Chapter Text
10 years have passed since the day his life was quietly rewritten.
10 years since a doctor had sat across from a four-year-old boy and his hopeful mother and delivered the verdict that changed everything.
The memory came back to him sometimes in fragments. Not as a single clear picture, but as scattered pieces his mind had never quite managed to forget. The office had smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper. The kind of smell hospitals always carried. The room had felt too white, too clean, too quiet for the weight of the words spoken inside it.
Back then, Izuku had been small enough that his feet didn't touch the floor while he sat on the examination table. They had swung back and forth absentmindedly while he clutched a small All Might keychain in both hands. He remembered being excited.
The doctor was going to tell them his quirk.
Everyone got one eventually.
Some earlier than others, but it always happened. That's what the teachers said. That's what the kids at the playground said. "You would be missing a part of yourself if you didn't have one," some people would whisper when being quirkless came up in mindless chatter.
Even Kacchan had already gotten his. Explosions.
Izuku thought that was the coolest thing in the world. The sparks made Bakugo the center of attention, and he loved it. Izuku had imagined what his own quirk would be like for weeks. Something strong and heroic. Or maybe something that could help people the way heroes did on TV.
The doctor had flipped through his charts slowly. Too slow for the comfort of an impatient kid. He remembered watching the man's tired eyes scanning the paper like it was routine paperwork. Like it didn't matter very much at all. But it did, it mattered to him. And it mattered to his mother.
Across the room, she sat on the edge of a chair, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She tried to smile at him whenever he looked her way, but even back then, Izuku had noticed something strange about it. It was a nervous smile, like she knew something he didn't. The doctor sighed quietly and finally looked up.
"No quirk."
Just two words spoken casually by a tired man like it meant nothing. Like he had long since lost the emotion when telling a kid if he was different or not. To Izuku Midoriya, it was the same as hearing a judge declare a sentence.
Quirkless.
The word had hung in the air longer than anything else in the room.
Izuku hadn't understood at first. Children often didn't comprehend complicated things immediately. He remembered tilting his head and asking a simple question. "But, it'll come later, right?"
The doctor had adjusted his glasses. "There's no evidence of a quirk factor developing." Another pause. Then the explanation. Something about toe joints and about genetics. Something about how roughly twenty percent of the population didn't develop quirks.
But that made no sense.
The words blurred together, he hadn't really listened past quirkless anyway. His eyes drifted to his mother. At first, she stared at the doctor. Then her hands had begun to shake. That was the moment Izuku understood something was wrong. Very wrong.
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In a world where nearly everyone had powers, ones that were flashy, or dangerous, or something that made them special, being quirkless meant being left behind before the race even began.
People like him were background noise at best. At worst? Quirkless people were parasites, ones who had nothing to offer. Things that took up space meant for someone more useful, and boy did he feel like he did that.
The insults hadn't started immediately.
Hate is something that's taught to children who know no better.
There had been some confusion at the start. Curious looks from other kids whispering that their parents told them to stay away from him. Teachers trying to sound sympathetic while explaining his situation. Even their voice held something that wasn't pity or empathy.
But curiosity eventually turned into something else without any warning. Something sharper, like a dagger impaling him with each action. The parents started pulling their kids away from Izuku like he was sick. His mothers face crumbled when she held his hand watching the distance grow between him and society.
Then the words came, slowly at first. They were never said with a prominent voice, just one's loud enough to be acknowledged but still deniable. Then it was more often when kids realized no one was stopping them.
Eventually, they were everywhere.
He had gotten used to the questions laced with disgust. Insults were routine to hear with a laugh to follow the tiny jabs. Sometimes they whispered, or shouted, or even laughed mid sentence.
Eventually, the words stopped sounding like insults and started sounding like facts.
But that was less important to him; what really took up his mind wasn't things people with quirks had to worry about, no, it was staying alive and preferable unharmed. Which he unfortunately was currently failing at, as usual.
See, with the bullying and absence of a quirk to help him be strong. He was, for lack of better words, a wimp with a frail body.
And to top it off, he was below average in both weight and height for his age range. Malnutrition from stolen lunches didn't help either, along with the puking from the pain of marks mentally and physically.
Basically, he was a doll without stuffing compared to others.
A tiny punching bag.
The impact slammed through him before he had time to react. His body crashed into the brick wall of the alley hard enough that the force rattled through his bones. The sound echoed sharply in the dim, narrow space, bouncing off damp concrete and rusted dumpsters.
A few people walking past the mouth of the alley turned their heads once they realized who was there and what was happening. Pretending not to see was easier. It always was when the other option was getting involved in something unknown.
A grumbled yelp of pain came from his lips, forced out by the impact. The rough brick scraped against his jacket as he slumped slightly, trying to steady himself.
The boy responsible for the shove stood directly in front of him, towering over Izuku's form with the confidence of someone who had never once been afraid of consequences.
And that boy was Bakugo Katsuki.
Spiky blond hair. Sharp red eyes. And a smile that had once been bright and triumphant when they were children. Izuku remembered that smile clearly. That had been a time when Bakugo waited for him after school with snacks from the convenience store. A time when they raced each other down sidewalks and pretended they were sidekicks to heroes.
Back then, he had laughed with him. Not at him. But that smile now looked different. Twisted and painfully cruel. Izuku had seen it so many times over the past ten years that it no longer surprised him.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt.
In fact, it was agonizing.
"I told you, didn't I?" Bakugo snarled, voice dripping with irritation. "I want nothing to do with you!" His hand shoved forward suddenly, pressing hard into Izuku's chest. Right into a fresh bruise.
Izuku sucked in a sharp breath as pain flared across his ribs. With no room to go back, his body was pushing harder against the brick wall behind him. The rough edges were digging into him through his thin and now ripped jacket.
He was cornering him further into the wall, a tactic to keep him scared by taking away exits. Bakugo leaned closer, his glare burning with the intensity of someone who had long ago decided exactly what kind of person stood in front of him.
His eyes narrowed as his hand tightened into a fist. "So, stop following me around like a stupid lost puppy."
A wheezed breath forced out. "Kacchan, please-" The nickname barely made it past Izuku's lips before Bakugo's expression twisted further. For a brief moment, something flickered across Izuku's mind. A strange feeling. Like he had said the wrong thing.
Like something about this moment was, familiar?
The sensation vanished before he could grasp it. Bakugo's burning glare snapped his attention back to reality when he realized the silence was stretching. It felt like standing too close to a fire. And he kind of was.
"Fucking hell!" The blond grabbed Izuku's shirt collar in a sudden, violent motion. "I have a name," he growled. "And it damn sure isn't Kacchan, so stop it already!" The blond grumbled out through clenched teeth while gripping Izuku's shirt hard enough to wrinkle it.
Izuku opened his mouth immediately. A reflex. An apology was already forming before he could think. "I'm sor-" He started. The words never got to be finished before Bakugo shoved him again, hard; this one was meant to cause him lasting pain.
And it would. But not the physical kind.
Izuku's balance disappeared instantly, and he crashed to the pavement, his backpack skidding across the alley floor beside him. His vision had momentarily blackened with stars before blurring back into focus.
The blond stood tall compared to his now crumbled form, unbothered by the pain he caused; he never did care. "Don't even start with your meaningless words," he muttered, turning away with a scoff. "Just disappear from my life already, and that'll be enough."
For a moment, Izuku thought he might say something else.
Maybe one last insult. Maybe another shove. Maybe even show a hint of guilt on his face.
Instead, he scowled at him one last time and walked away. The sound of his footsteps faded quickly. When his mind finally tossed the idea of him coming back Izuku laid in pain, alone.
And without the noise of voices or footsteps, the thoughts in Izuku's head became painfully loud. His mind raced on what to say to his mom. He didn't move an inch, not yet able to handle the ache his throbbing body would surely give with each step.
Every bruise across his body pulsed angrily with his heartbeat. A day that he could go home without a made-up story to tell was few compared to the years filled with days of bullying and lies he forced himself to say.
Each day killed a part of himself. If there was anything really left to kill. Another story. Another lie. Another explanation for the bruises he couldn't admit was caused by someone she believed was his friend.
Instead of facing that reality, he lay there a bit longer, his eyes drifted upward toward the thin slice of evening sky visible between the buildings. The colors were beautiful, deep, orange melting slowly into purple.
A perfect sunset.
Izuku had always liked sunsets, or the idea of them.
They were calm, peaceful, and they reminded him that even the end of something could still be beautiful. He had never really taken the time to watch one. Bakugo always made him go inside before he could when they were younger. He never did like to watch the sky, especially when it was ready to be night.
A tired sigh escaped his lips as the sky turned darker. "Mom's going to worry," he murmured. That thought finally forced him to move despite wanting to stay.
He pushed himself up slowly. Every joint protested immediately. His ribs screamed, his shoulder throbbed, and his head spun for a moment before settling again.
Izuku clenched his teeth and forced himself upright anyway. His feet stumbled but he pushed forward and grabbed his bag from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder. A jolt of pain zapped him in response. But it went dull as quick as it came.
"He acts like there wasn't a time we were friends." His low, defeated voice mumbled out. The words tasted bitter.
Izuku stumbled out of the alley, holding himself to try to ease the ache he felt in his body, but it didn't work. It never did, and he knew that. It didn't stop the quiet hope that it always stayed ignited.
Tears fell, and his vision blurred almost immediately, making him lose track of just what was in front of him. He didn't care.
People rushed past him without even glancing his way. Some even bumped into him along the way. Each accidental shove sent small jolts of pain through his already battered body. He didn't react. He didn't complain. Didn't even look up.
He simply kept walking. Because that's what a quirkless person was expected to do.
Tears messed up his face, If he really even had anything left to mess up, half dried before new ones fell. The world around him blurred into shapes and colors that barely registered in his mind.
His feet carried him forward automatically. He had walked this route so many times that his body knew the way home even when his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
Or at least he believed it did. He hadn't really tested the theory.
That might have prevented the whole situation.
He wasn't really sure why he was even doing anything, why go to school if he couldn't actually learn there? Why be in public if he soured everyone's mood? Why live when so many people wanted him dead?
'Why am I here?' There was concrete beneath his shoes. The familiar rhythm of footsteps surrounded him. People passing by with conversations drifting in and out of his hearing. Someone laughed nearby. A car horn blared faintly down the street.
Life moved around him like normal, just like nothing had happened. Then, something different. He didn't notice when the sound of the street began to change. He didn't notice the faint echo that replaced the open noise of the sidewalk.
And finally, he hadn't noticed the overhead announcements drifting through large speakers mounted high above.
His brain didn't register the change immediately with his mind still racing. 'Should I just-' His thoughts halted. Someone screamed and he finally realized where he was.
The sound cut sharply through the haze in his mind. It made him flinch in response. His eyes snapped open wider as he wiped at his face quickly with his sleeve, forcing his vision to clear. But his feet didn't stop.
It took only a moment for his surroundings to finally register. The train station. And more importantly, he was near the edge of the station ground, right past the safety line.
It was already too late; Izuku stumbled in a panic. The ground beneath his foot shifted slightly, and his body fell. His stomach lurched violently as gravity pulled him against his protest.
Time seemed to stutter. Izuku's body tipped past the edge of the platform. The world tilted sideways as the ground changed beneath him. For a fraction of a second, he stared downward in confusion.
Then the track rushed up toward him. His heart skipped a beat. Then another. His head turned just enough for his eyes to catch the approaching train. Its horn blaring and brakes screaming at the full speed train trying to stop.
He wasn't really sure why the horn was going when he couldn't move if he even wanted to. The train was fast, then it felt like it moved in slow motion. That might have been the way his mind could process the fast-approaching death.
It's a funny thing to mention death when it is actually ready to greet you.
Metal screamed against metal as the driver desperately tried to stop the speeding vehicle. Izuku wondered exactly how the driver would feel seeing his body finally meet the train. It would surely scar the poor man, and he was sorry for that.
But the train was moving too fast. Way too fast for any other outcome.
The distance closed rapidly. People screamed out, looking right at his mid-air form. Others rushed forward instinctively before being pulled back by those around them.
Izuku watched everything unfold as if it were far away. He watched them rushing around and yelling, detached from it all. Like he wasn't really there, like it was a scene playing out in a movie.
'I'm going to die.' The realization settled into his mind with an odd calmness. There was no dramatic panic or desperate screaming. Just a quiet acceptance, he wasn't really that scared to disappear.
Maybe it was shock. Maybe his brain simply couldn't process it fast enough. His eyes squeezed shut. 'This isn't real.' His mind clung desperately to the thought.
'This has to be a dream.' And if it wasn't, then it must have been the feeling of death, but it felt like something tore inside him. It wasn't painful. Not like bone breaking would be. More like a clean tear. Like something fragile had been pulled apart. Something that should not have been broken.
For a brief moment, everything stopped. The noise. The movement. The small fear. Even the air itself seemed to pause. Izuku blinked confused, and he suddenly stood a few feet away from the track.
Silence wrapped around him.
For a moment, he thought he'd gone deaf.
The screaming had stopped. The screeching metal had stopped. Even the pounding of his own heartbeat seemed to vanish. There was nothing. Like he had muted the world by accident. Then the sound returned all at once.
The train roared past the platform, wind rushing around him violently. People shouted nearby, but none of them were looking at him. They were staring at the empty track. At the place where he had been falling just seconds earlier.
Like their bodies were remembering something their minds couldn't, but the panic disappeared like a reset button was hit.
Izuku blinked again, squeezing his eyes a little longer. He was standing, not falling, standing. His shoes were planted firmly on the rough concrete of the platform. Just a few feet away from the yellow safety line.
The questions piled up, none of them really had time to stick. His mind felt foggy; honestly, he didn't feel right in general, like his thoughts were wrapped in cotton.
He couldn't tell if the nausea was from his overthinking or from the unreal feeling of death. His chest tightened from the anxiety, and he stood frozen where he was. His body was refusing to move as his mind struggled to catch up with reality.
He was just about to die, wasn't he?
His eyes slowly drifted down toward the tracks. The rails were empty, and the train was already disappearing down the line. His heart was picking up its beats, ramming each thump into his thoughts.
The moment he should have died passed, or more likely, had never happened. It wasn't right, just seconds ago he had fallen. He remembered the feeling of his stomach dropping. The sound of the horn, the screaming.
The certainty that he was about to die, but now he was standing here.
Alive.
Was that a really vivid imagination?
"I fell." He was sure of it despite his shaking voice. He had slipped. He had seen the train. His heart started beating faster making him dizzy. He took a small step backward, away from the edge of the platform. Another, and another. Only when his back hit a support pillar did he stop moving.
His mind scrambled for explanations. Maybe he hadn't actually slipped. Maybe he had only stumbled. Maybe he had leaned too close to the edge and panicked. Maybe, maybe his brain had just imagined the whole thing.
His grip tightened on the strap of his backpack. "Yeah," he muttered quietly to himself. "That's probably it." His voice sounded distant. Unconvincing.
He forced himself to breathe slowly. The train station slowly returned to its normal rhythm. The crowd began to disperse. People started walking again, conversations picking up where they had left off as if nothing unusual had happened.
He pushed himself away from the pillar despite his legs feeling weak. He shook away the feeling, not wanting to dwell on his active imagination about death any longer than he needed to. His body painfully led him away from the station.
The exit doors slid open automatically as he approached. Cool evening air brushed across his face. The sky outside had darkened further while he had been inside. Streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting pale circles of light across the pavement.
The strange feeling from earlier lingered faintly in his chest. Like a memory he couldn't quite remember. Then it faded. Izuku stepped onto the sidewalk and began the walk home. His body protested immediately.
And just like that. The moment disappeared from everyone's memory. Everyone except one.
Him.
Now that the adrenaline had faded, the pain from earlier had returned in full force. His ribs throbbed. His shoulder ached. And just overall he was in a cripple dullness.
The familiar streets passed by in a quiet blur as he walked through the evening crowds. Shops were beginning to close for the night, metal shutters rattling as store owners pulled them down. The smell of street food drifted through the air from a nearby vendor, making his stomach twist uncomfortably.
He hadn't eaten much that day, or the day before if he was being honest. But the thought of food right now made his stomach feel worse.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he approached his apartment complex. The tall building loomed above the surrounding streetlights, its windows glowing softly against the darkening sky.
Home.
The word felt strange in his mind sometimes. Not because it wasn't true, but because the warmth of the small apartment never quite matched the cold knot that always seemed to sit in his chest.
Still, it was the only place that ever came close to feeling safe. Izuku climbed the short set of steps toward the front entrance. His ribs protested sharply with the movement.
It reminded him once again of the alley. Of Bakugo. His hand instinctively moved toward the sore spot on his chest before stopping halfway. 'No point touching it.' His face scrunched into a bitter frown. It would only make it worse anyway.
He pulled his phone from his pocket instead, using the dim reflection on the screen to check his face. The cut on his lip had dried into a thin dark line. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it was slightly swollen. Not great. But not the worst he'd gone home with.
He wiped away the last faint traces of dried blood near his nose and pocketed the phone again. "Mom can't see that." His quiet sigh was barely heard. 'She would worry. She always worried.' His hand fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the door.
'I almost died.' The thought floated through his mind, dull and distant, but it didn't feel real.
It should have terrified him. It should have made his hands shake harder. Instead, it felt faded. Something simply imagined from a different life he wasn't living, because he wasn't ready to face another setback.
The key finally worked, and he opened the door, taking his backpack and shoes off at the front. "Too much imagination," he whispered.
"Izuku, honey, why are you so late?" His mother's calm voice, filled with concern, echoed from the kitchen. The water was running, meaning she was washing dishes like she normally did around this time.
Also meant she hadn't heard his whispers. It was relieving that she wasn't worried sick, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt.
His conscience weighed him down, how could he be hurt when he was the one pretending in front of her? But he couldn't stay still forever. He walked toward the kitchen, forcing his expression into something calm before she could see him.
"Sorry mom, I had study lessons that ran a bit late."
The lie came easily.
He had told versions of it so many times that the words almost spoke themselves. He was long past the point of feeling guilty for lying to his mom. It would take too long to redeem himself now, and yet it sat in the back of his mind.
She hummed, hearing him sit. "Oh, that's right, you've been studying late often." She finished washing the last plate. "Don't work yourself too hard! I'm proud of you as you are." She turned, smiling at him while wiping her damp hands. Izuku paused only for a moment before giving her a warm, practiced smile back.
It wasn't that he didn't love his mom or appreciate her kind words. He just didn't think he deserved such kindness when he was actively deceiving her. "I know, Mom. Don't worry." He paused briefly.
"I'll go wash up for bed now," he got up from the table; his chair scraped softly. He was quick and dashed up the stairs before she could offer food. He wasn't sure he could eat without throwing up, and he didn't need to worry her if he couldn't keep down the food.
Izuku could only hope she hadn't found out about his eating habits. He reached the top of the stairs and pushed away his 'useless' thoughts. His feet carried him, and he grabbed clothes from his room.
Only after searching the dresser for non-disheveled shirts, of course. Bakugo had left his burn mark on everything Izuku owned.
The bathroom light flickered on with a quiet click. Izuku shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. The smile dropped immediately from his face. Silence filled the small space as he slowly walked toward the mirror above the sink.
For a moment he stared at his reflection. If he could even recognize it as himself.
Minutes later after realizing it just made him more depressed, he set his clean clothes down carefully and took his jacket off, tossing it to the side. It plopped into the laundry basket with a small puff.
He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water against his face. The shock helped clear the lingering fog in his head slightly. He got ready to take his other clothes off, but his movements paused when his eyes landed on a scar that was prominent on his left wrist. Just a thin pale line running across the skin at an odd angle.
It was small and off; it didn't seem quite right, but more importantly, he had no idea where it came from. His fingers traced the mark slowly. A weird feeling came over him. It wasn't right for him not to know where it came from, so it had to be fake, right?
Sleep deprivation can make a mind not rational; he knew this well. Not eating probably didn't help either. And yet he couldn't fix it. Still, he was already sent into a panic once today; doing that again would be easy.
He tried to rationalize it; his body couldn't take much more. Maybe he had just forgotten. Maybe he scratched himself on something.
'Maybe.' The word maybe was never good.