Chapter Text
Three months from his fifth birthday, Izuku Midoriya stands on his bed and practices using a quirk he doesn’t yet have. He’s a late bloomer - that’s what his mom and all his teachers started saying when his classmates got their quirks and he didn’t - but he can’t let that hold him back if he wants to be a hero. Kacchan got his quirk ages ago and has already gotten so good at controlling his explosions, so Izuku makes a point of practicing every day after school to avoid falling too far behind.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, filling his whole chest with air, then exhales a harsh gust from his mouth. The hope is that something will ignite on the way up, sparking breath into flame, just like his dad. Kacchan always says that fire quirks are really strong and if Izuku inherits his father’s quirk they can be like All Might and Endeavour. Izuku tries five times, but then he starts to get dizzy and has to stop, wobbling on his bedspread before collapsing down, staring up at the ceiling. No fire breathing today, then.
After a moment of breathing normally, Izuku reorients himself and focuses on his next task. He springs up, sitting cross legged by his pillows, and stares at the items on his desk. An All Might action figure catches his attention and he narrows in on it, stretching out a hand and straining his concentration as hard as he can, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. He visualizes reaching out and snagging it, attracting it back to him the way he’s seen his mother do so many times. For a long moment, he stays that way and he thinks he feels a flash of something, like maybe it worked this time.
Hope rises in him, fierce and enthusiastic, and he can’t suppress a grin as he mentally tugs again on the figurine. It doesn’t so much as budge. Izuku’s smile falls, cheeks stinging in its absence. At this point, he should know better than to expect anything, but he still gets ahead of himself sometimes. With a sigh, he drops his hand back into his lap.
He takes a deep, fortifying breath to chase away the ache of dashed hopes. “One more time,” he says to himself, nodding resolutely. He reaches up, focuses, pulls . Across the room, the toy wobbles and moves forward an inch, dropping off the desk and rolling across the floor. Izuku stares.
“Did I do that?” he asks quietly, jaw slack, and the little plastic All Might grins up at him, arm posed in a perpetual thumbs up that seems to say yes, yes you did .
Izuku scrambles up onto his knees and reaches forwards again with a new determination, pulling the figurine towards him. He watches every slow inch of its progress across the room with unbridled awe, gently pulling it from the air when it’s close enough. He’s tired now, but that’s far eclipsed by the joy filling every bit of his body. He’s so happy he can’t contain it all, eyes brimming up with tears that roll in thick trails down his cheeks. He brushes them away as they blur his vision, wanting to keep his eyes on the signature yellow, red, and blue that prove what he had just done.
Izuku had a quirk. Finally, after waiting for so long, he had a quirk. Now he and Kacchan could be heroes together, and his classmates would stop teasing him, and his mom wouldn’t have to start looking for doctors like she had mentioned last week. He had a quirk! He had a -
Izuku rushes out of bed, tripping over his feet, shaking from a cocktail of adrenaline, relief, surprise, and fatigue. He clutches his action figure tight in one hand and throws himself out of his room.
“Momma!” he cries, loud and watery with emotion as he makes his way towards the kitchen where his mother is making dinner.
“Izuku?” she calls in return. Something clatters in the kitchen and not a second later, she appears around the corner, meeting Izuku halfway. Immediately, she is down on her knees in front of him. “Baby, what happened?” she asks, hands running over his arms, wide eyes looking him over. “Why are you crying?”
Izuku’s mouth opens, sniffling and hiccuping as he grasps for what to say. Wordlessly, he thrusts the All Might figurine forwards. He had been gripping it so hard that the plastic left little red indents in his palm. His mother takes it, turning it over between gentle hands.
“Is it broken?” she asks, inspecting it for some kind of flaw. “Sweetie, I’m sure we can fix it.” Izuku’s curls bounce as he shakes his head, lifting his hand to telepathically tug the object back to him. His mother’s fingers go limp as it leaves her grasp. She gasps softly. Izuku swaps from vigorously shaking his head to nodding it with just as much vehemence.
Izuku’s mother is quick to join him in tears, pulling him into a tight hug and crying about how proud she is. By the time she lets him go her shirt and the top of his hair are both soaked through and dinner has burned.
Izuku is put to bed early that night. Despite his excitement urging him to stay awake, experimenting with his new quirk has left him thoroughly exhausted and drifting off on the couch the moment he finishes his dinner. Inko scoops him up into her arms and thin arms wrap weakly around her neck as he buries his face there. One of the plastic spikes of All Might’s signature hairstyle stabs into the back of her head from where Izuku has the toy held tightly in his fist. He has barely put it down all night, and when he did, he was always quick to use his quirk to tug it back to him,
“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Izuku mumbles blearily into her shoulder, “I’m not tired.” Inko only hums in response. She bumps the door to his room open with her hip and gently deposits him in the bed. He’s asleep by the time she gets the blankets settled around him.
Every day, Inko thinks she couldn’t possibly love her son any more, and then every day he proves her wrong again. Today, seeing Izuku so happy and excited to have inherited her quirk, Inko feels a spark of appreciation that she hasn’t in a long time. “Attraction of small objects” has felt simple and mundane for so long, but Izuku brings a light to it, just like he does everything else.
After such an emotional evening, Inko is feeling quite drained, but she settles on the couch to watch some TV before heading off to bed herself. The remote is on the side table, only a lean away, but with a revived sense of wonder, she reaches out with her quirk to pull it to her, just because she can.
It doesn’t move an inch.
Inko frowns for a second before shaking her head and smiling wryly at the irony. As marvelous as Izuku makes her quirk seem, it really is a limited, fickle thing. It has never been strong or reliable. At the end of such a long day, tired as she is, even such a small thing must be outside what she can manage. Maybe she was coming down with a cold - her quirk never did cooperate when she was sick.
Now that she thought of it, she had been feeling a little bit off for most of the night.
“Mama, how long ‘til Kacchan gets here?” Izuku asks over breakfast. He’s been vibrating with anticipation from the moment his eyes opened in the morning and it took a great deal of restraint for him to hold the question back so long.
His mom smiles fondly at him. “He’ll be here in the afternoon, sweetie.”
“How many hours?”
“Around four.”
Izuku frowns at his rice. “That’s so many,” he whispers under his breath.
Already, he has his All Might toy clenched in his fist. He needs to keep it with him so he’s ready to show Kacchan his quirk when the other boy gets there. Four hours seems like ages to wait, even though Kacchan is supposed to be coming over at the same time he does almost every Saturday. Impatience squirms in Izuku’s stomach and he eats quickly, as if finishing his breakfast will make the afternoon come faster.
Finishing her own food, his mother picks up their dishes. “Come on, why don’t you use some of that spare energy to help me clean up.”
Carefully depositing All Might on the table, Izuku pulls a stepstool over to the sink and climbs up so he can be level with the counter. His mother toes him slightly to the side so he’s out of her way then starts the water running and hands Izuku a cloth. They wait for a moment while the water warms and Izuku reaches out for the stream with his quirk, curious as to what will happen. Water like this isn’t exactly a “small object,” but Izuku is delighted when it curves slightly in the air, diverting towards him before continuing its path to the drain.
He gasps, “Mama, Mama, look! The water, Mama, that’s me!”
His mother makes appropriately awed noises. “Very good, Izu! I didn’t know my quirk could do that. How clever!” He beams at the praise.
Izuku tests his quirk on everything - the chopsticks, little grains of leftover rice, soap suds. He figures out he can pull on the faucet handle to turn the water off but can’t turn it back on the same way. His mom laughs indulgently at all his antics and lets Izuku attract all the dishes to himself to dry when she’s done watching.
With only the two of them, dishes are usually a quick and simple task, but it takes more than twice as long this morning. When they’re done, Izuku is glad to hear that now there’s only three hours left until Kacchan should arrive. He and his mother settle in the living room, turning the TV on to the news. Despite his restless mood, Izuku is immediately absorbed by the reports on villain attacks and heroes, pointing to the screen and shouting exclamations whenever anything particularly impressive happens.
Izuku could easily spend the entire day watching heroes on TV and the three hours that seemed like they would take an eternity to pass fly by in the blink of an eye. In the middle of an impassioned ramble to his mother, who is less a contributor than a witness, several bangs interrupt the combined drone of Izuku’s voice and the TV. It’s the telltale sound of Kacchan’s arrival - he always announces himself by kicking instead of knocking and there are a handful of small scuffs along the bottom of the Midoriyas’ door from his shoes.
“Kacchan is here!” Izuku shouts, interrupting himself mid-sentence. He’s gone before his mother can even begin to stand, taking off towards the entrance and throwing the door open. “Kacchan! Why are you so late? I’ve been waiting forever!”
The blond on the other side of the door scowls, raising his voice to match Izuku’s, “Shut up, I’m not late!”
Izuku’s mother comes up behind them. “Izuku,” she sighs, “you know you’re not supposed to open the door on your own.”
Izuku rubs the back of his head sheepishly, closing the door as Kacchan shoves past him and into the apartment. “Sorry, Mama. It’s just Kacchan and I was so excited!”
She ruffles his hair. “I know, sweetie. Why don’t you take Katsuki-kun to your room and show him what you’ve learned?”
Grinning, once again vibrating with uncontrolled excitement, Izuku nods and grabs Kacchan by the wrist to drag him across the living room. Kacchan tugs his arm away, barking a chastisement at Izuku for touching him, and follows along at a more sedate pace. The distance to Izuku’s room is small, but in his haste, Izuku can’t help but glance back repeatedly to ensure that Kacchan is still following him.
“What’s this all about, nerd?” Kacchan demands as he throws himself down on Izuku’s bed. “You’re being even more annoying than usual.”
Izuku ignores the insult, knowing Kacchan better than to get offended at anything that comes from his mouth, and thrusts forward his All Might action figure, which had been by Izuku’s side all day, dutifully waiting for this moment. Kacchan’s eyes cross slightly to focus on the toy suddenly invading his space and a small, aborted explosion crackles across his palm on reflex.
“I got my quirk!”
Batting Izuku’s hand and the toy to the side, Kacchan crows, “About time!” He leans forward with a grin to match Izuku’s, though his is far sharper and more aggressive, if equally excited. “So what is it then? Can you finally breathe fire like your old man?”
“I got my mom’s quirk! It’s teli - tela - telekinesis! I can pull things towards me! I’ve only had it for a day, so I don’t know what the limits are, like how heavy the objects can be, or how far away. I have some idea from what my mom knows about her quirk, but mine might be different, and she never really did anything to train her’s, anway, so I’m sure that I can make mine stronger with time. I’ll have to practice lots, but I think it’ll be super good for rescue or even combat if I use it right -” In his growing excitement, Izuku’s words become faster and faster until they’re no longer distinct. His attention is only drawn back to the present moment when Kacchan lets out a drawn out groan.
“Shut up, already! I don’t care about any of that!” Kacchan scowls, though this is the distinct type of scowl that Izuku knows means he’s pouting. “Auntie’s quirk isn’t very strong. You better keep up! I’m not gonna have my partner dragging me down with some lame quirk!”
“I won’t!” Izuku promises, enthusiasm undented by Kacchan’s words. “I’ll work super hard to become the number one hero with you, Kacchan!”
Kacchan scoffs. “You’ll become the number two hero, nerd. I’ll be the number one! So are you gonna show me your dumb quirk, or what?”
“Ah! Right!” Izuku fumbles with his toy for a moment before tossing it to Kacchan, who catches it much more gracefully.
Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Izuku reaches out his hand, maybe a touch more dramatically than necessary, and tugs , just like he has been all day. Nothing happens. Izuku blinks and flushes a violent red. Kacchan doesn’t look as angry as Izuku would have expected him to at the failure, frowning softly at the toy still in his hands instead of glowering or shouting.
“Sorry!” Izuku squawks. “Let me try again!”
Embarrassment and frustration burn in Izuku’s stomach. All he wants is to impress Kacchan, which is already a very hard thing to manage, and he goes and messes it up. He’s been using his quirk all day with no difficulty, but maybe that was the problem? Maybe he already tired himself out, though he didn’t feel that tired until just a second ago.
He steels himself to do better this time, musters up all his determination, and reaches out again. He flexes his fingers a little, like a stretch or a warm up, and then. And then his palms crackle and spark, his skin tingling and warm, like a bunch of pop rocks going off in his hands. There’s a familiar sweet smell in the air, like caramel, that Izuku has associated with Kacchan ever since the boy’s quirk came in.
Why was Kacchan using his quirk?
But Kacchan isn't using his quirk. He’s still holding Izuku’s All Might figurine, and Kacchan would never explode All Might. Kacchan’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly slack, expression empty, and as Izuku watches, his fingers go limp and the toy falls, bouncing on the bedspread before tumbling to the ground. He looks like he’s seen a ghost and Izuku feels distinctly like he’s missed something as he stares at his own hands and tries to catch up.
Palm facing up, Izuku flexes his fingers again. The same feeling dances across his skin and this time he sees small sparks and a wisp of smoke that he recognizes from when Kacchan’s quirk manifested almost a year ago.
“What did you do?”
Still not understanding what’s happening, Izuku looks back up to Kacchan, whose face has lost its unnatural blankness.
“What did you do?!”
Kacchan grabs Izuku’s hand in a too-tight grip. It takes a moment for Izuku to name the look on his face, because he’s never seen Kacchan look this way before, but after a tense moment that stretches out like taffy, Izuku calls it fear.
“I don’t know,” Izuku answers honestly. He feels dizzy and sick and tired. The smell of burnt sugar coats the back of his throat.
“You stole it.”
“I didn’t.”
“It’s mine and you stole it .”
“I didn’t .”
Izuku’s words are weak and Kacchan ignores them anyway, gripping Izuku’s hand tighter, until the bones grind together and Izuku can’t help but reach up with his free hand to try to claw himself free. Red welts rise in the wake of Izuku’s dull nails, but Kacchan doesn’t even seem to notice, grip still painful and unwavering.
“Give it back.” Kacchan’s voice is low and steady and it sends a shiver up Izuku’s spine.
“I don’t - I can’t - I don’t know what’s going on.”
The moment seems suspended in amber, warped and endless, but then the tension breaks in a flurry of movement. In a single motion, Kacchan springs up from the bed and tosses Izuku to the ground. Izuku catches himself, crying out when his weight lands on his tormented hand. Tears build in his eyes as he attempts to scramble backwards, but the floor feels slippery and his limbs feel like they’re made of jelly. Kacchan is on top of him in an instant, and for the first time, Izuku is scared of the other boy.
For so long, Kacchan’s temper has been harmless, even humorous, a simple aspect of his personality that Izuku accepts and even adores, because he adores everything about Kacchan, even the rough edges. Now, as he snags Izuku’s shirt collar in his fist, Kacchan feels dangerous. Kacchan is always so amazing and brave and strong, and for the first time, that makes Izuku feel weak .
Izuku’s head bounces once on the floor boards as Kacchan straddles him, leaving Izuku dizzy and disoriented. Lifting his arms is like moving through tar, but Izuku manages to bring one hand up and brace it against Kacchan’s face, trying to shove him back, though there’s no competition between the boys in terms of strength. Unconsciously, Izuku’s palm crackles, a small explosion popping against the left side of Kacchan’s face, making him pull back with a hiss.
“You little thief. Give it back, you no good villain , give it back, give it back!”
Kacchan is yelling and Izuku is sobbing and furniture bangs as limbs and bodies collide and then everything blurs together like watercolor, colors running into each other until everything is black and noises merging into a single high pitched tone.
Inko makes nothing of the first noise - a shout. Young boys can get loud, especially Katsuki, who screams every other sentence at max volume. Today, she’s prepared for them to be louder than usual; she can hardly blame them, given the nature of Izuku’s exciting news. Both boys have been waiting for months for Izuku’s quirk to come in, eagerly playing heroes in the meantime.
The second noise - a bang - has Inko stopping her business in the living room to listen more attentively. Bangs and bumps are also common occurrences with young children and are often nothing to worry about, but can also be the tell tale sign that something is broken or someone is injured. Not necessarily a reason to go running, but certainly cause to sit up and pay attention.
There is no discrete third noise. Barely a pause after the bang, there is cacophony, and Inko wishes she had been more cautious and gone running sooner. There is screaming and crying and something has obviously gone terribly wrong. Wasting no more time, Inko rushes to her son’s room, hoping that no one is too badly hurt.
She expected, at worst, a nasty fall. Maybe some kind of cut or gash. Certainly not to find Katsuki screaming on top of her son, the both of them crying, though Izuku far more desperately.
Katsuki had one hand balled tight in the collar of Izuku’s t-shirt and the other drawn back as if to deliver a blow. When Inko enters the room, his face pales and his grip goes slack, the sudden release of tension causing Izuku to fall backwards to the ground. Katsuki’s yelling cuts off, making the dull thud of Izuku’s skull hitting the ground seem that much louder. And then there is only the sound of Izuku’s sobs as he tries to curl in on himself, prevented by Katsuki’s weight on his stomach.
Inko has never been a violent person and she reminds herself of that now. She would never hurt a child, much less Katsuki, who she held hours after birth and sees almost as a second son, but with Izuku, her baby , crying on the floor, she has to swallow down a protective rage the likes of which she’s never felt before.
In three steps, she crosses the distance between the door and the boys, grabbing Katsuki by the still-raised arm, carefully double-checking to make sure her grip isn’t too tight as she drags him away. She leaves him in the far corner of the room before returning to Izuku and kneeling by his side.
His sobs have calmed, though he is still crying slightly, his eyes open but glassy and unfocused. Inko calls his name, but he doesn’t respond beyond curling towards her. One of his hands is discolored and Inko feels at it gently to make sure nothing is broken, thankful for small mercies when it seems to just be badly bruised. There’s a small lump on the back of his head and blood smeared over his chin from a bitten tongue, but he doesn’t otherwise seem injured. At least physically, Inko, as a nurse, should be perfectly able to care for him. He calms as she pets his hair and while he’s conscious and clearly recognizes that she’s there, at least on some level, Inko’s concern grows with every second he is silent.
Only when she is sure Izuku is safe, does Inko seek out the other child in the room. Katsuki is sitting in the corner where she left him. He is pressed as tightly to both walls as he can be, glaring sullenly over his knees, which he has pulled up to his chest. It is likely the most vulnerable Inko has ever seen him look, and he shoots constant glances between her and Izuku, seemingly caught between a fear of consequences and the anger that led him to attack Izuku to begin with.
“Katsuki,” she barks, voice trembling only slightly, sounding more like something that would come out of Mitsuki’s mouth than her own. Katsuki visibly stiffens in response. “What happened?”
He is quiet for so long, only glaring, that Inko begins to think he isn’t going to respond, until - “He’s a thief.”
“Explain.”
“He stole it.”
“Stole what , Katsuki?” Inko’s tone is sharper than she intended, but she’s quickly losing patience. She wants to give Katsuki the benefit of the doubt and believe that he is a child and children make mistakes, sometimes very bad ones, but she is not going to play guessing games with her son’s well-being.
“My quirk. He was supposed to show me his, but instead he took mine and now he can use it and I can’t.”
Like the earth has fallen away, Inko’s stomach plummets and her head swims. It’s preposterous, ridiculous, impossible . Quirks can’t be stolen - that would be like stealing someone’s eye color, or their height. But Inko thinks of her own quirk, which she hadn’t been able to use since the night before, and she thinks of the odd, off feeling she’s had since then, and then, even though it’s impossible, she thinks dear God, he’s right .
Izuku’s head turns in her lap, and she looks down to see him staring across the room at Katsuki, eyes still dull, but focused now.
“Izu, baby, are you okay?” she asks, voice soft. Tears build in her eyes as he turns back to her, blinking for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, words slightly slurred by the swelling of his tongue. Inko can’t help the hurt noise she makes in response, smoothing his hair back as a few tears drip from her eyes. She presses a kiss to his forehead.
“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetie,” she assures him, hoping he believes her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He’s a thief,” Katsuki spits from his corner.
“Katsuki!” she shouts. “This is not the time or the way to handle that.”
“I want my quirk back!”
“And you will get it,” she says, hoping for all their sakes’ she can keep that promise. “But first, we are going to go to the kitchen. I am going to get Izuku some ice and make sure he is okay. We are going to have a conversation. Then we will work on your quirk. Do you understand?”
Katsuki glares, but nods, and when Inko carefully picks Izuku up - monitoring his reactions to make sure he’s not in too much pain - and carries him to the kitchen, Katsuki maintains his distance, but follows behind without protest.
Across the table from Katsuki, Auntie is doting on the nerd, pressing ice against his head and hand and shining a small flashlight in his eyes. Katsuki sneers. Neither of them are paying attention to him, even though he’s the one who should be upset right now. His chest aches and he keeps reaching out for a quirk that isn’t there , like going down the stairs in the dark and forgetting that you still have one step left - thinking you're going to step onto solid ground and instead plummeting . He feels sick, he feels angry.
Auntie tells Izuku to go lay down, and then she turns to Katsuki.
“Are you alright?” she asks him.
“My quirk is gone,” he bites back. Normally, he doesn’t yell at Auntie, because she’s so nice and Katsuki doesn’t want to upset her, but that was a stupid question. Of course he’s not alright. He doesn’t have his quirk, and Auntie knows that, but she’s just making him sit here and wait instead of doing something about it.
“Are you injured?” she asks, voice level. Auntie is angry, too, even if she’s acting calm. Katsuki has never actually seen her mad before, but the way she snapped at him earlier was unmistakable. He wishes she would yell and get it over with.
“No.”
“Izuku is injured. You hurt him.”
“He shouldn’t have taken my quirk if he didn’t want to get hurt!”
“Katsuki!” Auntie snaps, the anger obvious again. “You can’t just attack people, you can’t go around hurting people on purpose.”
“You’re not supposed to steal things, either, but he did anyway!”
Auntie narrows her eyes at him, the expression harsh and unfamiliar on her usually kind face. She raps her hand against the edge of the table in front of Katsuki, where a small black stain mars the wood.
“Where did that come from?” she asks him. He frowns.
“I did it.”
“Did I get mad at you?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because it was my quirk! I didn’t mean to.”
“Exactly,” Auntie says with a nod, like Katsuki has proven some kind of point, though he has no idea what it’s supposed to be. “I didn’t get mad because you didn’t mean to do it. You haven’t had your quirk for very long and you don’t have perfect control over it, yet. Accidents are normal.”
“So what?”
“Izuku had an accident. He didn’t mean to take your quirk. He didn’t even realize he did it. But he only got his quirk yesterday and he doesn’t know how to control it yet. Do you understand?”
Katsuki glares because he doesn’t. Maybe Izuku didn’t mean to, but the nerd took Katsuki’s quirk. Izuku was the one who had done the bad thing, the one who needed to be yelled at, not Katsuki.
“I want my quirk back,” is all he says.
“You’ll get it back,” Auntie sighs. “I’m sorry that this happened. I know it must be scary and overwhelming. But even if Izuku took it, even if you want it back, you cannot hurt people just because you’re scared or angry, Katsuki.”
Except he can, can’t he? Even without his quirk, Katsuki is strong - strong enough to hurt people. He can protect himself and get what he wants. That’s what strength is for.
“I’m not scared. He took it from me,” Katsuki insists. “That’s what villains do. Heroes hurt villains.”
“No, Katsuki,” Auntie says. “Heroes should never hurt people if they don’t have to. Heroes save people. Villains hurt people. That’s what villains do.”
“Are you calling me a villain?!” Katsuki demands, nearly screaming. He knows he’s right, she’s just saying he’s wrong because she’s angry he hurt Izuku, angry that Izuku was the villain.
“No, Katsuki. But you have done a very bad thing.”
“I want my quirk back!”
“I know. We’ll let Izuku sleep a bit and then we’ll see what we can do, alright?”
Auntie sighs again, and leaves Katsuki sitting there, feeling like he’s boiling over. It isn’t fair. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but here Auntie is, ignoring everything he says and sighing at him, while Izuku, the villain , takes a nice little nap. Katsuki was going to be a hero. He had an amazing quirk, but now he had nothing , and it was Izuku’s fault.
“Katsuki,” Auntie says, voice soft and trembling slightly. She sounds more like herself than she has all day. “I know this has been hard for you, but it’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about this. It could be dangerous if you do. I quirk like Izuku’s - a lot of people would want to know about it.”
Katsuki scoffs. “As if I’d tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to think the nerd is stronger than me just because he cheated .”
Auntie gives him a snack that Katsuki doesn’t eat, and she sits in the living room as if nothing is wrong for a full hour before going to get Izuku. And then she spends another hour talking softly to Izuku as the nerd fails to return Katsuki’s quirk - “I’m trying, I swear!” - and snapping at Katsuki whenever he gets angry about it.
All in all, Katsuki’s quirk is gone for just under three hours. They were the most horrible hours of his life.
Kacchan goes home early that day. He doesn’t turn around to say goodbye and he slams the door behind him. Izuku doesn’t think he’ll come over again next weekend. Izuku doesn’t blame him.
Izuku is tired. No, exhausted. He was tired after he took Kacchan’s quirk, but then they fought, and then Izuku had to give it back, and returning the quirk was the most exhausting thing Izuku has ever had to do. He didn’t even notice taking the quirk, really. It was easy to just pull it in, but pushing it back out felt unnatural. It was like how his mom’s quirk could only attract objects, not repel them.
His mom’s quirk. Izuku hasn’t thought about it until now, but he guesses this means he didn’t inherit his mom’s quirk, afterall. He just stole it. He stole his own mother’s quirk.
He turns towards her, tears already building in his eyes. “Mama, your quirk. I took it, just like I took Kacchan’s. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I can give it back!”
She wraps her arms around him and he can feel her crying against his hair. “No sweetie, not tonight. You’re so tired. It can wait, okay? I’ll be fine without my quirk for another day or two, just keep it safe for me, alright?”
“I didn’t mean to,” he repeats.
“I know, I know.”
She carries him into his bedroom and changes him into his PJs, even though it’s still fairly early. Half under the bed, Izuku’s favorite All Might action figure strikes it’s signature pose, and seeing it brings a fresh wave of tears to Izuku’s eyes. He picks it up, remembering the day before when it was his personal symbol of victory.
“Can I still be a hero?” he asks his mother, holding out the toy. She takes it with shaking hands, stares at it for a moment, then falls to her knees beside Izuku and throws her arms around him.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” she sobs into his shoulder. His own tears are silent.
It’s just like Kacchan said. Stealing was what villains did. If he stole, he would be a villain, and if he didn’t, he practically wouldn’t have a quirk, and how was he meant to be a hero, then?
Three months from his fifth birthday, Izuku Midoriya lays in his bed and vows to never practice using the quirk he has just received.