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Chapter Text

1

Why can’t these two ever leave me alone?! What, did Baka-go make them think coming after me in their spare time was the only thing they were allowed to do?! Izuku thought while he sprinted once more towards the bazar.

The only place he could actually get away from the two stooges chasing him without risking getting detention for “inappropriate attire during school hours”. As if they cared about the attire, they were more worried about letting parents see their kids’ peers bloodied up. Even if they don’t care about the quirkless kid in particular, they don’t want their kids being victims of societal abuse.

Go figure.

Running down the street towards the safest place he knew of outside his house, a pair of red sneakers and light blue hair caught his eyes. Another kid his age, scratching at their neck, watched him intently.

Izuku waved at the red-eyed kid, understanding in his eyes. He wanted to go over to give them a hug. He wanted to meet the only other kid he’s seen who might empathize with him.

Is there time? They’re going to gain pretty fast with the open area, and there’s not many places to try to blend into. Sorry, I’ll have to find you again!

Through the alley adorned with signs hung by multicolor rope Izuku went, between the gray cement buildings and into the wide-open market.

Izuku ran under and through the shoppers, around a guy with a ventilation mask in a wheelchair, and into the one stall Izuku knew better than my room. A florist and safety inspector couple who sell quirk analysis, the florist with a quirk Izuku loves to geek out about.

“Oh! Another early start today?” a somewhat scratchy, deep voice asked from behind a circular wooden table. She eyed him over, taking note of Izuku’s anxiousness, before pulling up a seat.

“Well… exercise is an important part of any day, right?” Izuku barely got out without stammering.

Yubi-san’s voice rang clear in the bazar, spelling future pain. Tsubasa was above most of the crowd, several shirts and necklaces wrapped around his halteres, pointing right at Izuku. He startled at the closeness of the red-winged boy. While Izuku looked around for Thing 2, cries of irritation and anger got closer in the crowd. A familiar blue hat atop brown hair was rushing at Izuku.

“Sorry Seichou-san, gotta run!” he yelled behind him as he ran between the stalls. Behind the stalls, fewer people meant that Tsubasa-san could chase Izuku rather easily.

Large wings, needs lift, warm air gives lift, alley doesn’t give enough room for wings to catch air, enough space between wheelchair person and wall for one to fit through, not enough warm air to fly... Izuku thought rapidly.

A blur of green flashed into a nearby alley, followed closely by furled red wings and a blue hat.

The green mess of hair got further and further from the other two pursuers as the two started getting in each other's way.

Yes! Yubi-san can’t fly!

Before Izuku could revel in the fact he was right, he ran straight into what felt like a brick wall and fell back hard.

Which was weird, since most brick walls don’t border the entrances and exits to alleys. He looked up from the floor to see three more people; one much hairier than the others, one with a tornado of sand in their hand, and one with a button-up suit and bowtie.

“You looking for a fight greenie?!” the furry one ( Bear? The start to his claws would make sense, not too sure though… Izuku couldn’t help but think) shouted at him from above.

Luckily for Izuku, the one playing with the sand grabbed the bear guy’s shoulder. “Hey, he’s probably just trying to get to school, took a shortcut. Maybe he’s lost?” sand dude said with a grin.

Unluckily for Izuku, the two tormentors chasing after him shouted, “COME BACK HERE YOU QUIRKLESS DEKU!”

Izuku looked side to side, remembering how he chose an alleyway- AN ALLEYWAY OF ALL PLACES- to get away.

Great, that’s yet another thing I barely had a choice in coming back to bite me in the a-… arm.

Just like what Izuku knew would happen, the mirthful atmosphere around the knockoff Spiderman villains disappeared. Their noses widened to turn a friendly, teasing sort of smile into a sneer filled with disgust. The tornado of sand in the hand of Sandman 2.0 spun faster, with obvious intent to hurt.  

Worst of all was the boy in the suit, as he looked at me in pity and at the others with fear.

“Well, he’s not Shinsou for sure. But he should be pretty fun to mess with, at least!” Bear guy finally said as Tsubasa-san and Yubi-san caught up. Corralling me between a wall and a hard place, quite literally in the case of sand dude.

“Hey, this wooden doll-” he gestured at me with his head, “- might be fun to break, but he’s better to break when there’s more people!” Yubi, with his red wings furled, said placatingly.

A nod from the bear dude, and the five pairs of eyes turned towards Izuku. He could keep his hands steady, but his arms wouldn’t stop shaking from where they were wrapped around his chest.

Sand kinesis… Bear… Wings… Long fingers…

Stuck in his head, Izuku didn’t notice the guy with the sand shove him. He was thrown into the wall, and his thoughts started to go too fast for him.

From where he was discarded, he was pulled back and punched in the nose. Eyes blurry from tears, dizzy from what he thought might be a concussion, and tired of thinking, Izuku curled up into a ball and stared blankly at the bricks.

While the five bullies whaled on him, he let the fuzziness that came from each hit envelop him.

thepainwon’tstop thepainwon’tstop thepainwon’tstop… Repeated in his head until he couldn’t even feel his heart beating anymore.

His sight and smell were already fuzzy from the liquids leaking from his face, but Izuku let those fade as well while he endured the jabs the five who cornered him dished out. Soon enough, all he was aware of was the fact that every so often he’d feel a bit of pain rush through his hastily constructed mental walls.

So unaware of his surroundings he was, he couldn’t notice the 3 bullies leave to torment another kid with purple, gravity-defying hair. Nor did he notice the red stains forming around his collar that he’d have to hide from Mom.

He was so wrapped up in his spiraling thoughts that he most certainly didn’t notice the guy in the wheelchair from earlier rush into the alleyway and put a hand to his arm to try to jostle him awake.

11

Inko was halfway done with her morning chores when her phone started ringing.

Ugh… I thought I had today off! Those idiots better not have burnt the office down or…

Her train of thought leapt off its tracks and descended into the dark abyss of confusion and panic when she saw the number listed. The room faded around her until there was only the couch she’d been sitting on, her hands and feet, and the phone in her hand.

She’d only saved it to her phone because of her parents’ health problems, but Musutafu General Hospital was calling her.

Who is it this time… My ‘Zuku? Hisashi?

Her thoughts kept spiraling from there until her phone stopped ringing in her hands.

Her finger must have teleported to hit each button necessary to call them back, the ringing came back instantaneously.

“Hello, front desk of Musutafu Genera-”

“Who’s hurt?” Inko practically shouted over the poor woman answering the phone. Normally she might have felt a bit bad but she was a little too fearful to consider what was normal for her might not be for everyone else.

“Who might this be?” the woman on the phone asked with utmost patience.

“Inko Midoriya, should I be rushing over there?” Fear laced her being, binding her in her own thoughts, but having something else to focus on kept her from being chained down with those binds.

“If you’re worried about your son, Miss Midoriya, he’s stable. Nothing that won’t heal in a couple weeks.” The calmness radiating off of the stranger on the hospital phone pulled more and more of Inko’s fear off of her. “We do need either you or-” paper rustling could be heard on Inko’s side of the phone- “Hisashi Midoriya could come in the next half hour, it would be best.”

“I’ll be there in 20.” The line went dead, and with it went Inko’s panic’s hold over her.

Bag… kitchen. Wallet? Check. Phone’s good. Should text Hisashi while I’m getting there.

The walk to the hospital went by both too quickly and too slowly. It was good exercise, but bad for the panic starting to grip her throat. She had to stop her imagination from coming up with disaster after disaster before she could even see the medical building.

As soon as Inko walked in the doors and the front desk told her where to go, she was stopped by a doctor before she could enter the right room.

“Miss Midoriya?” The younger man asked.

“Y-yes?”

“Green hair, green eyes.” He answered for her, seeing the confusion in her eyes. “Seeing your son?”

At least he’s not pampering me or being too long-winded, Inko almost muttered.

“Yeah. Any clue what happened to him, sir?”

“Well… I’ll explain better once we’re in the room, ma’am.

A nurse went into the room around the two while the doctor explained.

“He’s got a definite concussion, fractured ribs, and probably more that we can’t assess until he wakes up. Right now, he’s still unconscious, but he might also be sleeping off the healing of some of the smaller bone fractures.”

As the report finished, and the nurse left the room, Doctor… His ID reads Knox - Knox stepped aside to let her in.

She stepped into the hospital room and focused on her son. He lay unconscious, red stains on his school uniform that hung on a chair with his backpack, bruising along his face, arms, and legs. Some starburst scars across his upper arms and legs, shoulders, and back, some of which had to be months or years old.

Who would do something like this to a child? she thought with equal parts anger and exhaustion. And how long has this been going on?! Was it Aldera? Was it a villain attack?

For the second time that day, Inko Midoriya was snapped out of her head by her ringing phone. The number was from the school. The doctor was still checking up on Izuku, so she quietly excused herself from the room.

She took a deep breath and answered the phone with “Hello, Inko Midoriya speaking.” 

“Hi, this is Aldera Middle School calling. We were calling about your son? He hasn’t come into class yet, and several of his peers claim to have seen him making jeers at students from another school.”

Um… most of Inko’s hesitation towards getting angry at the school was washed away at this. These… they’re… UGH!

Oh Zuzu, the bullying never stopped. How did it get this far though?

“Is that so?” Inko asked confusedly.

Inko, The Mother took a backseat to Inko, The Analyst, who held her think-tank group of 10 together with gentle words and sheer will, where other think-tanks struggled to stay amicable with just 7. And that side of Inko didn’t like the picture being painted by this novice liar.

“Yes, ma’am. We apologize for any inconvenience to your schedule, but we think you and your son need to come in sometime this week to talk about his… unruly behavior.” the principal on the line talked through his gilded teeth.

Should I… Inko looked through the window to her bedridden son. We’ll… just have to talk, I guess.

“When would a good time be to stop by?” Inko replied after a moment to think. “Does next Tuesday work?”

“That works perfectly, setting an appointment for Tuesday. See you in one week!”

See you then, you coniferous-witted jackholes. Inko thought, fighting a vicious smirk.

Meanwhile, Izuku stirred in the bed. Looking groggy, and unsure of what was going on around him, he leaned his back onto the pillow behind him to sit himself up.

Cracking the door open let Inko hear the nurse freaking out, not that she could’ve known about the years of abuse from his peers she thought he must be hiding.

“What are you doing?! You need to lay down, Midoriya! A concussion is no joke, you know!” The nurse admonished him seriously.

“W-wh’re ‘m I?” Izuku stuttered and slurred. “H’spit’l?”

4

Hisashi was a simple man with an interesting job and a family to work for. He regarded himself as an optimistic individual who took no shit from the bigoted, though his confidence outside of work could use some building.

That being said, he was livid with the sheer bullshit-ery with these cops. And he was making his opinions on the matter very well known.

“So, officer. What you’re saying is that… during a raid- one without a warrant or reasonable suspicion , no less- you injured Asui Ganma here because…?”

“We… we had reasonable sus-”

“No. You had a gut feeling at best, and that killed several innocent civilians and injured Asui-san here. Can you even explain to us what reasonable suspicion is ?” Hisashi interrupted with as much indignant rage as he could put into words.

With an unreasonable amount of confidence, the officer explained “Well, reasonable suspicion is when an officer, such as myself, has quantifiable proof or reason to suspect a person of doing something illegal. And we’d gotten a call from a neighbor that Asui Ganma had illegal substances.”

Hisashi picked at his middle finger with his thumb to keep himself from massaging his temples.

“So. A person who claimed to be his neighbor- and that would’ve been easy enough for you to verify in the first place, mind you- claimed that he had illicit substances. That they didn’t describe or explain to you. And then claimed that he might be using them to the detriment of others.” Officer Satsukan nodded at each emphasis. “That. Is one of, if not The, dumbest thing I’ve heard here. One more leap in logic and you might as well be saying ‘once upon a time’.”

Officer Satsukan shifted in his seat.

“Furthermore. Once in the apartment, what were your first actions?”

“One member of my team tackled Asui-san to the ground, and the rest of us looked through their home for any sign of illegal, harmful substances.”

“And… was A- my client, doing anything to provoke violence?” I asked as if I didn’t already know the answer.

Silence greeted me as the officer on the stand glared at my whole team.

“He was impeding the investigation.”

“And what, specifically, had my client done to impede an unlawful investigation?”

Officer Satsukan opened his mouth to speak, probably to argue about the actions of Asui-san, when his lawyer spoke up.

“Judge, I request my client not answer an incriminating question like that. Though if Midoriya-san would like to change his question to be less underhanded the-” said Officer Satsukan’s defense attorney.

Damn, thought I could talk him into a circle there…

The defense attorney’s condescending request was silenced by the judge’s gavel. “That. Is. Enough. We’re not children at a playground, we’re grown adults in a courtroom. Defense? There is no need for condescension. Prosecution? Can you please restate the question in a less implicating way?”

Hisashi Midoriya sighed to hide his more… vindictive side’s cheer.

“What did Asui Ganma do to impede your investigation?” Hisashi asked, knowing that the jury had to have seen that the Officer on the stand was about to answer despite the implications of the question.

“... He kicked me between the legs, Midoriya-san.”

“I’m done asking questions, your honor.” Hisashi spoke with a face split between warm and cold; his eyes held the same regard as a predator playing with food, while his smile provoked the same inviting warmth as a cabin with a lit fireplace in winter.

As Officer Satsukan left the stand, Hisashi started his segment explaining his interpretation of the data to the jury.

After the closing statements, after the verdict had been passed (not guilty, despite the evidence to the contrary), after Hisashi, his team, and their client left the courthouse, he and Asui Ganma finally got to talk again.

“I am so sorry that these… idiots, turned the eyes away. You deserve better Asui-san.” Hisashi said as they made their ways to their legal team’s offices, passing stands out in the streets and walking through the mid-morning crowds to get there.

“It’s okay Midoriya-san. Figured they’d do something like this. Always happens.” Asui was a man of few words, but he sure knew how to make the tone mix with the few words that came out to make an impact, Hisashi thought.

“ Sigh I just hate that this is so common that you had to get used to it. I’ll be sure to do everything I can next time, and I’m sure that Inko would love to have you and your family over for dinner sometime. Celebrate the fact that you’re still here and kicking.”

“Hmm.” Asui said as the pair neared the building with Hisashi’s firm’s offices. “I would love to, and I’m sure that Tsuyu would like to see Izuku again. Just try not to overwork yourself before then?”

Hisashi shrugged as he felt his phone vibrate. It was… Musutafu General?

“One moment Asui-san.” Hisashi answered the phone- “Hello, this is Midoriya Hisashi speaking. How may I help you today?”

“Sir, your son has a concussion, fractured ribs, and is unconscious while we heal him from the amount of stamina that is needed. We’ve called your wife, and she’s on her way, but we would prefer you both come so you can keep her… occupied.” the receptionist delivered.

“I’ll be there, but it’ll be an hour or three. Train ride to and from takes a while.” Hisashi said calmly. I have to be, Inko needs me to help.

A quick call and a departing wave to Asui-san later and Hisashi is practically running to the train station to hop on the soonest train back to Musutafu.

The ride itself is mostly unremarkable, though he does accidentally eavesdrop on a yellow haired man and a man with a white scarf talking about adopting someone named Shinsou Hitoshi. Hisashi silently wishes them luck, though his work-mask is dropping rather quickly.

Years ago, he’d taken some theater classes at the behest of a friend in junior high, and found it was quite conducive to being successful on the stand. It was something he’d conditioned himself to do early on, and it made him a menace in court.

It also made him quite a bit more jittery practically everywhere else. All the confidence and snark he had left when outside a courtroom.

He was pulled out of reminiscing about his acting classes with Aizawa as the train stopped. Walking with the flow of the mass of people leaving the train cars, he thought to himself I wonder what happened to him. I know he said he’d go into heroics, but he kinda just jumped off the radar…

The transfer to the local railway system was quick, as was the ride to the hospital.

A lot of memories here. Mostly bittersweet ones, but… a lot happened here 15 years ago. He paused for a second. Only 15 years? Huh.

He walked in and to the room number his wife had sent him. As he went by, nobody stopped him to ask him if he needed help, as the older doctors and nurses recognized him from all that time ago. The newer ones and the interns saw his freckles, mop of curly pine green hair in a ponytail, and connected the dots.

His hand was outstretched to knock on the door. But whether it was because he was scared of the reason Izuku got hurt, scared to see Izu and Inko hurt, or that the memories of Inko’s folks passing away from being “necessary expenditures in the name of justice”, he couldn’t get himself to knock. Hisashi’s hand just ended up pausing at the last moment and rubbing against the door.

Kami, I can’t take seeing Izuku like this, but I can’t not see him when he’s hurt. His internal monologue started.

Who knows what I’ll see? Izu? Inko’s devastated face after hearing she missed her chance to say goodbye to Kotaro before he was killed and his kid was taken?

Or will I see the empty look I see in my own eyes every time society fails what they think are the dregs?

Hisashi’s thoughts kept bouncing around, spiraling faster and faster (and unintentionally starting to mutter at some point). His fist clenched and his surroundings faded out until all he could see was the painted facsimile of wood.

What he wasn’t expecting was a loud crash and exclamations from Inko as his fist finally knocked on the door loud enough for the room’s occupants to hear.

The door opened, probably Inko using her TK, and the scene was painted into Hisashi’s memory.

Inko, holding her heart and crying while looking at Izuku. She seemed somewhat distressed, though more so a mixture of confused and happy.

The patient bed in disarray and half sunken into the floor, blankets hanging off the side. The half with the wheels and most of its height was in a corner with Izuku, who was curled up. 

And Izuku, curled up in a corner, breathing rapidly as if in a panic attack, and eyes flitting about the room as if a puzzle piece would suddenly make sense.

All in all, it was a disaster that, while it would be somewhat humorous in hindsight to all parties, was pure and utter chaos.

Chapter Text

1

It should be said that, although Shigaraki shouldn’t have been out and about according to Sensei, he had a feeling in his gut that told him to be near that bazar. And his gut lead him to a kid with the same shoes as him, running from two or three other NPCs.

Well then… He thought as he ran from his current predicament, that NPC will be important later, I presume?

And then his predicament almost caught up to him.

It should also be noted, before continuing on that train of thought, that according to all known laws of aviation, physics, and common sense, All for One should not be able to fly with his wheelchair. Its power and thrust are too small to support the behemoth that is All for One, along with his equally massive wheelchair.

All for One still hovers, of course, because his quirks and desires have no care for silly “physics”.

And, as Shigaraki can attest to, running from a man in a hovering wheelchair is not very fun. Especially when this man has nearly 2 centuries (if he’s to be believed) more time on this earth than Shigaraki. And a gear-stick capable of allowing acceleration that could equate to a rocket (though, of course, Sensei would never use that setting).

If it had to be expressed through math (one of Shigaraki’s best subjects thanks to his gaming), Sensei + Hacked In Wheelchair (trademark circa 2022) + Tomura’s lack of exercise = Overleveled_Enemy.jpg

To an outside observer, All for One racing on his wheelchair through halls, doors, and walls would look almost comical if it weren’t for the sheer intimidation factor.

All of these facts caught up to Shigaraki as he got the lecture and punishment of his life.

8

The pure and utter bedlam lasted 10 seconds, perhaps, before Inko’s exclamation. In those 10 seconds, Hisashi’s son began muttering about “ -teleport, but isitbasedonsight? Memory? Light? ButIthoughtIhadthetoejoint” , Inko began crying profusely (read: even more than usual), a nurse and doctor came by to check on what all the fuss was about. Hisashi, on the other hand, stood stock-still in the doorway, oblivious to the two medical professionals trying to get into the room.

What a way to have started the day. One moment I’m fighting the very system that beat me down, the next I’m calming my son and wife down from a panic attack, Hisashi noted. It would probably be a good idea to ground them, he thought further, seeing as how their shared anxiety and empathy are probably amplifying whatever panic the other is feeling.

But another, more curious, more methodical side of him noted that Izuku was mumble-ranting about how he “teleported from the hospital bed” and “but I shouldn’t have a quirk”, but most of all “shadows? Melting into them like that pre-quirk series about the greek gods? What the hell?!”.

That same side of him took note of his wife’s panicking on top of his son’s. The same mutter-rambling about quirks and vestigial toe joints and several threats to Aldera mixed in.

“So…” Hisashi trailed off. “Quirk manifestation?” he asked his son from the doorway.

At Izuku’s nod, he took a step forward. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend how Izuku, his flesh and blood, had a quirk. When it was physically, genetically impossible. 

With that first step forward, he shunted all that to the side. To the corner of the room Hisashi went to pick up Izuku. And from there to Inko’s side. With him holding the three together, they came out of their anxiety-induced panic attacks.

And little else mattered for the next half hour.

10

It was odd, knowing that her husband could read Inko and Izuku so well. Even though he couldn’t come home very often. Even though his generalized anxiety-depression was vastly different from that of her minor panic disorder, and just as different from her son’s too-strong empathy and social anxiety.

Even though his experiences differed so drastically, Hisashi was still able to know just how to comfort them. Knew just how to bring them together and use the two to cure the other’s anxiety.

As a testament to this, he had calmed them down so much that Izu had fallen asleep. Now that she was calmer, she could see the shadows under Izuku wrapping around him in a sort of embrace.

The rest of the hospital visit passed by in a sort of blur for Inko. It was similar to being on the edge of a panic attack; faces splotchy and near intangible, names and medical terms she should know but couldn’t seem to register.

The only anchors Inko could find on the precipice of panic were Izuku and Hisashi. Their faces stark while the specialists and nurses sped through their lives. While certainly a step up from spiraling until she couldn’t remember her own voice (let alone her precious son’s), she was still a ways away from being okay.

Maybe it’s the hospital? Inko mused.

A nudge to her side gave another step to waking up from the blurring around her. A deep, scratchy voice she associated with warmth and safety ( Hisashi, he’s scratchy and deep and warm and safe, she mused) spoke up from the direction she was nudged.

“Honey, I’d understand if you need a breather outside. We both know you have a… history with hospitals, to say the least.”

Part of her wanted to be outraged, to protect her little Izu and her not-as-put-together-as-he’d-seem husband. Part of her wanted to take whoever the voice belonged to and throttle them ( I’d never hurt Hisashi though ).

But a deeper, more put together part of herself recognized that Izuku and Hisashi were just as close-knit as she and her husband. That they would be fine, and she was only spiraling from the memories and the panic.

So Inko Midoriya walked to a nearby park, her location being shared with her husband for when Izu was discharged.

Nearby, a teenager only a few years older than Izuku sat with familiar red shoes, red irises, and blue hair. A brand of four-fingered gloves for 5-finger contact quirks covered each finger except for his pinkie on both hands.. The kid was very fidgety, and pulled on the gloves as though unused to them.

Katsuki and his burnt sugar scented, popping self was also in the park. From where Inko sat, he could be seen cornering another, skinnier kid.

Inko widened her eyes and gripped the painted wood underneath her hard to combat the way her stomach rolled.

Katsuki is the one hurting my son.

A simple fact that was obvious to anyone less busy, less oblivious, less sure that someone so smart and with such a history could do something so vile. A simple fact that left Inko Midoriya feeling blurrier than she was in the hospital.

7

Izuku Midoriya awoke suddenly, groggy and vision swimming. A sharp pain filled his chest, and the dream he’d had at the forefront of his thoughts.

Weird dream though. Melting through shadows and Mom finding out about all those scars?

“That wasn’t a dream dear.” Dad’s voice startled him out of his head.

His voice was… well, some might liken it to a crackling flame because of his quirk ( why does everything have to be because of a quirk , Izuku thought bitterly), but Izuku always thought it was just deep and scratchy with coughing from smoke. If he was emotional, there might be sparks and embers at the back of his throat, but Dad was calm and open and warm to Izuku. Enough so that he just melted back into calmness himself.

“It does mean that we’ll have to take those xrays again, get your paperwork sorted out.” Dad said, hugging Izuku until the world he was taught to shoulder wasn’t crushing him. “They said that you’re either rather unlucky that a villain slipped past the heroes on patrol, or that you’re incredibly lucky that whoever did this to you is so inexperienced.”

“I w’dn’t be s’prised an’way…” Izuku said into the side of his chest.

“Well, we’re going to have to talk about this, Zuzu.” He tensed at Hisashi’s words. “But it’s something we’ll have to discuss tonight.”

When Izuku refused to relax, Hisashi nudged him out of his embrace and tilted his son’s head up to him. “You know we only want to know why you have those scars and injuries ‘cause we want to help you, right?” His eyes stared right into mine. “Because we love you, right?”

Izuku nodded the smallest of nods, and went back to the crook he’d made between the side of his chest and under his arm.

“Lucky for the both of us, they’re just about done with us. Chest brace for your ribs, wrist brace for a sprain, and you’ll have to be careful of balance issues and blacking out from the aftereffects of your concussion.” Dad listed out, counting each on his fingers. “And that’s not to mention the starburst burn scars across your arms and back.”

The only other thing Izuku remembered about the visit was a quirk specialist coming into the room to hand his dad commission paperwork for the quirk Izuku had manifested.

9

Inko meandered back to her apartment, where Hisashi and Izu were sitting on the couch having what sounded to be a serious discussion.

They’re probably talking about quirks again… she thought as she closed the front door.

As she passed through the hallway, her room on the left and her son’s on the right, the serious, low voices gained clarity.

“-llain’ they called Firestarter actually had a water-based quirk?” Izu asked eagerly.

“Yep! Stumped the heroes for weeks until some undergrounder visited the scenes and saw that Firestarter was setting fires the hard way!” Hisashi responded animatedly.

“An underground hero… new because he was del… delegate?” Izu, bless him, paused and looked up to Sashi for affirmation. Once Hisashi nodded with a smile warm as his quirk, he continued with “delegated to a low-end case. And if they’re underground, they probably have a quirk that needs surprise to work…” Izuku’s fist goes to his chin in a very serious -- yet very cute -- thinking pose.

Stars fill Izuku’s eyes as he exclaims “Was it Eraserhead?! Or Ms. Joke? Or…” Cute, though Inko had to tune it out as she stepped backwards towards the baths. Izuku was naming hero after hero, and she was sure even Hisashi hadn’t heard some of the listed names yet, and the click-clack of a keyboard told her that Hisashi would be searching the hero names to find the faces and characters they belonged to.

2

Izuku hoped that his dad and mom would get swept up in his excitement. Easier to hide his… arguments, with Kacchan. The way his bullies (because that’s what they were, and he knew that firsthand) had started physically attacking him last year. Where their burn creams and bandages kept going.

How Bakugo’s nickname for him went from meaning ‘you can do it’ to ‘useless’.

But, as Mom came back from the shower, a lavender-vanilla scent wafting throughout the room, he knew there wouldn’t be deflecting or dodging their questions. Izuku could tell from her expression. One of tiredness, of sick realization. She looked when his uncle and cousins went missing, according to Dad’s description.

She looked like she’d just gone through Tartarus (like that character from Rick Riordan’s books), but the elevator hadn’t let Izuku up.

“Hisashi, honey.” she said, as if that was enough to say what she was feeling.

But Dad had a conversation with her via their eyes. Which Izuku thought was weird. How could they communicate so well?!

Dad reached to turn the computer off, to hide the remotes, and to rearrange the lounging area. The sofa and chair were moved, so Izuku and his parents formed a circle.

“Izuku.” he lifted his head at my mothers worried voice, slowly looking up at her as she got comfortable. “I know it’s been hard for you. We might not have lived what you’re going through, but we know about the burns that have gotten worse. About the hate and disgust you get for your lack of a quirk. And… well, we’re tired of watching it.”

Mom’s hand intertwined with Dad’s, the two of them letting Izuku mull this over.

They’re tired of watching? Do I need to hide it better or something?

“So, my green bean, we think it would be best if you take online classes. It’ll let you be graded fairly for once- yes we know about your ‘altered grades’.” she said at his shocked look. I didn’t think they’d noticed… “Zuzu, baby, you read science textbooks several grades above where you should be for fun, and don’t get me started on math. Plus, we want you away from those…” Mom took a deep breath to calm herself down, but she didn’t need to finish the sentence for the point to be made. “So, effective as-soon-as-possible, we’re dropping you out of Aldera.”

But… how am I gonna get into UA? And what about Kacchan?? If I’m not there-

“Zuku, you’re muttering again. And if Katsuki is the one giving you those burns, he’s not going to get the chance for UA.” Izuku’s eyes widened at that. Katsuki? Not going to UA? Preposterous; out of the question. “And those burns are in the shape of handprints and asterisks. Which isn’t painting a good picture, Zuzu. If you don’t tell us who’s hurting you, we’ll just have to inform UA that they need to do extensive background checks for everyone who applies from the Aldera chain in a few years.”

Izuku hurriedly racked my brain for a believable excuse. Villain attack? No, too frequent… Teacher’d cause a huge investigation… kids from other schools might work…

“Most of the stuff is from kids from other schools, actually. I ran into them today-” not a complete lie, I did run into them today “-and they’re the ones who hurt me.” Hurt me this bad, anyways.

“Izuku… sigh , why do you think katsuki needs protection?” Dad asked tiredly.

“Because he’s gonna be a great hero.” Izukudeclared.

“How is he now?” Izuku started to nod but hesitated. his eyebrow raised and the greenette couldn’t help but tilt my head in confusion. “He’s hurting you. Would you defend him if he was hurting your classmates?”

That drew a wince from Izuku.

“And what about your other classmates? Would you want them to be making laws? Defending you from the law? Would you want them to heal, to defend, when they’ve done nothing but hurt?”

A second wince and Izuku brought his knees to his chest. As if that action would defend him from the turn his thoughts were taking.

I… who else are they hurting? Who else are they teaching to hurt, teaching to hurt others like me?

“You don’t have to tell us who hurt you when right this instant. Between me never being home-” Hisashi Midoriya started and nodded to his wife.

“-and my powerlessness in politics and voicelessness in law, we haven’t protected you. And we both know that trusting us with that again is going to take some time.” Inko Midoriya, nee Shimura finished.

The members of this Midoriya family were natural criers. Between Inko’s mood swings, Izuku’s care about everything and sympathy crying, and Hisashi’s day-to-day repression, the tears they cried stained the whole apartment, and parts of the rest of the complex. Funnily enough, that’s how Inko met and fell in love with Hisashi.

Izuku never started their crying sessions anymore. But he had to admit, it was nice letting out his frustration and anger in the Midoriya fashion.

7

It was decided, after much deliberation and a bathtub worth of tears, that Izuku’s newfound quirk wouldn’t be registered until they knew more about it. A few weeks, then his semester would end and the three could go to change his quirk registration forms.

With the insanely long wait times and uncomfortable atmosphere.

That evening, away from the laughing family watching their favorite pre-quirk movies and joking about whatever came to mind, away from the poor neighborhoods and the beggars, three invisible figures lingered. They spoke with each other of regrets and a future. The future they’d not partake in.

One, a spiky haired figure in a cloak, whose voice could lull even the most petulant child to sleep. Voice with regrets and fear and anger. But also hope.

One a woman floating just off the ground, gloved hands fisted and eyes blazing with love and fury. Fury that even she couldn’t quantify, even she couldn’t explain.

And the last, a haze. An indistinct blob.

“So… howdya feel ‘bout the kid?” the one floating finally said in a jovial cadence.

“He’s had a rough time, I’ll give him that. But I don’t know if he’ll be ready in time.” responded the figure with a hooded cloak.

“He will be, Mister Edgelord Extraordinaire.”

“He has to be. And yet he won’t be enough. Not like this. Not against those monsters.” A moment of silence passed. “And screw you Miss Hero Complex.”

A scene played out in the last consciousness of the cloaked specter. One of pain, of loss, of anger. Where he, with his spiked hair, lost what let him fight. Let him survive.

Their conversation, though nobody else could hear it, lasted through the night, past when even the Midoriya family would finally rest.

After all, ghosts don’t need sleep.

2

According to his Dad, Izuku would start taking online classes soon. Both because Inko had heard… stories online about the only middle school close enough for Izuku to go to, and because they, as a family, were tired of the discrimination and hate.

And so, as Inko stood up to make dinner, Hisashi grabbed his laptop to look for schools with or near 100% online learning.

And Izuku… Well, what he did should have concerned his parents, but they were focused on their tasks. A new notebook ( ah, that fresh paper smell , Izuku thought), a sharpened pencil, and a plethora of ideas on a sheet of paper on the desk before him.

And with those ideas, he remembered the shock of the hospital. The surprise as he fell through the somewhat rickety bed, and ended up somewhere… weird .

Curious and somewhat afraid, he tried to do it again. Izuku focused and focused on the little spot on his bed (with all his non-All Might plushes, because even he could admit that the cacti and cats with faces were soft and huggable). He closed his eyes tightly and scrunched up his face…

And when he opened his eyes, he was still in his wooden chair. The hands on the backrest, painted on by him and Dad and Mom, still on his back.

Izuku sighed, and braced his legs to stand up, his arms already starting to collect his things.

And he tripped. Of course , he thought, why would I think anything else would happen?

And so Izuku fell. And fell. And… fell?

And finally, after waiting what felt like minutes when it should’ve been mere seconds, he landed. What he landed on was padded, sure, but it certainly wasn’t his bed. The bed he had had red, blue, and purple shapes all mixed in.

What he was on was an ugly blue that no respectable person would want in their home, according to his Mom. (One of the only reasons she’d gotten it, according to Dad.)

And next to Izuku was his dad, choking on either coffee or tea- Probably tea. Too late for coffee… thought Izuku- while the mug with the bitter smelling beige liquid was set down on a table nearby by Inko. Who was smiling happily, but that joy only barely reached her eyes.

Oh boy… she thought alongside her husband as their son apologized profusely, this’ll be a long few weeks, won’t it.

Chapter Text

12

Time went by quickly, or so Izuku thought. It had been several weeks after he’d gotten home and, despite some dizzy spells, the final exams for the semester, and accidental uses of his new quirk, it had been rather laid back.

Of course Bakugou was livid about the fact that his favorite punching bag was leaving, but his anger was more tolerable now that Izuku was sure he’d only see Bakugou in passing. And besides that, Izuku actually managed to score well on the higher grade of math and science.

Sure, I only got slightly above a passing grade in Japanese, but with how they were handing me blatantly unfair worksheets, and marking me for any answer that was even slightly incorrect, I’d say it was worth it. Izuku thought to himself as he walked through the bazaar to go home.

And, more importantly to his hero-obsessed brain, his parents agreed to pay for self-defense classes! They said that as long as he put in the work, and didn’t get into too much trouble, they’d let him go.

That was another change though: they weren’t really treating him like glass anymore. He wasn’t sure why, but they sure seemed to look at him differently after hearing what he went through. What had happened in the new school year wasn’t even that bad compared to last year.

When the other kids finally figured out that I wouldn’t get a quirk at all…

Pair all that with the fact that he had a sort of teleportation quirk, and he was enthused, ecstatic, bouncing off the walls!

The spring in his step wouldn’t stop even as he brushed his teeth that night, dead on his feet after a long day.

7

It was summer break at last, and the two Midoriya men were at the Department of Quirk-Related Affairs.

And the building receptionist, honoring receptionists for generations, was being absolutely, irrevocably, undeniably obtuse.

“So you’re saying that your son,” she started after hearing Hisashi’s explanation, “who was diagnosed quirkless- and by a medical professional I might add- isn’t quirkless?”

“That would be correct ma’am.” Hisashi affirmed.

“Can I see the documentation of your son’s new x-rays? He must’ve had another one on his foot if you’re this sure, after all.” she said in a condescending manner.

“Well, seeing as how he fell through his bed and into his shadow, then popped out of the corner of the room, I’d say his vestigial joint isn’t really important.” Hisashi responded as patiently as he could.

“Mhm… Well… If he doesn’t have proof of not having the vestigial joint, the process for changing his quirkless status is long and requires him to use his quirk in an enclosed space away from anyone who might give him assistance.”

As Hisashi mulled that over, she added “And it’s quite an expensive process if he really does have the joint.” The worker said no less condescending or belittling than before.

“I… suppose you wouldn’t allow us to at least note the fact that my son here is working on gaining control of his quirk? Some sort of period so that he can go about without the discrimination?” Hisashi asked disappointedly. And what’s worse, Izuku thought, was that it didn’t seem to be aimed at the mean lady.

“Mmmm-no.” she said in a faux-thinking pose. “Now, can you and… your son, please leave the premises so that other-” she coughed, but Izuku could hear her say ‘less dishonest’, “-sorry about that. Anyways, other people are in line.” She was met with a near-universal glare from every adult and child with a mutant quirk, and a bunch more besides from people without any obvious quirk (besides secondary quirks like levitating hair or discolored skin or hair) and a hobo in the corner.

“Wooow.” said the hobo, a white cloth around his neck and in black garbs. He had the HC logo on his shoulders, but definitely wasn’t a security guard. “I knew you lot were discriminatory, with my so called ‘villainous quirk’ and all, but this is a new low…” he judged in his deadpan, take-no-trouble voice.

“Quiet you.” the receptionist said haughtily. “If I remember correctly, this is a one time gig. You can still get kicked out, and then you won’t be able to further your career.”

The man shrugged. “Well, in that case…” He makes a show of coming to the front of the line, his hands in his pockets. Once in front of Izuku and his father, the hobo rips the patch-sticker-things off his shoulders. “I, personally, can’t and won’t work for quirkist bigots. Nor around them. So here.” He takes the ripped patches and puts them on the counter. “I’ll be going to talk with your boss now, seeing as how you’ve been rather unhelpful to these people.”

Wait, is his hair floating? And what’s that red light coming from his face?? Does the hobo security guard person have a telekinetic quirk?

“Nice eyes kid. Nah, though my family supposedly had one.” the hobo said amusedly, still glaring. After a moment of silence from all sides, the hobo’s hair fell back down, and he turned to walk past the batwing doors on the side of the counters. Before leaving, he turned to Izuku’s dad and said “Your son is rather smart. Good day.”

Well, that could’ve gone worse…

12

In between all the kerfuffle of his new quirk, Izuku had tests to take. The entrance exams for the online classes he’d be taking were… a thing to be sure.

Logging onto the computer (his mom’s, of course, as it was the most secure), he clicked on the school’s website’s icon. It took him straight to the tests, which wouldn’t let him in for another 10 minutes. With the red light on the camera on to indicate he was being recorded, he got up and grabbed what he thought he’d need for the test.

Everything from pencils and paper to reference notes that were pre approved by the administrators was sought out.

The notes were written densely, and the majority of them were simply things he’d written to trigger his memory.

The way the test was set up, he’d have a set time to answer as many questions as he could, and the ones he answered correctly would be weighed for each subject. There was a whole sliding scale, but that was neither here nor there.

Izuku didn’t really have an eye on the time he had left as he breezed through most of the questions. The exam had questions on everything from basic addition and subtraction to orbital mechanics, from recent events and states of matter to a very select letter from some dude in America named George Washington and quantum biology.

Eventually the time allotted to him passed over and the application froze. He closed it out and let the browser load.

Lo and behold he had his results. Without really looking at it or thinking more on it, Izuku printed the results out and set them on his mom’s desk.

Once that was done he hopped back into the unfairly comfortable chair in front of his mom’s desk and did more research. He was halfway through a rather interesting article on the outdated use of the Quirk Classification System.

It talked about how “Mutation” quirks are a misnomer as all quirks technically mutate the body, as well as how “Emitter” and “Transformation” quirks use outdated terms that were quirkist and slang at best. That shot him down a rabbit hole of how the government uses these terms in rather questionable ways for how sophisticated they seem to be.

8

Mom and Dad had left Izuku mostly to his own devices after the office debacle. So what else was there to do besides go to a park near the apartments so he could test out his quirk?

Trouble was found in the form of bruising and hijinks, but at the end of the day it was well worth it to Izuku. He trudged home later that evening. Information in a cipher he’d come up with at the behest of his dad, written in notebooks organized somewhat haphazardly to be translated and further organized later. Questions were answered, and then expanded upon to create dozens more about the science and minutia of what he’d dubbed ‘Shadow Jumper’.

At least, Izuku thought, I finally have a quirk of my own to study.

9

It had been a week since the incident at the government office, and already there were talks of protests at the Department of Quirk Related Affairs Office Izuku and Hisashi Midoriya had gone to.

Apparently, thought Hisashi wryly, when your clientele sees your workers being bigots, there’s a rather large outcry.

Though, there wasn’t much time to be smug for anyone at the Midoriya household. There just wasn’t the time, what with Hisashi having to return to work in Tokyo, his employers talking of sending him to America again for a rather large lawsuit that could influence international views on quirks, Inko needing to mediate (and in some cases, translate) between the peoples of her think tank, what with the team of 12 arguing over the most cost efficient and humane way for the city to clean up the… dirtier neighborhoods of Takoba, and Izuku starting a new semester for online classes soon.

At least - Inko thought, the work I’m doing will let me get back in touch with the Uraraka family. Their construction business could use some long term jobs.

All in all, the morning saw quite a lot of running around and yelling, be it “Where did my train pass go” or “Hisashi, dear, you forgot your wallet again!”.

When the dust cleared, two heads of green sat down in the apartment. One at the dining room table, and the other at the desk in their room.

“Thank heavens Zuku tested out of his grade. Might actually have something to talk about for once.” mused Inko where she sat in the dining room. I know how stifling it was. And I’m sorry I put you through that. she didn’t say.

She could hear her son moving around in his room muttering all the while. Still doing homework, but able to express himself much more healthily. Inko found the noise tolerable, soothing even, after being in a quiet house for most of her day for several years.

In his room, Izuku worked on the videos about quirk theory, an elective he’d chosen with his parents. It wasn’t much different from what he’d been doing with his notebooks, so he had little to no issue with it. Another class he and his Mom had allotted for the day was math. Izuku liked the numbers, the patterns: like the way he could practically visualize them all and combine steps in the problems to make it easier.

His mom did make sure he paired up his easy classes with harder ones though. So he had ( shudder ) his language and history classes to complete today as well. With how things were going, and because it was a self paced class that had to be completed by the end of the semester (not on the last day of the semester), he felt confident that he could get a little ahead of Elementary Quirk Theory.

Before he knew it the alarm for a break went off at an inopportune time. He was reading a rather interesting article about how “opposite” quirks (like fire and water manipulation quirks) blended to make a wide range of quirks based around both parent quirks (Steam vs Temperature manipulation, for example).

That had been another ground rule. That he had to let his brain rest in between classes. Sure, recess and lunch were a thing, but his Mom had allotted a lot more leisure time throughout the day in 10 to 15 minute breaks. It was rather odd having more than one break, but Izuku also supposed that he’d started his schoolwork an hour or two earlier than usual.

After his break and history, as he’d decided to do it first, he had lunch with Mom. The smell of a simple curry filled the house. Not as spicy as Bakugo liked it, but definitely enough that he’d feel his eyes water by the end of it.

Just how he and his mom liked it.

Izuku walked out of his room and turned right towards the kitchen. At his mother’s prompting, he began to explain what he’d learnt and what it meant to him.

The babbling during lunch was something neither was fully used to, but both he and his mother decided they liked it.

11

Months had passed since Izuku left Aldera, and Bakugo Katuski was not a happy camper. He wasn’t even an upset camper.

He was a malcontent, simply and sinisterly angry camper.

Deku had run away, blabbed on him to his mother, and had his father threaten the entire Aldera School Board of Assholes to stop letting him teach the extras around him the lessons they were due. 

What’s more is that because Deku had blabbed, he’d had the things he liked taken away by his damn folks. He wasn’t escorted to and from school, but they threatened to start if he didn’t come straight home after the day had finished. They’d limited the foods he liked, too, making sure he knew that the spices were off limits until they deemed otherwise.

All that he could’ve dealt with, his issue was more the problem of Deku’s role in his life. Or, rather, his lack of appearance in any aspect in Katsuki’s life. His old Hag had made it rather clear that he wasn’t to go near Deku’s apartment, especially until he stopped calling Deku by the name he’d come up with.

In her own words, “I’m not going to let you see or talk to him until I know you won’t do or say something you’ll regret, ya yappin’ brat.”

I don’t know what she fuckin’ means, but I’m not backing down on calling him Deku. He thought as he walked home glumly. Hopefully I can figure out what she really means before the lack of spice in my food drives me batshit.

8

It was rather irritating, Izuku thought as he teleported into a wall for the umpteenth time, to have to learn to control a quirk.

What rubbed salt on his wounds was the fact that he was years behind everyone else. Years behind discovering and planning and learning the ins and outs of this quirk.

It was a little disheartening, knowing that he only had a scant three years before he had to know his quirk inside out. Know how to fight, and have some kind of advantage, especially when everyone else had had about ten years to find their way.

Knowing that he was behind was disheartening, sure, but it lit a fire in his eyes as well. Izuku would get into UA’s hero course if he had to face villains to do so.

Wait… facing villains… I wonder what the self-defense laws for someone legally quirkless are…

And thus began a rabbit hole of research even Inko couldn’t really pull him out of.

After all, he thought that night as his fingers raced along his keyboard, only stopping to write something in his journals, even if I never use my quirk I can still use what Mamma-doriya made sure to nurture. Maybe I won’t be the best fighter, but maybe I can still keep up without my quirk?

7

One late night, two separate creatures were doing anything but sleeping.

One was white, fuzzy, and shorter than most children. It was rather normal for said creature to be up at this hour, and what they were doing was also rather benign in their view.

The other, a small green child whose late night research had pinged the former’s computer, was looking up vigilante laws, and their self-defense clauses.

An excerpt from the journal this information was transcribed to would read, in a code the green gremlin and their father had devised for sensitive information, would read the following: 

“It is unclear whether these laws should apply to those who are registered quirkless, as False Negatives are generally a societal myth, or those who are as good quirkless. Nonetheless, as I am registered as quirkless I would be questioned and released with a warning and a change in documentation. So long as I,

• Refrain from using this quirk in any capacity as Izuku or for self defense,
• Don’t run into a truth quirk, or as long as they don’t ask if I knew of my quirk,
• Used non-lethal force (duh!), nor cause any undue injuries,
• And, most importantly, allow the villain to attack me first or catch them attacking or threatening someone else.

They physically cannot persecute me as long as all of the above are true. Of course, the truth quirk is both unlikely to happen, and I can have it put on record that I didn’t use my new quirk to fight while under their quirk.

Of course, there really isn’t a reason to do any of this, and if anyone finds this later on this is all to scratch a mental itch. This is not to skirt the law, nor to hold one over on any heroes. I am simply curious by nature.”

A similar note was written, though this one digital, by the fuzzy white being. It simply detailed that there might be a new vigilante soon, as tracing the IP was both detrimental to the furry creature’s goals and would no doubt hinder whatever activities this new vigilante would wreak on the broken system that tormented them and their new find.

Well, that and a footnote that simply read ‘>:)’.