Chapter Text
The strangest thing about this body was the layers. Not the ones of muscle, tendons and fat, but the ones that clouded consciousness. He liked to think that there were four layers that rested between the outside world and what he assumed was himself. The first layer he called the artificial . The layer that did the most manipulation to things outside of himself. The layer that changed events so that they were not as painful. The one that lied to him the most heavily. The one he relied on the most.
The second one he called the dumpster . The dumpster didn't manipulate any events, it simply deleted them. Like when you drag an application on your laptop you no longer want to the trash bin. The only reason he could tell that these events were being deleted was the unexplained gap in time between certain memories. Gaps long enough for him to know his mind had something to do with it. The one he could say he was the most grateful for. No one he could name enjoys remembering painful things.
The third one he called the Static . It was the static because whenever it affected him, he wasn't . He wasn't here. He could see things that were happening around this body. He could hear words being said, though the voices were distorted. He was there physically, but he wasn't. He wasn't anything. He didn't exist. His body took up space. But he wasn't in it. He was static. He was on hold waiting for his body to want him back. Waiting to be something again. Wanting to be something again. Then later wanting to remain nothing.
The fourth he called the toxic . He didn't like to believe that the toxic was actually him . The toxic thought horrible things. Planned out terrible deeds in his head and how to perfectly execute them. The toxic held all of his intrusive thoughts. It elaborated on them. If he passively thought of a way to render someone's quirk useless the toxic would tell him which parts of the person to maim. If he had a quick thought of ending someone's life the toxic would tell him the best place to hide the body. It made him sick to his stomach. So he wouldn't allow it to be him , this was something else. Someone else. He was only housing them.
And the thing about these layers was that they weren't entirely separate. There was no straight line or barrier that prevented these layers from intersecting. They were not parallel to one another. The best way he could describe them was like a spectrum. Often the static and the dumpster worked together. It was a strange combination, feeling as if he is nothing and at the same time remembering nothing, but it worked. The layer that interacted with the others the least was the toxic. It was something he was grateful for. The toxic along with the artificial would be dangerous, and not just for himself. He could do terrible things without even remembering properly. Just the thought of it scared him.
He didn't know exactly where in the spectrum lay him . He wasn't even sure if he knew exactly what was him . He knew it wasn't this body. He'd still be him, no matter what happened to it. Maybe it was his consciousness, maybe it was just his brain, maybe these things weren't entirely separate. Still he was somewhere in here. Even with the layers he was still him, he still had himself. He can still remember that he's him . He's still him . He's still here.
He's still here.
Oh ..He's still here .
Bakugo sneered triumphantly as he looked back at Izuku standing idly. "You know, if you want to be a hero that bad you could always take a swan dive off of the roof and hope for a quirk in your next life." He barked out, either not knowing or not caring about the weight of his words. Most likely the latter.
Izuku flinched. He couldn't help it. The comment was too sudden. He had just gotten out of the static. He was again, and he wasn't sure if it was what he wanted. Izuku looked the other boy in the eye. He wasn't sure what Bakugo saw in them, but he was sure he saw a falter in Bakugo's demeanor. When Izuku did not respond to him, the boy huffed and exited the room with two other boys Izuku had sworn he was friends with when he was tiny.
Alone in the classroom Izuku analyzed his hands. Scarred and calloused, but there. He ran his right thumb across the palm of his left hand. Feeling the tingle of skin on skin. Feeling the tingle of simply being .
He had considered it before. Taking his life, at least making sure he had control of some aspect of it, even if it was the end. He had formulated plans, hid razors under his bed just in case it got too hard. It had been hard for a long time. He wasn't sure exactly why he hadn't yet. Maybe it was because he still hadn't figured out what exactly was him . Maybe it was because he didn't know what happened after death. Because even though he didn't know exactly what or who he was, he knew he didn't want to exist if he couldn't exist as him . He wasn't sure he'd still be him when he died.
Izuku went to collect his things. He noted that he was late. His dad didn't like it when he was late. He was sure he'd hit him again, like he always did when Izuku did something that mildly agitated him.
While picking up his backpack he glanced out of the window. The afternoon sun highlighted his hair in warm tones. Looking down at the koi pond, he saw his notebook being nibbled at by the fish. It didn't really upset him. It was something he had put work into, sure. But he had learned not to love the physical at a young age. If it could be destroyed, it was not something worth attaching yourself to. If it was something people could take from you, it was better not to hold on.
He tried to focus on the rhythmic beat of his stride, as he walked out of the school building. The thuds soft, but steady. Left then right. Something simple enough to lose himself in.
He took the shortcut through the alley of the two buildings in front of the school. The alley was narrow and dark, because of the shadows of each building. It also smelled, but it was the quickest way to the house.
He thought about Bakugo Katsuki as he walked through that alley. How much the boy had changed since their toddler hood. Bakugo had always been loud and brash, but he had never been this cruel. It's funny how people change as the years pass. He was sure they were friends at some point, even though it was blurry. He could remember late nights at the boys house, playing heroes and talking about the nonsense toddlers do. Bakugo was no longer his friend. He knew that. The boy he knew back then was Kacchan, that's who he was friends with. Kacchan doesn't exist anymore.
A sound that was similar to gurgling, coming from a storm drain, interrupted his thoughts. He looked over to see a transparent figure that was tinted green. It smelled something horrid, like someone took the bad smell of the alley and multiplied it by twenty.
"Ah, a medium sized invisibility cloak." The figure hummed. Izuku took notice of its big black eyes and wide mouth. He felt that he should run. He could tell whatever this was had no good intentions. But he was now interested.
It's body seemed to be made of a kind of sludge. But it was a sludge that could hold form somewhat, like jello. The figure probably didn't feel pain in the sludge bits of its body. Izuku couldn't see any organs or nerves. If he wanted to do damage he figured it was best to go for the eyes or mouth. Those were the only solid parts of the figure he could make out. Would destroying those parts kill him?
The figure lunged for him, quickly enveloping him in the stench that was the sludge. Izuku stopped thinking.
He stopped being.
In this moment he wasn't .
________
Toshinori had been looking for the sludge villain for longer than he was proud to admit. The villain was slippery and fast, but it was also messy. There was a disgusting trail of sludge he was sure would lead him right to it. It was a minor problem that the trail led him into the sewage, but he was the number one hero. He could handle a little stench.
He pried open the bars of a storm drain where the disgusting sludge trail seemed to leave the sewers. He readied his quirk and loudly flew out of the drain.
He cleared his throat, ready to announce that he was here . That all might, like always, was ready to save the day. But the words died on his tongue looking at the sight before him.
There was the sludge villain, or more what was left of him. The villian no longer held form, it was as fluid as water and began to stick to his shoes. It's eyes and mouth were terribly maimed. Torn in pieces and scattered along with the watery sludge.
In the middle of the mess was a single boy.
The boy was skinny, skinnier than the average middle school student, which he seemed to be by the uniform he had on. The boy was just standing there. Staring down at his feet. All Might noticed white bandages, sticking out from the long black sleeves of the boys uniform. He was covered in a thin layer of sludge and trembling just slightly.
All Might went to say something. He stepped closer to the boy, intent on comforting him. He was sure that villain attacked this poor boy and this middle schooler being inexperienced with using his quirk had accidentally killed him. He had to make sure the boy knew he was not in trouble. Unfortunately, as he went to rest his hand on the boy's shoulder he started to feel an intense ache in his side. An ache that told him time was running out.
Quickly he muttered out an apology to the boy while collecting what he could of the sludge villains remains. That uniform was familiar. He would come back and find the boy and properly apologize for letting it get to this point
__________
Parents were strange creatures. They never quite made sense to him, the things they did. Parents were strange because they did not have to love their children. Their children needed shelter, food, and water. Those were the things they had to give. But not love.
Because love was not something you just gave .
Love is something that is earned, something that you have to deserve. Being undeserving of love was something that was his fault. He could always be a better son, a better person. But he wasn't, and he was sure that was the reason he remained unloved.
Parents were strange because by law they could not just abandon their children, physically. But they could leave them for dead. They could ignore the bruises made from people they knew were not them. They could ignore the lack of appetite. The bones that were almost visible through his shirt. They could ignore that he was ignoring his needs. And one of them could leave. The lucky one perhaps. The one that didn't end up stuck with these bones and these layers. The one that didn't end up stuck with a boy who was always questioning who he was and why he was even here.
Because he was still here.
Here .
Izuku felt a throbbing in his side as his father kicked him again. He sat with his back pressed to the wall, clutching his stomach with one hand and protecting his head with the other. This was one of the worst ways to come back. Izuku suspected this was the work of the dumpster and the static. He did not remember getting home and he did not remember being. He did not want to be right now. He wanted the static to take him back, just for a moment. Just until being wasn't so painful.
There was a kick to the hand protecting his head. His head slammed into the wall behind him. His father sneered down at him, unimpressed. "How many times do I need to tell you?" His father asked dangerously low. "You come home right after school, not dilly dally and do whatever you want. What? you think you're grown or something, boy?" His father asked in that accent Izuku could never quite pin. It reminded him of the Southern accents in the states, but there was something different about it.
"No." Izuku responded quietly, breathing heavily.
"What?" His father asked, sending another kick to his side. "Speak up."
"No." Izuku said louder. "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." Izuku said, trying to sound apologetic. He bent forward as his father kicked him In the stomach.
"What have I told you about lying." His father was a tall man. He was by no means bulky, but he did have a good bit of muscle on him. He got his freckles from his father, though he had heard he was a carbon copy of his mom. He also got his curls from his dad. Curls his dad began dragging to the kitchen while he struggled fruitlessly to loosen the grip of the older man.
His father took the medicine and ointments from the cabinet they were assigned and pulled down two bottles. From one of them he took out two white pills. One's he gave Izuku after school every day. "Take them, now." His father stared down at him. Izuku nodded and quickly took the pills from the man's hands, swallowing them without water.
Then his father opened the other Bottle, the eye drops he was given before and after school. His father picked him up by his jaw causing the boy to wince from the sudden strain. He applied the eye drops carefully. Carefulness that was out of place in situations like these.
His dad dropped him and sighed. "I wouldn't have to do things like this, if you just listened. You know that right?" He asked Izuku.
Izuku nodded. "I'm sorry." He apologized quietly.
His father rubbed his face and sighed again. "Go take a shower, you smell disgusting." He dismissed the boy.
Izuku nodded again, getting up and tripping over himself in his rush. He practically ran towards the bathroom and closed the door, making sure not to slam it.
He let the shower run. When he was in it he just let it run for a moment. He sat in the shower, he was tiny enough. He did not cry. He felt the throbbing of his sides, stomach, and head. But he did not cry. At least he did not believe he did. But he was in pain, and the water from the shower fell in his eyes, so who could really be sure.