there is no funeral, no bone-picking ceremony. the most that is recovered of her body is a couple of teeth, her belt buckle, & a charred scrap of white cloth from her cape. you don’t go home that night. can’t. have to spend the rest of it in an uncomfortable plastic chair at the closest police station, staring blankly at the walls while gran torino reports — the accident. there’s paperwork. a lot of it. you hate it. someone hands you a witness statement form on a cheap clipboard. you stare, not quite all there until torino physically puts the pen into your hand & makes you sign it.
it’s 3:47 am, & nana shimura is gone.
hours pass until the cops can confirm their statement, that the offshore marina where she had confronted All For One is gone, blasted off the map by a titanic fight, & that the mother hero who had confronted the villain is nowhere to be found. neither is the villain, but you know the truth — that bastard is alive. nana had been weakening since she passed one for all on to you — she had gone to fight her nemesis knowing it would be her last stand, & she had done it with a smile on her face.
that last smile haunts the darkness behind your eyes. you see her again every time you blink.
torino leads you out of the precinct as the grey dawn lights up the sky, buying you a light breakfast from an early street food stall. you barely eat, & what you do manage to numbly choke down you throw up half an hour later. he cleans you up, silent & uncharacteristically patient, & then you go home. your torn & grimy hero suit feels like a joke the entire way. somehow you find the presence of mind to strip it off before you climb into bed. it smells like sweat & sour vomit & blood — her blood is staining your sleeve, where she’d grabbed your wrist — grabbed it to save you — if you hadn’t been there, or if you’d just been a better hero — weren’t you going to be number one ?
you stop & retch again. the wastepaper basket under your desk is not an ideal receptacle, but you have neither the energy nor the presence of mind to run for the bathroom, so you crouch miserably over it, holding back your hair with one hand & pressing the other to your stomach. it feels like you’ve been stepped on by some leviathan beast, but the discomfort is far away at the same time. you vaguely remember torino saying something to the desk clerk at the precinct: the kid’s in shock.
nana is dead.
you drag the back of your hand across your mouth, swallowing the sour taste of stomach acid; there’s a headache throbbing at the back of your skull — unsurprising, after the last two days. you haven’t slept since they’d realized they’d caught up to All For One. this pain too is far away, like a thunderstorm on the horizon. you close the curtains, blocking out the sun as it dawns over the horizon, & clamber up into bed. the pillow smells faintly of lavender; a deep breath, inhale, exhale, & then you close your eyes.
nana’s face fills your thoughts, bloodstained, her last smile glinting in the dark.
you open your eyes again.
she’s dead.
a strangled noise that you don’t recognize bubbles low from somewhere, your own throat, feels choked; heartbeat thumps in your ears & the headache sharpens to a point between your eyes. something reaches into his chest & squeezes; suddenly, the pillow beneath your cheek is wet.
she’s dead.
nothing feels real. it’s two-dimensional somehow, like speaking in a dream. you hiccup, the sobs catching in your diaphragm, & that feels distant too. the dark room blurs into into a watery mess, & then into a bloody mess, when you’ve traded the comfort of your pillow for punching into the cold, cracked tile floor. you’re angry & sad & if you had just been better — you try drawing in a deep, gasping breath, try counting to seven.
seven. she was number seven. seven —
fresh tears well up. you wipe them away, suddenly frustrated beyond words at the way it feels like you’ve fallen apart. the noise of a door opening elsewhere startles you into fight-or-flight — you automatically draw upon One For All, muscles tensing up, but then gran torino’s face appears around the door, & you immediately feel guilty for startling so bad. she had trained you better than this, had warned you about this but now just the thought of her makes you choke on air, & the tears just keep coming.
❛ dead, ❜ you croak. your vision begins to blur again, & you vigorously wipe the tears away, blood smearing on your cheeks. if you’d felt numb & faraway this morning, now it’s more like being caught in a typhoon. your lip wobbles, &you bite until you draw blood: ❛ she’s dead. ❜ saying it aloud — you break. you’re clinging to him like a lost child, suddenly, because you are a lost child; fists curl tight into the material of his costume, blood staining the yellow, blood leaking from the raw skin of your first four knuckles. you squeeze your eyes shut, counting the beats of your heart; it’s not shame that holds you back from crying, but something you’re not quite sure how to articulate at the best of times. fear, maybe — a sense of vulnerability that’s hard to shake.
crying expresses weakness, & that’s a bone-deep dread you’ve held for as long as you can remember. perhaps that was why nana’s words had struck such a chord with you, four years ago; in this world, the ones who smile are the strongest, but right now, you’re not feeling so strong, not feeling all that mighty. right now you just, you just —
there are a lot of things people don’t know about toshinori. the world may now know about his weakened state & the man behind it all, but only few know the real reason why toshinori went after all for one six years ago. only few know about the hatred & revenge that had fueled him to land that damning punch against the man who took everything from him. he’s not proud of it, & if asked, he’ll say that he did it for the greater good. & he did. but a deeper, much uglier part of him knows the real reason why.
he’s eighteen. nana & gran torino are walking beside him. they went patrolling that night. nana wanted to take him to a new part of town, introduce him to the different types of villains that lurked behind alleyways & decrepit buildings. it was supposed to be nothing more than a simple patrol.
but then all for one ambushes them. somehow, he had found them, figured out their patrol route, knew about nana. sends attack after attack, not even leaving an ounce of room for them to counterattack; gran torino gets separated along the way. toshinori is thrown headfirst into a piece of concrete. probably has a concussion, definitely doesn’t care. in front of him, nana takes the brunt of all for one’s attacks. but she’s weak. oh, so very weak. ever since she passed off one for all, she’s been getting weaker. slower. said it was a side effect of the quirk. that it was nothing to worry about. she said she would be okay.
but there’s blood dripping down her forehead, nose, arms. it’s fucking everywhere. toshinori probably doesn’t look much better, & he still has no idea where gran torino is or if he’s even okay. get up, toshinori. this is no time to be worrying, gran torino can take care of himself. you're All Might. get. up.
he grits his teeth & puts all of his weight on his hands & knees. shakes his head in an effort to get rid of the concussion even though he knows that's not how concussions work. by the time he's back on his feet, he can feel a burning pressure all along his right side. broken ribs, most likely.
all for one summons a ball of energy between his hands. toshinori has no idea what it is, but he knows it can’t be good. multiple quirks are coming out of the terrifying man’s body. the ground is rising. all for one is getting higher & higher while nana is forced to look on from below. this is not good. he has to get to her. there's no way she can take on all for one on her own.
nana turns back to where he is, & she smiles at him. it is not a sad smile, but one filled with hope; a smile that knows that in the end, no matter what happens, everything will be okay.
( that's what she's always taught him: to smile, even in the face of adversity )
toshinori frowns at her. he has no idea what’s happening at first; his head is still murky when she activates one for all & uses what little energy she has to propel him backwards. he’s reeling, suddenly, voice fraught with fear & confusion, “ master— ?! ” torino appears out of nowhere; grabs him around the middle, & uses his jet streams to take them farther & farther away from — no no no NO.
“ MASTER ! ” toshinori wrestles against torino. reaches around, throws out his hand, makes stupid grabbing motions at the air even though he knows the effort is futile. the distance is growing between them. nana is getting smaller. sorahiko keeps taking them farther away.
no no no no no no he can’t master’s still down there she needs me no no no no —
“ MASTER ! ”
MOM !
“ sorahiko, make his dream come true ! ” she lifts up her right arm, points her finger at him, & says, “ all might, i leave it all to you ! ” she forms her hand into a fist, & smiles at them --- one last time. she’s not crying. even without one for all, she is still so much stronger than toshinori ever will be. she turns around to face all for one, & even with her back facing them, toshinori knows she’s still smiling.
he screams himself hoarse. it’s not the distance that makes him unable to see her; it’s the tears streaming down his face. the more he struggles, the tighter gran torino holds him.
& then / & then / nothing.
nana is gone. she lost. all for one won. nana is gone.
nana is ---
“ all might ? ”
a familiar voice breaks through the memory. a scarred hand grabs his shoulder & shakes him lightly. then shakes him again when he still doesn’t wake up.
slowly, as if floating back up to the surface after being submerged underwater for so long, he becomes aware of his surroundings: the couch underneath him, a blanket covering the lower half of his body, & tears. always tears.
because he will never adjust.
he will never learn how to cope & overcome, or how to forgive himself.
for the longest time, toshinori really did doubt nana’s love for him. after her funeral, he always wondered if she saw him as the child she never had, or if he was nothing more than a vessel to harbor the flames of one for all. but he’s older now. he knows what it means to be a parent, because of a certain green haired boy. he understands why nana chose to die so he could live:
because she loved him. & he had failed her in every way.
that is why he will never forgive himself.
prompt : random kisses, accepting !#7 : a hug + kiss combo !
❛ sorry, dave ! i would’ve just jumped to the airport myself, but i think i’d have ended up very wet & very tired, ❜ toshinori musters up a feeble smile, bangs whipping wildly around his face. he sits back in one of the few seats that could comfortably hold him, a seat dave had specifically made sure fit his specs, & says no more. pillows his chin onto his colossal arms, gaze fixed on the arid landscape whizzing by the car. cagey, silent. uncharacteristically so.
it was wrong. this was all wrong. he was supposed to be lounging, or sprawling, even perilously standing in his seat to face down the rush of the wind, & holding onto the front windshield of the car like he was a ship’s captain… but now there’s a stark difference in his usual behavior; his hands are stowed in his lap & his golden head is down & he — doesn’t want to leave.
it’s not the idea of leaving america, as much as he adores the country; time didn’t make a home, necessarily, but the young hero’s relationship with the states was full of love & learning & difficulties & hero work, & it wasn’t that easy to leave behind. there was no denying that america loved him, too, but that’s not it. it’s not even the idea of having to be cooped up in a tin can for 10+ hours on the way back home.
it’s the idea of leaving at all. the idea, specifically, of leaving dave.
toshinori’s raw thoughts jangle around, contrasting terribly with the car’s silky-smooth handling. he couldn’t bring himself to ask david to come with him before, & he can’t now, either. the market was bursting with tech opportunities in japan, but he had far better opportunities in the states. the thing that made it ten times more painful was the timing of it all: namely, the terrifying realization, simultaneous yet isolated, that the two of them liked each other. a lot. a lot, & too much to hide it from each other or themselves, & by then the ticket was already bought…
but still, even now toshinori wants do something deeply stupid. he wants to reach across the center console & hold dave’s hand. he wants to tell him, in the cruelest moment possible, that he wants to kiss him & be with him… all in the maybe twenty minutes they had left to themselves until they arrived at the airport.
why did people only realize something right when they were about to lose it ?
he doesn’t make a move until he’s inside, facing the plane out of the window. while the crew boards, toshinori bites the bullet & hugs dave goodbye, telling himself he isn’t breathing in his familiar smell, or memorizing the feel of his white coat under his fingers. they stand together for far too long, toshinori’s arms coming to wrap around dave’s middle, breathing together. he doesn’t want to let go, but the third announcement to board is as much an order to fall apart as anything. he finds himself parting only halfway, though, grip on his companion’s waist loose but still there. tethered, as they had been for the past couple of years that seemed more like an entire lifetime.
instead of walking away like he should, that too big heart of his takes over; he deviates from his clumsy stereotypical farewells in english like he’d planned, mouth moving before his brain can catch up, ❛ say you’ll come to see me, ❜ he pleads instead, blisteringly earnest & heart pounding so hard it’s fit to burst, but his eyes never waver. they search dave’s face in answer, & when he finds a kind of shock that makes his chest ache, toshinori smoothes his thumb over the scientist’s chin & —
simply leans in & kisses him, light & crisp. it’s soft, inexperienced & incredibly unsure, & when they part it takes everything in him not to simply chase his mouth again. his grip on the smaller man’s waist tightens again, & he brings a shaky hand to tuck a tress of chestnut behind his ear. revels in the texture, the feeling of their breath mingling. tries not to think about how far off the next time that they’ll do this is… if there even is a next time.
there has to be. he has to make sure of it.
❛ please tell me i’ll see you again. i can’t leave, ❜ toshinori murmurs, while looking down at him with the softest smile. leans in again, but this time to press their foreheads together, blues locked on blues, ❛ without knowing i’ll see you again. is that okay ? ❜
"how does it feel to lose, all might? knowing you spent so many years, so much of your life training to kill me to not only fail once, but twice. I may be behind this glass wall, locked underground, but are you really happy with that? knowing your master hasn't been avenged after so long. knowing you will die before you see me go, how there's a chance your new student may suffer the same fate as your master. does it hurt? I can feel your pain, your anger, and you can't do anything to stop it."
those words ( they’re not true, they’re not true — but they are ) rekindle a familiar, sickening rage & you remember, suddenly, vividly —
the blue, white, & yellow of your costume, swallowed in seeping red. the tip of one of your ribs peeking out from beneath layers of masticated flesh & muscle. viscera & a pool of blood, your own, spreading underneath you like a slaughterhouse floor. blood. blood. blood. screaming, something strewn in a trail beyond you, pieces ripped free & lying on the rusted steel like gory confetti. your breath whistling out of your chest, like through a hole, a gaping, weeping, ragged hole, but your mind wouldn’t accept that fact, pushing it away along with the most of your conscious thoughts. everything spilling over in your hands as you tried to push it all back in there was so much —
you remember dying. seeing her. swore you could feel her hands carding through your hair in that same soothing motion whenever you woke up screaming at fourteen. she was smiling. what did i tell you about that temper, toshinori & it’s not time yet, go back you silly boy & you can do it & / mom wait i don’t want to go back please come back & / i love you i’m so sorry i brought this upon you son & / i don’t think i can do it & / yes you can. now stand proud & smile for me, toshinori.
you remember getting up, because you always get up / dizzy. hands plastered to your side. you’d been injured before, so many times, but this was like nothing you’d ever had – so much had come out, you’d had to push so much back in —- you don’t look down. right arm tries to get underneath you. you try to rise. slip on the slippery slick of your own blood & fall again & again. now your left arm clamps down tightly over the wound, dragging the tattered remains of your cape to cover it & keep what’s left of you inside.
you remember fear. smile more akin to a pained sneer, snarling like a cornered animal / bared teeth, blue eyes aflame with something dark & desperate — a disturbing sort of passion that was almost villainous in its ferocity. swaying on your feet, held up only by the glowing light from within yourself. power snapping angrily across your skin in golden bolts of energy, eyes glowing with it. holding your intestines in, one trailing loosely behind you when you lunge —
united states of smash.
you remember killing him & turning yourself into a crime-scene. all for one’s body, hanging from your grip by the lapel of his tattered suit. it did not have a face anymore, vaporized / realizing with sick delight that it was even more horrific than the leaking hole in your side. seizing his ruined body around the throat with both bloodied hands, squeezing until the skull tilts back at an unnatural angle. the sickening crack of the spine snapping. unclenching bloody fingers one by one. the body falling to the ground / you falling to your knees, staring blankly at the place where all for one’s still corpse lays.
you remember gore everywhere. so much blood. yours & his. looking down at your red red hands in a mix of confusion & wonder & terror & pain. murderer. slowly curling your fingers into fists, then un-curling them as if seeing them for the first time. murderer. if there had been any onlookers it would have been easy to forget who was supposed to be the hero & who was supposed to be the villain, perhaps there were no heroes or villains between them. just one man destroying another, ripping him apart without mercy in the name of vengeance & love. murderer.
you remember pain everywhere. choking on your blood ( get used to it ), eyes sliding closed & considering the merits of laying down to die right then & there. joining your nemesis in a deep, cold grave. shaking again, shivering like a child. so scared & cold & tired & lonely & scared. death sounded like a mercy. so peaceful, so free of hatred & vengeance & the agony its brought you. so tempting.
you desperately wanted to see nana again.
but eventually you woke up. hopeless, alone, you woke up. could not breathe / could only see white. everything in a cast. antiseptic & a drug induced haze. coming to in the middle of the night thinking you’re still in battle, adrenaline screaming to move but you can’t, couldn’t, your muscles won’t respond & the night nurse has a hell of a time taking you down. torino’s pitiful smile. you wanted to cry but you couldn’t. can’t. you cannot weep. there could be a camera. get up. smile. smile. smile —
you come back to yourself & you cannot find your smile now. with each twisted word of his, you can feel the twisted absence of ribs & organs in your side more & more. the same unbridled anger that reared its head on that day. a scream sits behind the jawbreaking clench of your teeth. it’s not because of the physical pain, or because of what the injury took away from you. a different thing he took from you, & god he’s taken so much from you but you will not let this bastard take him, too, you’ll kill him with your bare hands all over again before he ever gets close. you — you hate him & you miss her you knew happiness for four years & then it was taken she was —
“ keep her name out of your filthy goddamn mouth. she was — she was like my mother ! ” bubbles up alongside a fit of blood in the sheer intensity of your ire, voice strangled, a held in thing since you were eighteen. you feel so young & helpless, just like you did on that day & you slam your fist onto the arm of your chair. it cracks, just like you do, “ she died saving me from you. you killed her & you fucking laughed ! that’s all you’re good at, you take lives like they’re worth nothing, & you re-arrange & give & take however you please because you think you’re a god ! you call it your birthright, you call it destiny. i call it evil, ”
you’re not even sure when you stood up & approached the glass until somebody over the intercom tells you to step back. you don’t. instead, you lean in closer, hands shaking. you will them to be all might’s, so you could snap his neck like a twig all over again. nothing happens & that makes you angrier, more scared. you’re feeding into him, falling for his same old tricks again but you don’t care.
“ you’re wrong. i’m going to LIVE, i’m going to raise him, while you rot here like the piece of shit that you are. you are never going to hurt my successor or anyone else, not one more person while i’m still standing, you hear me, you sick bastard ? never again. your future is a pipe dream, & it is never going to come to pass. ”
i. you are 12 & there is blood in your teeth. you, rash & idealistic, scraped up knees & bandaged elbows, little achilles boy that’s all passionate recklessness & triumphant grins & victory over death. the sound of the world bleeding roars in your ears, but you square your shoulders ( broadening already; think atlas, it looks like they’ll be perfect for carrying the weight of the world one day ) & raise your shaky, quirkless fists again --- quirkless, but not powerless. they’re already bruised from when you fended off someone’s bully that morning. you don’t notice. you are young but you already know it too well: the blood on your first four knuckles, the broken fingers & the pain; you are young but you already know it too well --- the crime, the injustice & the pain. there is always pain.
that is why you believe the world needs a symbol, & that is why your world has been reduced to that single instinct: protect. your heart bleeds with it, golden-boy, song in your step / torchlight in your mouth / grin gilded with the halogen wild / your eyes bright & blue & every story where the hero wins --- suddenly you’re charging forward again with a raw, bloody scream. you do not think about dying. you can only think about saving, so you reel your fist back with all your might & you know you’re going to be eviscerated, but --- you’re not, because suddenly SHE is there. she grabs you by the arm --- her grip is grounding, strong --- & flings you out of the way, muttering something about stupid brats while reeling her own fist back & delivering a punch so strong the force of it sends your awkward limbs sprawling again. she looks like she could fissure the earth if she wanted, she stands so tall & proud & strong & you think, i want to be like that one day ! she turns away from her crumpled adversary, loosed hair blowing in the wind, & she is smiling down at you. you smile back.
ii. you are 18 & there is blood in your teeth. you have never known fear as you do now. she hasn’t either, you know it, there is nothing as terrible as the sworn nemesis that they face, but she’s still smiling in spite of it. of course she is. you can’t bring yourself to do the same, you don’t have the chance because she grabs you by the arm --- & her grip is grounding, strong, please don’t let go please don’t leave me --- & you are a 12 year old quirkless boy all over again, powerless, reaching out to her as you’re thrown away, away, always able to reach but never able to save. your world stops, & as hands snatch you into safety, you can feel yourself burning alive in a truth that you do not want to accept. your world stops because she is your world & your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you cannot hear your own raw broken screams --- MASTER ! --- you see her in tunnel vision; she’s getting farther away & suddenly you’re thrashing in gran torino’s grip like something feral, sobbing because she is was a mother to you. a superhero. your superhero. & you were the world she was constantly saving ( you don’t know it, but you were her world, too ) --- MASTER ! --- but she is gone, gone & her blood is stained on your sleeve.
you scream. it is an awful, raw thing that tears your throat apart, & you’re still screaming when your feet come back into contact with the ground. your knees buckle underneath you ( scraped raw, you should get used to that, you’re going to be kneeling at so many graves ) & you weep. you weep with your whole being & you dirty your face & you tear at golden hair & you wish for her life, your death, it doesn’t matter as long as she’s with you. you need her. you need her --- you need for her to be there when your hands begin to tremble & when your voice breaks, to help steady your fists & teach you how to roar. you have nowhere else to go. you’re homeless, now, because she was the only home you had. your knuckles are stinging, the ground is cracking; you don’t remember punching it, but now you are repeatedly, torn skin leaking red everywhere. your hands might be broken. you can’t tell. you keep swinging. everything feels broken. there’s a hand on your shoulder --- toshinori, that’s enough --- & suddenly all of your energy drains out of you. your hands sting & shake & when he pulls away, a weight remains bent low on your shoulders ( broader still; you were always fated to be atlas ) & you can feel the world on your back. it’s heavy, but you want it. in the end you lift with your knees, grin & endure. for her. you can do this for her. & even if you cannot, you have to.
iii. you are __ ( you don’t remember; all of the numbers in your head are a bodycount now, there’s no room for anything else ) & there is blood in your teeth.
the taste of it burns acidly in your cheeks. your side hurts, pain with insatiable throbbing & you know there is something terribly wrong with it but it does not compare to the burn of your achilles rage. fury fuels the fire, yet ultimately, anger is not what drives you --- instead, your broken heart pushes you to fight, what is simultaneously both your strength & achilles heel. it is your humanity, righteous vengeance; but it is still vengeance, & it is why you fall despite being victorious in combat. heroes are not allowed to be vengeful, & deep down, you know you initiated this fight in retribution, in a desperate need to avenge her. this is why the heavens condemn you --- they siphon your strength but leave the world sitting heavy upon your shoulders. not for the first time, your knees bend & creak, but unlike other times, you are not able to straighten out your spine. you are doubled over, knees knocking together like doors slamming shut; your arms tremble & your shoulders shake. your intestines are spilling out everywhere, the ground looks like a slaughterhouse floor, & you think you crush one of your own organs under your foot. but was it worth it ?
yes, a million times yes. for the world, for her, you would do it all over again. you would die. you think you still might, but then an arm on your shoulder tethers you for a few precious moments; you flinch, ready to fight, teeth bared & it’s no wonder you were victorious, ( a wounded hero is such a frightening animal ), but --- it’s someone familiar, the detective, & --- he’s crying. that’s not acceptable. so even though you are dying, even though your side has a hole in it & your teeth are running red with your own blood, you smile, reflex, ‘ it’s… fine now… why ? ’ it’s incredible that you still have a voice, but it is like sandpaper, tongue lead, you’re choking & gasping out the words & you can’t stop throwing up ichor ( get used to it ), ‘ because you are here. ’ your eyes, usually bright & halogen, are dim with death; when they slip closed, you see her, & now you’re 18 & reaching out all over again. but she doesn’t reach back. not yet, toshi. you still have things to do. at the hospital weeks later, they still think you’re unconscious when a nurse says, ‘ honestly, i still can’t name a hero who was actually happy in the end. ’ another voice, ‘ you’re right. heroes may win the battle, but they rarely live through. ’ strangely, you don’t think of yourself. you think of nana, handing over her own child for the greater good & you want to weep. not for yourself, but for her. you can’t cry though. you cannot move. your body has become nothing but bones wrapped up in regrets. your mouth tastes like defeat, like crushed revolution. you won the fight, yes, but did you win the war ?
iv. you are __ ( recovery girl mentioned something about your forties, you think; didn’t listen, too busy thinking about those 44 victims you couldn’t save in an earthquake a few years back --- something completely out of your control, but you blame yourself all the same ) & there is blood in your teeth. it sludges up your throat & chokes you out in your sleep; bloodstained achilles, burdened atlas, you stand tall & proud & invincible while being fragile & anxious & shaky. you are a burning candle in which the fire is fading to embers, but everyone else is blissfully unaware, so you go through the motions: smile. monologue. fight. bleed. smile. it keeps the PEACE, but it’s temporary, you know you’re dying. & that’s okay, but ---
you don’t know what to do. you feel 18 again. you are holding back tears. you are telling yourself to be brave, & you are smiling, but you are holding back tears. you are always the brave one, always the strong one. you know fear like a second skin, but you are brave. you have carried the world on your shoulders for so long, secured it with callouses & scars for so long that you don’t feel the ache anymore. you have simply become it. always the hero, you think, & grimace at the pain in your side. they want you to retire --- they don’t understand that you can’t do that. not yet. if you are not holding up the world, who will ? but your bones shake like they’re saying, ‘ we’re tired. it’s time. go home. ‘ your home was taken from you when you were 18, though, so you tug on your costume & limp out the door. it pulls at frail shoulders so unfamiliar, so pathetic, there’s weight to it when it was weightless before but that’s okay, it’s alright, your shoulders were made for bearing burdens from the very beginning, right ?
v. you are __ ( doesn’t matter; you’re old, obsolete ) & there is blood in your teeth. you jerk awake with a fist raised, all intrinsic militaristic instinct until your side flares up with pain. your breath shudders out of you, but the tension stays, & you quietly choke on iron, a hand fisted over that wretched scar. nightmares. you’ve always had them; the remaining traces of waking panic cling heavily to your lungs, suffocating, & your eyes search the room frantically, blind to everything except for --- ah, there. your young protege, curled in on himself in a chair having dozed off while standing sentinel. you exhale shakily, blinking away macabre strokes of red & afterimages of entrails splattered like a slaughterhouse floor all over again, but they weren’t yours, not this time. they were – you exhale, again, steadier this time. not real. the boy has not succumb to the same fate as you; he is not limbs & gore spread out on the battlefield, he is alive & whole & here. the tension drains from your weary bones, & instead, you sigh, because he must be uncomfortable ( a pang of bitterness hits you: all might would be able to scoop him up & tuck him in a bed with ease, but toshinori yagi cannot. but what is done is done. you let go ). it was at his insistence --- he was so scared for you after your rematch, after your world was unearthed for good & all of your shame was put out on display for everyone to see ( atlas, your shoulders are breaking & the world is falling –– ).
he was scared for himself, too; you knew the look, you wore the same expression when you were 18. terrified, broken, he thought he was going to lose you --- & you grit your teeth because no, you can’t do that to him. not to him, never to him, please. you can’t put him through that, you can’t let him suffer the same way you did. you cannot imagine this boy – this self-sacrificing boy, a lamb willing to nail itself to a cross, you see so many of the dangerous parts of yourself in him --- crying over your mangled carcass the way you did hers. you stand up; your old, worn body aches for oblivion, groans & protests the movement. you’re not supposed to be on your feet at all, & you’re sure your student ( you want to say son, the word sits on the tip of your tongue every day & it feels right ) would be highly distressed if he were conscious --- the image garners a lopsided grin, fond --- but he’s not, & what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. your world has been so much darker ever since you lost her smile; his reminds you of hers, there’s as much of her in him as you, & that brings you so much joy. one day, you’ll have to thank him for teaching you how to live again, but for now, you gently place the blanket over his small form & promise to raise him. you will support him when it all becomes too much, when his shoulders begin to shake & when his voice breaks & when he needs to be reminded on how to roar, you will be there. you have to be. no, not that --- you want to be there for him. for all them, just like you always have.
‘ don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere, kiddo, ’ a bare whisper, you should have learned by now not to make promises you can’t keep, ‘ i am here. ’
( vi. you’re on your deathbed & there is blood in your teeth. there has always been blood in your teeth. you are sorry. you are so, so sorry. )
delilah shepard + joker.
a drabble for @laughsbest bc tbh they asked for it.
shepard!
she barely hears it , she doesn’t hear it , she’s not entirely certain that it exists outside of her head ----- that anyone else might have heard it. she’s standing in front of the fire extinguishers and she’s trying to breathe but there’s smoke in the air and in her lungs and she swallows around the irritation that urges her to cough. the rapid - fire of her heart is the ticking of a clock counting up , a bomb counting down , and she bends forward to take one of the canisters into her comatose hands. ❝ distress beacon ‘s ready fer launch. ❞ she turns , tosses it into kaidan’s anxious arms , and she’s grateful that she isn’t still facing him when he speaks again.
will the alliance get here in time?
NO. she holds no illusions to the contrary. how could they? they’re in the middle of uncharted space and they’re dying , dying , they’re dying! another explosion rocks the ship and kaidan stumbles , cries out. NO. her heart constricts until it forms the letters , sharp angles and a circle of things that don’t end. she’s fumbling , pounding on panels , trying to stabilize this section of the ship enough so that she can move on. she realizes that she’s crying. she realizes that she hasn’t answered him. ❝ ‘m not doin’ this jus’ so they c’n find yer frozen corpses. get ev’ryone ont’ th’ escape shuttles. ❞ ‘ YOUR ‘ CORPSES ----- not ‘ ours ‘. it’s an important distinction , one that she isn’t even aware that she makes.
joker’s still in the cockpit! he won’t abandon ship. i’m not leaving , either.
❝ so y’ left ‘im there?! ❞ the clock is ticking , the bomb is beeping , they don’t have time to be heroes! she exhales , turns on her heel to grab kaidan by the elbow , force him to look at her. ❝ get t’ th’ damn shuttles! i’ll take care o’ joker. ❞ DYING DYING DYING DYING DYING ----- she’s sorry. she’s so sorry.
commander!
❝ kaidan ----- GO! now. ❞ she blinks , presses her mouth hard into a thin line , gives the gentlest squeeze of his arm before releasing him. she thinks of her daughter. she thinks that she’s sorry. she thinks that she needs to move.
aye , aye.
he turns to leave , and she exhales a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob , but it fills up the gaping space beneath the cage of her ribs. she presses the release button for the escape shuttles , and she moves.
more explosions , less air ----- she foregoes the physical helmet of her armor for a technologically - projected one. she refuses to hide from this , and maybe her thick - headed crew will be more inclined to listen to her if they can see her ----- if she’s a HUMAN BEING giving orders rather than an impenetrable suit of armor.
mayday , mayday , mayday! this is ssv normandy!
HE’S ALIVE. thank god. she runs , out of the hallway and into the hub of the crew’s quarters , up the stairs to the ----- bridge. it’s blocked. burning debris fills the passageway and she swallows around the ANXIETY of it , turns on her heel to ascend the other stairway.
we’ve suffered major damage from an unknown enemy!
KEEP TALKING. she exhales again , coughs , cries , activates the holo - lock ‘pon the still - intact door and -----
come on , baby. hold together. hold together!
MY GOD ----- there’s nothing left. she loses her footing in the emptiness of it , in the lack of gravity , and gazing up into the vastness of space sends her spinning. she feels faint , moves her tongue around bile in her mouth , and her chest momentarily seizes around the sensation of being swept away. ( how can you feel weightless and heavy all at once? her shoulders bow beneath the realization of it ----- and , for a brief instant , she shifts from feeling nothing to feeling everything all at once. SHE’S GOING TO DIE OUT THERE. SHE’S GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW. ) she blinks , cants her head , curls and uncurls her fingers into trembling fists. all right. okay. she turns her head to glance toward the cockpit , and there’s a peculiar fondness that settles beneath her breast. her one condition? he gets the hell off of this ship ----- and then you can do whatever you want to her.
she moves once more , steps over the threshold of the cockpit and through the separative barrier that’s probably solely responsible for her friend’s life. ❝ c’mon , joker ----- we have t’ get outta here. ❞ she sets a hand upon his shoulder , allows it to jostle atop the frantic motions of his arms as he fiddles with the control panels , desperate for change ----- for response. the corners of her mouth rise into something nearing pride , and she idly sweeps her thumb in an arc along acromion hill.
no , i won’t abandon the normandy! i can still save her!
she believes that ----- she really does. but , she also believes that they’re out of time. she’s only aware of the tear that trails down her cheek through the sensation of somebody else , and she sniffs , swipes desert tongue across desert mouth before she responds. ❝ y’ could ‘f we had more time. ❞ she wishes that she knew what it is that makes him look at her , so that she might hold onto it before -----
yeah , okay. help me up.
of course , but she’s barely bent at the knees before he’s announcing that they’re coming around for another attack! , and she turns to witness the unfamiliar energy beam decimate half of the bridge. urgency revitalizes her , and she returns to joker’s side , curls her fingers ‘round the underside of his arm and encourages him to stand up , to recline his weight against her. she drapes the arm ‘round her shoulders , taking care not to strain him to stretch beyond his capabilities , circles her own arm ‘round his waist and secures his wrist in the other. she assists him as best she can , sets one foot in front of the other as slowly as they can allow for , tucks him more closely into her to switch their positions once they arrive at the last escape shuttle. she sets him down into the nearest seat , braces against the incessant explosions that continue to gnaw at the hull like starved creatures. ( somebody has to activate the release. would you still think that space is beautiful if you knew that it was filled with dead things? ) the turbulence knocks her off - balance , but she is possessed of enough forethought to grasp at the corner of the wall.
commander!
he’s concerned , and his voice is raw with it. she raises her head to meet his gaze , and summons the last of her strength and will to smile at him ----- beaming , broad , full of dull - edged teeth. ❝ ‘m sorry. ❞ a cutting inhalation that briefly betrays her fear as she claws desperately to maintain her grip ‘pon the wall. ❝ this ain’ yer fau-- ❞ her fingers slip , and she scrambles to catch herself ‘pon the edge of the nearby console , presses her knuckles hard ‘gainst the button before she loses the opportunity.
shepard!
she hums as she hears the shifting of plates to seal the shuttle , and everything after that is pain in the back of her head and a tightness in her chest , her throat constricting until the walls touch and she’s shriveled and empty. she thinks of kaidan and joker , beautifully alive. she thinks of her daughter , blissfully ignorant. she thinks that she misses them.
when they tell the story of commander shepard , none of them will say that she died with apologies and declarations of love behind her teeth.
* this drabble is specific to @vanguarcl‘s portrayal of commander shepard and canon - divergent.
HE HEARS HER VOICE , AND IT TEARS HIM IN HALF ----- dirty fingernails digging a GRAVE out of the EXPANSE of his chest and constricting ‘round his hummingbird heart. ( TOO FRAIL , TOO SMALL , it palpitates painfully and threatens to BURST , and the very memory of IRON in his mouth is enough to draw BILE from the pit of his stomach. ) HE HEAVES , supports his DEAD WEIGHT ‘gainst sheet metal side of a building , and he would make himself EMPTY but there’s nothing inside of him anymore. ( IT’S HER IT’S HER IT’S HER IT’S HER IT’S ----- ) HE BUCKLES , folds into himself and falls to his knees.
shepard? sure , i remember you. you’re some type o’ big alliance hero.
YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER. trembling , he claws at the ground until he’s sifting loose earth through the spaces between his NUMB FINGERS , coughs against ACID in his throat , winces against DISCOMFORT growing behind his skull. ( SHE’S GONE SHE’S GONE SHE’S DEAD SHE’S GONE SHE’S ----- ) HE RISES with concerted effort , pushes himself to his height with the pads of his fingers and a hand on his knee , steadies himself with sidesteps. HE NEEDS TO MOVE , now , before he LOSES her again. he needs to know for CERTAIN. he needs to see her for HIMSELF. ( he needs to tell delan to SHUT THE FUCK UP , but that’s a lesser concern. )
❝ ----- COMMANDER SHEPARD. ❞ he interjects , reprimands , and his voice travels like an INCENDIARY ROUND through the air. fists clenched , shoulders squared , spine straight , he maneuvers around a generator until he’s PLANTED FIRMLY in the line of sight of ----- everyone. ( OH , GOD ----- EVERYONE. ) he looks at her INSTINCTIVELY , without meaning to , and she’s so UNBELIEVABLY SOLID and REAL that he doesn’t know what to do with it. ( how do you BREATHE when there’s something PHYSICAL to stop it? how do you feel warm in a SHADOW , an obstruction of light? ) SHE’S HERE , and HE LOVES HER so much that he TEARS THE FLESH from his bones to MAKE ROOM for it. ❝ CAPTAIN of the normandy , the first human spectre , SAVIOR of the citadel. ❞ HE LISTS her accomplishments like it’s REHEARSED , like he’s said them a thousand times before. ( that’s because it is , that’s because he has. THESE TITLES are all he has left of her ----- had left of her. IT’S HER SHE’S GONE SHE’S DEAD SHE’S RIGHT HERE. it’s too much. he doesn’t understand. ) ❝ you’re in the presence of a LEGEND , delan ----- and a GHOST. ❞
all the good people we lost , and you get left behind. figures.
OKAY , FINE ----- he deserves that. IT CONGEALS in his throat , hardens into something DIFFICULT to inhale around , swallow around. as much as he DISLIKES the man , the sight of delan walking away fills him with SWIFT DREAD because now there’s nothing between HIM and HER. he exhales weakly , a sickly wheeze! of a sound as he turns his attention back to her.
❝ ----- noma. oh , my god. ❞ AGAINST EVERY FIBER OF HIS BETTER JUDGMENT , he closes the distance , circles his arms ‘round her shoulders and chest and PULLS HER into him. she returns the embrace , and it wrenches something AGONIZED from the depths of his chest , a sound akin to a REPRESSED SOB. ( IT’S HER SHE’S GONE SHE’S REAL SHE’S NOT DEAD SHE’S RIGHT HERE SHE’S ALIVE. ) he buries his face into the hollow of her shoulder , measures the BEAT of the pulse in her neck , and SHE’S SO REAL and HE LOVES HER SO MUCH that he tears himself apart to build a WALL around her. ❝ i thought you were DEAD. ❞ SELFISH , he keeps her for himself ----- because , in this moment , NOBODY MISSED her as much as he did , NOBODY MOURNED her as much as he did , nobody was made as less in the ABSENCE of her as he was. SLOWLY , and with great effort , he finally pulls away ----- angles his head away from her to blink the PINPRICKS from his eyes , wipes away a STUBBORN TEAR with the bridge of a knuckle.
a reunion has to wait. cerberus brought me back to stop attacks like this.
❝ ----- CERBERUS?! ❞ A FURROW OF HIS BROW when he meets her gaze again , eyes searching for an answer , for the PUNCHLINE to the joke. ❝ you’re with cerberus now. i---i can’t believe the reports were RIGHT. ❞ A SHAKE OF HIS HEAD , and he rubs circles into the space between his eyes. HE FOUGHT cerberus at her side! they’ve both stepped over the CORPSES of men and women ----- GOOD , INNOCENT men and women ----- who lost their lives at the hands of the TERRORIST ORGANIZATION that she works for now?!
cerberus and i want the same thing -- to save our colonies. that doesn’t mean i answer to them.
she can’t possibly believe that. she can’t possibly be SO NAÏVE. she may be COMMANDER SHEPARD , but she’s not INFALLIBLE. ( IT’S HER SHE’S REAL SHE’S RIGHT HERE SHE’S ALIVE ----- SHE WORKS FOR THE ENEMY. ) he has to make her listen to him , he has to make her understand ----- just because cerberus wants the “ SAME THING ” doesn’t mean they want it for the SAME REASON. nothing is ever so black - and - white. nothing is ever so simple. ❝ noma , please. i---i can’t ----- you can’t possibly believe that. do you ----- do--do you honestly think ... that cerberus doesn’t wanna CONTROL you? do you really think that this is ----- that this is a mutual partnership , and that they’re just gonna ----- LET YOU GO when this is all over? noma , do you remember what i said to you about CUTTING CORNERS? ❞
the past is done. you need to focus on what’s happening now. you saw it yourself -- the collectors are targeting human colonies , and they’re working with the reapers.
❝ yeah , i did see it. look ----- i know you , noma , and i know that you’re gonna do whatever it takes. but , this ----- this ... isn’t the way. CERBERUS isn’t the way. you think they’re doing this without some sort of ULTERIOR MOTIVE? you think they really wanna protect humanity? of course not! they just want ----- th---they just want the ones that they can use! you saw what happened to admiral kahoku and his men , and the rachni , and the thorian creepers , and the husks on chasca. you saw all that! ❞
you’re letting how you feel about their history get in the way of the facts.
A HARSH EXHALATION , tinged with desperation and pleading ----- something that bows his shoulders and sits at the base of his neck. ❝ i---i don’t ----- i don’t know that , noma. i---i d---don’t ----- ❞ he raises a quivering hand to cover his mouth , which contorts around EMOTION and another sob that CRASHES into the back of his teeth. ❝ i would’ve done anything to bring you back , but this ----- i---i didn’t expect this. you’re the last person i ever expected to take CERBERUS’S SIDE. ❞ HE TURNS AWAY from her , nurses his blossoming migraine with the press of his fingers across the plane of his forehead. ❝ i ----- i should go. i need to ----- report what happened here. ❞
i could use someone like you on my crew , kaidan. it’ll be just like old times.
SHE’S ALIVE , and HE LOVES HER SO MUCH that he would die a hundred times , a thousand times , if it means that this never happens ----- if it means that he never has to choose between HER and EVERYTHING ELSE. ( how did it come to this? how did they get here? IT’S HER SHE’S GONE SHE’S NOT DEAD BUT HE WISHES HE WAS SHE’S RIGHT HERE AND HE HAS TO LEAVE. he does , right? he has to leave. ) HE SWALLOWS HEAVILY , wrings his hands at his chest. ❝ i---i wish i could. i really do. ❞ his body quakes with the EXPULSION of DESPAIR , and he angles his head to look at her once more over his shoulder. ❝ good luck , noma ----- and , please ... STAY SAFE. ❞
your boots click against the dance floor as all that could be seen was a MESS of bodies flooding the floor. the music blares into your ears, brown hues scanning the dance floor. you weren’t there to dance, though. you had two options & you already knew which one you were going to choose.
MURDER OR NOTHING.
& YOU obviously chose the dramatic one. as claws rip through the guard’s neck ; you watch as the man falls to the ground, the blood draining from his neck, not even taking a second glance at him as your eyes peel away. not a sound was HEARD, all eyes on you.
your boots are walking away from the SCENE, twenty plus bodies lying dead. it was a massacre. and in that moment, you realize that you’ve became just as bad as your own mother. that YOU have become the DESERT WOLF.
