Chapter Text
Come down.
Jump down
Fall down.
D o w n
D
O
W
N
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It was never something Izuku chased. Not an active thought or impulse, a buzz beneath his skin or even an image behind his eyes. It was just something that… happened once. It crossed his mind, and now sits like a warning sign every time he turns around.
He breathes and feels it in his lungs. He eats and tastes it on his tongue. He clenches his fist and feels it between his fingers. It never leaves him.
Now he craves the fall, the wind, the rush… the crash, the burn, the break.
But he tries not to let it hold him.
However, it certainly does.
-----
The first time the wind whispers to him, a quiet, distant call of a bird… He is left on the roof after clinging to his idol like a lifeline, needing reassurance and words of wisdom and begging for the truth that he could be something.
To which he’s promptly told he can only be nothing. He can’t be a Hero without the common blessing of a quirk and its power at his beckon call. Izuku could never follow his soaring dreams. He can only fall with the last bit of hope he had.
Izuku watches as his dreams soar off the roof with the Mighty hero, leaving him behind--like always.
It hurts. He burns. He breathes, and chokes on his sobs.
Oh.
So he is as useless as they say.
As Katsuki says.
As All Might says.
It takes until the sun nearly disappears below the horizon for him to be able to catch his breath again. Izuku stands, slowly, staring at the nothing that is his world and glances at the fence that lines the building. The sunset glows like fire, melting the wax that is the world and setting the concrete towers alight. It looks warm, and welcoming. He wonders if he can fly. He wonders how fast he'd fall.
Hush…
The wind whispers in his ear, pushing him near the fence to stare at the ground below. The view takes his breath hostage as he stares where the shadow of the building ends.
It would be so easy to just climb the fence, raise his arms like wings, and soar. Feeling the wind whip his hair and the asphalt catch him. It would hold him so close and never let go. The last hug he would ever need when he closed his eyes…
He turns away, and takes the steps down the building.
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It's a battle. Not with fists and actions that bruise and bite or burn, but words and thoughts that chip away at the foundations of his strength as he builds it beyond his younger self's dreams.
One For All and the past users, All Might and his guidance, U.A. and it's impactful teachings… all building his power, his mind, his soul--Izuku is stronger than he could ever dream! And yet, the song the breeze sings in his ear turns his head still.
It's so, so tempting sometimes.
He lays in the infirmary with insults and jabs and sneers bouncing through his head. It aches and itches something awful . But no! No, he won't let the thoughts get to him. He won't let the urge to bite his skin and cut his flesh control him. He won't! He… he won't.
Useless
He hears in his head. He mumbles and plots and strives to do his best because he can't be useless. If he doesn't have a purpose, then he really should just try to fly. Fly without wings.
So he pushes himself until he's breaking. Pushes until he's torn and bloody. Until his teammates and friends can smile with victory. He doesn't care for their concern, though he does make it seem that way.
But even with all the praise and love Izuku has at his fingertips, he knows he doesn't deserve it. Just like they say. He never WILL deserve it. He could work himself below the bones until he's blind and paralyzed, and he still wouldn't be worth it. Wouldn't be worth the light. The bells. The breath.
Today, of all days, he does not see that it's worth it.
The sky was loud. Heavy rain poured down in thick waves while thunder rumbled low in the clouds. It's the weekend at U.A., so class 1-A did not have any lessons to attend to. A good thing, if you asked him. Because otherwise he wouldn't be able to control himself. His quirk. His eyes. His actions. Granted, he can barely control those things currently.
He woke up around noon, and hasn't felt the need to move since he tried and failed to get up earlier: his legs giving out and resulting in him lying on his side on the hard floor. He could hear his phone buzzing on his nightstand, but numbly ignores it.
I don't want to get up.
I don't want to move.
I don't want to breathe.
I don't really want to exist.
So Izuku lays on the floor, unmoving, breath shallow. He's so tired..
The thunder crashed outside his window, the lightning momentarily illuminating his room as the rain pounds harder against the building, and it just quickens his heart rate along with the noise.
It’s so loud .
He covers his ears with his hands, curling into a tight ball.
It just needs to stop .
Breathing gets harder, he feels his chest being crushed by the weight of his mind.
Just be quiet!
He hears himself whimper in the quiet yet violently loud room, the blood rushing to his head he needs to ground himself. He needs to do something but he barely notices his hands go to claw at his arms and wrists.
Shut up!
His hands move to grip his shoulders, knuckles going white with the strain.
Please just--
STOP!
It takes too many minutes for Izuku to realize what happened. The ringing in his ears and fog in his head had mostly quieted down by the time he noticed the warm, yet cold feeling in his arm.
Shaking noticeably, Izuku lifts his hand off his shoulder and looks at the blood on his fingertips.
What..? Where-..?
And that's when he sees it: In his panic, he ripped through shirt and broke the skin on his arms. Red slowly stains the cloth.
He knows he should be more concerned about this. That he should analyze and find a reason and explanation behind why he was unaware that he ripped into his skin so badly it's likely to leave a scar.
But yet, the sting of the pain and the warm feeling of the blood on his skin… calms him. It grounds him back to this reality and brings his breathing back to normal, ever so slowly.
Huh.. That's.. Strange…
Izuku moves, slowly, and shakes as he reaches up to feel the indents - the rips in his shoulder. The moment he brushes against the open wound he trembles, the pain making him more aware yet more calm.
He breathes out a sigh, tension draining from him along with the rest of the energy he barely had. And yet, he feels alive enough to get off the floor; even if it takes several more minutes. Alive enough to take off his ruined clothes--or at least the shirt. Alive enough to look at himself in the mirror as he cleans the self-inflicted wounds on his shoulders in the bathroom.
Alive enough to know, this is bad. This is new, and dangerous… but effective.
Do it again..
Oh.