The earliest memory Izuku had of his mother was her tears.
She was a river nymph, a minor goddess, of great beauty and a kind heart. The Fates said that she would bear a son and the son would be greater than his Father.
And, they said, the son would either go to war and die young or live a long life, growing old and gray. They told his mother that it was fame, a name that would live on for ages, or namelessness.
And Inko knew, perhaps, the sort of path Izuku would choose.
He never cared about fame, of course. But he could never sit idly by while there was injustice in the world either.
She knew he would die.
Izuku was swift-footed and strong. He was known as a man who could take on a hundred men without breaking a sweat. His fists just as deadly as his work with sword, shield, and spear. His heart was kind, a hand reaching out.
But the hand could easily turn into a fist as Shigaraki and All For One discovered.
The gods were fickle creatures.
Izuku hadn’t much time for them himself. Not out of a sense of arrogance. But they took and they gave and took again. They were less like logical creatures and more ones ruled by their passions. He made his offerings and was grateful for their favor.
But he hadn’t much trust for them, himself. How could they when they just as easily favored enemies as friends?
Still, he praised Athena and Ares, burned incense for Hestia, made sure to lay copper for the toll of the Underworld, made his offerings to Zeus and Hera, made sacrifices to Artemis and…
Well, the picture itself has been painted. No need to belabor the point.
The gods do not know what dwells in the hearts of men until men themselves open their mouths.
Izuku had better sense than that.
Shouto had been in Izuku’s life for as long as he could remember. He was the presence next to him as he mother greeted Izuku in tears, knowing his fate. He followed Izuku into training, into learning how to heal, studying under the greatest martial tutors known to man and god.
His father had been a callous and cruel man, thrown down into the pits of Tartarus for his crimes against his family, against the gods, against xenia. His kingship was gifted to someone else and his children scattered to the four winds.
Shouto was grateful that it sent him to Izuku. Izuku was grateful that it sent him Shouto.
He was the other half of him.
Izuku would see him destroyed.
He was Izuku’s heart.
Izuku’s heart would shatter.
He was Izuku’s downfall.
Shouto’s death was All For One’s end.
In another life, in the one where Izuku could live to old age in obscurity, where his kind heart did not push him to go to war; he would have been a healer. He took to the lessons well and he had gentle delicate hands.
As he lay in his tent with Shouto by his side, sleeping soundly and sweetly, as the quiet of a day’s battle filled his ears, he wished he could have had that life.
But All For One was an affront to the gods and to men. Even though the gods helped those on his side, those humans who had won their favor as they were fickle and capricious things. He could not live. Izuku would not let him.
And if he meant his death, then so be it.
Shigaraki and Izuku were too evenly matched.
They were always too evenly matched.
Except…
Izuku abided by the rules of war.
Shigaraki did not.
Izuku woke up in bed alone.
Shouto’s body was found on All For One’s wall.
It is not Izuku’s kind heart that is remembered past his death.
It is not his gentle nature and soft smile. It is not how he tried to protect those in the encampment that needed it. It was not his sharp tactical mind and his brilliant smile.
It was not how fiercely he and Shouto loved each other. It is not the quiet moments that they had in their tent, laying together after witnessing the day’s horrors and tragedies.
It was his rage.
They remember his rage.
Izuku singlehandedly won the war against All For One.
It is disagreed which of the gods had killed him, lest he turned his rage against them.
Some say that golden-haired Apollo struck him down with an arrow. Some say that grey-eyed Athena had taken him quietly in his tent after weighing the options. Some said that one of mighty Zeus’ thunderbolts had claimed him. Some say that the Earth had erupted and fiery Hades emerged, taking him down to Elysium to be with his love in death.
Does it matter who killed him?
It’s still a tragedy of a full life denied.
His mother still weeps for him.
He’s still dead.
