Work Text:
Izuku had always admired Katsuki.
He was brave, and strong, and despite what people thought, quiet and thoughtful. His character was distinctive; a constant, one could say.
It helped his costume was beautiful in all the right ways.
Izuku had always thought he resembled a butterfly; his earpieces the wings of the delicate creature, orange and black gently fluttering in the breeze.
It was fitting, really, that Katsuki was a monarch; a king before his time, destined for greatness but gone far too soon.
Wings broken like matchsticks; earpieces ripped from his head.
A butterfly.
The monarch.
Dead.
---
It was raining when Katsuki died. Not a light sprinkle; butterflies could survive that after all.
A downpour splattered down, washing away blood in swirls of red like fallen poppies.
Butterflies can’t work in the heavy rain – they must wait for the rain to stop, for their bodies to dry before returning to their life.
The butterfly did not return this time. The rain was too much.
---
Izuku was merciless. Lightning sparked around him; eyes cold but furious all the same. Shigaraki stood no chance against a vengeful teenager.
He held the rage, the disappointment, the regret, the guilt, back until he collapsed in front of Katsuki, tell-tale tears already welling in his eyes. He had nothing left to give. He wished for something, anything, to restore life to his greatest rival, his greatest friend.
Cold, bitterly cold, hands lay beside the body. Izuku grasped them, attempting to ground himself.
If he couldn’t save to win, why didn’t winning to save work either?
On the washed-out battlefield, floating in the sky of Japan, blood staining his knees, Izuku wept for the loss of his soulmate.
---
Katsuki didn’t have a funeral.
The clean-up of Japan was too great; 2-A too busy to stop and pause and take a minute to grieve.
A classmate, for some. A friend, for most. A soulmate, for one.
They had to save, still, even after winning. So, they buried their heads in rubble, in concerned citizens, in paperwork, in training, in pillows, and avoided any remote mentions of him.
Izuku took it the worst, of course. He was the one to tell Mitsuki and Masaru. Izuku had never heard such an agonising wail in his entire career (and what a thought that was, that Izuku had a career, only in his second year of high school, and Katsuki had barely gotten started). The mood was sombre and pitiful, rain still pouring outside as another set of parents outlived their child, and Izuku left quickly after bearing the bad news.
It almost was another vigilante stunt for Izuku; he threw himself headfirst into rebuilding and rescuing efforts, barely taking the time for sleep or food.
This time, there was no apology, no childhood friend, no intervention held to stop the self-destruction. No one knew only Katsuki, who was dead, how to stop the boy from destroying himself.
---
It didn’t let up for another three months. Izuku was at his breaking point.
He’d just saved a little kid and his cat from an unsteady building. Not that the action in and of itself was special, but when the kid had turned around and grinned, saying “You’re awesome Deku!”, with his big smile, and his dusty black t-shirt, and crazy blonde hair, it had felt like the world was caving in on him for the thousandth time. This time, he wasn’t Atlas. He couldn’t push through, just to keep the sky from touching the ground, and the weight was crushing him. It was like looking at an alternate reality, one where Katsuki and Izuku were both heroes from the start.
He held back tears as he escorted Kocho-kun and his kitten to the police station. Leaving the boy under the care of the officers there, he powered up a low percentage of One For All, and leapt towards UA for the first time since Ochako had fought tooth and nail for him to be allowed to return.
---
The sight of Heights Alliance was too much already.
Izuku fought back the memories, placing one foot determinedly in front of the other, passing the paths lined with streetlights, and knocking slightly on a not-so-unfamiliar door.
Aizawa opened the door, sighed, not unkindly, and stepped to the side to let him in.
“Kid…”
“…”
“Left door down the hallway.”
Izuku nodded his thanks wordlessly. Aizawa, too, had seen Katsuki, had seen the butterfly’s wings too battered and bruised to begin again. He knew.
So Izuku stayed. Because he knew too. And that was enough.
---
Eijirou wouldn’t deny it; he was struggling without Katsuki.
Sure, Denki, Mina and Hanta tried, but they too were dealing with the loss of a classmate, but more importantly, a friend.
Every day, he would go out, to the ruined towns and cities and areas of Japan, lend an unbreakable hand or a sharp smile, and save to win. Every day, he would also clench his fists before leaving the dorm to steady his beating heart, feel his chest ache at the wounds the war had left on his country, force his quirk out and fake a grin, all to distract from the unshakable grief.
Eijirou wasn’t quite sure if he was unbreakable anymore. His quirk couldn’t stop the shattering of his heart, after all.
---
Ochako never knew the intimacies of grief until Katsuki had died. Sure, brushes of it with Sir Nighteye and Midnight, but they had been so caught up in the fighting there was simply no time to feel.
The war was over now. And that did nothing to stop the tsunami of grief washing over her and her classmates.
No one ever told her that losing someone wouldn’t just stop there. She could see Kirishima, and Kaminari, and Mina, and Sero distancing themselves, even from each other, and the rest of her classmates were unsteady and sombre at best. That didn’t even begin to cover Izuku; Katsuki had worked so hard for him to trust again, and the cutting of the ties between the two meant Ochako no longer had eyes on him in the never-ending waves.
She wasn’t sure she would be able to keep afloat any longer. Tsunamis pay no mind to gravity in the end.
---
Eijirou was called out to a couple of collapsed buildings near a city park. He just had to break up the debris into easier pieces to transport. Mindless work, really. He didn’t mind.
The ache in his chest didn’t go away as he chiselled the concrete into dust. It didn’t go away as he picked up the pieces on the ground and dumped them in the wheelbarrow. It didn’t go away when he recalled the time he and Katsuki had challenged each other to destroy the leftover ice from the school festival faster than the other.
He missed the explosions he’d come to think as commonplace in the background.
Without warning, something brushed his shoulder. He whipped around, hands hardened to rocks. Nothing.
He was just paranoid. It was fine.
Something orange flitted in his peripheral vision. Glancing up slowly, he watched as it came to rest gently on his shoulder.
A monarch butterfly.
Sitting like a king.
Wings in the breeze.
Eijirou’s vision flashed to Katsuki’s earpieces before smiling softly at the butterfly as it landed on the rocks he’d just finished demolishing like it had done them itself, wings stuck out proudly.
“Hey man. I missed you.”
A wet chuckle, as Kirishima wiped his eyes, lips curling fondly.
“Yeah, I guess you can win this time.”
The butterfly preened.
The ache in his chest lessened just a little bit. A reminder that he was still here.
Oh, how much Eijirou missed his buddy.
---
Ochako was willing to admit she and Katsuki barely tolerated one another. It was a more mutual appreciation for Izuku they bonded over, rather than a real friendship.
But Katsuki would sit and listen to her rant about the stupidity of the citizens living in UA because “everyone deserves safety and how would they feel if we just kicked them out?”, and he would, before everything, accompany her to the gym and practice hand-to-hand combat or bash punching bags until they were exhausted just to get their anger out, and he would cook her favourite meals after one of these said venting sessions.
Katsuki did that for everyone; if someone was off, he would quietly gather ingredients and make a meal able to be shared by twenty and enjoyed especially by one.
And Ochako supposed she helped him in return; she would practice nullifying Katsuki’s gravity so he would be adapted for any quirks even in the air, and would perch on the stools in the kitchen to keep him company as he cooked, and would ask Jirou for song recommendations to play when they worked out together. Katsuki was too proud to ask for songs himself.
Izuku was still out there, somewhere. She supposed Japan needed him, but for once, she wanted to be selfish and scream “We need Izuku too!”
She could feel everything bubbling under her skin, and it was too much.
Ochako ended up at one of UA’s many gyms. Punch after punch she threw at the black bag hanging from the ceiling. By the end, she was barely making it move, knuckles red and bruising, hands sliding sluggishly down the fabric. Tears rolled down her face at the same beat as she weakly hit the bag again and again and again.
It just wasn’t fair.
Death wasn’t fair.
---
Eyes red-rimmed, but feeling composed, Ochako walked slowly down the path. The sun was still setting, creating a pretty picture in the sky, all the shades of orange and red in an autumn-y swirl.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the fresh air. It always made her feel better, being outside.
Something soft perched on her nose, and Ochako opened her eyes in surprise. There was a monarch.
A fond feeling rose in her chest.
Remembered the first time she’d seen Katsuki’s costume, and laughed at his butterfly ears and had used her quirk to float above him as he raged about his costume being cooler than “a stupid ass day-moth”.
“Hi Kats. We’ve missed you, you know?” she breathed softly into the sunset air, watching cautiously at the butterfly wings fluttering back and forth. She didn’t want to scare it off.
“Everyone’s pretty glum. We could use your cooking right now if I’m honest. I could use some sparring.”
Her eyes misted over and she chuckled sadly.
“Izuku could really use you Kats. You really did us all dirty by dying this early.”
She could just imagine him retorting indignantly about “it’s not my fault that crusty-ass motherfucker decided to grow stupid overpowered skin sticks to kill me.” A smile rose to her face. It felt like the first time she had since everything had happened.
“Please find him. For me. And for him. He’s going to break soon Kats, and no one’s there to piece him back together again.”
The butterfly suddenly took off, did a few laps around Ochako’s face, and flew into the distance.
Ochako’s heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. She hoped to see the butterfly again.
---
The silence in the common room when she returned was not unfamiliar for these past months; everyone was either out helping with recovery efforts, too exhausted and sleeping the day away, or unmotivated and lazing around Heights Alliance.
She missed the laughter and the music and the fun, but the whole world couldn’t change in two minutes, so she let it rest for a while.
Instead of turning up the stairs to return to her room like usual, Ochako made her way to the kitchen, rummaging around a couple of drawers before finding exactly what she was looking for.
---
An hour or so later, warm meals were sitting on the table in the common room. Ochako spent the next minutes softly knocking on dorm room doors, greeting tired eyes, and guiding exhausted bodies down the stairs.
Eighteen was better than none.
Twenty was better than eighteen.
Slowly the silence, intermitted with the clanging of utensils against bowls, become too much. Muttering turned to whispers turned to soft chats. Ochako smiled again.
---
Izuku slept for an age. Aizawa let him be, shutting over the guest room door and shushing the mewling cats hungry for breakfast, then lunch, then dinner.
When he finally emerged, eyebags deep and eyes drowning even deeper, Aizawa simply placed a bowl of soup in front of him and plopped a cat on his lap.
After finishing, Izuku returned to the room to sleep off the ever-present weariness in his bones. Before opening the door, a photograph hung proudly on the wall caught his attention.
There were four teenagers in the picture, all in UA uniforms, smiles of different sizes on their faces. Izuku supposed that the one with the little grin and familiar capture weapon was Aizawa, which then meant the blonde was Present Mic and the girl with black hair was Midnight. He couldn’t place the boy with a massive grin and blue hair. He presumed the worst.
The thought that Aizawa had so many people to grieve as well struck something deep in Izuku. Midnight-sensei had obviously been a friend, the blue-haired boy one too. Kacchan had been his student, one he’d sworn to protect.
Before he realised it, Izuku was knocking softly on the door at the end of the hallway.
“How do you...?” Voice rusty with disuse, he tries again. “How do you... how do you deal with it?” He gestured roughly, looking expectantly at the trusted black eyes staring questioning back at him. Fed up with trying with words, he padded softly back to the framed picture, pointing first to the blue boy and then to Midnight.
“Does it get easier?” was the unasked question.
“You never stop loving them.”
Izuku looked up at the man with teary eyes.
“It will always hurt. But… but, those memories,” Aizawa softly tilted Izuku’s shoulders and body to face his, “will always be there too. In here, and here.” He brushed Izuku’s forehead, and his heart.
Silent tears streamed down his face, freckles obscured. Brushing them away with the back of his palm, Izuku’s heart ached at the longing in Aizawa’s voice and the knowledge that he would never recover from losing Katsuki.
“But, hey, kid. He’ll show you he’s here, somehow.”
“It might take a long time. But when he’s ready… and you are, he’ll be here.” The man’s finger reached for the blue-haired boy, before retreating quickly into the deep pockets of his pants.
“We grieve because we love.”
Izuku turned back to his room, desperately trying to keep the rest of his tears away.
“Don’t ever stop loving, kid.”
He broke down, then and there. The first time he’d let himself be overwhelmed by the loss and ache of missing the other half of his self. He was gone. And he would never be coming back. Izuku would never hear the crass voice call him a “nerd” one more time or smell the sweet burnt-caramel scent his explosions set off. He’d never again get a special Katsuki-made katsudon or get teased for his “stupid creepy stalker notebooks”. He’d never get to race Katsuki to be the number one hero, or reminiscence with him about their childhood. He would never again get to have the moments where he knew he was where he belonged; next to Katsuki. Destined to be forever 17.
A comforting hand rested on his shoulders as Izuku grieved for the person he loved and lost. He would never be able to tell Katsuki he loved him.
---
Japan was recovering. Slowly, yes, but recovering nonetheless.
Izuku was too.
It was hard. And it definitely wasn’t linear. But some days he could get up and not feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Sometimes he could smell caramel and smile instead of feeling his eyes burn.
Almost eight months after the war ended, Izuku was ready to face what he couldn’t bear to for a long time. He left Aizawa’s apartment for the last time, thanking his teacher as he left. His next stop was Heights Alliance. He had been there for moments but never for long, and it would stay that way today too.
He dropped the stuff he’d accumulated from his borrowed room back onto his own bed and grabbed a notebook from the shelves above his desk, quickly turning his eyes away from the framed pictures sitting there. If he looked at them too long, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do keep going.
Izuku climbed up the hill at the back of the dorms. A slight breeze blew but it was warm and felt like those bright summer nights of one’s childhood. He smiled fondly, heart aching, as he sat in front of the stone.
He placed his notebook on the ground in front of the memorial, saying nothing for a long while.
Izuku’s voice pierced the silence of the clearing. “Kacchan. I miss you. So much. And you probably don’t want hear my whiney nerdy whinging.” He half-laughed, half-sobbed. “But I hope you don’t hate me for not being able to save you. I will regret it until the day I die.”
He took a deep breath and continued into the wind.
“Thank you for being my soulmate Kacchan. I wouldn’t have made it here without you. I-,” a deep shuddering breath, “I love you.” A single tear fell onto the notebook, Izuku’s head now bowed.
“I love you.” He said it again, just to hear it once more.
The sun was setting by the time Izuku stood up to leave.
Making his way slowly down the hill, Izuku turned around one more time. A monarch butterfly sat proudly on the stone, it’s beautiful orange and black pattern spread for all to see. It flapped down and around the notebook on the grass, before flitting over to where Izuku was now standing, eyes glistening.
How could he have thought anything else? Kacchan would always be with him. And wasn’t that a comforting thought.
The butterfly followed Izuku until the entrance to Heights Alliance, before hovering in one spot. Izuku didn’t turn around and opened the door to the warm welcome of his classmates, his friends. Laughter and soft but bright voices echoed around the room, and the butterfly didn’t wait any longer, entrusting him to his friends.
He had plenty of time to wait after all. He was in no rush.
---
The butterfly watched as Izuku graduated, as he was announced in the top ten, as he started his own agency, as he started teaching alongside Aizawa, as he saved the world more times than he could count. He knew Izuku didn’t need him there.
The only time Izuku saw the butterfly again was the night after being called the number one hero. The moment was intensely bittersweet; he’d celebrated with his friends after the rankings and had finally gone home to his quiet apartment in the late hours of the night.
Upon flicking on the lights to the dark apartment, Izuku just cried in the doorway. He hadn’t missed Kacchan this intensely since graduation and his heart ached that he couldn’t be here to celebrate with him. Izuku shuffled across the floor and towards his bedroom, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hands.
He stopped. On his pillow was a monarch, its distinct markings painted across its wings.
Izuku smiled softly. Everything was alright. Kacchan was still here.
---
And if Deku, the newly appointed number one hero of Japan, began wearing a monarch pin on the left side of his chest, pinned proudly on his hero uniform, there were no questions asked.
The butterfly just watched and waited. He had so much to tell Izuku.
But the butterfly could wait.
Izuku still had many people to save and many battles to win after all.