pats your back, chuckling. He could've sworn he'd had a similar conversation with you when you were half the height you are now.

Still, he thinks about the way he'd been growing weaker and weaker, gradually losing his ability to transform at all. There was still the uncertainty around it, of what happened once Midoriya fully inhabited One for All, beginning to use it at one hundred percent.

Don't ever die, huh?

If only he had the power to control such a thing.


Don't die All Might! TᴖT

Hope you all liked this one. I love when fics have parental-relationship dynamics like this, so I hope you do too. Thought it'd be a cute contrast – Reader looking up to All Might (former no. 1), and Hawks looking up to Endeavour (current no. 1).

Sorry about the lack of Hawks in this :'-( I swear he'll be around in the next one. Honestly, I'm writing this as I watch the show in real time so it's been a fun writing exercise tbh. I wanted to introduce All Might and Class 1-A early on to flesh out the reader's place in everything, so I hope it wasn't boring.

Till the next one.
Toodles xo