3./

Several hours after Midnight quietly left his room, and two days after he had collapsed in the kitchen, Toshinori woke up.

His eyes were bleary and his mouth was dry, but the attack was on a downward spiral. He hadn't managed to get any sleep the first night, in too much pain to do more than slump into his blankets. He'd managed to nap on and off throughout the following day, but he still felt tired down to his bones. His sleep had been patchy and unuseful until he fell into a deep doze earlier that morning. There was a ache where his spine met his skull.

Toshinori hissed as he propped himself up, the scar tissue stiff and protesting any movement with itching reminders of the pain of the previous two days. "Oh, ouch . . ."

His toes curled when his feet touched down on the cold floor. The blankets slid off his bare back, offering an unobstructed view of the injury to his side. It was always a bit swollen after the major attacks, though this time the irritated flesh had flushed from the normal scarred red to a sickly purple. Toshinori sighed and gently wrapped his hand around the scar, making sure it was up to moving before he tried to walk. His side twitched a bit at his touch, but the pain didn't increase.

He stood cautiously, waiting a moment before taking a shuffling step forward towards the chair pushed under his desk. As much as he wanted to collapse back into the thick padding of his bed he forced himself to move, muscles aching along his back as he gingerly made his way to the chair.

He lowered himself into the fluffy padding with a groan of thanks. It was only a few steps from his bed, but he felt like he had just sprinted up several flights of stairs.

Toshinori shot a bleary glance at his bedside table and the population of pill bottles that lived on its gleaming surface. He felt lightheaded and unsteady, doubtful that he could handle much of anything. Still . . .

It was just past 11 o'clock at night. The students would all be in their rooms, likely sleeping and getting ready for the next round of training. If he wanted to avoid any contact with his students - and any questions he just didn't have the energy to answer - now would be the time to make a trip downstairs.

With a shallow sigh he pulled on a baggy sweatshirt and haltingly made his way to the elevator.

Mic threw himself down onto the couch with a groan. The recording session at the studio had gone one far longer than planned, due to one malfunctioning soundboard. The common room was empty, thankfully. He rolled over, shoving one of his legs into the crease between the back of the couch and the seating cushions. Pillowing his head onto the armrest, Mic felt his eyes slip closed.

A minute later the ding from the elevator snapped him out of the light sleep he had fallen into. His head shot up and, to his surprise, the hunched form of Toshinori was outlined in the dim lighting. Mic felt a big, lopsided smile grow on his face, a little drowsy from the late hour. "Hey, you're up!"

All Might gave a noncommittal grunt, shuffling past the couch and over to the cabinets.

Mic yawned and pushed himself up off the couch, giving a long stretch as he stood up. He snapped his fingers and followed Toshinori into the kitchen. Yikes, but he looks rough.

There were deep bags under All Might's blue eyes, more colorful than usual. While he was already fairly skinny, now it looked like his skin was drawn tight across his face. The scruff of a blond beard was growing on his face and his hair was a matted mess. The dark pajama bottoms he was wearing were wrinkled and the cuff of one leg was turned up. He was hunched over and moving slowly, his breathing slow and wet in his chest. There were stress lines at the corners of his eyes.

Mic stood off to the side, resting his arms on the island in the center of the kitchen. "How're you doing?"

Toshinori, who was fishing around in the cabinets for something, made a noise of satisfaction as his questing hand found the box of teabags. As he slowly withdrew his hand he turned his head, looking at Mic. One of his eyebrows twitched. Toshinori opened his mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. His eyes widened and he rubbed at his throat, wincing at the stinging pain. There was a strange gurgle in his throat and the next thing he knew he was coughing over the sink, trying to suppress the hacking in his chest.

"Woah, there," Mic said, making his way around the island to stop next to All Might, gently reaching out and patting the older man's back.

Toshinori spat watery blood into the sink and sucked in a raspy breath of air. ". . . ow." His throat was raw and irritated, his voice a jagged wet sound with too many edges.

Mic frowned when he felt the hitch in Toshinori's chest. "Geeze, buddy. You sit down - I'll heat some water."

"I-" Toshinori coughed, wincing at the rattle in his throat.

"Don't worry about it! I was gonna make some hot cocoa anyways - that last recording session was a killer."

Toshinori gave a dim smile, but he did relinquish his hold on the tea box. Mic picked it out of Toshinori's wiry hand and set the box next to the stove, bending down to reach for the kettle stored in the under-the-counter cupboard.

Toshinori gave a jagged sigh and sagged against the counter edge, one hand reaching for the paper towels next to the sink and the other resting gently on his chest. Even as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth he frowned at the shudder in his remaining lung.

"Anyways," Mic quipped, turning on the burner. "The kids had a English quiz today. They did better than I thought they would, especially Kaminari." He looked up at Toshinori, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Looks like the extra help you gave them turned out."

Toshinori snorted, then winced at the pull in his throat. "That's -" He coughed. ". . . good."

Mic looked over at him with a critical eye. "You know, you could have asked someone to bring something up to you."

"I know." He leaned back over the sink when a familiar itch started at the back of his tongue. A moment later and he was coughing again, his chest trying to clear out the congestion that had built up over the past few days.

Mic rubbed Toshinori's back, a frown on his face. Toshinori was coughing hard enough that tears were beginning to gather at the corners of his sunken eyes.

One particularly violent cough had Toshinori leaning with his full weight onto the counter, the sharp edge digging into his hips.

"Alright, easy there," Mic said, keeping his voice calm. He gently threw one arm across Toshinori's back, the other gripping the man's forearm. Toshinori pulled in a wet gasp of air as Mic led him to a nearby chair pushed against the wall. "Let's get you set down."

Toshinori blinked away the haze in front of his eyes, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Mic slowly helped him into the chair, making sure he didn't slip off the edge.

Toshinori wheezed, the pain in his chest fading. ". . . dammit."

Mic gave a short laugh. "I hear ya." He stood and walked over to the kettle, taking the heated water off the burner and turning it off. "Just chill there for a while, yeah?"

Toshinori nodded and slouched into the chair. ". . . sorry."

Mic waved a hand. "No problem." He pointed at the hot water. "How long do I keep the bag in here for?"

"Put the bag in a thermos." Toshinori was exhausted, doubtful of his decision to venture into the kitchen. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "Pour the water over it and leave it be for a couple of minutes."

"Gotcha." Mic looked around the cupboard, gently moving aside glass cups. "So, why a thermos?"

"Easier to carry."

"You gonna head back upstairs?" Mic withdrew his hand, looking over the dull silver thermos he had found.

"Yeah."

Mic sighed. "You know, there are a few open rooms down here that you don't have to go so far to get to."

"I know." Toshinori opened his eyes and held his head up. "It's just easier in my room, that's all."

Mic shook his head even as he filled the thermos with steaming water.

For several minutes the kitchen was quiet. Mic found a mug for himself, set on making some hot chocolate. Toshinori just sat in the chair, focusing on his breathing and the familiar taste of iron in his mouth.

Eventually, though, he stood up and shuffled over to the thermos. It had been long enough for the tea to steep. He fished the teabag out with a fork, breathing in the scented steam as deeply as he could. Toshinori nodded a thanks to Mic, who was absolutely enamored with his hot cocoa. He slipped the top over the thermos and began the trek back to the elevator.

"Hold up -" Mic said, grabbing a package of crackers and hurrying over to Toshinori. "If you're not gonna eat anything down here, at least take these." He all but shoved the crackers into the pocket of Toshinori's hoodie, giving them a final pat to make sure they wouldn't fall out.

Toshinori rolled his eyes, but didn't remove the food from his pocket. "Thanks, Mic." He gave a small smile and started to shuffle back over to the elevator, looking forward to sleeping.

"Try to get some rest, yeah?"

"That's the plan," Toshinori said as he waved over his shoulder, his voice rough.

Mic sighed as he watched Toshinori shuffle back to the elevator.

Izuku was pacing in his room. It had been nearly three days since Todoroki and Uraraka had told the others what had happened to All Might. No one had seen their teacher since, except for the brief time Present Mic said he'd been downstairs to grab some tea.

Izuku came to a stop in front of his desk, looking absentmindedly at the poster hung there. "His left side . . ." He gave a tense groan and fell backwards onto his bed.

He was the only one who knew.

He could still remember the only time he had seen All Might's scar, back on that rooftop when they had first met. Now he knew that it was still giving him problems - well, beyond the way it had messed with One For All and his hero career, not to mention the habitual way All Might coughed up blood.

Izuku curled up, gripping his blanket and burying his head into his pillow.

"Maybe I should go see him," he muttered to himself.

". . . he didn't want help and acted like it wasn't anything to be worried about." He could still hear the tremor in Uraraka's voice. His heart clenched and he squeezed his eyes shut.

A moment later Izuku huffed and kicked himself off his bed, walking towards his door.

He had made up his mind.

The knock at his door was quiet. With a wince Toshinori walked across his room, gently pulling open the door and looking down at his student. "Ah, young Midoriya! What is it?"

The boy was gripping the edge of his shirt and looking up at Toshinori, wincing when he heard the man's rasping voice. Izuku's gaze dropped to the floor. "All Might, can we talk?"

Toshinori gave a weary smile. "Of course, my boy." He opened his door a bit wider, inviting his student in to sit at his desk. Toshinori just sat himself down on the edge of his bed, pulling a blanket around his shoulders.

Izuku seemed subdued, watching the floor as he closed the door behind him. He seemed to move slowly, and Toshinori thought he seemed a bit tense. Still, Izuku sat down with a feeling of determination, scooting the chair as close as it could get to the bed.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Izuku looked up, a line of tension along his forehead. "It's about a few nights ago."

Toshinori gave a small jolt before settling back down in his blankets and reaching up to rub between his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Izuku beat him to the punch.

"Are you feeling better?"

Toshinori froze, the words taking time to filter through his brain. "I, uh. Yes, I am."

"That's good," Izuku sniffed, his eyes starting to water. "I was really worried!" He rubbed at his nose. "When Todoroki and Uraraka told us what happened, I didn't know what to do, and if you would be alright, and -" The boy drew in a shaky breath and clenched his hands together.

Toshinori was surprised, to say the least. He had no idea he had worried his student that much. He knew Izuku cared about his well being - his reaction to their conversation after Kamino Ward was enough of an example of that. But he had told them that he would be fine (he would befunctional) and that was usually all he ever needed to say.

"What . . . what happened, All Might?"

Toshinori sighed, blinking away the confusion. "My injury. Some days it hurts more than others."

Izuku looked at his teacher, his expression unreadable. Toshinori scooted back a bit on his bed, crossing his arms and slouching into the blanket. "Usually I can handle it, but it can get bad enough that I have to take a break."

Izuku looked at his hands, one thumb twitching against a scar. ". . . so it hurts all the time?"

"Hmm?"

"You said that it can h-hurt more than other times. So, does that mean it always -"

"It's chronic, yes."

Izuku gripped his hands together. "Oh."

Toshinori felt something squeeze in his chest and he reached across to Izuku, placing a bony hand on his shoulder. "Midoriya, my boy, there isn't anything that can be done to fix it. It's just the way it is, and I've learned to deal with it. It's normal for me."

"But that doesn't mean it's okay." Izuku's voice trembled, but there was a core of steel in his words.

"It's fine, I promise."

"No, it isn't!"

Toshinori felt his eyebrows raise.

"It's not -" Izuku cleared his throat. "You're not fine, even though you say you are. I know you don't lie, so maybe you really think that you're alright, and that you don't need help, or that others shouldn't worry about you, but that's just not how it works, All Might."

For a moment Toshinori felt frantic. "Midoriya, there's nothing to be done for-"

"That doesn't mean we can't help!" Izuku's voice was edged with emotion, even as quiet as it was. "You don't have to constantly push yourself to the side because you think you always have to be strong."

Toshinori froze.

Izuku sniffed and rubbed at his nose. "Tsuyu explained it best, maybe. You're used to not needing anyone. But you are used to everyone needing you, and that's why you don't like to tell others when something's going on."

Toshinori looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. The back of his eyes itched.

"You worry us, you know. All of us. Even Kaachan, though he won't admit it. We see that you're tired a lot, and that sometimes your arms and hands hurt, and you don't eat much, which makes sense, but you really need to eat more and I know because I looked it up, because I was worried about you and -" Izuku took a deep breath, breaking his growing monologue.

Toshinori was quiet. He hadn't realized his students were this concerned for him. He looked up from his hands, meeting the gaze of Izuku. The boy had a faint and determined smile on his face, even though the dim gleam of tears could be seen in his eyes.

"And you don't . . . you don't have to pretend that everything's 'alright' when it isn't." Izuku's voice got progressively gentler. "It's okay to do whatever you need to do to feel better. It's alright to not be alright."

Toshinori blinked. Then, not allowing himself a moment to think, he pulled the boy into a hug. One hand came up to cradle the back of the boy's head, bony fingers lightly threading through the boy's green hair. The other wrapped around Izuku, one hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

I've had to pretend for six years that I was fine. I think I even managed to fool myself, at least a little.

"I don't . . ." Toshinori pulled in a shuddering breath, feeling a hitch in his chest. "I don't think I've ever been told that, before. At least, not in a way that would make it through my thick head."

He's a smart boy, and maybe I should take his word for it.

"You don't have a thick head," Izuku mumbled reflexively. He wrapped both of his arms around Toshinori, being careful and gentle with his left side. He gripped Toshinori's shirt with strong hands, though, and buried his head into Toshinori's chest.

Toshinori chuckled. "Thank you for saying so." He felt Izuku sniff, his head bobbing.

"And . . . you're right, I think." It was still a bit much for Toshinori to take in, worming it's way past six long years of experience and action.

Izuku gave a little laugh. "That's a start!"

Toshinori couldn't hold back the grin, even though Izuku wouldn't see it.

Izuku sighed and shifted in Toshinori's arms, pressing his forehead to Toshinori's collar bone. ". . . the others are pretty worried, too."

". . . I see."

"It might be a good idea to, you know, talk to them, too."

Toshinori sighed. "I don't -"

"You don't have to tell them everything! At least talk to them about what happened a couple nights ago. Uraraka was nearly crying."

Toshinori gave a mirthless chuckle. "I don't mind telling others about my injuries, Izuku. I'm just having trouble figuring out why it seems to matter so much."

Izuku's head shot up. There was an earnest look in his green eyes. "We all care about you! That's why it matters."

A thought began building in the back of Toshinori's head. It was small and weak, but grew as he looked at Izuku. Perhaps . . .

He sighed and ruffled Izuku's unruly hair. "Alright. I'll talk to them."

"We hardly ever see you eat. You always look tired. And what happened two nights ago . . . we didn't know what was going on. You said that doctors wouldn't be able to help. You were in a lot of pain, to say nothing of the blood." Todoroki was strangely subdued, with an unusual edge to his voice.

"Yeah, it was really scary to not know what was happening to you," Uraraka said, crossing her arms and pinching her skin.

Toshinori was surprised, to say the least.

His students were all gathered in the communal area on the first floor, though they had left one of the recliners open for him. They all seemed genuinely worried.

"I apologize for worrying you all," Toshinori said, looking around the room. "It truly wasn't my intention."

Kirishima leaned forward on his chair. "Can we talk about it? You know, just in case it happens again."

Uraraka looked up and smiled, though it was weak. "Yeah, could we? Just so we know how to help."

"I . . ." Despite his conversation with Izuku, he still held a large amount of doubt.You shouldn't have to worry about me. I spent my entire life being a pillar for people to rely on. You shouldn't have to be there for me. I've been dealing with this for years. There's nothing to fix, nothing left to keep healing, and . . .

His thoughts evaporated when he looked around at his students. Some had worry or concern in their eyes. Some of the more subdued ones, such as Todoroki and Shouji, had their arms crossed and were looking at him with unreadable expressions. Izuku gave him an encouraging look.

Maybe . . . maybe this'll be alright. They're actually concerned for me, even when I'm useless like this, retired and half decayed already. At the very least I don't think I can disappoint them, especially Izuku. The less time they spend worrying about me is more time they can spend concentrating on their studies, after all.

Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck. ". . . you all are pretty determined, then?"

"Of course!" Kaminari gave a bright smile. Satou nodded in agreement.

Toshinori gave a small sigh, one hand coming up to gently cradle the scar tissue at his side. He swallowed past the odd lump in his throat and gave a tired smile. "Alright. Just . . . let me figure out where to start."

The room got quiet as Toshinori thought.

. . . well, the beginning is always a good place.

"A number of years ago I was pretty severely injured. I ended up losing my stomach, which is why I don't eat often, and my respiratory system is a wreck. The various surgeries and their complications are why I look like this, actually."

Some of the students had widened their eyes as he started to explain, but they didn't say anything. Toshinori sighed, gently curving his hand around the remains of his warped rib cage. One finger slipped off a whorl of scar tissue, even through the thin material of his shirt. "The injury also handicapped my ability to use my quirk, and is a large part of the reason for my retirement."

The room was quiet as the students processed the information, some of their eyes lighting up as they connected the dots.

"What about the whole, you know, blood thing?" Ah, that was young Kirishima. He seemed a bit subdued.

"There's nothing to really be done for that. It's sort of a side effect. I'm used to it." Toshinori gave a smile. "That's actually gotten a bit better, now that I don't have to do hero work."

". . . better?" Jirou raised an eyebrow.

"It's sort of, ah, a daily thing." Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck, noticing all the glances the students were passing between each other.

"And what the fuck was that a few nights ago? That was more than blood." Bakugou's voice was quiet, and he was staring at Toshinori with sharp eyes.

Toshinori gave the student a knowing look.

"Yeah, what was that?" Yaoyoruzo asked, gently leaning on Asido sitting next to her. Her hands clenched in her lap.

Toshinori rested his elbows on the table in front of him. "The scar that was left behind just hurts more than usual, sometimes. What happened a couple of days ago was a bit strange, I will admit. It . . . escalated . . . a lot quicker than usual. It doesn't happen all that often, though, and it's not really something to be concerned about-"

"Bullshit." Bakugou's voice was vitriolic, for all that it was quiet and low. "You can't fucking cough up blood and collapse on the fucking floor and expect us to not be concerned."

"I've been dealing with this for years, young Bakugou. It's normal."

"All Might, with all due respect," Iida said, waving his hand by his head. "Coughing up blood isn't normal. While it might be common for you in particular, it is serious and shouldn't be waved away."

Toshinori blinked. Even while there was still a part of him saying 'No, they can't help and they shouldn't. They have better things to do, and you're not worth their time and you've been handling it just fine on your own-' there was a part of him that thought 'Maybe . . .'

"I don't -" One hand came up to cover his mouth as he clenched his eyes shut. He sighed and his shoulders dropped.

Something touched his leg. He looked down, the green eyes of Tsuyu meeting his gaze. She put one gentle hand on his knee. "How long have you been living with this?" Her voice was quiet.

Toshinori blinked slowly, dropping his hand into his lap. "It's been about seven years, actually."

"And you've been dealing with it alone?" Kirishima's voice wavered.

Toshinori didn't answer.

It was quiet, for a while. Todoroki was looking at his feet, hands clenching and unclenching. Eventually he spoke up. "Is that why you told us that you'd be 'fine,' All Might? Because you're used to being in pain alone? Or because you didn't want to worry us?"

Toshinori looked up at his class, though his eyes quickly dropped back to the floor. ". . . probably both, at least a little."

Uraraka's voice was halting. "You know something like that wouldn't bother us, right?"

"Yeah," Ashido agreed. "We care about you, ya know."

Instantly the mood in the room lightened. Various students were looking at each other and nodding, some agreeing with Ashido verbally.

Shouji shoved his primary hands in his pockets. "You taking time off to deal with things isn't wrong or bothersome, All Might."

"Yeah!" Satou nearly jumped out of the couch. "You gotta take care of yourself, man!"

"We care, All Might." The familiar voice of Izuku seemed loud, and Toshinori realized that this was the first time the boy had spoken up. "Whatever you need to do to help yourself feel better, we'll support it." The boy had a bright grin on his face.

"I. . ." Toshinori's voice caught and he had to clear his throat. "Sometimes those, um, bad days, when that injury flares up . . . they keep me from working or doing much of anything."

"That's alright, All Might." Tsuyu patted his knee.

"Are you sure?"

Ashido gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. "One hundred percent!"

Yaoyorozu spoke up. "It's important to take whatever time you need."

Toshinori gazed at his students, amazement on his face. There was a hot itch behind his eyes.

Get up, get going. You're the Symbol of Peace. You can't afford to let others close, you have to be strong, you can't show any weakness. You carry others - you can't allow yourself to place your problems on them. That mantra from the past few years seemed weaker, now.

It was starting to be replaced by the voices of his students.

Toshinori took in a shuddering breath and rested his forehead on his hands. "You're all good kids, you know that?"

"Ah, All Might! Don't cry!"

His students crowded around him, some reaching out to gently pat his shoulders or back. Toshinori gave a small laugh when someone softly put their hands on his head. He looked up into the grinning faces of his students.

"Thank you," he said, and no one commented on the bubble of emotion in his voice.

Meanwhile, at the entryway to the kitchen, the other resident teachers of the dorms looked at each other. Mic was on the verge of tears, consciously keeping his voice down as he said something about 'their wonderful kids.'

Midnight looked over at Aizawa, who was leaning against the doorway. She cocked her head and gave a grin.

"Is that a smile I see?"

Aizawa snorted, but that didn't erase the rare grin from his face. "I'm just relieved that something finally made it through his head."

Midnight twitched a knowing eyebrow and said "Uh-huh."

After that a number of small things changed.

Occasionally the students would ask Toshinori if he had eaten enough that day, sometimes going as far as to make something for him. Izuku was instrumental in this, often looking up recipes that were recommended for gastrectomy patients and working with his fellow classmates in the kitchen. Recovery Girl had given a relieved laugh when Izuku came to her for tips.

When they saw his hands were hurting they would offer to carry his materials as they went from class to class. At least once a day one of the students would check to make sure he had remembered to take whatever medication he needed.

There were days when his scar hurt more than normal, of course, but it was a while before it was bad enough to completely put him out of commission. Those were long days, when he spent a lot of time in the teacher's lounge stretched out on the couch, only moving to make the trek to whatever classroom he was assigned to that day. His students always understood when he had to cut class short.

Toshinori was a bit bewildered, honestly. He was used to doing things on his own, even working through the more difficult days when he couldn't see straight due to the pain in his side. Before it had only been Naomasa, or occasionally Chiyo, that he would contact. Even then he had preferred to not bother them, often simply not telling others about the attacks.

But now he was surrounded by people, his students, who actively told him that it was alright to take his time, and that his needs weren't something to be hidden. He noticed all the little things they did, whether it be making food with his dietary restrictions in mind, or helping to carry his books, or even when they silently passed over some painkillers when they saw he was having a rough day.

And dimly, in the back of his head, was the sprout of the thought that he deserved to take care of himself for his own sake.

He was worth it.