The Five Stages Of Grief

the five stages of grief

feat: slightly canon adjacent ! shigaraki tomura / tenko shimura

warnings: angst. language. violence and mentions of injuries, major character death, implications to suicide, close to canon events as i could remember, 3.9k read!

cache notes: uhhhhhh this my offer for tomura's bday fic. IM SORRY

m.list

you thought you were experiencing the stages of grief out of order after the war. come to find out, your subconscious knew tenko died long before he physically left you.

DENIAL

— the action of declaring something to be untrue.

"tomura's being weird," spinner sounds upset, but when you look up from your gaming console, his face betrays no emotion. almost like he didn't say anything at all. his fingers push at buttons and he looks immersed in whatever mission that has his attention at the moment.

you want to say i know or something along that line— you can't help it. it's something that runs deep in your psyche to be an asshole back to him. he's never been too cordial with you, but spinner's respectful enough. if tomura likes you, there must be some reason he's keeping you around. the two of you have been toeing the line of being at each other's throats since you joined the group.

instead, you choose to grunt in response. "you're overthinking things," is what you choose to say. because for some god damn reason you can't bring yourself to even think to agree with spinner.

you end up running around in circles in your game, now distracted. what would spinner know about tomura that you don't already know? spinner might be his closest friend— he might believe that he knows tomura fairly well. but you know him on a more intimate level. sure, tomura doesn't tell you everything— you could thank all for one for that.

but what's said in the dark of night, on top of cheap pillows and underneath thin blankets is something you know for sure spinner doesn't.

tomura lies next to you, an arm slung over your waist lazily. he's knocked out cold, his nose twitches with every inhale of a snore. the bed sags underneath the both of you, the sheet is warm with shared body heat.

you can't help but watch his features as he sleeps. if he were conscious, he would've called you out for it. being weird— staring at him while he slept like some sort of creep.

but he also knows that you like to look at him. he'll never know why, but you're quiet when you do it and you keep comments to yourself. so he lets you. only speaking when you need to, or when he needs you to.

tomura stirs slightly, bringing his arm around your waist tighter. the weight and warmth of his skin against yours brings comfort, like always— but a slight twinge of unease.

you have to blink to clear your head. spinner's words are not getting to you. he doesn't know what he's talking about. tomura still looks the same to you, he still acts the same. the tension was subconscious.

"you're thinking' about something," tomura's voice is low and still extremely heavy with sleep. it startles you, but his grip around you tightens when you jump. your cheek warms with the push of his voice. "what are you thinking about?"

your teeth pull at the seam of your lip. normally, the silence would mean you're simply just thinking about what to say— and to be honest, you are. but there's hesitation in this silence, which causes him to open his eyes ever so slightly. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he knows you're still looking at him.

"you'd tell me if something was changing, wouldn't you?"

it's tomura's turn to hesitate.

you try to ignore it. "you'd tell me if something was different, right?"

tomura's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and he can make out your expression more clearly. the furrow of your brow and the heaviness set in your eyes. it's such a vulnerable look on you, it's not a look he sees very often.

he forces himself to swallow. "nothing's changing, promise."

"promise?"

in the darkness, tomura doesn't see you lift your hand until he feels your fingertip graze along his cheek. the pressure is gentle, feather-light; reverent almost. you trace the grooves that the scars have made on his features like they are a road map. the destination changes every time, but you follow it with such enthusiasm every single time. tomura's come to accept it, and over time has learned to lean more and more into it.

your touch seems to soften, and in return tomura softens as well.

"i promise."

ANGER

— can sometimes function as a coping mechanism, providing a sense of control or a way to express frustration in the face of helplessness or disbelief.

"this is fucking stupid, tomura," you hiss out while taking an aggressive seat beside him. the motion kicks some dirt up, tomura ignores how some of it lands on his shoes. he keeps his eyes trained on gigantomachia as the behemoth sleeps. in another hour and a half, the two will start fighting again and you will force yourself to follow.

"don't say that," he mutters back. his fingers are carefully bending and twisting a twig into odd shapes, challenging it to break even though it's a fairly young clipping. there's plenty of twigs to choose from littered along the ground around the two of you. when this one finally breaks, tomura will just move onto the next one.

"well, it is," you counter. "you've barely made a dent in the progress. he's not weakening. ujiko is just stringing you along."

tomura's head tilts to stare at you out of his peripheral. he really doesn't want to fight with you on this. you were there when the group got warped to the lab, you heard the entire deal. you know his entire stance on the situation. he doesn't know if this is the lack of sleep talking or the lack of eating— but he's explained it how many times?

"ujiko is not stringing us along, [y/n]. how many times do i have to tell you this?" tomura says. his fingers finally snap the twig between his fingers and he tosses it a couple feet away in front of him before reaching for another at his feet. this one breaks much easier when he bends it. "it's going to work out in the end."

your elbows dig into your thighs as you lean forward. chewing on the inside of your lip, you mutter a bitter sounding "doubtful" and keep your gaze off of him.

there's tension between the two of you. there are inches in between the two of you but you've never felt more far apart.

when's the last time you've touched him? since tomura's held you in his arms? when was the last time the two of you lied face to face in bed together and just giggled about silly things you've seen online. you want to reach out and touch him but something inside of you refuses to. would he even feel like the tomura you were used to?

muscles and scars aside, would he feel like tenko?

you don't realize just how heavy your shoulders feel until his eyes finally meet yours fully, and he looks you up and down. your eyes burn and you realize you've been glaring at his side profile for the past couple of minutes of terse silence. something bitter and harsh has been simmering low in your gut for a while.

"this is more than machia, isn't it?" tomura asks in a low tone. there's a warning laced in between each syllable, you'd be dumb if you didn't notice the tone shift. but when do you not challenge tomura? he will deny it until the day he dies that it's one of his favorite things about you.

however, it is AFO's least favorite thing about you.

tomura still continues to fight with enabling this kind of behavior, or just not engaging at all. AFO tells him that you're a problem. a hindrance. you can't be trusted. you're going to do something big and take him away from his goal and everything is going to go to shit because of you.

tomura's known you for how long? he's seen you change in so many ways. you've burned through so many costumes, you've cut your hair in so many gas station bathrooms. there's a certain twinkle in your eye whenever you look at him that's never changed.

tomura hasn't seen that sparkle in months.

tomura hasn't seen so much aggression behind your eyes since the day you two met. you clearly don't audibly make it known, but you're upset with him. why else would you glare at him like that? why else would you look at him like he's not the same person at the moment?

it it because he's not?

maybe somewhere deep inside of you, you've already figured it all out. you just haven't pieced together all the parts yet. tomura isn't sure that your denseness is a blessing, or a curse in disguise.

tomura is still silent in front of you. the longer your gaze is deliberately met by his, the stronger the feeling of hate bubbles in your gut. your hands clench and unclench at your sides and your knuckles ache with tension. is this tomura you're feeling hate towards? surely it's not. you've been mad and angry at tomura before, yes.

but you've never hated him.

"this better be worth it," you manage to hiss out. your teeth grit so hard you can hear them squeak when they grind against each other. you force yourself to stand and move— away from him, away from him. white hot tears are beginning to well up, your eyes are burning and you'll be damned if you let him see you cry.

somewhere inside of you tells you tomura would comfort you if you did start crying; but a larger part of you tells you that you're wrong. why would he comfort you if he were the source of the tears? why would he apologize for the pain he had caused when that was the plan from the start?

BARGAINING

— attempt to negotiate or make compromises.

you had a violent realization when the tides had turned in the final war. aside from being aggressively pinned into the dirt, the fact that you were so easily overwhelmed in a matter of moments had your head spinning in ways that the concussion you were given didn't.

you smelled and tasted iron. there was blood pouring from your nose and mouth contributing to the taste and and scent, and the blood loss was starting to make you delirious. you were seeing double. there was a knee pushed between your shoulder blades and your wrists were being sliced open practically with how tight the cuffs were.

spinner's voice crackled in your ear. "[y/n], shigaraki needs help—"

he's cut off and racked with coughs and sputters. you try to ignore the stabbing pain in your spine, your cheek pressed into the gravel. the rocks are being pushed so hard into your skin that you know there will be indents. "what's wrong with tomura?"

when spinner doesn't answer, your heart practically throws itself against your rib cage. there's ringing in your ears, drowning out the rest of the screams and shouts of other villains and heroes fighting around you. drowning out the voice of the hero above you that only shoves his kneecap further into your back once he feels you squirming underneath him.

you didn't want to admit that you were right when the heroes split everyone up that something would go wrong. you no longer had eyes on tomura; and he to you. though you were sure he wasn't thinking in the same sense that you were when it all happened. was that part of their plan? to separate tomura from you?

you don't care that the last interaction with him was a screaming match. you don't care about the selfish words that came out of your mouth, or the cold tone he had used on you. or that tomura didn't look like tomura at all. didn't even resemble tenko either.

"spinner!" you practically scream into the dirt. the tears fall freely from your eyes but you don't have it in you to acknowledge them. they feel like fire when they fall, mixing with the blood and dirt already embedded in your skin into some grotesque mess around your mouth. "iguchi!"

your mind races. not a single thought connects properly, your body buzzes with new motivation to get out. the scream that leaves your mouth is raw and so painful that even the hero above you pauses with the force of his restraints. you can feel your quirk starting to overload your senses, clogging the sensors in your body with power and strength that it cannot handle.

"shuichi," your voice does not sound like your own. your forehead meets the dirt because you think you can reach him with your voice through the ground. "where is tenko?"

you want to believe that spinner had just run into a little problem and was just letting you know that tomura needed backup to finish the plan. you want to believe that he just needed help for a big finish. tomura would reach out to you personally if things went wrong, wouldn't he? he still cared about you like that, didn't he?

tomura had AFO's strength now. he was more than capable of holding his own; there's no way he needed actual help. there's no way, right? there's no way.

how would you even get there in time to help him? what higher being do you need to plea to in order to get you to tomura's side before something worse happens? would that supreme being even listen to you? were you so beyond saving that not even god would help you save the one you loved? or was that privilege only reserved for heroes?

your quirk was draining your stamina. you were feeling weaker and weaker; the idea of begging to god was sounding more and more like a good idea.

anything to get to tomura.

even with your vision gaining the vignette— darkening more and more as the seconds passed. you could not feel the oxygen going in through your mouth or leaving through your nose in short, harsh puffs. you'd do anything.

you'd do anything to see tenko again.

DEPRESSION

— a common mental health condition characterized by persistent sadness, loss of interest, and other symptoms that can significantly impact a person's ability to function.

the next time you see spinner, he is dressed in orange. it matches yours, your numbers are far apart but you are treated the same. it's mid spring in the courtyard, the sunlight feels like it should burn your skin the longer you stand out in it.

this time outside is mandatory. you'd rather still be in your cell— away from the cherry blossom scent, away from the petals that fall so delicately onto the asphalt.

away from the harshness of spinner's gaze the moment his eyes find yours.

your hair had been trimmed short. you tried to wrap it around your throat at one point so the orderlies buzzed it all off a week after you had been thrown into prison. the bags under your eyes have darkened over the months. you've been to solitary more than once after your night terrors had turned violent and you tried to attack your cell mate.

spinner doesn't look any better than you do. his actions are fueled by rage as he crosses the courtyard to stand in front of you.

"he's gone," his voice is full of hurt and pain. as if your shoulders weren't heavy enough, the weight of his tone adds more pounds that you decide to selflessly take on. "everything he fought for, [y/n]."

you're far past feeling anything at this point. you know what the media is painting tenko as. what they're painting the league as a whole as. what could you do about it? there was only so much that you could attempt with eyes on you at all times and a trigger itching to be pulled if you moved too fast.

"he didn't sign up for this."

"i know," your voice is dull and almost lifeless. you don't have the balls in you to meet his eyes at this point anymore. you've admitted to yourself that spinner was right all those months ago when he first noticed something was off with tenko.

"he died a hero, [y/n]!" his voice raises.

you don't know if he was talking more to you, or himself.

"i know," your voice repeats like a broken record. it breaks on the last syllable and both you and spinner cringe at the sound of it.

"we could've— should have done something," he forces out. you can audibly hear him swallow and your own throat mirrors the noise as you swallow a painful sound of your own. "to save him. he should've destroyed society. he could've changed the world."

your voice is barely audible when you speak next. you blink back tears, but they end up falling anyway. "i know."

ACCEPTANCE

— learning to live with the loss and finding a way to move forward, even though the pain may still linger.

the tip of your boot meets a tuft of grass. the grave in front of you has not been taken care of, there's moss and weeds that line the cement. you can still see the faint outline carving of his name, however.

tenko shimura.

even though there's no remains underneath the gravestone, this isn't his official burial spot— but this is your spot for him.

only a select amount of people know about this spot. your parole officer, mr compress— spinner. the three remaining league members still alive. they don't question the location. they come, give their moment of silence and leave.

"i feel like i should leaves flowers or something this time," you say to the empty air around you. your hands clench around nothing in the pocket of your hoodie. you kick at the tuft of grass again and sigh to yourself. "you hated flowers."

there's a tree that offers some shade a little off to the side. you're surprised that it's still standing, surprised that the gnarled old bark still tells stories to people who won't appreciate them. the roots are as old as time. the branch you fell off of when you were younger still hangs low and off kilter from it snapping under your weight.

it's been years since the war. you were lucky enough to finally get put on house arrest after a good couple of years. your parole officer sits in a car just a couple yards away— waiting. watching. though he knows you won't make a run for it. you've been on a streak of good behavior since gaining the privilege of visiting your makeshift grave for tenko.

"i uh…" your hand rises and rubs at the back of your neck in an awkward fashion. your hair had been kept short— a turning point. a way of admitting that you've changed; that times have changed. "i apologized to iguchi. finally."

that he was right. he saw the signs before you did.

"i miss you," your teeth pull at the corner of your mouth. you know you won't cry. you feel like you should— for the past few times you've visited you've ended your visits early due to the sobs that have racked through your body. "iguchi's right. you were a hero to us."

as soon as the words leave your mouth you hate how they sound.

"you are a hero, i mean. you're my hero. our hero."

yeah, it sounds cringe. awkward and unfamiliar in your throat. it's the truth, you've known it for years now. you realize you don't say those words out loud enough— that's why they feel so… weird. coming out of your mouth.

you make a promise to say it out loud more often.

the tip of your boot meets the concrete gravestone in front of you again in a lingering touch. you offer a final sniffle, the only sign you give that you're about to let go of your emotions. "until next time, yeah? promise it won't be months from now."

you turn on your heel and shove your hands further into the pocket of your hoodie.

"promise."

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