Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It doesn’t start anywhere for Izuku. As far as he can remember (which isn’t much) his mental health wavered from year to year. There are catalytic events. The day he knew his dad wasn’t coming back. The first time Kacchan beat him out of rage. Realizing he wasn’t a girl. When the doctor told him he would never have a quirk. 

It doesn’t have a start. Izuku has always been quick to tears. But it does get recognizably worse. 

He has one vague memory of an afternoon in middle school, of closing in on those last few hours. It’s a strange memory, because Izuku doesn’t recall anything of note happening, he doesn’t remember feeling bad, or feeling anything at all. He’s sitting at his desk with his head down. The teacher’s voice is far away, mere white noise. 

Izuku looks over at Katsuki by accident, intending for his eyes to find something of purchase out the window past the other boy. He makes eye contact by mistake, but only because Katsuki had been staring at him intently before Izuku turned his head. 

It takes a few moments for Katsuki’s expression to register. Izuku realizes the other boy is staring at him with thinly veiled distress. Not disgust, not fear, just deeply unnerved. Weird, but even his internal alarm sounds distant.

Izuku vividly remembers the moment he realized tears were streaming down his face. 

He remembers being confused, because he wasn’t upset, he wasn’t feeling much of anything at all. How long has he been sitting here with a completely blank expression? Just silently crying for no reason?

Izuku remembers staring at the droplets warping the ink in his notebook, and finding he doesn’t…care. He doesn’t care at all. 

It happens a few more times in class. He’s always embarrassed about it a few days later. But every time it happens, it’s the same. He doesn’t care. If anyone other than Katsuki notices, they never speak up. Of course the teachers ignore it. He never makes a noise during these episodes. As far as they’re concerned, it’s an improvement to his in-class behavior. 

The episodes of thick nothingness start happening whenever he’s alone with Katsuki. Whenever he’s being yelled at for speaking out in class. When he’s being pushed to the floor and mocked on the playground. 

Then, one evening filled with frustration and forcing himself to get through homework, Izuku feels like he's drowning. He feels like he’ll never understand a stupid reading assignment because he can’t get past the stupid dense metaphors. His mom walks past the open door to his room, voice trailing after her. 

“How was your day at school, baby?”

“Oh. It was–“ His voice dies in his throat.

“Izuku?” 

His mom appears in the doorframe. 

“It was…it sucked.” He says quietly. Numb.

“Oh baby…” His Mom’s arms wrap around his, squeezing tight. 

The next thing he says comes spilling from his mouth unprompted. Even Izuku is a little shocked by himself. It doesn’t feel like his body speaking. 

“Mom…sometimes I think about what happens if I can’t be a hero…like what would my backup plan be? But I feel…bad. If everyone is right about me…then what’s the point of living if I can’t be a hero?”

He knows it sounds bad. He meant to phrase it differently. To make it sound less scary, but the words he spoke aren’t wrong either.  That’s another shock that hits Izuku full force. He starts crying. If everyone is right about him, his mom, Katsuki, his teachers, his classmates, then what’s the fucking point of doing anything else? No matter where he ends up, he’ll just be another quirkless drag on everyone around him.

His mother’s arms clutch him even tighter. He can feel the tension build up in her body. It’s his fault. 

“Don’t say that.” Her voice cracks, wet with her own tears. “Izuku, please— that’s a very scary thing to say, baby.”

“Sorry.” His face grows hot with shame. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t—it just—“

“Shhh.” She rubs his back. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I’m—It worries me to hear that, because I love you so much. I never want you—“ She sucks in a shaky breath “It scares me that you feel like that and I wasn’t able to protect you from it.” 

His mom loosens her grip for a moment to wipe her face, then gathers Izuku up tightly in her arms. Izuku lets his head fall against her shoulder, leaving wet spots on her scrubs. Not sure how to comfort her. Not sure how to feel. 

“Do you really feel that way?” 

Izuku nods. “Sometimes.” 

She sniffs and runs her hands through his hair. “Okay. It’s okay. We’re going to get you some help. I need you to do something for me.”

His mom lets him go so she can look him in the eye. Izuku blinks away the tears and straightens up. She brushes his bangs out of his face. 

“As much as I want you to tell me all of it, I know how big of an ask that is. Do you think you could talk to me, even if it’s not everything? What you did just now was perfect.”

Izuku blinks, “Yeah, I think so.”

Her eyes well up with fresh tears. “Thank you. I love you so much.”

His mom always hugs him for a few seconds longer after that. 

Izuku starts to see a therapist, which helps beyond description. His therapist is an older woman. She has streaks of gray running through her hair and to his surprise, the mouth of a sailor with all the experience of one. After a few months, Izuku finds her attitude rubs off on him—this turns out to be the best thing for his mental health—his confidence soars. Therapy teaches him how to understand what he feels and why, and how to cope. Therapy also teaches Izuku why other people act and make decisions the way they do. 

His relationship with Katsuki changes into…something else. The first time Izuku bites back with his words, he leaves Katsuki speechless, and uses that moment to escape. He tells his mom pretty much everything, she’s never given him any reason not to. The first time he comes back with burns, Inko explodes. She calls Katsuki’s parents for the first time in years and spends an hour chewing out their son. Izuku pretends he isn’t listening from the other room, but he can’t help but feel electrified knowing that Katsuki might actually face consequences for his actions. 

It doesn’t last. 

Katsuki doesn’t come to school for a few days. When he reappears, there’s a fading bruise over his cheekbone. Izuku, hyper aware of the other boy at this time, can’t help but notice he’s acting weird. 

After school, Katsuki finds him as he’s walking home. He’s angry and…visibly shaking. It causes Izuku to pause, fingers hovering over the button to call his mom. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He growls. 

“What happened to your face?”

Katsuki pauses. “Got into a fight. My parents pulled me out of school after you cried to your mommy. Had to get my frustration out somehow.”

“That’s extremely immature.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Katsuki’s hands latched into fabric around his shoulders and he slams Izuku up against the wall behind him. 

“Listen up you little shit. You think you’re better than me with your stupid little quips and one-liners? I guess you forgot you’re still a worthless little Deku. Talking smart means nothing when you’re weak on the inside, where it really matters.” Smoke rolls off his forearms and Izuku’s nose crinkles up in disgust. 

Izuku grabs Katsuki’s sweating arms, and stares back at him with as much vitriol he can handle. Katsuki’s eye twitches. 

“Let go, you’re gonna get sick from my sweat, you idiot.”

“That’s funny, you didn’t seem to care the last time you burned me.”

Katsuki’s hesitates. “Stop it, Deku.”

“Why?”

“Stop!”

"Why ?” 

“Let go!” 

“You first!” 

Katsuki drops him. He spins away, wiping his hands on his pants. “Fuck!” 

He whirls around, fist raised to sock Izuku in the jaw. Izuku flinches, but the impact never comes. When he opens his eyes, Katsuki is just standing there. His shaking has gotten so much worse. 

“This is all your fucking fault.” Katsuki sniffs. “Just leave me alone, stupid jerk.”

He walks away, leaving Izuku panting and lightheaded on the pavement. 

Izuku goes home. He tells his mom. Inko can’t believe what she hears, and has another long conversation with Auntie Mitsuki. This time is different, his mom has a strange look on her face afterwards. They talk about it over dinner for a while. 

Katsuki has a new bruise on his shoulder the next day. A horrible thought grows in the pit of Izuku’s stomach. 

He follows Katsuki out the gates. 

“Did your parents give you that one?”

Katsuki’s lip curls into a sneer. “I’m not fucking babied like you are. This makes me stronger than you.”

Izuku can’t feel his hands. The world spins. 

Katsuki senses something is wrong with what he said, and that he said it to Izuku . “Of course not. That’s stupid. You’re stupid. Only an idiot Deku would come up with something like that.” 

Izuku just stares. Months of therapy taught him there are pieces here to be put together. He’s terrified of the final image. 

There’s a wild look in Katsuki’s eyes now. “I was just joking. Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of Izuku’s face. “Listen to me! It was just a joke.” 

Katsuki reaches for him, Izuku ducks and runs. 

“Deku!” 

This time, Izuku is faster. He doesn’t stop running until his shoes are off and the door is slammed behind him. He stands there, body tense, gasping for breath. His hands are shaking. His knees knock together from exhaustion. Izuku slides to the ground and curls in on himself. 

This is all your fucking fault. 

Katsuki was—he was talking about—

He told his mom, Inko talked to Aunt— Mitsuki . Katsuki shows up with—

Izuku’s stomach lurches. He runs to the bathroom and kneels over the toilet, tears streaming down his face. The taste of salt and stomach acid mixes in his throat. He cries for a few minutes. Then he hears the sound of the front door opening, and his mom’s footsteps on the old wood floor. 

“Izuku? Are you home yet?” 

She passes by the bathroom, and turns back. “Hey baby, what happened?”

She kneels next to him, and presses her hands against his forehead. 

“I think I’m sick.” Izuku mumbles into his hands. 

“You feel kind of warm. Why don’t you lay down on the couch? I’ll get you some miso.” 

Izuku nods, numb. 

He doesn’t tell her about Katsuki. He can’t. 

-

“You said that everything I told was confidential. You can’t tell my mom or anyone else, right?” 

Izuku fiddles with a small cube instead of looking up at his therapist. This is their normal dynamic. Izuku is fidgety and doesn’t like making extended eye contact. Serina-san doesn’t give a shit. 

She frowns. “Yes, but there are a few exceptions, like if you are being harmed, or are harming others. If I suspect abuse or neglect, I’m legally obligated to report it. Why do you ask?” 

Legally obligated to report. 

Izuku can’t tell her. He can’t tell anyone. Tears build behind his eyes and threaten to spill. He can’t talk about it without hurting Katsuki. ( He’s already been hurt, and it’s all your fault. )

“Midoriya?” 

He can’t stop himself from crying. 

“Before my dad left, he still wasn’t around very often.” The words come tumbling out. “Does that mean he was neglecting me?” Liar!

Izuku’s thoughts stop racing for one horrid second. Was it actually a lie? It didn’t feel like one. His memories of his dad were foggy and sparse, but they’re painfully neutral at best . 

Her eyes soften. “Oh, kid. Luckily you had your mom to take care of you, right? What brought this up? You haven’t mentioned that asshole in a while.”

Izuku hangs somewhere between desperate and reassured. 

“I was thinking about…other kids that I know, and their parents...”

By the end of that session, he feels a little better about a problem he didn’t even know he had. Time stretches on. The end of middle school feels too far away but also careering towards him at breakneck speed. 

He stops telling his mom about Katsuki. The other boy keeps showing up to school with injuries and mostly credible excuses. They do their career exploration project. Izuku is laughed at and pushed and teased. 

The bullying is the worst it has ever been. 

These days, Kacchan hangs back, he doesn’t interact with Izuku outside of light jeers and cold looks. The other kids move in, as if to fill in Kacchan’s abandoned post. As if Izuku is merely a rite of passage in the hierarchy of their middle school. They pick on him, not just for wanting to be a hero, but because his body wasn’t changing how it should be, and their bodies, cis and catered to succeed, were. Their bodies didn’t need puberty blockers (not that his mom could afford it), their bodies had quirks. His body is…bad… wrong .

At first it must have just been funny, the quirkless kid dreaming about being a hero. The idiot girl who thinks she’s a boy. As Izuku gets older, it’s less about the absurdity of it, it’s more about oh this kid is serious. It’s how sad, what a waste of a young woman. It’s he needs to wake up before he kills himself. It’s his mom holding him and crying when he was four years old, because she couldn’t give him the stupid societal norm the world he decided he needed to be anything of worth.

One day he’s cleaning the bathroom, organizing his junk underneath the sink, when he feels a sharp pain and yanks his hand back. He stares at the long red line of broken skin in the inside of his arm. He caught it on an exposed screw. 

Izuku doesn’t understand his initial fixation. It’s only later he realizes that his brain, tormenting him with relentless impulsive thoughts and sick intrusions, had gone quiet for a precious few moments. 

At this time, he’d transitioned to only seeing his therapist once a month, because despite everything, he was handling it well. But he’d been meaning to ask if they could go back to twice a week. He kept forgetting. 

One Band-Aid wasn’t enough to cover the scratch. Izuku has to look at that thing for a few days as it disappears. It triggered new urges. Thoughts that terrified him at first, but he didn’t tell anyone. Scary urges turned into frequent annoyances. All it took was one particularly bad day at school. Mocked for his aspirations. Misgendered. Had his accommodations denied by a sub again. Had a meltdown and spent lunch in the bathroom silently crying and pressing white knuckles into his skull. 

On the walk home, silent tears running down his face, he starts to think about how much he needs a few more precious moments of silence from his own mind. Just a small handful. That’s all he would need to get his shit together. 

Izuku remembers how things started to get so, so much worse. 

-

It comes to a head one horrible rainy night in the summer. 

Izuku rinses the weather out of his hair. He showers with the lights off, like always, and he isn’t thinking. He puts on pajamas and helps his mom with the dishes. He’s tired of the lies and the constant anxiety over his body. Over what’s showing and what’s not, how to mold the shape of his form to be less noticeable, less painful. The storm outside distracts him. Izuku thinks about how his mom promised they could curl up on the sofa with tea and a movie, listening to the rain patter against the windows. He doesn’t quite recall how it happened, the memory is mostly blurred with panic and shame. Maybe he leaned over the sink too far and his shirt rode up. Maybe he was putting a cup away on the top shelf and his hoodie slid down around his elbow. 

He hears his mom make a horrible choking noise, calling out his name. He remembers feeling his whole body turn to ice with fear and burn with humiliation. She was never supposed to learn how weak he truly was or the ugly thing that had replaced her son. 

She holds him, sobbing on the kitchen tile, for hours. 

They try to talk about it. They really do. Izuku wants to, desperately. Each moment that passes is overflow. He’s going to explode. Everytime he tries, anxiety takes over his body until he’s shaking and can’t even force himself to say a single word for hours until his heart rate drops. 

Or until he—

His mom locks up all the sharp objects she can’t throw away. Izuku helps, because he’s desperate to get out of this black hole that’s consumed months of his childhood. Because he can’t stand the guilty look on her face. Because when he tries to talk about it, his blood pounds in his ears and his body shakes and his throat closes up. 

He goes to therapy every week again. Serina-san does her best but Izuku still can’t speak about the months he spent in the dark. He can’t mention how his body feels almost feverish from having his coping mechanisms abruptly ripped away from him. He can’t tell her about how sometimes, despite the fact that he wants out of this awful cycle, sometimes all he wants is to relapse over and over again.

It’s stupid. He feels so fucking stupid. The worst that can happen is Serina-san tells his mom. His mom is well aware. 

She doesn’t give up on him, and a few weeks in, they have a breakthrough. Speaking is the problem, and writing it down, which Izuku feels is too similar to the real thing. Other forms of communication? For some reason his stupid clam-up anxiety response is weak enough for him to push through. 

Izuku, his mom, and Serina-san start learning the manual kana syllabary, yubimoji, and a handful of signs he uses often. It’s Taiou Shuwa, signed Japanese exactly as it’s spoken, not actual sign language. Izuku loves it regardless. It doesn’t always work, but it’s something, and it’s fun! Little by little, he tells Serina-san about the dark months, about what he didn’t tell her, what he lied about. Izuku doesn’t really start to feel better until he finally admits to her about the pencil sharpener he took apart and keeps in his desk at school. 

TELL MOM? His fingers shake as he signs each syllable. First he points to her and then makes a fist with his pointer and pinky sticking up, when he moves his hand away from his face, his pointer finger drops, because they talk about his mom too much to sign O-KA-A-SA-N everytime. TSU-TA-E-RU Finally, MA-SU KA , the verb ending and question mark. 

To his surprise, Serina-san takes a few moments before answering. Izuku feels like this is a no-brainer. The pondering look she gives him makes him nervous. 

“No, not this time.”

WHY? 

Serina-san flicks her pencil thoughtfully against her upper lip. “I’ve seen a lot of clients. Lots of kids your age. Plenty of them struggled with self-harm. I’m going to be honest with you kid, but I need you to listen up. The way it works on a neurochemical level makes it extremely difficult to stop once you’ve started. It is an addiction, absolutely.” 

She folds her hands and looks up at him. “I know how fucking hard it is to be where you are. Most kids don’t jump immediately into healing. They want to fight me because I’m a factor within their control, just like self-harm. I want you to know how proud of you I am. I want you to know that I see you giving it your all, and I think you’re one tough motherfucker, Izuku. Okay?”

Izuku is moments away from the ugliest sob of his life. He’s not used to hearing exactly what he wants to be told. He signs a shaky OK in return. 

“This is the important part because it gets crazy nuanced. I want to make it clear I’m not telling you to go hurt yourself. Relapse is extremely common in recovery. Happens all the time. You know why?” 

RECOVERY LINEAR-IS NOT. He signs, gathering up some determination. 

“Exactly.” She sighs. “You still have the list we made? Of things to do instead?” 

Izuku nods. 

“Good. Those come first. But the truth is, there are probably going to be more bad days, and more relapses. The best thing you can do right now is focus on your alternative coping strategies, and the next best thing is to work on making each period between relapses longer than the last. If you’re relapsing every day, next time try and make it two days, then a week, then a month, and so on. Each time you delay relapsing, the easier it will be to ignore it completely. Does that make sense?”

Izuku nods again, managing a weak smile. 

I—THAT—he pauses. 

Serina-san waits for him. 

“I—” he takes a deep breath, clenching his fists. “I feel like I can do this!”

He believes it wholeheartedly, with a renewed sense of hope that he hasn’t felt in months. 

-

It’s slow and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but Izuku starts to get better. He has help. Not only from his mom and therapy, it’s this event that leads to Serina-san referring him to a psychiatrist. Medication is something Izuku has talked about before, but he always felt like he wasn’t “suffering enough” to need it. 

The psychiatrist scared him at first, but she turned out to be a pretty funny lady, and it didn’t take long for Izuku to relax. First she sent his mom back to the waiting room and spent a long time asking Izuku questions about what his life was like, what he did in his free time, and his favorite subjects in school. Then the conversation turned towards his feelings about a lot of different things, he managed to scrape through the worst of it with yes-or-no answers. She was incredibly patient and accommodating the entire time, and even though it was difficult to recant some parts of his story, he never felt humiliated by her. Then she called his mom back and asked her some questions about Izuku, and some questions for both of them. His mom only cried once, when Izuku was explaining where he was now and how he’s focused on recovery. 

She finally puts down her pen.

“So, there are a few things I want to go over. First, Izuku definitely meets all the criteria for an anxiety and depressive disorder. I think if you want to pursue medication as treatment, he could greatly benefit.”

“Do I have to?” Izuku blurts before he even thinks about what he’s saying. 

The psychiatrist pauses. “No, of course not. Honestly, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like therapy alone is really helping you. Medication is simply a supplementary treatment in addition to therapy.” 

Izuku doesn’t know what he’s feeling. The idea of taking a drug makes him nervous. But his psychiatrist is so easy going, he trusts her to look after him in this regard. At the same time, he’s heard so many stupid rumors and tales passed around hallways and locker rooms. He doesn’t want to become a zombie or completely dependent on drugs. Izuku knows it’s unlikely his tweenage peers are bastions of truthful gossip. He still feels…not quite ready. 

Izuku chews on his lip. “I’m not sure.” His mom rubs his shoulder gently. 

“That’s fine, you two can always take some time to think about it. The next thing I wanted to address, Midoriya-san, has Izuku ever been evaluated for ADHD?” 

His mom blinks. “Oh, um. He was diagnosed with autism when he was three, and I think they might have mentioned something about testing for ADHD when he got older, but it was a while ago and I lost touch with that doctor when we moved.” 

The psychiatrist nods. “I’m not surprised. I strongly recommend getting him that evaluation, we can set it up after we’re done, if you’d like. I think addressing some of those struggles in school will improve his mood in other areas.” 

“Okay.” His mom checks with Izuku, and nods. “Let’s do it.” 

That’s the thing, Izuku discovers, mental illness is a lot like having a rock in your brain that, when lifted up, reveals a good handful of other disorders scurrying around underneath. 

He’s tired after the appointment, and looking forward to taking a nap. When Izuku climbs the stairs to their apartment home, five steps ahead of his mom, there’s a surprise waiting for him on his doormat. 

“Kacchan?” 

The other boy jolts awake, the wild look in his eyes is gone as soon as it appears. Izuku takes one look at the bruise melting down the side of Katsuki’s face. His heart jumps into his throat. 

“Katsuki?” His mom finally catches up. “Oh, you poor thing, were you waiting out here in the—“ 

It’s the first time Izuku hears his mom cuss.

“Sorry! Come inside, go sit on the counter while I get the first aid kit. Izuku, get him an ice-pack.” She whirls past them.

Izuku follows the oddly quiet Katsuki into their kitchen and watches the other boy. He glances around, eyes landing everywhere but Izuku. 

“My mom’s a nurse, so you’re in good hands.” He says in the silence, handing Kacchan an ice-pack from the freezer. 

Kacchan takes it numbly. That’s the problem, Izuku realizes. The Bakugou in front of him is so much more subdued and vacant than the explosive tween he’s familiar with. 

“I know.” Katsuki says. His eyes close when the ice presses against his cheek. 

“How long were you out there?” 

Kacchan shrugs. “Few hours.” 

He does the math.  “You must have showed up just after we left.”

“The hell were you?” Katsuki cracks an eyelid and stares at him with one red eye. “Brunch?” 

“I had a psychiatrist appointment.” It was a bit of a drive to get there, his mom said it had something to do with insurance. 

Kacchan stares at him for a moment. Izuku can practically hear the gears turning. He doesn’t mind. It seems fair, in a way. Katsuki showing up here is an extreme gesture of vulnerability. Izuku has no reason to lie. 

It’s almost like they never stopped being friends. 

His mom reappears with the first aid kit, which is an understatement. As a wound specialty nurse, Midoriya Inko has the expertise to warrant the fully equipped tub of equipment she brandishes. Katsuki flinches once when she moves too quickly around his face, but otherwise remains still and quiet as she cleans and bandages his wounds. 

Izuku fills in the silence, talking about leaks from the new All Might retrospective set to come out later that year and then his freshest takes on the number one hero. 

“That’s stupid.” Katsuki finally says. “Everyone knows the early silver age had the best merch, and there’s no way with the current line’s production quality that they’ll try any sort of “nostalgia renaissance.” Fans will riot. I’ll riot.” 

Despite himself, Izuku beams. “That’s just what they want you to think.”

-

For the rest of that summer, Kacchan comes and goes often. On those days, they’re almost friends again. 

His mom wants to help him so badly. She tried to sit him down and ask him about it once. Kacchan shutdown completely and didn’t speak for hours. Then he didn’t appear at school or at Izuku’s house for a few days. It rained again. His mom was just about to call the police when he finally showed up, visibly uninjured but with a cough that lingered. She hasn’t tried to get answers out of him since, out of fear that Kacchan would stop coming to her for help. Especially when he needed medical attention. Inko makes the hard choice to table the discussion, because even if Katsuki keeps showing up hurt, at least he’s still showing up at all.

What’s left unsaid weighs heavy on them. Katsuki still leaves, no matter how hard they try. Almost as if the more they attempt to help him the more he pushes them away. When middle school starts to come to a screeching halt for Izuku, he barely sees Kacchan at all. Whatever embers of their friendship that remains were doused out and stomped on. 

His priorities change. Izuku is going to get into U.A. if it fucking kills him. It’s the only thing he’s ever truly wanted— needed . The day his grade report is sent back, Izuku comes up with The Plan. 

“My grades are okay, but I need the best possible scores to get U.A. to notice me. Quirkless kids get into the general course all the time, I just need to prove I can hold my own compared to the other hero students.” Izuku gestures to the whiteboard hanging on his wall, covered in near manic scribbling. “It’ll be hard work, but it’s what needs to happen.” 

Inko sits in Izuku’s desk chair, concern obvious on her face. “You have great grades already, baby.” 

“They’re not U.A. great, mom. That’s the thing. I need to get better at analysis too, I want to be able to know things from a glance. Oh and, uh, I kind of want to try ADHD medication.” 

Since the first visit with his psychiatrist, Izuku had gotten evaluated and diagnosed with combined type ADHD. In hindsight, kind of a no-brainer. He was once again offered medication as a treatment option and once again Izuku refused. Until now. 

His mom’s eyes grow wide. “Okay, I’ll make the appointment after dinner. Why now? Just because you’re applying to U.A.?” 

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I mean, kind of. That’s a part of it, it’s just…lately…for a while things have been…hard. Really hard. I want this more than anything, and I know I’m going to have to work even harder to make it happen. I know it’s hard to pay for all these things and miss work to take me. But I’m always feeling like I’m catching up, like part of me is…broken.”

His mom stares, tears in her eyes. “You’re not broken. Oh, Izuku, you’re wonderful and smart and the most stubborn, strong willed person I’ve ever met.”

Izuku feels his throat close up. 

“I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing.” Inko chokes on a laugh. “I’m scared sometimes, of the life you want, but I know you can get there.” 

He starts crying, they both do. Her words play over and over and over in his mind. The appointment with his psychiatrist comes and goes. A few days and a blood test later he’s staring at a bottle of pills in his palm. 

“She said it would take thirty minutes to an hour to kick in for the first time.” His mom says, gesturing for him to finish his breakfast. “I’m going to work on the leak under the sink, let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay…I guess I’ll go work on…homework?” 

She ruffles his hair. Izuku can just barely pick up on her own worry. He smiles, awkward as always, and that seems to bring her reassurance. 

He goes back to his room, flips open his textbook to the chapter he left off on, and starts taking notes. At first, it’s easy to get distracted by a thought that turns into scribbling something down in his hero notebook so he doesn’t forget. And then …Izuku just…goes back to reading his homework chapter. He feels a little strange for a few minutes, but then chalks it up to nerves and being hyper aware of everything. 

Suddenly, he realizes he’s finished the chapter and the end-of-chapter word problems. It wasn’t easy, but compared to his usual routine of getting up and pacing and talking himself through problems and definitions, it was a damn cakewalk! 

He sits back and feels a sense of peace wash over him. Oh , he didn't realize how loud his brain was before. Is this what it’s like for everyone else?

It takes effort to hold back tears. He had no idea how much he’d been struggling. How much easier it could be. 

Izuku looks back at his whiteboard, at his plans for the year, and feels a sense of hope well up in his chest, threatening to explode. 

“I can do this.” He whispers to himself. 

-

It all happens so fast. 

Izuku wraps notebook number thirteen in a bundle of paper towels from the school bathroom before shoving it in his backpack and heading home. 

Kacchan’s words sting, but he also just thinks it was a stupid thing for him to say. Of course he doesn’t know about any of the shit Izuku’s been through in the last few years. Of course he’s just doing it to save face in front of his…Izuku doesn’t know if the other boys are Kacchan’s actual friends, or if their admiration of the blond just makes Kacchan feel better. Whatever, Kacchan may have a quirk and be talented at using it, but Izuku knows none of that brain power goes into what comes out of his mouth. 

It still stings. It’s not the first time he’d been baited, but it was a first from Bakugou. Sure, Izuku had never gotten “that bad”, but he’s had plenty of days spent lying in bed and wishing he could just sleep through a few months, wishing he could just pause life until he could stand up on his own feet again. An awful tension builds in his stomach as he walks, because if Kacchan knew… he’d be so fucking sorry. The thought doesn’t bring any comfort. 

In hindsight, Izuku barely remembers that morning. It happens so fast. 

Thick, chunky liquid shoves deep into his throat. His abdomen convulses, violently attempting to vomit out the intrusion. Someone help, I’m dying!  Izuku claws at his mouth, desperately trying to breathe. He has to—he has to comes to terms with the fact that these are probably his last moments alive. Oh god , what a cruel fucking irony that is.

When he wakes up, he knows once he clings onto All Might—the manifestation of his dreams, who Izuku thanks for keeping him alive— he’s not letting go. He can’t. He needs to hear it. 

He’s shaking. He can’t even open his eyes. “Can someone without a quirk…become a hero like you?” 

All Might—huge , muscled , deserving , All Might—still smoking from the raw power he wields, goes to speak. Izuku gets there first. He needs to make sure All Might understands how much he needs this. 

“Because I don’t have a quirk I…” His throat is torn to shreds, voice raw from trying to scream. “Well, maybe that’s not the only reason.” He was born wrong. “But I’ve always been picked on. That’s why—maybe that’s why—I think that saving people is just about the coolest thing you can do!”

He needs to hear from one person that it doesn’t matter what his body looks like, what it can’t do. Izuku needs someone to believe in him more than anything, because he’s been the only one for fourteen years, and he’s so fucking tired of—

“You need to be realistic, kid.” 

When the ringing in his ears fades, Izuku is alone on that fucking rooftop.

Even All Might—even All Might thinks he’s just a stupid quirkless idiot. What is he supposed to say to that? They’re right. Everyone was right about Izuku. 

He would be lying if Kacchan’s stupid taunt didn’t drip back into the front of his mind. Mixing with fresh memories of nearly being drowned in acidic, viscous sludge. One moment he’s fighting back tears, the next he’s…struggling to care…about anything. 

How many stories up is he? It doesn’t matter. Nothing fucking matters. This is the end of him. This is all he was ever meant for. 

Izuku is numb. He’s barely even there. He watches himself walk down the stairs and out of the building because ( thankfully , when he recalls it later) anything else feels like too much work. He doesn’t even feel like he deserves a dramatic exit off this goddamn mortal coil. It’s almost funny, the way mental illness works. Izuku feels too depressed to do anything but leave. 

He wants to go home. He wants to lay in bed and fall asleep, if he’s lucky. You need to be realistic boxes back and forth in his cranium and Izuku doesn’t want to die. He honestly doesn’t. But he’d really appreciate a timeout, even if just a few minutes to cry about it and reevaluate if there’s any other options for his life now that he truly knows everything up to this point was the naive whims of a child that never grew up. A stupid fucking Deku . 

And then—

He’s watching the villain take someone else, suppressing the urge to throw up, realizing this is all his fault—and then Izuku makes eye contact with a terrified, dying, Katsuki. 

At this point, Midoriya Izuku cannot be saved. He maybe knew, deep down, that this was always going to be the case. It never stopped him from trying to save anyone he could get his hands on, to give to others what he never would receive.

Of course he moves. There’s no question, no hesitation, no doubt, just the smile of a scared, doomed boy who can’t help it.

You looked like you needed saving. 

-

There is All Might—haggard, gaunt, real All Might—standing before him again. He’s talking. He’s talking and Izuku can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

All Might looks ashamed. He looks inspired. “Of all the people at the scene…it was only you, timid and quirkless, who acted!” 

The empty cavern in Izuku’s heart burns as it shrinks. He needs this so badly. Tears form like blisters in the corners of his eyes. He needs to hear it. 

“You can be a hero.” All Might says. 

Izuku breaks in a way that finally allows something inside him to start healing. Once he starts sobbing he can’t stop. 

-

He starts to wean off of therapy again. Izuku tells Serina-san of course, he doesn’t even think before he spills, non-disclosure agreement and all. She—along with Izuku—loses her goddamn mind at his retelling of the day’s events. He doesn’t tell her everything, but he’s said enough that by the time it occurs to him as maybe something he should have slid by All-Might first, he’s consumed with guilt. 

It frays his nerves to their breaking point. Entertaining the idea of not telling All Might makes him feel worse. He doesn’t know the guy all too well yet, and he’s already going to disappoint him! 

“Your parents are chill with you staying out late to train?” All Might asks from atop the roof of a broken down car. 

“Oh, yeah. My mom said it’s fine as long as I keep my grades up.” Izuku pauses, “and she wants to have you over for dinner soon, but I think she’s happy I’m getting out more.” 

All Might nods, the line of his mouth pressed thin as he mulls it over. “And your dad?”

Izuku prickles, but only out of mild annoyance whenever the topic is brought up. “Not in the picture.” 

“Ah,” pity flashes across his face. Izuku is used to it. “What did you tell your mom about, uh, me?” 

Guilt prickles at Izuku’s neck. “Well I told her I met All Might the day of the sludge incident, because I was on the news. But after talking to the pros and the crew at the scene, I had met a guy who was uh, moved by my story and wanted to help me out with some personal training.” 

His expression shifts. Izuku thinks he might be…amused? “That’s…technically true. I was going to ask you to keep the details of our arrangement a secret, but you’ve already got that handled, smart kid.”

Izuku can’t help but glow under the praise, and momentarily pauses hauling a tire across the beach. “You are going to have to come over for dinner though, otherwise my mom will start to worry you’re some creep.” 

All Might laughs. “Yeah, we can make that work. You got a good mom, young Midoriya. You haven’t told anyone else, right?” 

He cringes. “Uh. Y-yeah. I told my…therapist.” Izuku picks at his cuticles. “I kind of told her…a lot, about everything except One For All. I wasn’t thinking and it had been such a crazy day—but I figured that would be okay because of the nondisclosure agreement, right?” 

All Might blinks at him. 

“I’m really sorry.” Izuku adds, for good measure. 

“What? No.” All Might slides off the car and saunters towards him. “There’s no need to apologize. I can handle myself, I’m mainly worried that if news of One For All gets out that someone will come after you, but therapy shouldn’t be a problem. You were right to assume about non-disclosure—I mean, you trust this lady, right?” 

Izuku nods, his movements still a little jerky from nerves. “Yeah. Sh-she’s cool.” 

All Might pats him on the back, “You’re not in trouble, kid.” His touch lingers into an awkward silence. “Are you…doing okay?” 

Izuku feels like he missed something. “Yeah? I mean I’m a little sore but I can handle a few more of these tires.” 

“That great too, kid, but I meant…” All Might rubs the side of his abdomen with the spiral scar. “I don’t know why you’re in therapy, so I might just be making a fool of myself, but you're my successor, and a good kid. If you ever need anything, uh… I am here ..for you. If you want to talk about something. Anything.” 

“Oh.” Izuku is not used to this. “Thanks. Thank you. I’m doing pretty great right now actually—this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, ever—but uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

All Might rocks awkwardly, giving him another pat on the shoulder. “Of course.” 

-

Izuku gets the feeling All Might is just as bad at conversation as he is sometimes. They don’t talk about the uncomfortable stuff very often. To be fair, there’s a lot of work to get done before the entrance exam. Izuku hasn’t really dealt with his brain for a while—he’s too busy . 

The beach is almost halfway cleared. 

“Why didn’t you tell your mom?” 

At this point All Might—or Yagi-san, as Inko has taken to calling him—has been over for a few dinners. His mom now knows that Yagi is All Might, not just that he’s a retired pro. She doesn’t know about One For All, Izuku asked him not to tell her. 

Izuku stumbles, nearly dropping the bags he’s lugging. “What?”

All Might looks up from the feasible stack of paperwork he sometimes brings with him while Izuku works. “When this all started, you’re a big hero fanboy, but you didn’t tell your mom that All Might wanted you to be his successor. I don’t get it.” 

“Oh. I don’t know, I didn't want to worry her. I guess I was also a little scared it was going to be a joke.” Izuku readjusts his posture, carrying on as if they were merely talking about the weather. 

All Might frowns. “I would never.” 

“Well of course you wouldn’t.” Izuku rolls his eyes, and disappears around a trash mound, down the path to the bins. 

All Might sits there, flabbergasted, until he returns. “Have similar…pranks…been done to you, young Midoriya?”

Izuku grimaces. “I mean yeah. Just the kids at school being stupid.” 

“How so?” 

“It’s embarrassing, sensei.”

All Might waits.

Izuku fiddles with the cap on his water bottle, trying to pick out the least offending incident. “They pretended to write letters to me as you once, pretending you were responding to my comments on your website.”

All Might raises a loose fist to his chin, staring at him with the deep set, baggy eyes. Izuku knows he’s waiting for more information. Part of him is reluctant to hand it over, part of him wants to be validated for once. 

“They were nice until I started talking about being quirkless.” Izuku shrugs.

“Oh.” 

“It’s fine, though. It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t really believe it was you.”

It’s half of a lie. Izuku didn’t really believe it was All-Might writing to him because to think anything else would have ruined him. He had to believe they were all just pranks. Kids are cruel, but All Might cares about people like Izuku, he saves them—

You need to be realistic, kid.

All Might stares at him with an expression reminiscent of horror, and just a little sad. “Things are very different now, from when I was in middle school. I’m sorry to hear your peers have been less than kind.”

“It’s okay.” Izuku’s voice cracks a little. “It’s not as bad anymore.” 

He cuts off the conversation by taking another long walk to the trash bin. 

-

All Might’s training plan means Izuku looks in the mirror more often, tracking the visual growth of his body. Doing his best to ignore the rough lines and the bits of his flesh that he doesn’t truly consider a part of him. 

One horrible, relentless thought haunts him. Izuku thinks his body is obvious, but if All-Might doesn’t know—if he were to find out—would that change things?

It eats him up until Izuku is filled with gaping wounds of guilt. It burns him from the inside out until he can’t stand the heat of it anymore. 

It’s his body’s fault. His stupid fucking weak little body. 

“I need you to know something.” Izuku opens his mouth and he’s already sweating. 

(No matter how intense his workout was, Izuku doesn’t dare wear a t-shirt outside of his own room.)

“Okay…” All Might slows his jog to walk next to Izuku. “What’s up, young Midoriya?”

Izuku wrings the hem of his sweatshirt. The words get stuck in his throat. Every moment of silence makes his heart pound louder in his ears. Come on, not now!

All Might senses the jagged waves of anxiety pouring off the young boy. “Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

“This is so frustrating.” Izuku says under his breath. “I just want to tell you. But it—it’s just—why is this is so fucking hard?” 

His eyebrows fly up at Izuku’s language, but he doesn’t move to correct him. “It’s okay, do you want to sit down?”

“No.” Izuku clenches his fists until they’re white. “I’m trans.” 

All Might nearly trips. They stare at each other for a moment, All Might dumbfounded and Izuku near tears and sweating buckets. 

“I didn’t want that to change anything!” He blurts, furiously wiping his eyes. “So I didn’t tell you, but the entrance exam just keeps getting closer and closer and I felt so guilty—“

“Hang on, just a sec, kid,” All Might says with all the delicacy of someone who’s never had a sobbing, extremely vulnerable teenager come out to them before. “Wait. You mean, like, transgender trans? That trans?”

Izuku nods, fully crying on the abandoned beach at five in the morning. 

“That’s great.” He says, having completely forgotten how they got here in the first place. “You want me to use different pronouns?” 

“Huh?” Izuku takes a second for his brain to try and catch up to wherever All Might’s wandered off to. “Oh, no. I-I’m a boy!”

“Oh, I see now.” He pats Izuku on the shoulder. “Me too.” 

Izuku sputters, tears momentarily forgotten. “Ha—but—ah—well obviously! ” 

All Might grins from ear to ear. “I mean as in I’m also transgender, young Midoriya.” 

Izuku’s jaw drops and his neurochemistry does a complete one hundred and eighty degree flip. He feels like he’s exploding in the best way, he can’t even fully wrap his mind around it. He stands there, emotionally knocked on his ass and might physically follow suit if hit with a strong breeze. 

“Thanks for telling me.” All Might ruffles his hair. “You ready to keep jogging?” 

Izuku lets himself relax into a shaky grin. He thinks, for the first time in nearly a decade, maybe he can get used to kindness instead of rejection.

-

It only takes a few weeks for the next hiccup in his plans to pop up. The weather changes and Izuku’s sensory issues are triggered more and more by the clothes he wears. All Might grasps awkwardly for context he doesn’t have. 

“Are you…uncomfortable?” 

Izuku looks up at him, hair soaked from moments before when he had been dunking his head into the soup of water, ice, and beverages inside their cooler. 

“I was a little bit, but this is great!” He grins. 

(Toshinori wishes he understood this generation.) 

Izuku is sure he has everything under control until one day, he’s pushing refrigerator pieces across the beach one minute and the next thing he knows, All Might is standing over him with a water bottle, trying to get him to drink some. 

“What happened?” Izuku asks. His skull feels like a lead balloon. 

All Might’s sunken eyes wrinkle with worry. “You passed out for a second there, kid.” 

Oh. 

“How much water have you been drinking?” 

“Not a lot. You’re right, that was probably the problem!” Izuku prays to every god that was convincing enough. 

“You should take your sweatshirt off. Here, get the sleeve wet and put it on your—“

“Oh no! I feel fine now! Don’t worry about it, I have a beach to clean!” Izuku goes to stand up and All Might puts a muscled hand on his shoulder. 

“Young Midoriya, you could have heatstroke. Please sit down and consider losing some of your layers.” 

(Izuku does this thing when he’s upset that scares the shit out of Toshinori—he goes completely silent.) 

“I don’t want to. I don’t feel that bad, really. It’s probably just low iron.” 

They both know the meal plan Izuku is on, they both know it’s a lie. Izuku knows the game is up, He goes quiet. 

“Izuku…” All Might starts, sensing something is wrong but not having the slightest clue how else to go about it other than to punch right in and declare his presence. “Are you uncomfortable with how you look with it off?” 

Izuku stares at his rapidly twitching hands in his lap, and nods. 

“I see.”

“Well—kind of.” He chokes out. “I…I don’t want to just go home and waste the day.” 

All Might sits down next to him, brow knit together with concern. “Young Midoriya, I will never judge you for your physical appearance. I do ask that you sit and drink some more, but we can continue after that. Even if you don’t feel comfortable without your sweatshirt.” 

Izuku looks up at him, collecting tears in his eyelashes because he can’t help it, and knows that this is the real All Might. It’s sincerity. It’s what Izuku imagined as a kid what his father was supposed to be like. He really is here for Izuku, no matter what. 

He slides the sweatshirt over his head, lets it pool around his elbows until the last possible moment, before casting it aside. He can’t help but curl in on himself a little. At this point, the marks have faded but it’s still very obvious what they are. 

All Might—Yagi, doesn’t say anything. He just leans over and pulls Izuku into a bone-crushing hug. 

-

Izuku has twenty minutes to eat dinner. Then an hour of homework, a twenty minute run, and another hour or two of homework before bed. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Crazy schedule.” Izuku says around bites. 

His mom smiles, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but I’m really proud of you.” 

Izuku pauses, and meets the warmth of her gaze. “Aw.”

“Yeah. I’m just…oh I don’t want to start crying. I’m just glad Yagi-san came into our lives and I love seeing you excited about something again.” Inko blinks rapidly, and takes a deep breath. “I think your hard work is really paying off.”

Izuku beams. “You think so?” 

She snorts. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Later that night, after his dinner and run, he does. Izuku notices he’s started to put on actual muscle. There are new hills and valleys defining his figure. For once, he isn’t thinking about his perceived imperfections. Even standing topless in front of the mirror, with one hand over his chest, Izuku feels a rush of euphoria so intense it’s dizzying. He feels so masculine. He looks so masculine. 

He presses a fist to his mouth, happy noises spilling out of him as he rides the feeling well into the next day. 

-

Serina-san told him recovery isn’t linear. Izuku forces himself to repeat every time he hits a new low. 

It’s been six months since he last relapsed. Six months and every once in a while he has days like this, fighting for every minute he’s earned.

Izuku knows he’s overworking himself. He knows he should stop and just follow the plan but the time he has left until the entrance exam feels like it’s choking him. Of course there’s always the possibility that no matter how hard he works at his goal, he’ll fail. 

Izuku may be physically incapable of being a hero.  

Just like All Might said, if he were to take on his power immediately his body might explode. That’s because Izuku has always been weak and incapable in the face of most challenges. 

Izuku is standing in his kitchen at 2:00AM, one hand on the door to a cabinet full of mugs. He walked in here less than a minute ago and he’s completely forgotten what he intended to do in this cabinet.

If he succeeds…does he even deserve it?

No, no wait. He closes the cabinet. This is his brain being a dick, also known as a cognitive distortion. Izuku runs through the list in his head, taking a step back from himself to look at the exchange clinically. The dissonance helps. Sure, it’s a weird, maybe cold way to do it, but at least this way Izuku feels like he has a valid excuse to be gentle with himself. 

It’s a little fucked but but he’s working on it in therapy. Sometimes it’s best to wrap something up in duct tape while you gather the right parts to fix it proper. 

He keeps expecting to fail because it’s happened before in both small events and deeply traumatic ones. Izuku knows that’s called overgeneralizing, with a touch of his on-brand personalization. 

He opens the cabinet again and stares at the mugs. Okay, he’s identified the shitty brain thing, next step: getting it shut up. 

“Just because things haven’t gone well in the past doesn’t mean this will be the same.” He tells the mugs. 

Izuku realizes how exhausted he is at that moment. What the fuck is he in the kitchen for? Why can’t he remember already?

“I’m following All Might’s plan—I’m ahead of the plan.” He whispers. “I can do this.” 

If he succeeds, does he deserve it?

That thought is different. It’s difficult. It comes from the dark and the muck and it wants to accumulate around his ankles until each step is a chore. 

Izuku looks over at his warped reflection in the microwave. He still has baby fat in his cheeks. He’s never been able to get rid of it. 

Just like a ball on an elastic string comes snapping back to the paddle, Izuku remembers he came to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. Because he’d woken up from a stress-induced nightmare violently craving the urge to hurt himself. 

Does he deserve that respite? 

He does. He does. Izuku tells it to himself over and over again as he sets the kettle on the stove. While he waits for his water to boil, he sucks on ice cubes, he presses his palms tight against the ground and counts to fifteen. After he mixes the powder he holds the mug in his hands and focuses on the sensation of the heat. It’s almost uncomfortably hot. The nerves relaying the message take up more space in his brain than the stupid depression monkey banging its cymbals for him to relapse.

Some nights, that’s all it takes for Izuku to push through another day clean. Sometimes it isn’t. Recovery isn’t linear. 

Exercise is one of the coping strategies on his list. Working out produces endorphins and dopamine, chemicals he is clinically starved of. It also calms the caged feral pigeon that lives in his chest and takes over the tempo of his heart beat when he thinks about just how little time he has left until the entrance exam. That is what Izuku tells himself as he works himself past the point of exhaustion, everyday, for weeks. 

It’s on his list, that means it can’t be bad for him, right? He’s so good at recovery. It sparks an addicting sensation to watch the day-clean counter tick past another new record. To watch his muscles take shape. 

Then one moment, Izuku is jogging next to All Might on his scooter. Next, his screaming muscles finally give out. Izuku heaves into the sidewalk, unable to get up, dead leaves crunching with every withering effort from his lungs. Everything hurts. 

Izuku doesn’t move when All Might teases him about taking a break. Only three months left. 

“My “Pass the Test, American Dream” plan.” All Might steps to the ground. “I designed it based on what you’d need to do with your body specifically to make it before the exam date…But you haven’t stuck to the plan.” 

Izuku flinches, fingers curling in a fist. He doesn’t get it. 

“Overdoing it is no good either!” All Might sighs. “Don’t you want to pass the test?”

“I do.” Izuku grits his teeth, and braces his palms under him. His body screams. “But I don’t want to just pass. I have to work harder than everyone else to make it! I’ll never catch up otherwise.” 

All Might hesitates.

“I want to be like you! I want to be the strongest!” He chokes out. 

“That’s what I like to hear!” All Might laughs, still not getting it. 

Only three months left. 

All Might leans down to help him up. Izuku tries to swat him away. 

“Come on kid, let’s sit down and revise the plan.” 

“I got it.” 

“You’ll put yourself out of commission on injury at this point, Midoriya.” All Might’s laugh sounds different now. “Just let me help you up.”

Izuku shakes his head. 

All Might grabs him under the shoulders and hoists Izuku to his feet, no quirk needed. 

“Are you okay? I thought you were just being eager but there’s something else going on, isn’t there?” 

All Might lets Izuku put weight on his legs just before a park bench. Izuku glares at it.

“I’m fine, let’s keep going. Only three months left, just like you said.” 

All Might throws him a sharp look. “Sit down.” 

Izuku does, his body nearly melts in relief. All Might parks his scooter and sits down next to him, hands folded in deep concentration. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” 

Izuku sputters. “It’s nothing , I—“

“We’re not moving until you do.” 

His jaw clicks shut. Izuku looks up at All Might but his expression is serious now. This isn’t a joke.

“I meant what I said. I don’t want to be behind, I don’t want to be at the bottom of the class. I need to be stronger than this.” 

“You just collapsed, you can’t make any progress if you hurt yourself.” 

Izuku goes quiet, staring hard at his feet. 

All Might’s brow furrows. “We can adjust the plan if you feel like you’re ready for more, but I’m serious. Overworking your body will make you weaker, this stuff requires balance.” 

“I can’t get any weaker than I am now.” Izuku spits out, shrinking away from the other man. 

“Hey, that’s not true. You’re a tough little man, Midoriya. No other kids your age are this dedicated to being a hero. That’s why I chose you. You care about other people so much, why is it so hard to get you to care about yourself?” 

Izuku’s eyes flick back towards him, and his posture starts to soften. He takes a deep breath in, holds it, and lets it out. 

“I…I know we’re working on getting my body ready so I don’t explode, but I kind of feel like I don’t…deserve it.” His voice clips at the end. “It feels like cheating. I haven’t earned this, I don’t feel like I ever will.” 

“You felt like you have to suffer for a quirk?” 

Izuku is afraid to look at him, but does anyway. All Might’s face is stretched with a mixture of horror and sympathy. It’s not what he was expecting, but it doesn’t feel like rejection yet.

“I have to suffer for everything else.” He mutters. “I guess I didn’t want to think about it as hurting myself, it just felt like…how things were supposed to be. It’s been stressful and I really, really need this to work out.”

All Might stares at him, once again left struggling to find the words. “Shit, kid. I wish I would have known earlier. Listen, we can make some changes to the plan, but I’m going to teach how to cool down and rest too. That’s how you get the best chance.”

Izuku lets out a deep breath. “Okay, yeah.”

“I need you to do one more thing.” 

Izuku looks up, All Might’s face is serious again. He’s worried. The creases under his eyes are deep and dark. 

“Tell your mom about what you’ve been doing, and what we talked about.” 

It hurts to hear, but Izuku knows he’s right, and why he asks. He needs to make sure someone has an eye on Izuku at home, when All Might’s not around.

“Okay.” Izuku means it. “I will.” 

—

He tells his mom. It’s a stressful, teary ordeal on the rugged, broken, stammering landscape of Izuku’s speaking capabilities, supported by taiou shuwa and Izuku’s fierce efforts in therapy. Serina-san points out how much progress he’s made when he retells it for her. 

“How have you been feeling overall these days, kid?” 

“I mean, great. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Serina-san gives him a knowing look. “Izuku.”

His mouth feels dry. “I don’t feel like I have anything to complain about, getting a quirk is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Being a hero is all you’ve ever wanted, there’s a difference.” She remarks. “Just because something exciting is happening doesn’t mean you’ll only feel happy from here on out.”

“I guess you’re right.” Izuku fiddles with his fidget toy in contemplative silence. “In that case, I feel like shit, even if my situation isn’t.”

“There it is. Let’s talk about that.” 

—

The next time Izuku sees his psychiatrist, he tells her about what’s been happening and about the decision he’s made after lots of thinking and talking it out with his therapist. He leaves with a new prescription and growing knowledge of SSRIs. They make him do another blood draw like when he started his ADHD medication. 

His mom takes him out for fast food after, with the cotton ball still taped to his elbow. Just like she did last time. They eat in the car together. 

“It’s weird, but I’m kind of relieved.” He says. “I was so nervous about the idea of taking medication but now I just want to feel better. I can’t believe I thought it was wrong to just…have or do the thing that would make my life easier.”

Inko looks at him softly as he digs into a pocket of fries. “Thank you, Izuku.”

He looks up. “For what?” 

His mom rests her face in the palm of her hand. “For telling me. I’m…It’s not about me, I know, but I’m just thankful you’ve always come to me.” 

Izuku shifts, still uncomfortable from fasting this morning, and picks at the medical tape. “I still feel bad for trying to hide stuff.” 

“I don’t care about that.” His mom takes another fry, eyes watering. “You told me, that’s all that matters.”

Izuku sniffs. He can’t help himself. “You’re welcome, mom. I love you.”

“I love you too."