Chapter Text
Izuku is like a can tab. Or a scab; he also can only be played with so much before he breaks. Hisashi's rein is over now. Well, he can only hope that much. The man had been gone for five weeks, beating his oh so great record of 15 days. Izuku knew that Hisashi would like to be gone longer, Izuku knew he is no son of his, Izuku knew he is a useless, quirkless, weak null.
Hisashi must have known that too. Only Inko's stuff remained around the apartment-Izuku wasn't allowed to make any mess or clutter. Hisashi must have left for good.
With the heavy load of the bullies from school -particularly kacchan-, his mother regularly forgetting he exists, his father beating him until he is black or blue, the whole quirkless affair and a general lack of money or even essentials a kid needs; he is in desperate need of some of this weight to be lifted. It is as if Izuku is digging himself in a hole. A subaqueous, murky hole. Except he is the shovel; being consistantly beaten into the dirt.
Izuku slipped on his worn shoes. The bright red mocked him as it is the only colour these shoes come in. The extra toe joint on his foot made it so he could only wear these specific shoes. He hated it. Luckily, not many quirked people knew about this phenomenon.
He turned to the side and picked up his school bag, wincing at the pull it caused on his shoulder. Kacchan had been so kind as to leave him a burn instead of just insulting him. That reminded him, he needed to buy more burn cream.
Locking the door and ignoring the rumble from his stomach, he trecked onwards. He braced himself for the walk down the stairs. Living on the fifth floor of his apartment complex and the elevator not working was not a great combination, thats for sure.
Later, Izuku walked through the school gates, jogging a little as to get to class as soon as possible and thus, evade the bullies.
He must have been lucky today as on his desk he only had some spider lilys and a few measley insults scribbled down in a cheap whiteboard pen. They dont even try to make fun of him anymore, it just happens naturally. Izuku wasn't sure if that is a good or bad thing.
School went by at snails pace. He was itching to get out. Four full pages in his notebook got taken over with weapon and costume designs, complete with miniature, pointless doodles lining the margin. Theres only so much of one thing a person could do before they get inattentive.
The moment he heard the sweet, swell, satisfying sound of the last bell he slid out of his seat unnoticed, tasting the freedom of getting out.
He thought he had gotten away with it. I mean a whole day without any interaction with kacchan!? How stupid is he to have thought that would actually happen.
"I dont know where your trying to go Deku but im not done."
His blood runs cold. Momentary explosions sound from behind him, burnt caramel lingered in the air. Izuku clamped his eyes shut as his scars began to burn again, even the healed ones.
"Turn around and face me damit. STOP IGNORING ME!"
So he turned, bracing himself.
And then he saw it. His notebook. Hero analysis for the future: number 13, right there in Bakugo's hand. The spine of his notebook was black as charcoal but the damage made luckily hadn't spread to the writing yet.
"YOU STILL THINK YOU CAN BE A HERO?! Tch, so pathetic," Bakugo sneered as he carelessly tossed the book out the window, letting out an explosion as to make it fall further.
Izuku ran to the window. Gripping its ledges as he let out a sound resembling a panicked scream and an annoyed yell.
Suddenly, Bakugo pulled him back by his bag, using the momentum to turn him and place his hand on Izuku's shoulder. Steam rising from the cracks in his fingertips; his quirk activated.
"Here's a little word of advice, nerd," Bakugo began.
"If you really want to be a hero that badly there might actually be another way," Izuku once again clutched the windowsill from the propulsion of an explosion. Right in his face. Bakugo stood before him, mighty as ever. "Just pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof of the building."
Izuku bit his tounge. This wasn't the first time Kacchan or anyone for that matter had suicide baited him and it certainly wont be the last. But it didn't mean it didn't sting. He had started to consider it. Maybe the bitter sting the words 'kill yourself' gave him would all go away if he actually did it. Its not like anyone would stop him. He's quirkless after all.
Taking a look outside the window, he could spot his notebook; swimming with the koi fish. At least he knew where it was... Even if it was soaked in fish water. ======================================
It turned out the notebook was salvageable in the end. The smudged ink on some pages was unreadable to the point where Izuku glued other pieces of ripped paper on them, rewriting the words. But other than that and its shaggy, bedraggled appearance; it was useable.
Out of breath from his jog home and clamber up the stairs, Izuku was home. He used a hairpin to unlock and lock the door (there was only two sets of keys, one his mother had, and the other his father. But that set probally doesn't exist anymore) before sliding it swiftly back into his head of verdant curls.
As expected the house was empty. Izuku made his way to his room, ensuring he carried his shoes and bag to his room with him. Inko preferred to have the childfree experience and honestly, Izuku couldn't blame her.
The only problem because of this was food. Inko only bought enough food for herself and Izuku wouldn't dare take any of it. So, as he realised his stash of snacks and non-perishable foods had run out, his shoes and bag were yet again on and out the door with him.
Just because food was scarce didn't mean that he wasn't shameful about his 'dumpster diving'. Izuku prefered the term: giving it meaning. Its not like anyone else would want to eat it.
Izuku trecked through Musutafu, his bridge wide -as to walk quicker- and a small, innocent smile plastered on his face. He didn't think anyone would suspect a twelve year old of something but with him weaving in and out of ally ways, searching the dumpsters, he wasn't taking any chances.
His plan was the same as always; stay silent, stay hidden, stay away.
Izuku clutched his notebook in his hand. Ebony, and injured. Holding it up to the sun, as if giving an offering to a God, he inspected the notebook once more. Surely, if this mangled, secluded, incommensurable book could survive and still have use, so could he.