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There Izuku goes, rushing in without thinking. Don’t get him wrong, it’s a quality he likes about himself, even if the backlash he gets from it isn’t pretty. It’s what got him his relationship with All Might. It’s how he got a mentor. It’s how he got a quirk. It’s how he rose from being utterly useless to useful. It’s how Izuku stepped up to become a hero.
His childhood was filled with relentless teasing and bullying. It’s a part of his life that he wishes to forget. He wishes the will of his death away.
He wishes that people could appreciate him for who he was, and not just because he has a quirk now. Even if that’s not how society works, Izuku is willing to take what he can get.
But those days of pushing a young boy into the mud, of holding his face underwater, or of practicing their quirks on him were ones he had to move past.
He has scars. Anyone could tell as long as they were visible.
Though, no one cared to notice that most of these scars stemmed from years of being everyone’s favorite punching bag. No one knew how much they continued to ache weeks and months after they appeared. Izuku knew what that was called: residual pain.
Well, that residual pain of scarred over, sensitive tissue eventually became everlasting. It was because of the residual feeling alongside the continual abuse he suffered from his peer did he build up his pain tolerance to inhuman levels. It came to the point where his very sprained wrist seem like nothing more than a pinch to his skin.
Izuku supposed that wasn’t good, however, it was keeping away the true feeling of his pain, and for Izuku, that was enough for him to continue to live. Besides, there weren’t any injuries that Izuku suffered that could actually stop him from learning and getting closer to becoming a hero.
When he got his quirk, he didn’t realize that “potential backlash” would be equivalent to him shattering his bones as if there was dynamite setting off beside them every time he used his quirk.
And if it was to save another person, then he doesn’t care about the effect the quirk has in store for him. That’s how he caused the repairing surgery from Recovery Girl. He saved Todoroki, or at least tried to. No matter how badly Izuku wanted to remove Todoroki from Endeavor’s custody, it was up to Todoroki to keep fighting and move past his trauma. Izuku believed in him. Izuku thinks Todoroki will make an amazing hero, even outside of being Endeavor’s protege. Outside of the pro hero’s endorsement, Izuku thinks Todoroki can be his own hero on his own terms and be catastrophically embezzling.
When he wakes up, he has no regrets about his actions with Todoroki and trying to help him, even if it meant not making it to the first place holding in the Sports Festival. That’s okay because Izuku was helping another person.
There’s another thing that Izuku doesn’t regret. He doesn’t regret mangling his hands in the process, either. He’s told that his hands will never move the same way again. He’s told that he will have to go through intense physical therapy, no matter what Recovery Girl was able to do. He was always going to have chronic pain in his hands. Whether that may be when using his hands or if it’s caused by the cold, he’s going to suffer.
Izuku won’t dare regret his actions though. If he has to suffer and sacrifice himself to save others, then so be it. It’s nothing new to the boy, after all. He had spent countless years before being tortured by peers and having residual pain in his scars and in the places where his bone healed slightly wrong. He was used to dealing with pain. Midoriya Izuku was no stranger to pain in his life, and he was okay with it.
Time goes on and Izuku keeps on building his pain tolerance and encountering almost unbearable pain some days. When he uses one million percent of One For All, he feels his arms shatter again. They were blown into smithereens inside of him.
But, he saved Kota.
He’s told once again that his arms will never be the same again. Further, he’s told that if he breaks his arms in the same way, there’s a good chance that Izuku will never be able to use them again.
Now, isn’t that just utterly terrifying for the prospecting hero?
So, Izuku turns to his legs for his ultimate weapons.
Here’s the thing about chronic pain. There are both good and bad days alike. There are also days where it could start out perfectly fine but result in bracing breaths to keep yourself from crying. Digging nails into the skin of your thighs, willing for the pain elsewhere to fade away, just a bit.
As Izuku pursued his dream and continued, this screaming pain only intensified. Some days, he wonders why he tries, only to be reminded of his role as a successor to All Might. Even then, it’s still hard.
The days get colder and his pain became sharper. He knows why. How could he forget? The joint in his hand creaks with each movement and writing becomes impossible. Still, he persists in trying to achieve stellar grades and continually tries to be proficient in his practical hero studies.
The popping within his fingers draws the attention of his friends, warranting a firm talk from Iida about self-care. Self-care, huh? He’s well aware that the way he’s currently going isn’t necessarily the healthiest for his body or his mental health, but there is no other alternative for his path.
Having this constant pain is something he desperately wants to get rid of. At first, it wasn’t so bad, and he had tolerance for it, too. As days went on and time passed, Izuku realized how difficult it truly was to deal with it all.
He didn’t want to resort to pain medication and become reliant on it. Besides, becoming addicted to drugs was going to stop his plans of becoming a hero completely, so there’s no way Izuku would be willing to go that route.
It was daunting. Suddenly, he couldn’t do the simple, mundane things in life. Holding a mug in his hands splashed the hot water onto his hands or spilled it on the surface below. Managing to feed himself with chopsticks was no longer an option. Having to ask for a fork for the first time since he was two years old was embarrassing. How could something so menial and habitual become semi-impossible?
It’s not like he hadn’t thought about the consequences because he did. He knew was he was doing could ruin his mobility forever. Izuku knew that continuing to sacrifice himself for others could lead to his suffering.
He just didn’t know how impactful his actions led him to suffer. His handwriting is illegible, things slipping out of his grip, and buttons are now his worst enemy.
Still, he chooses to never think it was the wrong choice, even as he hates himself and the way his body betrays him. He thinks about how far Todoroki has come. The boy has friends, including Izuku, and he’s developing his own view and drive to save others. He’s using his fire. He’s overcoming the trauma his father is putting him through. He’s getting better at sharing his experience with others and building those relationships with classmates.
Todoroki is doing better because of Izuku’s actions, so Izuku has no reason to ever regret his decisions.
He thinks of Kota, a boy who had come to hate heroes after his parents, heroes themselves, died in service. Izuku thinks of the scared boy, back to a rock, facing a villain that had single-handedly murdered his parents without care. Kota had met the revengeful, hateful person named Muscular. Izuku stepped in, not willing to let this child die when Izuku could attempt to fight off Muscular.
Izuku had gotten his first ever thank you note and piece of fan mail that day. Kota was alive due to Izuku’s sacrifice, so there was no reason to regret anything. Izuku was able to make an impact on Kota and help him not hate heroes anymore.
Even thinking about his impact had Izuku contemplating his importance. He thought about the way he was able to save others and his other few accomplishments. But somewhere in the middle Izuku thought about death. What his death would do to others. How it would affect others. Did he really make any difference? Was his pain worth it? He’s ashamed to say that it’s a frequent thought in his mind. It’s a coward's way out, he thinks.
Then Izuku thinks of the sweet release that the pain has on him. It’s ethereal and magical to think of the day when his pain completely disappears. Izuku has been in pain for so long, and he wants it to end.
It’s a crossing thought that Izuku wouldn’t think of actually doing. There are too many open answers and burdens he’d be putting on other people’s shoulders. Beside, Izuku knows how to handle pain. He knows how to mask himself properly.
Izuku hates it. He hates to wake up in the middle of the night in screaming pain with a thick sheer of sweat layered across his body. He can’t move. The pain completely surrounds him, paralyzing him.
He realizes he’s crying with broken sobs wreaking from his broken body. How could it have come to this? Why is this happening to Izuku?
Izuku doesn’t want to deal with this.
When the pain subsides enough, he messily grabs for his nightstand and pulls out a neatly folded black towel. It’s been years since Izuku had done anything like this. He knew it was an old habit. He knew that nothing would be solved if he acted here. But, logically, he recalled the lessons on this topic. He knows why his body is compelled to do this to himself.
As the towel unfolds on his lap, a single razor lays in the middle. He knows it’s for control. A control on his pain level. If he does this, at least it settles his mind a bit, even if it’s only temporary. Besides, he could always come back later for some relief.
Twirling the metal within his mangled fingers, he tightens his grip before bringing the cold razor upon the skin of his thigh and pressing down. Nobody has to know.
The next day, Aizawa has him stay after class, wanting to talk to him. Izuku is internally screaming and panicking all over the palace, trying got think of what he might have done to anger Aizawa-sensei and if it was enough to warrant expulsion.
He’s frozen at his desk, arms aching with each extra shake of fear. It’s painful but manageable enough that he’s able to somewhat pay attention for the rest of the class.
By the time class ends, his peers send sympathetic looks over his way, probably wondering what Izuku did too. In all the time he was in class, he thought of nothing he did wrong except for the guilt of his wounds from last night, but there was no way that Aizawa could’ve known about that, right?
Aizawa approached him carefully and pulls up Kacchan’s chair, and sat in it, leaving Izuku’s desk to separate them. Izuku’s glad, so he can hide his trembling hands under the desk, tightly clasped together. He couldn’t let Aizawa see this. He could not show how weak and useless Izuku truly was. Even as the teacher approached him, Izuku couldn’t find it within himself to meet his teacher’s eyes. What if he knows what I did last night, he thinks?
“Midoriya,” he says.
He’s able to tilt his head up more, but his mind is still thrashing with a thousand different reasons why Aizawa made him stay after.
“You aren’t in trouble,” Aizawa makes clear. “Your grades are fine as well. However, recently, I’ve noticed you have been acting unusual.” After a pensive stare, Aizawa continues, “I’m not asking you to tell me, but Hound Dog is available. I’m sure your friends and other teachers, including myself, are willing to listen.”
Remaining silent, Izuku nods his head. Aizawa had known something was up. What if Izuku spills his thoughts here? Aizawa is allowing him the chance to open up here. Izuku could have the chance to get help. But that train of thought stops, remembering how nothing could be done. All Izuku has to do is put a smile on his face and continue to be a hero and save others.
Aizawa sighs and folds his fingers into each other. “Let me, or anyone else if you’re more comfortable with, know if we can do anything for you.”
Izuku does nothing but nods his head again, feeling himself break from the inside. It’s here that he feels a flare of his chronic pain, making him instantly yelp out in pain.
Within a second, Aizawa is next to him, rapidly questioning Izuku and what’s wrong. That doesn’t mean Izuku can reply. His teeth clenched shut with ragged, sharp inhales and exhales seethe their way through Izuku’s teeth. Hunched over his arm, Izuku lets out a soundless scream of pain. This isn’t what Izuku wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to be how Aizawa found out, no one should have.
Izuku has no one else to blame but himself for his actions and for the pain he feels every day.
It’s all his fault.