Work Text:
It started, as most things did in his life, with Kacchan Katsuki.
He’d let his guard down, having gotten secure with Taichan (he’d finally worn him down, after a couple months of being called Mido with no reciprocity) by his side. Since he wasn’t aiming for a hero school like Izuku, Taichan didn’t seem to give two shits about what went on his record, and took ruthless advantage of it. It only took a couple more fights for Kac—tsuki’s friends(?) to decide it wasn’t worth angering him, lest he made good on his threat to.....well, let’s just say there’s a reason Izuku started writing his analysis books in code and never left them where the other could get to them, after that.
While he might not be willing to use the obvious weaknesses of his classmates against them, Taichan had no such qualms, and was more than willing to resort to (in Izuku’s opinion) excessive bodily harm to get their classmates to back off. He justified it by saying healing quirks in hospitals were a dime a dozen these days, though Izuku still felt it was a bit......you know.
Anyway, that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Taichan wasn’t at school today, needing to take his mother to a doctor’s appointment, which left Izuku alone for the first time in weeks. He could’ve gotten through it, the knowledge that he was the one that noticed the weaknesses Taichan was ruthless about exploiting usually enough to get people to back off, but....apparently, his life had been going too well lately, or something. Sumiroa-sensei had been saying something about the career aptitude forms at the front of the room, something Izuku was only keeping an ear on so he could give Taichan anything he’d missed, when the room suddenly went dead silent.
He looked up from his notebook to see everyone staring at him the same way you’d stare at an unchained lion at the circus, before bursting out into giddy, disbelieving laughter. He got the feeling he’d missed something important, but before he could ask, Kacchtsuki exploded his way into the scene with a violent pop. Izuku wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he was brave enough to put his hands (ignition gland in palms, can be neutralized with cutting force-) within reach or baffled at the foolishness of it. A pencil may not be a penknife, but it was still plenty sharp, if Taichan’s recent ‘random bag checks’ from the staff were any indication.
“You better not be applying to UA, you fucking creep! I’m the only one from this backwater shithole that’s gonna get in, got it?!” (oh for fuck’s sake) he snarled, looming over him. Izuku blinked, tilting his head at him in confusion. That’s what this was about? First off, wasn’t that supposed to be private information? Second.....
“We aren’t friends.”
Silence.
The rage slowly creeping over Katsuki’s face clued him in that he’d said that out loud. ‘Well, in for a penny, in for a pound,’ he mused, channeling his inner Taichan and leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow to hide the shaking of his hands. “We aren’t friends, Katsuki. You’ve made that pretty clear over the last ten years, so why’s it matter to you where I apply for high school?” he repeated, something inside of him dying a little as he finally admitted it out loud. He’d known for a while, but.....they really weren’t friends, were they? It took getting an actual friend to realize, but he and Katsuki....they hadn’t been friends for a while.
“Hah?! What, you think that just because you’re all buddy-buddy with that fuckin’ wannabe villain that you stand a ghost of a chance at UA?” he spits, shoving the desk a bit. “Newsflash, jackass! No matter how much of a creepy-ass stalker you are, no matter how much of a loose cannon your pet psycho is, you’re both still quirkless! You’d die in a heartbeat, so give up now instead of leaving your corpse to clog the way for the real pros!” he snaps, finally losing his grip on his temper and setting off a few firecracker pops against Izuku’s desk.
“Alright boys, settle down. Bakugou, please return to your seat. Midoriya, I’d tell you to reconsider your options, but I think we both know you won’t listen to me,” Sumiroa-sensei cuts in, voice blander than plain white rice. Izuku bites down the urge to scoff, a flash of irritation rising in him at the clear downplaying of the incident before he smothered it with ruthless efficiency.
It’s fine. He’d get through this. It was just one day.
--
He really should’ve known better.
“We aren’t finished, Deku,” Katsuki hisses, voice like poison as he once again looms over Izuku’s desk. Izuku, in a monumental show of self-control, manages to not roll his eyes (where Katsuki can see), and continues packing his things. (If he packs a bit faster, that’s between him and his pencil case.)
“I think we are, Kacchan,” he replies dully, grabbing his latest analysis notebook to shove it in his bag. Before he can stow it safely away, it’s ripped out of his grasp by a sparking, crackling hand. On instinct, he grabs Katsuki’s wrist, digging his jagged fingernails into the point between his tendons just hard enough to make his hand open, the notebook flopping pitifully to the desk. He manages to stuff it in his bag with his free hand before Katsuki can recover, relieved that at least he won’t have to rewrite the notebook, even if he probably will have to hide another scorch mark on his uniform.
“Ach, you little—!” Katsuki spits, jerking his hand away. Izuku’s nails catch, scoring little pink welts on Katsuki’s previously-unscarred skin. He wonders idly if it makes him a bad person to feel a sort of satisfaction at having left a mark on Katsuki for once, before deciding it didn’t matter. His nails, unlike Fuyasu’s, were just regular fingernails, after all. Not even slightly reinforced, just serrated from how often he chewed them from boredom or anxiety.
“I told you, back off. I’m not in the mood, alright?” Izuku muttered, shoving back from his seat to leave. “I have other things to do today, so—!” he started, cutting himself off with a wheeze when he’s shoved into the blackboard at the back of the room.
“Shut up!” Katsuki snaps, slamming a hand on the wall next to his head. His other hand was fisted in the front of Izuku’s jacket, though he at least wasn’t quite able to dangle him off the floor like he used to. “I am so sick of you, always looking down on me like your scrawny ass is any better!” he snarled. “Get this through your thick head; I am the best here. You would be lucky to cut it as a fucking rent-a-cop. My start line might as well be your goddamn finish for how far apart they are!” he hissed, shaking Izuku slightly. Honestly, at this point he was starting to tune him out. It was just the same shit as always, and honestly? Katsuki needed better material.
Unfortunately, Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He noticed Izuku’s attention drifting and slammed him against the wall again, the ridge of the board digging into his spine. In the back of his mind, he noted that it would probably bruise, and he’d have to go a bit easier in training. “Fuckin—! Pay attention, Deku!” Katsuki snapped, eyes blazing. “God, you’re such a fucking space cadet! Get your head out of the damn clouds and listen to me, got it?! If you space out like this on the field, you think a villain’s gonna wait for you to come back to your senses? If you wanna die so bad, there’s easier ways to fuckin’ do it!”
The world sharpened and dulled in equal measure, the ambient chatter of the hallway dulled out by Katsuki’s next words.
Don’t.
Don’t say it.
Not you.
“Just take a fucking swan dive off the roof or something, and quit fooling yourself!”
Something inside him shattered.
He’s not sure what Katsuki Bakugou said next, if he said anything at all. His ears stopped working, all noise replaced by an incessant, high-pitched whine. His mind went blank, and he wasn’t even able to cry.
He can’t remember what happened next.
One second he was staring at Bakugou with shock coursing through his veins, and the next he was vaguely aware of screaming his throat raw, vision turning red at the edges. Hands grabbed at his arms and he shook them off with a snarl, throwing his elbow back until he hit the soft meat of something tender before driving his fist (back) into Bakugou’s face. It’s like all he knew was rage, over ten years of repressed fury boiling over and spilling out like molten lava, searing everything it touched with its red-hot edges.
“Holy shit Mido, stop!”
He struggled against whoever was holding him, but the strong arms held him tight against a broad chest until he stopped struggling. Whatever feral energy had possessed him drained away, leaving him feeling empty and almost cold in its wake. With the cold came clarity, and his vision cleared enough to see Bakugou with a bloody, broken nose and the start of some nasty bruises decorating his cheeks and forehead. His own breathing sounded harsh and ragged, hot breaths wheezing out past a raw throat as he slowly became aware of the throbbing ache in his knuckles.
His own face didn’t feel much better, cheekbone throbbing in a way he knew would bruise within the hour, too big to cover with makeup and impossible to hide. Bakugou got up from the ground (when had he gone to the floor?) and spit something into his hand, sneering the best he could with his nose resembling hamburger meat more than anything else. “You’re a fucking lunatic, Deku. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been learning from this bargain-bin villain reject, but whatever it is? Tone it the fuck down,” he huffed, wiping the blood from his chin and storming out of the room.
Izuku dropped his gaze to his bloodied fists, wincing at the bruises already beginning to form on his knuckles. He barely noticed when silent tears slowly began to join the blood already smeared across his skin, shoulders trembling. “......Taichan, do you.....” he started, voice raspy. He swallowed, forcing himself to speak past the lump taking up residence in his chest. “Do you think.....can I really be a hero?”
It was silent for a long time. He almost didn’t want to hear the answer, knowing full well how the other boy felt about heroes. But....then again, if he was too violent, too angry....too broken to be a hero.....who better to tell him than the violent, angry, hero-hating delinquent?
A heavy sigh rumbled against his back, Taichan’s chin dropping to rest on top of his head. Izuku almost wanted to take back the question. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear about how his one moment of lost control had ruined a dream over ten years in the making. But he was nothing if not a masochist, apparently, so he just steeled his heart for the inevitable break.
“Mido.....Izuku. To you.....what is a hero?” Taichan asked, his voice sounding more distant than he’d ever heard it before. “Not the definition. What does being a hero mean to you?” he added, loosening his grip to be more of an embrace, rather than a restraint. Izuku sagged slightly, accepting his fate as a human teddy bear and leaning back against Taichan’s chest as he thought. He was faintly aware of Taichan adjusting their position to be a bit more comfortable (probably his injury, spinal-related?), leaning up against the corner wall where he could watch the doors. Izuku let himself be manhandled, too exhausted to protest. The question seemed important, so he squashed his knee-jerk answer of ‘saving people with a smile’ and really thought about it.
Being a hero....well, it certainly wasn’t about having a strong quirk, or he’d have given up after that horrible appointment ten years ago. It wasn’t about brand deals or public image either, despite what a lot of spotlight heroes (Mt. Lady’s debut came to mind) seemed to think. But....was it really just about saving people? If that were the case, why wasn’t everyone a hero? He’d seen his classmates helping their friends, but he’d throw his notebook in the koi pond himself before calling any of them heroes.
He’d say it was the license, but Taichan didn’t want the legal definition, and that excluded vigilantes besides. Not to mention, he was loathe to have any definition of heroism that included someone like Endeavor while leaving out people like Crawler. And if he didn’t see Endeavor as a hero, was ‘saving people’ really all it took? Sure he saved people, but did he make them feel safe?
It dawned on him then, along with a feeling like a sinking stone in his gut. “I think.....to be a hero, you have to care,” he says finally. “It’s not enough to just save people, or help people, or butt in where you’re not wanted. You have to make people feel safe, to make them feel like it’ll be......maybe not okay, but better.” He pressed his lips together tightly, knowing the only thing keeping him from crying was the fact he was already out of tears.
“And.....I don’t know if I can do that. If I can make people feel safe like that. Because I care, I care so much that it hurts, and the only thing worse than caring is not caring, but....” He lifts his head, feeling his eyes burn as he looks up at Taichan’s blank face. “.....Even though I care so much, why would anyone in their right minds feel safe around me?” he asked bitterly, huffing out a dry laugh. “You saw what I did to him. That was the first time I ever fought back, and I brutalized him! And the worst part is that I don’t even feel bad about it, because he deserved it!” he snapped, looking away again. The burning progressed to full-on watering at this point, tears beading up in his eyes. Seemed he wasn’t out after all. “If that’s the kind of person I am.....maybe I shouldn’t be a hero at all,” he said quietly. “Someone like that....who feels satisfied seeing others in pain.......doesn’t that just make me a villain?”
It’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of his quiet sniffles breaking the silence. The arms around him tighten slightly, the gentle pressure grounding him in a way he didn’t know he’d needed until he had it. Finally, Taichan spoke, hesitating over each word like he was weighing it before he used it. “You.....are not a villain.” Izuku snorts disbelievingly, but Taichan continues before he can voice his denial. “No. Izuku, listen to me. You are not a villain. You are strong. You are kind. You are good,” he says firmly, tilting Izuku’s head to meet his gaze head-on. A small part of him freezes at that, knowing just how much Taichan hates eye contact. For him to willingly make it?
‘He must be serious.....’ Izuku thought dazedly, lost in the way the setting sun caught on the flecks of green in Taichan’s eyes. They seemed to almost glow with the intensity of his conviction, staring him down until Izuku managed to nod, feeling his ears burn as his chin was released.
“You will be a hero, because you are good,” Taichan says, like it’s already a foregone conclusion. “Even if you fail at UA. Even if you never go pro. It doesn’t matter. You will be a hero because being a hero is who you are. It......” he says, trailing off before switching to English, something he only did these days if what he wanted to say was too complex or specific for Japanese. “It runs in your veins like blood, Izuku. For you, being a hero isn’t a job, it’s a need. You care about people as easily as breathing, I’ve seen it from the day I met you. I’ve known it from the day I met you.”
Izuku’s breath hitches as he feels his heart thud painfully in his chest. Is he....? “You’re the first person to see me in my entire life. Even my own mother only sees what I let her see. If we’d never met.....if you hadn’t reached out to me that day, hadn’t been brave enough to stand out against everyone just to help me......I’d be alone right now. I wouldn’t be here right now,” Taichan said solemnly. “Izuku.....you’re already a hero. My hero.”
He can’t hold it anymore. For the second time that day, he breaks, but this time the wound was even older, an ache he didn’t even realize he was carrying soothed by the words he’d always wanted to hear. Loud, gasping sobs rip themselves out of his already ragged throat as he keens and wails like a dying animal, turning around to sob into Taichan’s chest like a child. The other doesn’t even care about the growing sogginess of his shirt, the thin white uniform fabric beginning to show through to the T-shirt underneath. He just shifts his hold slightly to continue the embrace, holding Izuku as he cries. A gentle hand rests on the back of his head, the other rubbing soothing circles into his trembling back.
He doesn’t give platitudes, doesn’t promise things like ‘everything will be okay’ or ‘it’s alright now’. He doesn’t apologize either, or make fun of him. He’s just.....there, a solid presence reassuring Izuku like a rock in a storm. It’s......nice, honestly. To just have someone be there while he cries, without having to worry about what they’re feeling in turn. Taichan won’t think he’s weak or pitiful, because he called Izuku strong. He claimed that the things that made Izuku a hero were the things everyone else said were the reasons he’d never make it.
His kindness wasn’t a weakness, and his anger wasn’t a sin. Even with the broken edges, this boy with so much hate for the hero system thought Izuku was good. He thought Izuku was already a hero, all because he’d decided to reach out his hand that day.
It almost felt like his heart settled back together with a click, like the final piece of a massive puzzle. This, right here, is what he thinks it feels like to be seen.