HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 

This is the final part to this incredibly short story, which is cross posted on A03 if anyone has a preference for there, but it was so fun to write and who knows, I may do more with it in the future! I hope you all enjoyed!

Third person pov

Being dead is, in a word, lonely.

Oboro knows it shouldn't be. He's never really alone. Surrounded by the people he loves, able to watch over them even though his time's technically up-- it should be a dream come true. He's getting to watch them learn and grow. He gets to see them move on from him and find their footing after his death. It is a novel experience, one he's thankful he gets when so many don't.

There's something about watching his friends reclaim their smiles that fills him with so much warmth that sometimes he can almost trick himself into thinking he's alive too. After all, how can someone who'd dead feel so much all at once? He feels full of love and amazement. The dead don't weep, and yet he can never seem to stop tears from dripping down his cheeks as his friends stake their small victories in the sand, inching further and further in life as they discover what it means to be okay again.

In life, Oboro was sociable. He was a touchy person, always keen on giving hugs, throwing arms over his friends' shoulders, even jumping on their backs when he saw fit. He was bright and loud, bold and brash, and he took every day on like it was going to be his last. And eventually it was. He'll never regret saving those children, but that doesn't stop him from wishing things were different.

It's lonely to talk and have no one hear you. It's lonely to have your friends mourn you, not knowing you never truly left. It's lonely to look in the mirror and be unable to see his own reflection. It's lonely to know that his friends are growing and changing in ways Oboro will never, ever get the chance to. Because the simple fact of the matter is that he is dead, and they are not.

Oboro does not belong here, he knows. His friends do. Sometimes, it's hard to remember they're not really in it together anymore. Their hearts beat, their lungs breathe, their bodies feel and exist. Oboro doesn't... have that anymore. He'll never have that again, and it's a truth that burns.

Despite that, he's glad. Of course he's glad. He's so happy they're alright, that they're able to move on, that they're coming into themselves and their careers. He gets to witness them graduate, and become real heroes, and move out. He sees first drinks, birthdays, hero costume updates, bad haircuts and even worse outfits. He sees them get their drivers licenses, sees joyful holidays and watches them make new friends, and new connections, and save more people than Oboro ever got to in life.

He gets to watch them have their greatest highs and their lowest lows. He is a silent support they don't realize they have, but Oboro gives it in droves in hopes that maybe it makes a difference. Even if only on a subconscious level.

He gets used to it. It's not isolation, but something close to it in a way. Sometimes he shouts loud enough to rattle the windows, but it's always shrugged off as the wind. Sometimes he stands in the TV until it cuts to static, but that just means they have to call the cable company. Sometimes he'll walk through them over and over again until they're shivering cold, but it's only a sign they need to turn up the thermostat, because the draft in the apartment is insane.

Oboro wasn't helpless in life. Getting used to being helpless in death is a sharp learning curve that he does not take with grace. He's angry, sometimes. Not at his friends, never at them, and never at the children he gave his life for. He's angry at himself, at the plans he had and will never get to fulfill.

He knows he died a hero and he's proud of it. He checks in on the children he saved every so often and they're all growing so wonderfully, full of youthful laughter and big dreams. Oboro just wishes he was still a hero was all. It's all he ever wanted to be. He wanted to save, to help, to be someone that could be looked to for comfort and safety.

Oboro will never get that chance now. It hurts more than the weight of that building ever did. He feels useless, pointlessly drifting around, unable to do anything for his friends when they need him most and unable to celebrate when they experience a win that deserves it. He knows he could solve this issue by moving on, but somehow it never feels like the right time.

The urge to stay and watch over his friends is visceral. Shirakumo knows he has no real place here anymore. The space he left behind is still empty and it always will be, but nearly everyone he knows has stepped away from it and continued on their paths. All he can do is stand by and watch them go, unable to move, to age, to experience and to live. It's a different brand of pain he still isn't quite accustomed to.

Hizashi is malleable, full of energy and always busy. He's getting his teaching degree, running his own radio show, and is a spotlight hero the public loves. He's a beaming light of positivity and determination that keeps going and going and going, ever prone to joy and not afraid to live with reckless abandon. He's bold colors and pop songs, huge grins and twenty pairs of colorful sunglasses.

Tensei was always lax, even as a teenager. He has his family. He's got a younger brother he's devoted to, that he adores with all his being. He works alongside his parents, learning to run the agency he will one day take over completely. He has a deep sense of pride and he does well as a hero, able to get up time and time again no matter how many times he trips and falls along the way.

Nemuri, similarly, has a plasticity to her that allows her to move with the flow of life. She's confident and sharp as the crack of her whip. She takes charge of her own life and molds it to her will. She's popular and adored, beloved by her fans. She loves herself and her way of living, and she embraces the punches thrown at her with a sly smile and coy eyes.

Oboro loves them all, but Shota-- Shota is the one he follows most.

Shota isn't like them. Shota holds onto things. He's sentimental even if he doesn't quite show it, always blaming himself for things that were never his fault to begin with. He's lonely in the same way Shirakumo is even if he'll never admit it out loud. He isolates himself, works himself to the bone until he can't physically go anymore. It's heartbreaking to watch. He won't let others in, won't rely on the friends who cherish him. In a way, he is at as much as a standstill as Shirakumo is.

Maybe that's why Shirakumo is still here. As much as Shota has grown and achieved, he remains in place in a sense that most cannot see. Yes, he has changed. Yes, he has progressed. Yet at the same time, he doesn't-- he just... doesn't, hasn't. He never let anyone in, doesn't let anyone see. He's afraid to, afraid of what opening up will mean, especially if he loses someone again.

Shota deserves the world. All of Oboro's friends do, and he just-- can't leave until he knows for certain that Shota isn't struggling anymore. A part of it is selfish, too. Like maybe Oboro can live vicariously through his friend in some way, leeching off his heroism, off his rescues by allowing himself to feel the brief rush of victory and relief that comes after.

So, Oboro stays. He stays and he waits, hoping something will change. He watches Shota spend his days alone drowning in paperwork and follows him when he goes out as Eraserhead, jumping from fight to fight with little pause. He works himself to the bone. Ignores his friends' concern for him and their calls for him to take a break. Hardly eats, sleeps restlessly, and allows himself to exist in an endless, repetitive cycle.

It was disheartening to witness. Oboro felt like he could tear his own hair out watching the self-destructive behavior. Hizashi, Nemuri and Tensei all did what they could, but there was only so much they could offer when Shota refused to accept the hands they outstretched. He didn't listen, and Oboro felt himself grow a little more desperate with each day that passed with no improvement. It was odd to say his self worth plummeted considering he's a ghost, but it did.

He couldn't do anything. It went against everything in him to sit on the sidelines whilst his friend hurt. Shota sat for hours alone in his apartment with nothing but his paperwork and the ticking of a clock for company. He skipped meals and slept for only short periods of time before he was being awoken by a nightmare. Oboro felt like he was slowly going insane with every day, week, month that passed with no progress. Shota wasn't getting better, nor was he getting worse-- he wasn't anything at all, and that wasn't... it wasn't right.

Eventually something has to give. Oboro had known this, had told himself this time and time again. When he felt most down, most angry at himself for his inability to act, he took a breath and reminded himself that statistically, something had to come along and change things.

And eventually, something actually did.

Shota's been on raids before, and this one wasn't all that different. It was actually one of the least exciting ones so far. Oboro hadn't paid much attention to the details of it. He watched Shota go in, cheered when he kicked ass, and generally just floated after him. He caught sight of a few other spirits as he went, but the other members of the dead never did like to socialize. Most were a distant and floaty, not giving Oboro so much as a glance-- like they couldn't see him either.

It was a normal night. A successful one, simple, cut and dry in just about every way. And then they found the basement.

It wasn't much of a basement, it was so small. An underground room, one that could perhaps be used for storing wine or something of that sort. The building they were in was old, and the basement clearly hadn't been updated alongside the rest of it. It was all cracked, old concrete, and Oboro felt his heart sink at the childish scribblings he spotted on the walls.

He dropped down before Shota even opened the hatch down, peering around through the dark. He wasn't sure how he was able to see in the absence of light, only that he could. He supposed it was a perk that came with being dead. Oboro scanned his surroundings curiously, unable to muster up any tension. Nothing in here could hurt him as he was. And if something could-- he would almost welcome the sensation, just to feel something physical at all.

The room told a dim tale. Crayon on the walls, wooden blocks strewn about the floor. He glanced at the hatch above him when he heard Shota fiddling with it, and when Oboro looked down again, his eyes fell upon a small, huddled form.

He wasn't sure how hadn't noticed the boy when he first came down. He was tiny, huddled up on a thin, dirty mattress on the floor. His green eyes were nearly glowing, bright even in the total darkness of his surroundings. He had a head full of curls that might've been dark green too, but they looked black down here. He was adorable and round-faced, covered in freckles. He was the most precious child Oboro was pretty sure he'd ever seen, like a baby deer.

He was also staring right at him.

Not through him. Not around him. His eyes were locked on Oboro's form, large eyes blinking at him with wary curiosity. Oboro felt himself freeze in place, his own gaze meeting the boy's. Someone was looking at him, and Oboro was looking back. For the first time in years, he was certain. Someone was seeing him.

The boy did not move, and Oboro could not bring himself to either. All he could do was gaze at him, ears feeling stuffed full of cotton. Curled up in a little ball, the boy watched him with nonchalance you wouldn't expect from a child seeing a ghost. It should've been impossible for Oboro to be struck breathless, and yet he undoubtedly was.

After a beat of silence, he moves to the left. The boy's eyes track him when he does. He steps right. The boys follow it. He raises his hand above his head and waves it around widely, and the kid's gaze flickers to trail it for a moment before returning to Oboro's face, his head tilting like he isn't sure what Oboro is doing. Oboro's mouth is impossibly dry.

This child can see him. There is a small child sitting in front of him who can see him. Is looking at him right now. At this very moment and time. Right this very second. Actually, really, right here and now. He's little, and cute, and has the biggest eyes and the roundest cheeks, and he's--

He's... sitting in the pitch black basement of a villain's base, captive.

"Oh, shit." He says without really meaning to. Nobody ever hears him, but the boy blinks, and Oboro feels both horror and elation fill him. Elation, because someone can hear him, and horror because he just cursed in front of a child. "I-I mean, uh, ignore that! I'm sorry! I-- here, let me--"

He freezes, realization dawning on him. It smacks him in the face so hard he has to stop for a moment and just stare some more. His brain struggles to wrap around the sudden shift. His chest floods with warmth he struggles to feel most days. Overhead, he hears Shota finally get the basement hatch open.

He can help. Oboro can help. The boy can hear him and and see him, and that means... that means Oboro can finally do something. Something other than floating around. Something with impact and meaning, something that will benefit another person.

Something that will show he's still here, that he still exists.

"Let me... let me help." Oboro's voice comes out a whisper. The boy peers up at him as he drifts closer, unable to stop himself. He knows he's shaking now, but the boy doesn't seem to mind. Just watches, waiting to see what he'll do. Not particularly relaxed, but not afraid either. Oboro plasters on a wobbly smile, his first one to be witnessed by another person since his death. "My name is Oboro Shirakumo. And that man about to come down the ladder-- his name is Shota Aizawa. He's a hero."

"Are you?" The little boy asks, voice so quiet he almost doesn't hear it. It's barely a breath, raspy and quiet. Oboro feels locked in place, green eyes boring into his own darker ones intently. Oboro makes an odd choking noise, blinking rapidly against his tears. His smile widens.

"Y-Yeah. Yes." Oboro feels something bright balloon in his chest. This is what he is. Who he is. "I am."

The boy gives him the smallest of smiles, and Oboro feels like his world has just filled back in with color.

~~~~

The boy listens to him. He trusts Oboro, looks to him for direction. He seems to have more faith in the dead than he does the living, and maybe that's because the dead have little reason to lie. Nobody who doesn't deserve it gets to stay behind. Oboro isn't sure how he knows this, but he does. He thinks Izuku does too.

He's utterly precious. Maybe Oboro is biased, but Izuku is the best child in the whole wide world. He's so polite, and he looks to Oboro like one would expect a child to look to their elder sibling or parent. It fills him with warmth, because Izuku needs him. Needs him to tell him when things are okay, needs him to take care of him.

He's a quiet kid. After what he went through, it's no surprise. Oboro talks to fill the silence. Izuku, to his credit, seems happy to listen. Oboro tells stories for the most part, jabbering on and on and on about his friends. He tells Izuku all about Shota, and about how he's so much nicer than he looks and acts, and that Izuku will be safe here. That Shota will look out for him-- and Oboro will too.

There's a certain giddiness that comes with being able to finally do something. Izuku seems to prefer listening to him talk over anything. Oboro makes wild gestures with his hands, doing silly impressions of his friends when he talks about them. He earns himself bright eyes and slight smiles for his troubles, and it brings him a sense of fulfillment he hadn't realized he'd been missing.

It does not take Oboro very long to realize that Izuku is doing... something to him. The lights around Oboro begin to flicker ominously, even more so when he's talking or moving. Izuku doesn't pay them any mind, like he expected it to happen, but Shota casts wary and uncertain glances, muttering about electrical and needing new light bulbs and possible quirk effects.

That night, Shirakumo hums the song his mother used to always sing to him as a child to get him to fall asleep, sitting on the bedside as Izuku cuddles into Shota's side. He reaches forward almost subconsciously to run his fingers through the boy's hair, something his mom also used to do for him, only to still when his hand successfully connects.

Izuku's hair is soft, softer than Oboro's odd, wispy hair ever was. The warmth of his scalp soaks into Oboro's palm, alive and actually in reach. He's not sure how long he sits there. He loses track of time, staring with big eyes down at the boy's small face, his hand resting so lightly on his head it may was well not even be there at all. Oboro's tears drip down his face and leak his face feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but even then he does not pull away.

He can touch him. He can touch him. Izuku wakes up before Shota, when the sun's still down, and holds his arms out expectantly. And Oboro-- Oboro reaches down with shaking hands and he pulls him close. Holds him in his arms like he is something precious, clenching his eyes shut and shuddering. Izuku doesn't appear to mind, sleepily resting his head against Oboro's chest as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

Oboro moves to take him out of the room, not wanting Shota to wake up and see his temporary charge simply floating there, only to stop when he realizes that Izuku likely will not go through the door the same way he will. For a long moment he stares at the door, brows furrowed. He peers down at Izuku in his arms and finds the boy looking up at him.

"You can open it." Izuku promises, voice just as quiet as it had been down in that basement.

Oboro reaches out and wraps his hand around the knob. It's cold and metallic in his hand. He feels the traction against his fingers as he turns it. It touches him physically, Izuku somehow creating a bridge between the planes and allowing Oboro to interact. He shuts the door behind him as gently as he can manage, chest constricting, tears pricking his eyes and a large grin growing across his face.

"I opened it." He echoes, looking down at Izuku. Izuku blinks, looking notably confused as Oboro lets out a gleeful, slightly hysterical laugh. "Izuku, I opened it! I opened a door!"

The freckled boy makes a muffled noise of surprise as Oboro hoists him closer, peppering kisses across his face. The lights flicker wildly, and Oboro laughs again, spinning around with Izuku clutched to his chest. The boy doesn't seem to know why Oboro is so happy with this turn of events, but he smiles and reaches up to pat Oboro face with both of his tiny hands anyway, a way of congratulations.

Oboro never wants to put Izuku down. He's so little and amazing, but he's also hurt. Oboro can tell, can hear it in his lack of words and see it in the way he struggles to muster up a smile. Oboro wants to help. The urge to do so is so overwhelming, so all-encompassing that Oboro thinks that maybe this time he can. Maybe he can be useful, maybe Shota isn't the only one who can take care of Izuku. Maybe Oboro can too.

So he does. He sets Izuku on the couch and he whoops when he successfully turns on the TV for him. He drifts into the kitchen and he opens the cabinets. He gets a cup and he fills it with water. Every success in touching the things around him only serves to fuel his frantic vigor, and soon he's got a pot out boiling water, and a bag of rice, and the counters are full of ingredients needed for a simple curry.

Oboro hasn't cooked anything in years. He hasn't done anything in years. But now he can, now he can take care of someone else, can do something more than watch. He can put on the TV for Izuku, and he can cook him food, and he can talk to him and tell him stories, and he can help him pick out clothes at the mall, and can reassure him that it'll all be okay, and he can hum him to sleep.

It has crossed his mind that maybe-- maybe he could reach out to Shota this way. It would be good to let him know, wouldn't it? He contemplates this after his friend witnesses Oboro about to pour a cup of water over Izuku's soapy head. The boy had been in need of a bath, and what better than a bubble bath? It was another thing Oboro could do to help, to take care of a kid that wasn't just Shota's, but Oboro's too.

Oboro didn't have anything anymore, but he could have this. It felt selfish to reach out using Izuku's quirk, even if he wanted to. Izuku wasn't ready though, wasn't ready to talk or to share his power, and Oboro would never force him to. This was not about him. This was about what Izuku wanted and needed, and right now? He needed Oboro to look out for him.

So when Shota jolts awake and nearly sees him-- sees him-- Oboro doesn't reach out or try to speak to him. He seals his lips and he takes a breath, eyes focusing in on Izuku. The boy was still shaken from his nightmare, trembling a little and sniffling quietly to himself. Just as much as Izuku deserved all Oboro's attention and care, he deserved Shota's too.

Oboro wasn't going to take that away. He'd lived and he'd died. There was more to it than that, more bitter feelings and some lighter ones, but that was the crux of it. He'd had his time. Izuku was still alive and young, and something terrible had happened to him. As thankful as Oboro was to have ever met him, he wished he hadn't had the chance to at all, not under those circumstances.

It was a little hard, knowing he could connect to his best friend at any given time. When he writes Izuku's name on a piece of paper for the boy to give to Shota, he knows how easy it would be to sign his own name with the signature winky face he used to doodle in the margins of all his assignments and notes. He resists, giving Izuku a beaming grin instead and a pat on the head.

In Oboro's attempts to take care of Izuku and not distract Shota, Shota... gets better. He sleeps better, eats better, gets himself into a routine schedule. He leaves the apartment on the regular and he connects with Hizashi again, talking to him daily instead of just briefly once a week. Shota pours himself into taking care of Izuku, and Oboro can practically see his friend start to fall in love with having the kid around.

It is the best case scenario in a situation like this. Oboro's relief pillows in his chest like a cloud, making him feel choked up and elated. The dark circles under Shota's eyes don't go away completely, but they lighten up a noticeable amount. He smiles more too, and there's a general lack of tension in him that makes Oboro breathe a sign of relief.

The whole thing feels-- cataclysmic. Shota improves, and Izuku improves, and Oboro is the happiest he's been since his death. He feels almost alive as he takes care of Izuku, spending his days regaling him with the fantastical tales of his UA days, cooking him food, cradling him when he has nightmares and pressing kisses into his soft curls.

Oboro has always been the type to feel intensely. He loves fiercely, and his adoration grows and grows for Izuku with every mere minute that passes. He treats him as his own, dedicates himself to making sure he's okay, finds himself unable to stop smiling as the days roll by. He feels proud and emotional as Izuku reunites with his best friend, perhaps a little scared that he'll be taken away, but thankful all the same.

But just as strongly as he feels his positive emotions, he feels his negative ones in the very same way. Maybe it has something to do with his quirk, which ties in so closely with the weather. The state of the atmosphere can change in an instant. Black clouds can roll in, thunder can boom, and winds can blow in with a howl. His rage is much the same way. And when the very villains who hurt Izuku in the first place break into the apartment, snagging the boy from his bed, causing him to cry out with fear?

Well. Oboro isn't very forgiving.

~~~~~~~

Exhaustion on a physical level is not something Oboro is familiar with anymore. Now, it washes over him like a tidal wave, a weight that drags him down and makes his eyelids droop. He's never felt the urge to sleep whilst being dead, yet right now he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and let himself drift. He resists the urge, instead forcing himself to trail after Shota as he flees the apartment with Izuku in tow. The fatigue makes him feel alive and present in an odd, roundabout way.

Izuku's eyes are still glowing bright like a pair of green flashlights. Shota can't see Oboro anymore, but it's a relief that Izuku still can. Oboro wagers Shota won't see him for a while now. Oboro feels like all his energy has been expended, and based on the way the lights fail to flicker overhead as they usually do when he passes by with Izuku in his vicinity, he figures that he'll probably need some time to build himself back up.

The boy sniffles as Aizawa rubs a hand up and down his back, murmuring reassurances and apologies. The distant wail of police sirens nearing makes Oboro's lazy smile widen a little. He blinks, slow and tired, feeling faraway. Later, he'll probably freak out over the fact that his quirk-- his quirk-- answered his enraged call. Right now, all he can be is relieved.

He can tell Shota is practicing every breathing technique in the book to keep calm. The way he lightly bounces Izuku up and down in hopes of comforting him gives away his anxiety, as do the constant darting of his eyes. He scans the area for even the merest glimpse of blue, but Oboro couldn't give it to him even if he wanted to.

Oboro's appearance in the living world had been brief, but it had been meaningful all the same. He'd felt... solid, alive with Izuku in his arms. His storm of emotions had given him presence, had filled in his translucent lines with color and warmth. Oboro had been there, really been there. So had his quirk, something he'd been certain was lost when his life was.

Ambulances arrive, and Shota allows himself to hesitantly sit on the gurney they wheel out, Izuku in his lap. He's jumpy, eyes constantly darting down to Izuku and then up again to scan the area. He's doing a remarkably good job at keeping his cool considering he just saw a dead guy. If Oboro were in his shoes, he'd be doing a lot more freaking out.

"Sho?!" Hizashi's voice carries over the chatter of police as they filter in and out of the apartment. Shota flinches visibly, blinking dizzily as Hizashi skids into view. The man's dressed in his pajamas, house slippers on his feet and a jacket hastily thrown on over it all. His glasses are askew, his hair down and messy from the sleep he'd been roused from. "What happened?! You can't just text me that you've been attacked and then not pick up any of my calls! Is Izuku okay? Are you? Oh my god, do you have a concussion?!"

Izuku peeks out from where he'd had his face buried in Shota's shirt, reaching out hesitant hands to Hizashi in greeting. The blonde man lets out a coo and immediately complies, scooping him into a warm hug. Shota jolts slightly, like he wants to snatch the boy back, but he stops himself when Hizashi places a gentle hand on his shoulder. The voice hero radiates concern, his brows furrowed and face pinched.

"Th-They tried to take him, and... and--" Shota brought a hand up to his forehead, feeling stunned and confused and too many things all at once. He met Hizashi's eyes, and Oboro watched more tears fall with a heavy heart. "And... O-Oboro... Oboro saved him. Oboro was--"

Hizashi's expression fell slack, because of all the things he'd expected to hear, it quite obviously was not that. Shota buried his face in his hands and wept.