Chapter Text
Concrete dust filled the pre-dawn air with a low haze. Izuku stared, unseeing, at the demolished urban landscape thousands of people once called home. He registered an uneven gait stop, and move to sit next to him on the pile of concrete. He didn’t acknowledge his sensei, and his sensei made no move to break the introspective silence that filled the hazy hair.
A draft gently tousled Izuku’s hair. He closed his eyes to remove the sting of concrete dust. Their proximity allowed Izuku to feel Aizawa shift to make himself more comfortable on the pile. He opened his eyes again and exhaled lightly, continuing to stare into a distant horizon.
“My dream…” Izuku started, “was to save people.” Aizawa made no indication to show he was listening, but Izuku knew by now that he would always listen. Izuku’s gaze unfocused enough in the low light to blur the line where the land met the sky.
“When you tell people there’s no one to save, that would normally be a good thing. They’re all happy and healthy, and the saviours aren’t needed.” A familiar tightness built up in his chest. “It’s different when there’s no one to save because they’re all gone. I couldn’t save them.”
Aizawa turned to face him. Izuku continued to look sadly at the horizon, which was slowly lightening to an early dawn purple. The calm environment could not quiet the screams of failure which circled his head like a hurricane. A tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie, and he turned to look at Aizawa, who pinned him with an intense look.
“Midoriya, absolutely none of this was on you. It’s on so many other people and a multitude of other factors we as individuals will never be able to fathom, but this war, this destruction, absolutely none of it is because of you.”
Midoriya felt tears well up, but pushed them down to give Aizawa a considering look. “Sensei…” he sniffed. “That’s not fair for you to tell me that.”
Aizawa averted his eyes, knowing what the kid was trying to say. Midoriya could see the similar self-blame written in Shota’s micro-expressions. He locked his eyes back on the kid’s. “I was the adult, and pro-hero. While as a teenager and student, it was never a burden you were meant to shoulder, it was quite literally my job to take care of all of you.”
The sky gradually continued to lighten, as the purple rose higher, making way for the first beams of light, scattered among the settling concrete dust. Midoriya’s eyes caught the light almost eerily as he turned his head to the horizon contemplatively. Feelings of failure curled in his gut once more. He recalled the weight of responsibility he’d felt as One for All’s wielder. But they’ve had that conversation before. Rather, his thoughts took him to a time before all that. Before that war, and before his time as a hero-in-training.
He breathed.
“My dream was to save people.” He could feel Aizawa’s confusion, having just talked about the guilt, but Izuku continued on. This was a different part of him he wanted Aizawa to understand, so quickly, he cut in. “I didn’t want to be a fighter. War or not.” He clenched his fists. “But for some reason, being a paramedic, firefighter… literally any other profession that lets you save people was never an option. I wanted to be a hero. Heroes are different from people like doctors. Of course, you see anyone in a life saving profession, and feel relief. But heroes,” Izuku breathed out, “Heroes are different.”
A sliver of understanding dawned in Aizawa’s eyes, but it was clear he didn’t quite see what the actual point of this was just yet.
“Heroes are untouchable, yet they’re the easiest to reach out for. The personas are individualised, and they have audiences. There’s a point to all that branding I suppose. They’re the manifestation of tangible concepts, and there’s never one hero that’s quite the same as another.”
Izuku reached out to catch the first appearance of the rising sun in the palm of his hand.
“You can reach out to them.”
He closed his fist.
“And if they reach back… they can save more than just your body.”
Aizawa leaned back to watch the dawn break, and hummed a tone that could have been agreeance.
Izuku let out a shuddering breath.
“Like All Might… I wanted people to look at me and feel safe. More importantly, I wanted them to feel hope. Maybe, if Deku the hero was around, their lives wouldn’t just be saved, but be changed for the better.” His voice broke, and Aizawa turned to look at him intently. “They needed to be safe.” A sob built up in his throat. “I wanted them to know they would be safe.” The sob broke out from his chest, and thick globs of tears suddenly began pouring from his face. “But they’re not here.”
Aizawa’s lips parted in a heartbroken expression as he watched Izuku break. He reached over to place a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and angled his body to face the kid more fully. His other hand hovered unsurely, before he decided to reach over and catch Izuku’s far forearm in a gentle not quite a hug, but a loose hold.
The tragedy of this child exacerbated his own guilt, which must have shown on his face, because the now seventeen-year old still has tears flowing freely, but directed a sad smile at Shota.
Izuku laughed morosely and leaned into the hold, resting his head on Aizawa’s chest. Aizawa wasn’t sure what to do until Izuku let out a whispered “Hypocrite.” Aizawa elected to simply tighten his hold on the kid, making it closer to a hug.
They sat, breathing together as the sun began to ring in a new day, ignoring the desolate plain that was now illuminated by the beginnings of a golden light.
Shota couldn’t help but wonder where all the guilt ended. Would it just be them carrying the weight of a gone country for as long as they lived?
Belatedly, he responded to Midoriya.
“You’re right.”
He felt a hitch in the kid’s breathing, but Midoriya stayed where he was.
“For me, it’s the students and civilians who were my responsibility, both as a teacher and a hero.” Izuku raised his head, a retort on his lips, only to stop as he saw the man’s expression. He watched with his wide eyes as Aizawa looked at him with an almost soft expression. The man sighed, and continued. “As the heroes and teachers kept falling, those who remained also became my responsibility.”
Izuku’s eyes widened as Aizawa fully opened his expression for the first time, baring his raw emotions for all to see. Gently, Aizawa placed a hand on Midoriya’s cheek. “But kid, when does it end? When does the responsibility we feel for others prohibit the responsibility we have for ourselves? What you did was amazing. You saved the most important person you could have ever saved.” At Izuku’s tilt of confusion, he clarified. “You saved yourself. Midoriya, for as long as you are here, you won’t have failed.”
Midoriya’s eyes bored into Shota’s own. “Sensei… I want to help you too.” He smiled softly at the kid and shook his head. “You are allowed to care. Your desire to help, to save, is nothing short of astounding, but Midoriya, you’re my student, my kid. Don’t worry about me. I’ll take care of you, and make sure you are here. So long as you are here, I won’t have failed.”
The sun rose fully over the horizon, golden light filling the expanse for a moment. Izuku could see his awe at his teacher’s words, reflected back at him in the man’s eyes. And past his own reflection, lay Aizawa’s pure will and determination. Izuku understands. He doesn’t want Izuku to take care of him. He wants Izuku to let him take care of Izuku himself.
Aizawa will watch over him, protect him, and be there for him.
“We’re not all gone.” The man says.
Izuku’s shoulders relax, and a small smile forms on his face as he nods. “Right.”
He turns away from Aizawa to face the sun, breaking his hold, but now being shoulder-to-shoulder. “We both want to save people… so I guess I’ll have to be here for you to save me.”
Aizawa relaxes, and a similar smile breaks out on his face at Izuku’s acceptance of the claim he staked over his care, and the gentle push he gave Midoriya to tell him that Shota himself was not his responsibility. From here on out, Shota will take care of Izuku.
Feeling giving, he told the kid “I’ll be here too. We’ll save each other, okay?”
Izuku leaned his head on Aizawa’s shoulder. “Okay.”
Aizawa hummed and leaned into the kid in turn. The sky turned bright blue. There were no skyscrapers to block the view.