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one.
Izuku has imagined what it must be like to be All Might countless times. He'd worn the All Might costume Mom made for him, hand-sewn from saved fabric, until it was so loved her careful stitches pulled apart and he was too big for it.
But he loved pretending. Thinking of All Might was one of the few things that kept Izuku's feet on the ground every time he was pushed or one of his school notebooks pulled out of his hands.
Brave, Izuku and Kacchan used to say while marching across the playground. Fearless. Sure.
But—
Izuku takes a step forward. Up high there is a light breeze pulling at his clothes, but he feels like he's walking right through a storm.
He can't stop seeing the scar. All Might sits, head bowed slightly, bony elbows resting on his knees. Vulnerable.
All Might feels like an open wound. Brushing against the edge of his mind is like scraping salt.
Izuku has to catch himself, buoyed against suddenly feeling everything —an exhaustion that runs deep to the bone, a wild desperation known by animals, and more than anything determination lined with steel. Teeth gritted into a smile. A thousand echoes of sound, the heightened whispers of wind, Izuku’s own breathing amplified a millionfold. And deep beneath that, almost buried even to himself…
He tries to pull away, but All Might’s presence spills over and around him. Izuku is helpless against his gravity. The other part of him wants to reach towards the center of this endless black hole, to find the remains of whatever star has collapsed, and hold it. Gentle it. Return the light to it, and stabilize .
"All Might…" His voice is barely above a whisper, and he doesn't even hear himself, only feels the name leave him.
Heaviness.
The weight of what must be entire worlds pushes down on Izuku's shoulders, feeling seeping out onto concrete, crushing, and—he finds his tether, pulling himself back hard and gasps.
All Might's head snaps up. Sharp eyes meet his.
"You're a Guide," he says.
Izuku swallows hard, flushing.
"I'm sorry!" He blurts. "I didn't mean to pry—I mean, I can't—I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to reach out like that."
He's had training, of course, as soon as he manifested. The Quirkless diagnosis had been followed, only a year later, by the determination that Izuku was a Guide. Mom isn't, but something—an aptitude—is in the family. Mom jokes sometimes their family passed down tears instead of blood, and being Guides, feeling everything, is a part of it. He can keep a mental shield up, mostly, but in crowds or under great emotions, things still leak through.
And, well—Izuku can almost always feel Kacchan, but that's because it's Kacchan, and some door between them that never fully shut, even if they're only sort-of bonded.
All Might holds up a hand.
"No," he says, "I'm sorry you had to feel… that."
Like it's a terrible thing. Even with the pressure gone Izuku can feel it lingering, the echo of a burden that isn't his to carry.
"No, no, it was, um." He stops himself. "No, I'm sorry, really. But if I can ask…"
All Might chuckles, leaning back. "What's one more. Alright. Go ahead, kid."
"You're a Sentinel," Izuku guesses, and All Might startles back. "Aren't you?"
Surprise darts through the space between them, so strong Izuku still feels it. Running at its heels is fear.
"Sorry," Izuku says again reflexively. "I-I mean, I know, people have speculated but you’ve never confirmed it and—"
"No one knows," All Might agrees, "except now, it seems, for you."
No one knows, Izuku wonders.
Oh. Then that means…
"You’re u-unbonded? Oh, God, sorry, I shouldn’t have just said that. I won't tell anyone anything! It was only a guess. I wouldn't have known anything but earlier there was just a moment. It wasn't—what happened just now, it wasn't because of that."
All Might a Sentinel. Of course. It makes perfect sense.
Kacchan would kill to know.
I gotta tell — he thinks, unbidden, and then the secrecy of it slams into him.
Whatever reason All Might must have to keep being a Sentinel a secret, it must be an important one.
"I won't tell anyone," Izuku repeats. "I promise."
All Might twitches. “I have nothing to trust but your word.”
“Sorry. I really won’t tell.”
Izuku clutches his arms, fingers digging into his skin. They look at each other for a moment, and then brick-by-brick, rebuild the wall between them.
“...Take care, young Midoriya,” All Might says finally.
He turns, and takes his hero form again. Izuku rolls his shoulders back and begins the climb down to solid ground.
two.
Kacchan is a bright, angry, dying spark.
The commotion had drawn Izuku's attention. He hated crowds, usually, but Izuku had trained and trained to tolerate them, because crowds usually meant heroes .
There are none.
Izuku bursts through the throngs of people, knocking shoulders, tripping through. With every brush he can feel an explosion of thought and feeling. Pity. Fear. Helplessness. All of them are coated with a sort of anticipation. A waiting, for a hero that wouldn't come. An unwillingness to act.
“Move,” Izuku screams.
He can pick out the moment Kacchan realizes Izuku was there, because that suffocated spark flared. Something white-hot lodges in his chest. Which sense, he wonders distantly. Had he heard Izuku's voice? Picked out his heartbeat? Seen their gakuran?
“Don't you fucking dare—”
The rest of the words are choked off by sludge. Piercing eyes meet his.
Izuku's never listened to Kacchan. He doesn't need to.
Because underneath the anger, the roiling unfairness, Kacchan railing against everything, Izuku knows the truth. He can feel it. A faint whisper. Maybe not even a conscious thought.
Kacchan wants to be saved.
three.
“I hate you,” Kacchan says after.
Izuku tugs his shock blanket over his shoulder, the fabric crinkling, and Kacchan winces. There's still sludge on him. Clinging to his clothes, a bit on his face, his hair. It must feel awful. Kacchan makes no move to get any of it off.
His eyes are a bit unfocused. Distant. He's grinding his teeth, fingers clutching his own shock blanket tightly. He's aware enough, Izuku supposes.
Instead of saying, I know you don't hate me , Izuku slowly reaches over and rests the sides of their hands together. Barely touching, just a bit of their pinkies.
He does the same to their minds, like he's sitting right outside a door. A little bit of light and sound spill through the cracks; a little bit of still-hot anger and shame and fear spill through the cracks.
“I'm here,” Izuku says. “It's over now. Come back, Kacchan.”
In his mind, he reaches out and taps on the door. Once. Twice.
Kacchan's eyes drift left and right, like he's still waiting for a threat. Sirens pulse the air. His breathing slows.
“Hate me all you like,” Izuku says.
It's not Izuku, anyway, that Kacchan really hates. It's that Izuku has to be here at all. Hands pressed together. Tap on the door.
“I'm here.”
All Might bows under the weight of the world. Kacchan chafes between need and pride. Now that he's touched both of him, Izuku thinks they're not dissimilar.
Izuku feels it all, and then keeps it close to his chest.
“Whatever,” Kacchan says, yanking his hand away, but he doesn't go fast enough not to leave a trace of bittersweet gratitude. Something else catches him, and Izuku lifts his head up and catches All Might's eye. All Might smiles, once.
Maybe, Izuku thinks. This is something, at least, he can do.