Chapter Text
If someone were to ask why Midoriya Izuku never stood up for himself, his answer would be somewhere between 'Do you want me to die a slow and painful death?' and 'I'd prefer not to be charged for murder before high school.'.
His answer was dangerously close to the later, as he watched his explosive classmate throw his beloved notebook out the classroom window. He had once been friends with Bakugou Katsuki, but since Izuku was quirkless, what little friendship there had been with the blond fell apart.
Izuku still respected his drive, ability, and power; but not so much his personality. He almost wished he could still see his old friend in the same light as before.
He had been distracted reminiscing, but Izuku knew that Bakugou had said something particularly brutal. If the pale faces of his followers were anything to go by, at least.
Before he could guess or ask what had been said, the group was gone. Probably to the arcade or cafe if Izuku knew anything about their habits.
Sighing, he hauled himself to his feet. He could cherish the lack of a charred uniform on the way home. Right now he needed to get his bag and head home before his mom.
And so he did. Izuku’s hands shook as he gathered up his backpack and the luckily few scattered supplies. He dropped a pencil repeatedly and felt his eye twitch in annoyance. Kicking the pencil under a nearby desk, he slipped the filled bag over his shoulders.
As he left the classroom, he took a deep breath. His hands steadied a little bit, and the dull burn in his eyes softened. Now he was ready to head out.
After retrieving his soaked notebook from the koi pond, blurred graphite included, Izuku continued his trek.
It was only when he was around half way through a shadowy underpass that he realized he’d taken the longer route. He stopped, trying to decide whether to continue or turn back.
Izuku’s decision was made for him as he was rather violently startled from his thoughts by the loud impact of a sewer lid slamming into the wall behind him. Only a few inches from his ankle.
Small mercies, he thought, noting the cracked concrete where the metal had hit.
Shaking, he turned to see what had caused the scare.
A surprised huff of air escaped him and a subconscious step backward followed.
A looming, swaying, murky mass stared at him from the partial shadowing of the cement half tube they both occupied. What little light managed to get into the underpass glinted off of it, and caught onto floating eyes and teeth. The smell of trash and mud was faintly reminiscent of Dagobah Beach, but so much stronger. It burns the back of Izuku’s throat as the thing bubbles with laughter.
It is not good laughter.
His ears were ringing, a shrill noise that covered up whatever the sludge was saying. He could make a close guess at least, as the now classified villain surged towards him.
Izuku turned aggressively on his heel, bounding towards the long route with a speed he didn't know he had. Sunlight had only just barely grazed his face when cold overwhelmed what little warmth the exposure had provided. His already aching ankle was yanked backward, throwing him off balance and onto the slimy ground.
Dirty green and shadow washed over him, reminding him of contaminated waves.
His body treated it as such, eyes and mouth instinctively sealing shut even as his sinuses burn with a foreign substance.
He just has to hold his breath until the water passes.
Something in his chest started to burn, probably his lungs. Or maybe my ribs, he thinks as the villain starts to twist and squeeze him.
Either way, his mind was feeling fuzzy and he felt increasingly tired. Izuku is pretty sure that’s not good, but he’s not sure over the buzzing fuzz coating his thoughts.
His last bit of air had just been squished from his lungs when he was suddenly aware of being thrown to the pavement.
He both felt and heard his skin scrape against the opposing surface.
It took both him and his body a moment to adapt to the fact that he was free; which meant Izuku could breathe. He laid on the ground in wonder at the fact before muscle memory slammed open the door to his lungs, and forced his lungs to heave to make up for the lost time.
Izuku breathed in oxygen like a dehydrated man to water: desperately.
One breath caught on something deep in his throat, and another, slower breath confirmed. A snotty, congested sound was produced when he listened to the third one.
His throat cringed. And by that, he means to throw up. Exceedingly close to his scraped hands.
When Izuku’s body finally stops convulsing, he starts coughing.
He takes another minute after just to re-catch what his lungs had only just regained.
Then, he opens his eyes.
Regret.
Izuku’s stomach twists and his throat tightens at the disgusting sight of a green-ish puddle, accessorized with bits and chunks of half-digested rice.
Goodbye lunch.
His body tingles in phantom sensations from the incident that could only have been a few minutes ago.
Izuku finally looks fully up, head spinning as he does, to see what happened.
Or rather, who.
All Might, in all his glory, awkwardly crouches a few feet away, shifting through a pair of grocery bags.
Izuku watches in numb shock as he pulls out two liters of soda bottles with a loudly whispered, “Aha!”
He personally doesn’t know what is happening and slightly wonders if that lack of air is starting to kick in a bit harder. This is easily hallucination worthy.
All Might empties the bottles, shaking them impatiently as Izuku stays weakly kneeling off to the side. He doesn’t move, even after the symbol of peace has finished scooping his attacker into the soda bottles.
Izuku stays dizzily in place and wondering if this peculiar encounter is a falsehood, and struggles to stay awake.
All Might secures both of the bottles, twisting the caps on as tight as they will go, before turning to Izuku.
With his nonconsensually slime-styled hair and shaking body, he doubts he is the reassuring sight that most heroes would hope for.
The large hero took a few careful steps forward, unsure if the boy would lash out and cause more harm. It was hard to tell with the hazy eyes and no visible sign of a quirk.
But that was an unneeded worry.
Izuku’s creeping exhaustion, at last, overwhelmed him, one last trembling breath being drawn in beforehand. His body is bowled over with invisible force, and he falls bonelessly sideways.
All Might’s panicked face is the last, blurry thing Izuku sees as he fully gives in to the pulling at his eyelids.