Chapter Text
It starts, as it does for everyone else, at age four. A tale repeated across the nation, across the world. A child and their mother go to a doctor. Tests are conducted. Examinations held. A doctor smiles at a young soul, and tells them what they can do. Excrete powerful acids. Interact in strange and unusual ways with gravity. Take on the form of a lizard or frog or some other beast of nature or mythos. Some, admittedly, have more raw power than others. It is all well and good to manifest blades, but it feels a little singular when another might be able to make anything from their own body. But by and large, it is a tale that changes a child’s life forever.
In an increasingly rare few, the tale is inverted. A sympathetic voice (or a quietly judgemental one), tells the parent that the X-rays have shown a few vestigial remnants of the old order. That the tests have come back blank. That the child is, in the end, merely human. A tragedy, by the standards of most.
All of which is why what happens when the Midoriya family attends this cultural rite of passage is so unusual. No strange body alterations are found - vestigial or otherwise. No obvious changes in the physicality or mentality of young Izuku can be found. The doctor runs the tests thrice. All of them. The results remain: Midoriya Izuku displays no signs of being quirkless, yet inexplicably does not have any displays of a quirk dormant or active. The closest thing to anything is that Midoriya Inko mentions offhandedly that Izuku’s teeth came in a month or so early. But after a careful examination of the aforementioned teeth, nothing further unusual is found. There are a great many tears exchanged that night, in a dimly lit apartment.
Time passes, as it does. A childhood friendship slowly drifts apart, for the cruelty of children is a terrible thing. A boy’s star rises and shines, and another figure is increasingly and vehemently ostracized, without even the excuse of ‘quirkless’ to garner a modicum of sympathy. For what is worse than those with no quirk? Those whose quirk is useless and invisible and worth nothing but mockery from those around them.
Worse yet comes from that terrible burden called single parenting. She does her best, but Midoriya Inko is still but one woman who must struggle to feed two mouths, absent increasingly pale financial support from an absentee father. And what a mouth the second is! More than one joke is made, in those small moments they share, that perhaps Izuku’s quirk is Consumption. He eats ravenously and with a certain savagery that increases as he ages. He is still young and so does not understand the full reasons why his mother starts to spend less and less time around him outside of meals, or why she works so late. All he knows is that he is always tall for his age, that whatever his quirk is is effectively a dud, and that he is never quite left satisfied when he eats.
As he ages, a few things become more apparent. He does not fit in with the other boys. He fits in nowhere, really, but he feels this especially keenly during times when the rigors of school require him to be around his peers. Neither do the girls much seem to think he fits with them either, aggravatingly. He is too gangly, too skinny, too tall, and altogether too weird. By the onset of puberty, Izuku feels quite tired of the entire concept of gender inasmuch as they can articulate such and makes this known, in a notable fit of anger, to their mother. She’s supportive, but it stems more from a sense of guilt than real understanding and so there in the end, she simply uses their name and apologizes when she slips up. She slips up a lot. Her work takes her farther and farther from home, on longer and longer business trips and late nights. And there is something about Izuku that she cannot place a word to, or a feeling, but it seeps into her all the same as time goes by. By the time Izuku enters junior high, the time they spend under the same roof can be counted in hours per week, and a childhood dream of heroism has rather thoroughly been reduced to the barest flicker of an errant fantasy.
It is a fact that will have many, many consequences.
S m t h n g i w o n
School, Izuku has decided, is effectively a state sponsored prison. Their morning walk towards Aldera leaves them just enough time to really consider the matter, on the days they make the trek. A solid twenty minutes or so. Really, they think, all the evidence fits. You are required to be present within a singular facility that has both grounds and walls. It is illegal to leave or not be present as demanded. There is a social hierarchy strictly delineated by authority figures and those without power, who then within their own groups form hierarchies based upon simplistic yet ever-shifting dynamics. The entire point is to direct the lives of those within in a way desired by the state. There is a part of them that revels in the watching of it all, the small dramatics and daily border-shifts. There is a much larger part of them that has no desire to face a small explosion in close proximity yet again.
So, of course, they ditch exactly as often as they think they can get away with. Why not? They are the lowest rung on the ladder as is even after two years. The teachers barely control their classes and have more than once literally forgotten to call them during roll. School fucking sucks, in short, and what’s it matter if they have some truancy records? Who’s going to get called? A mother who’ll spare thirty minutes before bed to shoot them disappointed eyes and an exasperated sigh? Terrifying. Still going to pass on seven hours of passive observation and likely physical assault, thanks. Getting a good score on a little paper is not worth any of that.
It helps that they don’t look their age. Being fifteen centimeters taller than most kids their age at a healthy one-six-nine buys them a lot of societal leeway. It places them in the hallowed age of late teens to most passerby, where being outside during ‘school hours’ becomes a matter firmly in the realms of delinquency and not abandonment - and people are very good at pretending delinquents don’t exist, so long as quirks don’t get involved - and what quirk are they going to flash? That their teeth are a little sharper than normal? People don’t look at them for long or very often though, which fits them just fine. Maybe it’s their eyes, sharp and sanpaku-shaped as they are. They don’t bother to think about it.
The final bell dings out right as their phone chimes that it’s half past three in the afternoon. They have an arrangement with a few of the local family-owned ‘holdout’ storefronts that sees them delivering takeout and the like for a fairly decent sum and some extra leftovers. All the old ladies and retired men murmur under their breadth how sad it is that Midoriya Izuku has to do all this instead of being able to be in school. Midoriya Inko is certainly not winning any favors in the Eisuri district. They wheel their bike out and set off with jacket, tanktop and cargo shorts fresh from the laundromat, ready to finally spend some time productively.
Five hours later the last order’s delivered and they’re sitting at an udon stall slurping up the last of their third bowl, courtesy of Nakado-san the owner. They hide the grimace as they place it down, feeling only faintly more fulfilled than when they’d started. It’s been getting worse the less their mom is around, it feels like. They’ve never felt full in a long while, but they’re starting to actively feel hungry even after eating of late. It’s certainly contributed to their foul mood that they’ve plastered down under the smile of customer service during their ‘shift’. A moment of solidarity with konbini workers the nation over flits through their mind as they lean back, scrolling idly at their phone, trying to stretch out how long they can loiter before they wheel back home. If they’re lucky, mom will already be asleep when they do. If she’s even home at all.
There’s a crash from down the lane that draws their - and everyone else’s - attention. A gangly figure bursts out of an alleyway, dashing on legs that look a little like rollerskates. Izuku has enough time to catch a glint of something metal in their hands before they’re zooming past. Another figure - this one stockier - follows swiftly after and grabs at a nearby bike, intent on the chase.
Wait, that’s their bike. Their phone slams into their pocket as the morass of everything eating at them bubbles over into a certain righteous anger as they start running in the direction of further noises.
“Hey! That’s my fucking bike!”
“I’ll give it back!” Shouts Bike Thief, his tail swerving madly from side to side behind him. This has to be some sort of vigilante right? They can’t recall any tailed heroes in the area, not that it’d stop them anyways from giving chase.
“Yeah you will, right the fuck now! Asshole!” Swearing isn’t exactly a common thing for them but right now anger is winning over remnant inertia over manners.
No reply comes as Bike Thief swerves sharply to the right, veering through some ongoing road work and they lose sight of the chase. A stream of curses follow as they take the guess and hang a right as well, towards some warehouses. That’s the kind of place where a villain might run into right?
Their breath is coming harsh as they half stumble into one of the alleys. They’re certainly not out of shape, but they’re on foot chasing a guy on a bike and someone on skates. Fuck! That bike wasn’t cheap! They lean against the wall, hot tears coming unbidden. They’re struck by the sudden sheer unfairness of it all - of losing their bike, of having to rely on their bike to do what they do, at the fact that all the money they’d been painstakingly saving up doing this is about to wash down the drain just to start all over again. The trail of thought keeps going as the tears keep coming. Shitty Deku, with a shitty quirk, a shitty mom, and a shitty life. So why the fuck wouldn’t they lose their bike to a guy playing hero too?
“Awww, poor kid. You really chased him this far? Kinda impressive. Well, extra sorry about this then. Nothing personal.” A slightly nasally voice comes from above them and then there’s a hand around their neck and something sharp at their back.
“Ah ah ah! Easy there, here’s how this is gonna -” They’re already yelling before he can finish and the hand at their neck goes to their mouth, right as the knife(?) digs into their jacket.
“Fucking hell you’re a stupid one aintcha? Shut up. You’re my insurance if that cat fuck comes around okay? All you gotta do is be quiet and not squirm and you get to go home, got it? Starting now.” Comes a snarl at their ear.
The threat of harm simmers them down just for a moment and Rollerskates laughs. “Good, good. Fuck, okay. Just gotta get the hell out of this place and find my ride.” There’s an irregular shuffling noise and it takes them a moment to realize Rollerskates is tapping his foot rapidly. Their vision is swimming, still half blurry from tears. The hand is clamping at their mouth, smooshing their lips and it’s getting hard to breathe with how the finger is brushing against their nostrils.
“Motherfucker, where is the fucking ride, why aren’t they responding!” Skates’ voice is getting shrill as he mutters. “Don’t move! I said don’t move! Stop - stop fucking moving!”
All they’re doing is trying to breathe by now, but they can’t speak and everything is starting to get a little dim at the edges and they can’t stop moving because everything is getting blurry and their stomach is heaving and rumbling.
“I’ll fucking stab you, brat! Don’t move! Don’t move! I’m warning you I’m - stop!” There’s a spike of sharp-cold-thin from their side and someone screams and their mouth is open and fingers are in their mouth and the instinct comes and something snaps, it sounds like a pair of chopsticks, someone else is screaming and there's copper in their mouth and -
And
They’re
So
Hungry.
Izuku blinks, looking around blearily. Where are they? There’s a feeling of something warm on their face from above. They look up. It’s an industrial heating exhaust pipe. Their back is against something hard, and a hand comes up to check. Concrete. A wall. There’s a squelching noise as they fidget. Eyes shift down.
That’s a lot of blood. That’s a lot of blood they’re standing in. Is - is that their blood? They remember the pain. Something stabbing them in the side through the jacket. A hand brushes in sudden panic but - nothing. There’s not even a cut or lingering pain when their hand runs across where they know they felt the spike of hot-cold-hot-cold-thin-sharp-hurt.
Their eyes flicker around a little wildly, and it’s how they spot the other occupant of the alley. Skates is still here, it turns out. Or - what’s left of Skates. There’s a whole lot of - holes. All over the guy’s side. Small ones. A really big one around his torso. He’s not got much of a right arm left. He looks, in short, like he got chewed up by something vicious.
Their stomach heaves and they make to hold in a retch, but nothing comes out. But their hand comes away red from their lips, and their tongue suddenly feels like it’s made of cotton, too big, too tight for their mouth and they retch again and - oh. They don’t recall their tongue being long enough to see. Nerveless fingers fumble for their phone, swipe past the lock screen and activate the camera then flip it to selfie mode and hold it up.
Their tongue is lolling out of their mouth slightly past their chin, coated in copper-crimson-red and so are their teeth. Their many, very. Very sharp looking teeth. The pieces are coming together very quickly and huh, okay their quirk apparently came in handy but a little too handy because there’s a dead man in the alley with them who looks like he was chewed by a wolf or something. Or, they guess, by them. And what’s with the tongue?
Fuck.
They should probably be panicking more about this. Or, maybe they are? Maybe this is the sort of hyper lucidity that comes from adrenaline and they’re moments away from collapsing into a mess. Priorities then. First, get the hell out of the area. Second, clean up. Third, get home and pretend this didn’t happen. Maybe. They’ll work on that one as they get to it.
Wherever Bike Thief went it evidently wasn’t a successful chase, so that’s a plus one on the list of reasons to get out of here before he possibly does show up. ‘Cleaning up’ is going to be difficult though, so it’s time to improvise. They put their address into the GPS app and start walking in the general direction, squinting as they see the recommended fastest route by foot. They know Eisuri pretty well honestly and it borders the district their home is in, so with a little luck they can skulk the alleys and get home without being stopped to ask why they look like, well. Like they look.
It’s not the easiest thing they’ve ever done but they eventually do, with only slightly trembling hands, get the keys into the lock and swing inside, latching it behind them and looking around. There's no purse, nor ashtray, nor note. No one but them is home. They stumble the few remaining steps to the couch and sink onto it before their legs finally give out. Their whole body is shaking, trembling, and they can’t even keep a hold of their phone as they try and place it on the table.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
What happened?
They’re crying again, it’s not a heavy weighty sort of cry but the adrenaline has to go somewhere and it's all they can do to just breathe. They bit a man to death. With extreme prejudice. His fucking - his fucking organs were visible. There were chunks just flat up gone. They’re - a villain? If you kill a villain are you a villain? Technically if you kill anyone you’re a villain, right? Unless you’re a hero. Or you don’t use your quirk. Then you’re just a criminal. Was Skates even a villain or were those just two vigilantes having a fight? Isn’t a vigilante a villain too, legally speaking. And the way he grabbed a kid for hostage taking pretty firmly feels villain-like behaviour.
It takes a long time for them to calm down enough to focus again, but when they do there’s a remarkable degree of clearheadedness about it. The next twenty four hours are, they suppose, the test. If anyone’s going to come bust down the door that’s probably. Maybe? That’s maybe when they’ll do it. That’s what all the hero shows and stuff say right? The first twenty four hours in a case or whatever. Or is that kidnapping? Fuck, whatever.
Bed. Bed sounds good. Shower. Shower also sounds good. Shower sounds useful too, on top of good. They rise, shedding the stained attire. It’s dried at least, so there's no risk of blood on the floor but they’re lost causes and they can’t exactly just toss them into the trash. Yet. So it’s gonna be a hand wash in the sink for it all before it’s tossed. With bleach.
The shower calms them down, thrums their skin with hot heat wet. It’s soothing, and as they stare at the showerhead idly they realize their tongue isn’t hanging out anymore and their mouth doesn’t feel too full for it so, hurrah for quirks being bullshit.
It isn’t until they fall into bed to the sounds of the streets outside that they realize they don’t feel all that hungry. But before they can much ponder that, sleep takes them.