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It’s terribly fitting, Izuku thinks, that he would meet his favorite hero just as he's about to die. After all, the universe has never let him keep any of the good things he's stumbled upon in his life thus far, so why would this be any different? Sometimes he's convinced that whatever god or cosmic something-or-other is pulling the strings out there has a timer on his happiness. For every too-long day, every stressful, miserable, damaging thing that happens, he earns precious fractions of seconds to escape the neverending shitstorm that is his life, and then the universe gives them to him in short bursts in a weak attempt at encouraging him to keep going.
And, well. Izuku's decided that it's not enough.
Hence how he finds himself sitting on the wrong side of the railing on a rooftop at 3 AM, the distinct footfalls of one Aizawa Shouta — Eraserhead — landing quietly behind him.
"Eraserhead," he greets, because it would be dangerous to call him by his real name out here. Izuku can feel the tension that settles in the air at the alias anyway, the way the man behind him freezes.
"Yeah," he says, and for all that he maintains a bored tone, Izuku can hear the surprise, caution, and mistrust layered underneath, "but how'd you know that?"
"You patrol my area sometimes," he offers, and it's close enough to being true while still having nothing to do with the truth at all. Although Izuku's ‘area,’ for all that he doesn't really have one (not anymore, not since his mother finally gave up on him), does indeed fall along a few of Eraserhead's usual patrol routes (though not many, because while Izuku likes seeing the hero in action, he still has to be cautious, lest he be discovered), most of his analysis of the hero has come from elsewhere, his notes only supplemented and confirmed by what he's observed from the few times he's seen Eraserhead fight in person. It's amazing what you can find online, if you know where to look.
The hero seems somewhat eased by his reply, finally resuming motion and taking a careful step towards the boy in front of him, who still hasn't looked back. "I'm impressed," he says, and Izuku's confused, because while the compliment is clearly being used to fish for more information and there’s definitely still an undertone of suspicion, his tone rings true — though he supposes that being able to lie so convincingly is a skill that an underground hero needs. "Most people who live in the areas I patrol don't even know I'm here, much less who I am. And they definitely can't identify me without even looking." (Shouta isn’t sure what it means that this kid can, exactly, but every explanation he can think of is its own unique kind of concerning.)
"They must not be paying very good attention, then." He regrets it as soon as he says it, because that's quite a mean thing to think about so many people, but there's no taking it back now, so instead it just hangs in the air like a noose around the neck of what little remains of his self-worth.
Eraserhead says nothing about it, though. "What else do you know about me?" he asks instead, and for all that it's a perfectly logical and reasonable question and Izuku would usually be jumping at the opportunity to ramble about his favorite hero, he really can't be bothered to answer it right now. So he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the general direction of where he remembers leaving his shoes and backpack.
"Hero Analysis for the Future No. 14, page 37. I did an updated analysis not too long ago." Any other day, Izuku would never so readily allow someone access to his notebooks, but he figures he'll be dead soon anyway, and it makes no sense to try to hide what'll just be found in the morning. He hears the rustling of fabric and then paper as Eraserhead finds the right notebook and starts flipping through it. Minutes pass, and the hero behind him just continues to rifle through the pages, saying nothing. Unease creeps in at what could be taking the hero so long. Just as Izuku's about to say something, though, Eraserhead speaks up.
"How about you come over on this side of the railing, kid, and we can talk about these notebooks for a bit?" It's an obvious ploy to get Izuku away from the edge, he knows, but, well, Eraserhead wants to talk about his notebooks. And he's not dismissing or insulting or destroying them outright. Something in Izuku craves that kind of positive attention (and it’s neutral, really, but Izuku has never had high standards for these things) like a drowning man craves oxygen, so he just sighs and complies with the hero's request, figuring that Eraserhead probably wouldn't let him die anyway even if he is just a worthless, quirkless Deku because that's just the kind of person the man is, and Izuku's probably going to have to either make him go away or leave and find another rooftop.
(He doesn't want to find another rooftop, is too enamoured with the elegant symbolism of ending things where the end began. He wishes Eraserhead would leave. He wants Eraserhead to stay. He wants to be saved properly this time.)
He ends up sat against the railing, his knees up loosely in front of him and his arms resting on them, because frankly he doesn't have the energy to sit properly right now, much less stand. Thankfully, Eraserhead doesn't seem too bothered, only taking a seat on the cement across from him.
The hero waves the notebook in the air a bit. "Are all your notebooks like this?"
Izuku doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. "Uhhh...yeah? The hero analysis ones, anyway."
"What other sorts of notebooks do you have then, besides hero analysis?"
Izuku hums, thinking. "I started doing villain analysis a few months ago," he offers. "Other than that, I've got my school notebooks, and then a few with miscellaneous notes from my own training—"
"Training?" (And Izuku doesn't know it, is too used to being talked over to think anything of it in the first place, but internally, Shouta’s kicking himself for the interjection, because this kid needs to be heard, right now, and here he is interrupting him.)
In any normal situation, Izuku would be panicking at having revealed that he's still pathetically clinging to his dream of being a hero, but really, he doesn't have the energy to panic right now, and maybe Eraserhead will leave when he realizes that Izuku's doing the world a favor, here, and then he'll be able to just get on with it. So instead, he explains, "To be a hero. It's all I've ever wanted, really, and even though I know it's impossible, I guess I just thought that it couldn't hurt to try."
"Why would you think it's impossible? You've clearly got a good head on your shoulders, and it seems like you've been working hard for it. What's stopping you?" There's a momentary pause, as Izuku's brain reboots, where he just blinks, because Eraserhead just complimented him and Eraserhead is Eraserhead, he doesn't do that, he—
Is expecting an answer. Right.
And, well. Isn't that the question? Why can't worthless, quirkless, pathetic, stupid Deku be a hero? Perhaps the better question is why he would ever think he could. It's so incredibly obvious, what Izuku needs to say, and yet his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and his throat is stubbornly refusing passage to any sound that might even resemble the word he’s trying to form. His whole body is so drenched in the shame of it that it refuses to respond to him.
"Quirkless," he eventually manages to choke out, and now that it's been said, some of the lock in his jaw loosens, and he can repeat himself more clearly. "I'm quirkless."
"And?" The response comes so immediately that Izuku doesn't even have time to process the fact that Eraserhead isn't looking at him like he's less than dirt or like he's more fragile than glass or any of the other disparaging, pitying, or condescending ways that people always have, nor is he sneering or jeering or beating him up. He's just looking at him with a gentle kind of understanding in his eyes, and Izuku must be hallucinating because that's not how people respond to that kind of admission.
The question is clearly a challenge, but not in the way that people usually deliver it, where they want him to explain to them what they already know just to make sure he still understands (“We have to teach you your place, Deku,” one sneers, as another holds him down and a third brings knife-fingers down in measured strokes, spelling something out on his back, and all Izuku can think is that this is surely going to scar—). It's dismissive in a way that's so terribly discordant with every other experience Izuku has ever had with this subject of conversation, and he doesn't really know what to do with it. He still tries his best, though, because one thing that Izuku can't deny is that he's always tried his best, for all that it's never been enough. So, to the best of his ability, he explains.
"I— I'm quirkless. Powerless. I'd be a liability on the field, I'd just get hurt and be in everyone's way and— I'm quirkless. I can't be a hero."
"Would you still say that if it was someone else? If another quirkless kid came up to you and said they wanted to be a hero, would you tell them that they couldn't?"
"Well— No, but that's— that's different."
"Is it?" The hero pauses for a moment, long enough to let the question sink in but ploughing on before Izuku can hope to think of any kind of response. "Kid, quirkless is not synonymous with powerless. Quirks are just tools, one kind of power you can have in a world filled with a multitude of others. You might be quirkless, but that just means you've got one less tool in your belt. It puts you at a disadvantage, sure, and I'm not gonna say that being a quirkless hero would be easy. Being any kind of hero is hard, and a quirkless one doubly so, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. It's what you've got in your heart that matters. If you're doing it for the right reasons and you're willing to work for it, I see no reason why you couldn't be a hero."
Izuku feels lost, somehow, like he's adrift in the ocean of those words and he doesn't know how to even begin trying to find shore. "But without a quirk— All Might said— Even pros with really strong quirks can get severely injured. I'd die on my first day." He starts strong, but his voice only gets smaller as he speaks, the last sentence barely above a whisper.
"There’s always a danger that any hero could get hurt, no matter how strong their quirk is. And besides, pros fight without their quirks all the time. My Erasure doesn't work against mutant types. Sir Nighteye can only use his Foresight once a day, and he tends to save it for information-gathering rather than villain fights. Every pro encounters situations where they can't use their quirk, and during those times they're as good as quirkless. So why does it seem so impossible to you? Is it because you don't have a quirk, or is it because you're quirkless?"
The question hits him like a punch to the gut, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. Izuku's quirklessness has always been about so much more than just not having a quirk. Being quirkless made him less evolved, something less than human. A freak. All he was good for was being the class's collective practice dummy and emotional punching bag. There was a time when Izuku had thought that he could still be a hero, that just because he was quirkless didn't mean he was any less capable than anyone else. But then Kacchan had turned on him, and his mother had started ignoring him, and everybody was just so sure that Izuku could never be a hero, and how could everybody be wrong? He decides that he doesn't particularly want to think about this anymore, because it's awakening something in him that he had thought was long dead, a part of him that has only ever gotten him hurt when he showed it, and he thought he was finally done with this.
(All Might’s words still echo in his head, still keep him awake at night. That moment, this rooftop, was the beginning of the end, the last time hope dared rear its head in Izuku’s heart. Before now.)
He's made his decision, and he'll be damned if he goes back on it now.
"I think it's about time for me to go. It's been nice talking with you, Eraserhead. Thank you for taking care of this community. Have a nice night." He gets up and starts walking toward the roof access door, picking up his bag and shoes along the way. He decides to let Eraserhead keep No. 14; it's not as if he'll be getting any more use out of it. He can't be bothered to put his shoes on, seeing as he'll just end up taking them off again anyway, and he figures the inevitable scrapes he'll get from the concrete against his bare feet are an apt punishment for wasting Eraserhead's time. Besides, maybe the pain will ground him a little, keep him coherent enough to go through with his task now that his mind is threatening to float away from his body in light of the revelations that he's dangerously close to having.
"I can't let you do that, kid."
Izuku sighs. "I'll be fine, Eraserhead." It's a lie, and some part of him feels bad for lying to a hero — to his favorite hero — but he doesn't currently have the emotional wherewithal to process his guilt, so he elects to ignore it.
"No, kid, you don't understand. I can't just let you go. Even if I was willing to let a suicidal kid leave with no way to make sure you got home safe, it’s a security risk. With your level of skill...if a villain got their hands on this," he says, waving around the notebook in his hand, "it would put all of these heroes in danger, not to mention you. Even if I believed that you weren't just gonna go find another roof to jump off of as soon as you left — which I don't, by the way — I still couldn't just let you go free with this kind of knowledge."
Izuku can't help it; he laughs. It comes out as no more than a chuckle, a pained, empty thing. "Eraserhead...I know it's your job to save people and all, but really, you don't have to try so hard."
"...What?" The man's confusion seems genuine, so Izuku continues.
"You don't have to lie or pander to me. You're a really good person, and I admire that, but...being born quirkless these days is a death sentence. You either kill yourself or someone else does it for you. I'm on a timer, Eraserhead; it doesn't matter if it runs out now or a month from now. The world isn't losing anything by my death — if anything, I'm doing everyone a favor — and no one will blame you for not stopping me. So you can go now."
"I'm not lying. Your analysis is better than what I've seen from a lot of professionals. Your entry on me is more detailed, insightful, and useful than any other I've gotten, and if villains got their hands on this information, I'd be in real trouble."
"Pardon my French,” Izuku says, “but c'est des conneries." Eraserhead shakes his head in what Izuku might call fond exasperation if he didn't know better. (Izuku does not, in fact, know better. Shouta privately thinks that he likes this kid as he tucks his face into his capture weapon to hide something embarrassingly close to a smile. It only makes him more determined to save him.)
"It's not bullshit, kid," the hero says, and huh, Eraserhead knows French, Izuku should add that to his—
No. He won't be getting a chance to add that or anything else to his notebook because he is dying tonight, and nothing is going to get in his way.
"Kid," the man starts again, and his voice is dangerously soft in a way that could almost convince Izuku that he cared if it weren't for the fact that that's not possible. "I'm starting to think no one's ever told you this, so I'll be the first." He pauses to look Izuku right in the eyes, and his gaze is so fierce that Izuku couldn't look away if he tried. "You have value. Your death would be a huge loss to the world at large not just because of who you are, but because of who you have the potential to be. I've known you for less than an hour, and already I can tell that you'll make a great hero." And Izuku notes the use of 'you will' there, rather than 'you would' or 'you could,' and for all that it's exactly what he's always wanted to hear, now the certainty in it only chokes him. "And before you try to argue," he says, as if Izuku could do anything right now except stare into those black holes that have locked him in place with their infinite gravity, "I'm a teacher. It's my job to know these things." There's a pause as Eraserhead looks away, up towards the night sky, and Izuku can finally breathe with the weight of those eyes on him gone.
"You deserve to live, kid. You deserve to live and you deserve to want to. You deserve to have people who love and care about you and things to look forward to. I'm not saving you because it's my job. I'm saving you because I want to. I'm saving you because everyone else in your life seems to have given up on you, and I refuse to be added to that list. I'm saving you because you deserve to be saved."
And really, how can he just say all of that? After all he’s been through, Izuku was finally going to get his peace, and then this man has the audacity to—
"No. No, no, no!" He starts soft, but his protests crescendo with his anger, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes. He stubbornly refuses to let them fall. "You don't get it! I don't wanna do this anymore! I can't! The spider lilies and the burns and the bruises and the loneliness—" his voice breaks on the word, because that's really the most painful part. He's so used to the injuries by now, and he's all but numb to the flowers, but the loneliness is all-consuming. The pain takes over, pushing back the anger that had previously occupied him. "This is my out. I'm done. There's nothing left for me here. To keep existing serves only to prolong my own suffering, and, Eraserhead, I'm not a masochist.” He throws out his arms, gesturing helplessly to the world around him. “It's not enough. None of it is enough to justify another minute of my pathetic fucking life." The energy rushes out of him, then, and he's left with a bone-deep exhaustion. He can’t hold back the tears anymore, and they trickle down his face. His next words are weak, barely audible, but he means them all the same. "I'm so tired, Eraserhead. This is the only way to make it stop. Please. I just want it to stop."
Eraserhead steps toward him. "That's okay, kid,” he says. “So far, the world hasn't given you very much to live for. You're tired. It's okay to want to rest. But you don't have to die. You've got someone in your corner, now, and with that head and that heart, you've got a bright future. Things can get better, kid. I can help you make them better. There's a place for you here." He sighs, but it's more world-weary than anything. "You're a good kid. The world is better for having you in it. Don't rob it of you."
By this point, Izuku is openly crying, tears streaming silently down his face as he stands limply with his head down and his shoulders shaking. He's suddenly encircled in a pair of strong arms, and he lets himself lean into the solid body in front of him as a scruffy chin comes to rest atop his curls. They rock slightly from side to side, and Izuku finds the motion strangely soothing.
"Why do you wanna be a hero, kid?" It's the easiest question he's been asked tonight, and he doesn't hesitate to answer.
"I wanna save people. It's— If I'm not saving people, I don't know who I am. Being a hero is all I've ever wanted. It's...it’s all there is."
Eraserhead hums. "Yeah," he says. "Good kid."
(They stand there like that, Shouta holding Izuku as he cries, until the kid’s knees buckle and Shouta guides them gently to the ground. Eventually, Izuku falls asleep in his lap, and Shouta takes him home for the night because he doesn’t seem to have anywhere else to go. He doesn’t leave in the morning.
Eraserhead becomes Aizawa becomes Shouta becomes Dad, and Izuku — Problem Child — finds a whole family in heroes and heroes-in-training. It’s hard, when the League of Villains starts targeting his class, but he doesn’t have to face them alone. He doesn’t ever have to be alone again.
Izuku had intended for that day to be the end, but instead it becomes the beginning — of a new life, a better one, with friends and family and a future to look forward to. It takes work, and time, and it’s not the last time he finds himself on a rooftop, but he learns to admire the stars not for their detachment, but for their beauty.
The stars will always be waiting for him. For now, his place is with his feet on the ground.)