Chapter Text
Part 1: The Deal
Don’t make deals with faeries.
That was the first, most important rule Inko Midoriya ever taught her son. The second was to never wander too close to, or enter, the Faery King's Forest.
And Izuku, standing at the edge of said forest, was about to break both.
Of course, he wasn’t breaking them arbitrarily. He had a very, very good reason to break his mother’s rules, although he doubted she would see it the same way; she didn’t care if her son had magic or not. But Izuku… Izuku very much did.
Magic was beautiful and fascinating, and Izuku had loved it even before he knew what to call it. His mother loved to recall how he’d gaped the first time she used her magic to pull an object to her in front of him, or how once when his father blew a tuft of flame and bent it into the shape of a dragon to entertain him, and he had gotten so worked up it took four hours to settle him down for his nap.
Izuku still remembered with startling clarity the first time his mother had explained her magic.
Innate magic, she’d said as she slid a bowl across the table to her while making dinner one night, is the first magic anyone developed. It was unique to the user — no one else could do the same kind of magic as another — and it always manifested before age six. Her Innate magic, pull, allowed her to pull small objects toward herself, and in combination with her Learned magic, levitation, she could lift those objects through the air. Learned magic, unlike Innate, had to be studied and could be developed by anyone with Innate magic. Of course, she’d added, straining to lift a large pot, it was never as strong as a person’s Innate magic.
From then on, Izuku’s curiosity had been insatiable. Books on Learned magic, though he could not yet read then, would captivate him for hours. He would study the hand movements that accompanied each page of spells and clumsily imitate them. Once he thought he had gotten it good enough, he’d rush off to show his mother, and she would kindly correct him on the ones she knew, and praise him for the ones he’d perfected. She had told his father on more than one occasion that there was little doubt in her mind that Izuku would one day be a great magician.
At night, his mother would put him to bed with stories of the source of magic: The Lost Brother of the Faery King. Izuku marveled at how the Brother had possessed so much magic, yet gave it away to help the humans, and he cringed at how those humans took advantage of his gift and as result turned the Faery King’s ire on all of humanity. Even so, the Brother continued to selflessly give of his power, choosing a successor each century to defend humanity from the Faery King’s wrath. Izuku liked hearing the stories of the Brother’s successors the best of all, particularly the eighth. When Izuku got his magic, he wanted to be just like All Might; a magician who protected everyone with a smile.
Learning to read opened the door to learning magic wider than ever. Izuku learned words and phrases and combined them with hand movements to craft full spells, though he lacked the Innate magic required to power them. He and his best friend and nearest neighbor, Katsuki Bakugo or “Kacchan” as Izuku had affectionately nicknamed him, often met up under their mother’s supervision to share new spells with each other and the other neighborhood boys.
It was bright and early the morning before his fifth birthday that Kacchan developed his Innate magic. His palms had popped with tiny explosions, not unlike the fireworks set off at the beginning of summer and during celebrations, smelling faintly of burnt sugar and caramel-corn. Everyone had been impressed, Kacchan’s magic was powerful and had the potential to be incredibly versatile, even without the direction of any Learned magic.
Eagerly, Izuku awaited the appearance of his own. But as weeks passed, and not even the tiniest hint of magic appeared, Izuku’s mother worried. In an effort to reassure herself that her fears were baseless, Inko had called in one of their neighbors, Tsubasa’s grandfather, whose Learned magic included detecting magical potential.
Hearing “your son is magicless” had been the opposite of reassuring. Izuku refused to accept it, still determined to continue learning and practicing. He hoped his mother would feel the same, but she could only offer tearful apologies.
That had been just under a year ago, but in that time, Kacchan’s patience with Izuku had thinned to a hair’s width – if that. Word spread through their little group of neighborhood boys about Izuku’s diagnosis, and that was all it took for the teasing to start. It began as meaningless, playful jabs at Izuku's possible magiclessness, but quickly devolved in cruel taunts and a mocking nickname: Deku.
“Useless” because everyone who was anyone had magic.
The whole while, Izuku refused to see himself that way. Even if he never developed magic (he prayed and hoped this would never come to pass) he could still help other people. That was the most important thing, wasn’t it? To help? And, he reminded himself, he still had time. Even as another day and night passed, even as weeks turned into months, he reassured himself that he still had time. He was only five, after all.
But by tomorrow morning, there would be no more time left. He was still five, but only a day away from turning six, so if he was ever going to it would have to happen tonight. This was his last day. If he were going to develop magic, he'd either have to wake up with it tomorrow or seek it out for himself tonight—
—which led Izuku to this decision.
Either Izuku could let fate control him, or he could choose to be the master of his fate.
Standing before the forest, trembling in the cold with only a tiny oil lamp to light his way, Izuku sucked in a deep breath of frigid night air. He tugged his oversized cloak tight around him, then, with more courage than most five-year-olds possessed, he made his choice. He took a step into the forest, then another. A dozen or more later, and Izuku was fully engulfed by the forest.
The Faery King’s forest was an ominous place, Izuku decided. The forest swallowed all traces of light, from the silvery moonlight to the warm glow of Izuku’s lamp, leaving it nearly pitch black. The underbrush lining the path was dense with thorny rosehip and wild blackberry brambles. Gnarled trees with their spindling branches thick with dark silvery-green foliage, blocked every trace of moonlight that dared to shine upon it. Every so often something would shift and startle Izuku, though nothing ever crossed the path.
The path itself appeared to have previously been well worn, yet was now in the slow process of being reclaimed by the forest. Underbrush carefully encroached on the beaten ground, obscuring it in places, and fallen trees and low hanging limbs, which Izuku struggled to crawl over and under, obstructed it only further.
Izuku wasn’t sure where exactly the path led – he only hoped it would bring him to the Faery King. Izuku wondered if he would stumble upon the Faery King on a great throne or disguised as a traveler or wounded forest creature in need of aid. Or perhaps the Faery King would find him instead. If I even find Him to begin with, he thought with a frown. He shook his head and pushed that doubting “if” away. No. I will find Him. I have to.
Izuku was beginning to lag. He’d wandered the path’s twists and turns for well over an hour by that point, and he was tired. Hope (or hope in combination with desperation, really) was the only reason he continued.
For a moment, the forest stilled unnaturally, the faint sound of fluttering and scurrying vanishing completely. Then Izuku was no longer alone.
A voice, a soothing tenor which reminded Izuku vaguely of his father’s, came clear through the stillness. “Are you not a little young to be out here alone, child? You’re barely a babe.”
Izuku frowned, his face scrunching. “I’m not that little.”
“Oh? How old are you, then?”
Izuku tapped five fingers, hesitated, then held up six. “Five, almost six. I will be at midnight.”
“And your mother let you wander into these woods alone? Child, you are lucky it was I who encountered you first and not some wild beast. This forest is dangerous.”
“I know,” Izuku declared indignantly. “I came to talk to the Faery King. I snuck out.”
There was an amused huff from the voice, then, “And why would you be seeking the Faery King?”
“I…” Izuku rubbed his forearm. He looked down at his feet, and embarrassed, admitted, “I’m magicless. I think. If I don’t get my Innate magic before midnight, I’m magicless. I… wanted to ask Him for magic.”
There was a silence, a great, all-encompassing silence in the forest. It was like all the crickets had decided to go to sleep and the wind had forgotten how to howl. The voice spoke again, but tightly, with an edge of something that made Izuku’s skin wriggle and every curly hair on his head stand straight.
“Magic? That is why you have come?” It bristled, “And here I had thought at least children were not so greedy, not so wanting and desperate for power. If that is all you have come for, child, then it would be best you go home now before He hears your request.”
Izuku swallowed, but balled up his fists and tried to be brave, “I don’t want it to be powerful. I just want to help people. Like All Might and the Brother’s successors in the stories.”
The feeling only grew at those words, the air electrified with overwhelming malice. From the shadows slipped an indistinct figure, which Izuku might have deemed only another shadow had it not then spoken. "What would possess you to think I would grant magic to some little All Might fanatic? To someone who would oppose me?” The forest loomed in tandem with the voice-given-shape, the trees and darkness closing in on Izuku. It struck Izuku then who he’d been speaking to all this time, for who else but the Faery King could control the forest as an extension of themself?
“I-I, well, I,” Izuku clamored, the only shaking leaf in the whole forest, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry, I didn’t think this through.” He sniveled, suddenly very aware of how foolish he’d been, to speak to the voice so plainly. Even more, how foolish he’d been to think the Faery King would ever help him, that he wouldn’t smite him on the spot for his request. But even still, he endeavored, “I just– I’m the only one in my village without magic. Kacchan and everyone else thinks I-I’m useless and I only want to help others. L-like your Brother! I only want to help.”
The silence lasted longer this time, but the air gentled some. Tension and shadow fell away, and Faery King was before him. His sudden appearance startled Izuku, who flinched back and fell on his rear with a yelp. His lamp shattered against the earth, and without it, he could no longer see the Faery King. At least, not until the had lamp reformed itself in a swirl of light, sitting upright beside him on the ground, its wick reignited. However, now the little lick of flame burned an eerie, unnatural green color, and was much brighter and larger than it had been previously. And by his newly changed lamp, The Faery King, along with the surrounding forest clearing, was fully illuminated.
Standing many heads higher than Izuku, draped in a long, fine black cloak that fell in stark contrast to his pale skin and cotton white hair, the Faery King struck an imposing figure. Each feature was sharp, from his nose to his jaw to his eyes. And those eyes. Those piercing, keen eyes, a color Izuku knew not the name of, which pinned him in place and tracked his every fidget. He was handsome, Ixuku decided, but not in a way he could place. It was as if his brain knew what it was seeing must be beautiful, a truth as evident and as sure as the night was dark.
“Perhaps I am being unfair. You are only a child, and as you said, did not think this through.” Lips and teeth spread into a grin so horrid and sharp, Izuku could scarcely draw breath for sheer fear of it. “Riddle me this, child, why do you want to help other mortals? I never understood my brother’s obsession with it, but perhaps you can enlighten me.”
Izuku swallowed, wringing his hands and staring down at his hands to avoid that wide grin and intense gaze. “I d-dunno, really. I just do.”
As Izuku’s answer was undoubtedly unsatisfying to the ancient immortal, the Faery King sighed heavily and collapsed back into an elaborate throne of roots and branches, one that had not been there a minute ago but had grown up in a matter of seconds to catch the King as he fell. Yet even as he appeared to relax and unguard himself, his half-lidded eyes watched Izuku expectantly.
After a long stretch of silence between them, he motioned for Izuku to continue.
“W-well,” Izuku fidgeted, the words not coming to him easily, “I’ve always loved magic. A-and my mom reads me stories about the Faery King and his Brother and the successors. I… I’ve wanted magic since I was really little. It’s wonderful and beautiful and… I want to know everything about it. B-but,” and here, Izuku paused, taking a deep breath, “even if I n-never got magic, I’d still want to help people.”
The Faery King gave no response, so Izuku swallowed, and continued, “N-not everyone has strong magic. My dad’s is p-pretty strong, but my mom’s isn’t, and e-even with magic, n-not everyone can defend themselves,” he worried his sleeve, shrinking into himself, “and w-with or without magic, I wanna help those people. So they don’t have to be afraid all the time and won’t need to protect themselves all the time. If I can help, even a little, I want to.”
A chuckle followed Izuku’s answer. It was not a mean or mocking chuckle, but rather it sounded fond and soft. “You sound exactly like my brother. He was so sympathetic to the little mortal plights, so much so he... Well. You know how the story goes. Despite giving his everything, mortals still demanded more of him.”
Izuku nodded meekly. Thinking back on his own request, he felt guilty and more than a little foolish in wanting to make such a selfish deal. He was just like those humans so long ago, asking for magic and expecting to receive some, feeling entitled to the Brother’s kindness. Had he even considered that the Faery King might deny his request when he came? That he was being selfish and dumb to go searching out magic when he knew he could do without it? He blinked back tears.
“I-I’m sorry. Y-you’re right, I’m just like them. I-I wanted to make a deal, but I didn’t think that m-maybe you wouldn’t even want to help m-me.” Frustrated tears fell from his cheeks unbidden. Izuku furiously scrubbed at his eyes, trying to make them stop, but to no avail.
“A deal?” The Faery King queried. “You seem like a smart, if naive, child. You should know better than to make deals with faeries.”
Izuku peeked up at the Faery King through watery vision. His posture had straightened ever so slightly as he spoke, and something dangerous and curious danced in the King’s indefinitely-colored eyes. Izuku could sense he would be paying very close attention to his response.
“Y-yes. It’s my mom’s first rule,” he shyly admitted, “and I know not to tell you my name or lie to you either. Or thank you.”
The Faery King huffed an amused note, “You’re well informed. Impressive. Most mortals do not realize the fae operate on different rules.” Izuku flushed at the praise, but didn’t think much of it. He couldn’t imagine how someone wouldn’t know those rules. Plenty of Izuku’s storybooks held cautionary tales about dealing with the fae, it was easy enough to glean the basic rules and customs from them. “Yet, despite knowing the risks, you came to make a deal. I’m curious, what were you prepared to bargain with?”
This Izuku had prepared for. He’d spent a long time developing his conditions and assuring that there weren’t any obvious or harmful loopholes in his proposal. “I’d trade almost anything. So long as it couldn’t hurt me or anyone else, alive or dead, born or unborn and so long as the deal wouldn’t keep me from helping people, I’d accept it.”
“Anything, truly?” The Faery King said lightly, casually. Izuku knew he was offering a lot and leaving himself very vulnerable. “That’s a dangerous offer, child. Very dangerous, even with your conditions. It is tempting, I must admit. I could take quite a lot from you with such vague parameters.”
“I know.” Izuku agreed, then nervously added, “That’s why– that’s why I’d also want you to tell me what you want in return. If we made a deal. I would want to know the terms before I agreed. S-spelled out.”
The Faery King cocked one thin brow in response. “I will be kind, child, and say this: Your offer is terribly short-sighted. You are far too young and naive to be attempting deals with me. Had I more of a conscience, I would refuse to deal with you completely.”
Izuku frowned but nodded. “I understand. I want to at least hear what you would want if we made a deal, though. Then I’ll decide if I want to make the deal or not.”
“Fair enough,” the Faery King agreed easily. “Let’s discuss terms, then.”
Izuku woke up and promptly scrambled out of bed.
The deal. He’d gone to the forest. He'd met the Faery King. He’d made his proposal. The Faery King agreed to talk. He remembered it all. So why couldn’t he remember their deal?
He raced from his room into his mother’s. She wasn’t there. He ran into the kitchen, searching frantically for her. Finding her there, humming while making breakfast, he released the breath he’d been holding.
She was okay.
Without waiting to hear his mother’s startled exclamation of “Izuku!”, he raced back to her bedroom. He located the small mirror she kept there and examined himself closely in it, but found nothing amiss.
“I can speak,” he said, to check if he could.
He tested a few other things, like if he could cry or smile or laugh or feel, but found everything in working order.
Had… had he made a deal? He… he had met the Faery King, right? Or was it all just a vivid dream? He could have sworn he had, but he couldn’t even remember coming home. And nothing had visibly or tangibly changed. It was the same as ever, except...
Izuku breathed deep. Magic.
Before, when he had been without, he couldn’t feel the emptiness. He couldn’t feel his own hollowness, the absence of something. Now, he brought his fingers to his face and pushed and felt where his once empty was now filled. Green light crackled, weaving through his fingers, running up his arms, smelling of ozone and sweet grass.
In the doorway, his mother gasped audibly. He turned to her, eyes wide and teary, and burst. “It came, Mom. It came. I’m not magicless!”