Chapter Text
Tumbleweeds are fascinating plants.
Upon first introspection they seem like waste - a plant grown perfectly for the express purpose of dying and living out its afterlife rolling alone along barren planes.
But in reality they have a more nefarious purpose.
Tumbleweed, or Russian Thistle, is extremely invasive and hard to get rid of. You see, once the plant meets its end, i.e. dries up and detaches from its roots, it is rebirthed into a nigh unstoppable force perfectly formed to keep prevailing for the objective of creating more of itself with the thousands of viable seeds following where the tumbleweed rolls.
Much like a zombie spreading infection to anything it bites. A fated monster created by its own evolutionary trials.
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Izuku can hardly believe what his life was at the moment. Training with All Might was a dream come true. He still can’t quite grasp this was his life now, that he’s actually got a shot of becoming a hero! Some days it’s almost too much for him, and he feels like he's going to vibrate into another realm if he doesn’t do something with that enthusiasm.
Even school has been more tolerable lately. Ever since the sludge villain incident Kacchan has stopped talking to him, which makes him a little sad, but it also means that everyone else has stopped picking on him as well!
He can’t decide if Kacchan told them to stop or if his newfound confidence from his growing muscles was enough to get them to leave him alone. He kinda hopes it’s the first one - if all it took to stop getting bullied was to work out a bit he’s going to be so mad at his past self, but either way going from having people constantly teasing him, tripping him in the halls, and spitting gum in his hair to completely ignoring him is a win in his book. Aldera has never been more peaceful.
It's almost too good to be true.
He can’t contain his smile as he walks home from today’s training session. It was an extra hard day today. He moved an entire fridge! With All Might on top of it!
In fact, he’s so caught up in his good mood that he almost misses it. A cry for help.
“Get away from me!” a voice cries out around the corner of the alley up ahead of him. “Help!”
‘A villain attack?’ Before he can think anymore about it, he’s rushing down the street and around the corner. ‘ I wonder what Hero is going to show up!’ he thinks to himself. His hand is reaching back to pull out his notebook when he reaches the mouth of the alley.
There’s a tall, spindly looking man facing away from him, holding what looks to be a blade protruding from his arm up to an old man. “Shut up you old geezer, just give me your wallet and nobody has to get hurt,” the spindly man spits.
Izuku freezes, eyes going wide. That old man is being mugged! He swivels around looking for the hero he expects to see rushing to the scene, but the streets are empty. Oh man. Where are the heroes!?
“You’re not getting anything from me you punk! Help! Help!” the old man stubbornly refuses, calling out loudly for help once more. The mugger twitches every time the old man shouts for help, becoming antsy the longer this interaction goes on.
Izuku is becoming more and more nervous as he stands peeking around the corner. Neither of them have seen him yet, but it looks like no one else is coming to help. His breath hitches as the mugger growls, and takes another step towards the old man, blade aiming right at him. He has to do something, he has to help!
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Looking back on it, Izuku wishes more than anything that he hadn’t rushed into that alleyway.
Maybe if he had called the police this all could have been avoided. Maybe if he hadn’t been so loud he wouldn’t have spooked the mugger, and he could have taken him out stealthily.
But in his naïve panic, he did none of those things. And as punishment, his life was irrevocably changed from that moment forward.
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He rushes into the alley, adrenaline spiking, feet pounding on the pavement. The mugger jerks around at the noise, swinging his knife arm around with his upper body. The old man shouts as the mugger's blade slices across his chest, sparking dread in Izuku’s heart. He halts his steps just in time to avoid the swing aimed at himself, ducking under the tall man’s slash.
His heart is hammering in his chest as he narrowly avoids the blade, and instinct takes over as he reels his arm back and punches the man with all the might of someone who was just able to move a thousand pounds.
It all happens in less than ten seconds.
The unexpected uppercut hits the mugger with a sickening THWACK of a fist meeting a chin, and the mugger is sent reeling to the side, completely unbalanced, and maybe a little concussed. He hadn’t meant to hit the man that hard, but he panicked. He can only watch in what feels like slow motion as the mugger’s body begins to fall,
unbalanced,
limbs flailing.
He can only watch as the mugger falls,
unconscious,
onto his own blade covered arm.
In the back of his mind he hears shouting, but all he can actually hear is his mind replaying the sickening squelch of a long blade piercing clean through several layers of flesh and muscle.
He can’t look away from the man laying on the dirty alleyway ground, impaled by his own quirk, as blood begins to flow from the wound. He's writhing. obviously in horrible pain. The blade is sticking out of his back!
A high pitched ringing eventually drowns out the repeated squelching as he remains unbreathing for far too long.
He stays frozen in place as the muggers breath wheeze and stutter, a punctured lung, his brain supplies. The blood is pooling around him now. He's losing too much blood.
He can't move.
The mugger's writhing is slowing, changing to sluggish twitches as his ruined lungs try in vain to suck in more oxygen, instead only filling with blood for their trouble.
one last attempt and the body falls still. He watches as blood continues to flow out of the body even after his brain has stopped trying to cling to life.
He-
“-illed him! Oh my god! You freak! You killed him!” huh?
His hearing returns to him like a wave crashing over him, violently, and all at once, and he heaves in a breath. Oh. Oh no. Oh no no nonononono! What did he just do? He didn’t mean to hurt the mugger, he just wanted to help. He’s not actually dead is he. Oh my god, did he just kill someone? No! He’s supposed to be a hero, he’s not supposed to kill anyone!
The old man hasn’t stopped shouting at him, berating him, as he sinks to his knees, eyes blown wide in horror. He can’t breathe. Reality is slipping through his fingers. He can’t- SLAP
Izuku is shocked out of his panic momentarily as pain blooms along his cheek. His head jerks up, finding the old man standing in front of him, hand raised to slap him again. “Wait!-” he tries. But the hand has already come down again. He can only cradle his cheek as the old man begins to speak. “Uh-huh, he’s about 5 '5”, green hair, green eyes. Came in out of nowhere with deadly force,” it’s just then that Izuku notices the phone in his hand. “Must be some wannabe vigilante. Yeah little twerp hasn’t moved.”
Izuku feels like he’s drowning. He tries to crawl over to the mugger to see if he can stop the bleeding, but a wiry hand grabs his bicep and keeps him in place. It feels like all the energy has drained out of him.
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It's laughable really. Izuku has struggled with anxiety and panic attacks for as long as he can remember. When he was really little, he got them when Mom and Dad were fighting. He’d hide under and shake until well after the shouting stopped.
When he lost his homework in primary school, the teacher berated him in class. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, he felt like he was going to be sick. Everyone was looking at him.
Another time in his first year of middle school, the school guidance counselor tore up his career aptitude test when his results showed jobs like detective, security guard, and professional hero right at the top. She scolded him for supposedly cheating, and outright told him he would never amount to anything. Though he was unable to keep his tears at bay in her presence, he only really broke down when he left her office. Once he was in a bathroom stall he couldn't hold it back anymore as his hyperventilating and nausea had him dry heaving over the school toilet.
Or when Kacchan took it too far that day 6 months ago and told him to jump off a building. It wasn't that no one had ever offhandedly told him to kill himself that got to him. It was that it was Kacchan. He’d crossed a lot of lines in their friendship over the years - hitting him, calling him names, ostracizing him - but he’d never been so outright cruel. It had instantly brought that hot-cold feeling rushing over his body as his stomach dropped and his heart rate picked up. Tears pricked at his eyes as he tried to keep down the bile rising in his throat as his ears rang.
Even when he’d almost died from the sludge villain. The heaving breaths and vomiting left him feeling shaky for days afterwards. At that moment he had thought that was the worst thing that would happen to him. The worst thing his mind could conjure. All of those pale in comparison to the panic he feels now. Staring at a dead body he was the cause of.
He can't help the hysteric laugh that leaves his mouth as this all rushes through his brain, seemingly at the speed of light.
It's like fate was giving him something real to panic about. His parents getting a divorce wasn't enough, teachers and adults ostracizing him for being quirkless wasn’t enough, his best friend telling him to kill himself wasn't enough, almost dying under a bridge from a villain wasn't enough. He had to add accidental manslaughter to the list.
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He can’t tell how much time has passed when flashing red and blue lights break him out of his trance.
“I didn’t mean to!” he says without meaning to, looking around for the old man. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” his mutters turn into pleas as what just happened sinks in. “Please, you have to believe me I didn’t mean to, I only wanted to help!” but the old man only turns his nose up and glares at him like he did to the mugger.
“You killed that man kid! The police are are gonna take you away, you can’t get away with murder,” he loudly professes as policemen rush intro the alley, tasers out. Izuku doesn’t get a chance to try to defend himself again as the police start shouting at him to get down. His breathing picks up again, the shock that he was knocked out of momentarily coming back with a vengeance and turning into a full blown panic attack.
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe . Everything is closing in on him. It wasn’t supposed to go like this! He only wanted to help! All he can hear is a high pitched ringing as a gun is waved in his face. He jerks back, afraid of the consequences of having a firearm pointed at him. He’s shaking his head, trying to tell them he didn’t mean to, but he can’t get the words out.
He watches from outside his body as the police yell at him, but he can’t hear what they’re saying, too panicked out of his mind to comprehend anything other than the soul ripping fear of his dream being ripped out from under him again. He watches from outside his body as he’s shot with a taser, as his body locks up with electricity, as he falls to the cold alley ground, as everything goes dark.
In the back of his mind all he can think is he knew it was too good to be true.
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Inside the interrogation room he is handcuffed to the table with quirk suppressing handcuffs, he’d find it ironic if he wasn’t so scared out of his mind. There’s a cop with another taser gun standing beside the door like a statue. He stares at his cuffed hands to avoid looking up and seeing himself in the mirror in front of him. He’s been here for over half an hour now without anyone speaking to him when he hears footsteps approaching the door.
Two knocks and the policeman standing beside the door finally moves since taking their position to open the door. Relief, guilt, and more fear floods into him in a confusing cocktail of emotions when he sees long green hair pulled up in a ponytail, and the ever kind face of his mother. She looks so worried, and bursts into tears when she sees Izuku cuffed to the metal table.
“Oh my baby, what happened?” she cries as she squishes him into her arms in an awkward hug he can’t return.
“Ms. Midoriya, now that you are present, we need to ask your son some questions and explain the charges he is facing,” The officer that followed his mom into the room states.
“Charges?! Someone explain to me what is going on right now! My son would never do anything illegal!”
“Mom-” he tries.
“Ms. Midoriya, today at 5:27 pm we received a call from a man claiming you son murdered a mugger in a attempt at vigilante justice,” the police officer interrupts blatantly. He can see in real time the blood draining from his mom's face as she processes what the officer said, tears forming in his own eyes as she looks to him to assure her that this is all a prank.
He can’t do that though, because he is still just as distraught as she is. So instead of reassurance, all she gets is tears, and refusal to meet her eyes.
“No. No, I refuse to believe that, that's insane. My son has only ever wanted to be a hero, he would never hurt anyone, why would you accuse him of this?!” she exclaims breathlessly.
“That's why we need to question your son ma'am. He was present at the scene of the crime, and the witness claims he is the one to kill the man. Whatever the truth is, your son was there when a man died and resisted arrest. From our point of view it is not looking good for him.,” the officer states with as little emotion as he has had this entire time.
Inko Midoriya looks even more horrified with the knowledge that her son apparently resisted arrest, but she knows better than to dig a hole for herself or izuku by continuing to protest. Instead she stiffly sits in the chair provided for her next to her handcuffed son who is still refusing to look at her. “I want a lawyer. My son is a minor, I refuse to let you question him without legal counsel,” she asserts.
The tired police officer sighs, like he was hoping she wouldn't think to ask. She frowns, like they were hoping this case would be open and shut. “Fine, do you have a lawyer we can call, or would you like us to pair you with a public defender?” he asks in monotone.
Inko stutters at that, they never had need for a lawyer again after Hizashi was gone, and they never had enough to pay for a good one. “A-a public defender please,” she ask's shyly.
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As it turns out, public defenders are overworked and underpaid. And when they learn that they're client is a quirkless kid facing charges for murder, vigilantism, and resisting arrest they don't really have much interest in actually helping them. They get paid the same whether they win or lose, so as long as they do their job well enough to not be sued for malpractice, then there is no incentive to win.
The public defender advises him to tell the truth, and hope that the jury is feeling sympathetic. It's not much, but it's seemingly all the lawyer is willing to do. There are no additional witnesses, and the old man Izuku was trying to save told him blatantly he hopes he rots in prison.
He learned the man wasn't injured more than a very shallow nick on his chest. The mugger's blade only caught on his shirt, which Izuku is thankful for despite the lack of graciousness from the man. He can't blame him, this is all his fault. If he wasn't so stupid and useless this would never have happened.
Back at home, as he hides in his room, fiddling with the clunky ankle monitor he has to wear as they await his trial date, he allows himself a moment to process everything that has happened to him in less than 24 hours.
His mom was silent on the drive back. He has a nagging feeling it wasn't just because of the late hour.
His head falls into his hands, fingers reaching to dig into the tangled mess his wavy hair has become. How is this happening to him?
Izuku would sooner take that swan dive Kacchan so callously joked about than take someone else's life. All he wanted was to save someone who was in trouble, be the hero he looks so desperately up to.
As he works to separate a snarl in his bangs, he finds his eyes completely dry. Like he's cried himself out for the day. Ducts too tired to pump out one more tear. He stares down at his bedspread, where the smiling image of All Might stares back at him.
All Might.
He'll certainly take back his offer of a quirk when he learns what Izuku has done.
It was an accident!
It doesn’t matter though. The Symbol of Peace could never pass on the most important quirk in the world to someone with blood on their hands. The back of his eyes burn with building pressure, but still no tears fall.
He squeezes his eyes shut, bringing his knees up so he can grind his forehead into them. It's too much. He can't deal with this.
I didn't mean to!
Even if the court finds him innocent of the murder, he's already been charged with vigilante activitiy and resisting arrest.
I wasn't resisting, I swear!
And All Might could never be seen conferring with someone with a criminal record. Not to mention his chances of being accepted to UA have gone from about thirty percent to absolutely zero.
Why did he ever hope to dream?
His life is already over. Now he's just waiting to see if the guillotine will drop for him, or if he'll have to do it himself.
He should have known it was too good to be true.