Chapter Text
Izuku’s legs feel like lead, weighted down; and yet the rest of his body seems distant. He knows he should be upset. He was, earlier.
When he had left the meeting room it had taken nearly all his will power to not run off right then and there. He had gone along an out-of-the-way route to exit the school to avoid seeing his classmates, but his effort was in vain.
As he slowly walked down the halls, he could see a few familiar faces peeking around the corner, even though his head was bowed low. Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, Todoroki, Kirishima, and even Shinsou and a few others were there. They all looked somewhat guilty, and some even looked as if they wanted to speak to him, but they never did. Their stares felt like burns on the back of his head, which only made him look down more.
He couldn’t bring himself to look up, couldn’t risk breaking down in front of them. His emotions were still raw, fresh; if he didn’t leave right then… he didn’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good.
Now, however... he feels, blank, for lack of a better word. Izuku can feel himself walking—can see the people bustling around him. They bump into his shoulders, sending him stumbling. He can hear them talking, sometimes shouting, but he can’t feel. That’s what scares him.
Similar things have happened to Izuku before, when he attended Aldera. All of the bullying—the snide remarks, the belittling, the physical abuse—had, on occasion, gotten to Izuku. He always tried to put on a brave face like All Might, almost to convince himself that everything was fine. But sometimes it wasn’t.
There would be times where he just felt empty, like a ghost, but still be able to go about his day. He was aware, but he wasn’t present.
Those feelings, whatever they were, had stopped when Izuku met All Might.
Or so he thought.
Now they are back, and Izuku isn’t quite sure what to think about it.
But, even with the lack of emotion, his mind races.
His conversation with Aizawa-sensei plays on repeat in his mind like a broken record player. Over, and over, and over again.
Why? He thinks— screams— to himself. What did I do wrong?
Izuku’s mind fills with answers, dark thoughts that he refuses to ponder. No, no-- everything was fine.
(He can’t convince himself, not in the slightest, but it does help, for now.)
When Izuku finally comes back to himself, if only slightly, he can see Dagobah Beach. He must’ve wandered here subconsciously. It looks so incredibly different from when he first saw it. The sand shines, almost white, though there are a few pieces of trash scattered around, most likely by locals who stopped by.
He sets himself to the task of picking it up. Doing such a simple thing to help eases his mind for a moment.
The trash is successfully picked up and in a trash bin, and before he can even think about it, Izuku finds himself wandering to a more secluded part of the beach. The knowledge comes as second nature to him; he knows this beach like the back of his hand.
The spot is a distance away from the beach shore, under a few trees. They block off most directions, making it only visible from the front-- and even then only if you know to look.
Izuku sits numbly, then wraps his hands around his knees. He squeezes them tighter, tighter, until he’s as small as he can be, then tucks his head into his arms. It feels comfortable, safe, in his self-created cave. Far away from everything.
(A weight sits on his chest, pressing down harder and harder. )
He stays still for a long time— Izuku can’t be sure exactly how long. It’s calm and peaceful, the sounds of waves are soothing, but he can’t stop thinking. So he sits, and he thinks.
Did he ever really fit in? Was his hard work for nothing?
Did they ever actually care about him?
His phone vibrates, occasionally, but he leaves it.
All his experiences, everything he’d worked towards.
He knows he’s difficult (Aizawa-sensei’s label of problem child affirms that fact), but he always tried.
But it was never enough.
Were his classmates in on this? Based on their actions today, they probably had been.
Would everyone betray him?
His notebook, the only hobby he’d ever really had, was exactly as Kacchan had said it was; Useless, pointless.
But, still, it was a major part of himself. When he and his classmates had been attacked, he suddenly realized that they were in real life danger. Being a hero wasn’t a walk in the park, there would be risks involved. He just hadn’t known that it would come so soon.
When his mind was overly active, or maybe when he couldn’t sleep at night, he spent his time writing anything and everything he could think of. It eased the anxiety of possibly losing his classmates, his teachers. Gave him something to do that might someday help people.
A part of him always hoped that Aizawa would find it; he was the first teacher to actually believe in Izuku, and he thought that, maybe… maybe he would find the analysis impressive; useful.
But here he was, instead. His notebook, his prized possession, used against him. He knew that it was weird— he had put in everything, and he means everything he could think of. But it was only for ease of mind. Sure, some could help in training exercises, maybe one on one fights, but… yeah, it was creepy.
He couldn’t blame Aizawa, not really. It was suspicious.
Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if the notebooks had been burned, or shredded. But tha was alright. He needed the realization of how bad his hobby really was. After today, he would stop writing in them. He could keep his thoughts and worries to himself.
(Still, though, the thoughts hurt. They burn him to the very core, but he leaves them. He must deserve it. Why else would this happen to him?)
Finally, after a very long time, the numbness leaves, all at once. At first he feels relief, but only for a moment. Then he’s suddenly overcome with fear anxiety sadness anger . It comes in a wave, and Izuku finds himself drowning in a sea of emotion.
And he can feel again too. There’s some sand under his clothes, chafing against his skin. He’s sweaty, and gross, and he feels dirty. Physically and emotionally.
The weight on his chest presses harder, and harder, and he’s suddenly finding it very hard to draw in any air.
So he sits, gasping and shaking, alone in every sense of the word.
-------------------
For a while, Shouta simply sits on the couch, lost in his thoughts. Midoriya had, at first, reacted exactly how Shouta expected him to; he was nervous and jumpy, similar to how he had been at the beginning of the year. But then, his demeanor had changed. He became solemn, almost completely shut down. Shouta had never seen that sort of behavior from his student before.
Midoriya had always been an anomaly to Shouta. The boy was so jumpy, so anxious. It was obvious how he flinched every time someone spoke to him, glanced away when teachers looked at him, stuttered nearly every time he spoke. But, he was also bright and determined. Shouta could see how he inspired his classmates, how much they looked up to him. No matter how bad the situation got—and considering this past year, that was saying a lot — Midoriya never gave up. He persisted through everything even with his quirk—
Midoriya’s quirk, he thinks.
That was another factor that led to his belief of Midoriya being the traitor. (The look in his student’s eyes as he left had convinced Shouta that he wasn’t; there was too much sorrow for him to be a villain. But before then, he was reasonably sure that he was correct. He knows better now.)
Midoriya’s quirk has always been… unusual. In the entrance exam he had broken not one, not two, but three limbs to save Uraraka. It had been heroic, but also concerning. Most children receive their quirk at age 4, but it wasn’t unusual to see a quirk come in at 5 or 6. But Midoriya had seemed like that was his first time using his quirk.
Every time he used it, up until the internships, he had broken something. It was as if the quirk was too much for his body to take, like he hadn’t had it for over 10 years like the rest of his classmates. Shouta always had his suspicions, but seeing the notebook had pushed him to actually investigate.
Midoriya’s quirk records labelled his quirk simply as Superpower, and Shouta had left some notes on his own observations of it. He’d seen those records before, so he dug deeper. Being an underground hero had it’s advantages, including his knowledge of how to undercover files quickly.
Aldera Junior High, the middle school that Midoriya had attended, had his old records. Shouta was able to access them easily enough, and what he saw both did and didn’t surprise him.
It had Midoriya listed as quirkless.
There were notes on his behavior as well, many out of character, but Shouta didn’t pay much attention to them. Quirkless. That would explain why he had simply no control over his quirk.
But to manifest in his last year of middle school? There were late bloomers, it wasn’t exactly uncommon, but manifesting that late was simply unheard of.
Unless…
Shouta only knew of one person (if you could even call him that) who would be able to do such a thing. All for One.
He could remember the day that cursed man finally fell. It had taken everything Yagi had as All Might to get it done, but All for One was no longer a problem anymore.
Unless… he gave a quirk to Midoriya, probably sometime before the beginning of the school year. It would explain the late manifestation, the lack of control, and the incredible amount of power the quirk seemed to possess.
Now, Shouta is a logical person. He’s not the type to make harsh accusations with little evidence, there’s simply no reason for that. But now he had evidence.This, along with his student’s notebook and unusual behavior (the boy was always on edge, especially at the beginning of the school year) was simply too much.
(He wouldn’t admit to himself that it was because he was afraid. Not for himself, but for his students. They had been through so much, he wouldn’t let them down. Not when he had the opportunity to help them, to end this for good.)
It took a lot of debating, but he eventually decided to have an intervention. There hadn’t been time to discuss the topic of Midoriya’s quirk, or anything else that had been planned.
The mystery that shrouds his quirk was still present, though less of a threat than Shouta had originally thought. There would be a time to discuss the boy’s quirk, later. When things aren’t quite so complicated. Perhaps when Tsukauchi arrives later for his scheduled interrogation.
Shouta is fairly certain now that Midoriya isn’t the traitor, but it’s too late to cancel the appointment. When he finds the boy, he’ll have a nice long talk with him and Tsukauchi; hopefully it will go far better than the last.
With that mentally dealt with, Shouta’s gaze is drawn to Midoriya’s notebook. It sits on the table, a messy Hero Analysis for the Future, no. 13 written on the front. The book is slightly burnt on the edges-- for what, Shouta can’t exactly be sure, and the pages are bent and warped as if they’d been soaked in water.
He isn’t quite sure why, but he finds himself picking up the book to examine it once more.
Now that he knows Midoriya isn’t the traitor, the suspicion and fear that surround the book fade away enough for Shouta to get a proper look at them.
They’re so… insightful, now that he’s actually looking at them with a clear head.
The notebook is packed full of concise handwriting. There are notes on improvements for training exercises, potential team up compatibilities, and even some drawings of hero costumes and some figures of fighting styles that various heroes use. The detail involved was, quite frankly, impressive.
There were also… more concerning notes. Less-than-ideal partnerships, potential weaknesses, both physically and mentally, to name a few. But now that Shouta is looking, really looking, he can see ideas to improve those weaknesses.
In his rush to find the traitor, Shouta had only looked at the downside, the possibility of Midoriya working for the League. Though the notes did include concerning detail and detachment, he can finally see what Midoriya had meant when writing these notes.
This wasn’t the work of a traitor or a villain.
This was the work of a 15 year old boy who had been attacked again and again, to the point of only feeling security writing everything that he could. Who was doing everything in his power to help.
This, combined with the quirk issue… yeah. Many things need to be cleared up. But Midoriya was simply too honest and kind to be the traitor. Now, however…
Dread fills every inch of his body at the realization. Though it was slow at first, Shouta had slowly built up a thin layer of trust between them. After that, Midoriya had been so trusting, so helpful, so caring.
And Shouta just destroyed every ounce of trust the boy had ever had toward him.
-----------------
Toshinori is very confused.
He had been peeking around the corner of the hall leading to the cafeteria, waiting to surprise Young Midoriya and invite him to talk during lunch, but he… didn’t show up.
There were times where his boy would go to the support department, or even stay behind to talk to his classmates. But Toshi had a feeling that this was not the case today. So he walked over to Young Midoriya’s friends and asked them where he was.
Instead of a cheerful answer from Young Uraraka, a straightforward one from Todoroki, or a rigid one from Young Iida, he got no response at all. His students just looked at the ground awkwardly.
Toshinori prompted them once more, but got the same response. It worried him slightly, but Young Midoriya was strong! Besides, it was surely just a misunderstanding. Perhaps Toshinori had missed him.
(Dread curled in his gut. Through years of hero work, Toshi had built up a sense for when things were wrong. But he didn’t want to believe it. His Boy would be fine.)
His next thought was to go to Aizawa; the boy did have homeroom for his last class before lunch, after all. He headed to the teacher’s lounge to find the man, only to find Yamada and Kayama instead. When asked, they both shrugged passively, though there was a tension lining their shoulders.
Slightly exasperated, Toshinori walked aimlessly around the halls, poking into meeting rooms and classrooms. It took a bit, but his concern for his student was too great to give up now, and he found the room eventually.
Now he stands in the doorway of the room Aizawa is in. The man looks tired, although that isn’t that unusual— but this time more so. His shoulders slump and he sits with his head in his hands, unaware that Toshinori was at the door.
Toshi gently raps his knuckles on the doorframe, causing Aizawa to jolt up in surprise. Once he has a proper look of who’s at the door, he seems to grow even more exhausted, almost resigned.
“Yagi,” he sighs. “Come in.”
Toshinori does so, then sits on the couch opposite Aizawa. There’s awkward silence for a moment. Finally it becomes too much.
“I—“
“I know why you’re here, Yagi.”
Toshinori shuts his mouth. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised at the vigilance of the younger man-- he is an underground hero, after all-- but sometimes he forgets.
Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve… made a mistake. I was too anxious to figure out who the traitor was, and once I found a small amount of evidence, I…”
Toshinori glances down at the table in front of him. Sitting on the top was a familiar book. He has a vague idea where Aizawa is going with this, but he hopes desperately that he’s wrong.
He isn’t.
“Midoriya ran off. I don’t know where, but I don’t have the right to follow him.” Aizawa sinks into the back of the couch, looking more tired than Toshinori has ever seen him. “I won’t ask you to do anything, but I know that you have… some sort of connection to Midoriya.
“Please,” he looks up, eyes earnest. Full of more emotion than Aizawa usually expresses. “I don’t have any right, but please help him. You might be the only person that he trusts right now.”
Somehow, Toshinori is able to put his emotions away, keep himself from attacking Aizawa right there and then. But, oh, how he wants to; how close he is.
He offers no farewell—Aizawa has no right to that kind of courtesy—then leaves as fast as he can.
As soon as Toshinori is outside of campus, he stops and thinks; he couldn't do that with Aizawa around, clouding his thoughts with anger.
If he were Young Midoriya, where would he go…
Toshinori exhales. He’s far too old to be thinking like a teenager, especially one that is probably raw and emotional. But, he does know a few places that his boy frequents.
There’s his apartment, but he probably wouldn’t go to his mother right now. Toshinori figures it would be embarrassing, and a show of weakness. Though that is not the case, that is most likely what Young Midoriya would think. So no apartment, then.
Sometimes Young Midoriya would go running around outside of U.A. with Young Iida. Perhaps he would go there to get off steam? Clear his head?
It’s the best Toshinori can think of, so he heads to the usual route that His Boy takes. Though it’s a long track with trees scattered around, the majority of the track is visible. He looks around for a few minutes before deciding that Young Midoriya was, in fact, not there.
Where else would he go…
Then Toshinori has an idea. He gets moving as quick as he can; his destination is a ways away, and without his hero form, it will take a fair amount of time to arrive.
His lanky legs help him move fast, but it’s not nearly fast enough. He calls, occasionally, but is only left with voicemail. So, instead, Toshi thinks of what Young Midoriya could be doing.
He’s lost in his head, most likely. Or blaming himself, like the self-sacrificing idiot ( angel) he is.
This just makes Toshi quicken his pace.
After what feels like an eternity—but is probably only a half hour—he arrives.
The beach is, quite simply, stunning. The sand shines under the mid-afternoon sun, water washing in to the side almost fictitiously blue. Nothing like it had been when Toshi first laid eyes on it; when he trained Young Midoriya there.
Memories of those ten months rush in suddenly, but Toshi pushes them out of his mind, focusing solely on finding His Boy.
Some young families are scattered along the beach, but only a spare few, as it is the middle of a school day. He pays them no attention save a glance, then starts walking around the beach.
He walks for a long while. The more rational part of Toshinori worries that he miscalculated; that His Boy wouldn’t be here. But the bigger part of Toshi—the hero that trusts his gut— tells him to keep searching.
It takes far longer than he’s comfortable with— the worry for Young Midoriya building with each minute—but, eventually, Toshi finds him.
His Boy is curled up in an out-of-sight corner of the beach, which doesn’t fully surprise Toshinori. He is, however, angry with himself for not thinking of this spot sooner. That train of thought ends when a small sound is heard from the teenage-shaped ball on the ground.
It’s no more than a small sniffle, but when he looks closer, he can see that his boy is crying. That fact, in and of itself, isn’t surprising.
Young Midoriya has always been a cryer… but never like this. Tears stream silently down his face, as opposed to the loud wails that usually accompany the waterworks. A tremor shakes the greenette’s small frame, though it is hardly noticeable due to the tension of his curled body.
Toshinori takes in a deep breath, then steps forward. “My Boy…”
At the gentle words, Young Midoriya flinches, hard. His head shoots up so fast his neck must hurt and his green eyes widen in surprise. Unconsciously, he moves back, holding his arms up defensively.
“A-All Might.” He says. But, it’s different. This sounds stiff, stern, and defensive, instead of being filled with the usual admiration and awe. Young Midoriya stands up, quickly wipes off his tears, then takes a step back. He brings his arms up to protect his torso, green lightning whipping over his skin.
“What do you w-want?” The stutter in his voice isn’t from embarrassment or even regular Midoriya-ness; this is from fear. Though he’s trying to look intimidating, Toshinori knows him well enough to see that he’s just cautious; putting up barriers to keep the pain away.
Toshinori’s heart clenches. His trusting and enthusiastic— if nervous—student, was acting almost exactly as he had expected him to. He can’t blame His Boy for his fear, but Toshinori is going to kill Aizawa.
His step forward is only met with a hasty step back.
“My Boy, I heard what happened. I’m so sorr—”
Young Midoriya’s growl cuts him off. “Were you in on this?”
Toshinori freezes.
--------------
Izuku is spiralling. He knows it, and he hates it. Although he is normally emotional—always anxious, but also hopeful and determined—today, they’re just too much.
Stop being such a baby, he berates himself. You’re a teenager, get over yourself. You’re stronger than this.
The thoughts don’t help; in fact, they just seem to make it worse.
He’s in the hero course, with friends and teachers that care about him. He has a quirk for goodness sake. And yet, here is. A crying, disgusting lump on the ground.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a familiar voice says something. Though he knows this voice— it comes from one of his favorite people; one he looks up to and is becoming increasingly familiar with—he can’t help but flinch slightly. He had been so lost in his thoughts, so caught up in his emotions, that he hadn’t noticed the presence of someone else.
Stupid, he thinks. You know him, you dummy. Get out of your own head. You know people don’t like it.
The thoughts swirl in his head, making the weight on his chest even heavier. Izuku looks up at his mentor, his idol, All Might. He isn’t in his hero form, (not that he could even if he wants to. Izuku took that away from him. Useless, useless ) but he stands tall. His bright eyes flicker with worry ( you made him worry, stupid) as he looks at him.
“A-All Might,” he says. Izuku’s suddenly aware of his position— sitting on the ground, arms raised in front of his chest, tears silently trailing down his cheeks. So he stands up, wipes his eyes, then looks at All Might firmly.
Don’t show weakness; he could be in on this. Don’t let him know you’re hurting.
He pushes his emotions back in his mind, where they’ll hopefully stay until they disappear.
“What do you w-want?” Dang it, he’s still stuttering! Put away your nerves, Izuku. Be confident and maybe he’ll leave you alone.
All Might looks more concerned now, but after a moment a flash of anger crosses his face. Izuku fights the urge to step back, to run away. But now’s not the time.
All Might’s face softens again. “My Boy, I heard what happened. I’m so sorr—”
Izuku growls, which surprises even him. He can’t help but blurt out: “Were you in on this?”
That thought worries him. More than anything. The fact that All Might would be a part of this… it’s too much. Izuku isn’t sure he’d be able to take it. He buries the worry with anger, watching All Might carefully.
The man is… not moving. He’s just standing there, looking shocked, as if someone accused him of murder or something.
“Well?” Izuku says firmly.
All Might snaps out of whatever reverie he was in, then turns his gaze back to Izuku. He looks… sad. Izuku isn’t sure why, but it makes him pause. The anger recedes, but only for a moment. Then, it comes back full force.
“What? Why’re you looking at me like that?” He cries out. The gaze is unsettling, making him feel like a small insect, trapped and exposed under a spotlight.
All Might simply takes another step forward, hand reaching out. The action startles Izuku, and as he takes a step back, he’s surprised when he leaps backwards, landing a few yards away. Huh. He must’ve activated One for All unconsciously.
Somehow, that’s not very surprising. The quirk, although foreign at first, is now comfortable flowing under his skin; though he still can’t use much more than 20% at a time.
Izuku’s gaze is drawn away from his arms when All Might finally speaks.
“My Boy…” He trails off, as if unsure of what he’s saying. “I can assure you, with every ounce of my being, that I had no idea this was going to happen. I have never once thought that you could be the traitor.
“You’re just so… so good. Every bit the hero that I expected you to be, and more. You constantly manage to impress me with your growth, with your heart.
“If I had been told of the situation—which I was not— I would have objected from that very moment. Nothing would have stopped me from defending you, because I believe in you. I know you… Izuku.”
The use of Izuku’s given name finally breaks the dam. He falls to his knees, then curls in on himself. The tears that had been slowly building while All Might had talked were now streaming down his cheeks, full force.
He sits there and sobs until All Might gently touches his back. His head snaps up, simply out of surprise rather than fear.
The look in All Might’s eyes hold a question: Is it alright if I’m here with you?
Izuku nods shakily, trying to rub away his tears. But when All Might cautiously wraps his arms around Izuku’s shaking form, they burst forth once more.
A desperate need that Izuku hasn’t been aware of until now fills his body, and he can’t help but clutch onto his mentor’s shirt and curl into his body, embracing his warmth, his comfort.
Sobs fill the air, All Might occasionally murmuring comforts with a shaky voice in Izuku’s ear.
They both sit there, dirty and crying, but slightly lighter, on that beach for a long, long time.