Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku had always felt the burn of cold rage simmering in his veins from the day Bakugou Katsuki ignored his help under that god forsaken bridge when they were kids.
He never did anything about it though. It’s almost as if his consciousness knew that he couldn’t beat Kacchan even if he tried. So he pretended.
Crafted a mask almost so perfect that he could no longer differentiate between the blurred lines of his real personality buried deep in his brain and the meticulously placed pieces of a mask that those who knew him saw. He strained daily to hold onto the pieces of that mask. By the time he had reached his 3rd year of Middle School at Aldera, his palms were now bleeding from gripping the jagged pieces so tightly…it was quickly starting to splinter and cut his palms.
Midoriya sat slumped at the back of his all too familiar spot in the classroom that he had only been learning in for just 2 weeks. The collar of his black gakuran bellowed with a small hiss of smoke as Kacchan’s hand firmly pressed down on his shoulder as he leaned down to glower down at Midoriya. His two lackeys stood next him like two giants snickering at a small mouse at their feet.
Small but loud pops crackled in his ears as a flurry of orange and yellows blinded him, the pain of his skin searing with his gakuran feeling almost like a toxic friend, familiar but achingly painful to keep close. Kacchan’s expensive black loafers, that were shiny as usual, dug into his chest as he put all his weight onto Midoriya’s ribs that were probably bruised from the close range explosion he took a few minutes earlier.
Kacchan’s face was almost two breathes away as he continued his monologue that Midoriya could barely hear. It started to feel more and more like he was having an out of body experience again and all that he could hear was muffled shouting and snickers warped by high pitched ringing. It left him to only individually recognize and locate all his current and reopened wounds and bruises that had now just become the color of his pale skin now. He could only see out of one blurry eye, the other temporarily shut by gauze and tape, the rest of his face was treated similarly with patches littering his face and his lower lip was cut and swollen. A tiny dried line of blood from the morning’s session has probably started up again with all the beatings he’d just taken.
Kacchan had gotten bolder in the past years after he realized that Midoriya Inko wasn’t going to do anything to him even if he brandished his explosions like a permanent tattoo on her son.
Almost like the universe didn’t want him to have any peace, Kacchan lifted his foot from Midoriya’s chest for only a second before rearing back to land a solid and swift kick to his chest. A harsh wheeze from his own mouth slams Midoriya back into his body as his ribs throb in scalding pain that sends frying electricity down his spine and leaves his toes tingling. Tears of a mix of fury and pain swell in his eyes as he curls into himself with great difficulty, his ribs screaming loudly from the strain. Loud buzzing assaults his ears as the pain of everything begins to merge into one as he feels he is about to bawl his eyes out in pain right in front of Kacchan of all people.
A mantra of I hate my life repeatedly slams in his brain, almost completely blocking everything coming out of Kacchan’s mouth. His body screams all over so he just trembles and quietly hiccups on the cold floor of his classroom questioning himself why he has to go through this, why it had to be him out of the other 80% of Japan’s huge population.
He can feel the cold of the tiles seeping in his ear as his dark green curls lay flat on the floor around him creating a green halo that shakes and trembles as he twitches on the floor.
Kacchan probably gets bored of his weak whining and lack of screams or reaction so he moves away from Midoriya’s line of sight. His feet audibly stomping a few steps away from him. Kacchan’s voice cuts through Midoriya’s sobs easily, gruff and crystal clear.
“Stand up you Quirkless trash. Don’t make me fucking repeat it otherwise you’re going to pray to Auntie that l don’t bring you home as some shitty casket ”.
Midoriya’s body works on instinct, forcibly bringing itself up like a broken marionette on poorly constructed strings. Bile floods his throat as the sheer pain from standing up this quickly and normally pushes the very little food in his stomach , up. He doesn’t dare puke on Kacchan , the last time he did that he was icing and treating injuries from before during and after school from him and his lackeys for weeks. His body wobbles like a new fawn and barely keeping him up straight as pins that feel like huge pieces of rebar stab his ribs and make his legs feel numb with static like fuzziness.
Inwardly, he curses himself for being such an obedient dog for Kacchan, but what can you do when you are the broken marionette strung up by thin strings that are controlled by a cruel puppeteer?
Kacchan and his friends stand by the door, their bodies slanted, oozing smugness and content as they stare back at him like a pitiful, starved dog begging for food on the street. Kacchan’s bag is slung over his shoulder as his crimson eyes clash with Midoriya’s. They are filled with glee and malice. Malice that burns hotter than the explosions he inflicts.
It worms into Midoriya’s gut and sits there heavily, giving a sinking feeling that this encounter was about to get worse. He tears his eyes away from Kaachan’s immediately looking down to the floor. Unconsciously his heart begins to race thumping away at miles a minute.
Kacchan’s voice slices through Midoriya like a blade sharpened to butcher him. He says it with no remorse and with laughter swiping his tone.
“Deku, if you really are so fucking desperate to your grubby hands into the hero industry, there might be another way for you! Just pray for a quirk in your upcoming next life and take a swan dive of the roof of the school building”.
.
.
.
.
Burning.
Midoriya feels like he is burning. His heart seems to quiet leaving only a scalding feeling, twisting and turning in his stomach that burns so hot that it feels like a fleshy hole has been seared into his midsection. His downcast eyes snap to Bakugou’s so fast he almost feels dizzy as his eyes burn with what he could only describe as rage enough to fuel wrath. His fingers twitch and quickly curl into tight fists that easily draw blood from his palms. His jaw ticks as his face confronts into an expression he could only imagine as anger. The perfect facade he had crafting since he was a little kid crumbles and the true rage bubbling under the fragments of his true personality lashes out and holds a strong grip on Midoriya’s body. He trembles , barely holding back anger that brews like slow moving lava in his stomach and he grits his teeth so hard he can almost hear them groan in his mouth.
He stays silent. Fuming. Burning. Viciously like a rabid dog with white foam dripping down its chin.
Bakugou’s lackeys cackle , yapping about Midoriya’s inability to do anything or even fight. Bakugou, however stares at Midoriya a bit longer almost seeming to notice the spark igniting in his eyes. But he dismisses it completely, scoffing to himself at his ludicrousness. Bakugou and his lackeys leave in a tow leaving the door wide open for anyone to witness and spectate Midoriya Izuku’s ‘reality check’.
.
.
.
Hours later, he stares blankly at nothingness that is his bedroom. The individual stains on his bed sheets feel like the only thing he could actually focus on. He can not bear to even look at the brightly colored poster of All Might in his silver age perched on his right. He is slumped on his yellow, red and blue bed sheets that almost burn his only, barely open eye. When he got home, Midoriya Inko barely even acknowledged his presence. She just kept blankly staring at the TV that has stayed on the same channel for the past few days, glancing at him for a few seconds before putting the same old fake smile. Midoriya Inko had stopped looking at him like he was her son a few years ago. She had stopped looking at him…he looked too much like her Hisashi, from the wildly curly hair to the slight indent in his left cheek that was highlighted by dark freckles that looked like constellations. But those dark eyes had strayed away from her to some American assistant of his. So she would never let herself look at him in the eyes with love laced in her irises again. Even if the eyes were now green like her own not black.
Midoriya almost bursts out in manic laughter when he thinks of today’s events. He could feel his skin starting to itch from all the burn cream and the slow and unstable healing process of his skin trying to piece itself back together. His skin itches from all the prickling stares he received from the floor of that grimy classroom. His skin itches from all the self hatred wrapped around his heart with thorns. He itches from the bubbling anger simmering under his pores.
It itches… It itches… It fucking itches.
Beads of blood cascade down his forearms as his nails scratch at the old and new star-burst burns littering his arms. His fingers are frantic as he continuously scratches his arms, his eyes watering from the pain but his heart loosening from the relief of scratching the itch. His mind seems to spiral as he watches the ruby blood on his arms mix together from his rampant scratching. Hissing pain shoots through his arms as cracked laughter bubbles from his hoarse throat. His wheezing hurts his ribs so damn much but he continues to laugh, his body heaving over as his forehead scrapes the worn fabric of his bed sheets.
Soon enough his laughter quickly melts into sobs that crack and break his voice. The sobs cause him suck in large, choked breaths that force his ribs to expand which makes him all the more winded. But he continues to cry, his hand clutching the crumbled, singed gakuran he is still wearing. A guttural, crackled scream forces itself out of his throat as his chest constricts, forcing all the air for his lungs. His body trembles and stutters through the pain but he stays hunched over, all energy drained.
He is in pain but his heart feels lighter. But it feels heavier with something else.
Downstairs, Midoriya Inko just turns up the volume of the TV, completely ignoring her husband’s screams of agony. Hisashi deserves to suffer she tells herself. A small part of recognizes she’s not sane anymore and it is her Izuku crying out for help.
*****************************
The next day Midoriya Izuku leaves the house in their rundown neighborhood with a heavier gait than usual. He doesn’t bother to lift his shoulders or force a smile to his cheeks. His shoulders are hunched and his curls basically cover his eyes as he diverts from his usual route to school. His pocket is heavier than usual with the yen he stole from his mother’s purse while she wasn’t looking. It’s not like she actually saw him anymore.
After his mental breakdown, and a cold look at himself in the mirror last night he reached an ultimatum with himself. He is worthless and can’t ever be a hero, but his tormentors couldn’t live scot-free. The next kid after him would just be same and so would the next one. He won’t be a hero but he won’t let a bunch of villains sit around him daily. He had sat partly hunched on his computer for 3 whole hours searching on websites, anything on how he could get his classmates arrested or at least for their shitty middle school to face some sort of charges. When he had found nothing , he was immediately infuriated at the lack of results, his heart and mind racing miles in seconds to try find a solution. That’s when he decided he was going to do something himself.
Morals be damned.
He walks into the Aldera Middle school gate with a few less yen that he did when he left home. His bag is also a lot heavier than when he left home. His face is set into a blank sheet, his mouth set into a line. He enters his classroom earlier than he usually does. He usually gets to school a few minutes before the bell rings just avoid getting another bruise every other day in the morning. He calmly walks to his desk and sits down, not outwardly reacting the red spider lilies haphazardly splayed across his desk. He holds one , his fingers slowly but absentmindedly brush the sides of the stem of the bright red flower and a small smile cracks upon his lips. If he had felt any sort of remorse for what he was about to do, the spider lilies on his desk removed it.
He didn’t pull out any textbooks or his notebooks. He just sat there blankly staring at the board, waiting for the teacher. The teacher he had hated from the second he was introduced to them. The same teacher who had watched him get burned, beaten and bloodied for the past 2 years without even as much as a blink of shock. Midoriya sits stock still and completely ignoring the strange looks he gets from his incoming classmates.
Bakugou is there a few minutes later , oozing in confidence and popularity as usual. He passes Midoriya at first, unaccustomed at seeing him there this early. His shock is quickly replaced with glee in seconds as he stalks back to Midoriya's desk with heavy footsteps. “Well look who’s here? Who the fuck do you think you are Deku? Showing up here earlier than me…you trying to look better than me or something? I fucking told you geneless freak, you will never live to be anything or anyone”, Bakugou growls as he grabs Midoriya’s collar and forces Midoriya to face him. Midoriya barely reacts, his brain oddly calm and limp, his heart beating normally and totally unfazed by the spit landing on his face. Bakugou barely notices the difference and continues to rambling on and on.
The teacher, then walks in and Midoriya’s body feels alive for the first time in years. He could do it now. He woulddo it now.
The teacher , as usual , tells Bakugou to let go of Midoriya’s collar in a monotone tone, bluntly not caring about his student attacking another. Bakugo, begrudgingly, does so tsking very loudly. The teacher addresses then Midoriya as well in almost the same breath ,”Midoriya, why do always instigate Bakugou? Do l need to send you to Principal again huh? Why don’t you ever learn that you must praise talent such as Bakugou’s”.
And at that sentence, the small thin thread barely holding Midoriya Izuku together and sane, snaps.
Without answering his teacher with his usual stutters and weak apologies, Midoriya silently reaches over to his bag and slowly opens it. Bakugou as usual has no patience, “Oi! Deku are you not going to answer the fucking teacher now -”.
A quiet but unnaturally loud click pierces through Bakugou’s sentence before he could finish it. The words in his throat die a cruel death before they can even leave his mouth. And right in Bakugou’s face sits a 9mm black gun loaded with 4 bullets sitting in the magazine waiting to be fired.
Bakugou sputters and his breath hitches. There’s a fucking gun in his face and Deku, whose eyes are burning in a toxic green shade, is the one holding it.
The whole classroom seems to take a breathe in all at once, sucking all the air out of the room leaving only a dry tasteless stale atmosphere. The teacher seems to be the first one to unfreeze, stuttering a shocked plea. “M-Midoriya w…w-what are you d-doing!?”.
Without removing his eyes from Bakugou, Midoriya turns his arm and gun towards his teacher. And without flinching, pulls the trigger his shoulder slightly jolting from the recoil.
Air rushes back into the classroom with an almost audible slam as screams ring out in the classroom. Bakugou’s crimson eyes drastically widen in what almost feels like slow motion as they shift from Midoriya to their teacher. He was still alive, but trembling violently on the floor with a bullet lodged right next to where his head was , into the class board where Midoriya’s name was written with all sorts of insults decorating it tauntingly.
Midoriya’s arm swerves back to Bakugou, his eyes never having strayed from him. For the first time since yesterday Midoriya spoke. “Bakugou Katsuki. You deserve to rot in the deepest pits of hell and the bullet from this useless Deku’s hands will be the one to send you there”. Bakugou didn’t know what to do, his body and mind in complete shock at the sight of Midoriya Izuku his once closest friend, standing there with a loaded gun in his hand and a burning hatred carved into his hard eyes. All Bakugou could do was pathetically blink as his mind raced at a thousand miles a second. A tense silence crackled in the air as everyone in the room waited for with a bated breath to see what would happen, scared out of their minds of the steel eyes trained on their classmate.
Suddenly, a grating voice entered Midoriya’s ears. A voice he had been hearing for years accompanied with Bakugou’s. Always taunting, always snickering, always fucking talking. “Come on Deku, you can’t hurt us! Bakugou has got his whole life as a hero cut out for him you can’t- ”, Bakugou’s lackey had stood up from the huddled crowd by the other end of the classroom, wanting to be the hero.
It sets off Midoriya immediately. It pisses him off that even with a gun in his hands, they still think he’s weak and Bakugou is stronger.
And in a second, another loud bang rings out in the classroom. And this time he didn’t miss.
A blood curling scream rips itself out of Bakugou’s lackey’s throat. His hands immediately rushing to cover the bullet wound torn through his thigh. Blood sprayed from his legs and splattered all those close to him who responded horrified and loudly. By now, the sound of faint sirens can be heard close to the middle school but for everyone living and for one enjoying this gory scene it seems deadly quiet. Everyone is reduced to quiet whimpers and petrified shaky breaths. The red sprayed over the grimy white walls almost fills Midoriya with delight and relief for all the children he had saved from torment but a part of him is still not satisfied. Hot sticky blood dots his face like his freckles from the close range shot, it invigorates him to do more.
Focusing back to Bakugou, Midoriya cracks a large smile. Bakugou takes a small step back, petrified. Midoriya giggles a little, finding it amusing that after all these years Bakugou Katsuki, Kacchan , is afraid of him? Midoriya through dry giggles speaks up, “Would you look at that? Bakugo Katsuki the great hero of Aldera can’t even move in the face of danger? Oh how will he ever be a hero?”. Midoriya breaks down in laughter as his guns shakes in Bakugou’s direction.
He sobers up when his shoulder stop shaking as all his attention focuses back on Bakugou, his grip tightening on the gun he bought just this morning. “Goodbye Bakugo Katsuki, see you in hell”, Midoriya says as he slowly pulls down on the trigger– Suddenly heavy and large bodies tackle Midoriya, slamming him to the floor and sending the gun skittering along the classroom floor. Leaving it's nozzle pointing at Bakugou accusingly.
Police sirens finally fade into Midoriya’s ears as all the fuzzy static that covered his ears like cotton disappears, making his body relax immediately. Glaring up at Bakugou with his face pushed into the ground that he is so acquainted with, Midoriya feels some sort of twisted relief watching the pure terror bounce around in Bakugou’s eyes. He puts his face to the cool floor already accepting his arrest, the pain of the officers pressing down on his shoulders and the interlocking his hands behind his back is nothing compared to what he has endured, if anything it feels soft. Before he is completely dragged out of the classroom he throws Bakugou one last smirk and a dry chuckle as the officer yank his away roughly.
Days later he is charged with assault, attempted murder and illegal possession of a firearm. The trial is lengthy as the testimonies and the character of Izuku Midoriya don’t add up, making the jury decision less unanimous that they had thought it would be. They instantly decided that he was not mentally well and his charges were reduced. Fortunately though, he isn’t the only one charged by the judiciary. Aldera is basically burned to the ground by the press and the society after the investigation of Midoriya is carried out. At the least this society isn’t as bad as he thought. In the end he is labeled as mentally unstable and is charged with a lessened sentence prescribed with mandatory therapy that determines how early he can get out.
Even now in a jail cell and in a horrid orange jumpsuit he finally feels a bit relieved.