Lone ray

He crashes down hard in front of All Might’s car; a gush of dust rises around him, scratching his lungs, and Deku coughs. “Softer on your feet,” the Fifth’s voice scoffs, “you’re barely standing”. “I’m sorry,” he thinks obediently, trying to catch his breath. There’s really no time for this: All Might is supposed to hand him over new data so he can move on to his next target. He can’t linger, can’t slow down. Everyone around him will become a target sooner or later — he feels it. He feels the destructive flame of hatred burning somewhere out there, incredibly far away — and yet very close. Shigaraki, All-for-One — he doesn’t know which one is the source. All he knows is that he alone can extinguish it, eradicate the evil — or else they will extinguish him instead. He can already see how he reaches for what All Might gives him; how he snatches the data from his hand, how he turns around and dives back into the darkness — to where he should be now. To where he can do no harm to anyone by his mere existence. “You’re still useless, Deku” “Stop thinking nonsense,” En interrupts, “you’re doing just fine.” “Got it,” he replies, watching as All Might hurries around the car. He has a stack of papers in his hand and a wrapped bento hanging from the other — Deku’s stomach twists with hunger and fatigue, but he stays upright. The restlessness in All Might’s sunken eyes makes a wave of shame arise from his chest. “Look at you, Midoriya Izuku, your presence still can’t reassure anyone” “Young man!” All Might stops abruptly and coughs, habitually wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve; the spots have been increasing lately, and he wonders with muffled dread what that could mean. “All Might,” Deku nods and reaches for the papers; he slips them into his pocket and briefly dusts off his costume, trying not to let a single muscle on his face twist in discomfort. His whole body is aching from the constant racing and fights, but he doesn’t dare to complain. He needs more. More training. The last scuffle nearly left him without a leg. “Shinomori-san, please teach me to react faster to danger sense,” he asks, already looking for something to catch black whip on. “Our time is limited, but I will try to help,” the Fourth nods. “Know your limits,” the voices of the Second and Third, hard and disapproving, merge seamlessly into one, resonating in his mind like after a blow. He feels nauseous. “I have to go,” he says, turning around. “Wait!” All Might grabs his hand — not tightly. Just a little yank and he’s free. It would cost him nothing to do so. Nothing. But he’s too selfish for that. “There’s no time for that,” Deku steps cautiously to the side, but All Might reaches after him. “Please, take it!” he lifts the bento clutched in his hand, and Izuku’s lips twitch upward against his will — quickly, imperceptibly, hidden below his mask. No time. “I’m sorry, All Might. You shouldn’t waste your time like that.” All Might’s face darkens even more than usual. His faded blue eyes catch his own — and hold on long and uncompromisingly. “Take it, my boy.” And suddenly, in an instant, there is power in his voice. A former strength and force, like a hundred voices calling out to him, demanding — and he has no right to refuse. For a brief moment, warmth simmers deep inside him. “Thank you.” He grabs the bento and disappears — before another command follows that he cannot resist. The bento hangs on him like a dead weight — heavy not so much physically as from its other contents. Take care of yourself I’m watching you I’m right here It happens when, after turning in two more villains to the police, he lands on the roof of a dilapidated building, the rain dripping from above and his legs buckling treacherously at the thought of a moment’s respite. “Rest,” Shimura’s voice sounds perceptively, and he sinks with a sigh onto the cracked tiles. His legs stretch over the edge, and he groans softly, leaning back. If only he could close his eyes. Just for a little, just to remember how it feels. Just for a little… He throws his head up to let the moisture sprinkle his face, but it doesn’t help at all. A tugging sensation somewhere inside makes him look around dreadful, search for a threat — only then does he realise that it’s just hunger. The wrapping on his bento is almost soaked through, and the knot won’t budge — his stiff, frozen fingers are no help at all. He puts the bento onto his lap and sighs defeatedly, staring exasperated at the half-loose knot. “I AM HERE!” the unmistakable ringtone of All Might’s phone makes him jump; the bento rolls off his lap, and the next second it’s tumbling down into the abyss — and Deku, still trembling from the adrenaline rush, dives in after it. Given how well he trained black whip, It’s not hard to catch the screaming bento; he returns to his previous position, frantically fumbling with the wrapping until he feels the familiar vibration beneath his fingers. “I AM HERE! I AM HERE!” How could that’ve happened? It wasn’t an accident, was it? Clenching his teeth, he resumes to struggle with the knot — each cry of the phone hits his nerves as hard as an electric shock. With a triumphant sound, he finally unwinds the ends- The phone turns off. He pulls it out into the light and holds it close to his face — it’s easy to mistake in the evening gloom. The light is enough for him to see his face in the reflection of the screen — sunken, slightly sharpened — and his bleak eyes. But no, this is definitely All Might’s phone. A message? But why like this? Why not with someone — Endeavor, Hawks, Best Jeanist, or All Might himself? What could have happened? Is the phone in danger? Is something on it in jeopardy? Important information for him that’s being hunted? Does he have to protect it? Someone’s trying to contact him? “I’M HERE!” He exhales sharply through his mouth in surprise, clutching the phone as hard as he can. The number on the screen is undefined, and the uncertainty of the situation wrings his toes out harder than any fatigue. But All Might wouldn’t jeopardize their mission. He knew what he was doing. Deku trusts him. For another moment he lets his hand linger over the acceptance button, before finally giving in and accepting the call. “I’m listening,” he says, not knowing which hero’s voice will greet him on the other end. “Deku?” His hand clenches automatically — he stares at the screen in utter disbelief, re-reading the number, and only now does he recognize bits and pieces of the sequence. “R-Rody?” It comes out terribly pathetic, and he’s ashamed of that weakness. But that can’t be- “Shit, finally! Do you have any idea how worried Pino has been?!” A wave of something foreign makes him cover his face with his hand — perhaps it’s relief. Like a lonely ray of something familiar in this impenetrable darkness in which he has to hide from everything close to him. “Rody,” he whispers, lying down exhausted on his back, his backpack under his head, and his hood not even protecting him from the rain, but suddenly he stops caring. “H-how did you- Do you even know whose phone that-” “Of course I know! I had to try out twenty different methods of blackmail and invent a couple new ones, put half Japan on its toes- ” “Y-you… really?” he is still frozen with his mouth open, listening to Pino chirping angrily in the background, and reveling in the sound. He’s willing to spend an eternity listening to the scolding, repenting and admitting all his mistakes, as long as those sounds are what makes his heart race. That, and not the crushing mountain of responsibility that threatens to wipe him to dust. “Well, maybe not half,” Rody admits with familiar, feigned indifference, “maybe it was just your mother and that stubborn old man — after all, the less you know-” He doesn’t immediately understand why Rody has fallen silent. As from outside, from behind a veil of deafening silence comes an unfamiliar sound — laughter. Izuku laughs, shuddering uncontrollably with his whole body. And as he laughs, he suddenly doesn’t care about the pain in his legs and arms, about the cold and hunger. The fear and uncertainty that drive him forward, the threat breathing down his neck. “Deku… are you crying?” He shuts up abruptly and briefly touches his wet face with his fingertips. “No,” he answers, confused, “it’s just the rain.” But his chest is being torn by a lingering sob, and there’s so little air in his lungs that he’s dizzy. “Don’t be silent, he’ll know” “He already knows” “How did you do that?” he swallows painfully, crumpling the dirty, wet suit on his chest. “You’ve probably forgotten,” Rody starts after a pause, “but you called on Lala’s birthday from your mom’s phone.” Izuku fleetingly recalls that day — it was shortly after his return from Otheon. He was dismissed home for a week to recover from the mission — in fact, he was ready to continue his training at UA immediately, but for some reason Aizawa-sensei had been adamant about it. Back then, Izuku still hadn’t purchased a new phone to replace the one that saved him from the arrow. But Rody did, and Izuku found out about it through an E-mail. It seemed rude to send greetings through Rody, so he borrowed the phone from his mom. “She was fighting till the very end,” Rody admits respectfully, and Izuku can’t hold back a faint smile, “but you know how it is, such a charm-” “Is hard to resist,” Izuku finishes for him. “Exactly,” Rody confirms; Pino chirps affirmatively in the background. “And as for this All Might…” Rody’s voice is suddenly filled with something remotely resembling dislike. “Please don’t blame him,” he feels the need to make it clearer, “it’s all because-” he trailes off, hushed. “Keep quiet” “It’s dangerous” “You’re putting him at risk” “Because what?” Rody gently probes. Izuku takes the phone away from his ear and stares helplessly at the screen, catching the faint glow of his own eyes in it. “I can’t” “I can’t…” he whispers, sitting up again and wrapping one hand around his knees. For a long moment, all he can hear is Rody’s measured breathing. Despite the heaviness in his body, the sound is somehow soothing. “What have you got yourself into again, hero?” Rody finally speaks, and his voice is full of bitter worry — not like him at all. “You know… whispers of what’s going on there have reached even Otheon. I don’t know how much of what they say is true — but if it’s even half of it, then…” “It’s all true” “No one can even imagine how bad it is” “I wish I would be there to save you again.” Izuku stills at those words. Something tugs at his chest — something he felt every time he would get a new message from Rody. Something he didn’t realize he needed until it was offered, calming down his burning nerves. “And the rest of the world, maybe, if you’re up to it,” Rody adds nonchalantly, seemingly without a drop of embarrassment, “I think it would be fair — after all, you were the one who came last time. What do you think?” Izuku closes his eyes, letting the moisture trickle freely down his cheeks — he no longer wonders whether those are tears or not. A silly, utterly impossible picture paints itself in his mind — how right now, on this roof, Rody is sitting next to him. How they eat from the same bento together, how they discuss a new plan, how in between they allow themselves more — more honesty, more freedom. How Izuku, exhausted, falls asleep on his shoulder — and knows he can afford it. He knows that at the right moment Rody will wake him up — and they will move on. Just like back in Otheon, when it was just the two of them, and the fate of the whole world on their shoulders — but, divided into two, not so unbearable anymore. But the scene changes abruptly, and what he sees next isn’t Rody’s confident grin, but a grimace of horror and pain. One of the villains — the faceless monsters — punches effortlessly through Rody’s chest. Blood erupts from the hole — so much blood, Rody’s blood — it paints the villain’s ugly distorted mouth — as he shakes the stilled body in Izuku’s face, tauntingly. “Look what you’ve accomplished, savior“ “A true hero“ “Child, stop torturing yourself,” the First’s voice covers his torn mind like soft silk, banishing the monstrous visions, and Izuku frantically exhales. “This time,” he answers into the phone with a tremble, “I have to deal with it on my own.” He hears Pino’s sad trill, and his whole body aches. Even far away, he keeps causing problems — making others worry. He opens his mouth again, wishing for Rody to forgive him for it — ready to apologize over and over, when- “They build all those hero schools and then just dump everything down on my poor hero,” Rody tsks, and Izuku knows that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t allow himself such boldness. The way Rody tries to distract him, not even knowing what’s happening to him, makes him shiver against his will from the feelings that take over. Alive, he is alive, safe and sound — back there, far away, and nothing will change that — Izuku will make sure it stays like this. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing he has nothing more to offer. He doesn’t know how much truth is available to Rody — he doesn’t know how much All Might has told him — or if he has told him anything at all. He only hopes that what he says isn’t enough to put Rody’s life in danger — Izuku couldn’t bear to have anything happen to him because of it. And with each passing moment of their conversation, the outline of the scope on Rody’s back only gets bigger. “It’s dangerous for you to talk to me,” he mutters, forcibly calming his voice, trying to sound convincing and indifferent at the same time, “it would be better-” “No,” Rody interrupts angrily, “'I’ll have to leave for a while. I’m sorry.' You suddenly vanish with that as an explanation, and expect me to take it like this?” “Rody, please,” he pleads, not feeling the slightest bit of strength to argue. “This All Might didn’t want to tell me anything — and I don’t blame him. I was sure till the very end I wouldn’t be able to persuade him — and he took my word that I wouldn’t press you in return. And I… I won’t do it. Even though I want to know what the hell is going on with you.” Izuku settles down in relief. “But I want to say something,” the sudden quiet after those words makes him check the phone in dread, making sure the call is still lasting. “I’m going to keep an eye on the news. Watching you — and — waiting. For your call. And then you’ll tell me everything — when it’s over. I know you’ll figure it out. Because you’re too noble and sacrificial for your own silly, heroic good. And because you can do anything — even save the world. You had a great example, didn’t you?” He no longer holds back tears — he really doesn’t seem to have changed at all. But no one here sees his weakness — no one here will reproach him for it. No one will reproach him for his fears and insecurities — how can he believe in himself the way Rody believes in him? “Don’t be scared, Deku. Even if you fail — always remember there’s one little trailer stashed away in Otheon that no one will ever find.” “If only,” Izuku thinks with a wistful smile. For a brief moment, the memories take over — he sees the vast fields of flowers in front of him, hears the rumble of an old car, waves his hat around from the heat, and furtively looks at the driver’s seat — at those stranger, yet fascinating in an unfamiliar way features, the deft hands resting on the wheel, the long fingers tapping absently. And it’s so easy to imagine being there again. And, somehow, despite everything, a rush of strength drives his the fear away. “Thank you, Rody.” When he finally ends the call, Rody’s last words continue to echo in his head: “Take care, hero.” His hand reaches for the bento. He pulls back the lid and, wiping away his tears, hooks a piece of long-cooled katsudon with his chopsticks. Hunger finally subsides. He twirls the phone in his free hand, idly running his fingers over the screen, catches on the edge of a paper sticking out, and flips the phone to the other side. There’s a note taped to the lid — a phone number. Apparently, their backup communication channel. “Thank you, All Might,” he thinks, typing in the number and stashing the phone in his pocket — he’ll give it back later. The wind rumbles in his ears as he swings from wall to wall — black whip doesn’t fail, and even the overcast gray sky isn’t an obstacle for him. He lands on the edge of the roof, ignoring the increased rain, and pulls a transmitter from his pocket, entering the new number. A bullet whistles past his ear, shattering the transmitter. It hits the wall of the building across the street; he can see it up close in the glow of the streetlights. Pink and navy blue fibers woven into a single thread.