Chapter Text
You do not speak unless spoken to.
A young man walked through the halls of his mostly empty middle school, hanging his head low and passing everyone. The other students chattered amongst each other, a few sparing a glance to the ‘class celebrity’.
You do not have time for ‘friends’ so don’t even entertain the idea.
“Hey Midoriya, me and the others ended up buying that new game after all! We’re gonna head over to my house to play, I have an extra controller if you wanna come with!” One of the boys he had class with. Someone who had tried to befriend him again and again.
He was nice, he felt bad he couldn't remember his name.
He glanced at the black haired, sharp toothed boy and shook his head.
“My father wants me home as soon as possible.” He sighed. “Maybe next time.” He turned away.
“Aw man, again. I know you’re dad’s a hero, but can’t he give you a break?” He whined.
“Yeah, you look like you need it.” A girl tilted her head.
He kept his gaze turned away, pausing before walking away.
He kept a brisk pace as he walked forward, past the students, the classrooms, and soon out of the school and onto the street.
As he walked he had moved his arm the wrong way, and suppressed a gasp of pain as a fiery sensation raced up his arm to his neck. It hurt.
He quickly blinked away as he felt hot tears beginning to form.
Keep your emotions under control, stop crying! Or god help me I will give you something to cry about!
He took a deep breath before shaking his head, gritting his teeth to keep his face impassive.
His lip quivered a bit before he bit it harshly, that bit of pain distracting him from the raging aches still plaguing his body.
He was fine, he was fine. This was normal, he’d be fine.
He just had to get himself together before reaching his home. Simple enough.
It had felt like an eternity until all the pain somewhat subsided, his hand on longer twitching violently.
He deserved that, he earned that injury himself. He made the mistake of trying to fight back.
Don’t you dare raise your hand at me! I gave you this power, just as easily I can force you to give it back!
He mentally cringed at the memory, at the way his arm was twisted awkwardly as punishment. He had disobeyed his father, and he had paid the price.
Light sensations of phantom pain prickled along the X-shaped scar on his face at the memory, how everytime that power coursed through his veins it seemed to thrum and pulse against the marking that sat between his eyes. Reaching from his forehead down to just above his upper lip.
A ‘present’ he received from that power when he was a child.
A small bits of the memory came forward he quickly blocked it out.
No, not there. He didn’t want to relive that day, not again.
He quickened his pace, letting his eyes dart around to check his surroundings. He was almost home.
‘Home’
As he walked past the nice gardens and large houses he let himself slow down. He had gotten there a lot sooner than usual. Oh well, that was fine. The sooner he got home, the less likely he’d earn a punishment for being late.
He was about to walk up the small set of stairs to the porch when he was stopped by a familiar old woman.
“Oh hello there dear.” Murky green eyes glanced down to the tiny woman before him. She held a medical bag in one hand, and a cane in the other.
“Oh, Recovery Girl.” He said in a low voice. This was far from the first time she stopped by, she was a common visitor. Only living down the road a few houses.
“Hello dear. I came to check on your father, is he in?” She asked.
“I’m not sure ma’am.” He answered, putting one arm behind his back to hide the violent twitching of his hand. But this time it was different, it wasn’t from pain. It was from something far, far more worse. Something uglier than the sensation of pain.
“But I can let you in to wait if he isn’t.” He continued, walking up to the door.
“Thank you dear.” She smiled, trailing after him as he unlocked it.
He took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face.
A hero always smiles, to hide his pain. Don't ever let anyone see you in pain, hide your weakness boy.
“I’m home.” He quietly announced. “And Recovery Girl stopped by as well.” He added.
He stepped to the side to let her in, and bowed his head as he heard shuffling that approached them. The door closed, sealing him inside the prison house.
“Welcome home.” A tired voice sighed, walking up to the two.
“Hello there Toshinori.” Recovery Girl greeted, stepping forward to shake his hand. “How are you feeling?” She asked.
“I little under the weather.” He grinned. God he hated that smile, fake or not.
A few words were exchanged between the two before the man looked to the boy he called his son.
“Izuku, why don’t you head up to your room? I’m sure you have plenty of work to do hm?”
The boy nodded. “Yes father.” He answered, nearly taking a sigh of relief until that he managed to not stutter. He quickly excused himself up to his room, waiting until he turned the corner to sprint to his room, throwing his door open and closing it as quickly as possible.
He swallowed hard as he locked the door, one of the only freedoms he was allowed. He turned to face his room, barren white walls greeting him. The only colored items in his room were the green covers of his bed, and the brown desk right next to it.
You are not a person, not anymore .
Words echoed in his mind as he placed his bag down and walked over to the desk.
You are a tool, a device to aid in an ongoing fight. A fight that is much, much older than you.
He sunk into his chair and opened a hidden compartment he built into his desk, grasping onto a heavy item.
I am no longer able to continue that fight, so you will take my power and you will be the next Symbol of Peace .
He held the item up to his eye, the mere sight seeming to bring him a bit of comfort.
You will take my place, and be a hero. Until you are a hero of your own, I will oversee your training, and teach you how to properly use One For All.
With shaking hands he unclasped the cold metal item and placed it around his neck, shuddering with the chills that ran up and down his spine before locking the item into place, something he had plenty of practice with.
He held back a groan as he slumped in his chair, the chaotic feeling of One For All seemed to settle and disappear from his aching body.
It was a relief, one he could relish in a short time.
“I’m not giving you a choice.” He hissed, holding the boy down as droplets of blood slid down his throat. “You were made for this. You were made to be the next vessel for One For All.”