Chapter Text
I cannot simply say, "You can become a hero even without power."
Midoriya Izuku, quirkless. The single word was a death sentence in every sense but physical. Every sting, thought, and moment made him think back to the doctor's office. The last time he was seen as human, the last time he was seen as having value That one doctor's sentence had sealed his fate. Power was the number one negotiator and he didn't have any cards on the table.
It was to be expected, of course. He was dimly aware of that fact from the moment he was diagnosed quirkless. He hadn't shown signs, but he had still held onto that hope, his only light, now extinguished from the man who inspired him more then anything. Izuku could numbly feel his lips moving, something he had come used to saying over the years. Which one is was, he couldnt tell. He couldn't hear a thing over his roaring heartbeat, and the shattering of his world.
The sting as the shattered glass went into his eyes, making them sting violently. It was hard to focus on anything but the roaring blood in his ears and the Symbol of Peace's words in his head. It should've been the other way around, at least logically, he knew All Might didn't have an echo in his voice. If he did, it would've been in his hero notebook, and it just wasn't. It was like All Might was connected straight to his brain to make the words as heard as humanly possible. What a powerful ability.
If you want to help others, then you could become a police officer.
He wasn't smart or strong enough for that. To have the inner strength those people did, it would weigh too heavy on him. He wasn't composed enough to be a doctor, way too jittery. He would most likely kill someone on the operating table. No one would respect him as a teacher, not that he would want to be like his own. They had too much work to focus on kids, at least. Otherwise, they would've picked on him too. Delegating tasks as a manager at a store would have the same issue. He wasn't smart enough for anything really. Creative jobs were out of the field of possibility as well. A comedian? Unless he put his life story and current situation, there wasn't a single funny thing in his life.
Nothing to be proud of, nothing he was praised for. He wouldn't make it. Kacchan would be a hero, and he would have every right as one to hurt him more, or at least the means to cover it up. No one cared before, what would change once he got more famous?
Kacchan would make a great police officer or hero, but he could even do both if he wanted. With his power and intelligence he could do whatever he wanted. He already kind of did, so Izuku figured nothing would ever stop his best friend. He would be so jealous if he knew All Might was talking to him right now. Izuku considered texting him, but his arms felt weak. He was too weak to do it. A small whimper escaped as he thought of what kind of advice Kacchan would get from All Might. He could just imagine the praise.
They're often teased because they get villains delivered to their doorstep...
Teasing... he was tired of it. Why would he sign up for a future of it? Warmth touched his cheeks, turning cold as they fell down his chin. Tears? Of course, he was just a useless cry baby. Stop it, he wanted to say. You're lying, I have a chance, I can do something good and live a good life, but did he even want to? School would be the same tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.
Nothing would change.
Strange, he couldn't remember the last time he went home without a new bruise. He couldn't remember the last time his mother reacted to the new injuries. Maybe it was that sprained ankle from first grade, when Kacchan pushed him off the slide because he was taking too long.
Maybe it was that other time when Kacchan was trying to impress his new classmates and exploded Izuku's cheeks. That got a couple of blinks. Maybe a hum? he couldn't remember. Kacchan went easy, so his cheeks healed aright. He made sure to make more of an effort to stay out his way as a thank you. Fighting back only made it worse, after all. It wasn't a window of opportunity, it was a moment of mercy, and Kacchan made sure he knew that. He learned very quickly to never take mercy as a sign of weakness, or even backing down.
...but that is also a fine occupation.
Fine, he was always fine. His shoulder stinging, his hero notebooks in his bag, one of them now covered in soot, burns, and school lake water. The creaking of the door as it opened. How was school? Fine. His mother told him to play nice if he said anything but fine. How were his grades? Fine. If they weren't, being told to get them up for high schools. How was Kacchan at school? He's fine. Everything fine.
Was fine good enough? Fine was tiring, fine was red on his wrists to take out the pain, fine was bruises. He didn't want fine anymore. If he had a choice... what an interesting notion that was. If he could've chosen, he would've had a strength quirk. Just like All Might! He would help his mom with bags and show his dad how many push ups he could do. Maybe even spar with Kacchan and become heroes together. That choice would've been nice.
It's not bad to dream.
It wasn't a dream. He never dared to dream. All his dreams turned bad. It was hope, the flame that fought for a decade hissing out. He felt the bitterness, the want to lash out and yell, but that wouldn't do anything. All Might was right after all. He's the number one hero, the icon, the symbol of peace. No, dreaming was never in his dictionary. He was too weak, too stupid, too useless to dream. The warmth fell down his face more and more, tickling his throat as it rolled down and became colder by the second.
The lump in his throat, of what he though was bitter words, started to grow painful. He should've brought his... his what? He never had medicine, even when he sprained his ankle. It was always just him, by himself, with what he had on him.
Between sleepless nights, nightmares, and pained nights, he didn't even think he had the capability to dream. He remembered Kacchan telling him about a dream he had, before their quirks were discovered, or in Izuku's case, a lack of one. A dream that he had a whole bunch of heroes behind him and leading them into battle. One specific hero, Izuku recalled Kacchan bragging about, was All Might himself.
But you also have to consider what's realistic, young man.
The door's deafening creak as it shut behind him, behind his hero. Just like that, it was silent. Everything crumbled. His tears were covering his field of vision, causing a blur of colors to register in his brain. If only he was with his mom this would be like a painting. A world trapped in a moment, a single snapshot of time. He felt his knees buckle, and trued to readjust his footing, but his body felt weak. It was weak. He was weak. Without power, without influence, without any reason he was important to anyone. the lump in his throat grew bigger, and one last attempt was made to hold it in.
The loud crash, screams. A villain, he assumed. Vaguely, he wondered what quirk the villain had, and what heroes were going to help. There were a large variety, but the one thing they had in common was the ability to inspire change. There were some quirkless celebrities, but they were good at something. Izuku couldn't think of a single thing he was good at. Maybe crying, but he couldn't do it on command. Taking notes, but his hand writing was sloppy and his classmates complained that they were both too elaborate and too simple. Skills just weren't in his skillset. He was never meant to be anything more then an example of what not to be. That was the only thing he was good at, and he only needed to do one more thing to make his point.
If he couldn't be a hero in life, maybe his death would work.
The lump tore out of his throat, but came out as a muted sob. Then another, more whiny then the last. He couldn't hold himself up anymore. He could feel the sting of his bruised knees hitting the ground. Realistic, huh? That's right, he had been lying to himself. A boy without a quirk, without any way to help, was useless. A Deku. The least he could do is apologize.
With fingers that screamed against him, he took out his phone, typing out a shaky message. To mom? No, she wouldn't care anyways. To Kacchan..? No, he would laugh at it and then go to UA. To who..? He supposed, after a few minutes of searching, wracking his brain, that there truly was no one. He turned off his phone, forcing his legs to carry him to the side of the wall that protected the stairs. It would be bad if villains got his notebooks. The street was quiet. The people probably gathered to watch the fight.
He probably would've too, if he wasn't so tired. What was he use anyway? He wouldn't need these anymore. He shoved his bag over the fence, hearing a thump as it hit the ground several stories down. It brought the numb levels higher, seeing the only thing he ever took pride in crash into the ground. Did they even matter anymore? He wouldn't need them. He couldn't find the energy to care of a villain got them after all. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. His phone was probably broken. At least his mom wouldn't have to pay the bill anymore.
Hours had passed, he supposed, as he stared at the open shy. How many? His eyes stung and he was ready to go to sleep. The sun set, and the gentle breeze reminded him he still had something to do. His shirt was soaked, much to his annoyance. he walked to the front, where All Might had stood hours previous, and grabbed the surprisingly short rail. He lifted one leg over, then the other, and leaned forward. The rail was sticky, from hat he was assuming was fresh paint.
To his mother, he sent his wishes that she could finally be happy.
To Kacchan, wishes that he will become a hero. Part of his brain wanted to add in his stead, but that felt wrong. Kacchan deserved to do it for himself, not for a useless quirkless kid like him.
To All Might, he silently prayed for his injury to heal completely so he could continue doing hero work. Part of him was angry but he also knew that All Might, in fact, was the best hero.
To his father, who he couldn't even remember the face of, he wished that he would bear no guilt. It wasn't his fault his kid was quirkless, or the fact that he had to work to keep him and mom fed. Now, he would only have to keep mom fed. He reasoned that it was a good trade off.
With one last wish, to his next life. He wished that in his next life, he would be capable of something, of anything. He didn't want his future self to be as useless as he was currently. To be born in a good family, to someone who wants kids, to bring joy to those who haven't been able to experience it yet.
To those who deserved more then he did.
And he fell.
The wind blowing through his curly green hair, like someone was ruffling it. Good job, you did it. I'm so proud of you. Another pathetic mix between a sob and a whine left his mouth.
Proud. Someone was proud. Warmth ran through his being. Finally, something someone out there was happy that he did. Kacchan was right after all. Not that he was ever wrong, but the knowledge and confirmation made him feel a sense of comfort. Something familliar in this shattered world of his.
Something hard. A shock running through his body, a shock running through his very soul. It was enough to rip the most unceremonious guttral scream out of his mouth. The impact was both the most painful thing he's ever felt and the most relieving thing he has felt. The duality made him confused, but he could feel himself slipping away.
He let it happen.The gentle pull, like his mother hugging him to his chest. He opened his eyes, seeing a shimmering form of a woman with black hair and a warm smile. Like his mom, and he let himself drift away.
Nothing.
A sweet relief, and no more pain. No more making everyone who knew him miserable. Free from every single shackle life had placed on him.
He was free.