Chapter Text
────────────────
“This I want to believe implicitly: Man was born for love and revolution”
- Osamu Dazai
────────────────
The human brain is a complex thing. Able to store memories. Able to keep the body running. Able to do feats no other animal can come close to. But the most fascinating thing about the mind is it’s incredible ability to adapt. Most humans would never admit to how easy it really is for them to bend or break their habits under the right conditions. Even the hardest walls will form cracks with enough stress.
In this way, Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised.
At some point, yes, he would have kicked and screamed or pleaded but it always ended with the same result. Izuku always found himself lookingback at the same grainy reflection of himself. If he stared too long, he would feel the madness start to chip away at his sanity.
The walls always seemed to cave in on themselves, threatening to erase his very existence but Izuku had spent enough time locked away in his mind to get past the point of it phasing him.
Now that isn’t to say he always had this mindset but he knew there was no escape, not without an ability at least.
Scars marred the skin around his knuckles, battle wounds gotten from times when izuku would bang against the doors for hours, making up promise after promise that he had learned his lesson. And when that failed, somewhere along the lines punching the walls morphed into some sick fantasy that he might develop an ability of his own.
But four inch steel was unforgiving and there was nothing to show for his efforts.
The bloody smears were cleaned each time the boy woke up; there wasn’t even a scratch on the reinforced metal.
Really the only thing his tantrums proved was that no matter how hard Izuku fought, no one would be coming for him.
There are no heroes in this world; a harsh pill to swallow, but a necessary one.
At this point, not even the cold bite of alloy on his back could phase him much. It’s not as if anything would be able to chase away his discomfort. No. This vault served as a punishment. Now it was a daily reminder that Izuku could never be free again.
‘If I’m going to be stuck looking at the same walls for the rest of eternity, might as well think of what to say to dad when he comes back’
In some dark little corner of his mind, a piece of Izuku held hope. Hope that his father would have a change of heart. Hope that he would one day get out. Maybe even hope that his eldest brother, Kazumi would swoop in and save him, just like he had always promised.
Everyone needs a knight in shining armor to keep going.
The better part of him knew that even at best he would only get to visit Yoichi, if only because of the boys declining health. It truly is amazing how used to this thought process Izuku became.
That’s another funny thing about the mind.
No matter what, hope is the hardest thing to snuff out. And though Izuku’s hope had been dimmed, he still had half the mind to be bitter about the whole ordeal.
────────────────
The Shigaraki brothers were born at the dawn of quirks, at a time when tensions were high between those blessed with abilities and the vast majority that had not been as lucky.
Later, the government would try and cover it up, but the campaigns were everywhere. News articles called for hunting parties. The government snatched away those with abilities. The entire world seemed to take it’s anger out on those with abilities. As if everything bad that had ever happened to them was caused by meta humans.
By the time they could walk, each of the brothers had a tacit understanding not to bring the topic up in this household. Showing any sort of interest in abilities was akin to signing your own death warrant.
In a perfect world, all three brothers would keep this in mind for the rest of their lives.
────────────────
Izuku was four when he knew he would carry a target on his back.
His once inky black curls had started to shift into an unnatural green, one that couldn’t be explained away like his older brothers’ mops of white hair. It was impossible to deny that Izuku could develop an ability.
Hisashi was swift in his attempts to snuff out his youngest child’s hopes, the same routine that had worked well with Yoichi and Katsumi. Logic dictated that that should be the case with Izuku as well.
And although his pair of brothers were more gentle in the way they handled their baby brother, Izuku knew both agreed with their father.
Yoichi thought meta humans should be on a tight leash.
And Kazumi? Well Kazumi never outright voiced his opinions, but Izuku could tell how he felt each time his gaze took on a disappointed hue.
But large age gaps made for differences in opinions.
Everything has the potential for an unintended consequence. A phenomenon known as the cobra defect if you will.
────────────────
Izuku was five when he understood the importance of lying.
He had practiced so much the habit had become second nature.
Though he was too young to understand the differences in right and wrong, one thing the young child did understand were the bruises that waited for him each time he was honest. Each time he alluded to abilities, punishment would follow soon after.
Pain was a constant companion.
Izuku lived it, breathed it, and soon he found that he could tune it out with enough effort.
When pain failed to instill fear, Izuku had his first taste of true fear in the form of a metal encasement.
A bank vault. And with it brought no escape, no stimulation, nothing but a bone chilling emptiness that found its home deep in Izuku’s chest cavity.
But it didn’t matter.
Rationality is the foundation of every study you could ever dream of. And humans were at the forefront of this idea. One thing that should be noted however, is that humans have never been a slave to rationality.
If anything, they were slaves to their desires.
Izuku was old enough to realize that his little escapades would catch up with him one day. But where there was a will, there was a way.
Information, even propaganda, was better than nothing. All he had to do was watch the news. Search up articles that could be explained away as a school project.
Between his shifts caring for Yoichi, Izuku would listen to podcasts, drinking in all the information with vigor. And when everyone settled in at night, Izuku would take to writing his notes down in journals, guarding his secrets jealously.
For a while, this worked.
The visits to the vault had become less frequent as of late.
Perhaps it was because of this that Izuku’s caution turned into overconfidence.
So when he had left his journal, he was confident that Hizashi would be none the wiser.
Oh how naive he had been.
Really it had been the boy’s own fault. Years of eluding Hisashi had made Izuku less vigilant.
The boy knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped through the door. Normally, there would be some life in the house, some indication that others were in the house, even if that was only the buzz of a tv in the background. It was when Izuku finally made his way out of the entrance that he figured out something was very, very wrong.
Hisashi was sat behind the kitchen table, behind him stood both Yoichi and Kazumi. The first red flag.
Yoichi refused to meet Izuku’s eyes after shooting his baby brother an apologetic look, choosing to focus on the rug instead.
Then there was Kazumi; picture perfect as always, yet Izuku could see the carefully controlled emotions festering underneath.
Even Kazumi couldn’t meet his gaze.
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
Digits glided over the table. A clear sign that Hisashi Shigaraki was growing impatient. That’s how Izuku finally noticed what lay in front of his father.
A notebook, well loved by the condition of the faded blue tint. Izuku could never forget the signature cover of his prized journals.
Izuku would never be able to forget the pit that dropped in his stomach. The feeling of his entire body seizing up, his throat thick with words left unsaid.
And instead of defending himself, Izuku opted to swallow them down, choking on excuses left unsaid.
────────────────
You could go to any economist and ask what drives the human mind and the answer will always be the same: rationality. The idea that no matter what, humans will choose to follow the option that leads to the best outcome. Even the concept adaptability hinged on this. The option with the most benefits is not always the rational decision though.
In the end, humans are slaves to their desires. And Izuku’s poison was abilities. That and the thrill that comes with it.
Locked in a reinforced vault, Izuku had more than enough time to ponder this concept. To stew in his mistakes.
Despite how far izuku had delved into his mind, he was still able to recognize the district click of a handle turning, which was soon accompanied by the awful screech of four inch steel bucking against it’s hinges. Still, Izuku knew to curb his curiosity; only one person ever came to “visit”.
Footsteps bounced around in the spacious vault, careful in pacing.
Soon, the man was close enough to block out the light.
The man was crouched in front of izuku now. Despite his best efforts, Izuku felt himself flinch back, but there was nowhere else for the boy to go.
Cold, calloused hands brushed up against Izuku’s cheek. Emerald orbs widened. His father’s hands could never be this gentle.
“Kazumi?”
His own grainy whisper made Izuku want to recoil but he was afraid the illusion would shatter. When that didn’t happen though, the boy reached up slowly, as if testing the limits of this illusion.
Once he had intertwined his smaller hand in Kazumi’s, izuku held on for dear life.
Kazumi let Izuku hold onto his hand, bringing his baby brother into a hug.
“Izuku” he breathed, “it’s time, I can finally take you- all of us away from here”. The dam broke after that and soon, Izuku was a blubbering mess in Kazumi’s arms. After fourteen years, the brothers would finally have a chance at a new, better life.
Sometimes, Izuku wished he had been left to rot in that vault instead.