Chapter Text
Halley’s Comet. It passes by the earth every seventy-five years. Tonight, it would pass again. Everyone would look to the sky, buildings shrouded in darkness, as they viewed such a spectacle. Such a rare opportunity, once in a lifetime. The event itself is so insignificant, though it’s been marked on Izuku’s calendar ever since he found out it was coming. He heard about it in passing about a month ago, and he latched onto the distraction. There are other things he can busy himself with, other things he can search to look forward to, though this one is especially interesting.
It’s all anyone is talking about lately. Well, not really, there were many other interesting things to talk about. But it’s still in the news a lot, mentioned occasionally by people walking in the streets or hidden within their apartment. It’s surprising that things like this still amuse people, in a world where there’s probably a quirk that could create an illusion of a comet passing through the sky. They could live the moment whenever, yet still the authenticity of it would excite them.
Izuku hasn’t seen a comet before, and even though he isn’t overly fascinated by space it’s still very exciting for him. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. He wants to see it, has to be awake as it passes, watch the entire time as it travels through the sky. He has to be there for it. He couldn’t possibly miss it, no its too important. So, he has to stay long enough, at least until the comet passes. After it’s gone though… maybe he’ll find something else to look forward to.
Today, however, he isn’t looking forward to. Tonight will be a moment to remember until the end of time, but today is something to be dreaded. He drags himself out of bed, All Might blanket falling to the carpeted floor. He wants nothing more than a cup of coffee right now, but he knows he won’t find any if he goes searching through their kitchen. ‘It’s too expensive, I don’t want to waste it on you’, his mothers’ words. Instead, he walks into the bathroom and splashes cold water onto his face, a futile attempt at waking himself up, and forgoes breakfast. It wouldn’t be long before he’d wish he hadn’t had it, the consistent nausea every morning would see to that. He thinks it’s from anxiety, though his mother never bothered to get him diagnosed. He’s probably overreacting, he’s just sensitive and weak, can’t handle even the slightest amount of stress or pressure.
Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he grabs his uniform and pulls it on, ignoring the burns marks and small holes that litter the clothing. His poor attempts at stitching it together again stand out, only highlighting his failure to do so. The thread doesn’t even match the uniform itself; he couldn’t find any black or even grey and didn’t want to ask his mother. He settled for red. At least it matches his shoes?
He doesn’t say goodbye to his mother as he leaves the house, hasn’t in a long time, and she doesn’t say a word either. He doesn’t walk beside a friend as he heads to school, instead walking alone, avoiding the more dangerous alleys and crime ridden areas. Though he still has to go through the underpass, always littered with trash and the occasional mysterious pool of blood. Not ominous at all. He finally reaches the rusting gates of Aldera Middle School, the cool spring air brushing against his face. The calm weather does nothing to sooth his nerves as he looks beyond the gate and to the students roaming inside.
Izuku tries not to think about it, tries to keep calm and look unbothered. Though it’s hard to deny how his hands shake as he enters school grounds, how he begins to sweat a noticeable amount as he enters the classroom. He finds his seat easily and sits down, pulling out a well-used and half complete notebook. He hasn’t finished his notes from the hero fight he saw yesterday afternoon, so he begins to fill the pages, pen gliding across the paper. He remains mostly undisturbed for the morning, his other classmates choosing to arrive seconds before the bell. When they do enter, he chooses to ignore the insults causally thrown his way. It’s become somewhat of a routine over the years, and it doesn’t bother him as much as it used to.
Most of the words they use have lost their meaning. Having heard it so many times, the repetition of it drains the hurt that each word used to create. He’s come to accept the words as truth, so really, they aren’t insults anymore. They are names, labels, definitions of what he is. He understands he is useless; he lives everyday as a worthless human being. His body is weak, his mind is fragile, his muttering is creepy. He is annoying, he is stupid, he is quirkless. Some days he wishes he could hear someone tell him otherwise. Maybe he deserves to be seen, to be cared for and loved. Other days he knows it’s too much to ask, Izuku doesn’t get the same privileges as other people. He doesn’t get to speak without being yelled at, doesn’t get to eat in silence or with friends, doesn’t get to live without being punished. He doesn’t get to choose how he wants to live, who he will be, because he will always be nothing more than quirkless.
Quirkless is the extent of his personality. It is the only thing seen on his resume, the only word heard in a conversation, the only part of him that matters. Quirkless is what he is, who he is. Izuku and quirkless are one in the same. They cannot be viewed as two different concepts; the ideas cannot be separated. Any introduction of himself to another person must always include his title. His quirklessness is a chain that he must carry with him every day, a weight that cannot be dropped or lessened. They blame him as if it was his choice, as if this was the life he sought. If there was anything he could do, anything at all that could give him a quirk, he would do it. Believe him, he’s tried.
The day passes by in a blur. He doesn’t bother paying attention in classes, he already knows the material. Izuku has learnt to deal with the fact that his teachers won’t actually teach him, but they will call on him and expect him to know the answers. When he didn’t, when he still believed they might help him, he’d get punished for it. So, he began teaching himself. He isn’t too far ahead, but he knows enough to zone out for the day. Which is exactly what he does. His bullies, Kacchan, seem especially quiet today, going so far as to leave him almost entirely alone at lunch. Only the occasional insult thrown his way during class and exaggerated laugh as someone trips him.
Izuku thinks today might be his lucky day, maybe Halley’s Comet is bringing him some good luck. That thought is very quickly suffocated as he’s surrounded after the last class of the day by Kacchan and his lackies. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. He should’ve never written down U.A. for his desired school. He should’ve accepted the fact he could never be a hero. He should’ve listened to them a long time ago. After all, if it weren’t true, then why was everyone saying the same thing?
His uniform gains a new burn mark, and his shoulder a new scar.
“What makes you think you can compete with me, Deku? You're fucking useless, just give it up already!” Kacchan snarls, pushing Izuku to the floor. His open bag and the books inside scatter onto the floor. Before he can grab any of them, Kacchan has already picked up his beloved notebook. Just like his uniform, a single explosion from the screaming boys palm is enough to destroy at least the cover. Izuku’s almost too scared to look inside. As if that weren’t bad enough, his lifelong bully throws it out an open window. He doesn’t know where it’s going to land at first, but a distant splash gives it away.
He thinks it’s over, as Kacchan and his laughing lackies walk towards the door, but the blonde turns back just before he walks out of sight.
He smirks as he says, “You wanna be a hero so bad? I've got a time-saving idea for you. If you think you’ll have a quirk in your next life… Go take a swan dive off the roof!” Their laughs echo as they walk down the hall, leaving Izuku to pick up his belongings and himself.
This isn’t the first time he’s been told him to kill himself. Other classmates had before, some teachers, even complete strangers who had somehow learnt what he is. This was the first time Kacchan had ever said those words.
Kacchan was the first to hit him. The first to insult. The one who gave him his name, Deku. Kacchan was always the first one to find new ways to ruin his life. But this, this was one line he hadn’t crossed. Until now. Izuku doesn’t know what was stopping him before, or what had changed for him to have finally said it, but it is an unpleasant development.
He doesn’t really know how to process his childhood friend telling him to kill himself, so he doesn’t. He puts it out of his mind and leaves the classroom. He finds his notebook and pulls it from the water, holding it close to his chest as he walks home. He walks through the familiar underpass, noticing a dead rat that hadn’t been there this morning. What he fails to notice, though, is the villain climbing up through the sewer behind him. By the time the sludge has wrapped around his body and begins to enter his mouth, he’s too late to fight back.
He thinks, for a moment, that this is it. The sludge glides down his throat, fills his nose and hugs his limbs. Even with his struggles, he gets nowhere. He thinks, for only a second, that he should stop struggling. The lack of oxygen is starting to make him dizzy, and his vision is growing dark. He thinks, or rather hopes, that he might not make it out alive, might not make it home to a quiet mother and a silent house and a cold room. He might not have to live another day of his depressing life, one that will lead to nowhere.
So, when he closes his eyes, he wishes he won’t have to open them again. His last thoughts before he succumbs to the darkness is that maybe Kacchan will be right, maybe he will be luckier in his next life.
Before he can really enjoy the feeling of nothing, though, he’s coughing up slime and blinking away the evening sun and wishing he hadn’t woken up at all. But then he sees its All Might’s hand that was shaking him awake, realizes it was the Number One hero who had saved him, and sees no reason why he can’t live a couple moments more. Immediately, his fanboy side takes over, and he scrambles to find his notebook to get it signed, only to find as he opens its pages that it has already been.
A genuine, blinding, rare smile paints his face, and he beams up at his idol. This is his chance, his last saving grace.
“A-All Might! I was- I was wondering if you could- if you could answer this one question I ha- I have?! You see it’s really important, an- and I admire your opinion above- above anyone else’s!” he curses himself for his stammering, but decides that’s not important right now.
“I’m sorry, my boy! But I really must be going, this villain won’t take itself to jail you know! I'm sure you understand, the life of a hero is very busy.” All Might’s signature smile doesn’t waver as he denies Izuku’s request.
“But it’ll- it’ll only take a moment, really!” He pleads, eyes glimmering with hope.
“Another time, perhaps. Now goodbye and stay safe!”
Izuku watches as the man prepares to jump, as his only hope begins to leave. So, he does the only thing he can, the only logical option in that moment.
“My boy! I insist you let go this instant,” his smile falters for a second, a flash of worry or fear taking its place.
“If I do that now I’ll fa- fall!” Izuku shouts over the rushing wind pulling on his cheeks.
“Oh. Yes, I suppose you would.” All Might lands on a rooftop amongst a sea of buildings, and Izuku’s body shakes as he finds solid ground again. “That was extremely reckless of you, young man, and I really must be going!” He makes to jump again, to leave the boy alone and his questions unanswered.
“Please, All Might! It’ll only- only take a moment,” Izuku pleads, and the hero seems to hesitate for a moment. The short moment is all that is needed for a cloud of smoke to erupt exactly where All Might is standing, and Izuku tries his best to hold in a frightened squeal. He fails to hold it back a second time, though, when instead of the tall and muscled form of his idol appearing from behind the clouds, a frail and almost skeletal looking man takes his place. The stranger starts coughing, the sound wet and unsettling, blood seeping out from his lips and pooling in his hand. Izuku almost rushes over to help him, before he remembers that he has no idea who this man is, and All Might is nowhere to be found.
“Damn- times up,” is all the man manages to mumble, before he’s collapsing to the ground and leaning against the railing of the roof.
“What ha-happened to All Might?!” Izuku asks, voice high and uncertain.
The man looks exhausted as he raises his gaze to stare into Izuku’s eyes, his small smile almost apologetic as he says, “He got into a bad fight some years ago, and now he looks like this when the public eye isn’t looking.” He looks down at himself, criticizing his own form.
It takes a second for the concept to really settle into place, for the reality of the situation to become fully known in Izuku’s mind. Just the idea that All Might looks this weak, this injured, let alone having another form entirely is baffling. Honestly, it’s almost too difficult for him to believe. But then he takes into account the declining rates of arrest, the lack interviews as of late and fewer sightings by other fanboys such as himself. How the news tells of newer and bigger criminals popping up around Japan, better and stronger than before. Stories of the Number One hero himself failing to show up when it really mattered, though the suggestion sounded unbelievable to Izuku at the time. The revelation that the pro had been injured all this time fits the missing pieces, and all of a sudden it makes too much sense.
Then the hero lifts his loosely hanging shirt, and Izuku realizes its so much worse than he thought. A wound unlike he’d ever seen before, blue and purple and is that even healed?! It looks fresh and new, like it had happened only days, hours ago. A single hit to that weak point – because that is what it is, the best hero there ever was has such a big weakness – and the man would crumble. Izuku likes to think the hero could withstand even something like that, but he wouldn’t dare test the theory.
“Five years ago, this happened. I lost my stomach, and my respiratory system has seen better days.” Well, that explains the blood… did he say he lost his stomach?! Who could’ve done something like that to All Might, to the Number One hero? “I can only maintain my hero form for a few hours a day, before I'm forced into this form.”
And isn’t that terrifying? Their saving grace, the one person they could count on in their time of need, won't be there for them. Or at least, there’s a good chance he won’t be, having already used his time throughout the day, unaware of how much he might need it later.
Izuku stands there, speechless. He doesn’t say a word, too stunned to make a sound. Learning this doesn’t change a thing for him, All Might will forever be his idol, and his injury now doesn’t erase the selfless acts he performed for years. But the villains, those who would use this against him and would have a frighteningly realistic chance at killing the symbol of peace, this changes everything for them. All Might, too trustful, too relaxed, just told a stranger, a possible threat, everything.
But then the hero pulls himself to his feet, with the aid of the railing, and heads for the door on the roof. Suddenly Izuku is too distracted with his own burning question to worry about what this might mean for the future, and he blurts out his question before he can think better of it.
“A-All Might!” Said man turns slightly, glancing back, “Even without a quirk, can I become a hero?” His heart fills with hope, baseless, unjustified hope that has been supported by no other. Yet he still hopes, because if there is one person who would say yes, would give Izuku the push, that desperate permission he needs to become a hero, it would be him, All Might. His eyes are wide and pleading, his hands clutching unyieldingly at his notebook, his breath held in anticipation. All Might’s lip’s part, and he breathes in as he begins to form his answer in his mind. It takes the man too long to say a simple yes, Izuku growing too impatient in the half second it takes the hero to answer.
“No.”
Isn’t it fitting, that a single word would be the end of the boy. Just as fragile as they had claimed he is, that he should shatter into irreparable pieces. Confirming every claim his bullies had made, with the way his deepest, lifelong desire is buried by a single man. And just as the pro goes on to explain, being a hero would be too dangerous. Izuku isn’t being realistic, his dream isn’t achievable. He should seek another, safer profession. No, he cannot be a hero. No.
Then the man leaves, through the door to his right, abandoning the boy who needs him more than any other victim the hero has rescued. Izuku shuts the world out as reality becomes a little too much. He doesn’t want to hear his own cries, doesn’t want to see his failures come to fruition. He doesn’t want to taste the disgust, in himself and everything that he tried to achieve. He doesn’t want to feel, not right now, not when the pain is unbearable, and the self-loathing is agonizing. Unable to stand any longer, he lies on the cold concrete of the roof, staring up at the darkening sky. The sun is stunning as it sets, the orange, pink, purple of the sky a beauty he could never hope to match.
In his haze, his attempt to forget everything that had transpired today, he remembers what is supposed to be happening tonight. So, he waits. For hours, staring up into space as the stars slowly emerge for the night. He is silent as he brings his attention to the blinking lights, as he ponders and thinks about anything other than himself.
Stars don’t fall. They are hung in the sky, and they shine bright every night despite what they have witnessed. They might move, might shoot across the sky, and fly through space, but they have never fallen. Despite the tragedies they have seen, the lives that came and went since the time they were created, the stars do not dim. They watch silently, forgotten during the day and admired at night.
A comet, made of rocks, ice, has no place in the sky. It falls, unlike the stars. Though it’s more beautiful than any of them, more prominent and eye catching. It falls, and yet its beauty captivates all, its failure to stay fixed in place is what makes it so interesting, so unique.
Halley’s Comet, what he had stayed trapped on this roof to see, glides slowly across the inky black sky. It’s everything Izuku imagined it would be and more, and he’s glad he could see it. Now that he has, he stands and makes his way across the roof. He does not walk to the door, the one that sits waiting to be used, but to the railing. He doesn’t take his eyes off the comet as he removes his shoes, only glancing away for a second to write a quick ‘Goodbye’ in his notebook. Having placed them to the side, he climbs over the metal railing, relishing in the cool night air as it shifts his hair from his face. Halley’s Comet – so beautiful, so wonderful, so alone – falls. Izuku does too.
He thinks, as he descends to his death, that he will never be the center of attention, never seen for his successes or achievements. He knows he will never be the star he always hoped he could be, because stars don’t fall. And falling is all he’s ever done.