Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku was no stranger to fatigue. He’s always been an anxious boy, he’s always been prone to stress, he’s always been energetic and hard-working; avoiding fatigue was not something that was within his capabilities. It was an almost permanent state of being. Whether it be from playing too long, working too hard, or, as he got older, being mentally drained from just existing. Exhaustion was something he was very familiar with.
When he was a child, that feeling of exhaustion and aching muscles always symbolized something good. That feeling meant days spent out in the sun chasing after Kacchan, their laughter carried off on the breeze. It meant that he and Kacchan had saved another civilian in a rousing game of Heroes and Villains. Kacchan’s new explosions would pop pop pop before Izuku’s awe-filled eyes as they’d leap off the couch and fly around the living room. By the end of the day his legs would ache, he’d nod off at the dinner table, but his eyes would shine bright with happiness. Being heroes was hard--but rewarding--work, after all. He’d get tucked into bed at night with a kiss on the forehead, a smile on his face, and memories of beautifully bright explosions--just as dazzling as the fireworks he saw at his first festival--to lull him gently to sleep.
When his quirk failed to come in as a child his life drastically changed. Kacchan stopped playing with Izuku. Kacchan started to torment him. Their classmates started to follow Kacchan’s lead. Their teachers started to do the same. His mom was still his mom-she still loved the boy, but things were different nonetheless. Her eyes used to shine bright with love and laughter. Now, the only shine was held-back tears of sadness. Now, they were dull with hopelessness. Izuku missed seeing the love. He missed when asking to go out to play wasn’t met with hesitance and hugs that were too tight and a face that expressed more worry than going to the park warranted.
After he was officially declared quirkless his life became a canvas for turmoil. His classmates would paint his body a mottled array of blues, purples, and greens. Kacchan would add splashes of shining pink and deep red. Izuku had quickly grown weary of it. Every day left him feeling so drained. But, despite that, Izuku wouldn’t let anyone else be the artist of his life. He’d painstakingly paint over every mark that they left. For every bruise, every burn, every unkind word, he’d add broad brush strokes of his own hopes, his own ambitions. He’d create something he could try to be proud of instead of letting everyone else color him a portrait of subjugation and shame.
But, constantly pulling yourself up when everyone else is pushing you down is tiring. Some days you just want to stay down. Some days you need to stay down so you can get up again the next day. Some days it wasn’t worth it to get up. Some days Izuku would wake up and feel so tired he just knew that nothing good could come into his life that day. His morning exhaustion was a harbinger of maliciousness.
Fatigue now accompanied the worst days of his life instead of his best.
Some days nothing particularly awful would happen, but with how his life was going the very act of existence could cause him to be exhausted and worn out. On these days Izuku would usually try to sleep and hope to wake up to a better day. He was usually a very optimistic and upbeat child, and these days didn’t occur with great frequency, so having the occasional day where he was a little more quiet and spent most of his time napping wasn’t overly suspicious.
“ It was just a really intense day of sports at school today, Mom ,” he’d remark, his voice quiet and laced with false energy, “ And Kacchan wanted to play tag! There was lots of running .”
His words would always sound right, but they were filled with technicalities and lies of omission. (There would be a lot of running, but it was less a game of tag and more an attempt to save his skin from Kacchan’s hands that always burnt when he was caught). He would smile his best and most sincere looking smile up at his mother, but it too was a lie. He always tried to hide these days from her with the brightest grin he could manage. One so bright that nothing could possibly be wrong. He never wanted her to think anything was wrong. She may not love him the same way she used to, but he still loved her. He’d protect her from feeling guilty over his pain. He’d protect her and make her happy with his smile. All Might would be proud, he thought. Izuku really hoped that All Might would be proud.
By middle school, it was harder for Izuku to maintain his attitude of optimism and determination. More and more his ambition was replaced by despair and desperation. It was just so hard for him to always be put down, to be beat. Every morning he’d wake to a mother whose smile was too tight. He’d go to school where teachers would alternate ignoring and berating him, and his classmates...well, they were consistent: bruises, burns, and brutal barbs sneered at him through hateful faces. In the evening he’d return to a home that lacked warmth of a home. His mother would either follow him around anxiously asking about his day and his health, or she’d leave food out on the table for him but he wouldn’t end up seeing her for the next day or so. To Izuku, it was a confusing mix of neglect and over-protectiveness. It was like she couldn’t decide if she blamed Izuku for how downhill her life went after his ‘diagnosis’, or if he was still her little baby that she could cradle in her arms and protect from the world. But, Izuku was strong. He had goals. He was smart and he had a plan. His aspirations couldn’t be tamped down by anything. Or...that’s what he had thought at least. Middle school, however, was really putting his spirit and ideals to the test.
In those days, if you had asked Izuku if anything could break him, could make him abandon his dreams and settle into the life of uselessness that everyone seemed desperate to box him into, he would have responded with a resounding “no.” Even on the boy's worst days, where fatigue and depression made him feel like he might never leave his bed again, he’d still say no. There was always a light, a small ember burning in the darkness of his life. People might shovel dirt over it, but Izuku had always managed to rescue it before it burnt out. He’d coax it back to a fiery blaze. If middle school didn’t break him, he’d think, then nothing could.
And then that day happened. How naive the child had been. His last year of middle school...he’d made it so far. Who would have thought that he’d be at his lowest when he was so close to his first major goal for his life. Who would have thought that his hero would be the one to almost bring about his downfall?
He woke up that day and knew immediately that it wouldn’t be one of his better days. He was tired. He hadn’t slept well. And something in his chest just felt tight. Later that day he’d realize that he should have just stayed in bed.
Instead, he had gone to school. Most of his worst days could start with that exact statement. School was rarely a good place for Izuku. That day though...that day was probably the worst. Writing on his desk, burn marks on his skin, and a notebook that was almost beyond repair. And finally, words that rang through his head; a staccato of words meant to hurt. They were said with such malice and now they wouldn’t stop. They were a wave on the ocean and he was lost at sea.
“... take a swan dive off the roof.”
“...swan dive off the roof.”
“...off the roof.”
Over and over those words washed over him.
Izuku knew he wouldn’t do it, of course. He still had his goals. He was strong, he thought. But the words...they felt almost seductive to the boy. But, no...Izuku was going to be a hero. He’d already decided that he’d be a great hero.
And then he met All Might.
At first the interaction was...okay. It certainly wasn’t how Izuku had always imagined meeting his idol, but it wasn’t bad. Izuku felt gross in their first moments together. He was still covered in slime from the villain that tried to take over his body. He had barely even registered All Might getting there. He had just felt overwhelming wind pressure and heard a voice that finally managed to break through Kacchan’s vitriol. Next thing he knew he was waking up, throat and body sore, and All Might was there. His hero was there.
The next minutes were horribly embarrassing for the boy. His excitement at meeting his hero could not be contained. And getting his autograph...! That alone almost made this horrible day worth the rest of the pain to him. Izuku had one final thing to do in this meeting though. For so many years when he’d been dreaming of meeting All Might he had been planning to get his autograph and to ask him a very important question: can a quirkless person be a hero?
All Might tried to leave before Izuku could stutter out his question. Why was he leaving so fast? Heroes are busy people but surely he could spare a minute for a child that just nearly died and needed him so, so, so much , thought the child. And then,before he knew it and without conscious thought, Izuku was clinging so tightly to All Might’s leg and they were flying high through the air. In other circumstances it might have been an awe-inspiring experience, but as it was, all of Izuku’s concentration had to go to holding on for his life--especially once All Might started trying to shake him off.
Really, All Might?
The next few moments of his life passed in a blur. Looking back even now, Izuku could scarcely recall them with any degree of clarity. He knows they landed. He thinks they talked. And he knows that he asked his all-important question.
And that’s where things slowed down for him. The rest of the conversation Midoriya Izuku remembered with perfect clarity. He could recite every word, could tell you how the air smelled, could draw for you the exact expression on All Might’s face. Nothing about those few minutes was ever forgotten. Even though things were better for the boy now, those moments he would probably never forget.
“ Even without a quirk, can I be a hero?”
“I cannot simply say, ‘you can be a hero even without power’.”
“...there’s always the police force.”
“You need to be realistic.”
Those words joined with Kacchan’s. They swirled through Midoriya’s mind in a turbulent eddy. Tears streamed down his face and for one moment--just one moment--the child looked over to the side of the roof. All of a sudden the word that Kacchan had spat at him made so much sense. He couldn’t be a hero, his mom probably wouldn’t miss him for long, and everyone at school would celebrate his death. Dangerous thoughts for the boy to have.
That was the exact moment that Izuku realized he should have stayed in bed.
But, no. Even after that, even with cruel words taunting him, even with the roof right in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Maybe All Might was right. Maybe he couldn’t be a hero. But, there was still a chance that All Might was wrong. And that’s all Midoriya needed. He’d certainly worked with less before. He might be at his lowest. The ember of his spirit might be at it’s dimmest. But all he ever needed was a chance. All Might was just one man. Izuku knew he couldn’t hang his entire future off of one man’s opinion--even if it was All Might.