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This story starts like you might have expected it.
Midoriya Izuku didn’t have a quirk.
Being quirkless is, of course, an undesirable thing in the world Izuku lives. He’s seen as more than frail, fragile, weak. Or, perhaps, “less” is more accurate. Worthless is a good descriptor. One of many, but, perhaps, the most common. Maybe not on peoples’ lips, but in their eyes, in their avoidance, in their actions. When they pass him over for answering a question in class, for choosing teams on the playground.
He was expected to be worse, yet held at a higher standard than most. When he zoned out during class, you could bet he was called on immediately. Teachers would scold him, and give up on him in the same breath. Kids would trip him on the way home from school, then forget he was there, kneeling at their feet. Izuku had to try so much more because he was quirkless, had to raise the standard of quirkless kids like a burden all of his own. He couldn’t be lazy; he couldn’t show weakness; he couldn’t slack off. Slacking off meant he wasn’t only hurting his reputation, but the reputation of all quirkless kids.
Some horrible, convoluted role model, he was. No, people didn’t look up to him, but he couldn’t let them look down on him. He had to show them that quirkless people could make it, could reap the same rewards in life. Were people just like them.
On the days where Izuku was tired, he was reminded why he could never be tired. It was never “Midoriya is lazy” or even a kinder, “Midoriya looks tired today.”
It’s “Quirkless people are so lazy.”
He was the standard. And he had to rise above the stereotypes.
It only made him more tired.
Midoriya hadn’t met many other quirkless people, if he was honest. Mostly, he’d talked to some online, though most avoided the chat boards Izuku was more fond of. Who knew most quirkless people wouldn’t be as fond of superheroes, of All Might, as Izuku was. But Izuku had never been able to detach himself from his idolization, even as harmful to himself, and others like himself, it might have been. Because All Might, though quirk-enabled, was still a person Izuku wanted to be.
Not necessarily for the quirk either. Midoriya had once hoped for, prayed for, a quirk so he could be just like All Might, but, these days, that was a thing of the past. What Midoriya actually idolized in All Might was something far stronger than perhaps the strongest quirk in the world.
It was his smile. It was his ability to help, and to keep that smile on through the toughest of battles, and the hardest of trials. It was how All Might always made people feel better, feel safer, in a world full of unknown powers, and scary problems. He gave hope to a quirkless kid like him.
Midoriya wanted to be that. He wanted people to feel safer just because he was there to protect them, and to shine happiness in his smile. It’s a scary place out there, and All Might must have seen the worst, yet he still smiled.
It had been impossible for a young, hopeful kid like Midoriya to turn away. It had been heartbreaking to learn he couldn’t be like All Might, with a quirk to save the world.
It had been a journey to learn that, maybe he didn’t need a quirk to do it.
No one believed that could be true. Not his mom. Not any of the sparse hero interviews he’d seen about quirkless people (always advising them to stay inside, stay away from the fighting, let their quirk-enabled neighbors and friends and family members protect them). Not any of his quirkless acquaintances online.
No one believed in the quirkless. It had been drilled into them, from grade school and up. Safety drills always placed Midoriya at the back. The news either villainized them or infantilized them. Midoriya wasn’t his own person, and that brought on a rather large shock in his teenage years.
He’d studied heroes for as long as he could remember, analyzed their every move. Not all that they did relied on a quirk. Why did anything Midoriya did have to?
Which brings us to the present.
Midoriya was a teenager, quirkless and with a protective mother. He had to leave through the window when she was well asleep. And the streets were cold. And the lamps made him feel like he was in some horror movie, being stalked on his way home.
About ten or so years ago, he had been unable to enroll in the hero course. At UA. At anywhere, really. They had told him, like everyone else, that a quirkless kid couldn't be a hero. What's a superhero without the "super"? He had enrolled in a high school near his home, had shoved all his hero notebooks in his closet, had crawled into bed and not moved for the rest of the summer.
He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like.
If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it.
So be it…
“Hello,” a man greeted him, entering the room with a file in hand and a woman following, shutting the door behind them without taking her eyes from Midoriya. Her cheeks suggested a friend-shaped smile, but her eyes pierced through him like he was a disintegrating piece of driftwood. He was already afraid.
The man sat across from him and set the file down in front of himself. Midoriya tried not to look at it, instead maintaining eye contact with the bespectacled man. “My name is Iida Tenya and this is Uraraka Ochako. We have a few questions to ask you.”
Midoriya already knew that. He knew all the biggest heroes; most of the smaller ones too. He still kept up with them like the obsessive little kid he’d been.
He blinked to construe his agreement. The man didn’t seem very phased at his lack of cooperation.
“Your name is Midoriya Izuku, correct?” he asked. Midoriya stayed silent. The handcuffs on his wrists clanked as he laced his hands in front of him.
“Answer,” the woman demanded, and Midoriya tapped his fingers a little bit. She made him nervous, but he could understand a good cop bad cop routine when he saw one.
“You live in the apartments off fourth avenue, correct?” the man - Iida - asked, continuing again without fault.
Uraraka planted a hand on the table, leaning in close, eyes squinted. His heart rate picked up, yet Midoriya didn’t let it show. This had become his resolve long ago. He had signed up for this.
“You are quirkless, correct?”
Midoriya closed his eyes. Of course they had to ask that. Why would they not? It incriminated him, or so they believed. It defined him, or so they tried to convince him. It was as much a part of him as his name or where he lived.
And, if he really had done all the things they’d brought him in for, then they would think it was a lie. Surely a quirkless person couldn’t do half of those things.
He had. He had done all of them, and much more. Maybe if they didn’t believe him, he wouldn’t go to jail. Vigilantism was illegal, after all.
“Correct?” Iida repeated. Mirdoriya frowned. He wished the guy would stop that. Correct? Correct? Correct? Annoying.
“ Correct ?” Uraraka mimicked. Ugh.
Midoriya stayed silent. He looked up into Uraraka’s eyes. They were stern and determined, but he could tell that under that bad cop mask there was kindness. He’d seen plenty of her interviews to know. In another life, the could have been great friends.
He looked at Iida. His interviews rarely told anything about him. He was sort of a mystery, to be honest. Midoriya respected him, though. Iida was a hero, and not for the fame or the glory. If only these two could see; Midoriya was doing the right thing. He was just like them, with a spirit for saving and a desire to help. The only difference was that he was quirkless.
That difference was big in their eyes, blinded by their quirks and the lens society had painted long ago to normalize the majority, alienate the minority.
Midoriya sighed, looking at the wall behind his interrogators. It didn’t take long for them to file out after that.
-/-
Next was Todoroki Shouto. Everyone knew Todoroki Shouto. He was one of the biggest heroes out there, and his dad was the second best hero in the world. Midoriya would have had a fanboy moment if not for a couple of hangups.
Endeavor was a bully. Exactly the type of person who would pick on quirkless people. If his son was anything similar, then Midoriya knew no amount of hero fascination could gloss over a dislike that strong. Midoriya supported a lot of heroes that probably didn’t know the first thing about the quirkless. That was ignorance, which Midoriya did not endorse. Yet the heroes strove to protect them anyway. Then there were heroes that took advantage of the quirkless, using higher social standing and their powers. They would flatten quirkless people like pancakes and find no wrong in it.
I was given this privilege, so I have the right to use it.
It’s not my fault you were born quirkless.
It’s just the way things are.
Midoriya eyed Todoroki as he walked in. He held a file, much like Iida had, but he didn’t seem very interested in it. In fact, he mostly seemed interested in Midoriya.
He was sizing him up. Midoriya wouldn’t give him anything.
“You’re Midoriya Izuku,” Todoroki said as he sat. It wasn’t a question, and there was no greeting. No introduction even, though that was probably fair. Who didn’t know who Todoroki Shouto was?
“You’ve been performing vigilante work for years,” he said, and he was as ice cold as the media portrayed him to be. Fitting. It was the only half of his quirk he used. “Yet,” Todoroki continued, and Midoriya already knew this other shoe - waiting to drop, centimeters from the floor. If it wasn’t said in the first two minutes of a conversation, then Midoriya was walking in a dream. “You do not have a quirk.”
“I don’t,” Midoriya spoke to the wall, and he didn’t regret it, letting those two words out. He knew simple answers like that were only the first step to getting the bigger confessions, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I don’t think you’re lying,” Todoroki observed.
“I’m not.”
“No one thinks that’s possible. They all think you have a quirk, and you’ve been hiding it from the government. How else could you have done this for years?”
Midoriya blinked. He remembered Todoroki saying that earlier “for years”, but he hadn’t caught it then. Did they really know for how long he’d been doing this, or had he just confirmed it for them? Two minutes, and Midoriya was already giving up too much. Two words, and Midoriya had said too much.
“I’m not who you think I am,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if defending himself was a good idea. Maybe he should just shut up again. It had worked before.
Todoroki eyed him up and down. “I’ve been studying this case for quite a while.” Midoriya didn’t like the sound of that. Why would one of the top heroes investigate vigilantism ? Why would he study Midoriya’s vigilantism? “I would hate to be wrong.”
As Todoroki stood up, Midoriya almost sighed. If the man really had been studying his case, he sounded doubtful and that was good. If Midoriya could fool this guy, then maybe he had a chance of getting off.
Todoroki approached the door, palm on the handle, and, for a second, Midoriya could have sworn he saw it glow red. He froze, as if Todoroki had used his other hand to do it.
But it was gone in the blink of an eye, and, no, it couldn’t have been. The hero never used his other half; he never used his fire.
“But I don’t think I’m wrong,” Todoroki stated, letting his words hang in the air like icy stalactites.
Todoroki exited, leaving Midoriya alone with some rather dangerous icicles overhead.
-/-
If they’d already sent in three interrogators, Midoriya would have assumed they would stick to those three. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought the next hero would come in, especially given the fact that he already knew him.
“Bakugo,” Midoriya gasped as his childhood friend stomped in.
“Deku,” Bakugo growled, slamming the door behind him, eyes already alight with explosive fire. Despite facing the one person who had hurt him most, Midoriya could never feel fear around his once friend. Maybe it was because they had really been friends before Bakugo had grown into his quirk. Maybe it was because he still felt like he knew Bakugo better than anyone.
All in all, Midoriya really didn’t know what it was, but he knew he had a good chance of getting hurt by the guy and he wasn’t afraid.
Maybe he just had a really good pain tolerance. He’d broken quite a few bones during his years as a vigilante.
“What the fuck is this?” Bakugo slammed down his file on the table. Were they required to bring those in? “Three years of being a complete dipshit. How does a quirkless idiot like you last three years without getting caught?”
Only three years? So they really didn’t know who he was. Should he be upset or relieved?
“You know that’s not me, Bakugo. Like you said, I’m quirkless,” Midoriya shrugged, and Bakugo looked ready to blow a gasket.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. That thug you turned in last week identified you.”
Midoriya really shouldn’t have gone out without his mask, but he hadn’t had it on him, and he wasn’t going to let the criminal just beat up that guy.
“I stopped an altercation. Stepping in one time now makes me a long time vigilante?” Midoriya crossed his arms, sitting back with annoyance. It wasn’t a good idea to sass Bakugo, but it felt good sometimes.
“Cut the crap,” Bakugo snapped.
“I’m telling the truth,” Midoriya said, grabbing the edge of his chair for support. It was a really uncomfortable chair, and he’d been in it for hours now.
“You don’t think I know when you’re lying?”
“I don’t think you know much of anything about me, Bakugo,” Midoriya challenged.
“Pssh, like anyone knows more about your weird hero fetish than me." Bakugo slammed his hands on the table, a wicked smirk curling his lips, ready to fight, ready to win. Midoriya could hear the explosions already.
"You haven't talked to me since middle school, Bakugo," Midoriya said.
"I bet you still keep those hero notebooks."
Midoriya jerked his head, refusing eye contact. "I gave up on those."
Bakugo got closer, right up in his face. "I bet you have one on me now."
Midoriya said nothing.
"Half the pages of those things were dedicated to All Might. Are you trying to be like him? Is that what this is all about?"
Bakugo was itching for a fight. Somehow, he didn't yell. Somehow, he didn't punch Midoriya right in the gut, like he might have when they were little.
Could Bakugo have grown?
"Idiot! Answer me when I'm fucking talking to you!"
Nope.
Someone exploded. Someone did their best to duck under a table, hands still cuffed to it. People rushed in and Bakugo calmed down.
Uraraka scolded Bakugo. It was the best thing Midoriya had seen in his life.
Then, the room was empty again. Empty except Midoriya.
He righted his chair, and stared at the two way glass.
-/-
Something from the conversation had stuck. Not to Midoriya, but to the bystanders, the people watching.
He never would have bet a penny he had been listening. A random vigilante couldn't have warranted it.
Maybe they did know who he was.
"Hello, young man," a booming voice greeted him, and his stomach bottomed out. It had to have been a cloning quirk. A doppelganger. It couldn't have been- it couldn't-
The man sat in front of him. His eyes shined. He was still smiling.
"I'm All Might," he introduced himself, holding his hand out for a shake.
Midoriya almost screamed.
Instead, he looked wide eyes at the proffered hand. He was a criminal. He was in handcuffs . All Might wanted to shake his hand.
Midoriya had never wanted to meet All Might like this, if ever in his blessed years he was granted the opportunity, but like hell he was refusing that hand.
He grabbed it immediately. "All Might. Sir. Oh my gosh, is it you?"
Silence begone. Desperate quirkless hero worshiping kid had now replaced all semblance of sanity.
"Oh, none of that. Just All Might is fine. And it is me. This room negates quirks," he explained, and Midoriya was too starry eyed to notice a slight strain in his face.
"Really?" Midoriya asked, looking around the room with a new fascination. "That is so cool! But, wait, the others have used their quirks."
"We can turn it off if we need, and I think it actually may be off right now. If you would like, we may turn it on to prove it to you though."
Midoriya went wide eyed and hopeful, then, at last, seemed to return to himself. He eyed All Might. "No thanks," he sat back. Adrenaline still flooded his veins, excitement and devotion, but he reined it in. "Heroes aren't supposed to lie anyway."
"Then why are you lying, young man?" All Might asked, and all of his cool went back out the window. Midoriya was suddenly shaken to his core.
Disappointing All Might. Oh no oh no oh no…
"My name is Midoriya Izuku," he said, and maybe it was to change the subject. Maybe it was to finally answer the first question he'd been asked since stepping in here.
"Okay, young Midoriya. You do know vigilantism is illegal, correct? It is a dangerous practice. Hero work should be left to the professionals."
Midoriya was crumbling. He'd never expected this. Never expected to be confronted with his childhood hero. His entire life goddamn hero.
He closed his eyes. Carefully he breathed in… out…
Maybe he had to lie. He wasn't a hero.
If he had to lie to his hero, so be it.
"I helped than one guy in the alley. I'm not lying," Midoriya stressed. He put as much truth into his voice as he could. He put all his pretend innocence and hope for the future he could create, if only he could get out of there.
Midoriya pleaded with earnest, with desperate eyes. Maybe All Might would mistake it for the pleading eyes of a man framed, wrongfully imprisoned.
All Might didn't. Midoriya could see it in his eyes. All Might saw every lie, and every plead he created.
And suddenly he looked sad.
He stood up and left.
Midoriya never saw his hero again.
-/-
When he was let out a few hours later (evidence dismal; they had nothing) Midoriya faced the cool evening air. He let out a shaky breath.
He sure hoped he was doing the right thing.