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There was something Midoriya would never have and there was something that not even the gods could take from him.
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When Izuku was six he stepped in front of a fallen kid. His knees quaked because the other kids were taller and their faces were darker and their moods were dangerous, but he stepped in front. To him it wasn’t a question. Because, while the bullies had dark faces and cruel smiles and mean words, there was a boy behind Izuku who was quaking from being pushed. He was paralyzed, stuck to the ground, and he looked like he was about to cry. So, Izuku stepped in. Afterwards, even when the boy he protected was long gone and he was on the ground instead: palms scrapped from catching his fall and bruises littered across his body, he didn’t regret it. Nothing could make him regret it. Not the victim leaving without thanking him, and not the bullies coming back again. Because Izuku knew that even though he was hurt, even though his palms burned and tears welled up in his eyes. Even though his skin would turn purple the next day and he would have to deflect his mother’s worried words, Midoriya had saved someone. And he knew, no matter the injury or cost to him, he would do it again.
He did. He stepped in front of the bullies again, and again, and again. So much so that they stopped finding victims and went straight to Izuku. And Midoriya was proud of it. He was proud that he stopped the bullies from finding victims, that he was able to protect everyone else (even if they didn’t realize it). He was happy that it was him getting beaten because he knew he could take it, not some other, random kid. He was proud and he was a hero.
It never hit him that he was a victim.
Midoriya was eight and he loved his aunt more than anything. Kayama was bold and brilliant, a dazzling light in Izuku’s eye. She flounced wherever she went, her personality carrying on strong not just inside the costume but outside as well. Nemuri was passionate and powerful. He wanted to be just like her.
To Izuku, that meant he had to emulate his auntie. So, when she was out with his mom, Izuku sneaked into her luggage. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do per se, but he had to. He dug out one of her dresses, it was red and fitted to her body, with long sleeves, an open back, and a slit that ran up her thigh. Like a child playing dress up, Midoriya slid the garb on and paired it with some of his auntie’s heels. Both items were far too large on Izuku, but he had fun walking around the house, trying to gather the same confidence his aunt had had. It wasn’t until he heard the door open, the voices of his aunt and his mother carrying through the hall, that Izuku realized what he had done. All the confidence he portrayed earlier vanished and he began to cry.
Hearing the sound from the entrance to the apartment shocked Nemuri and Inko. They exchanged a glance before rushing deeper into their home. Nemuri had prepared her weapons, ready to fight a perpetrator and, despite Inko Midoriya not being a hero, she was ready to fight anyone for Izuku.
It was only when they entered the room that the wails were coming from did they stop and realize that there was no enemy to punch, and there was no Izuku to save. Instead, there was a young Midoriya that was crying because he had stolen his aunt's stuff and she was here to see it and he was so bad. Not to mention that he had overheard people telling boys they couldn’t wear dresses or heels but he wanted to and he liked it, it was fun. He didn’t want his mamma or his auntie to make him stop but he didn’t want to disappoint them. And so the endless trail of tears continued.
Inko and Nemuri though watched the situation through different eyes. To them, they saw eight year old Izuku drowning in one of Nemuri's dresses and walking around in heels that were really too big for him to walk around in. Inko stuttered, her brow creasing as she stared at her son wail, but Kayama only broke into a small smile. She approached her nephew slowly before crouching down.
“Izuku?” Her voice lost it’s sultry tone, instead taking one of concern. Izuku bit his lip to stop his wail, wide green eyes focusing on his auntie.
Midnight chuckled, “Izuku why are you crying?” She watched with keen eyes as the boy toyed with the hem of the dress, long red sleeves pushed up to his wrist and threatening to overflow with every moment.
“I-” he stumbled over a few words that Nemuri couldn’t hear. The R-Rated hero glanced back to her sister who shook her head fondly. Still with creasing eyebrows, she followed Kayama’s lead and crouched down next to Izuku.
“Can you say that again darling?”
Izuku glanced around at the two people he loved most in the world. He let out a sigh, his fingers coming to a stop. Midoriya dropped the red fabric he was twisting and wrapped his arms around himself subconsciously.
“I… I’m sorry I stole your dress and shoes auntie,” he stated, barely above a whisper. Kayama huffed and ruffled his hair, “The only thing you have to apologize for is wearing a red dress! Honestly Izuku, I know you like the color, but this shade clashes with your hair! You look like Christmas personified.” She ruffled his hair good-naturally.
“...So you’re not mad?” Midoriya bit his lip again, green eyes keen on looking downwards.
Midnight smiled softly. Her eyes connected with Inko and a brief understanding passed between the two. “I’m not mad Izuku, and neither is your mother. Now come on, we got food,” Kayama stood up and began to gently guide Izuku towards the kitchen. When she saw that her nephew was still looking down she sighed and shook her head softly. “Maybe tomorrow we can go shopping together to get you some dresses that fit, Izuku, if you’re up for it.” Nemuri wiggled her shoulders and glanced at Inko who gave an exasperated sigh that served as a yes. The sentence did it’s work though, and got Izuku to grin.
“Really?” his eyes sparkled.
“‘Course squirt.” Kayama gave another ruffle to his hair.
It wasn’t until later, when Izuku was sitting with his auntie on the couch, watching an All Might movie, did he get the confidence to tell her why he was really crying.
“Auntie,” Midoriya’s voice was soft but it gathered Nemuri’s attention. She glanced down at the greenette, while the boy still had his eyes stuck on the movie. “I...I was crying earlier because I thought you and mom would get mad at me for wearing a dress and make me stop…”
Nemuri’s heart squeezed. She knew that some parents tried to enforce gender roles on their children, but she never thought that Izuku would think that she would do that. Nemuri had a firm belief in being your authentic self, that was why she was able to act as the R-Rated hero. She had fun being flirty and seductive, and using those tools to capture villains. It was useful for her quirk too to have skin exposed. Some people disputed her, saying that she was only popular due to her sex-appeal and to that Kayama says : think what you want. She got the job done effectively with very little property damage. What she does works, and it works because she loves it. She’s herself, she’s not pretending or putting on a fake smile to reassure people. And she prides herself on that, on her ability to be herself 24/7. To think Nemuri would make Izuku stop being himself stung, it stung real bad.
Nemuri gave her nephew a tight squeeze around the shoulder. “Izuku, I will never, never, make you wear something you don’t want to or force you to stop wearing something you love. Okay?”
And, like the little Izuku that Nemuri knows, he gives her a sharp and determined nod before focusing back on the screen where All Might is rescuing everyone.
Kayama relaxed back into the seat, content with letting Izuku lounge next to her and focus on the ridiculous film that he so dearly loves. The peace goes on for a minute before she notices the shift in pressure in the seat next to her.
“Auntie I uhm, I thought I’d tell you that I was wearing a dress because I want to be like you.” Nemuri blinks, she was not expecting that. “You’re just so confident and you’re a hero and I want to be confident and a hero like you…” Izuku shifts his gaze to a particular knick in his mother’s rug where the rope is peaking out of the weaving, creating a bump. He feels a blush run up his neck and cheeks to the point where his ears are red. Kayama throws her head back and laughs because for all the reasons her nephew was wearing a dress, trying to be like her wasn't something she thought of. Midnight wraps her arm around Izuku again and pulls him close, “ I love you kiddo,” she whispers to him. “And we’re going to have so much fun shopping tomorrow.”
And they do.
Midoriya is ten and happy. He wears dresses and skirts, and though his mother won’t let him wear crop tops yet, his auntie allows him to get them two sizes too big where they will cover his entire stomach but still have the same proportions to a crop-top. It isn’t the same exactly, but Izuku will settle.
Something he’s happy about but really shouldn’t be is the constant bruises on his body. He knows it’s not good to get beaten up, but he’s helping other kids. Saving them from his fate. No matter what Izuku will always, always, step between someone and their tormentor. It doesn’t matter how dangerous that person is, and it doesn’t matter if Izuku gets beaten up because, to Izuku, it’s everyone’s safety first. Everyone’s but his.
There is a difference in beatings now, something Izuku realized a while ago. The bullies haven’t just been beating him because he’s stepping in front of their victims, (in fact, now that Midoriya is pondering it there hasn’t been another victim in a while. They go straight for him. Though, he supposes that’s good. He’s protecting everyone else) they’re targeting him for more personal things. Like his quirk status, or the fact that he likes to wear skirts and dresses. And while Midoriya is always happy to save someone, and he doesn’t care much for the word’s thrown his way, they can’t help but hurt. All Izuku wants to do is save people. All he wants to do is help. But he’s getting degraded day after day, with notes saying to commit suicide (he doesn’t question how ten year old’s know what that is, bullying knows no bounds after all) and that’s he’s just a worthless, useless, nothing that won’t amount to anything every in his puny life. And that, that right there, is what hurts. It hurts more than the bruised wrists where they grab him to stop him from leaving. It hurts more than the bruises on his stomach, colored from purple and blue to yellow and green, overlapping and overlapping till Midoriya realizes that even if his mother let him wear crop tops, he couldn’t because of the marks. It also hurts more than his shins, which are kicked and kicked, underneath his desk and when he’s down on the ground, underneath his bullies. But despite all that injury it’s the notion that Midoriya will be nothing that hurts him the most. Because, if he can’t be a hero, if he can’t save people, then what can he do?
That’s why, when his auntie offered to teach him tessenjutsu, he agreed without a hint of hesitation.
Nemuri had been worried and scared and angry. She had noticed the bruises first. It started when she and Izuku went on their monthly outing to try to find new dresses. The boy would only try on long sleeve ones this time. Nemuri hadn’t thought anything of it, it was becoming winter after all, until she spotted the bursting purple that lined Midoriya’s wrists. She gasped, but didn’t bring it up to Izuku because he seemed so content on hiding it. At first she thought it was a one time thing. But, then she walked in on Midoriya stretching, and his shirt ridden up to show bruises littering his stomach. That signaled to Midnight that it wasn’t a one time thing and she was enraged.
She had stormed up to Inko, demanding if her sister knew anything about it. When she received a resounding no, Midnight set off to discover what had been going on. Inko helped her of course, and the duo figured out that Izuku was getting bullied.
Now, Nemuri wanted to storm into the school right then and there, grab the Principal by his tie and yank him up to be eye level with her as she threatened him for allowing her nephew to get hurt and then she wanted to run detention for every person that had hurt Izuku. She wanted to see them work for redemption and she wanted to see them cry when they realized that it would be going on their permanent record, no doubt tarnishing whatever chance they had at being a hero student. And if that didn’t deter schools, then Midnight would personally make sure that they were black-listed from UA, which would clue other hero schools to do the same. And sure, that might be a little cruel, but Midnight was a sadist and they had messed with her nephew.
But, like a good sister does, Inko hit her on the head and told her that no, she cannot torture children or their principal despite how much they deserved it. Nemuri sulked, but Inko told her they would fix it, just with… less violent methods.
It became sort of routine for the two then, yelling about Izuku’s injuries when he wasn’t home and how they were going to fix it. They had both realized that life would be hard on Izuku after he was diagnosed quirkless and especially after he avidly and regularly decided to cross-dress. In these arguments pertaining to Izuku’s bullies, Inko brought up writing a strongly worded essay to the Principal to which Kayama snorted, said that wouldn’t do anything, and said they needed to take more action. The duo continued to throw ideas back and forth, with each one getting more and more different and wild. At one point Midnight suggested seducing the bullies parents so she would then be able to threaten the bullies in their own homes and make the lessons stick. Inko shot that one down very quickly. It wasn’t until Nemuri visited her best friend, Izuku’s sorta Uncle, did she get an idea that she was sure Inko would agree to.
Only for Inko to not agree.
Now, that caused a ruckus. Every time the sisters interacted from then on out had strong words:
“He needs to be able to defend himself Inko!”
“It’s too dangerous for him Nemuri!”
“Izuku’s not fragile.”
“But he’s still a child!”
“I’m not even going to be giving him a blade or a whip or anything, and plenty of children train this early in life!”
“He shouldn't have to!”
“Izuku needs a way to protect himself!”
And so on and so forth.
At one point Kayama thought that they would never reach a conclusion. Inko was too stubborn to see past her beliefs and Kayama was getting tired of having to fight with her sister. She fought for a profession, she didn’t need to do it at home too. But, their argument came to a short and abrupt stop once Inko laid her own eyes on the bruises that littered Izuku’s body. She wordlessly shut his door that she opened without knocking (oops) and brought her cellphone up.
“Fine,” a sigh ran out, “you can train him.” Nemuri gushed over the phone with glee before preparing everything. From then on out Izuku wasn’t only her nephew, but her student as well.
When the first lesson happened, Izuku was vibrating in his seat. He was one step closer to being a hero because he was developing a fighting style now, which means he was developing a brand. Midoriya was no fool, he knew that in modern day heroics you couldn’t just survive by saving people, because in order to save the most people you needed to have a wide range of opportunities to do so which meant pairing with other agencies. And, in order to do that, you had to have connections which meant you needed to be popular. Which meant having a brand.
Still, even if in the end the tessen wasn’t part of Izuku’s brand, he was still happy and eager to learn. It would give him more ways to save people.
So, when he entered the room at his aunt's house for training, he was beyond excited to learn how to fight.
Nemuri simply smiled at him, sweet with only a small sadistic gleam in her eye. She started by introducing Izuku to some stretches which she made him repeat three times each to fully loosen out his body. Then, she got him to do the basics: jumping jacks, sit ups, burpees, ect. After that, she told him to sit down which he did eagerly.
Then she pulled out a board.
With the sadistic gleam brighter in her eyes, Nemuri grabbed a pointer and began her presentation. “Now, for the real training. Learning! I want you to learn about the heritage that the tessen has Izuku, then we can start the real fighting~” she winked at him, “Luckily for you I teach art history. This is similar enough, so let’s begin!”
And that was how Izuku’s first training lesson turned into a history lesson.
It took weeks for Midoriya to learn the basics. He was a fast learner, but there were multiple things his auntie wanted to work on with him, not just simple fan moves. He needed to learn some basic gymnastics, and how to analyze a fight first, for example. Kayama even gave him a damn quiz on the history of the tessen. And while he loved his aunt, she watched him take the quiz with so much mirth in her eyes that Izuku wanted to fight her.
But, months of training didn’t go to waste and Kayama was happy with the improvement. Izuku was buffer now. Though, he was still lean- he would always be lean- but he wasn’t scrawny. His movements when sparring were smooth instead of rigid, and he was learning to incorporate flips and rolls and cartwheels into fights. He had also gotten a fair grasp on his tessen. He knew the history and he knew how to fight with it. Nothing too fancy, but he was practicing every day and Nemuri was assured he would learn more and more complicated moves as time carried on. So, with pride in her eyes, she gifted Izuku two tessen of his own: dark, emerald green with golden edges. It was beautiful and elegant and she was sure Izuku would love it.
He cried when they were given to him.
Kayama stopped their training, despite how much she loved Izuku, because her goal was to stop him from getting beat up and getting beaten in spars did not help that goal. She reminded Izuku though that he should continue practicing everything he learned and that he was always welcomed at her house to train if he wanted to. He gave her that thousand watts smile and this time, it was Izuku who bought Nemuri a gift. She ranted about it to Shouta for a week.
But, despite teaching Izuku how to fight, Nemuri noticed the bruises didn’t stop. Inko noticed too. Their eyes connected once more, the urge to help and understand Izuku flowing between the two. This time though, it was Inko who reached out.
She gently pushed the door to her son’s room open before shuffling inside with two cups of cocoa and a blanket. Izuku popped his head up from where he was reading his notebooks on his desk. His eyebrows scrunched together and he shifted his head to the side, shooting a questioning glance towards his mother.
“Mom?”
Inko smiled softly at her boy and joined him on the bed. He scooted over to make room for mamadoriya and gracefully took one of the mugs from Inko. Izuku sipped the hot chocolate as Inko settled in, bringing the blanket around the two.
“Izuku.” Inko’s voice was breathless. She tilted her head towards her son, green hair flowing over her shoulder from the movement. “I… your aunt and I have noticed that you’re bruising…”
Izuku looked startled. He gave a humorless laugh, “Mom it’s noth-”
“We know about the bullies Izuku.”
His mouth snapped shut.
“We just… Kayama taught you how to fight in self-defense. We thought that might protect you but...why are you still getting bruised?”
Izuku sat in silence and Inko sat with him. His thumb stroked the mug in his hand, his eyes centered down on the liquid that rippled with every movement.
“I-...” Midoriya bit his lip before his mouth twitched upwards in a pitiful smile. “...There are kids who don’t have training though, Mom. They.. They can’t protect themselves so I protect them.”
Inko smiled sadly for she knew her son wanted to be a hero. She knew that every instinct was for him to go step in front of someone to save someone else. But she didn’t know that meant that Izuku had no self-preservation.
She glanced down at her son, who was staring intently down at the mug, unshed tears in his eyes and his teeth biting his lip to stop quivering; she stared down at him and realized. Realized that no matter how many times they had this conversation, no matter how many lessons Kayama taught him, and no matter how much Inko tried, she would not be able to get her son to stand down. He was built with iron in his veins and gold in his heart. He held his head high when everyone tried to push it down and he persevered. And Inko knew, she knew like she knew that the ground was solid and her sister was a hero, that he’d never stop doing that. He’d never stop being himself.
Inko gave a small smile. She sat her mug down and gently wrapped Izuku in her arms, overly-aware of how stiff the gesture made him.
“Izuku,” she mumbled into his hair, inhaling the scent of his flowery shampoo,“Izuku I would never ask you to stop protecting people-” his body relaxed, tension melting away “but-” only for it to return once more, “you have to think about yourself more baby.” Inko pulled back from her gesture. She glanced down, her green eyes connecting with her son’s. “You need to practice self-preservation Izuku. I can’t stand to see you get hurt. And you know, you have your aunt’s and mine’s permission to protect yourself. Put your training to work. You won’t get in trouble if you’re protecting somebody.”
Izuku flinched backwards and shook his head. “I always get in trouble,” he muttered, “it’s because I’m quirkless.”
Inko’s expression soured. She knew that her son was being unfairly treated because of his quirklessness, and she knew it would be impossible for him not to be. In the super hero society they lived in, a quirk dictated someone’s entire life. To not have one just… it wasn’t a pleasant experience. But, Inko had held hope that he wouldn’t be diminished to nothing in society. She held hope that he at least had teacher’s who supported him, and people who had morals instead of quirkist bullshit. Clearly she was wrong.
Abruptly Inko stood up. Izuku glanced up at his mother with curious eyes, hands shaking slightly. “Izuku,” Inko stated, “you’re going to be learning self-preservation one way or another.” Then, with that, Inko twirled around and stormed out of the room, only pausing at the door to give Izuku a soft “love you honey” which was the complete opposite tone of her previous statement. Then, Inko exited, phone already dialing up her sister who smirked at the idea presented to her.
“I’m sure Shouta would love~ this proposition,” she purred; knowing that, in fact, Aizawa would groan and complain at the idea. “Let me call him right now.”
And that was how, at 10 and a half, Izuku was forced into new teaching sessions that wouldn’t teach tessenjutsu, but instead the Art of Self-Preservation.
Izuku had met his sorta-Uncle a couple of times. But, while they had met, that didn’t mean they were familiar. So, when these lessons started up, they started up rather awkward.
“Erase-Aiza-Sh-Hi!” Midoriya stumbled, not knowing what to call his sorta-Uncle. His mother and auntie called him Shouta, but Midoriya felt that was so personal. Yet, calling him Aizawa also seemed weird because nobody Izuku knew referred to him as that. Midoriya could of course refer to him by his hero moniker, but that just felt so impersonal. This man was his sorta-Uncle for gods sake!
Aizawa let out a long, lengthy sigh. “Problem child,” he greeted. Izuku squeaked at the name to which Shouta rolled his eyes. “Your aunt’s telling me that you don’t have any self-preservation skills. What’s that about?”
Izuku squeaked once more, his sorta-Uncle really didn’t like small talk. Midoriya felt himself blush as Aizawa continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. When it was clear the 10 year old wasn’t going to talk, Shouta let out yet another sigh and buried his head deeper into his capture weapon.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk kid.”
Midoriya bit his lip because, well, his auntie had said that he could trust Aizawa. And the man was nice...enough. And his mother thought this was a good idea and she said it made her sad to see him get hurt. If there was one thing Izuku could hate more than senseless discriminations, it would be making his mother sad.
But…
Aizawa was essentially a stranger. Izuku knew as much about his sorta-Uncle as he did about American football. It existed, it was rough, and that was it. And Izuku… Izuku couldn’t just spill his problems on Aizawa because he was his auntie’s best friend. No matter how much his mom wanted him to, he couldn’t. Not when the man looked so tired and depressed. Not when he looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
So, Izuku stayed silent and Aizawa sighed. He grabbed a chair across from Izuku and sat down, eyeing the boy with what had to be practiced nonchalance.
“Izuku,” Midoriya shuffled uncomfortably, “Izuku, kid, look. I don't know what’s going on with you, and I won’t know if you don’t tell me. Without knowing I can’t help fix it. I'm not trying to be tough kid, I’m just here to help.”
“I don't need help.” The words were quiet, spoken through barely parted lips. Midoriya hadn’t intended for Aizawa to hear it at all, but Shouta was an underground hero and that requires being able to listen to things spoken at a rather low volume.
Aizawa’s mouth moved, as if to sigh again and protest, before he snapped it shut. The hero, instead, leaned back in his seat and raised an eyebrow at Midoriya. “If you say so, kid. Look, it's getting late and your mom doesn’t expect you back for another hour. Do you want to get food?”
Izuku paused. He titled his head upwards, eyeing the hero with suspicion. When he could detect none he gave a hesitant nod. Shouta smirked before standing up. His hands shoved in his pockets, he began to walk to the door, not looking back to see if Izuku was following.
“Good,” he stated. Then, quietly, Aizawa muttered “Hiazashi will be surprised I actually ate dinner without any prompting.” With that the duo exited Kayama’s house and went to a nearby noodle place. It was awkward, to say the least. Izuku hadn't really spent one on one time with his sorta-Uncle at all, but it was still nice.
The tradition of going out to eat and talk (and sometimes spar) often replaced what the duo were actually supposed to be doing. Aizawa hadn't brought up any lessons in self-preservation and Izuku hadn't asked. A half a year passed, Midoriya turned 11, and they still hadn’t talked. And well, Izuku liked that and all. He didn’t want to bring up his...problems or anything and disrupt the peace. Only, his mother and auntie clearly thought he was working to be better (even though he still didn’t know why he needed to be better? He wasn’t doing anything wrong! Or at least he thinks…) and Izuku… he couldn't help but feel like he was lying to them.
With a nervous resolve Izuku decided that he needed to tell Shouta. And, when the next time they met, he did.
“So you’re telling me that you step in to save other people from getting bullied which makes you get hurt and you don’t fight back even though you have the training because you’ll get in trouble?” Aizawa squinted his eyes at Izuku. Midoriya ducked his head and nodded.
“Ya that sums it up…”
Eraserhead inhaled sharply, “Problem child…” he muttered, “don’t you realize how stupid that is?” The abrupt deceleration shocked Izuku. He stared up at his Uncle (because they were close enough for him to call him that now) in surprise.
“Uhm, what?” He laughed nervously, backing up to the wall. Aizawa collapsed into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what, you know what? ” He asked no one in particular, “we’re getting noodles then dealing with this fucking problem.”
Sure enough, 15 minutes later noodles had arrived and the duo dug in. Aizawa had taken the time to get a board from Nemuri, because he had some explaining to do.
“Here’s the thing Izuku-- getting yourself hurt is not helpful.” He wrote it on the board before circling it and tapping it.
“But-” Izuku swallowed a forkful of noodles, “I need to help people. If that means getting hurt then,” Midoriya shrugged and Aizawa sighed.
“Think about it this way then: if you are hurt you cannot protect more people. Which is one of the reasons it’s important for you not to get hurt.” Aizawa didn’t exactly like that line of thinking but, it was necessary for Izuku to see that getting hurt didn’t just hurt him. If Aizawa could correlate it to making Izuku unable to protect other people, then there was a chance the lesson might stick.
Izuku’s face soured. “But then what am I supposed to do about the original person that I got hurt for?”
“Fight back or do a tactical retreat.”
“Tactical retreat?”
“Izuku,” Aizawa sat down. He leaned forward in his chair, black hair sweeping into his face. “If you are outnumbered or overpowered you should not run into battle.” Midoriya lowered his gaze and Aizawa knew he didn’t agree, but it needed to be said. “If you are going to be put out of commission for fighting a group you are unfit to fight, then it’s better to retreat and get more forces to help you.”
“And what of the hostages getting hurt?”
“If you can save them you save them. But, if entering into the situation will put them more at risk, isn’t it better to wait until you’re better suited to deal with the threat?” Aizawa let the sentence sink in. He ate a few noodles before starting up again. “Look, kid. Sometimes it comes to a point where you can’t save everyone--” Izuku’s gaze snapped upward, “--and you have to sit with that on your conscience. Do you think that because you can’t save someone you’ve failed as a hero?”
“You’ve failed them,” Izuku murmurs it under his breath but Aizawa still hears it. He wished he didn’t, but he did.
“But do you think it means they failed as a hero?”
Midoriya shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No I guess…”
“And why’s that?”
“Because they’ve managed to save other people and defeat other villains. Losing one person stacked up against saving thousands of others doesn’t really present itself as a challenge. There’s always the chance that someone might not make it out alive, and if every person stopped being a hero once someone died on their watch then there wouldn’t be any heroes.”
Aizawa grinned at him. It was laced with sadness because-- really, wasn’t that just such a morbid thought?--, but also pride because Izuku was understanding. He was growing and-
“But that doesn’t apply in my situation.” Aizawa retracts his previous statement.
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not a hero, not yet. And I can’t arrest bullies to make them stop. So the most I can do to help is get in the way.”
“No tactical retreat? No calling a teacher or other supervisor?”
Midoriya looked down glumly. “They never help or do anything. In the end it’s always me that's blamed for engaging.” The sentence rested sour on his tongue but it held the truth. After all, he was the quirkless one. So surely it was always his thought. He was provoking them. He was trying to play with kids out of his league. He was simply devolved and couldn’t handle their rough housing. It was his fault. It always was.
Aizawa puckered his lips. So he could get Izuku to understand the concept of not being able to save everyone, but not in his context. That was going to be a problem.
“Izuku,” Aizawa stalled looking for something to say. What could he really say to a child who was always blamed? The best thing to do was to take it up with his teachers. “Is that why you don’t fight back?”
Midoriya bit his lip and nodded.
“And what if I told you that we, your aunt and your mom and me, don’t care about you getting in trouble? Then would you fight back?” The shrug he got in response wasn’t amazing, but it was something and he would take it.
“Well…” Aizawa let out a sigh. “Obviously you can’t continue to get yourself hurt kid. But, I also recognize that you won’t back down. So, fight I guess. You have training. Use it.”
Silence rang onward before Izuku slowly lifted up his head. Mortification was clear in his eyes. “ That’s your advice? Fight people?”
Aizawa shrugged, “if it works it works. Besides, maybe if you start fighting back they’ll back down the next time you step in.”
Izuku snorted. “I doubt it.”
“We’ll see,” Aizawa replied.
The next time Midoriya was confronted-- and to clarify it was him being confronted, not someone else. There hadn't been someone else in a while, but he wouldn’t be telling his mother or Aizawa that-- he didn’t follow his Uncle's advice. It didn’t sit right with him, to use his training against the bullies. Besides, if they were distracted with him they wouldn’t go for anyone else. So, he let punch after punch come. He winced at the kicks and later would run his fingers over the bruises, pondering just how it had come to this. His class used to be so nice, so friendly. Then quirks became a factor and suddenly it was the civil war. Eventually things had settled down and a peace was developed: you don’t mess with someone who has a “better” quirk than you and you’re fine; but the era of peace never occurred for Midoriya. It was just battle, day in and day out.
When his aunt caught sight of the bruises she clucked her tongue and grabbed Izuku by the collar. Pulling him out and into her car, she first drove him to the mall where they went on a shopping trip. He didn’t question his auntie buying him new clothes, she did that often. Then, Midnight drove them back home. She thrusted the bags into his hands and demanded he put together outfits, which he did. When he went out to show them to his Auntie Nemuri, she pointed out where each and every bruise could be seen.
“Izuku darling, you love these clothes. Don’t you want to be able to wear them without having so many bruises be shown?”
Midoriya caught his reflection in the mirror. There really were bruises everywhere. His hands instinctively latched onto his fan at the sight. “Yes auntie,” he replied.
Midnight nodded and smirked. “Good.” She ripped the boy away from the mirror and into the training room.
“Shouta may be teaching you self-preservation, but clearly it’s not working enough.” Blue eyes swept over the bruises once more. “I think I know just what you need Izuku~” Nemuri purred and took out her whip. Izuku’s back straightened at the sight. There had been too many spars started by the same action to not instinctively get ready for a fight.
“You need some self-confidence Izuku!” Midnight cheered.
“Huh?” Midoriya titled his head in confusion. Where did that come from?
“Well clearly you’re not following Shouta’s advice because you don’t have confidence that you can.” It wasn’t really that but go off. “So, I’m going to make you get some confidence. Now!” With a slap of her wrist, Nemuri’s whip created a thwap sound. “I want you to strut across the room like you don’t have a care in the world. You are powerful and you are amazing. Let’s get to it Izuku!”
The boy ended up walking across the room for the rest of the day.
When Nemuri said he was done he stepped out of his heels in relief and immediately sat down. “Oh come on, surely you can go longer than that?” Kayama teased and sat down too. She passed her nephew a bowl of chips which he gladly ate from.
“I haven’t worn heels for that long in a while auntie,” Izuku chuckled, “I have to get used to it again.”
Nemuri let out a puff of air, “boo. I told you to keep up with your studies. But,” she sighed, “I suppose we can table that for now.”
Izuku shot her an inquisitive glance, “why?”
The grin that spread on Kayama’s face was nothing short of sadistic, “because I have an idea~” The tone was utterly gleeful and a bright red flag for Izuku. He turned his head towards his aunt slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What is it?” he asked.
Kayama stood up, “Oh you know just another trick to help you get some self-confidence,” she mused, waiving her hand back and forth. “I just am going to teach you to be a sassy piece of shit.”
Midoriya spat out his chips.
“Wh-what why?”
Nemuri grinned down at her nephew, eyes shimmering. “Because Shouta pranked me when he was here last and I need revenge. But it'll also help with your confidence," she added on quickly. "Now,” she sat down again and gathered Izuku’s hands in her lap. “What I say next you need to listen to very carefully. Okay?” Izuku nodded and Nemuri grinned. “Great. Whenever you see Shouta now I need you to call him Shouta. Not Aizawa or Uncle. Just Shouta.”
“Uh,” Izuku’s eyes swept over his aunt's face. There was no hint of a trick. She was fully sincere. “What?” He questioned.
“Sweetie, just call him Shouta. Or old man!” She added, her grin broadening, “he’ll hate that.”
“O-kay…” Izuku nodded his head. He loved his auntie, but he really, really did not want to be one to get on Eraserheads nerves.
“You got that? Great! Now here’s some other things you should start doing…”
Kayama went on explaining how to give sassy and sarcastic remarks instead of stuttering for what felt like hours. It was only 30 minutes. But still. She drove him back to his house before dropping him off. Outside his front door Nemuri leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And remember Izuku, be confident in yourself. You know what you’re doing. Fight back-” ah, well, Shouta had told Nemuri about that then. Midoriya frowned, he could never keep anything to himself in this family. “And remember, you can’t wear what you want unless you want everyone to see your body in bruises!” Kayama hollered as she turned around. “I got a night shift so I have to run. Love you Izuku!”
“Love you too Auntie!”
Midnight was gone and it was dark out. Midoriya laid in his bed, eyes heavy with sleep. His body was relaxed against his mattress and his blankets weighted him down. There was the brief sound of a car of crickets from his window, but they provided background noise and were welcomed. What wasn’t welcomed was his mind turning a mile a minute. He wished for it to be tired and ready to fall asleep, but he couldn’t stop going over his conversations with Shouta and Nemuri. Because, well they’re right. He doesn’t want them to be right but they are. His records already trash, he’s already blamed for everything, and if he fought back he might get less injured. And there’s also the possibility of fighting back and then scaring the bullies off. Izuku thinks its unlikely but, well he could always try. What’s the worst that could happen?
Then he immediately thinks: they could go after someone else. But who? No one else is regularly taunted like Izuku. There’s no one else to taunt. Sure they could do it to the kids with weaker quirks, but the teachers wouldn’t let that slide. They wouldn’t put anything on the bullies records, but they wouldn’t let it slide because the victim is quirked. And Izuku isn’t quirked. Izuku is the only quirkless kid in his entire school and once he’s done taking crap then who else would there to be to pick on? Someone so weak that they don’t even have basic genetic code to help them?
And, well first off that’s something Izuku has to work on. Nemuri said he can’t call himself weak because he isn't. He has horrible self-esteem, he realizes that, but Izuku hopes that he can work on it. After all, his aunt is his role-model, and Midnight has an overwhelming amount of self-confidence and love.
Second off, and back on topic, Izuku realizes that there isn’t a point in just letting himself get beat up anymore. He should at least try to defend himself. And, if that doesn’t work then he’ll stop it. Maybe doing it once will get his family off his back. Maybe doing it once will get the bullies off his back. He won’t know till he tries.
Izuku’s in school and the bullies approach him. They’re smirking, cracking their fists, and ready to beat him up. The teacher left, the classroom’s empty except for them. It’s the perfect time to try something.
The first bully, a kid by the name of Kai who has a water manipulation quirk, pulls his arm back to punch. When it comes Izuku ducks and the boy stumbles forward. He turns back towards Midoriya sneering and the second bully approaches. He’s tall and lanky, and named Hiroto. His quirk allows him to push air currents from his feet and hands, basically giving him the ability to fly. After Kai stumbled and Izuku ducked, Hiroto sneered and pushed his arms out. A gust of wind sent Midoriya tumbling to the side as the third boy: short but buff and named Daichi, rushed him. He grabbed Midoriya around the stomach and ran him into a wall. Izuku winced and his fist began to punch Diachi’s back. The boy growled and groaned but activated his quirk and Izuku’s feet were stuck to the floor in a large rock. “Nowhere to run now,” Diachi grinned, wide and toothy, and stood back.
By now all three bullies had recuperated. Kai cracked his knuckles and approached Izuku once more to punch him. Midoriya waited for the last second before ducking once again. Kai’s fist hit the wall with a loud crack. He stumbled backwards, clutching his bruised and bloody hand. “Motherfucker!” he cursed. “Oto, get him.” Hiroto nodded and motioned his head for Diachi to follow his lead. He approached Midoriya slowly, satisfaction beginning to seep onto his face. Besides him he made two small whirlwinds.
Hiroto was silent, no jabs or comments as he attacked Izuku. He sent wind storm after wind storm at him. Each one Izuku ducked and swerved to avoid. Granted, there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room and he got hit a couple of times which left him frazzled and disoriented, but it wasn’t too bad. However, apparently Hiroto was getting frustrated. He stopped the wind storms and marched right up to Izuku. Grabbing him by the collar, Hiroto raised his fist. Midoriya grinned up at him cheekily, something his aunt had taught him earlier, and stated “What’re you waiting for?” The fist connection and his nose bled.
Hiroto went to punch him again but Izuku realized in a fit of what could only be described as both dumbassery and genius that he still had his hands available. He still had his hands available. He reached inside his pocket and fingered his fan. When Hiroto’s fist went to punch and break Izuku’s nose, he flicked his arm upwards and flicked the fan out. The sound of skin and bone hitting metal wasn’t a pleasant one, but it sure was satisfying. Hiroto didn’t yell out in pain, but his mouth dropped open in shock and he clutched his bruised hand. Izuku was starting to notice a pattern here.
In a moment of shock, Diachi accidentally lost focus and the rock he formed to keep Izuku in place cracked and weakened. Midoriya felt the release in pressure and attempted to shuffle his feet. The rock fell apart.
Izuku let a small grin slip on his face. This was going better than expected. Usually by now he’d be on the floor, clutching his stomach in pain as his skin was painted with bruises. He thinks he prefers this better.
Midoriya surveyed the scene. Kai was taken out of commission. He was still clutching his hand in the corner, eyes strewn with tears. Izuku bet that he had broken his hand and was just waiting to go to the nurse.
Hiroto was in a similar situation, though from where he stood he glared angrily at Izuku.
Last but not least, Diachi looked...well he looked fine. He was mildly shocked, yes, but his face had already hardened up and he was bracing his hands for a punch. Izuku let himself look at the room again before deciding-- fuck it. He was already fighting, might as well fight as he was taught to.
Before Diachi could attack Izuku ran at him. Two feet before he actually reached Diachi Izuku calculated in his head and, yes-- Diachi was definitely short enough for this to work. He launched himself upwards and forwards, completing a handspring over Diachi. Kai and Hiroto stared at Izuku in shock from the sidelines, but he was too concentrated to notice. Diachi turned around quickly and went to punch Izuku but he blocked with his forearm. He grabbed onto Diachi’s punching arm and twisted it. At the same time he kicked Diachi’s leg and sent him stumbling down.
Izuku stared at the figure below him. His bully, his terrorizer, kneeling below him as Izuku had his arm twisted and ready to snap. He wouldn’t, he wasn’t that cruel, but he could. Perhaps it was the power trip of standing up to them, or perhaps it was the adrenaline of being in a real, actual fight but Izuku grinned. His lips pulled into an easy, sarcastic smirk that quickly turned threatening. He made eye contact with Kai and Hiroto and Diachi then spoke.
“Don’t come after me again.”
He pulled his arm back and punched Diachi. He let go and the boy fell-- unconscious.
He wasn’t bullied at school again. In fact, he was given such a wide berth that Izuku found it practically laughable. He was treated as if he was the most dangerous person in the whole school. Something that a week ago, would never even be considered.
Everyone was happy when he stopped coming home with bruises. His mother baked a cake, his aunt took him on yet another shopping trip, and his uncle Yamada decided he needed a party. “To celebrate standing up for yourself!” He exclaimed when asked why. The party was fun and loud. Izuku found himself grinning as his auntie pulled him up to dance and couldn’t keep the smile off his face when his mother pulled out her homemade katsudon. At the end of the night though, that was Izuku’s favorite part. Shouta had pulled him aside into the corridor, his voice low.
“Hey kid,” his lips tweaked upwards in what Izuku knew was the kindest grin Eraserhead could give. “You did good. And,” Aizawa glanced back towards the room and lowered his voice, “I know high school’s coming up for you and I know you want to be a hero. I can get you in on recommendation at UA, although I’m sure Kayama has already offered it. But, if you wanted to do something else…” Eraserhead's voice is lowered once more to a level Izuku didn’t even know was possible. He leaned forward to catch what his uncle was saying. “I know a great school for underground heroics. Just in case the bright and flashy atmosphere of UA isn’t your cup of tea.” Then he pats Izuku on the head and disappears back to the living room.
Izuku stands there for a moment as realization sinks in. He, well UA was always a dream of his. But not one he had ever believed he would be able to accomplish. And, Izuku was sure that even if he was able to get in he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go. UA was, as Shouta said, “Bright and flashy” and Midoriya was aiming for an underground hero. Not only that, but he was quirkless and UA had a huge factor in showing off their students' quirks and abilities. So yes. UA was a dream of his, but it was more of something he fantasized about than actually planned on accomplishing. But a hero school specified for underground heroics…
Izuku’s mind wandered to the possibility. He’d never have a quirk, but he’d always always have a want to be a hero. And well, if that school is best for it then sign him up.