Secondhand
achieving elysium

When Shimura Nana woke on the ground, dust billowing in clouds around her and warm blood seeping through torn fabric, she did what she did best. The only thing she could think of doing.

She got up.

It wasn't as easy as it should have been. The world spun as she pushed herself up, but finally Nana staggered to her feet. She almost fell again but didn't—couldn't—and took everything in.

This wasn't the first time she'd woken up and not known where she was. But—she didn't remember what happened either. Nana remembered faintly that she was bleeding and looked down. A few cuts and lacerations that were bleeding sluggishly.

"Good," she murmured. Nana took a second, wondering… no, she felt fine. She could do this.

She slid off a glove, hands warm and sticky with sweat, and pressed her fingers gently to the torn skin over her knees. Focused. A thrill ran up her spine, and a feeling like water, rushing, dripping.

The cuts disappeared slowly, going from an angry, wet red back to the paleness of her skin. She healed the rest, a pass over her ribs, bruises on her arms. When Nana was done, she felt a bit woozy, staggering forward as the sun flared brightly.

A fight. The thought registered. She must have been in a fight and— what, knocked out? Nana lifted her hand and ran fingers through her hair, feeling along her scalp, but there was no sign of being hit. A Quirk?

Nana thought back. There was a kind of blank expanse where her memories should have been. Okay. That was a problem she could deal with later. She focused on the last thing she did remember, which was—

"Toshinori."

Panic made her jolt awake. Her heart stuttered— what if he'd been caught in it, too? Whatever had happened the night before, whatever villain she'd faced. Was he hurt? Was he looking for her?

She fumbled at her side for her phone, pressing the buttons clumsily. She put in Toshinori's number and hit call, lifting it to her ear. Nothing. Nothing.

It didn't even ring. She choked on air, her throat tight, and pulled her phone to see the signal gone.

Nana swore. If Toshinori were here she never would have let him hear her like this, but the fact was that he wasn't here. She lifted her phone, squinting past the sun. No signal.

She looked around. She'd woken up near a back alley somewhere, the smell of trash in heat cloying and thick. Nana stumbled out into the open and saw a quiet, almost-empty neighborhood. It didn't look familiar. She slid off the gloves and tucked them away, then took down the cape around her shoulders and wrapped it around the smaller one at her waist.

It was possible Toshinori was in no danger at all, she told herself. And he was strong, though he didn't always look it. He'd proven himself capable of taking care of himself in the fighting department, at least, so she didn't have to feel so worried.

Think.

She had to find Sorahiko. If Toshinori wasn't here, suffering the same fate as her, then he would be under Sorahiko's sharp, watchful gaze. It was Sorahiko Nana trusted, Sorahiko who Nana knew she could entrust her successor.

Most of the time, anyway. It was that thought that made Nana smile for the first time since she'd woken up. Her dear boy. Her dearest friend.

She set off, slipping quietly through the neighborhood. Out of the row of houses she ran into a more populated part, seeing civilians wandering about shops and restaurants. Her phone proved useless, but Nana didn't need it anymore. She wasn't that far from Sorahiko's place and flagged down a taxi, tapping fingers against her thigh.

When a taxi stopped for her Nana clambered in gratefully. She rattled off Sorahiko's address, and the world began to pass by outside. Nana watched the buildings as the driver took a familiar route.

They passed by shops she knew, but when the car paused Nana spotted a coffeeshop she hadn't seen before. It seemed busy, people streaming in and out of sleek glass doors, a bustling clientele filling a warm space.

"That's new," she muttered. She hadn't seen it before—Bear Coffee, with a cute logo of a bear curled around a coffee mug.

"Oh, it's been open for a couple years," the driver said, "and it's pretty popular. Really nice atmosphere. You should try it sometime."

"Huh," Nana pondered, "I guess I must have missed it."

It bothered her, though. She really hadn't seen it before, and on the corner of the street, it wasn't hard to miss. Sure, it'd been a while since she'd come to this part of town, but the driver had said a couple of years.

A couple of years. God, time passed so quickly.

When they arrived Nana thanked the driver, digging through her pockets to pay the fare, then watched the yellow car streak off. Then she turned, seeing a familiar apartment. The relief that swept through her was staggering; her knees almost gave out, but Nana managed the short trip from the sidewalk to the front door.

She rapped on it loudly. It was midday, so he'd definitely be up by now. Maybe he'd send Toshinori to the door, tall lanky form filling the frame, eyes bright when he saw her.

The door creaked. A rough voice started before it even opened.

"Boy, if you—"

The door stopped. The voice stopped.

At first Nana didn't know where to look, and then peered down at the old man hunched, gripping the door. Long, silvery hair framed a weathered face. He peered up at her, and their eyes met.

Nana knew. It was him.

They stared at each other for a long while. Nana's heart pounded in her ears. Sorahiko was unmistakable. Those were the same eyes that had laughed at her, that cutting gaze that was softening now. And the shape of his face. But the shadows had deepened there, and more lines had crept across his cheeks, in the corners of his eyes. Age had weathered him.

He opened his mouth, then shut it. It was one of the only times she'd seen him like this, speechless, but Nana found her voice first.

"Sora… Sorahiko?"

"You," Sorahiko said, but he faltered. Tears rose in his eyes, and Nana found herself overwhelmed by the emotion in them. He opened his mouth again, gasping, trying for words. A wrinkled hand, smaller now, gripped the doorframe like he was holding on for dear life.

"Nana?" he whispered, a pleading note to his voice. "Is… is it really you?"

"I don't know what's going on," Nana said, pleading back. "I woke up. I came here to—find you and Toshinori. It's me. That's all I can promise you. Help me, Sorahiko."

A distant look crept into his gaze, and then his eyes snapped back to awareness.

"Your Quirk?" he asked roughly, and Nana stumbled half a step at how direct the question was.

"One for All," she answered, and acceptance slid over his face. There wasn't another soul besides the people in their circle who knew about One for All. A too-closely guarded secret meant that anyone who knew had to tell the truth. "And my own. Healing Touch."

"We met behind a supermarket," Sorahiko said before Nana could say anything. "I was under an internship and you'd just gotten One for All, and we fought a group of thugs together. You accidentally hit me in the face but you healed me later, after the fight. And we became friends."

Acid bubbled in the back of Nana's throat. She swallowed it back. The shock had come, but she fought her way through it. It— this— the man in front of her was still Sorahiko, no matter how much older he seemed. And he could help her. She trusted him to.

"Are you going to let me in?"

Sorahiko leapt away from the door, and Nana shuffled in. A wave of tiredness rushed over her, and she braced herself against the wall. At least the inside of the apartment hadn't changed even if its owner had. Nana took in the familiar sights and smells and sagged weakly.

He shoved her towards the couch, and Nana collapsed on it, aching and tired. Any traces of adrenaline were gone. She noticed her hands were shaking and pressed them tightly together. Healing had drained her, even if the wounds hadn't been that bad.

Sorahiko was muttering to himself, looking lost. He'd walk a bit, then stop and look at her as he didn't believe she was really there.

He stopped midway through his trek back and forth on the wood floor, then spun and disappeared into the other room. Another voice rose between the walls, young and boyish, and Nana's heart leapt in her throat.

But the boy who appeared in the doorway wasn't hers. He was— small. A mess of green hair, deep like the forest Nana loved. An open, soft face with wide eyes and dotted with freckles.

"—don't, what—"

He stopped when he saw her. Sorahiko crossed his arms behind the door.

"I'm not senile," Sorahiko said, and it was a bit of a question.

"Who… oh," the boy responded. Recognition flooded green eyes. He blinked at her rapidly, then turned to Sorahiko, and back again. "Oh. Oh. That's— yes— no, no, she— um. That's… her."

Her was said a little wondrous, a little reverent. The way someone might speak of a god.

"Would you mind telling me what's going on?" Nana finally snapped at Sorahiko, half-hidden behind the boy in front of him, and Sorahiko laughed.

"That's her," he said, grinning.

"So- sorry," the boy said, "you… must be really confused. Um, you don't know me, I know, because we've never really met, but I mean, I, wow, there wasn't ever really a chance that we'd meet but I guess it's happening. And if it's really you then that means this is some— it's got to be a result of a Quirk, isn't it."

He was cut off as Sorahiko shoved him forward. The boy stumbled, twisting to squint unhappily but snapping his mouth shut. He approached her slowly, then bowed.

"Introduce yourself first," Sorahiko ordered, some of the rigor returned to his voice. "I'm calling Toshinori. We need to talk."

He disappeared before she could see him again. Nana was still reeling. Sorahiko was old now, much older than when she'd last seen him a few nights ago, and this boy was here, and Toshinori was not. The only thing she could hold onto was that he was okay, if Sorahiko was calling him.

The boy swallowed. He peeked at her through his lashes and flushed, but then Nana saw a smile appear slowly like sunlight through the clouds. It reminded her of Toshinori. He bowed again.

"My name is Midoriya Izuku," he told her, and the smile became sad, "and I'm— well… I'm the ninth holder of One for All."

Everything stopped.

"The ninth," Nana said slowly. "You're…"

His boy. Toshinori's.

"That's me," Midoriya said. His smile faltered, shoulders hunched. "And you're the seventh."

She found herself nodding. Nana hadn't placed him yet; all she'd seen of him was nervousness, and a touch of a gentle heart. But there hadn't been a ninth, before.

And what that meant. The pieces slotted together. The coffeeshop. Sorahiko. Nine holders of One for All.

"So this… this is the future," Nana said slowly, trying the words, and a pained expression flashed across Midoriya's face. She tried to smile at him to ease it. "And you—you're the future, too."

They considered each other for a moment. The past and the future. Midoriya was young, younger than… her son, now, than Toshinori. She wondered where he was. What path he had found in life without the danger of Nana's presence. Would he want to be a hero, too? Were his eyes as bright as Midoriya's?

Nana paused. Midoriya wet his lips nervously, eyes flickering from her to the door Sorahiko was past, his shadow across the floor.

"If this is the future…," Nana put together, "where…"

She was afraid to ask. Midoriya blinked twice, waiting, and Nana summoned her courage.

"Where am I?"

Midoriya dropped his gaze. His hands twisted together, and Nana spotted scarring across his knuckles, the skin pale.

She understood.

"I- I'm sorry," Midoriya said, eyes flicking back up to meet hers. Sadness pooled in the corners of his eyes. "I know that's not what… you'd want to know."

Her breath caught in her chest.

When it came down to it, Nana had always known death was inevitable. With an enemy as powerful as All for One… with the line of deaths pressed on her shoulders, she knew one day she would join them.

But it was one thing to know, and another to know.

Her vision blurred for a moment when it hit her. She'd left behind… oh, she'd left them all behind. She'd left them all behind. Her heart ached.

A small hand slid over hers. Midoriya crouched by her side, hesitant, but Nana turned her hand over and pressed their palms together. Warmth seeped between them, pooling. Power kindled in her blood, and a different warmth danced across her skin as One for All rose to the surface. A shock passed between them. They both jerked backwards, but Nana held onto Midoriya's hand and felt an echo pass between them. For a moment she saw a green light dance between his fingers like lightning, sparking up his arm until it disappeared again and the moment passed.

"If it's worth anything," Midoriya whispered, "I'm glad you have this chance. Even for a moment to get to see… to get to see the things you didn't. And the future you shaped."

And she saw a spark of something greater in him in that instant. Perhaps a glimmer of why he'd been chosen. Why he was the ninth.

"Yes," Nana murmured, tongue thick, "thank you. I'm glad, too."

Sorahiko burst back into the living room. He paused when he saw them, and then his expression turned stormy again. He'd only grown more sour with time, Nana supposed. It was funny.

"He's on his way," Sorahiko said, and Nana's breathing went shallow. Sorahiko didn't seem to notice, but Midoriya squeezed her hand. Her friend rolled his eyes. "I told him to get his butt over here and he spent ten minutes asking me what was happening."

He scowled at Midoriya. "He thought you'd broken something again."

Midoriya flushed—anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. "I didn't!"

"Damn well you didn't," Sorahiko continued, sniffing disdainfully, "because I'm a much better teacher than him."

"He's not so bad," Midoriya said weakly. "All Might is trying!"

"All Might," Nana said wondrously, and she felt her mouth stretch into a smile. He'd confided the name to her, voice high and nervous. She still remembered the colors of sunset on his face, the wind in their hair—he wanted to be stronger still, as naturally as he'd taken to having a Quirk. She hadn't been able to help herself, punching him on the shoulder and telling him it didn't matter what his hero name was. He was still just squirt to her, and they'd laughed, and she'd told him it was a good name.

She'd liked it. Hearing it now like it was real— she liked it more.

The others fell quiet, looking at her. She registered the rest of what they'd said then, and narrowed her eyes at Midoriya.

"Broken something…?"

Midoriya covered his face with his hands, turning red. Sorahiko rubbed his chin.

"Your boy," he said pointedly, "is an awful teacher. The first time this one used One for All he broke his arm. Absolutely useless. Midoriya's learned more here than he has in the past year."

Midoriya muttered a protest, but he didn't really disagree.

"He's a good hero," Midoriya said finally, dropping his hands. His eyes went starry. "The- the best! But, um, his teaching…"

"—is lacking," Sorahiko finished. He scowled again. "I tried to get it through his thick head… bah. I kept telling him, you can't treat the boy like he's you, and what did he say back to me?"

"Sorahiko," Nana laughed, and a genuine smile appeared on his face.

"It's really you," he said. "I would have never thought…"

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here," Nana told him. She had missed years. It had been a long time since they'd met, and Nana was hard-pressed to remember a time when they'd been apart. Her friend, her confidant. When she'd imagined the future, she'd seen the both of them together, aging gracefully, fighting back-to-back as they always had. Death had been a looming possibility in her dreams, but so had the idea of growing old, of taking down All for One, of them escaping the cycle of death.

Now she was young and he was old. The difference between them was staggering. And oh, Toshinori was older now, a full-fledged hero. They'd all grown forward without her.

"You're here now," Sorahiko said.

An ember of hope, a spark of light in the dark. Like Midoriya had said—a chance, to see things she never would have been able to. The tree with its thick branches and strong roots, sprouting from the seed Nana had sowed. A future without her. A future with.

"Yes," Nana agreed carefully, "I'm here."