Chapter Text
No matter how much time passes, Toshinori isn't quite sure he'll ever get used to being relegated to the sidelines.
It's his new normal, and he has to accept it (he has no other choice), but that doesn't make it any less of a choking vice around his heart to have to watch everyone else go to work while he sits there and does nothing.
Well. Not "nothing."
He has a very important job to take care of, after all.
And that job is presently sitting on his folded legs, staring at her hands where they sit in her lap instead of looking at the book they were trying to read together, her brow furrowed in a way that makes her seem far older than she is. She's fidgeting with her skirt, twisting the buttons between her fingers. Toshinori lets her think in silence.
"They're doing something dangerous," Eri eventually asks, a clap of thunder in the otherwise silent room, "aren't they?"
None of them had told Eri exactly why she would be in Toshinori's care and not receiving visitors for a little while. All anyone (read: Izuku, Toogata, Aizawa, and Mirai) had said was that they needed to go to work, with various levels of reassurances included for Eri's sake. None of those reassurances had included any details at all about what that work consisted of. Whether it was simply her intuition, or if she'd managed to put it together with the bits and pieces she was able to glean, she's determined that they left some information out.
Toshinori isn't going to be the one to tell her the exact truth. For the simple reason that he knows she'll blame herself, and he isn't going to put that burden on her. (If she figures it out... He'll do his best to pick up the pieces.)
Still, she's sure of what she's saying, so lying about it entirely will only serve to damage the trust Toshinori has managed to gain. Besides, all things having gone well, they should be wrapping up the operation soon, anyway. It started during the evening yesterday-- and Eri spent most of its duration asleep, thank God-- and it wasn't projected to last much into the morning. Sunrise was several hours ago.
With a sigh, he closes the book (neither of them were really seeing any of the words anyway) and sets it down, then offers up his now-free hand. She immediately grabs it and lifts it up to set it on top of her head. His palm covers the entire top half of her face. (Morbidly, he remembers Shigaraki, and hates how easily he notices their similar appearances. Pale hair and red eyes.)
(Eri's eyes have never glared at him with a look so full of bitter malice that it sent a chill up his spine, though.)
(He doesn't think about Shigaraki for long. What's in front of him matters too much for him to waste the time doing so.)
She likes his hands, she's told him before, which startled him the first time he heard it. He doesn't have nice hands by any definition. His fingers are over-long and slightly crooked, his palms are wrinkled and rough with scars and age. They're just a little too big compared to how gaunt the rest of him is. He's spent his life working with them, curled fists punching villains and clawed fingers digging through rubble and cupped palms supporting the weakened and weary, and his history shows. But he thinks of the (metaphorically, though he's heard talk of making it more literal) now-disarmed Overhaul, of his obsession with perfect sterility, his hands cold and thin and unblemished, and how one of those reaching for her would always mean pain. And it makes a little more sense.
"...They are," he finally answers.
He's not going to lay it out in detail, but he refuses to lie to her. That won't do anyone any good, in the long run.
"Are they..." She presses his palm against her face a little more firmly. "...Doing it for me?"
After a moment of thought, he says, still not lying; "That's not the only reason. The people they're going after are dangerous to everyone else, too. But, in part, yes."
She wilts. (He'll never admit it where she can see, but he feels much the same.) Gently shifting her where she sits so she's facing him, he tugs his hand free and uses it to brush her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. She tends to hide behind it like a curtain, and normally he's content to let her cope how she will, but he's pretty sure right now is one of those times that demands things like "eye contact."
"It's because they care," he continues, still gentle. He repeats to her what he's told himself a thousand times. "They want you to be able to go outside without needing to be afraid." Even with Overhaul in custody, they can't be certain as to the extent that the rest of his cronies are still pursuing his goals. While they're still free (and while they still aren't certain of all their identities), it was decided that letting Eri wander around in public was just a little too much of a risk. "We all do. When they're all done, you'll get to leave the hospital. You can come to U.A. with us."
She looks up at him. "That's... The school Deku was talking about, right?"
"That's right." She grabs at his hand again. He lets her take it, and she hugs it to her chest like a comfort object. "Remember how we agreed that I would help you learn how to protect people? U.A. is a school for Heroes. Keeping people safe is one of the most important things you can learn there."
He feels more than sees the way she jolts. Her eyes go a little wider. "Is that where you teach?"
"It is, yes. Myself and Aizawa. Izuku and Mirio attend there as students." He wiggles his fingers, and she makes a noise that might be an attempt at a giggle. "You can go there too, when you get a little older. And in the meantime, there's lots of nice kids there who would love to meet you."
"...That sounds nice," she says. Not quite nice enough, though, by the way she curls up and shuffles closer to rest her head against his chest. "I still don't want anyone doing dangerous things for me."
Toshinori sighs, once more pulling his hand away and wrapping his arms around her once he has the freedom to do so. "It's hard, isn't it? When other people decide that you're someone to be protected?" She presses a little farther forward, hiding her face against his shirt. "I know the feeling. You aren't alone. Do you want me to tell you what someone told me about it?"
He'd been too distracted with Izuku's panic attack during training that day to really think about it, but after the fact it was an entirely different story.
Izuku was very quick to nip that one in the bud before it could escalate any further.
(God, he misses his kid. Toshinori knows he needs to be there, he knows they need as many hands on deck as they can muster and that they need Izuku's analytical mind and brutal skill more than Toshinori needs to be able to see his successor safe, but that doesn't mean there isn't an ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his missing lung at the thought of what he might be facing out there.)
"Okay," Eri says, quietly. Miserably.
He simplifies it a little for the sake of the kid. "I was reminded that one reason people become heroes is so they can protect the people they care about. And reminded that it's not a bad thing to need taking care of." He cups her hands between his own. (They're so tiny in comparison.) "People like to help. It's what we do. Helping others is why we came together as communities in the first place."
History is a subject they haven't really covered yet, more concerned with making sure she's capable of doing things like reading and writing, but they'll get there.
"We all think you're worth protecting, young Eri," he murmurs. "And when someone cares for you enough to help you like that, does it make sense that it might hurt them when you try to argue that you're not?" She starts, like she hadn't even considered that. "It's tough to accept things being done for your own sake. But when they go out and fight for us, it's also a little bit for their sakes, because it means they can be absolutely certain that we're safe and healthy. And that's important to them."
"It shouldn't be," the girl whispers.
"It's their decision, though. Remember how we've been helping you understand that your choices matter, and deserve respect? Like when you say you don't want a hug or don't want to see the doctor right now, and we don't make you? It goes both ways." He should be telling her that she is worth everything and more, but she's heard it before. And he knows quite well how hard it is to internalize something like that. She's a clever kid, she'll grasp the logic. "We may not understand why they've decided we're worth it. We may think otherwise. But we still have to respect their choices, and part of that is letting our friends do what they need to so they can keep us safe."
His use of "we" would be risky, with any other kid. He certainly doesn't want to put the burden of his own feelings on her shoulders.
But considering how much of Eri's trauma is based on separation, is a result of being treated as though she is distinctly other from the people around her, being taught that there's no one like her in the world... A little commiseration in the grief they share might do her some good. (To learn that yes, other people do in fact have the very same problems she does.)
It's a little unclear whether she really believes what he's saying, but she looks a little less morose. So that's something. They'll get there-- any progress is good progress.
"Tell you what," he says, an obvious distraction tactic. She looks up at him again, doubtful. "Why don't I teach you something, while we wait? People might be a little scared, coming home from doing something dangerous, so how about I show you one way that you can help someone who's panicking?"
She flinches, almost imperceptibly, but looks interested regardless. Her expression is all wobbly determination. (And it's so much like Izuku, he's a little stunned.)
"Like the breathing?"
"Similar to that, yeah. That might not work for everyone, though, so it's good to have more than one thing you can do to help. One of a hero's greatest strengths is adaptability. Knowing lots of different ways to help people, since everyone is different." Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he lifts his other hand, pointer finger raised. "This sort of method is grounding-- that means it helps people focus on what's really happening around them, as opposed to getting stuck in their thoughts."
Pulling her legs up to her chest, Eri turns to face him head-on, looking up at him curiously. "How does it work?"
He pauses only briefly to put it in as simple terms as he can manage. "Well, since you're trying to help people focus on what's around them, you have to get them to use their senses. Remember those?"
"Oh! Um, yeah, I know those ones." She sits up a little straighter. "They're, um-- You see with your eyes, and hear things with your ears. Then you... Taste things, and smell them, and that's your mouth and nose. And..." She hesitates. "Touch. With your hands."
"That's exactly right. We use our senses to observe our surroundings, so that's what we have to focus on when we're trying to pay attention to what's real." She nods. She's a better listener than a lot of his students. "It also helps to give someone who's panicking some kind of goal, a question to answer. That helps them direct their thoughts instead of letting them wander."
"Got it," she says, firmly.
"Alright then. Here's how it works." With his hand still raised, he lifts all five fingers. "Before you do anything, you have to make sure the person who's panicking can hear you, of course. But once they do that, you can start. First, you ask them to name five things they can see."
He wiggles his thumb. Taking the hint, Eri straightens up and looks around the room. "Oh! Um," she hums, "I can see-- you, and the blanket, and... My bed, and my books? Oh, um, and the door!"
"Very good! Next;" he brings a finger down, "four things they can touch."
Eri looks down at her hands. "Umm. My hair," she says, running her fingers through it. She looks up, and grabs one of Toshinori's bangs. "Your hair." (He laughs softly.) "Your coat, and, um, the blanket again." She reaches down to poke the latter with her toes. After a moment, she looks up, mildly alarmed. "I said the blanket twice, is that okay?"
"That's just fine. It's important to remember that these aren't strict rules, just guidelines to get started. A person may not need to go through all five senses, or might not be able to, for one reason or another. Some people can't see, or can't hear, so they wouldn't be able to do those parts of the exercise."
"Ohh, okay. I'll remember." She nods a couple times. "What's next?"
"Next up is hearing," he says, gently tapping the shell of her ear, then lowers another finger. "Three things, this time."
"Mm." She looks around, frowning slightly. The room is soundproof, which sort of limits her options. Eventually she settles on what he was expecting, and says; "my voice, your voice, and," she leans close against him again, "I can hear your heartbeat."
He hugs her a little tighter. She doesn't complain.
"Smell is next," he pokes her nose again. "How many things, do you think?"
She hums, thoughtfully. "Two? 'Cause it was five, then four, then three, so it's going down."
"Well done! So?"
"Um, your hair smells kinda like... something. I don't know what it's called. It's... pointy? Kinda like my toothpaste." Oh. His shampoo. He murmurs a quiet "it's peppermint," then nods for her to continue. "And then I can also smell the room. It's kinda warm. It's different from the doctors' rooms."
After what she'd told them about how much time she'd spent under the knife, they'd done their best to keep her space as un-hospital-like as possible. That included making sure the room never smelled too much like antiseptic. To combat the issue (without sacrificing cleanliness), they'd invested in a truly staggering amount of air fresheners and candles. The former took center stage today, something that claimed to smell like "cashmere" (which he didn't really think had a scent, but he supposed he wasn't an expert on these kinds of things) which was indeed a very warm-smelling thing.
"Very good. One thing left, and I'm sure you can figure out which sense it is."
"Um, taste? That's the one we haven't used yet." When he nods, she sticks out her tongue, brows knit. She mumbles something incoherent. Then, a moment later, realizes how much it didn't make sense, then tries again. This time with her tongue where it should be. "I can kinda taste the cereal I had earlier. I think. I'm not sure, sorry."
"No need to apologize. This was just practice, remember? And like I said, you don't have to be very strict about the answers." He holds up his hand again, fingers once more splayed, and she lifts her own to place it over his. "You can use your hand to remember. You have five fingers, and five senses, right? So for the first one, you still have all your fingers up, which tells you that they need to look for five things. Then, once you're done with that, you put a finger down, and you have four left."
"So I gotta tell them to look for four things," she finishes, nodding assuredly. "And then you keep counting. Okay! I think I get it. Is it okay if I practice on my own?"
"Of course! It's a very good thing to remember. It might even help you, one of these days." She's been doing pretty well adjusting, better than they expected, but he knows better than anyone how non-linear recovery can be. "I've used the technique myself more than once."
She opens her mouth, clearly intending to ask about specific situations (and he's floundering trying to think of one that's actually suitable for a small child, since all the things that could make him panic after this many years of being in the business were usually pretty terrible), but a soft knock at the door interrupts her. They both startle, and Toshinori is on high alert, but he does his best to keep it stifled.
"Wait just one moment, please," he says, helping her off his lap so he can stand. "I'll be right back."
Aizawa's worn expression greets him when he opens the door. His co-worker has a bandage peeking up through his shirt and is visibly exhausted (and for a moment he regrets suggesting Nighteye reach out to him for help, but at the same time he knows they probably couldn't have gotten this far with Eri or the raid this quickly without him, and finally reminds himself that this is the kind of thing Aizawa signed up for as a hero), but there's no remorse on his face, so Toshinori dares to hope.
"It's done," Aizawa mutters in a breath. "Three hours ago. No deaths on our side. A lot of injuries, some minor, some severe," (Toshinori's heart skips a beat,) "but nothing life-threatening. Majority of Villains apprehended. A few neutralized." It's hard to find space amidst his clamorous emotions to fit in any regret. "You want the full report?"
He glances back at Eri. She's paler than usual, staring at him with wide eyes, her trembling hands buried in the blanket she's tugged up over her legs. She's not even trying to pretend she isn't straining to listen to them.
"Not now," he murmurs in response. "I'll get it later. But Eri should know, even if you spare her the gory details. She's been worried sick about everyone since you left." Standing up a little straighter, he asks; "Actually, can you take over for me? If she panics when she hears someone got hurt, you should be here to help her."
"And you can't stay to help me explain it why?"
He gives Aizawa a flat look. (He'd have thought they were past this by now.) "I don't need you to tell me. Izuku got hurt, didn't he?"
Aizawa scowls at him, expression scrunched up in displeasure. He doesn't immediately deny it, so Toshinori knows it's true, which means Aizawa knows exactly why Toshinori needs to leave immediately.
"You suck," he says, not unkindly. "Yeah, I'll watch her. Even if you stayed here, you'd lose your mind not knowing how everyone's doing, and that would just make her panic more. So go-- Verify that your son and ex-boyfriend aren't about to die." As Toshinori sputters his complaints (half-performative, because Aizawa mentioned Nighteye and Toshinori didn't, which means something is wrong because Aizawa does nothing by accident), Aizawa ignores them completely, and instead keeps talking; "and hey, since you're going, you can do me a favor and let me know when the doctors give the all-clear for visitors so I can bring Eri over. She can do her best impression of you by fretting over everyone."
"I don't fret."
"I'm not even going to grace that with a response," Aizawa says, pulling the door open the rest of the way and shoving past him. "Hey, Eri. How are you today?"
"I'm okay," Eri whispers, as Toshinori collects his coat from its place by the door. "Is everyone done fighting?"
"Yep. Fight's over. Everyone came home. And hey, guess what? We got all the bad guys."
To himself, Toshinori smiles, careful to hide the expression behind his collar as he gets ready to leave. Aizawa can bully and bluster as much as he wants, but he's a good person, and a damn good guardian to his kids. (He wonders if he can convince the class to get the man a "world's best dad" mug or something. Or, ooh, could they make him a pair of custom sweatpants featuring the phrase?)
(Briefly, he thanks whatever forces of kindness there are in the world that he's able to keep his thoughts so lighthearted. That Aizawa didn't have to come to him with a post-mortem.)
(They're injured, and some of them might be injured pretty badly, but they're alive. And Aizawa wouldn't be here if one of the kids was in critical condition-- for as much as he gripes, he's come to understand that the connection between Toshinori and Izuku is no small matter, and should be given its due diligence-- so at least he doesn't have to wonder too drastically after their well-being. They made it, they're okay, they won, they're safe.)
He catches a cab to the hospital Aizawa texts him the name of, not wanting to deal with possibly being recognized on the train, and after checking in and allowing the receptionist to verify his identity, he's pointed to a ward absolutely brimming with Heroes and police as soon as he steps out of the elevator. He goes mostly unnoticed, though someone he's pretty sure is one of Nighteye's sidekicks (Bubble Girl? He winces as he realizes he has no idea what her actual name is) sees him and points towards a room a little further down the hall before resuming the report she's giving to an officer he doesn't know.
A quick glance reveals Izuku and a few of his classmates engaged in rapidfire conversation, and when Toshinori knocks and waves through the door (ironic, he's done this before), Izuku says something to the other three kids and gets up to meet him.
"Hi," Izuku says once he opens the door, mildly breathless, like he's just come off the tail end of a long rambling session. He looks a little shell-shocked, there's a cast around one wrist, and several fingers on the other hand are bound in splints, but he smiles up at Toshinori as he moves into his space like he belongs there regardless. "It's good to see you. Who's with Eri?"
Of course that's what he asks about. (Man, they are alike. Always worrying about everyone else.) "Aizawa. We figured it was best for him to be there when she heard that people got hurt. Just in case."
Izuku winces. "Ah. Smart."
"So, how is everyone?" Over Izuku's head, he takes a second to wave at the other students (Uraraka, Asui, and Kirishima, each bruised and tired but nothing major), and they smile and greet him back with varying levels of enthusiasm. With that nicety out of the way, Toshinori sets his hands on Izuku's shoulders and gives the kid his full attention. "I didn't want to wait for the full run-down. I heard there were a couple severe injuries? What happened to your arms?"
"Yeah. It's--" Another wince, a little more severe. "I'm, um, okay. One of the villains caught us when we weren't expecting it. My hand got trapped under some rubble, and I had to use-- my Quirk at a higher percentage than I could really handle when I was trapped," he says, gesturing vaguely with his broken fingers. "It's worse than it looks, they said. This shouldn't affect my-- um-- shaking."
Toshinori frowns. Compared to some of his previous injuries, that's actually pretty mundane. "Recovery Girl is here, right?" He was pretty sure Aizawa had mentioned that in his text. "Why couldn't she fix them?"
Izuku grimaces, shoulders hunching up to his ears, and looks away. "I wasn't the priority." Before Toshinori can interject (because the way he says it sounds rehearsed, like he's said it before and will say it again,) he's talking again. "Everyone's gonna be okay, but... Um, it's not great. Mirio, he-- He got hit with one of those bullets. The ones that can erase Quirks. They-- they don't know if it's permanent this time. We just have to wait."
And oh, that stings. For a moment he finds himself thinking something along the lines of the kid had such a bright future, too, before he catches himself. Had? No, the kid has a bright future. Even if his Quirk never comes back, it doesn't even need to be that different from the one he might've been expecting. (Hadn't Toshinori just decided a little while ago that there wasn't actually any real reason someone couldn't be a Hero while Quirkless? Young Toogata will be fine. It could have been worse. He could be dead.)
"Alright," Toshinori says, letting none of that slip-- he'll react later-- and prompting; "What else?" Because Recovery Girl can't fix that, so it doesn't really explain why she couldn't help Izuku.
Hesitating, Izuku eventually says, "Sir Nighteye." Then he doesn't continue.
Toshinori feels very cold. "What happened?"
"It's, um--" Izuku steps out of the doorway, letting the door slip closed behind him, and threads his splinted fingers through Toshinori's as he starts walking down the hallway. He'd be hesitant to risk aggravating any injuries, but if the kid is reaching out first without a single apology about it, something must be wrong. "He's-- he's going to live."
He starts with an assurance about Mirai's survival. Toshinori is pretty sure he'd feel nauseous if he still had a stomach.
"Izuku. What happened?"
"He got hurt," Izuku manages, and doesn't elaborate, instead choosing to hide his face against Toshinori's coat the best he can as they make their way to a quieter, less occupied part of the wing. There's only a few people here; one or two officers outside various rooms, doctors and nurses hurrying about. And-- he spots as they get closer to the end of the hall-- the other of Mirai's two sidekicks. A pair of thin, oddly human eyes on a decidedly insectoid face meet his, and the man steps aside to give them clearance to the door he's guarding with a nod.
Toshinori frees his hand from Izuku's, instead settling on the kid's opposite shoulder so he can tighten his grip without worrying about hurting him.
There are three people in the room when they enter: a doctor Toshinori doesn't know, a grim-looking Chiyo standing off to one side, and--
And Mirai, upright in bed, his torso covered in bandages and hooked up to enough blinking machines that Toshinori's hands start shaking at the sight of them. There's an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He's missing his glasses. Despite that, he's alert, and listening attentively to what the doctor is saying as she reads from her clipboard.
Or at least, he was listening attentively. Now he's staring at Toshinori in complete silence.
Izuku shuffles closer to hide himself in Toshinori's shadow. Perhaps realizing that she's lost the attention of her patient, the doctor looks up to see what's grabbed it instead, and sighs upon seeing him.
"Alright," she says, tucking her clipboard under her arm, "you've heard the important parts. The rest can wait. Call if you need anything, and someone will be by to help."
With only a nod of acknowledgment to Toshinori, she leaves. Chiyo is a moment behind her, muttering as she leaves, and Toshinori catches something that might be a snide comment about a "familiar arrangement" before she's gone down the hallway.
Izuku is still hiding. Mirai still hasn't said anything.
For a second he isn't sure if Mirai can recognize him from there, blinded as he is. Then Mirai says, infinitely soft; "Toshinori." And Toshinori immediately remembers he's seven feet tall with hair the color of an American school bus and realizes Mirai definitely knew who he was the second he opened the door.
"Mirai," he says, and his voice cracks. A quick glance at Izuku reveals his successor gesturing him forward, refusing to meet his eyes. He can't help but take a second to make sure the kid is okay, gently turning his head with a hand on his chin, and when he sees the watery but not devastated expression on his face, he decides Izuku probably isn't about to fall apart. (He never thought crying would be reassuring before he met the Midoriyas.) Once he's certain that Izuku really doesn't need his help immediately, (and he's not less of a priority, he isn't, and Toshinori will be taking the time to reassure him of that) he takes a step closer. "Good to see you again."
Mirai huffs. "I would say the same, but right now we would both know I was lying."
It would hurt, if he were anyone else. But he's himself, so Toshinori immediately knows it's a joke, poking fun at his missing eyewear. Not any kind of insult to Toshinori's presence. Knowing that, he laughs softly, moving closer still to grab the nearby chair and sit down.
Squinting at him, confirming his conclusion, Mirai says; "It is , however, quite good indeed to see a colorful blob that very well could be you."
Toshinori glances back for a moment. Izuku is in the process of leaving, and as soon as he steps outside, he runs face-first into young Toogata's chest as the older student appears from a little further up the hall. Toogata greets him with a smile, though it fades a moment later, and he reaches forward to pull Izuku into a bracing hug. Satisfied that his kid is (literally) in good hands, he turns back to Mirai.
"I'm glad it-- went well," Toshinori tries, somewhat awkwardly.
"As well as it could have, I suppose." His voice is flat when he continues; "It almost didn't. In his absence, many of Overhaul's underlings saw fit to gorge themselves on their stashes of Trigger. While the low-level thugs were of little difficulty, several of the more noteworthy Villains had many opportunities to do a significant amount of damage. Two known members of the League were there, too, causing problems. It was a highly disorganized operation that went wrong at several key points and resulted in injuries where there did not need to be any. Even if it ends up being temporary, Mirio lost his Quirk," his volume ticks up, and they both wince, though Mirai does so with his right hand twitching upwards. After a moment, he sighs and lets it fall. "And still, I cannot help but think-- It would have been worse if Overhaul were there. It would have been worse if we'd needed to worry about rescuing Eri instead of being able to dedicate all our resources towards the fight at large."
Trying and failing to bite his lip and keep from smiling, Toshinori knows what he's saying.
And Mirai knows it, given the dull look he shoots him.
"...You'll forgive me if I ask you not to say I told you so about him."
"I'd never," Toshinori lies. "Not while you're like this." Well, that's true. "I'll wait until they discharge you. After that, all bets are off."
"You may be waiting for a while." Mirai's expression thins. "...It could have been worse."
Between Izuku leading with assurances that he's alive, and Mirai starting the explanation with that, Toshinori is prepared to be told Mirai is minutes from collapsing into dust or something.
With a barely-stifled wince, Mirai leans forward and taps his left leg a couple times. It doesn't so much as twitch. He repeats the process with the right, though by now it's clear what the problem is, and Toshinori is already lifting a hand to his chest to try and keep his pulse steady. Panicking now won't be conducive to recovery.
(His career will never be the same as it was. Neither will his life. Toshinori abruptly understands what it's like to be on the other side of that.)
"It was very close to killing me," he says, and it's gentle, but it's also honest. He's always excelled at that. "Had it been a few inches closer to my spine, the doctors are uncertain if they could have done anything. I believe they had to restart my heart once. It's possible I will suffer internal complications in the future. However," he continues, leaning back against his many pillows, "I am alive. I will continue to be. And I suppose, now, we match. Or mirror, if you want to be specific."
For a second, Toshinori doesn't know what he means.
Mirai lifts his hand and rests it on his right side with a little too much care.
Toshinori's heart sinks.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice hoarse, and to his shame he realizes he's about to start crying. "Mirai. I'm so-- I'm sorry."
"Toshinori--"
"No, you were right. I should have retired, back then. Or-- Or at least drawn back, cut down on my hours before they were cut for me. I should have listened. I--" He folds his hands over his mouth. The words are thick in his throat when he tries to keep talking-- he swallows blood and forces them through. "I shouldn't have cast you aside. I'm sorry. If I hadn't been so short-sighted, so reckless-- I could have been there, I could have stopped it, I might have still been strong enough--"
Something soft smacks him in the face.
Toshinori blinks, and looks down at the pillow in his lap. When he looks up, he sees that Mirai has another one raised. His hand is shaking where it's lifted over his head, teeth gritted with the strain of it. Immediately, Toshinori shuts up, if only so Mirai will stop pushing himself.
"Don't you dare," Mirai hisses, "say that to me."
He's not sure which part he means. He decides to just quiet to avoid repeating something he shouldn't.
"You are one of the strongest people I know," and only he could say that and make it sound like a threat. He lifts his hand again and points towards the door. "The other two are out there somewhere, together if I'm correct in guessing Mirio is who your idiot of a son met when he left." (Toshinori does not object to the title.) "If you truly believe I would have wanted you there, after everything, you are just as much a fool as him."
Instead of letting his hand fall to the bed, he reaches forward with it to grab Toshinori's shirt. (Through the thin material, he's shaking again.)
"No matter how much you apologize, it means nothing when you still aren't listening. I pleaded with you to retire not so you could save yourself to be ready to act in some great time of need, but so you would save yourself, period." He lets go of Toshinori's shirt and sits back, exhaling slowly. One of the monitors-- which had begun beeping a little louder as he'd gotten riled up-- quiets again. "You have done so much, Toshinori. And you're still trying to do more. When will it be enough? When will you realize that you are enough?"
Toshinori... pauses.
He listens.
And he says; "I'm... trying."
Mirai narrows his eyes. Toshinori hunches his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller. (It's markedly ineffective.)
"I-- I am trying," he says, a little firmer this time. "I'm sorry-- let me finish-- I'm sorry for refusing to hear what you were saying. On some level, I might have known, but I didn't want to actually process it. And I don't think you were entirely correct, back then. Abandoning heroism entirely, abruptly-- that wouldn't have been good, either. I should have dialed it back. But," he says, and he remembers Izuku meeting his mother's eyes with determination, "I am not going to regret the people I was able to save because I stood my ground."
Especially knowing All for One wasn't truly dead and gone after their fight all those years ago. If he really had quit Heroism cold turkey right after his injury, he knows his absence would've given rise to a whole new slew of villains.
(Besides, he kept working, which meant he was there when Izuku needed him.)
"I am trying to realize that. To recognize my worth beyond what I do. It is-- difficult." He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists. They aren't pretty-- but they don't have to be. "Being defined by one thing for so long, and then losing it all like that, it's--" No, that's not what he wants to say. He shakes his head. "I can't do nothing. If I spend the rest of my days sitting around idly, I'll lose my mind. But I am trying to remember there are still things I can do now that are just as valuable as what I used to do. And I know," he interrupts, before Mirai can say anything, "I don't need to do things to have value. That's not what I mean."
Was this easier over the phone? It feels like it was easier over the phone. Maybe something about the distance offered some kind of conversational safety net. Or maybe talking is just more difficult in general, now that they've moved beyond the distant civility of their initial reunion. (And don't have the stopgap of Eri to focus on, like their subsequent conversations regarding her situation.)
Or maybe he's just bad at talking to people. In general.
"Like, this mission," he says. "Even if I had been able to go, someone needed to watch Eri. And since All Might isn't the sort of Hero you bring on a minimum-damage operation, that might have been the best place for me, anyway. I'm-- It isn't--" He makes a frustrated noise. There's a point he's trying to make, he just can't-- find it--
Mirai rests one hand over his own. The contact is grounding, and he exhales slowly, threading their fingers together. (He spares a brief thought to Mirai's Quirk, but brushes it aside. If Mirai wants to look, let him. Toshinori isn't afraid of what he'll see.)
"I'm getting there," he eventually says. "I can't promise change overnight. But I'm trying to listen, when people tell me things. I'm trying to let them help."
Toshinori looks up. Mirai looks exhausted.
"I'm going to be alright," he says, and he really shouldn't be the one saying this considering Mirai is the one in the hospital bed, but he knows any attempts at reassurance on Mirai's behalf wouldn't be welcome. Always so much more concerned with the people around him than himself. (He supposes they have that in common.)
(And, really, he wishes Mirai had been able to look past their feud to see Izuku for who he was from the start. They're so alike, it's almost a little uncanny. Natural hair color and all.)
He clutches Mirai's hand a little tighter.
"I want to live," he says, with as much conviction in his voice as he can muster. (As a former Symbol, it's quite a lot.) "I'm not going anywhere. I am here, and I have too many reasons to stay."
Something in Mirai's gaze is searching, and Toshinori holds his stare for as long as he needs. After a few moments, he wilts, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm not sure if I believed you," he muses. "You told me as much before. And you sounded certain, of course, but I couldn't help my doubts."
"And now?"
A wry smile. "I would be a fool to deny it further. You're almost obnoxious about it."
Toshinori laughs. It's more than a little relieved. He didn't think he'd need to find some way to convince Mirai that he really did mean what he said, but he was kind of dreading it all the same. But if Mirai believes him with enough certainty to be complaining about it, however little he means his harsh words, he has nothing to worry about.
Well, that's not true. There's plenty to worry about. This specific thing, however, is settled.
"I'll try to keep my newfound zeal for life on the down-low," he says, rolling his eyes and pulling his hand away to cross his arms over his chest. "I'd hate to bother you."
Mirai huffs, endlessly fond, and levels him with a flat look. He doesn't have to read very hard to find the affection buried under that droll stare. "You love to bother me. It's one of your favorite things in the world. You practically make a hobby out of it."
He's not a liar, so he doesn't deny it.
They settle into quiet. There isn't really more to say, but his earlier musing about Mirai's Quirk has left him thinking again. Hesitantly, Toshinori reaches out his hand again, this time with his palm up in a clear offer.
He says; "Do you want to check?"
Mirai looks at him for several long seconds. He glances down at the offered skin, stares at it for a beat, then looks up again and meets Toshinori's eyes.
"I don't need to," Mirai says. He smiles behind his oxygen mask, and continues, "I know what the future holds."
Mildly relieved (because he would have let Mirai look if he really wanted to, but he's not exactly keen to find out any specifics), Toshinori instead sets his hand gently on Mirai's wrist, tracing his thumb under the thin, hospital-standard band encircling it.
He knows what the future holds, too. No Foresight required.
(Izuku and Toogata return, the latter immediately dragging a smiling Mirai into excited conversation and the former tucking himself up against Toshinori's side with a wavering grin when he lifts an arm in invitation. The future looks bright.)
After all, it matters what he wants.
And he wants to live.