You're Supposed To Be Dead...
Posted: Mon Feb 15, 2021 4:58 am
Izuku groaned as he pushed himself out of the pile of trash he’d unceremoniously landed in, rubbing at the side of his head. Man, that was a tough fight. He didn’t even see the punch that had knocked him out, but surely that's what had happened. He hadn’t overused One for All or any other aspect of it, he wasn’t sick, he hadn’t been injured. He slowly got himself out of the trash pile, looking around. Well, this was definitely not the street he’d just been fighting on. And it was just the middle of the night, now the sun was rising. “Guess I was knocked out for a while there…” he mumbled to himself, deciding to start making his way back to the agency.
He replayed the fight over in his head, recalling that it really had gone pretty well. Where things got fuzzy was after that smaller villain had managed to press his hand to Midoriya’s chest and there was a bright flash of light. That must’ve been what did it. Some kind of knock out quirk or something similar. He sighed, looking around at the early morning joggers and the overworked, underpaid workers making their way to their jobs. He gave a smile and a polite nod and wave to those that noticed him but… he began to see a trend. Many of the people walking by him seemed… shocked to see him.
That was odd, to say the least. Izuku knew these streets well and patrolled them often, he even recognized a few of these civilians!! So why did they seem shocked and, in some cases, scared to see him? They began to avid him all together, Izuku pausing to watch a pair of young kids start crying, their mother gathering them into her arms before running away. “What was that about..?” He wondered to himself, his thoughts being cut short but the sound of sirens. Before he knew it, police cars had screeched to a stop on the street and officers were surrounding him, demanding that he put his hands up and come with them peacefully.
They put him into the back of his car and took him down to the station, not telling him what was wrong or why he was being arrested. No, they just responded with “You know what you did” and “Real sick joke you’re playin’ here, man” or nothing at all. They got him into an interrogation room, trying to get him to admit to being a villain, how he thought it was a good idea to walk around looking like he did. He answered his questions as best as he could but he was so confused, it just provided them with no answers and more frustration.
They left him alone for a while, Izuku holding his head in his hands. He sighed heavily, his head pounding. His head snapped up as he heard the door open, a familiar face stepping in. But not in a good way. “Tenko…” he murmured, swallowing. Tenko Shimura, or Tomura Shigaraki as he’d last seen him going by, former leader of the League of Villains. Free. Out of Jail. And with both of his arms.
What. The hell. Was happening.
-----
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The clock on the bedside table droned on and on. Sometimes it would be in time with the turning blades of the ceiling fan and sometimes opposite them but never quite in sync. An urge deep within in him wanted to reach over, to take the clock in all five of his fingers and render it silent for good. Render all of it silent and still, finally, make it all stop like it should have when he’d left this world. Apathy won out and those hands remained gloved and the clock remained noisy and whole. The man’s arms were curled around a pillow, his pillow, holding it tight against an aching, empty chest. As if it wasn’t just an object. As if it could exude the warmth and comfort of the man who had once laid his head upon it.
The room was unbearably empty except for the person laying on one side of the bed, curled around that pillow almost in the fetal position. The only light that penetrated the space was from what sun dared invade cracks in the window shade, giving the expanse of the space a fuzzy, washed-out feeling. In proper light, the room was a cozy shade of grey-green. It had taken a full day of paint-splattered madness to get it perfect. The two of them had been absolutely covered in it when the project was all said and done, but… The way he had smiled when they finished, wet paint still shining on the walls, had been more than worth it. They’d ordered take-out and ate it sitting right in the middle of their bedroom’s carpet while watching the paint dry in the comfort of the other’s presence.
Now he was alone staring out past his own ragged, overgrown bangs over the expanse of the empty half of their bed. His mop of a mane came almost to his shoulders, poking out haphazardly from the hood of a scavenged All-Might hoodie he’d dragged out of the closet. It was too big, a birthday present to a man who’d been quite a bit bulkier than he himself was. Laying on his side like this, he could almost pretend what little warmth the fabric trapped against his skin came from a strong body wrapped around his own, comforting him after this nightmare of a reality-
Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff-- Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff
In the empty apartment, the sound of a phone going off echoed like the buzz of a particularly insistent wasp. Fingers tightened on the pillow, a pale and scarred face tucking into the comforter a little more. With a deep and raspy inhale, the figure on the bed waited for it to pass… Likely it was another one of their friends, calling in to check on him. That happened less and less as time passed- he just. He couldn’t sit and chat with them like everything was how it used to be. Like everything was still okay, like the world had meaning, like it wasn’t his fault he’d-
Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff-- Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff
Heralded by a slow exhale, the man relinquished the pillow, placing it carefully against the headboard where it belonged. In the silent apartment, the susurrus of his clothing dragging along the comforter was nearly deafening. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, pins and needles traveling up his numb legs when they impacted against the soft carpeting. Black fabric clung to his feet- much like the fabric on his hands. Exactly so, in fact, only two of his toes bared and the others snuggly hidden away. Bones creaked and tendons snapped as he stood, a grimace accompanying a painful roll of his neck. The yellow hood drooped over his eyes, the man then pushing it back and freeing blue-grey hair. The first few steps forward were shaky, a gloved hand reaching out to brace himself against a wall while the feeling slowly returned to his stiff legs. The world past the bedroom door was dark, the barest traces of sunlight finding its way in, illuminating the edges of furniture here and there. The only bright light came from the kitchen, a bloom of blue through the oppressive darkness. The vibration and factory-ringtone hadn’t let up once, the caller quite persistent. Red eyes squeezed shut as he lifted the offending object to his ear after sliding the green phone icon across the screen.
“What?”
The word came out sharp and raspy like his voice hadn’t been used to communicate in much too long.
“...Tenko Shimura? This is Officer Tamakawa with the Musutafu Police Force. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you, there’s… A situation. It’s about Mr. Midoriya... We need you to come in.”
There was no answer for a long moment, enough time passing that officer spoke again.
“Hello? Mr. Shimura-”
“What do you want? To hear the whole story again? About how his blood felt on my face after that villain tore open his chest? How no one made it in time to save him? Or do you finally want to throw me in a cell for what I did afterward?”
It’s more than he’d spoken in months, each word taking effort to be pulled from his throat.
“I’m done with this. All of this. Or did you all forget? I’m not a Hero, anymore, Officer.”
“Mr. Shimura, please. This isn’t about… before. It’s sensitive information, I can’t tell you over the phone, we need you to come in.”
Maybe it was something in the officer’s voice that persuaded him… or maybe it was just that he had nothing to lose, anymore. A long breath escaped his dry and cracked lips.
“I’ll be there.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, not interested in listening to the Officer’s further assurances. The phone clattered as it hit the counter, sliding a bit before hitting another phone of the same model. This other phone was in a red, white, blue, and yellow case, and covered in a thin layer of dust. Tenko didn’t bother charging that one anymore.
The lanky man made his way to the bathroom, eyes narrowing as he flicked on the too-bright light. Red welts glared back at him from the mirror accusatorially, sharp points of contrast at his neck and around his eyes. Some were decorated in thin scabs, a small trail of dried blood indicating the recent addition of one thin line. Old habits died hard. Like so many things, it seemed pointless to try and stop himself now. The sink counter was littered with various lotions and creams. Many of them had gone unopened long enough to expire. Tenko’s eyes roamed over them but he settled on a wet washcloth, wiping his face and neck with it. He’d mustered enough energy to shower the day before, at least… His bed-mussed hair still smelled faintly of Izuku’s shampoo- like cinnamon and sweet pastries. Tenko had been so, so carefully portioning it out, pouring a little water in it to help stretch it further. Sure he could buy more but then it would just be his… Not theirs. After that shower he’d found the hoodie, curled up on their bed, and… Let go of the hours.
The crusty blood wiped off, he went to slip on his red shoes. They were right by the front door where he’d kicked them off last week after a trip to the convenience store. Izuku would have been upset by the amount of junk food and microwavable meals Tenko ate these days- when he ate at all.
The sunlight was near-blinding on the other side of the door. Birds were singing, trees were in bloom… Yet none of that reached the pale man as he turned around, locking their front door tight. Few things mattered to him anymore, but… This was their home. Izuku’s home. The home they’d eaten together in, watched movies and news broadcasts in… Loved each other in. It was all he had left, and he would protect it as much as he could.
Tenko’s feet carried him down the steps to the ground floor, then out to a small car that was covered in leaves and dust. Most places he went these days were close enough to walk to, so it had been left unattended. The inside smelled of stale fast food and a hint of mildew. A bleached All-Might figure hung from the rearview mirror with it's ever-present almost mocking smile. A bit of anger rose in Tenko as he ripped the figure from its cord only for guilt to wash through him. He set it down carefully on the passenger's seat. Had he any tears left they likely would have spilled in that moment. The entirety of the drive to the Police Station was silent. Perhaps it was some cosmic joke that there was no traffic lest other drivers see the disgraced former Hero out and about in the sunlight.
The Police station was familiar, and that familiarity set his stomach at ill-ease.
Flashes of red, too-warm, splattering against his face and neck. Those green eyes, looking down into his, full of pain and relief. A wobbly smile. He'd protected him, saved his life. That was so like him, to risk it all for someone else. Izuku’s body against his, falling, pushing them both to the ground. His hands had been shaking, careful to hold the body against his with all but two of his fingers. He’d tried everything. They’d been taught what to do as heroes. How to administer CPR, to call for an ambulance. Chest compressions had left his hands stained sticky with blood, his gloves soaked through with it… It did nothing when said chest had a gaping hole in it, but he had to try something.
Even as the light left Izuku’s eyes, he had to try.
Even as his world crumbled around him, he had to try.
Tenko had made it all the way to the Station’s front door before he was able to pull himself out of the painful memory. He took a moment and waited for his hands to stop shaking before pulling the handle and stepping inside.
He was recognized immediately, an officer standing and coming to meet him.
“Mr. Shimura, thank you for coming. We know this is a sore subject, but we didn’t think we should call Mrs. Midoriya until we had a clearer picture of what was going on…”
Tenko could feel the eyes on him as he was escorted to an interrogation room. They all looked like they were expecting something from him. Some seemed weary. Others hopeful. There was a weird energy in the station, everyone quiet and on edge. Like… The calm before the storm or the final moments before a branch bent too far and snapped.
Tenko didn’t know what he was expecting on the other side of that door, but what he got washed all the color from the room and all the warmth from his body. He stood there, neck covered in scratches, dark circles under his puffy eyes, body swamped in an All-Might hoodie, looking at the last person he ever expected to see again.
Izuku.
Sitting across from him… Was the man he’d lost. The man who's body had grown cold before help could arrive.
How.
How?
The world felt like it was crumbling under his feet again, but he pushed past it when the mirage spoke. That… Wasn’t how his Izuku said his name. There was fear in that. Anxiety. Even in their worst fights, Izuku hadn’t spoken to him with that tone of voice. Other details began to pop out, little things rising to the surface. Scars he didn’t recognize. The lack of warmth in those clear green eyes. Differences in the Hero Suit.
This… Wasn’t his Izuku at all.
Red eyes narrowed, something like anger finally filling the emptiness that had been aching within his chest for so long.
“Who are you?” It was a hiss between chapped lips, Tenko not realizing he’d moved forward until he felt the officer’s hand on his shoulder. “What game are you playing? Is this fun to you, wearing the disguise of a dead man?” There was venom in his voice as he leaned over the table, defying the officer’s grip. “Izuku Midoriya is dead. I should know, he died in my arms.”
He replayed the fight over in his head, recalling that it really had gone pretty well. Where things got fuzzy was after that smaller villain had managed to press his hand to Midoriya’s chest and there was a bright flash of light. That must’ve been what did it. Some kind of knock out quirk or something similar. He sighed, looking around at the early morning joggers and the overworked, underpaid workers making their way to their jobs. He gave a smile and a polite nod and wave to those that noticed him but… he began to see a trend. Many of the people walking by him seemed… shocked to see him.
That was odd, to say the least. Izuku knew these streets well and patrolled them often, he even recognized a few of these civilians!! So why did they seem shocked and, in some cases, scared to see him? They began to avid him all together, Izuku pausing to watch a pair of young kids start crying, their mother gathering them into her arms before running away. “What was that about..?” He wondered to himself, his thoughts being cut short but the sound of sirens. Before he knew it, police cars had screeched to a stop on the street and officers were surrounding him, demanding that he put his hands up and come with them peacefully.
They put him into the back of his car and took him down to the station, not telling him what was wrong or why he was being arrested. No, they just responded with “You know what you did” and “Real sick joke you’re playin’ here, man” or nothing at all. They got him into an interrogation room, trying to get him to admit to being a villain, how he thought it was a good idea to walk around looking like he did. He answered his questions as best as he could but he was so confused, it just provided them with no answers and more frustration.
They left him alone for a while, Izuku holding his head in his hands. He sighed heavily, his head pounding. His head snapped up as he heard the door open, a familiar face stepping in. But not in a good way. “Tenko…” he murmured, swallowing. Tenko Shimura, or Tomura Shigaraki as he’d last seen him going by, former leader of the League of Villains. Free. Out of Jail. And with both of his arms.
What. The hell. Was happening.
-----
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The clock on the bedside table droned on and on. Sometimes it would be in time with the turning blades of the ceiling fan and sometimes opposite them but never quite in sync. An urge deep within in him wanted to reach over, to take the clock in all five of his fingers and render it silent for good. Render all of it silent and still, finally, make it all stop like it should have when he’d left this world. Apathy won out and those hands remained gloved and the clock remained noisy and whole. The man’s arms were curled around a pillow, his pillow, holding it tight against an aching, empty chest. As if it wasn’t just an object. As if it could exude the warmth and comfort of the man who had once laid his head upon it.
The room was unbearably empty except for the person laying on one side of the bed, curled around that pillow almost in the fetal position. The only light that penetrated the space was from what sun dared invade cracks in the window shade, giving the expanse of the space a fuzzy, washed-out feeling. In proper light, the room was a cozy shade of grey-green. It had taken a full day of paint-splattered madness to get it perfect. The two of them had been absolutely covered in it when the project was all said and done, but… The way he had smiled when they finished, wet paint still shining on the walls, had been more than worth it. They’d ordered take-out and ate it sitting right in the middle of their bedroom’s carpet while watching the paint dry in the comfort of the other’s presence.
Now he was alone staring out past his own ragged, overgrown bangs over the expanse of the empty half of their bed. His mop of a mane came almost to his shoulders, poking out haphazardly from the hood of a scavenged All-Might hoodie he’d dragged out of the closet. It was too big, a birthday present to a man who’d been quite a bit bulkier than he himself was. Laying on his side like this, he could almost pretend what little warmth the fabric trapped against his skin came from a strong body wrapped around his own, comforting him after this nightmare of a reality-
Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff-- Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff
In the empty apartment, the sound of a phone going off echoed like the buzz of a particularly insistent wasp. Fingers tightened on the pillow, a pale and scarred face tucking into the comforter a little more. With a deep and raspy inhale, the figure on the bed waited for it to pass… Likely it was another one of their friends, calling in to check on him. That happened less and less as time passed- he just. He couldn’t sit and chat with them like everything was how it used to be. Like everything was still okay, like the world had meaning, like it wasn’t his fault he’d-
Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff-- Vvvvvvvffff- vvvvvvvffff
Heralded by a slow exhale, the man relinquished the pillow, placing it carefully against the headboard where it belonged. In the silent apartment, the susurrus of his clothing dragging along the comforter was nearly deafening. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, pins and needles traveling up his numb legs when they impacted against the soft carpeting. Black fabric clung to his feet- much like the fabric on his hands. Exactly so, in fact, only two of his toes bared and the others snuggly hidden away. Bones creaked and tendons snapped as he stood, a grimace accompanying a painful roll of his neck. The yellow hood drooped over his eyes, the man then pushing it back and freeing blue-grey hair. The first few steps forward were shaky, a gloved hand reaching out to brace himself against a wall while the feeling slowly returned to his stiff legs. The world past the bedroom door was dark, the barest traces of sunlight finding its way in, illuminating the edges of furniture here and there. The only bright light came from the kitchen, a bloom of blue through the oppressive darkness. The vibration and factory-ringtone hadn’t let up once, the caller quite persistent. Red eyes squeezed shut as he lifted the offending object to his ear after sliding the green phone icon across the screen.
“What?”
The word came out sharp and raspy like his voice hadn’t been used to communicate in much too long.
“...Tenko Shimura? This is Officer Tamakawa with the Musutafu Police Force. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you, there’s… A situation. It’s about Mr. Midoriya... We need you to come in.”
There was no answer for a long moment, enough time passing that officer spoke again.
“Hello? Mr. Shimura-”
“What do you want? To hear the whole story again? About how his blood felt on my face after that villain tore open his chest? How no one made it in time to save him? Or do you finally want to throw me in a cell for what I did afterward?”
It’s more than he’d spoken in months, each word taking effort to be pulled from his throat.
“I’m done with this. All of this. Or did you all forget? I’m not a Hero, anymore, Officer.”
“Mr. Shimura, please. This isn’t about… before. It’s sensitive information, I can’t tell you over the phone, we need you to come in.”
Maybe it was something in the officer’s voice that persuaded him… or maybe it was just that he had nothing to lose, anymore. A long breath escaped his dry and cracked lips.
“I’ll be there.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, not interested in listening to the Officer’s further assurances. The phone clattered as it hit the counter, sliding a bit before hitting another phone of the same model. This other phone was in a red, white, blue, and yellow case, and covered in a thin layer of dust. Tenko didn’t bother charging that one anymore.
The lanky man made his way to the bathroom, eyes narrowing as he flicked on the too-bright light. Red welts glared back at him from the mirror accusatorially, sharp points of contrast at his neck and around his eyes. Some were decorated in thin scabs, a small trail of dried blood indicating the recent addition of one thin line. Old habits died hard. Like so many things, it seemed pointless to try and stop himself now. The sink counter was littered with various lotions and creams. Many of them had gone unopened long enough to expire. Tenko’s eyes roamed over them but he settled on a wet washcloth, wiping his face and neck with it. He’d mustered enough energy to shower the day before, at least… His bed-mussed hair still smelled faintly of Izuku’s shampoo- like cinnamon and sweet pastries. Tenko had been so, so carefully portioning it out, pouring a little water in it to help stretch it further. Sure he could buy more but then it would just be his… Not theirs. After that shower he’d found the hoodie, curled up on their bed, and… Let go of the hours.
The crusty blood wiped off, he went to slip on his red shoes. They were right by the front door where he’d kicked them off last week after a trip to the convenience store. Izuku would have been upset by the amount of junk food and microwavable meals Tenko ate these days- when he ate at all.
The sunlight was near-blinding on the other side of the door. Birds were singing, trees were in bloom… Yet none of that reached the pale man as he turned around, locking their front door tight. Few things mattered to him anymore, but… This was their home. Izuku’s home. The home they’d eaten together in, watched movies and news broadcasts in… Loved each other in. It was all he had left, and he would protect it as much as he could.
Tenko’s feet carried him down the steps to the ground floor, then out to a small car that was covered in leaves and dust. Most places he went these days were close enough to walk to, so it had been left unattended. The inside smelled of stale fast food and a hint of mildew. A bleached All-Might figure hung from the rearview mirror with it's ever-present almost mocking smile. A bit of anger rose in Tenko as he ripped the figure from its cord only for guilt to wash through him. He set it down carefully on the passenger's seat. Had he any tears left they likely would have spilled in that moment. The entirety of the drive to the Police Station was silent. Perhaps it was some cosmic joke that there was no traffic lest other drivers see the disgraced former Hero out and about in the sunlight.
The Police station was familiar, and that familiarity set his stomach at ill-ease.
Flashes of red, too-warm, splattering against his face and neck. Those green eyes, looking down into his, full of pain and relief. A wobbly smile. He'd protected him, saved his life. That was so like him, to risk it all for someone else. Izuku’s body against his, falling, pushing them both to the ground. His hands had been shaking, careful to hold the body against his with all but two of his fingers. He’d tried everything. They’d been taught what to do as heroes. How to administer CPR, to call for an ambulance. Chest compressions had left his hands stained sticky with blood, his gloves soaked through with it… It did nothing when said chest had a gaping hole in it, but he had to try something.
Even as the light left Izuku’s eyes, he had to try.
Even as his world crumbled around him, he had to try.
Tenko had made it all the way to the Station’s front door before he was able to pull himself out of the painful memory. He took a moment and waited for his hands to stop shaking before pulling the handle and stepping inside.
He was recognized immediately, an officer standing and coming to meet him.
“Mr. Shimura, thank you for coming. We know this is a sore subject, but we didn’t think we should call Mrs. Midoriya until we had a clearer picture of what was going on…”
Tenko could feel the eyes on him as he was escorted to an interrogation room. They all looked like they were expecting something from him. Some seemed weary. Others hopeful. There was a weird energy in the station, everyone quiet and on edge. Like… The calm before the storm or the final moments before a branch bent too far and snapped.
Tenko didn’t know what he was expecting on the other side of that door, but what he got washed all the color from the room and all the warmth from his body. He stood there, neck covered in scratches, dark circles under his puffy eyes, body swamped in an All-Might hoodie, looking at the last person he ever expected to see again.
Izuku.
Sitting across from him… Was the man he’d lost. The man who's body had grown cold before help could arrive.
How.
How?
The world felt like it was crumbling under his feet again, but he pushed past it when the mirage spoke. That… Wasn’t how his Izuku said his name. There was fear in that. Anxiety. Even in their worst fights, Izuku hadn’t spoken to him with that tone of voice. Other details began to pop out, little things rising to the surface. Scars he didn’t recognize. The lack of warmth in those clear green eyes. Differences in the Hero Suit.
This… Wasn’t his Izuku at all.
Red eyes narrowed, something like anger finally filling the emptiness that had been aching within his chest for so long.
“Who are you?” It was a hiss between chapped lips, Tenko not realizing he’d moved forward until he felt the officer’s hand on his shoulder. “What game are you playing? Is this fun to you, wearing the disguise of a dead man?” There was venom in his voice as he leaned over the table, defying the officer’s grip. “Izuku Midoriya is dead. I should know, he died in my arms.”