Chapter Text
Toshinori scanned the expanse of rubble that had once been a bank, steam rising from his trembling muscles. His left side ached, but he refused to grant himself the mercy of rest. This damned injured body hadn’t made it in time to stop the villains from collapsing the bank and the two neighboring buildings when they realized they were surrounded. Nor had he been there to hold up the structures while the other heroes evacuated the buildings. The least he could do was be here now to rescue the survivors trapped beneath the rubble.
He followed a clenched-jawed whimpering to a slab of concrete, under which a civilian was trapped. He was a businessman of some sort, judging by his ripped pinstriped suit, gray with concrete dust. His left leg was crushed by rubble, and when Toshinori tried to move it, he screamed.
“Sorry,” the man sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Toshinori grinned wide and reassuring. “You’re doing excellent, sir. Once I get you out of here, the paramedics will treat your pain as soon as possible. Have no fear!”
“All Might’s here,” he whispered, face pale and eyes glassy.
“Exactly! Now, are you ready for me to move this rock?”
The man didn’t blink, but he gave Toshinori an infinitesimal nod. Toshinori grit his teeth and hoisted the slab straight up. The man’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp. Toshinori rested the concrete on his back while he lifted the man in his arms. Immediate danger passed, he noticed once again his steaming, protesting muscles.
At his prime, he could have rescued twenty people in the time it took to save this one man.
With a single bound Toshinori was back at the medical tent, which had been hastily set up as close to the crime scene as was safely possible. He laid the businessman on a clean white sheet and told the doctor as much as he knew about his condition. The sheet was red beneath the man’s injured leg by the time he’d finished. Toshinori made to return to the rescue efforts—
—And was greeted by Detective Tsukauchi. He wasn’t smiling.
“Go home, All Might.”
Toshinori’s iconic smile twitched. “I’ve only been here six hours.”
“That’s an hour too long. You have to take care of yourself.”
“I can do more for these people,” Toshinori said, and made to push past him, only for Tsukauchi to grab him by the wrist.
“And then what? Save fewer people tomorrow? There are dozens of capable pros here, All Might. Come back in the morning. You need your rest.”
Tsukauchi had learned well from the doctors, so well he was starting to sound like them. The worst part was that Toshinori knew they all were right. The more he strained this once-natural form, the shorter and shorter he’d be able to use it.
He unclenched his fists, sighed, and excused himself to a dark alley where he could transform. Deflated, he leaned against the wall for a few minutes to catch his breath.
At least he’d saved a few dozen people before his pathetic condition had hobbled him for the day. At least that businessman would have a life ahead of him. Toshinori wasn’t so useless after all.
Exhaustion hit as he walked toward the Musutafu Train Station. It happened frequently when he overextended his power. The adrenaline of his hero work would wash away and he’d realize, suddenly and uncomfortably, that his body had demands of its own.
Toshinori dragged his feet through these suburban streets undisturbed by the nearby villain attack. He longed for the uncomfortable plastic train seat and the rest it offered.
Half-asleep, Toshinori almost tripped over the boy.
Small, green-haired, and freckled, the kid stood motionless in the middle of the sidewalk. He had a vacant look in his eye, not unlike the countless children Toshinori had rescued earlier that day and on innumerable days in the past. Fatigue forgotten, he rushed to the child’s side.
“Young man, what’s wrong?” Toshinori asked, taking his shoulders.
The child didn’t speak; he only raised a trembling finger toward the nearest apartment complex.
Toshinori took the kid’s hand and pulled him inside. Once indoors, the kid took the lead, and Toshinori followed him to an apartment on the second floor. The door stood slightly ajar, the sounds of a television soft inside.
Even without the pomp and circumstance of his hero form, Toshinori felt little fear. He pushed the door open to find— nothing wrong. The living room was dark with the setting sun; the TV was tuned to a broadcast of the rescue efforts, and a woman sat peacefully on the couch watching. Her hair was green, just like the boy who must have been her son. She didn’t even turn to look.
“Oh— I apologize for intruding, ma’am,” Toshinori said awkwardly. “Your son was outside the house, and…”
Toshinori trailed off. The woman still wasn’t answering him, and the child had left his side to tug on her skirt with little fists.
“Mama’s hurt!” the boy wailed.
Toshinori rushed to the young woman, and a look into her eyes confirmed the child’s fears. She stared blankly ahead, her face largely expressionless, though the right side of her mouth sagged downward as if in a slack-jawed frown. The top lid of her right eye drooped toward the bottom.
Toshinori whipped out his phone, dialing 119. He hardly waited for the operator to answer, before barking, “A woman may be having a stroke. I’m about to check for other symptoms. Please send an ambulance— young man, what’s the address?” The operator waited patiently as the child recited the address through his tears and Toshinori repeated it into the phone.
“Understood,” the operator said. “Please stay on the line and alert me if anything changes. Help is on the way.”
Toshinori put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, kneeling before the woman and putting on the best approximation of All Might’s iconic smile that he could in this form. “My name is Mr. Yagi. I know you must be a bit frightened by all this, but your son did an incredible job asking for help. Now, I need to ask you something. Are you able to raise your arms for me?”
As he spoke, a bit of life sparked in the woman’s left eye, and she lifted her arms. Her left arm rose with little issue; her right, though, barely rose off her lap.
“Thank you, ma’am. One final thing. Are you able to speak at all?”
The woman’s mouth opened, a horrid sight as it only made the right side of her face sag more. “I…. zu…… ku.”
“Izuku? Is that your son?”
The boy nodded, still clinging to his mother.
“That’s all I need from you, ma’am,” Toshinori said. “Thank you, now rest.” He picked up the phone. “It is almost certainly a stroke. Please, get here as fast as you can.”
“The ambulance is on its way,” the operator reassured.
Toshinori could throw the phone across the room. If only he hadn’t maxed out his use of One For All for the day, he could have taken Izuku in one arm and his mother in the other and leapt over the rooftops to the hospital, and they’d be there already.
All he could do now was gather information. “Izuku, when did your mother start acting like this?”
Izuku wailed louder. “I don’t know!”
“Was it dark or light outside?”
“Dark… ish,” he sniffled.
She couldn’t have been like this for more than an hour, then. He put a hand on the boy’s back. “Everything will be okay. The doctors will be here soon, and they’ll make your mom better.”
As if on cue, Toshinori heard the sirens in the distance. He breathed a sigh of relief; even with the villain attack so close, they’d made it quickly. In five more minutes, the paramedics were up the stairs, loading the woman onto a stretcher. This was normally when he would leave the scene, letting the more-qualified doctors handle the injured, but… But, there was the matter of the boy.
Toshinori ached as he forced Izuku’s fingers to unclench from his mother’s skirt, but the boy seemed to understand the importance of letting the doctors work. He reattached himself to Toshinori’s leg. The two followed the paramedics and the stretcher-bound woman out of the house and to the ambulance.
“In or out?” one of them barked.
The thought of leaving the boy alone didn’t even cross his mind.
The ambulance ride was loud with the terse orders of the doctors, the sobbing tears of the boy, and the screeching siren as they flew through the streets of Musutafu toward the General Hospital.
When they arrived, Toshinori took the boy in his arms and quickly hopped out of the ambulance, allowing the doctors to rush past them as they wheeled the woman through a set of doors into the hospital. Just as quickly as the rush of activity started, Toshinori was left standing alone holding a crying Izuku in an otherwise silent parking lot. He stroked the boy’s hair, looking about the lot.
It had been a whole month since he’d been in a hospital. He steeled his nerves.
“Come, Izuku. We’ll wait and see how your mother’s doing.”
He took the boy inside and approached the front desk. Unlike the lot outside, the inside of the hospital was hectic. Patients on gurneys were rushed from room to room as doctors yelled at each other to move out of the way. Toshinori pulled young Izuku’s face to his chest to shield his eyes as the very same businessman Toshinori had saved earlier that day was rushed by, his leg a crushed and twisted mess. He was conscious now, and Toshinori could do nothing to spare Izuku the sound of his agonized cries.
“Excuse me, ma’am—” Toshinori started, but the receptionist only raised a finger in Toshinori’s direction, silencing him as she ended a phone call.
“What?” she said eventually.
“I was hoping to know where the doctors took the woman who was just brought in—”
“Sir, on a normal day I might be able to answer that question. Does today look like a normal day to you?”
Toshinori winced. “You see, she’s this boy’s mother, and…”
The woman’s eyes softened. “Once I find out, I’ll tell you. What’s the family name?”
“Mi- Midoriya,” Izuku said. His tears had dried a little bit since Toshinori had picked him up, but his eyes were still wide and terrified.
“I’ll know when the doctors get around to updating the records. Until then, please have a seat.”
Toshinori obliged, moving Izuku to sit beside him. The boy immediately crawled back into his lap.
Toshinori sighed. “Do you have any family I can call? Anyone at all?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Auntie Mitsuki.”
“Do you know your aunt’s phone number?”
His face scrunched up. “Mama told me to remember it, but I don’t know all the numbers yet.”
Toshinori rubbed Izuku’s back, the exhaustion hitting once again despite the chaos all around. What was he to do with this child? Certainly they couldn’t stay here all night.
“I meant what I told your mother, you know,” Toshinori said eventually, his voice low. “You did an excellent job finding help. Because of you, I’m sure your mother will be just fine.”
Toshinori really shouldn’t make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.
Izuku remained on Toshinori’s lap for three hours, wide awake, Toshinori was sure, despite his own failing attempts to keep his eyes open. Eventually, a doctor approached.
“Mr. Midoriya?”
Toshinori snapped out of his half-sleep, standing with Izuku again in his arms.
“How is she?”
“Inko will be alright.”
The effect was instantaneous. Toshinori felt a grip on his heart loosen its hold, and Izuku burst into a fresh wave of tears.
“Thank God. And— thank you , Doctor..?”
“Asai,” she said. “Inko is asleep, so I suggest you go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow. I can debrief you then on her prognosis, but tonight—”
“—The villain attack. I understand.”
“I’m glad you do, Mr. Midoriya. Tomorrow, then.”
The doctor turned and left before he could even correct her. Well, then, there was only one thing Toshinori could do. As the lead hero on Izuku’s case, Toshinori was authorized by law to temporarily provide him shelter until he could find a suitable guardian. The boy’s wellbeing was in his hands, and after all, he did have a guest room.
“Where are you going?”
Toshinori stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t gone two steps before the receptionist, looking just as tired as him, called out.
“I’m taking the boy home?” he tried.
“Like hell. You referred to his mother as that woman . His mother. That child isn’t yours.”
Either the receptionist was particularly astute, or Toshinori was particularly tired. Why not both?
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I was merely passing by when young Izuku asked for my help. You see, I’m an off-duty hero, and this boy is without relatives I can contact, so just for the night, I was going to allow him to sleep at my house.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You’re a hero?? ”
The receptionist blinked, unimpressed. “Where’s your license?”
“I… don’t have it on me.” It was a lie, of course. Every respectable hero carried their license at all times. But what was Toshinori going to do? Whip out All Might’s hero license? “If you call Detective Tsukauchi of the Miyagi Prefecture Police Department, he’ll verify that I’m a hero.”
“Yes, perhaps it will be good to call the police.”
Toshinori sighed as the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed. Toshinori himself took out his cell phone and called Tsukauchi.
“Old friend,” he said, “how fast can you get to Musutafu General?”
Thirty minutes later, Tsukauchi arrived. The timing was perfect, really. The Musutafu police were about to rip Izuku out of his arms and perhaps arrest him for good measure when Tsukauchi walked through the door. He flashed his badge and assured everyone involved that Toshinori was in fact a hero and was therefore legally permitted to look after Izuku.
Five minutes later, Toshinori was in the back of Tsukauchi’s car with a sleeping Izuku strapped into the seat beside him. The kid had finally managed to pass out from exhaustion after all the day’s fear and excitement, and his head now rested on Toshinori’s lap.
“I’ve told you how many times to get a hero license for your true form?” Tsukauchi lectured, glancing at Toshinori in the rearview mirror.
“Please. Now isn’t the time.”
“The Hero Commission will allow you to do it.”
“Tsukauchi.”
The detective sighed. “That, or risk leaving a different kid behind.”
Tsukauchi dropped Toshinori and the kid off in front of the gate to his house. The name “Yagi” was inscribed on a plaque on the fence to the right, the only hint of pretension on the otherwise modest property. Izuku was still fast asleep, his little face nestled into Toshinori’s neck as the latter maneuvered his key into the lock with one hand. He deposited Izuku on the couch, one hand under his head to support it as he lowered him onto the pillow.
The boy’s eyes opened, half-lidded with sleep.
“Is it true you’re a hero?”
“Yes, my boy,” Toshinori smiled. “Are you hungry? I can make dinner.”
Toshinori hadn’t made dinner in years, and his own exhaustion was tempting to bring him to his knees, but the boy nodded, so he complied. Perhaps making dinner wasn’t the best word for it; he simply boiled cheap, packaged ramen in broth—a trick Nana had taught him when he was in high school. The boy loved every bite.
Through the hastily-made meal, Izuku hounded Toshinori with questions about his hero name, his Quirk, his missions. The poor kid could hardly keep his eyes open and his head from nodding into his ramen. Still, Toshinori had to demand he focus on eating and not talking until he listened.
The boy finally got the hint. Toshinori dodged the questions he did ask anyway. He’d had years of practice at it with the country’s most highly-esteemed reporters; what was a child’s prying curiosity compared to that?
After they ate, Toshinori led Izuku to his guest room and tucked him into the bed. It was hardly a room fit for a child. Izuku could have drowned in the queen-sized bed. As Toshinori patted down the covers tight around him, the expression on the boy’s face shifted.
“What’s wrong, Izuku?” Toshinori asked.
The boy scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head.
“Your mother will be alright.” He brushed green strands of hair off the child’s forehead. “The doctors wouldn’t say so if they weren’t sure of it.”
Izuku nodded and whispered, “Goodnight, Mr. Yagi. Thank you.”
The next morning, after rubbery eggs and burnt toast that did not seem to faze Izuku whatsoever, they returned to the hospital. It was quieter today, the lights not quite so harshly bright as they’d been the night before—though that may have been thanks to the sleep Toshinori’d finally managed to get, long after he’d put Izuku to bed.
Despite the exhaustion that had been weighing him down for hours, Toshinori had found it hard to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. In his quarter-century of hero work, Toshinori had never found himself in this situation. After all, in his quarter-century of hero work, he’d never rescued anyone as Toshinori, the unrecognizable civilian. Two years ago, he may have stayed with the child until the police took him off his hands. Now, he couldn’t bear to leave him within the cold walls of a hospital or police station.
He’d reflected extensively on how much he’d changed in the year and a half since his decisive fight with All For One. It was hard not to—living without a stomach, down a lung, his true form growing more and more emaciated by the month. No, Toshinori thought constantly about the physical changes he’d undergone. He hadn’t realized that perhaps some of those changes were emotional too.
Dr. Asai greeted them in the lobby after they checked in with the receptionist. She debriefed Toshinori as they walked toward Inko’s room:
“Mrs. Midoriya suffered an ischemic stroke to the left hemisphere of her brain, meaning that a blood clot restricted the flow of oxygen to that area. Luckily, blood-thinning medication was able to clear the clot, and we didn’t have to perform surgery. However, she still suffered some brain damage, so strength and range of motion on the right side of her body is diminished, and she’s been diagnosed with moderate to severe apraxia of speech and mild anomic aphasia. That means she’ll have some trouble with motor planning for speech and word finding, though given the brain’s ability to spontaneously recover after a stroke, it’s too soon to tell how impaired her speech and movement will be in the long run. Rehabilitation will start today after she’s had more time to rest, however the prognosis varies drastically from case to case. We’ll know more in the days to come.”
“But she’ll live?” Toshinori asked, clutching young Izuku’s hand.
“She’ll live,” Dr. Asai smiled. “We believe we began treatment within a couple hours of the stroke’s onset, so while she may experience some difficulties with recovery, any life-threatening danger has passed.”
“Recovery difficulties?”
“The sooner a stroke is treated, the greater the chance of full recovery. After two hours, the brain damage can be moderate to severe. Again, I must stress that everyone recovers at different rates. Patients treated after two and a half hours can make a full recovery, just as patients whose strokes are caught early may never regain movement in certain limbs or the language and motor skills necessary for speech. It truly varies, drastically, from case to case.”
Toshinori nodded, wishing he hadn’t asked in front of Izuku. The boy was clearly trying to keep a brave look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a grim line. Toshinori wondered where he’d learned that grit. He squeezed the boy’s hand again and smiled down at him.
“Your mother will be just fine.”
Dr. Asai left them at the door. Inko seemed hardly awake, looking wearily up as Toshinori and Izuku entered the room. The left side of her face lit up when she saw her son, and she reached her left arm toward him.
“Mama!” Izuku cried, letting go of Toshinori to launch himself at her.
“Gentle—” Toshinori started, but Inko didn’t seem at all hurt by the bundle of relieved energy that landed on her lap.
Toshinori wondered if the kid had some sort of bouncing Quirk.
Inko stroked Izuku’s hair, sobbing into his green locks as he cried into her shoulder. Toshinori fidgeted, not wanting to leave but feeling like an intruder in this intimate moment between mother and son. So, he sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair by the side of the room, gazing out the window if only to give the family some scrap of privacy.
After a couple minutes, Inko looked up, locking eyes with Toshinori. Her eye expressed gratitude, and he smiled.
“Ma’am, I’d like to call your family, let them know you’re alright and get Izuku home. Would you mind lending me your phone?”
Inko nodded, gesturing to the pile of clothes in the chair next to him. He dug through it as respectfully as he could, retrieving a cell phone. Inko typed in her passcode, and Toshinori scrolled through the contacts until he arrived at a name he recognized.
“Your son said to contact Bakugou Mitsuki?”
Inko nodded, and Toshinori hit dial. Bakugou answered on the third ring.
“Inko!” the voice said on the other end. “First sirens keeping us up till all hours of the night, now you calling at hardly the asscrack of dawn? When’s a woman supposed to sleep?”
“Is this Mrs. Bakugou?”
“Who the hell is this?”
“My name is Yagi Toshinori. I want to let you know that your sister and nephew are alright. You have no need to fear.”
“What sister and nephew?” Bakugou interjected, as Toshinori took a breath to continue. His brow furrowed, and Inko looked at him with a sparkle in her eye. It heartened Toshinori a bit.
“Are Izuku and Mrs. Midoriya not your family?”
“You tell me right now what the fuck happened to them.”
“Now I’m confused,” Toshinori managed.
Inko had the nerve to laugh. She waved her hand as if to say go on , before burying it back in Izuku’s hair.
“Ma’am, last night Mrs. Midoriya had a stroke—”
“ What? ”
“—she’s currently being held at Musutafu General. She’s awake and alert, and the doctors say she’s out of life-threatening danger.”
“Hold on, I’ll be right over. HONEY! TAKE KATSUKI TO SCHOOL FOR ME! ”
The line clicked, dead.
“Your sister— erm. Your not-sister. She has personality.”
Inko chucked again.
“You’re still struggling with speech, I presume?”
“The doctors will help with that, I’m sure.”
They fell into silence. Toshinori’s career depended on him being able to calm panicked civilians in times of crisis, yet the hospital scene had never been his forte. He could reassure hostages they’d be alright, calm people trapped beneath buildings, and negotiate with hostile villains without breaking a sweat. Yet, in the calm of a sterile hospital room, Toshinori found himself speechless.
Izuku raised his head. “Mama, did you know that Mr. Yagi is a real life hero?”
Inko nodded, gazing fondly at her boy.
“He didn’t tell me his hero name, though. He says it’s a secret! Mr. Yagi, will you tell Mama at least?”
Toshinori chucked. “No, young man. I don’t think either of you would find my hero name all that interesting. I’m an underground hero, you see. You wouldn’t have heard of me.”
“That’s why I want to know!” Izuku said, eyes shining. “I want to know all the heroes! And underground heroes are the coolest! At least tell me your Quirk. Pretty please?”
Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just a simple strength-enhancing Quirk.”
“Wow, kind of like All Might!”
Jeez, the kid was relentless.
“I suppose so, yes. Though nobody knows exactly what All Might’s Quirk is.”
“All Might is my favorite hero!” Izuku said. “I want to be a hero just like him when I grow up!”
“You have the heart and courage for it, kiddo,” Toshinori said.
Izuku beamed, and Inko buried her face in his hair.
Bakugou arrived ten minutes later, nearly slamming the door off its hinges as she burst into the room.
“Inko!” She ignored Toshinori, sweeping Inko and Izuku alike into a bear hug. “Jeez, why the hell didn’t anyone call sooner? That ambulance last night was for you ? You’re giving me a heart attack.”
Inko laughed and leaned into the hug.
“Mrs. Bakugou, In— Mrs. Midoriya is having issues speaking, so if you’d like I can fill you in.”
Bakugou broke the hug and gave Toshinori a once-over.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Erm— I’m Yagi, the man you spoke to on the phone?”
“Yeah, but who the hell are you? You sure aren’t dressed like a doctor.”
“No, ma’am, I’m the one who called for help. Izuku alerted me that something was wrong with his mother, and—you see, I’m an off-duty hero, and—I would have called sooner if we were allowed to see Mrs. Midoriya last night, but—”
Toshinori had faced countless evils with a smile, but found himself cowering under Bakugou’s glare. What a strange group of people he’d encountered.
Bakugou gave Toshinori another once-over. “ You’re a hero?”
Inko slapped her, as heat rose to Toshinori’s face. He knew how he looked.
“Anyway, now that you’re here, I’ll leave Izuku to you,” Toshinori said. “Can I ask how you’re related, if you aren’t his aunt?”
“Related? Inko’s my oldest friend. That makes me Izuku’s auntie!” She ruffled his hair.
Toshinori looked to Inko, eyebrows raised, and she nodded.
“In that case, I bid you farewell—”
Izuku looked up, and as fast as he’d sprung onto his mother, he jumped back into Toshinori’s arms. Toshinori staggered back.
“No, don’t leave!” Izuku cried. “Don’t go, Mr. Yagi!”
Toshinori felt something clench, then soften in his chest. He took young Izuku beneath the arms, holding him out from his body to look in his eyes. “Izuku, you have been so very brave from the moment I met you. I have hero work I need to get back to. Can I trust you to do a good job taking care of your mother once I’m gone?”
Izuku sniffled and nodded.
“Thank you,” Toshinori said. “Inko, may I put my number in your phone? If there’s anything you need, anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me.”
Inko nodded her gratitude, and after checking and double-checking that the number he entered was correct and ruffling Izuku’s hair one last time, Toshinori took his leave.
If he felt a little sad leaving the boy, even with his family—well, nobody had to know.
* * *
Two days later, after the rubble from the Musutafu villain attack had been cleared of survivors, Toshinori received a call from an unknown number. Normally, he didn’t answer his phone. The only people who called this number were Tsukauchi and telemarketers; he hadn’t spoken to Nighteye or Gran Torino since shortly after his injury, and Gran Torino preferred letters anyway. But Toshinori still had young Izuku and his mother at the forefront of his mind, and the hope that this was Inko’s number—and the dread that it was someone else, calling to tell him the unthinkable had happened to her—drove him to answer.
“Yagi!”
It was Bakugou’s voice on the other end of the line, and Toshinori forced his heart not to race. Inko wouldn’t be able to speak well yet, of course he shouldn’t have expected it to be her.
“What’s wrong? Is Mrs. Midoriya alright?”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s still in the hospital, no changes. It’s Izuku.”
“What happened to him? Is he okay?” Without noticing, Toshinori had inflated into his muscle form—which was ridiculous, since Bakugou and the Midoriyas didn’t know him as All Might.
Bakugou laughed. “He’s fine, Yagi.” She sobered. “He’s having some troubles adjusting to living with me. He won’t stop asking for you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Toshinori’s mouth, and he did his best to keep his expression neutral. “I’ll be right over.”
Izuku flung himself at Yagi the moment Mitsuki let him through the door. She lived in the apartment building next to the Midoriyas. The interior of her house had been identical to Inko’s when they’d both moved in within a month of each other. Now, after five years, they looked so drastically different, each taking on the personality of its inhabitants. Inko’s was full of green living things and All Might posters in Izuku’s room; Mitsuki’s with trinkets, pictures, and mementos; plastic dishes had replaced the good ceramic ones when she’d realized Katsuki took particular pleasure in smashing them.
“Hello again, young man,” Yagi laughed, bringing a hand down to Izuku’s hair. He was a strange-looking man to be a hero, his frame so tall and thin he’d surely topple over if Mitsuki so much as breathed in his direction. His face was gaunt, but his smile seemed genuine. Didn’t stop her from being suspicious, though.
“Mr. Yagi!” Izuku said. “It was so nice at your house! Can I live with you?”
Yagi looked at Mitsuki, eyebrows raised, but she just sighed.
“It’s not the first time he’s asked,” she said. Mitsuki lowered her voice. “He and my son, Katsuki, they… They’re friends, but they need their space.” It was true enough, even if Inko’d expressed her concerns about how Katsuki spoke to her son. Even if Izuku sometimes showed up with inexplicable burns on his arms, no matter how many times Mitsuki scolded her child. It would be better, she knew, for Izuku not to stay with her family. “Now, I don’t expect you to let Izuku live with you, I don’t like the idea whatsoever, but—”
“He can live with me.” Yagi seemed as surprised by the words as Mitsuki. “I mean, of course, I understand your concern. I’m a strange man you don’t know, and I’m busy, after all. In fact, I’m probably overstepping—perhaps I should go—”
But Izuku clung to his pants, and buried his head in his knee, and Yagi looked down at him, his eyes softening.
“But I can take care of him,” Yagi said softly. “If you’d like, until his mother is out of the hospital. He will be well cared for.”
Mitsuki watched him ramble, the suspicion in her brow loosening ever so slightly as he spoke. She looked down at Izuku, clutching so tightly onto his leg, then back up at the hero.
“Yagi, I’d like to believe you’re a good man, but you’ll understand my suspicion.”
“Of course.”
“He seems to like you quite a bit, probably because the kid’s hopped up on hero worship. Still, Izuku wanting to stay with you speaks for something.” Mitsuki placed a set of keys in Yagi’s palm. “You’ll be watching him in his own house, and I’ll be checking in on the two of you at least once a day. You will take him to school in the mornings and pick him up in the afternoons, and if anything—and I mean anything —goes slightly wrong, I’m the first person you’ll call. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Yagi said, looking at the keys with a certain reverence usually reserved for saints.
Mitsuki led them to the Midoriya apartment. She gave Yagi the general tour, then sat him on the couch and lectured him not to rummage through the medicine cabinet, or Inko’s underwear drawer, or any other pervy place. She told him everything she knew about caring for Izuku: where he went to school, what he liked to eat, how he spent his free time. Izuku took advantage of Yagi’s seated position to climb up toward his shoulders and grab ahold of his hair, something that Yagi seemed largely unbothered by.
“And that’s it. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?”
Mitsuki could have laughed. The man looked petrified, little Izuku hanging off his long bangs like he was trying to rock climb. She’d seen that look before on her own husband; she was sure she’d worn it herself: I have a child. Now what? Seeing that expression on Yagi’s face was almost enough to convince her to trust him.
“You’ll do just fine. I’ll be back!”
She slammed the door in Yagi’s face.
* * *
“Now that Auntie Mitsuki’s gone you can tell me all about your hero work!” young Izuku said. “And maybe you can take me to work with you too! And you can tell me all about your Quirk— oh!”
Izuku hopped down from Toshinori’s lap, and Toshinori rubbed at his scalp as if to ascertain that the kid hadn’t pulled his bangs out. Izuku ran down the hall and then back, clutching a small red All Might notebook to his chest.
“Mr. Yagi?” he said. “Can- can I show you something?”
For the first time since they’d met, the kid seemed almost shy. He looked down at Toshinori’s feet, as if meeting his eye was too much effort. As if afraid of what he’d see in his gaze.
“Of course, young man. You can show me anything.”
Izuku handed Toshinori the notebook. On the front were the words, “Analysis for wen im a Hero.” The word “Analysis” was written in a practiced hand; Inko’s, Toshinori guessed. He flipped the book open. On the first page was a crude crayon drawing of his own muscle form. “ALL MIGHT” was emblazoned above in blue crayon. Surrounding his form were more notes in Izuku’s handwriting: “He can jump far and punch hard;” “Strenth-inhansing Quirk?;” “Silvr era cape!;” “Cuntrols Quirk well becuz theres not alot of damij to bildings;” and so on.
Turning the pages, Toshinori found more drawings of other heroes: Endeavor, Best Jeanist, and other top pros, but also a few heroes that Toshinori wasn’t familiar with, perhaps underground or start-up heroes that the boy would have had to go digging to find information on.
“You analyze heroes and their Quirks,” Toshinori said. “Not just their Quirks, but their fighting styles too.” He looked up from the notebook to see Izuku still looking anywhere but at him. “This is wonderful, kid.”
Izuku finally looked into his eyes. What he saw in Toshinori’s expression must have been good, because the boy beamed and wrapped Toshinori in another hug.
“I’m so glad you like it!” Izuku said. “I worked really hard learning to spell so that I could write my notes on my own! And I don’t just analyze their Quirks and how they fight! I analyze the amount of damage they do with their signature moves, and the amount of people who get hurt in their fights, and how many people they rescue and how many villains they catch! When Endeavor is fighting on TV, you know that he’s going to catch more villains but save less people! But All Might always saves people first! That’s why he’s my favorite! Have you seen the video of when he saved over a hundred people in thirty minutes? I watch it every day!”
Toshinori couldn’t stop the child from dragging him to the computer and playing the video of his debut at full volume. He’d never actually watched the video, though he knew it was readily available online. In the decades before his injury, it seemed narcissistic at best, watching himself speak those now-iconic lines: “It’s alright now. Why? Because I am here!”
Now, it just made him sad.
“Izuku, would you like to go visit your mother?” Toshinori managed through a tight throat after the video had ended. Izuku’s smile, already wide from watching All Might’s first victory, managed to crack even wider.
“It’s lovely seeing you again, Mrs. Midoriya.”
Inko nodded at him with a smile. Toshinori couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if the right side of her face was already improving. Her eye seemed a bit more open, her mouth able to curve upward ever so slightly. This must have been the spontaneous recovery the doctor was talking about.
“Did Bakugou tell you about our arrangement?”
Inko nodded again, raising her phone off her lap.
“And you’re okay with it?”
Toshinori laughed weakly. “Yes, I am a hero, and your boy seems to be quite the fanboy.”
“ No ,” Inko said, each syllable a struggle. “ Our ..... he..ro.”
Something in that, whether it was her tone, or the effort she put into the words, or perhaps the words themselves… Something in that blurred Toshinori’s vision, until he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. He hoped Inko wouldn’t notice the tear tracks on his face when he returned.
Toshinori spent the rest of the day placating Izuku’s every want and need. They talked heroes for hours (Toshinori still refused to tell him about his hero work). He did his best job cooking Nana’s katsudon recipe for lunch (it turned out burnt). In the afternoon, he took Izuku to a local park. There were kids around, but Izuku chose to hang around Toshinori instead. He pushed him on the swings as the boy continued ranting about the heroes he liked, and wondering aloud about Toshinori’s Quirk.
“You’re so spindly for a pro-hero, Mr. Yagi! We learned that word in school: it means your arms and legs are long and thin like a spider! But I know not to judge by how someone looks. You have a strength-enhancing Quirk just like All Might! Sure, he looks all muscly, but someone with muscles that big who didn’t have his Quirk wouldn’t be able to change the weather with one punch! I think your Quirk must be just as cool as All Might’s if you’re able to be a hero without any muscles at all, right? Your Quirk must make you at least a hundred times stronger than you look! I’d have to see you punch something to know how strong you are. You know what, I think it’s even cooler that you’re a spindly pro! The bad guys don’t even know you’re coming. Oh my gosh! Is that why you’re an underground hero? So that the bad guys won’t know that you’re super strong?!”
As he spoke and spoke, Toshinori wondered whether he had an analysis Quirk.
“How old are you?” he finally asked, when Izuku stopped for breath.
“Six!” he said.
Yes, certainly an analysis Quirk.
That night, after they’d returned to the house, Bakugou stopped by carrying takeout. She took one look at the leftover katsudon on the counter and hmph ed.
“I figured you wouldn’t know how to cook.” She thrust the takeout into his arms.
“Erm, thanks.”
They ate together, the three of them, as Bakugou drilled Toshinori for the details of their day. He and an ever-enthusiastic Izuku took turns telling her all about their time at the hospital and the park and every moment in between until Bakugou seemed satisfied that Toshinori hadn’t tried selling Izuku on the black market or anything.
By the time she left, it was Izuku’s bedtime.
“You have school tomorrow,” Toshinori said when the boy protested.
“But—!”
“No buts! You need to be well rested if you want to get good grades and become a hero.”
That got the kid to listen. Toshinori mentally patted himself on the back. Maybe this whole guardianship thing wouldn’t be so hard.
Toshinori tucked Izuku into bed yet again, smoothing the covers around him and ruffling his hair. Once again, like the first night, something shifted in Izuku’s expression as Toshinori turned to leave.
“What’s wrong?”
Again, Izuku shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Are you still worried about your mother?”
It was a stupid question. Izuku nodded, hesitant.
“You have nothing to fear,” Toshinori said. “I will make sure the two of you are alright. You don’t have to worry about me leaving until your mother is able to take care of you on her own again.”
The relief in Izuku’s expression nearly brought Toshinori to tears for the second time that day.
The next morning, after Toshinori had dropped Izuku off at Aldera Elementary, he changed into his hero costume, donned his muscle form, and made his way to check in with his agency. Luckily, he was All Might, which meant his employees had no choice but to accept his excuses and apologies, though no mention was made of the child of whom he’d somehow managed to become the guardian.
Speaking of which, as Toshinori made his rounds that day, beaming at citizens and signing autographs, he made sure to stop by the Hero Commission and put in a special request for a hero license for his true form. The head readily granted his request, and by the end of the day he had a freshly printed license for the hero Spindly, whose Quirk, Multiply, allowed his muscles to function at one hundred times their mass.
“You’re certain you want the name Spindly?” the head of the Commission had asked.
“I’m sure,” Toshinori said.
It wasn’t the worst hero name he’d ever heard.
Izuku beamed when Toshinori picked him up from school that day, and when Toshinori asked him about his day he didn’t take a breath before diving into another Quirk rant. This time, it was about the Quirks that were starting to manifest in his classmates:
“—one of them has wings! He’s a heteromorph so he’s had them all his life. I’m so jealous, it’s such a cool Quirk! But Kacchan’s Quirk came in last year. He can make explosions with the sweat on his hands! His sweat is like ni— nitroglyph—”
“Nitroglycerin?”
“Yeah! It’s such a cool and strong Quirk! He wants to be a hero someday too! I can’t wait until my Quirk comes in, and then I’ll see just how hard I need to work to be a cool hero like Kacchan and All Might!”
“Your Quirk hasn’t manifested yet?”
Izuku frowned. “No. But it’s not too late! Some Quirks don’t even come until you’re seven . My mama can pull small objects to her and my dada can breathe fire, so my Quirk will probably be one of those! I’ve tried doing both, but nothing’s happened. I’ve even thought that maybe it’s a mix of the two, so I’ve had mama light a candle for me and tried pulling the fire to me or just controlling it.” Izuku shrugged. “My Quirk just hasn’t come yet. But I’m gonna keep trying until it does!”
There was a test for Quirklessness, Toshinori knew. A simple one, really, that he’d received in his own youth once he hit seven. It was a bit of an irrational fear of his, that at some point someone would x-ray his feet and wonder why on earth All Might, the natural-born Symbol of Peace and country’s top hero, had two joints in his little toe.
Toshinori had seen all sorts of evil in his decades of being a hero. Perhaps he had encouraged Izuku’s hero fantasy too soon.
Bakugou stopped by that night with more takeout and a small, blond child holding her hand. The child was introduced as Katsuki, and he sat beside Izuku at the table.
“So you’re the loser old man who’s watching Deku, huh?”
“Kacchan!”
Bakugou only laughed.
Jeez. So it ran in the family.
“Deku?” Toshinori asked, electing to ignore the old man comment. He wasn’t that old.
“That’s what Kacchan calls me,” Izuku said.
“I could read way before Deku,” Katsuki boasted. “And you can read the first kanji of his name like ‘Deku.’ So that’s what I call him!”
Toshinori looked to Bakugou, eyebrows raised. Calling someone deku wasn’t exactly the nicest childhood nickname. Bakugou only shrugged.
“Boys being boys,” she said.
“You know,” Toshinori said, “to me, ‘Deku’ sounds like ‘you can do it.’”
Izuku’s eyes widened, just as Katsuki’s narrowed.
“Useless Deku doesn’t even have a Quirk yet. He can’t do anything until he has one.”
“His Quirk will develop with time, I’m sure. In this day and age, Quirklessness is incredibly rare. He has nothing to worry about.”
That, at least, was Toshinori’s hope. If the boy really did want to be a hero as much as he believed he did, he would need a Quirk to survive. And One For All… no, Toshinori had much to consider before choosing a successor, something that was becoming inevitable the longer he worked with this injured body of his.
After the Bakugous left, Izuku went about his nightly routine a bit more quietly than usual. A few pieces were starting to fit together. Like why the boy had been so scared to show Toshinori his analysis notebook, and why he’d looked so hopeful when Toshinori told him he had the qualities of a hero.
“Mr. Yagi?” Izuku asked, voice small. “Do you think that— do you think even if my Quirk never comes in, I can still be a hero?”
Izuku was such a bright boy, bright enough it could be a Quirk. He was fierce and strong and courageous as the best of them. He was a survivor, proven by the belittling he’d taken from his best friend perhaps for years, and by the teary-eyed but hopeful way he’d kept moving forward these past few days Toshinori had known him.
But Toshinori’d also watched an evil so great it had once overtaken the country rise up against his master and slay her before his eyes. An evil that, granted, was now defeated, but not without carving a hole into his side and putting a slow end to his time as the Symbol of Peace.
“Your Quirk will manifest,” Toshinori reassured him. “You’ll be a great hero one day.”
Izuku nodded solemnly. Perhaps Toshinori would come to regret those words. Yes, he really had to stop making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.
On Tuesday, Toshinori took Izuku to visit his mother after school. The doctors said she was going through intense therapy, but aside from some movement restored to her face and a slight improvement in her speech, there hadn’t been much progress.
They stayed with her through dinner, and Inko laughed as Izuku insisted on spoon-feeding her despite her working left arm. Happy as Inko seemed, the portions looked so meager and sad that they gave Toshinori an idea—
Which was why on Wednesday, he had a heavy grocery bag waiting on the kitchen counter when he picked Izuku up from school.
“Oooh! What did you buy?” Izuku asked, bouncing up and down.
“I thought we could do something nice for your mom.” He took out the ingredients: flour, sugar, butter, baking soda, and baking powder.
“Are we making her a cake?!” Izuku squeaked.
“Close— cookies.”
“Oh my gosh! Mama loves cookies!”
“Don’t we all?”
They got started, Toshinori bringing a chair to the counter so Izuku could help mix the ingredients. Toshinori couldn’t cook—no, the past few days had proven that sad fact—but he could bake. Nana had made sure of it. It was a hazard of being her successor; she didn’t know how to cook either. The few nights Toshinori had spent at her place, they’d subsisted off of frozen dinners, delivery, and ramen boiled in broth. But Nana had had a sweet tooth, and Toshinori made it his priority to follow in her footsteps, to learn to bake.
The recipe was fairly simple, and Toshinori showed Izuku how to sift the flour, soften the butter in the microwave, and measure out the sugar. He and Izuku took turns blending the butter and sugar until it was smooth.
It was a difficult task without a hand blender, and Izuku wasn't exactly much help with his six-year-old muscles, but eventually they managed it.
"Look here," said Toshinori. He dipped a finger into the butter-sugar mixture and popped it into his mouth, just as Nana had done all those years ago, opening Toshinori's eyes forever to the possibilities.
Izuku copied him, dipping not one but two fingers into the bowl and licking them clean. Watching his eyes widen and shine with wonder was like reliving the moment himself all over again. Toshinori laughed.
"That's so good!"
And then Toshinori had to act fast to stop Izuku from double-dipping right back into the bowl.
"Enough, enough. Jeez, you won't have any room left for the actual cookies, kid!"
But the next time Toshinori turned around, he found Izuku suspiciously licking his fingers.
Next to do was mixing in the flour/baking soda/baking powder mixture that they'd prepared beforehand. Izuku held a look of utmost concentration on his face—his little tongue sticking out to the side—as he carefully poured a bit of the mixture into the butter-sugar bowl. Toshinori mixed, the flimsy whisk hard-pressed to blend the ingredients together as they thickened.
He swapped for a regular fork.
After the dough was mixed, he and Izuku squished it into fifteen or so little balls, placing them two inches apart across two baking sheets. Toshinori made Izuku stand back as he placed them into the pre-heated oven.
He poured the kid a glass of milk while they waited.
“We can bring these right over to your mother after they’re done. If we get there quick, I bet we can give them to her warm.”
Izuku beamed.
Fifteen minutes later, the cookies were out of the oven and cool enough to try. Izuku took a tentative bite.
“Wow! These are amazing! Mama’s cookies are always so burnt!”
Toshinori laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Perhaps Izuku had only pretended not to notice his abysmal cooking.
Dr. Asai yelled at him of course. It wasn’t against the rules to bring food to a hospital patient, but that didn’t prevent him from getting a good scolding for bringing sugar cookies, of all things—did he know how much butter was in one of those things, it’s like he wanted to give her even more cardiovascular issues, the nerve.
So Inko only ended up getting to eat one of the cookies. But the way she smiled at Izuku and Toshinori made it worth it.
* * *
The nights were hardest for Izuku, Toshinori soon realized. Every night as he tucked the boy in bed, there was a small moment when Izuku would look at him strangely, as if wanting to ask something but being too afraid to do it.
It was fear for his mother, Toshinori was sure. Fears seemed greater in the dark, as if the monsters lurking inside the heart could take physical form and hide beneath beds. Toshinori wished he could tell young Izuku that even adults—even pro heroes—feared the dark. He wished he could tell him about the nights he’d spent alone at the hospital, unable to sleep for fear he wouldn’t wake up.
It would be too much for a child to bear.
So when that Friday night, Toshinori jolted awake on the couch to the sound of screaming, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He allowed himself to deflate, as he’d instinctively transformed into his muscle form, and jogged to Izuku’s room. The boy flailed in his sleep, screaming for his mother. Toshinori rushed to his side, turning on the lamp and shaking Izuku until he finally woke, his eyes flying open, wide and frightened.
Izuku blinked, his gaze dragging wildly across the room until it landed on Toshinori’s worried expression. Izuku’s face scrunched, and he buried his head into Toshinori’s chest, sobbing loudly. Toshinori rubbed the boy’s back, shushing his tears as best he could.
“It’s alright, your nightmares aren’t real,” Toshinori reassured. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”
Izuku trembled and hiccupped beneath his hands, but he nodded. “Mama was taken by a villain, and there were no heroes to help her, and she— she—” He burst into a fresh wave of tears. “I wanted to save her but I don’t have a Quirk and I couldn’t!”
“But you did, young Izuku. You did save your mother. It’s because of you that she’s okay, and that she’ll be coming home soon. What happened to you was very scary. I know you went outside to look for heroes, and I know they were all too busy helping save people from the villain attack. But you did what you could for your mother, and you found me. That’s all you had to do.”
Izuku sobbed harder, the front of Toshinori’s pajamas dampening.
“What if you weren’t there, Mr. Yagi?” he whispered.
Toshinori didn’t want to think of the possibilities. What if young Izuku, full of hero worship as he was, hadn’t found a hero? What if he, in his shock, hadn’t thought to knock on neighbors’ doors or call an ambulance himself?
“But I was,” Toshinori whispered. “You don’t have to worry. I was there.”
Eventually, Izuku quieted. He let go of Toshinori’s shirt and allowed him to wipe his eyes and tuck him back into bed. Toshinori had turned off the light and was about to close the door behind him, when he heard Izuku call his name in a small voice.
“Yes, Izuku?”
“Um. Sometimes, when I get nightmares, Mama will let me sleep in her bed.”
“You can go sleep in her bed, if you’d like.”
“Well, I don’t know if it would be the same without Mama. Can you sleep in Mama’s bed with me?”
Toshinori hoped the kid couldn’t see his eyebrows rise practically to his hairline. But who was he to refuse?
“Of course.”
So, Izuku led him to Inko’s room, which Toshinori had left entirely untouched since his arrival. The boy curled up under the covers and looked at Toshinori (standing awkwardly in the doorway) with wide, expecting eyes until he sighed and climbed into bed beside him. Izuku didn’t hesitate to curl up against Toshinori’s side, and after a moment, Toshinori placed a tentative arm around the boy, as if he could shield him from the dark.
Toshinori slept deeper, dreamed sweeter, and woke warmer than he had in decades.
* * *
They lived like this for almost another week. Toshinori would drop Izuku off at school before spending the morning and early afternoon doing hero work. It worked out well, since Toshinori couldn’t patrol in his muscle form for more than five hours without straining himself anyway. He’d pick the boy up around 2:30, and either Izuku would do homework and entertain himself around the house as Toshinori made dismal attempts at cooking dinner, or they’d go visit Inko. Ever since that Friday night, Izuku would always insist that Toshinori sleep beside him. Toshinori couldn’t help but wonder if it was at all appropriate, whether Bakugou would beat him and send him away if she found out. But it was what Izuku wanted, and even with Toshinori beside him, there were times he trembled with nightmares until Toshinori rubbed his back and whispered reassurances in his ear.
On Wednesday, Inko was scheduled to come home.
Toshinori took Tuesday off hero work to make sure the house was prepared for her arrival. He cleaned the kitchen and living room, dusted her room and washed her bedsheets, and made sure all of Izuku’s laundry was washed and folded.
Wednesday, both he and the boy took the day off to welcome Inko home. Toshinori drove Izuku and Bakugou to the hospital, thanking Dr. Asai for all her work and receiving a list of prescriptions and therapy appointments.
“Make sure that you stay on top of your recovery,” Dr. Asai addressed Inko. “The first three months see the most healing, so give it your all.”
Inko nodded from where she sat in her wheelchair, her mouth in a grim line. “Take....um— thank … you.”
Asai nodded and handed Toshinori a phone number. “That’s to hire an in-house nurse. At this point in her recovery, Mrs. Midoriya should not be left alone, and she will need support doing everyday tasks. Whenever you are out of the house, a nurse should be with her.”
Toshinori nodded. He wouldn’t need the number; he’d already hired someone for the job—the same nurse who’d taken care of him for months after his injury.
They loaded Inko and the scant belongings she had with her into the car. Toshinori and Bakugou had to work together to lift her from the wheelchair and place her into the back seat, where Izuku cuddled up beside her.
“Young man,” said Toshinori, “I know you’re excited, but you have to sit in your car seat.”
Izuku pouted but let Toshinori strap him into the car seat he’d bought when he realized he’d be taking the boy to school every day. Izuku played with Toshinori’s bangs as he was buckled in, a soft smile on Toshinori’s face. He didn’t catch the soft-eyed, quizzical look that Inko cast in his direction.
Toshinori bustled through the kitchen, throwing apprehensive glances at Inko as he tossed ingredients into a pot in an attempt at dinner. “Anything you need,” he’d told her, “just ask.” She hadn’t said much since they’d arrived home, only thanked him for every little thing he’d done. He understood, of course, that speaking was difficult for her, but it didn’t make him any less antsy.
He seemed to be the only one anxious, at least. Izuku hadn’t left his mother’s side since she’d been home. Despite Toshinori’s warnings to be gentle, Izuku had climbed his mother’s wheelchair like a jungle gym and sat in her lap the moment Toshinori had parked it in the living room. Inko didn’t seem to mind; she’d only grinned and ruffled her son’s hair. Toshinori had sighed, realizing just from whom Izuku had inherited his rebellious streak.
Dinner was quiet. By the time it was ready, Inko’s eyes were threatening to shut, but that didn’t stop her from spooning Toshinori’s miscellaneous noodle soup into her mouth without asking for help.
The first bite, she couldn’t hide her grimace. “S-salty.”
Ah, yes. That. Toshinori cast a playful glare at Izuku: “You told me you liked my soup.”
Izuku shrugged.
“Traitor,” Toshinori muttered. That got a laugh out of Inko.
Inko needed considerable help getting ready for bed. Toshinori averted his gaze as he helped her on and off the toilet, and out of her hospital gown and into her pajamas. He’d had considerable exposure to strangers’ nudity over the course of his hero career—the more traumatic hostage situations, unfortunate individuals who slept in the nude caught in house fires, and even intentional public indecency. Inko’s nudity didn’t faze him, but he understood that averting his gaze wasn’t for himself, but for the sake of the dignity of the woman he was helping.
Nonetheless, as he struggled providing Inko with all the assistance she needed, as he nearly panicked checking and double-checking she’d taken all her medication, as his heart rent seeing her struggle even to brush her teeth left-handed despite knowing she must be craving independence—as the night progressed, Toshinori realized just how inadequate he was for this job. Inko deserved better.
So, after he’d helped her out of her wheelchair and into her bed, Toshinori bowed his head and said, “I think it may be wise for you to… seek an alternative aide, Ms. Midoriya.”
Inko’s eyes, which had glinted with determination throughout the whole 40-minute nightly ritual, widened. “” She waved her hands wildly as if to illustrate her point, her right hand limp and sluggish.
“Take your time, ma’am.”
Inko took a steadying breath, and when she spoke, she did so more slowly. “”
It took a full minute for her to get the words out, and it took all of Toshinori’s self-control not to cut her off with a protest of his own. By the end, though, his protest morphed into a question: “You want me to stay?”
Inko’s eyes watered, and she wiped fiercely at them. “” She shook her head. “”
Oh. “No, ma’am,” he said emphatically. “You and Izuku are no trouble at all. I simply thought—well, I have no experience with this sort of thing, being an aide. Heroes, well, we’re good at one thing, and that’s rescue, not rehabilitation. I saw your son and the fierce hope in his eyes and I couldn’t leave him alone. That’s why I’m here, not because I’m qualified. So, please—if you’d like me to find a 24-hour nurse instead of the nurse I’ve hired for the hours when I’m away, or if you’d like me to stay here with Izuku while you get better at a rehabilitation center, or if you’d like me to simply leave without a trace, let me know. I will take no offense. But don’t think for a moment that I’m here for any other reason than that I want to be.”
Inko smiled a mischievous smile. “” she said. “ Learn. ”
Learn. How simple it was. Toshinori had been learning his whole life: how to save people, how to put smiles back on faces, how to trick his fear with a smile of his own. What was this but an extension of all that? Watching Inko, Toshinori realized that a rescue was only half of the fight. To truly save someone’s life, there was so much more work to be done.
Toshinori took off work that first day. His old nurse, a woman in her 40s named Haruka, arrived in the morning, and Toshinori told her he’d like guidance on how to help Inko himself in the hours she wasn’t there.
“Everything,” he said. “Teach me everything.”
Haruka gave him the same long-suffering but nonetheless proud smile he’d grown so accustomed to that previous year, when she would more often than not scold him for biting off more than he could chew.
Nonetheless, Haruka complied, and Toshinori was set to begin learning after he dropped Izuku off at school. By the time he returned, Haruka was sitting at the kitchen table and reviewing Inko’s medical files while the shower thrummed in the background.
“You left Inko alone?” Toshinori protested.
“It’s of the utmost importance to encourage independence in our patients. Ms. Midoriya requested to shower alone; especially with the shower chair you installed, I didn’t see a downside. I urged her to call out if she needs help, and I’ve been checking in on her every five minutes.”
Toshinori relaxed, but only slightly. “I don’t like her left alone.”
“Don’t you remember how stubborn you were? Don’t you remember how important your independence was to you, how frustrating it was to lose it? She may not be the Symbol of Peace, but her frustration is the same. Being home, being allowed the freedom to take care of herself no matter how hard, will work wonders on her spirit.”
Haruka smiled at Toshinori’s unconvinced look. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’ll get the hang of this in no time.”
That day, Haruka walked Toshinori through everything she did for Inko, taking the time that Inko engaged in independent activities—watching TV, reading, attempting the coloring books Haruka provided to build fine motor skills—to murmur to Toshinori about the theory behind her choices. By the second half of the day, Toshinori was helping Inko with her at-home physical, speech, and occupational therapy exercises with Haruka’s coaching.
Toshinori brought Izuku home. The boy remained shy around Haruka for all of two minutes before (at Toshinori’s prior suggestion) she handed him a small All Might plush. The boy lit up like a Christmas tree, asking Haruka if All Might was her favorite hero too. Haruka grinned and said he was, and from that moment on the two were best friends.
They settled into a rhythm, Haruka arriving right before Toshinori left to bring Izuku to school, Toshinori doing as much hero work as he could during the school hours, before returning home with Izuku in the afternoon. Haruka would stick around for a couple more hours, coaching Toshinori on how to care for Inko. Then she’d leave, and Toshinori would be alone with the small family. He’d cook, he’d clean, he’d help Izuku with his homework. He’d take Inko to any nighttime appointments she had to keep.
And slowly—so slowly—Inko began to improve. Her gross motor skills improved first. By the end of the first month, Toshinori caught Inko standing to reach the cabinet to put sugar in her tea. She laughed throughout his whole lecture on how the doctors said she shouldn’t stand on her own yet, and how she could have fallen and hurt herself.
Her fine motor skills began to improve as well, and with time she relearned to write. While her print was little more than chicken scratch, it was legible, and she began to use writing to substitute speech when she became tired or frustrated with the slow progress she was making in speech therapy. Speech remained her most difficult skill to recover. By the two month mark, even as she’d begun to make excruciatingly slow progress towards regaining the ability to walk, her speech remained almost as fractured as it had been the day she came home.
So one day, after asking Haruka’s permission, Toshinori made Inko a proposal:
“What do you say I teach you sign language?”
“Sign?” Inko asked.
“It will help you communicate more quickly than writing as well as practice your fine motor skills. So long as you speak verbally as much as possible, Haruka says it won’t hurt your progress in speech therapy.”
“I’m a hero!” Toshinori said. “We need to be able to interact with all types of people, including people who are Deaf or have language disorders. All good heroes should know at least some JSL.”
Inko nodded solemnly. “I want… to learn.”
Toshinori beamed.
He felt a bit more useful after that, as her sole sign language teacher. He began teaching both Midoriyas to sign, starting with the essentials: greetings, household items, “Do you have eyes on Izuku?”, etc. It would take a long time before Inko was even conversational, but at least within an hour of his tutelage she could ask for food or assistance to the bathroom when she was too exhausted to speak.
There were other days, though, where she got what Toshinori was quickly considering to be the signature Midoriya fire in her eyes, and she’d talk Toshinori’s ear off. He’d do his best to encourage her, ask her about her day or to elaborate on one of the various pranks that she and Bakugou pulled in college while he helped her through at-home physical therapy exercises. The one thing he was deathly curious about was the one topic he was sure would be a bad idea to bring up, and so it went unspoken between the two.
Toshinori wanted to know about Izuku’s father.
The man clearly wasn’t around, and Toshinori had quickly deduced that Inko wasn’t a widow. She wore no ring on her finger, and there were no pictures of Izuku’s father around the house, despite framed images of Izuku, Inko, and the Bakugous on every surface. So either he was Inko’s one night stand, or a deadbeat who’d walked away from his partner and child.
Toshinori so desperately wanted to know.
He wasn’t exactly certain why he needed this knowledge. He suspected it had something to do with how Izuku’s smile made his chest soft and warm, how he sometimes reached over without thinking to ruffle the boy’s hair just as Nana used to do to him, how he identified one night with a start that the feeling he got when he heard Izuku climb into bed with his mother was jealousy . No, Toshinori couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to leave this precious child behind.
When he took the Midoriyas to the park that Saturday he relished the way Izuku wrapped his legs around his shoulders and grabbed fistfuls of his hair so as not to fall off. He’d insisted on riding piggyback while Toshinori steered Inko’s wheelchair, and he was giggling like a madman as he waved at every passing car. Izuku may have been riding on Toshinori’s shoulders, but it was Toshinori who felt on top of the world.
He’d been with this family for two and a half months, and Inko’s recovery had happened in leaps and bounds. She may have even been able to walk to the park by herself; the wheelchair was only to ensure she didn’t tire herself out too early and have no way to get back home. She’d pouted at Toshinori when he presented her with the wheelchair, but he’d raised his eyebrows wordlessly. With an eye roll she’d complied, resting her cane across her lap. They both knew the odds were she didn’t need the wheelchair, and she definitely didn’t need Toshinori pushing it. He was grateful, nonetheless, that she humored him.
Toshinori parked the wheelchair next to the bench by the playground. As Izuku ran off to play, Toshinori helped Inko move from her wheelchair to the bench. She gave him a placating smile.
It was a beautiful day. The spring sun shone softly, illuminating the budding cherry blossoms. The five or so children already running around the playground welcomed Izuku into their game of tag, and soon the boy’s laughter completed Toshinori’s contentment. He leaned his head back, a smile tugging at his lips, and allowed his eyes to close.
“” Toshinori turned to Inko, who smiled warmly at him. “”
“It’s no trouble—” Toshinori began.
“Please,” Inko interrupted. “”
“Alright,” Toshinori smiled. “It’s nice you’ve recovered enough that I can take you to the park and know I don’t need to keep my eye on you as well as your boy. It’s nice that I can close my eyes for a moment and know you’re there to watch him too.”
“I’m g-glad about… that too.”
“Great, so you wouldn’t mind watching him for a minute while I take a quick nap,” Toshinori teased.
Toshinori smiled, letting his eyes fall closed. As much as he joked with Inko, he really could use a short rest…
Toshinori’s eyes snapped open as he was shaken awake. It took all his effort not to shift into his muscle form; he was pretty sure he had fallen asleep in public, which meant he’d have to handle whatever the threat was in his true form—
Inko’s voice was calm. Toshinori blinked the sleep out of his eyes and realized the park was perfectly serene. Izuku was at his mother’s side, and the only thing that seemed to be wrong was the crick in his neck. The left side of his face was warm, and Toshinori’s brain caught up enough to realize he’d fallen asleep on Inko’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Toshinori said. “I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.”
“Of course n-not,” Inko said. “”
The sun was above the trees, but just barely.
“How long was I sleeping?”
“We should be home by now.”
“We played heroes and villains!” Izuku chimed in, climbing onto Toshinori’s lap. “We broke into groups, and half of us were heroes and half of us were villains, and we took turns arresting each other! They let me be the hero sometimes, and they didn’t even use their Quirks on me!”
Toshinori and Inko shared the same slight grimace they did when they discussed young Katsuki’s relationship with her son.
“Of course,” Toshinori agreed. And because he was feeling refreshed after his own nap, he didn’t protest quite as much as usual when Inko insisted on using her cane on the way home.
They put Izuku to bed early; he was exhausted after a day of play that he was sure to detail meticulously over dinner. That night, as the fireplace was dying down and the two adults were lounging across the couch, Inko asked him a question he wasn’t expecting.
“Pardon?” Toshinori asked.
“Ah,” Toshinori said. Nobody ever believed him, in interviews as All Might, when he said he was single. He’d read (or more accurately, Tsukauchi had laughingly read to him) discussion boards absolutely convinced he had a secret wife in a bunker deep in the mountains where the villains couldn’t reach her. He’d never disclosed the simple truth, if only because he was certain nobody would believe it: “I’m afraid that sort of thing has never interested me.”
Inko’s eyes lit up with understanding. “”
“Both, I’m afraid.”
“Anything more would be violating some unspoken rule or other, I’m sure.”
Inko laughed. “You don’t s-say.”
Toshinori waited a beat before asking a question of his own. “And you?”
“Aro,” she said. “Bi.”
And Yagi Toshinori, Number One Hero and Symbol of Peace, beamed at Inko with his whole face like he was a schoolboy and not a man halfway through his forties.
“You’re like me?” (Inko would tease him later over how much disbelief was in his voice, how much he’d resembled, in that moment, a man entirely uncertain whether he was being pranked.)
Inko snorted. The snort turned into a laugh, and Toshinori couldn’t help but join in. It devolved into the two adults shushing each other in a desperate attempt not to wake Izuku, because for a moment it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
“” Inko asked. She faced him with her whole body, leaning in to catch every word.
“One or two, in passing. And you?”
She smiled. “Only you.”
They spent the night telling stories: How Toshinori had known since middle school that something was different; how it took Inko upwards of ten partners to figure it out. How Toshinori pretended to have a crush on a boy at UA because they liked holding hands and their friends convinced him it must be attraction; how Inko thought her crushes weren’t pretend until she was well into her twenties. How, for both of them, all anyone talked about was love and romance, and they never felt they could really be present in that sort of conversation.
“Sometimes, even now, I think about what it would be like to be normal,” Toshinori said. “Don’t you?”
“—Scandalous,” Toshinori muttered, and Inko batted his bangs.
“It gets lonely,” Toshinori said, near-whisper. It wasn’t something he admitted often. “With a child, I’m sure the loneliness isn’t as bad. When you’re alone… When everyone you know finds some partner or another, and you’re the odd one out, you wonder whether your life would make any more sense if you could feel what you needed to feel to find a partner. Or if your life allowed you to have one, and you could just—” he sighed impressively for a man with one lung “—pretend.”
Inko squeezed his forearm, her eyes intense. “ No. ” She fixed her gaze in the direction of Izuku’s room, then back at Toshinori. She lowered her voice. “His f-fa-ther, Hisashi, is my huspand.”
Is . Toshinori couldn’t keep the shock off his face.
Stony-faced, Inko turned away. What a bastard, Toshinori thought. He knew exactly why Hisashi’d stopped supporting his child.
“You d-don-’t want… to pretend,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Toshinori managed. “You don’t need him anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”
Inko laughed wetly and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “”
“No need,” Toshinori smiled. “And please, you can call me Toshinori.”
Inko smiled like, of everything he’d done for her in the past few months, offering his name was the kindest. “Tosi-nori. Th..ank you.” Inko leaned her head on Toshinori’s shoulder, and he didn’t think to hesitate before wrapping an arm around her. She whispered, “It’s less lo-nely, now… wi-th you h-ere.”
* * *
Toshinori prepared a feast. Well, perhaps “prepared” wasn’t the proper word for it, since that implied he actually cooked the meal. “Arranged” was probably more accurate. Toshinori drove around town visiting his and Inko’s favorite restaurants, ordering their and Izuku’s favorite dishes, all while mother and son were at physical therapy.
They hadn’t needed Haruka in weeks. They certainly didn’t need him anymore. Inko was able to walk and cook and drive and shop and every other little thing all on her own. He was always there by her side, just in case. Perhaps he was there too much of the time. Perhaps it was better that his time with the Midoriyas was coming to an end, and Inko could spread her wings.
After all, today was three months since her stroke.
Three months of hard work and dedication had bought her back her independence, and Toshinori could not be more proud of the brave woman. He’d be glad to call her a lifelong friend, if she’d have him.
He got home and set the table before Inko and Izuku arrived. Sushi, katsudon, pizza, mochi, and a few other dishes all found their homes on Inko’s fine china. He set out the silverware, the glasses, (the plastic cup for Izuku, since he’d gone through two glass ones just in the time Toshinori’d been living there,) and the bottles of fine wine.
When Inko and Izuku got home, they found Toshinori sitting at the head of the table, grinning proudly at his display.
“ Oh, Toshinori, you shouldn’t have, ” Inko signed. She must have been thoroughly fatigued from therapy.
“Genuinely my pleasure,” Toshinori said. He put away Inko’s purse and pulled out a seat for her at the table. Izuku climbed into the seat opposite his mother, beside Toshinori.
They ate, adults listening intently as Izuku rambled about the latest hero he’d been analyzing, a recent UA graduate named Present Mic. Toshinori’d never worked with the young hero, but his new radio show was inescapable. The show, Izuku hypothesized, would be sure to increase Present Mic’s popularity.
“He might even make it to the Top 50, just a couple years after his debut!” Izuku beamed. “That’s so quick, even for a hero from UA!”
Toshinori imagined he’d never stop being impressed by this kid. He imagined that ten, twenty years from now, Izuku would still surprise him with his genius. If he was making these sorts of connections at six , Toshinori couldn’t begin to imagine what his analysis would look like even in middle school. It was a damn shame he wouldn’t be under the same roof as the kid, to watch him grow up.
Toshinori picked at his food, scolding himself for not just getting it over with, saying what needed to be said.
“So,” Inko said, placing her chopsticks decidedly on her plate, “”
“Hm?”
Toshinori sighed. He gestured widely at the table, the food, the company. “A parting gift.” He breathed deeply, let go. “You don’t need me anymore.”
“ You’re right, I don’t. ”
Toshinori nodded, and took a forlorn bite of his katsudon.
“But h-he does.”
Toshinori’s gaze flew to Inko. She tilted her head in a gesture towards her son. Izuku was looking back and forth between the two adults, eyes wide and fearful with the understanding that Toshinori was about to leave him.
“Of course I’ll stop by and play, Izuku.” Toshinori laughed, even as his chest tightened. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me! When you become a hero, I’d like you to work at my agency!”
It wasn’t enough to stop Izuku’s eyes from misting. “Bu-bu-bu-but, Mr. Yagi! I don’t want you to leave!”
Toshinori placed a hand in the boy’s bushy hair. “All things come to an end,” he said. “That isn’t a bad thing, it’s just how it works. You’ll still see me around.”
“But I want to see you here !”
“Izuku…” Toshinori said. The poor kid didn’t have to make this so difficult. It was already hard enough leaving him. If he kept this up, Toshinori wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing up. It must have been contagious in this house. “I’ll be out of your hair by the weekend, Inko. Thank you for allowing me to stay this long. You both are lovely company.”
Inko chuckled and bopped him on the head with her chopsticks. “” Toshinori’s brows raised. “ You don’t take a hint, do you? Izuku’s not the only one who’d rather you stay. ”
“Pardon?”
“ After all this time, you think I want you to leave?”
“I— I figured you wanted your life back.”
“Toshinori,” Inko said, “ You won’t be getting rid of me so easily .”
Yes, the tears must have been contagious, because Toshinori now found them dampening his cheeks. A hand at the base of his skull, Inko pulled his face to her chest, and he allowed his shoulders to shake as his arms wrapped around her torso. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Toshinori realized that he didn’t feel weak or unheroic, allowing himself to cry. Something about this place, and this woman, had begun recoloring his perception of himself. After a moment or so, Izuku climbed onto his lap and hugged him tight.
“Wel-come to the fam-ily, dear,” Inko whispered.
Toshinori hadn’t had one of those in a long time. The change, he imagined, would be nice.