Chapter Text
200 years ago, the first ever recorded quirk came from a glowing baby. No one knows why or how. Only that the number of cases multiplied. In just a few years, quirks became the norm.
Everyone at the age of 4 developed a quirk. Exactly 4 years. Some almost reached the age of 5 before developing one, but never after 5. Again, there was no explanation. And no one seemed to care why. They were too focused on the quirks themselves. Comparing who had a cooler or stronger quirk. But one man cared.
Tobey McGuire. A scientist that worked closely with the Justice League, the first recognized group of heroes.
Upon closer study, McGuire found that the quirk factor was a dormant gene. It was always inside of them, just needed time to manifest and bloom. Some manifested emitter types. Some repeated; a copy of their parents’ quirk. Some mutated. Others...
Well, others were made.
BAM! The table skids, falling onto its side. The papers atop flying to add to the ever-mounting pile on the floor.
“Why isn’t it working!?” The man screeches, his lab coat being bundled and tossed aside.
“I rechecked my calculations!” He says, placing the edge of his hand along the palm of his other. “Everything. Is. Perfect!” He hits his into his hand into his palm with each word. “It should work!” He storms over to his portal entrance, a hexagonal hole he drilled into the wall, encased in metal and wiring.
“This is the perfect place where the door between dimensions is thinnest. So, why” He pounds onto the metal.
“Aren’t”
Pound.
“You!”
Pound.
“Working!”
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! An alarm goes off. He whips his head over to the red blaring light. He moves to his security cameras. A group of men surround his building, some armed, others needing only to wait for their target to unleash their quirk. He growls, aggressively clicking on the comms.
“Not now!”
“Time’s up, doc.” The leader of the group speaks up to the camera.
“I’ll have your money soon! So, go away, you’re disturbing me!”
“That’s not going to happen. You either come with us, or we destroy everything.” The man lifts a hand pointedly, placing it on the building wall. It glows red then white. The metal creaking and smoking.
“Boss’ orders.” He grins with a wink.
“I’m coming!” The man grabs his coat, rushing to the doors.
“Good choice.” The leader pivots back to his awaiting car.
Back in the city, a young boy stands at the edge of a rooftop.
“You need to be realistic kid.”
Those were the last words Izuku heard from his hero before being left alone.
He hadn’t moved since. The words so heavy and violent a blow, he may as well have died standing. So, there, where the noises around echo silently, stands the remains of what is left of him. His eyes looking out into the city, glazed and still. Only his shadow moving in tune with the setting sun. The world moving, living and breathing while he drowns. His body sinking with a heavy weight. His lungs barely expanding with wisp-like breaths.
Something flutters close. A bird. It soars past him flying in a curved incline. His eyes follow it, but his view gets blocked. He finds his hand in the way. He reached out for it unconsciously. He slowly drops his arm back to his side.
What would it be like to fly?
A question asked more than once. Part of his constant stream of thoughts on the “what if’s” in life.
What if he had his mom’s attraction quirk?
What if he had his dad’s fire breathing quirk?
What if he could run super-fast? Jump super high? Shoot lasers out of his eyes?
The possibilities were endless. But he’d always come back to flying.
He’d dream he was like All Might. Jumping to the next prefecture in a single leap. He’d dream he was like Kacchan, using his explosions to propel himself in the air.
One recurring dream was of simply lifting off the ground as a leaf would in the wind. Rising high above the clouds. Above the noise. Above the people. Above everything. Just him and the clouds around him. A place where no one could touch him.
Harm him.
A place to be free and weightless.
But reality sets in and he crashes.
He always wakes up.
He feels hot liquid pour down his face.
“Stupid, Deku.” He croaks low. “Always crying.” He brings his hands up to rub and wipe eyes.
“Be realistic.”
He gasps in pain. His hands fling to cover his ears, but the words stay trapped inside his ears. Torturing him in an endless cycle from the moment he was left behind on the rooftop.
He shouldn’t have clung to his pants. He shouldn’t have asked him that question.
“I’m sorry,” All Might croaked at him, coughing blood into his hands. The hero shrank before Izuku's eyes, taking on a skinnier sickly form. His eyes and cheeks sunken. His clothes hanging off him, ten sizes too big. A shell of what he used to be. The hero’s, no, the world’s greatest secret, laid bare by a chance encounter of a quirkless fan boy having been rescued from a sludge villain.
“But without a quirk,” All Might continues. “You can’t be a hero.”
The words pierced as painfully as they did the first time he heard them. Strength leaving him, he drops onto his legs, holding his face in his hands as he wails mournfully.
“Why?!” His shouts come out muffled. “Why was I born quirkless?! Why me?! What did I do to deserve this?!” His hands move over his head, clutching his hair.
He knew life wasn’t fair to him. He checked all the boxes for the reasons a kid would be bullied.
Born prematurely. Short and scrawny. Four diamond freckles covered his cheeks. He lived in a single parent household. He didn’t have any friends. He mumbled. And the worst thing, the thing that condemned him in this wretched life, was he was quirkless.
Even animals developed quirks! Yet he did not.
Something his mother apologized for. The reason that his father left them. The reason his childhood friend became his worst tormentor in school.
The reason All Might...told him he couldn’t be a hero.
Deep down, he always knew. There was no way a quirkless nobody could be a hero. But he had hope.
“As long as you give it all your might, you too can be a hero!”
That’s what All Might said. He said it so it must be true.
But it was all a lie. An empty statement said to the interviewer for good publicity.
He should have never met All Might. He should have never asked him that stupid question.
But he did.
He wanted, so badly, for someone to tell him he could be a hero. Who better than his favorite hero?
The strongest man on the planet. The man who smiled in the face of adversity. The man who made him feel like getting out of bed in the mornings. In his ever-present darkness, there All Might shined as a beacon. A light.
By some misfortune, Izuku was almost killed by a sludge villain. Then by some miracle, he was saved by All Might. It was a dream come true. His hero was right there in front of him. He had to ask him before he left. He had to.
Could a quirkless boy like him be a hero?
But All Might told him no.
The very same hero that had saved him in turn crushed him. His light being snuffed out. All that he thought of All Might coming down in a torn veil. All Might’s smile replaced with a heavy frown. The strength temporary, his true form being a gaunt man close to death. Putting on a façade for the public, delaying his inevitable retirement.
Izuku’s world shattered and broke. He’d rather have died that day by the hands of the sludge villain, than be rescued and know the truth of All Might.
But he can’t go back in time.
His hands drop to the sides of his face. He rolls his head onto his left cheek, his chin touching his knees, and stares at the cement rooftop.
Should I just stay here? He languidly thinks. Why should he get up? Would anyone even care if he was gone?
His phone rings. It seems to go on forever. He’s not sure if it’s still ringing or if it's just the echo of it staying in his head.
Then his phone chimes. With great effort, does he slide his hand in his pocket to check his message.
“I’ll be at the store. Do you need anything?” His mother asks.
His mother! He whips his head to the door of the rooftop.
She still needs me! He reaches his hand out in a crawl. He fumbles into a run, stumbling towards the entrance.
Does she?
The question slithers in his ears, as if carried by the wind itself. A small seed of doubt but with deep roots that’d always been in his mind since he was 7 years old. Since the time he truly understood the reality of a quirkless boy living in a quirked society with a single mom.
His body slows to a halt. His fingers hovering above the handle.
Stop! He shakes his head.
Jerking the door open, he strides inside down the steps. His mother chose to raise him despite him being born quirkless. She struggled to keep him alive. He wouldn’t do something to throw her efforts to waste. And despite their distance, she somehow still cares for him. If he died, that’d be more grief on her already aching heart. He can’t do that to her.
He texts his mother that he doesn’t need anything and heads home. It’s the same route he’s always taken, but the walk seemed longer. Tiring. The urge to lay down and curl up into a ball, mighty. Yet, somehow, like he always has, he carries on.
He enters his apartment and heads straight to his room, not bothering to turn on the lights. Yanking his clothes off, he changes into some shorts and t-shirt then throws himself in bed. Laying belly down, he turns his head to the side to type a quick message to his mom.
-I already ate and am going to sleep early. Goodnight-
Okay, is all she replies.
No questions of concern. No prying him for information. Just simple responses. Just the way it should be. It’ll only hurt them both if it was any different. Weighted questions with painful answers.
Pressing himself against his wall, he curls into a ball. He pulls his blanket over his face and nestles in.
He thought the events of the day would keep him up the whole night. The poisonous words replaying in his head. All Might’s body looming over him like a dark shadow. No longer bringing the feeling of safety and comfort.
That rooftop.
But it doesn’t.
He falls asleep almost immediately. A dreamless dead sleep. However, the next morning he wakes up feeling sick.
He slept through his alarms and could barely keep his eyes open, his body heavy-laden. He has half a mind to stay home, but he doesn’t want to be an uneducated delinquent on top of being quirkless. So, he pulls himself up and gets ready for school.
Time sneaks past him. Something as simple as brushing his teeth became all time consuming. Taking his uniform in hand felt weighted. Every button he closed seemed to restrict his lungs further. Just this once, he’ll leave the top button open.
Glancing at his clock he sees he’s five minutes over his usual time to leave the apartment.
He hates being late.
Being late means more attention to him. More eyes and ears. The consequences are never good.
He hurries to school keeping his eyes down or glued to his phone. The closer he gets to school the heavier his feet fall. A greater anxiousness than he’s had builds in his chest. His hands squeeze onto the straps of his backpack, turning his knuckles white.
Please, he bites onto his lip. Please let nothing happen today. At least for today.
“Everyone take your seats.” Mr. Yamcha strolls into the classroom, slamming a stack of papers on his desk.
“You all are 3rd years now, so you have to start thinking seriously of your future. I could pass out career aptitude tests, but I know you all want to be heroes!” He tosses the papers in the air.
“Yeah!” The class shouts, some releasing their quirks in enthusiasm.
“Don’t lump me in with these extras!” Bakugo shouts.
“Ah, yes. You applied to UA, didn’t you?” Mr. Yamcha scans his papers recalling Bakugo’s answers.
“You’ll get in for sure. No competition.” Someone says.
“Oh, and Midoriya did too.”
Silence.
“Huh?” Izuku belatedly tunes into the conversation, finding the prolonged silence startling.
“DEKU!” Bakugo blows up Izuku’s desk.
“Kacchan!” Izuku falls harshly on his tailbone. He moves away from the approaching beast until his back hits the wall. Even still, he pushes against it, hoping the wall would swallow him up.
He forgot he applied to UA. He didn’t think anyone would mention it either. Since they all thought he’d fail. But he should have known better. His teacher loves to torment him as much as his peers.
“You think you can get into the same place as me?!” Kacchan spits, loathing the idea. “They won’t accept a quirkless loser like you!”
Not true. There’s no rule against quirkless becoming heroes, but he can’t tell that to Kacchan. It’d just be longer yelling or maybe even an explosion to his face. Instead, he just quietly takes the degradation.
“You’re just a Deku!” Kacchan kicks him in the stomach. Izuku’s eyes widen in pain, but he refuses to make a noise. He won’t give them the satisfaction.
“Don’t even think about showing up to the entrance exam, unless you want to die, you hear me?!”
The class laughs and jeers at him.
“All right,” The teacher drawls, “let’s get back on task. Midoriya stop distracting others and pick up your desk.”
Everyone goes to sit down, but Izuku takes a few seconds, picking his stuff up. With their teacher beginning their lesson, he was able to do so in peace.
The rest of the day goes by slowly. Agonizingly slow. The minute hand seemed to drag its feet.
By the time the bell sounds for the end of day, he’s ready for an early sleep again.
“Deku.”
Guess not. His body instinctively trembles at the sound of Kacchan’s voice. He slowly turns his head and sees Kacchan’s lackeys at the door. Hajima and Okainu. They used to be his friends too.
“You’re not going to show up to the exam, right?” Kacchan smiles all too friendly while placing a hand, with an orange glow, on his shoulder. The familiar heat of it begins to burn his clothing. Whisps of smoke rising into the air.
Normally the hand would ignite with the telltale
POP!
Of his explosions, but this is just another one of Kacchan’s intimidation tactics. A threat for what they both know follows from the smolder. It was well received.
“Ha!” Kacchan shoves him. Izuku stumbles into his desk, catching himself.
“Still pathetic. Can’t even look me in the eyes.” Kacchan laughs. Izuku’s hands claw at the desk but otherwise he doesn’t react. Kacchan scoffs sliding his hands in his pockets as he walks to the sliding doors.
“Hey,” Kacchan stops, glancing back. “If you really want to be a hero…” Izuku’s eyebrows twitch, his ears tuning in.
“Why don’t you take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a quirk in your next life?”
Izuku whips his head up to lock eyes with angry red ones.
“What?” Kacchan’s palm crackles.
Izuku head drops back down.
“I thought so.” He scoffs, slamming the door on his way out.
Izuku stares at the floor in abject horror. All Might may have been someone he admired and wanted to be. But Kacchan was the one always with him. He was cruel and hurtful, but he was the embodiment of strength. He has what it takes to be a hero: intelligence, the drive, popularity. And most importantly, he has an amazing quirk. He is everything Izuku isn’t.
Kacchan was going to be an amazing hero. Izuku was sure of it.
And...he was my friend. They swore to be heroes together. But Izuku broke that promise. He didn’t develop a quirk.
He knew that wasn’t his fault, but deep down, he couldn’t help but blame himself for Kacchan’s behavior. And Kacchan wasn’t that bad. He wanted to be a hero after all.
Despite his obvious hate for Izuku, Kacchan would never go too far with the abuse. If someone was beating Izuku up, Kacchan would show up and yell at all of them to stop making so much noise. And, no matter how much Kacchan would punch him, push him, or blast him with his quirk, Izuku knew he’d never actually really hurt him. Or wish him dead.
But once again.
He was wrong.
And he can’t...he can’t handle that. Not this.
His lament walk through the school is witnessed by the janitor alone. The only one to ever help him with a kind word or helping clean up the food spilled on him during lunch hour. This time though, the janitor has no words or helpful actions to give. With one look at the Izuku, they freeze up. They’ve never seen a deeper sorrow in someone than from this 13-year-old middle schooler.
Izuku’s steps echo in the quiet halls as he leaves. He stops outside the school gates and looks out into the street. Cars pass him by. People cross his path. Life goes on. Whether he's there to see it or not. His mom...
His mom’s life will go on, just fine without him. Probably better.
Sure, she might feel sad for a while, but she’ll move on. And if anything—
NO! He squeezes his eyes shut.
No! He runs. He doesn’t know where, but he has to run.
"Take a swan dive off the roof."
Shut up! He runs faster.
"Be realistic."
“Stop it!” He skids to a stop, slamming his hands over his ears. His thoughts listen this time, quieting at his command. He slowly lowers his hands, opening his eyes.
He finds himself at the edge of a forest, the city behind him. He looks between the two. He doesn’t want to go back home. Not yet. His feet move forward. He pushes into the opening of the broken fence surrounding the forest and steps inside.
As he walks a memory surfaces into mind.
“Come on follow me!” Kacchan smiles, raising his little red flag as he leads his friends through the fence that clearly said no trespassing. But they all follow Kacchan anyway, because it’s Kacchan. He leads them to a river. A fallen trunk makes a bridge over it to the other side. Kacchan steps on it first, wanting to continue his adventurous journey. The others follow behind, a bit hesitant.
Kacchan laughs at them for being scared. His shoe steps onto a mossy patch of the trunk. He slips and falls.
“Katsuki!” They shriek in alarm. They drop onto their hands and knees to look down.
“Katsuki are you okay?!” Akira shouts.
“That’s a long way down!” Ken pales.
“It’s okay.” Tsubasa stands. “It’s Katsuki. Something like this wouldn’t hurt him.”
The other two ponder it a moment, then smile.
“You’re right!”
“Haha!” Kacchan laughs, where he sits on his butt on the rocks. His hands are scraped and his butt hurts with his shorts feeling uncomfortably wet, but he smiles anyway.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Kacchan waves. “I’ll climb up in a second.”
“Kacchan!” Izuku treks through the water to him. “Are you okay? That was scary.” He extends a hand to him.
Kacchan’s freezes, staring at Izuku’s hand. His eyes begin to burn. He feels a rage bubble inside.
SMACK!
“Stupid Deku!” Kacchan stands up affronted. “I’m fine! I don’t need your help!” He pushes Izuku onto his butt, storming past him.
Izuku furiously wipes his tears from the memory. He can still feel the phantom sting on his hand from it being slapped away.
Why didn’t I act like everyone else?
Since that day, his relationship with Kacchan truly soured. By 6th grade, they had completely fallen out. Kacchan wanted nothing to do with him, verbally and physically pushing him away. Izuku was more than fine to be separated from him, but somehow the two always found themselves together. In the same class or because Kacchan was prowling close by.
He bites his lip in a frown.
He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this. It won’t do him any good. He wipes at his face and tries to focus on what’s in front of him.
The trees were plenty and full. Not as big as they were when he was younger, but still large enough to awe at. Twigs littered the tall grass. White and red flowers spread out amongst the greenery. His eyes followed a bunny that scampered away when he saw Izuku approaching. It runs between two large tree trunks. Izuku climbs through to keep his eye on it. The bunny scurries then jumps in the air. Its white fur stands out against the metal building behind it. The bunny disappears into a hole in the ground, ending Izuku’s pursuit. He moves, taking a few steps before he stops.
A building?
He backtracks, looking ahead at the small mountain with a building attached to it. He walks towards it like a moth to the flame.
It’s a plain warehouse. No windows. Lots of security cameras. Looks important enough for a whole swat team to bust out the bushes and tackle him the moment he steps within the area.
But no alarms sounded and no one had come to escort him off the property. It might be because alarms will bring unwanted attention. Now that he looks at the building more closely it seems like a secret base.
Maybe for villains?
He runs his hands along the door and pushes it. It opens.
Unlocked? Maybe not a secret base?
He walks inside, holding the door open.
“Hello.” His voice echoes. No one answers. He pauses for a while longer, trying to hear any sound of movement. Hearing nothing, he lets the door close behind him. It locks with a resounding ka-chang, plunging him into darkness. He turns on the flashlight from his phone and begins to explore.
The first open room was a lounge area, with couches and a kitchen.
It’s not abandoned, he infers, taking note of the warm coffee pot and piled dishes in the kitchen sink.
He walks to a hallway with three rooms. One looks like a bedroom. The other is a storage closet. The last one seems to be the main room.
It is massive. Probably 80% of the building. There are gadgets and tools and blueprints and coffee scattered about. The words portals and dimensions appear often. Lots of monitors and screens with equations and pictures of worm holes and gates or doorways are displayed.
This is a lab, he concludes. About—he picks up a handful of papers on the floor to look through—opening portals to different dimensions?
He had dreams of such a thing. Living in a world where quirks didn’t exist. Or a world where knights were still a thing with dragons flying in the air.
It’d be nice if other dimensions really existed. Or maybe not? Who knows? The other dimensions may be worse.
He winces from a sharp light. Something reflected in the dark. He adjusts his phone and finds a hexagon hole in the wall lined with metal, a yellow and black caution strip encircling it. He walks towards it. Recalling the direction he walked in from, it was dug in the mountainside where the warehouse was built around. The temperature seems to change the closer he gets to the opening. He can almost...feel a slight breeze.
He steps up close, studying the opening and brushing his hands along the cautionary tape. A chill passes through him. It’s a biting cold now.
Something green flickers in the corner of his eye. He shines his phone in the hole. Nothing. Eyebrow lifted, he lifts one foot over the lip of the hexagon, stepping inside.
Nothing happens. He brings his other foot inside, leaning in. Still nothing. He’s not sure why he feels disappointed that the thing wasn’t booby trapped, but he is. He glances around for a couple minutes before feeling satisfied with his exploring. He turns to walk out the hole, but stops, seeing a switch at the top of the entrance, behind the lip of the caution strip.
Against his better judgement his finger pushes the switch.
Immediately he’s blinded by a white and green light. At the same time an overbearing pressure slams into him from all sides.
And pain.
More pain than he’s ever experienced in his life floods his senses.