Chapter Text
Izuku had woken up that day not expecting much. He tried not to expect anything from any day anymore because that was just asking for disappointment. It was asking for the impossible.
It had taken him years to realize, but he would never be worth anything. This was a fact he was absolutely certain was true. This was why he desperately wanted to be a hero, if he could help people he was worth something, even if it wasn’t much. Of course there were other reasons, like how his mom smiled when he did chores for her, like how even when people weren’t happy he helped them, there wasn’t a way to hide their instant, pleased, relief.
The point was, if he could become a hero he would feel like something, he wouldn’t feel like he was just going through the motions every day. And he didn’t feel like that now exactly, it was just that at school it was hard to not feel like he was the star of a reality T.V. show called: Will They Help? And the answer was always no.
Izuku woke up every morning, received a flicker of joy when his mom kissed him on the forehead on her way to work, got ready for school, went to school, dragged his feet through the insults and pranks that pulled at his shoes like sludge, came home, did his homework, made dinner for him and his mom, and then updated his notebooks while he idly gauged how long he could stay up before he went to sleep.
Today he had woken up and his mom had left a note on the counter. It was on a pastel blue sticky note, because that was her favorite color, and it said that she had to do overtime today because one of the interns had messed up the paperwork for a case she was working on.
His mother being gone was not a tragedy, he told himself as he pulled his shoes on. This would be a day like any other day, he numbly reassured. I’ll be fine, he repeated as he went down the apartment stairs and toward the train station.
He was wrong.
His day started the same as it always did. He moved silently through the halls and people ignored him, or sneered at him, or laughed at him. They never talked to him in the morning. He got through morning classes easy enough, only a few paper balls and airplanes launched at him that he quickly dismantled and put into the scrap paper section of his journal. During lunch one of his classmates stole his lunch before he could walk out to the courtyard and wouldn’t give it back, he added a new bento box to his shopping list. He checked his grade during lunch and saw that he had a zero for one of his assignments that he was certain he had turned in, and sighed. His teacher called on him to answer a question during math, but when he stuttered in giving the answer the class laughed and the teacher rolled his eyes before calling on someone else.
It was the same as usual. It was the same insults that were carved into his desk, it was the same tactics they had used since he started middle school. It was the same, until the end of the day, when their teacher was going to check over their highschool applications.
Izuku had applied to a variety of high schools, though he hoped to get into U.A. where they would teach him how to be worth something. But Izuku’s smart decisions meant nothing compared to his mistake, his mistake of applying to U.A. When he looked back, he almost couldn’t believe he had the audacity. To even hope that someone as useless as him could ever help people, could ever deserve a chance in the hero course of a school that churned out the top heroes of every generation. What a joke.
Bakugo was leaning back in his chair. The perfect picture of the likable bad boy to everyone in their class. Including Izuku. Despite the years that he had tortured Izuku, finding him behind the school to insult him, blasting his school supplies away when he tried to work on things during lunch, watching with no emotion as his friends left bruises, sometimes leaving burns. Despite all of that Izuku thought that Bakugo would be an amazing hero. Determination oozed from Bakugo like the sweat that powered his quirk, guaranteeing that he would not leave anyone behind. That he would save as many people as he possibly could.
This sentiment held steady even when Bakugo glared daggers at him when the teacher announced Izuku’s hopeful application to U.A. It held steady as Bakugou snarled at him crowding Izuku against the wall. It held steady when he threw Izuku’s smoking analysis notebook out of the window. It held steady as Bakugo singed his uniform, burning away a layer of his skin and leaving the wound exposed to the cold air as he turned away.
This sentiment shattered when Bakugo looked over his shoulder. His eyes blood red and burning with rage and yet ice-cold at the same time.
“Here's a word of advice, nerd. Don't even think of applying or else.” Bakugo said this easily, a small smirk pulling on one side of his mouth.
The boy beside him spoke up as Izuku pushed his back harder against the wall, trying desperately to ground himself.
“That's just sad. I thought you would have at least some fight in you.” He scoffed.
The breaths Izuku was taking sped up imperceptibly. They just had to leave, they just had to leave the room and then he would be able to breathe. He would be able to cry. The tears burning in his throat froze solid when Bakugo said his parting lines.
“You know if you really want to be a hero that badly, there's actually another way. Just pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.” A feral grin stretched his mouth wide. His eyes tracking Izuku’s expression. Apparently he didn’t react enough to keep Bakugo’s attention however, because he quickly turned around to leave. His cronies cracking up behind him.
Today was not the same as any other day.
He managed to get himself together to go home. He pushed his discarded desk chair back into place, put his day shoes in their cubby, and then wrung as much water as possible out of his notebook. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head though. Bakugo probably thought he was the first to suggest suicide to Izuku but he wasn’t. Many of his peers had enjoyed the pain on his face when they suggested it. Take a swan dive off of the roof. Jump in front of a train. Drown yourself in the bath. Hang yourself. Slit your wrists. Jump into a villain attack and let them do all the work.
No, no it was not the first time someone had told him to kill himself. And it was most likely not the last, despite the short amount of time he planned on having left, he was sure that someone else would give him the advice. What had made this time, so much more scathing than all the other times was that it was Bakugo. It was his childhood friend. It was Kacchan, the only one besides his mother who used to see anything in him at all.
It didn’t feel like anything snapped. To Izuku this final straw felt more like a gentle wind, finally blowing a feather off of a cliff. It felt almost like he was floating. He had finally been coerced off of the cliff and the fall was gentle. The rocky shore below the cliff was dark and welcoming, and the feather swayed side to side with grace as it made its way to the bottom. It was bound to happen eventually. He wasn’t even mad. He was almost disappointed. If he went through with it, and he did plan on going through with it, Bakugo would feel terrible for saying that.
Izuku paused on his walk home, looking up at the cobble of the bridge he was passing under. Would Bakugo feel bad? This thought should have been striking, but it was more revealing than anything. If he didn’t do it at school, then surely Bakugo might never find out the exact circumstances of his death, and even if he did the distance would be enough to relieve Bakugo of any guilt.
Izuku nodded to himself, the tears on his face drying slightly as he made plans. Maybe he could even make it a spread in his journal. The best way to kill himself without any collateral damage. The Logistics of Deku’s Suicide. That sounded like a good title.
He was almost out of the tunnel when the lid to a sewer popped off. Izuku startled, turning around quickly only to be engulfed in slime. The lack of air already apparent when he tried to gasp and realized that all there was, was dark green slime. So rancid smelling that he wanted to gag, but couldn’t because there was slime over his mouth.
Izuku struggled because this was not how he wanted it to go. He wanted to write a note to his mother, and he wanted to do it himself, he didn’t want to be more of a victim than he already was.
And then he was saved.
And then All Might, the number one hero, told Izuku that he could not be a hero. Izuku doesn’t know why he asked. He had felt that same spark of joy that he gets from mornings with his mother when All Might signed his journal and he got carried away. The life temporarily returning to his cheeks as he gushed over All Might's strengths. Strength, All Might brutally reminded him, that he would never have.
“Even if I don’t have a Quirk, can I become a hero?”
All Might cut an imposing figure, the setting sun silhouette him on the roof so that his face was in shadow as he answered. He hand came up to touch at his side as he spoke, his musclebound shoulders tightening.
“I'm the symbol of peace, people everywhere have to think that I'm never afraid.” All Might began, “But honestly, I smile to hide the fear inside. It's just a brave face I put on when the pressure is high. This job isn't easy. Pro heroes are constantly risking their lives. Some villains just can't be beaten without powers. So no, I honestly don't think you can be a hero without a quirk.” His voice was firm, certain in his stance.
“I see.” Izuku managed to respond.
And then another gust of wind pushed the feather even harder. The feather was no longer anywhere near the cliff. Now it was floating toward the dark waters over the open sea. The cliff out of reach, due to the breeze pulling the feather even further from the edge.
“ If you want to help people, there's plenty of other ways to do it.” All Might soothed him, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “You can become a police officer. They get crap because the heroes capture most of the villains, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to have a dream young man, just... make sure your dreams are obtainable, realistic, do you understand?”
And then All Might left, launching himself off of the roof and in the direction of the police department, the bottle of sludge villain clutched in his hand.
Izuku wanted to laugh. He really really did. Because All Might, the number one hero, had left him on the roof of a very tall apartment building, a very tall apartment building with no one else around right after telling him he couldn’t possibly achieve his dream.
He managed to get a single breath of laughter out before it turned into a sob. All of the emotion that he had been pushing down, deep down into his heart sprung to the surface and he cried. His knees finally collapsed, a squish sound rose from the ground alongside a dull thunk as he did so, his uniform still soaked in sewage. He let his forehead rest against the ground and let everything out.
Thirty minutes later he knocked on the door of the stairwell of the apartment building and apologized profusely to the annoyed woman who opened it for him. On his way home he habitually looked at the hero news, and was relieved to see that All Might had been able to turn in the slime villain despite Izkuku’s impulsive actions. There was already a small fulff piece about All Might’s sudden appearance in front of the station.
He was filled with shame. The feeling itchy and prickling under his skin by the time he unlocked his apartment door. The note was still on the counter. Izuku traced his fingers over his mother's neat kanji, and he pressed down harder on the small heart she had doodled in the corner.
He had to do it now. It was the perfect time. His mother wouldn’t be home until at least midnight and he had ample time to write a note. His original plan of getting the details right flew out of the window as he assessed the opportunity here.
He had to do it now.
He wrote a letter, and he put it on the counter next to the note his mother had written that morning. It was full of love, there was only one mention of his death, and it was only there to assure her that it was not her fault. Izuku hoped it would be enough.
He felt silly, but he didn’t want to die in his school uniform. He changed into some jeans and a black shirt, not his favorite but white felt inappropriate for the occasion. As he made his way out of the house he grabbed another sticky note and folded it in half, For Katsuki, written on the front. He didn’t want to let this window of opportunity go to waste, but he also didn’t want Bakugo to feel like it was his fault, with how closely his suicide would coincide to Bakugo’s teasing it felt imperative that he leave a loophole for Bakugo to alleviate himself of any guilt he felt.
He left his shoes at the door. Izuku walked up the cold cement stairs slowly, trying to imagine solutions to his problems, just to be certain. He was on the last step when he was sure there were none, or at least none that would affect the present, his current reality.
The wind was light, the sky was dark, and Izuku felt relief slowly unfurl inside of his chest. He wouldn’t have to do anything anymore, he wouldn’t have to pretend, he wouldn’t have to worry about taking up space and being useless. He would be free.
He clambered over the railing of the building and didn’t hesitate. He took a small bunny hop off of the building and started to lean back so that his head would his first. He felt the wind rushing past his hair and for a second he was the feather. The wind cradled him gently as it lowered him to the ground.
And then there was a sharp pull on his ankle that, by now, was facing the sky due to his aerial movement. He opened his eyes slowly, looking down first to see that he was two-thirds of the way toward the ground. Any slower and the medeler would have been too late, but as it was even if Izuku struggled out of the grip on his ankle the impact would most likely not be enough to kill him.
He turned his green eyes up, following the stripe of gray wrapped around his ankle to the man who leaned over the railing of the building, his hair floating away from his face in an inky black aura, and his eyes a bright blood red.
How unfortunate, Izuku thought. The haze from shoving his feelings back down after his cry on the roof of the other apartment building came back. He kept his face neutral as the man started to slowly let Izuku down to the ground. His head and then back made contact with the cement in slow motion it seemed, because there was no pressure, no impact, the exact opposite of what Izuku had set out to accomplish.
Tears sprung to his eyes again. He couldn’t do anything right could he? He couldn’t make friends. He couldn’t get good grades, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t blend into the background. He couldn't even kill himself.
The hero scaffolded down from the building, his extremely long scarf still wrapped around Izuku’s ankle. Izuku planned out what he would say, something respectful. Because from the hero’s perspective he had just saved Izuku. I had to be something reassuring to make sure the hero left him alone.
This planning was why when the hero finally stood above Izuku, his hair no longer floating, Izuku gave him a tearful smile. It wasn’t actually supposed to be tearful, it was just that Izkuku didn’t have the energy to either push the tears back down or let them fall.
He gave the hero the best smile he could muster, and he said “Very good work, Sir, I won’t be throwing myself off another roof anytime soon so you can go back to your business.” This was not a lie, Izuku told himself, because he most definitely would be using a method where heroes would be less likely to interrupt him, as soon as this hero left him to his business.
The hero raised an eyebrow. The scarf did not remove itself from Izuku’s ankle, and Izuku did not make any move to get up as he waited for the hero to leave.
Contrary to Izuku’s hopes, his carefully chosen words did nothing to relieve the hero of any worry, in fact, they did the opposite. Izuku was showing almost no emotion. The shaky smile on his face and his tear-filled eyes contrasted his monotone voice so harshly that it was uncanny, and he had no reaction to the fact that his ankle was clearly swelling.
Izuku, coming to the bleary conclusion that the hero couldn’t remove the scarf from the Izuku’s ankle himself, finally sat up and removed the gray scrap of fabric. Izuku stood up, the hero’s eyebrow climbing even further on his face as he balanced himself as evenly as possible. The pain of his ankle was hitting him now but the hero had to leave if Izuku wanted to get this done with before his mother came home.
“I’m alright Sir,” Izuku reassured the hero, his plastered on smile trembling. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said over his shoulder, turning quickly toward the door of his apartment building.
Gray strips of fabric caught at his limbs. The hero’s eyes were unreadable. He made his way closer to Izuku and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.
“I highly doubt that you are alright.” The hero said.
And then there was a sharp hit to the side of his head. And then there was nothing.