Work Text:
***
Izuku’s finger is twitching.
He watches it for a moment and it’s fast, almost vibrating. It’s stiff and his pencil twists out of his hand without his index finger gripping and holding it in place. When it taps against the floor, Izuku flinches harder than he needs to—nobody really notices, thankfully—and Izuku watches the way his entire hand shakes as he reaches for it. He grabs it just fine, hand still trembling and he watches it for a moment, holding it over his paper with sentences in English, squinting his eyes at it curiously, studying it.
He hasn’t had it in a while.
He doesn’t really know what it is, when it started or why, but it’s been a thing for a while.
Izuku’s anxiety is bad, and he’d assumed that’s what this had been when it first started years and years ago. He was convinced he’d psyche himself out and, as a result, be his own reason for the horrible days and situations he constantly found himself in.
But he liked to think of them as warnings now. Intuition, maybe.
Something bad is going to happen.
It starts with a hand, and then a tug in his gut, an itch that he can’t scratch. The tug feels more like nausea today than anything, and he’s getting to his feet, palms against the surface of his desk, chewing on the inside of his lip.
Present Mic doesn’t notice straight away, but Mineta does, sitting right behind him. His high voice sounds sharp to Izuku and somehow makes his stomach turn.
“Midoriyaaa,” Mineta whines, pencil tapping against his desk. “I can’t see the board! Unless you’ve got a presentation on tits prepared: we’re not interested.”
Izuku’s face screws and Mineta’s comment in itself pulls the attention of more classmates than Izuku’s comfortable with.
“Mineta, you’re literally so fucking disgusting, it’s not even funny,” Jirou scoffs, putting in her earbuds.
Mineta groans. “It’s not like I was talking about you, anyway!”
“Dude, shut up.” Kaminari tosses something in Mineta’s direction. “But why are you up, Midoriya? You got anything to say?”
“Midoriya!!” Present Mic’s attention is grabbed. He taps his marker against the whiteboard, grinning at Izuku with raised brows. “You don’t look good! Asking for a pass to Recovery Girl? She won’t be happy, you know! Lemme write one up!”
“N-no, I’m fine,” Izuku mutters. “I’m—fine, I just. Need to use the bathroom? If that’s okay?”
Present Mic holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine by me, kiddo! If you’re sick, though, head to Recovery Girl, anyways! Text one of your friends to inform me of your dismissal properly, yeah?” He waves his hand and is back to the board.
Izuku hums with a nod. He drops his pencil on the desk and is quickly dragging himself toward the door and out of the classroom the next moment. The nausea is rolling over him in waves, cold sweats running down his neck as he sways and his right hand is still trembling. Something bad is going to happen. Something is happening. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.
It’s different from anxiety-driven thoughts. They aren’t racing, they aren’t going thousands of miles a second, they aren’t overlapping, suggesting, and offering up implausible situations and thoughts and theories—they’re clear and direct and so vague. Something is wrong, something is happening, something is wrong.
Izuku pushes through the bathroom doors and the stalls—practically collapsing to his knees and hardly reaching the toilet before he’s vomiting. His fingers grip the edge of the toilet seat, knees drawing up and stomach constricting repulsively as he gives up his breakfast and coughs until his throat is aching. It hurts, he feels sick, and something is wrong. He doesn’t know what it is, but his head is throbbing at the back and his hand is shaking, pinky curling unpleasantly. Something is wrong.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and the quick movement against him is enough to make Izuku lurch forward again, squeezing his eyes shut and coughs echoing off the walls of the stall and toilet bowl. Izuku presses the back of his shaking hand to his running nose and wet lips and uses his good one to pull from his pocket, which buzzes twice more.
(11:18 AM) Uraraka: You ok???
(11:18 AM) Uraraka: Tell me if you’re sick! Iida and I will bring your stuff!
(11:19 AM) Uraraka: And Tsu & Todoroki will find a reason to come lol.
(11:19 AM) Uraraka: Srsly you ok??
(11:19 AM) Iida: While I do not condone texting in class, please let Uraraka or me know if you are alright or will be heading to Recovery Girl. We will get your stuff and help you back to the dorms if needed. Do not return if you are sick, Midoriya.
Izuku shuts his eyes and falls back against the wall of the stall with a large breath. He isn’t sick. And he wants to brush this off as anxiety, which he could. He could. But it’s different.
Telling the others he’s worried about something would also be pointless: the weird intuition thing is for purely personal situations. If something is going to go wrong — it’s going to go wrong for him. Something’s wrong for him, he’ll get put in a horrible situation. He doesn’t know if he can stop it, either.
He’s never been able to.
Izuku breathes in for four seconds, holds it for seven, and releases in eight. Whatever it is isn’t life-threatening. It’s never been. Unbearable and awful and has maybe made him want it to be life-threatening, but never actually life-threatening. No matter how much it felt like it.
It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He always is.
Izuku gets to his feet, responding to his friends to tell him he’ll be back in class as he situates himself.
And then he is back in class and he feels great. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.
Izuku’s hand still trembles as he’s going over the rest of the notes and exercises for English. (He ignores it.)
The next two classes pass by without any incident and by lunch—the nausea has faded, the trembling stopped, and Izuku’s almost convinced it was just a really sudden panic attack for no reason. The thoughts that are racing as he’s walking with his friends down to lunch are clearly in anxiety and he can’t—exactly stop them, so he lets them all race as he hums and nods to his friends whenever he catches on to whatever they’re speaking about.
Izuku gets his plate of katsudon, sets it on the table, and gets in his seat.
He slaps a palm to his lips and throws his other arm over his stomach with a gag, eyes practically bulging.
“Deku!” Uraraka says, her hand is immediately on his arm. “Hey, you okay? Are you actually sick? Heyy, we told you to go back to the dorms!!”
“Midoriya,” Iida’s tone is stern and disapproving and Izuku can’t—can’t—“I told you if—”
Izuku can’t hear him.
His hand trembles violently, leg bouncing as he squeezes his eyes shut. Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is happening—something’s wrong. He gasps and starts panting against his palm as sweat beads his forehead, races down his neck in sticky, warm trails, and his eyes dart around the large lunchroom.
Something is happening. Something is wrong.
“Midoriya,” Todoroki grabs Izuku’s attention with a cool hand on his wrist. Izuku’s eyes flicker to his and he blinks. Todoroki tilts his head. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
Izuku swallows and it makes his chest tight.
“Sor—sorry.” He mumbles, fingers curling into his palms. He wipes his brows and slightly shakes his head. “I’m—sorry. It’s nothing. I just—I’m not feeling well.” The corner of his eyes sting and his face burns because he doesn’t know what it is, but something is definitely, most certainly, wrong.
“Well, then we’ll take you to Recovery Girl,” Uraraka says, rubbing his upper arm encouragingly. “Come on. You should've gone hours ago. If you aren’t feeling well, you have to say that, Deku.”
“Uraraka is right,” Iida adds. “You can’t save others if you haven’t saved yourself first, Midoriya. Which is why you must take care of yourself.”
Izuku’s head hurts. He wants to say he doesn’t need to go to Recovery Girl—he isn’t sick and something’s wrong, something’s going to happen, but he doesn’t—“okay,” he mutters with a huff. They won’t let him get through the day like this, he knows that. He’ll just have to suck it up. Izuku groans. “Okay, but can you guys—”
“Oh, my god?”
Izuku forgets all about his nausea and his head whips in the direction of the shout. It’s Mina. She’s staring at her phone, eyes wide, lips parted. She jolts and drops her phone onto the table, eyes even wider.
“Oh, my fucking god!”
Then she looks up, and her wide eyes are on Izuku. His stomach drops so violently, that the tips of his fingers ache. Izuku watches as Kaminari and Sero’s heads knock together to look down at Mina’s phone on the table from different sides.
“Holy shit.” Kaminari hisses, wide eyes looking to Sero at the same time Sero’s wide eyes look to Kaminari’s. “Holy shit, fuck, what—dude, is that real? Dude??” Sero and Kaminari turn their heads and just like Mina, their wide eyes land on Izuku.
“What is that about?” Todoroki asks. “What did they see?”
“Wait, lemme see? … Lemme see, Kaminari—dude,” Izuku watches Kirishima wrestle Kaminari for the device. Kirishima wins in the end, and Kacchan is looking over Kirishima’s shoulder for all of three seconds, and—“oh my god,” Kirishima hisses.
He drops the phone—Kacchan catches it before it hits the floor. He stares at it for two more seconds, and then promptly shuts it off, sliding it over to Mina, and mumbles something that has Mina furiously nodding.
“No seriously,” Tsu says this time. “What are they watching? What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Iida says.
“Yeaahh… Dunno! But we have to get Deku to Recovery Gi—!” Uraraka stops when her phone pings. Izuku looks at her, and she looks at Izuku. And then she reaches for her phone.
Izuku holds his breath—he thinks the entire table does—as he watches Uraraka click on whatever notification she’s just received. Her face is blank for a good two seconds, and then her eyes are growing increasingly in size.
She sucks in a sharp breath, and she clicks her phone off. Her grip on it is so tight that her knuckles are turning white and her eyes quickly look up to Izuku’s.
There are four pings around him. Iida’s phone. Asui's. Todoroki’s.
His.
Izuku’s trembling hands grab his phone to check the notification.
(12:47 PM) Unknown: Hero students!! Have u seen this??
Izuku taps it, gripping his phone as he gets closer to the screen.
Izuku sees—green curls and tear-stained, freckled cheeks. The tears are pouring from eyes that are squeezed shut. The camera jolts and shifts for a better view and Izuku sees—he shuts off his phone with a gasp, hands trembling more violently than they have the entire day. His chest is heavy and he’s breathing hard and fast in panic.
Ping!
(12:48 PM) Unknown: Defenseless Izuku. Weaker than you know. Right? Lol.
Izuku grabs his phone, quickly shoves it into his pants pockets, and then gets to his feet.
Uraraka already looks like she’s tearing up as she stares at Izuku with wide eyes. “What… Deku, what was—”
”Ochaco.” Tsu says. She very carefully shakes her head.
”Midoriya,” Todoroki says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. His eyes are careful, tracing Izuku’s every move. “Are… Are you alright?”
Izuku doesn’t say anything. He blinks. His chest feels heavy, throat tight. He lets out a breath, and says nothing.
“Deku…” Uraraka says, grabbing his wrist. “Hey, Deku. Wait—we have to tell Mr. Aizawa and Principal Nezu. So they can… Track this number or—”
“Yes!!” Iida calls, far too loud. He rushes to clear his throat and moves to stand in front of Izuku, moving his hands frantically. “I - I mean, I agree with Uraraka. We need to take this to the authorities and—”
“Do what you want,” Izuku cuts him off, snapping himself out of his trance. He pulls his arm away from Uraraka, folding his fingers into his palm so tight, his nails dent his skin. “Everyone’s already seen it. It doesn’t matter.”
“Midoriya—” Todoroki starts, once more.
Izuku hugs his arms around himself. He doesn’t… He doesn’t think he can. He doesn’t know what he can’t do, but he can’t. Izuku ignores his friends, keeping his arms tight around himself as he averts everyone’s eyes and rushes out of the cafeteria.
When he gets back to the classroom, Aizawa is grading papers in his yellow sleeping bag, so despite Izuku wanting to make quick work of grabbing his bag and heading out—
“Going somewhere?” His teacher drawls, not looking up at Izuku.
Izuku freezes, holding his bag tight. He sucks in a thin breath and pushes a smile onto his face before turning around, lifting his voice.
“Sorry! Turns out I am feeling a little sick… I went to Recovery Girl and she said I should go back to the dorms for rest… I probably should’ve already left back in English. Sorry!”
“Don’t apologize if you’re sick,” Aizawa mumbles, tapping his pen against his paper. “Go rest.”
“Ri—right! Sorry!” Izuku freezes. He just apologized again.
Aizawa raises a brow at him and nods his head in the direction of the door. “Work on that.”
“Yes sir…”
Izuku’s out the next second.
He practically jogs his way back to the dorms. As soon as he gets through the doors of Heights Alliance and sets his shoes near the door, he bends over with a gasp, breathes in shakily, and exhales a sob.
He presses his palms to his wet cheeks and hiccups in the silence of the common room as the events he’d buried a long time ago resurface.
***
Izuku didn’t think there’d ever be a day he’d be begging for Kacchan to catch him after school.
But here he was, rushing back, breathing fast, sweaty palms gripping the straps of his backpack. He’s thinking of running, but he somehow knows that won’t turn out well for him. If this was Kacchan he was dealing with, then he wouldn’t bother: Kacchan would kick him around for a few minutes, spit a couple of insults, and then get bored after. Overall harmless compared to what the others would do.
“Start filming,” one of them says.
He looks like the leader, standing with his chest puffed out and lips quirked evilly.
Izuku knows this guy: Asuka Tadani.
He’s captain of the baseball club and he and Izuku have crossed paths more than a few times. He isn’t friendly, doesn’t look it, and doesn’t try to hide the fact that he isn’t either. He hates Izuku, arguably, more than Kacchan does. Izuku thinks a lot of people actually despise him more than Kacchan does. He isn’t sure why—maybe it’s because Kacchan is still trying to become a hero so he has to hold back. Maybe it’s because of that, that he can’t bring himself to go too far. Maybe it’s because they used to be friends.
Or maybe there are just people simply worse than Kacchan. It makes Izuku sick.
“So this is Defenseless Izuku?” One of the guys says—he has curly blue hair and a kind face. Izuku would guess he’s harmless. And maybe he is to anyone who isn’t scum. Anyone who isn’t worthless trash. “Damn. He’s so fucking tiny and frail. You sure he won’t break?”
They get closer despite how far back Izuku’s walked.
“Who fucking cares if he breaks?” The guy’s friend says through a cackle.
Izuku starts running before either of them says anything else.
He wishes Kacchan were the one chasing him.
Izuku can’t breathe and he doesn’t know where he’s going, tears blurring his vision—but he’s tackled and he eats a face full of dirt and grass. Izuku groans and winces at the way both Asuka and his friend pull and twist his arms to tac them behind his back.
“No, no—I have - I—I have to get home—home! Please, please, please—”
“You have to get home?” Asuka sneers. His voice is gravelly, breaths hot against Izuku’s cheek and his hands squeeze and pinch Izuku’s arms. “To who? Your parents don’t actually love a Quirkless freak like you, do they? Don’t lie. You’re a Deku. Disgusting—weak, useless fucking Deku.”
“I’m not weak—” Izuku sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m going to be a hero!”
There’s silence. Two, three, four, five seconds of silence.
And then Asuka grips Izuku’s arms tighter and twists them hard enough to make Izuku cry out at the sharp pain.
“Peri—do—do you hear this!?” Asuka chokes through his loud laughter. “You’re filming right?”
“I heard him,” Peri says, shifting so his phone is in Izuku’s face. “And I’m filming.”
Izuku closes his eyes and turns his head—his chin is grabbed before he gets very far.
“Open your fucking eyes. Now.” Asuka hisses. Izuku pries his eyes open quickly, lips trembling as he stares back into brown irises. Asuka is seething — he looks so angry. “Oh yeah, Deku? You’re gonna be a hero? Hmm? Why don’t you tell everyone. Look at the camera and tell everyone what you’re gonna do.”
Izuku sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, lifting his eyes to the camera.
He looks away.
“No,” he mutters. “I—no.”
He can’t. He can’t.
“Tell them.” Asuka twists his arms tighter. “Tell them what you told us, Deku! Tell the fucking world what you’re gonna do.”
He’s dealt with physical pain. He can do this—it’s fine.
Izuku shakes his head furiously. “No.”
Asuka growls, violently letting go of Izuku’s arms in aggravation. “Fine!”
Izuku stupidly thinks that’s the end of it.
But then Asuka grabs the back of Izuku’s uniform as purchase to flip him over onto his back and into the dirty grass. Izuku’s eyes squeeze shut in pain—and they snap back open when hands are at the front of his uniform, messing with the buttons.
“What are you doing?” Izuku shouts, slapping at his hands.
“Hold his arms down, Peri!”
“Dude, I’m filming.” Peri finds a way to do it, though, pulling Izuku’s arms over his head with one hand, using his other to film Izuku upside down.
Asuka continues to tear at Izuku’s clothing and Izuku kicks him. “Stop it! Stop stop stop—please, don’t do this—don’t do this, please—”
“You gonna be a hero, Deku?” Asuka sneers around a cackle. “You should be able to fight me off! I’m not even using my Quirk and you still can’t do anything about it. How pathetic. But you’re gonna be a hero, right? How're you gonna save lives when you can’t even save yourself, hmm? Defenseless Izuku. Fucking disgusting Deku.”
Asuka grabs at Izuku between his legs and Izuku sobs as he clamps them shut. He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his chin up to the sky. His face burns, his ears are ringing, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—
“Nonono—stop!!”
“How about you tell the camera you’ll never be a hero, then!!” Asuka closes a fist around Izuku again, over the fabric of his pants, and Izuku chokes on his tears in pain and embarrassment and shame and humiliation. Asuka yanks down his pants. “Tell us you’ll fucking give up—” his, his hands are inside his underwear—“tell us you’ll stop fucking trying.”
“I’ll stop!!” Izuku shouts, voice raspy, breaking around his cries, hiccuping. “I promise I’ll stop, I’ll stop—I’ll never be a hero, I’ll—never, never—never be a hero, I’ll stop trying, just please, please, please don’t do this to me! Don’t do this, I’ll stop, I’ll stop—”
There’s a bit of hesitation, but Asuka does pull away, shoving Izuku’s legs away from him like they’re poison. It’s over. It’s over, it’s over.
He gets to his feet and Peri does as well, camera still directly on him—they’re all breathing heavy, and despite Izuku’s crying it seems so quiet. Izuku covers his face as soon as Asuka leans forward, and he’s right to—Asuka spits at him and Izuku pulling on his bottom lip does nothing to quiet his sobs.
“If I find out you’re still trying,” Asuka says, kicking his side. Lamely, compared to everything he’s just done. “I’ll release the video. Remind you of how fucking defenseless you are—I’ll show everyone. And nobody’ll care, either. Nobody would give a fuck because you’re Quirkless and you’re nothing—you were asking for it. That’s what I’ll say. So don’t try telling, either… Come on, Peri. You can turn it off now.”
The phone’s lowered and the both of them are shuffling away after that, running fast, hissing beneath their breath.
Izuku is left on the grass to stare up at the sky through his blurred vision. His face is messy with snot and tears and spit, his throat aches from his screaming, his sides ache, everything hurts.
He is still breathing fast and tears are still pouring over.
Izuku rolls onto his side, he winces when he leans over to fix his shirt and he starts sobbing again when he has to adjust his underwear, his pants. He feels violated and worthless and so disgusting. Like something inside of him—he doesn’t know what, he can’t find out what it is—has been ripped out of his stomach, stolen and destroyed. Torn to shreds and left on the ground to rot. Something in him feels missing, it’s just—gone. It’s gone.
He wants it back. Izuku doesn’t know what it is, what was taken, but he wants them to give it back.
Izuku’s crying continues as he collects his things, continues as he gets to his feet to start on his way home, stops halfway there so he has enough time to dry his face and collect himself before he gets all the way back.
And by the time he’s opening the door to his home, his face is dry and he’s met with the smell of curry that he knows he won’t be able to stomach for the night. He is going to take a shower and lay in bed and watch All Might videos and pretend everything that just happened, did not happen.
Izuku kicks off his shoes. “I’m—I’m home.”
“Welcome home, sweetie!” His mother calls from the kitchen. “How was school today?”
Izuku sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut.
He breathes in, and he breathes out.
“It was great, mom.”
***
Izuku spends the rest of the afternoon snacking on sweets and with his head buried in his analysis notebooks. His ultimate comfort, both of them. He flips through the pages, crossing out and adding notes and scribbles and recent information. He’ll have to make a new one for combat styles for his classmates, actually, because they’ve definitely changed and improved their styles over the course of a couple of months.
He receives text messages from multiple classmates throughout his time alone.
While he’s making himself a bowl of ice cream:
(12:58 PM) Iida: We have decided to tell Mr. Aizawa. He and Principal Nezu will take care of the video and trace the senders immediately.
(12:58 PM) Iida: I am sure they are also going to investigate the perpetrators in the video and this entire situation. You may be called for questioning, so try not to be alarmed.
(12:58 PM) Iida: Please talk to me, or any of your friends, if you feel like you need it… If you are feeling hopeless. We are all here for you, remember? We are your friends, Midoriya! We care. :)!
When he’s just getting started on his newest analysis book:
(1:10 PM) Uraraka: Give me some names and I’ll knock their damn teeth in, Deku. I’m serious!!
(1:11 PM) Uraraka: Ok, but seriously. You’re my best friend, Deku… Did you feel like you couldn’t tell me about this? I love you and I mean it.
(1:11 PM) Uraraka: I. Love. You. I’m here for you no matter what!! Mr. Aizawa will take care of this. We’re all here when you need us. Promise… We love you!!!
When he’s making himself another bowl of ice cream:
(1:43 PM) Todoroki: You’ve been there for me many times, Midoriya. I want to be there for you as well. Please remember you can talk to me about anything.
(1:43 PM) Todoroki: 😛
Izuku frowns at the message, squinting at the small emoticon and brows drawing in confusion.
(1:43 PM) Todoroki: Sorry. I’m not actually sure how to use emojis.
And the rest come in during the hours where the TV is on for white noise and Izuku is completely in the flow of scribbling and noting:
(1:57 PM) Asui: You can tell us anything, you know. We’re friends and we care about you. (:
(1:59 PM) Asui: Also, please change my contact name to Tsu.
(2:00 PM) Kirishima: Midoriya!!! Please talk to us when you’re up for it ASAP!! We LOVE u man! We’re here for u 100%
(2:03 PM) Kaminari: here 4 u, dude
(2:03 PM) Kaminari: srsly, mido. we rlly luv u
(2:17 PM) Mina: Midoriya, we’re seriously here for you, ok? We love you Mido!!
(2:21 PM) Jirou: I’m sure you’re getting a lot of messages, but we all mean what we’re saying. We’re here if you need us and aizawa and the other teachers are taking care of, like, everything
(2:45 PM) Tokoyami: Here if needed.
(2:47 PM) Tokoyami: <3
(2:47 PM) Tokoyami: that was an accident.
(2:50 PM) Kacchan: We need to talk.
Thirty minutes before classes are set to be released, Izuku gathers his things and heads to his room. Based on all the messages he received—everyone’s going to want to talk to him, and he… Can’t handle that. The silence of having the dorms to himself was great and he wishes it could stay that way for a while. Even though it’s been hours after the messages were sent, it all still feels like too much, it feels like too much is going on.
Every time Izuku thinks about it, his stomach sinks and his chest gets heavy and he feels like he’s going to be sick. The entire incident on its own is bad enough but it arguably isn’t the worst thing in the world.
What’s worse is they all know now.
The humiliation and embarrassment he feels for himself by himself are suffocating enough. But he can’t—he can’t stand in the same room and talk to people he’s only been strong around after they’ve seen—that.
It’s awful. It makes his legs shake and his insides feel torn and all he wants to do is sob endlessly at the fact that they know, they know, they know. They’ve seen it—they’ve seen it, seen him.
Flushed, sweaty, snotty face, curls messy, completely at the mercy of a couple of bullies who weren’t even using their Quirks. They’ve seen him touched, and it makes him feel dirtier than the day it happened. Everything inside of him has somehow spilled out—his blood, his guts, he’s covered in and kneeling over everything that’s supposed to stay buried deep inside of his chest and he is dying.
(If Izuku thinks about it too long, he really will succumb to tears and choking sobs, and he’s pathetic enough already. No need to prove the text right.)
But he can’t—get over how much everything he’s built for himself is now ruined. He isn’t supposed to be defenseless Izuku. A ruined and disgusting and pathetic Deku at UA.
He leads and he smiles and he fights and fights and pushes at UA. He’s the Deku who does his best, the Deku who inspires others, encourages others—the Deku who can fight whatever is thrown at him because he is strong. Because All Might chose him. Because he is going to be number one. That’s what he’s supposed to be. He will not let it be destroyed. He will not.
He can feel his reputation crumbling when there are knocks at his door.
Izuku jumps, fingers gripping the edges of his notebook papers as he looks up at it. Nothing happens for a bit and Izuku’s shallow breathing in the quiet of his room is the only thing heard.
And then there are another couple of knocks.
“Deku?” Uraraka’s voice is muffled through the door and she taps against it more gently this time. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”
Izuku pulls on his lip. “Please, don’t.”
“Then do you want to talk just like this?” There’s weight against his door and Izuku can only assume she’s sat against it. “Back to back like in all the stupid cliche movies Todoroki likes to make us watch.”
“They are not stupi—”
“Ssh! I’m the only one who’s supposed to be here!”
“Uraraka,” Izuku hears Iida’s voice. “I don’t think being dishonest in this situation is—” he’s cut off with a ribbit from Tsu.
Uraraka groans. “Oh, my god.”
Izuku’s lips twitch up.
He honestly should have known.
These are his friends he’s dealing with. His friends. It makes sense they’d all gather outside of his door for some kind of conversation. Izuku sighs and forces himself to set down his newer combat analysis book to make his way over to the door. He sits with his back against it, resting his chin on his knees and hugging his arms around his legs.
“He’s here,” Todoroki says.
Izuku can hear and identify the voices better now that he’s closer.
“Hey, Deku,” Uraraka says.
“Hi, Uraraka.” Izuku says. “...And Todoroki. And Iida. And Asu—”
“Call me Tsu.”
“Right.” Izuku presses his cheek further against his knee and sighs. “So… Mr. Aizawa is taking care of it. He isn’t—going to contact them, is he?”
“Of course, he is,” Uraraka says immediately. Izuku can hear the heat in her voice even through the door. “And if he doesn’t, I will.”
Izuku purses his lips.
“How much of the video did you watch?” Izuku asks. And then, he thinks better of it. “Actually, don't answer that. Nevermind.”
“You know they committed a crime right?” Tsu says, voice more croaky than usual. “That wasn’t even just bullying. It goes further than that.”
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and holds his legs tighter, closer to his chest. So they got to that part. They watched enough—they watched it. They saw it. They know. They know. Izuku wipes the back of his hands over his cheeks.
He just wants to stop talking about this.
He wants to stop feeling the hands and the heat and the wetness of everything on his face—it takes him too far back, takes him back to a time that he pretends doesn’t exist. A time that doesn’t exist in his mind for UA Deku. UA Deku is strong—UA Deku has always been and will always be strong.
UA Deku fought off those bullies and didn’t let them get anywhere near him. In Izuku’s head, they didn’t touch him.
They couldn’t have.
He didn’t let them.
It didn’t happen.
Iida speaks this time. “Midoriya—”
“I don’t want to talk about any of this anymore.” (He doesn’t want to talk about a thing that did not happen. That video does not exist. It did not happen.)
“Mr. Aizawa,” Iida continues anyway. “He’ll want some information. And if I were to guess, I’d say he’ll be here by the end of the hour. Him talking to you in person is ideal, but if you'd prefer writing the situation down on paper in detail—that could work, too.”
Izuku considers it. That’s preferred, really. He wants to hide under his blankets until everyone somehow forgets (Izuku feels like they never will, they’ll always see him as defenseless, touched, Deku because of this), but something tells him Aizawa won’t let that slide. It’s a feeling.
Izuku hates feeling.
“I’ll talk about it with him when he gets here, Iida,” Izuku finally says.
He gets to his feet and quickly opens the door. Both Uraraka and Todoroki fall back and into his room. Izuku gives them a brief smile before stepping past them and starting on his way to the common room.
He doesn’t pay them any mind when they begin to follow him like concerned, hyper puppies because they don’t press the matter.
Things are weird when Izuku enters the common room. Things seem to pause for two seconds. And then Kaminari trips over something, accidentally shocks himself, and half of the tension is released when Jirou slaps the back side of his head. They’re laughing and Izuku forces himself to breathe.
He doesn’t want anyone to treat him any differently just because—because they know. It’s embarrassing and makes Izuku want to hide behind his hands and stare down at his slippers when he’s around anyone else.
“Hey, Midoriya!” Kaminari says once he’s finished recovering from both his shock and Jirou’s slap. He’s rubbing his cheek as he makes his way over to stand in front of Izuku and he looks fine, looks normal. But Izuku’s eyes, trained for seeking out the things people try to hide, are stuck on Kaminari’s fingers nervously pulling the thread of his pants. He’s nervous. “You got the dorm all to yourself for a couple of hours, man, no fair!”
Izuku smiles, playing with his fingers. “Yeah… I didn’t do much. I mean—it was mostly eating ice cream and writing, but…”
“Sounds fun! Uh,” Kaminari leans back against one of the green couches as he watches Midoriya. “So. Um. You’re good, Midoriya. Right?”
“I’m good, Kaminari.”
Kaminari nods. “Alright! Cool, cool, cool… Just—if you ever need someone to tutor,” he hangs his arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “I’m here. Cause I love ya, you know?”
Izuku actually laughs at that. Kaminari has a really weird way of easing the tension, but also a gift for it. And Izuku appreciates him endlessly. Izuku nods, “Of course, Kaminari. If I need to tutor someone, I’ll come to you first—I promise.”
“Yes! Thank you! I mean… Uh, yeah. What’re friends for, you know?”
Izuku gets a lot of check-ups and check-ins from his classmates in the next few moments. And it’s overwhelming, to be honest. The best thing they could all do for him was just—stop talking about it. Stop acknowledging it, stop making it a thing. Izuku wants everyone to do what he’s been doing for the past two years since it happened—and pretend it did not.
His sleeve is grabbed.
“We need to fucking talk,” Kacchan says. And he’s pulling Izuku out of the common room, away, and into the halls before Izuku can get out a word of protest. And then he’s staring into piercing red eyes, instinctively backing himself against the nearest wall. “What the fuck is that video.”
Izuku blinks. “What are you talking about.”
“Stop. Fucking stop that. Tell me what the fuck that was in the damn video, Deku.”
Deku. The Deku in the video. That Deku…
That Deku does not exist.
It could not have happened to him. He did not get held up an hour after school that day. He does not remember. He was not touched. Not him. Not strong, UA Deku. Any other Deku before UA does not exist. It did not happen.
So, Izuku looks at Kacchan, and he asks again, flatly. “What are you talking about.”
“I’m being damn serious,” Kacchan says, ignoring Izuku’s wide eyes, his words. “Who the fuck were those guys? And why the hell didn’t you—”
He stops himself and Izuku knows exactly why. They both know why. And Kacchan tenses. He shifts his feet and sighs through his clenched teeth.
“Deku. They weren’t just being asshole kid bullies, they—”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says. He moves his head very, very slowly. “Don’t.”
“They told Aizawa,” Kacchan mutters. “He’ll wanna talk. The fuck are you gonna do then.”
Izuku closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “I don’t know.”
Aizawa doesn’t come around until things have settled a little, which is a little annoying. Izuku finally gets a smidge of normalcy from his friends and classmates and then his teacher is stepping into the common room to rain on his parade. It only takes one glance for most of his classmates to scatter. Those remaining do so at Iida’s booming voice.
Izuku almost wants to flee with them, hide in the crowd of the rest of his classmates, rush to his room, and pretend and pretend and pretend until everything goes away and back to normal. But he is here, sitting on one of the green couches, across from his teacher and mentor, about to talk about something he’d vowed he’d take to the grave.
“You know why I’m here,” Aizawa says as a confirmation more than anything else. Izuku nods, averting his gaze and playing with his fingers. “There’s going to be an investigation.”
Izuku’s face twists and he looks at his teacher. “Why?”
“Because the kids in that video deserve to be punished,” Aizawa says simply. “Which, I assume they weren’t since they’re still doing things to hurt you. Spreading that video around to your classmates means they’re still out there and dangerous. And trying to hurt you even years later.”
Izuku doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to say it out loud—but the investigation is a waste of time. Nothing is going to come of it. Two respectable students aren’t going to be punished in favor of a kid who was Quirkless. It doesn’t work like that—not for Izuku.
“Did you tell an adult about what happened after all of this took place, kid? Days, weeks, years down the line—it doesn’t matter. I just need to know if you told an adult at any point in time.”
“No,” Izuku answers quickly, easily. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Not your mother?”
“Not my mother.”
“Not a trusted teacher?”
“If I didn’t tell my mother, why would I tell a teacher?” Trusted teacher. As if any teacher at that school could be trusted.
“Do you have a reason for that?”
“Other than wanting to avoid the shame and humiliation that would come with it?” Izuku shoots. He knows it isn’t fair as soon as the words leave his mouth and he fixes his gaze on his fingers. He hates this. “I’m sorry.”
“What did I tell you about that?”
Izuku swallows and presses his fingers into his knuckles to crack the bones.
He sighs. “I didn’t tell anyone because I knew nothing would be done. The only thing that would come from it, is people would know and judge me without me winning even a little bit, so I just didn’t.”
“What do you mean by that? Nothing would be done.” Aizawa shifts and he presses his fingers to his temple. “Kid. This is very serious. What they did to you is very serious. Why did you assume nothing would be done?”
“No, I…” Izuku pauses and he frowns. He didn’t assume. He knew. “They’ve never made an effort to put an end to anything else. They didn’t feel the need—I didn’t see how this would be different. It’s just another… Bully thing.”
“Another bully thing. I take it this has happened more than a few times.”
Izuku shrugs.
“Kid.”
“The investigation is a waste of time,” Izuku suddenly says. “Just like nothing was done then, nothing will be done now—these were upperclassmen who got good grades and had… Good relationships with their students, Mr. Aizawa. They were well-known and well-liked by the school. Nobody would even come to my defense—”
“I would,” Aizawa says quickly. “We could call any one of your classmates right now and I’m sure we wouldn’t even have to ask.”
“That’s not what I mean, Mr. Aizawa. You know that.” He lowers his voice, “I was Quirkless.”
“Sorry?”
“I was Quirkless,” Izuku says louder. He knows Aizawa is staring at him, confused. “I was a late bloomer. A very late bloomer. And at the time that happened, I still hadn’t developed my Quirk yet so I was technically Quirkless.”
“A late bloomer. When did you get your Quirk, kid?”
“The day of the entrance exam.”
There’s silence. Aizawa blinks at him and he covers his mouth with his hand.
“We’ll have to circle back to that.” He decides. “So you were a late bloomer. You were Quirkless at the time. How does this play a part in the bullying?”
Izuku gives him a look. “That’s why I was bullied, Mr. Aizawa.”
Aizawa is staring at him again.
“On school grounds,” Aizawa says carefully.
Izuku raises an eyebrow. “Yes. On school grounds.”
“You were bullied because you didn’t have a Quirk… And the school just let it happen.”
Izuku blinks. He doesn’t say anything as Aizawa pieces this together. He thinks many people underestimate how large Quirkless discrimination is. How nothing is done about it—how nobody cares enough to do something about it. And Aizawa looks like he’s realizing it, too.
“The reason nothing was done makes sense. The entire fucking school is corrupt,” Aizawa mutters, rubbing at his stubble. He blinks tiredly and looks like he’s reaching for his coffee that isn’t there for a minute. “I need you to tell me more about this bullying situation that was happening at Aldera.” Aizawa clicks his tongue. “I’d like to hear about them all to the extent you’re comfortable sharing, who you told, what was—or wasn’t, I suppose—done about it, and how long it took for the next incident to take place, kid. Can you do that?”
“Um. What are you going to do?”
Aizawa furrows his brows. “Have a very long conversation with Nezu and All Might. Both of whom want to have a very long conversation with you.”
Izuku closes his eyes for a long time. When he snaps them back open, he sits up and gives his teacher a very pointed look.
“Mr. Aizawa,” he says. “Can we just drop this entire situation?”
“This ‘situation’ is an active investigation, Midoriya,” Aizawa says. “You understand this goes beyond just bullying. The boys who ‘bullied’ you, committed a serious crime and so naturally, we’re taking this very seriously.”
Izuku frowns. “I disagree.”
“You don’t think we’re taking this seriously? Or you don’t think this is serious crime?”
“No, I—I mean. I know what you’re trying to say by the words serious crime.” Izuku’s face twist and he pulls at his skin. “What you’re implying—I know what…”
“What am I implying?”
Izuku doesn’t want to say it. He knows Aizawa is looking for him to say it and he doesn’t want to—he won’t. Izuku opts for turning away, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he pulls at his fingers in small, jittery, anxious movements. Aizawa is looking at him, he is watching, waiting, and Izuku doesn’t want to say it.
Izuku does not want to say anything because there is nothing to say about a situation that did not happen. It did not happen, that Deku does not exist, it did not happen, it did not happen—
“He didn’t touch me,” Izuku whispers.
“Midoriya.”
Izuku stares straight ahead, at nothing in particular, pulling at his fingers. His eyes are wide, unseeing anything actually in front of him. He is thinking and thinking about how that weak, pathetic Deku is dead. How he does not exist. Deku—strong, UA, All Might’s successor Deku—would never allow himself to be held down like that. He would never allow himself to be touched, to be spat on, because he is strong. And no other Deku, apart from strong Deku, exists.
So it did not happen. It did not happen.
“Midoriya.”
“He didn’t touch me all the way,” Izuku tries again, finally looking over at Aizawa. “He didn’t make me—do anything, nothing… Nothing hurt, he didn’t—put anything in, so it’s nothing. You can’t call it that. You can’t say—that it was… That. Because it wasn’t.”
“It was.”
“It wasn’t.”
Aizawa levels Izuku with a serious look.
“It was,” Aizawa says. “It was sexual assault.”
Izuku flinches, “Can you—…” not.
”… You were sexually touched without your consent and it was an act of sexual violence.”
Izuku tightens his fists. It’s too heavy. Those words are too heavy, too serious, too real. Far too real.
“It wasn’t an act of sexual violence. He just—”
“You were groped without your consent. The boy who did it intended to make you uncomfortable, intended to harm you, Midoriya. That is an act of sexual violence. That is sexual assault.”
That. That. That—
That Deku does not exist. It did not happen. It did not happen. Izuku’s eyes flutter and he pulls on his lip and wipes his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.
“Why are we talking about this.”
“I think you know why.”
“I don’t think I do,” Izuku shoots back.
“Because something needs to be done,” Aizawa tells him evenly. “About this situation. About the corrupted insides of Aldera Middle School. About the boys who hurt you.”
“Nothing has to be done, sir.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
“And why do you think that?”
Izuku says nothing. He breathes in a shaky breath through his nose and swallows thickly. He counts the second it takes and he’s pulling at his pants the next. Aizawa doesn’t need Izuku to say anything to find the answer.
“Do you think this doesn’t matter because you’re the one who is hurt in this situation?” Aizawa asks. “You think if you’re the one who needs the saving then it’s somehow unimportant? Is it somehow less important in your eyes?”
“No,” Izuku turns to him, brows furrowed. “It’s just. The situation is over.”
“But it isn’t.”
“But it is.”
“They sent the video to your classmates. It was never over—the situation continued the second they decided to keep the video. It continued to continue the longer they went without deleting it. On top of that, the offenders were never punished, you never got justice, kid.”
“Justice,” Izuku repeats around a scoff. “That… No, I don’t need justice. I need this to go away. I need it to be over—that’s how I can get my justice, that’s how you can help, Mr. Aizawa.”
“You’re scared, I get that. But I need you to understand, that every action I’ve taken since being informed of the video, has been to help you. Kid, look at me,” Aizawa shifts to get closer to Izuku and Izuku reluctantly turns to his homeroom teacher.
Aizawa sighs, looks down and then back up. When he does, he places a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. Firm and promising.
“What happened to you was not okay,” Aizawa says. “And the fact that nothing was done about it—the fact that you knew, that nothing would be done about it isn’t okay, either. That is wrong. Those boys are wrong. Your bullies are wrong. The entirety of your middle school is wrong. You being Quirkless does not matter. It doesn’t make you any less—you are deserving of love, respect, and equality. It is not fair that those who have wronged you have gotten away with this for so long. And I promise you, kid, I will stop at nothing until I find a way to right the ways you have been wronged.”
The tears started the second Aizawa said the words ‘deserving of love’ and Izuku’s palms are pressed to his eyes as he’s hiccupping. He is trying to stop the crying, trying to bite into his lip to hold in the sniveling, the loud sobs, the ugly heaving, but he can’t. Everything is spilling out of him—it’s like the gates have snapped under the weight, under the pressure, and he’s trembling as everything crashes out of him in waves.
His head is immediately throbbing, the most he can do is attempt to muffle himself with his palms, but Aizawa takes it upon himself to pull Izuku’s hands away from his face. He guides his student’s head to his shoulder and rests a hand on Izuku’s.
“You don’t have to put on a brave face for this, kid,” Aizawa mutters through a sigh. “You’ve done that for long enough.”
***
Izuku does not get a break when Aizawa is finished talking to him. It seems like there’s a line of some kind and the next one in it is All Might.
He practically tip-toes over with his hands behind his back and while Aizawa is shuffling away, muttering something along the lines of, “about damn time. Your son needs you,” and All Might is trying to uphold his smile and keep it from wavering and wobbling. Izuku doesn’t think he is doing a very good job.
Despite All Might’s jabs and jokes about Izuku being a crybaby—about his emotions and all—All Might is a pretty emotional man himself. Izuku does not like that. Seeing other people upset, upsets him, especially when they’re upset because of him.
It’s one thing on top of the other and the next thing either of them knows, Izuku is sobbing into All Might’s shoulder and Izuku swears he can hear the crashing waves of their beach, can feel and see the shine of the hundred stars glistening in All Might’s track of tears. It’s all so reminiscent and familiar, that Izuku can’t help but cry harder.
All Might has teared up and he’s pressing at the corner of his eyes with his large knuckles.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” Izuku laughs, twisting his fingers in his curls. “I thought you’d be disgusted—I thought you’d hate me or something, or, or—”
“Just when I thought the King of Nonsense had handed off his crown,” All Might chuckles sadly. He shakes his head and he looks saddened by Izuku’s words as he sighs. “Hate. Disgust. For you.”
“I—I don’t know, All Might. Shame and guilt can make us think a lot of weird things.”
“Shame and guilt… My boy,” All Might breathes, lowering his head. His chin trembles. “I have so much I wanted to say. Aizawa has covered practically all of it, but…”
Izuku’s smile is wobbly and he nods, “I already know. Don’t worry. Thank you.”
“Yes, but I just… Young Midoriya,” All Might stares at his student for a long moment, and then he takes Izuku’s teary, flushed, freckled face in his large hands. All Might smiles wide and teary, “My Boy… I’m so, unbelievably, unexplainably proud of you.”
Izuku immediately shakes his head and he can’t breathe with the violent, stuttering gasps of his cries, can’t hear over the throbbing, the ringing in his head from his sobs. “All Might, please—”
“No, Young Midoriya—you please. Please understand that I am proud of your strength, your courage, your ambition, your ability to endure so much and continue to hold your head up and push forward. That level of durability, of might, and soundness is truly unlike anything I’ve seen. And after all you have taken on, you remain kind and giving and attentive. Your good heart is unwavering. I’ve told you before that we are connected by a bond thicker than blood, but I sometimes do feel as though the lines blur.”
“All Might,” Izuku furiously shakes his head. “Really. Really, I can’t,”
“I’ve never had a son before, but,” All Might laughs, heartily and waterly, pressing his palm into Izuku’s wet cheek. “This feels very close, in a lot of ways. So understand that while I am proud of your strength, of your courage, of your academics and improvements—what I am most proud of, as a father would say to a son, is that I have you. Truly.”
It’s odd. Izuku’s always said he doesn’t remember much of his father—that he can’t.
And yet, as he’s choking into All Might’s chest, it’s—so clear. He can remember. He can remember broad shoulders and blond hair and unwavering smiles. He can remember blue eyes and the waves of warmth, love, of comfort radiating from the man from wherever he was. Izuku can remember the security he felt watching those videos of All Might on repeat after the worst days of his life—days he felt like dying, days he felt like nothing would change, days he felt like giving up because nothing would ever, ever change.
Izuku can remember dragging himself home on a Tuesday after being held up by two upperclassmen. He can remember after the scrubbing and showering and crying until his eyes were raw, how in the dark of his room, the only light was the screen of his laptop. He can remember how one of All Might’s newest interviews was released that day and how he—he’d looked at the camera, right at the screen, at Izuku, it felt like that day, and he raised a thumb, smiled, and said—he said—
“Everything is okay.”
Izuku can remember how he sobbed, much like he is now. He can remember how much warmth is spread throughout his chest to hear those words, that day, at that time. Izuku can remember how much he believed it, how much he felt it, how much he knew he needed to push through because eventually, eventually—
“Everything is going to be okay, my boy,” All Might pulls Izuku close to his chest. “Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow—not next month—maybe not even in a year. But everything will be okay, so long as you see it to the end. I promise.”
And just like then, with tears staining his cheeks and his head pulsing, Izuku nods and he mutters, “I believe you, All Might.”