Chapter Text
“Fusions are not made from power,” All-Might said, laughter rumbling beneath the microphone’s static, “Even when it’s two heroes. They’re made from trust. From choice. What you become says as much about you… as it does about the person who stood beside you.”
He shifted, gaze surprisingly soft behind the press lights, “People think it’s a technique. A strategy. But it isn’t. Fusion isn’t a show you put on—it’s a way of being. It’s what happens when two souls stop trying to be separate.” He smiled like it was obvious, like everyone knew what it felt like. Which was ironic—he’d only fused twice in his entire career.
Izuku could relate to the hero in a strange way.
After all, he'd only ever fused once.
⟡─ ❖ ─⟡
The lightbulbs in Aldera High did precisely nothing but exist.
They were faulty, dim, and buzzed with the sound of skimpy budget cuts. So not really nothing, they did glow to a degree, but it was such an insignificant addition to the atmosphere of any given classroom that removing them would change nothing. A good 90% of the light within the building was natural, which is why the curtains were rolled in dust.
Natural sunlight beamed into the classroom in rays, giving every surface a pale yellow hue and highlighting every scratch and etch carved into the old, unsanitized desks. This had two effects: the first being that everything was made visibly old by the light, which only served to emphasize how poor of an area this school was in.
“Ack, I can't see. This sucks!” The second was being blinded by the sun if one so much as looked near the windows, as Sada, a girl with white curls, just did, “Why can't Hayakawa-sensei close the blinds?” The girl practically whined, laying her head on her desk in frustration.
The student at the desk ahead of her turned to stare, looking down at her hair, “Girl, would you rather we learn in the dark?” The student sarcastically asked, raising a thin eyebrow and a fond smile.
Sada gave a huff, “We’re not learning anything, Aki…” She quietly said, “I’d rather take a nap than be blinded.”
Aki silently giggled, the corner of her eyes crinkling with mirth, as she reached down to rub her friend's head. A dim frost-blue glow came from the area where they touched, and Sada visibly relaxed alongside the contact. She turned her head to lie on its side and smiled, content. Like a piece of her was finally finished.
Izuku’s eyes fell from the sight not a moment later, letting out a quiet breath in the seat behind Sada. He’d gotten used to seeing that blue shine over the past semester or so, ever since Aki had transferred in and bonded with Sada, but it didn't hurt any less.
After all, he had no idea what that glow felt like.
(He did, but he tried to forget about that day when he could.)
He turned his attention back to his notebook, driving any unwanted thoughts away for the moment, and flexed his fingers. His hands were lightly splashed with dark blue ink, a messy side effect of quick writing, while one of his index fingers was nearly covered by the oceanic colour.
If it weren't for his clearly written-in journal staring back up at him, Izuku'd say most of the ink ended up on him rather than the paper. That's what it seemed like, anyway. That's what other people saw, he presumed.
To be fair to his current messy state, that's all he'd really done today—he had just been writing in his journal since he'd gotten to school that morning. Rarely did anyone interact with him, certainly not the students, and the lessons were boring and repetitive. Izuku was not the type to normally dismiss teachers, no, but he couldn't find himself to pay attention.
It would be easy to say he'd just been focusing on something more important and, in a way, that was true.
Because, inked into his current notebook (and nearly every other) was as much knowledge and analysis about fusion as possible.
Fusion, in Izuku’s (lack of) experience, was a fascinating and beautiful feat of human biology. He had similar thoughts about quirks, but fusions were just a more complex, more captivating, than typical superpowers.
Through physical contact with another person—most often dancing, but, if the bond was strong or the act practiced, it could be activated with just a brush of the skin—you could combine with them and create an entirely separate third person.
You'd both become someone else, someone more. The best of you and the best of them, coming together to form a beautiful person that embodied trust. You find someone you understand fundamentally—then share a body, share feelings, and share a mind.
That was important, to be fair.
Society had come to praise Fusions as a symbol, an embodiment of human connection. Heroes were celebrated by their fans and cities, Fusions were adored by the population as a whole. To fuse was taken as a sign of compatibility, a sign of love.
And modern society practically ran alongside fusion, which meant it was a necessity to understand. Perhaps not to Izuku’s degree, but still. The ability to fuse was third only to speaking and writing, if that. It was as natural as romance, friendship, even sex—an almost required artful step that had been retroactively added to each relationship on the planet.
‘And yet, they still have no idea how it works.’ Izuku sighed internally, flipping to an earlier page. The origin of fusion was… debatable, and its science was more frustrating than that.
Earliest possible occurrence would be alongside the glowing baby, because there were no records of fusion before then. But, that would imply only quirked people can fuse, which isn't true. Quirkless people can too.
‘It's just that no one wants to fuse with them…’ So, who knows? And, while they understood the basics of quirk factors and their inheritance, Fusion was just… something that existed, he supposed.
At first, it hadn't been that way. Fusion had sparked similar conflicts to the emergence of quirks when it first appeared. But, with time, things settled into what they had today.
Couples danced to fuse and express their passion, kids held glowing hands and laughed together, coworkers merged to quickly relay information. Even schools offered fusion classes and jobs accommodated for potentially large fusions.
In a sense, it was something that just… was.
It was normality.
‘Not for everyone.’ The back of his mind whispered, and Izuku tried not to give it attention. He instead started to sketch out a Hero Fusion he'd seen on the news recently, Overline. Something to keep his hands busy.
“Alright class, settle down.” The teacher barked out from the head of the class, but Izuku barely listened in, “The bell's about to ring, but I have one last thing to say before I can let you all loose.”
“As you're all in your final year here at Aldera High, you'll have to start planning for your future beyond our gates.” He said, “Now, I could hand out some aptitude tests and have you determine what you want to do right now, but I'd rather not.” He sighed, “Most of you know what you want to do, and those that don't just need time to figure it out.”
He smiled, setting down his papers and looking toward the class, “Plus, most of you are rather set on heroics by the looks of it, right?” The class erupted in a cheer of hollers and whoops, and Izuku winced from the sudden noise, “Hey, two of you even managed to meet the criteria to take UA's tests.” He picked up a piece of paper and put on his glasses.
“First, we have Bakugou Katsuki.” He gave a small chuckle, “No surprise there, Bakugou.”
“Tsk, course not ‘Teach.” Izuku desperately fought to keep his eyes from drifting, “I'm better than all these damn extras.”
The teacher hummed, “Yes, of course.” He plainly agreed, “And the second of you would be… Oh.” Izuku heard him set down the papers and remove his glasses, setting them on his desk softly, “Midoriya, it seems.”
Izuku quickly lifted his head, only now registering what the conversation was about. And gods did he wish he stayed ignorant to it, pretend that nothing had been said and he wasn't different.
Immediately, dozens of sets of eyes flicked toward him as whispers immediately started to float through the air.
“...supposed to let a quirkless guy in…”
“...they'll definitely reject him as soon as…”
“...he's solid, just messes up fusion, scary if…”
Izuku lowered his head, letting the insults and barely hidden disregard fly over him as best he could. They didn't think he could do anything, and maybe they were right.
He was quirkless, and he'd only ever fused the one time.
‘And I messed that up too…’ The back of his mind whispered. Sada turned in her seat slightly, just enough to meet Izuku’s eyes, and saw nothing but pity, like he was just overestimating himself. She meant well, even talked to him at times, but she wasn't different from the rest.
The pitying eyes were just as bad, if not worse, than the angry fists.
Slam!
Izuku jumped back in his seat as two rough, calloused hands hit his desk, each leaving a slight bit of char and cinder behind. The air carried the heavy scent of smoke and a gentler, sweeter caramel.
“Deku…” Kacchan growled from beside him, and Izuku’s eyes flicked up to him, “What do you think you're doing, applying to UA? You think you're fuckin’ better than me?!” Light pops emanated from his hands, burning Izuku's desk even more than it already was.
“K-Kacchan, I j-just—” Izuku nervously cut himself off, “It's my d-dream to be a hero, a-and, y'know… UA is kinda the p-place to become one.”
“You can't be a hero, you quirkless bastard.” Bakugou slowly grumbled, “Who'd want to be saved by you, someone who can't even protect themselves?”
“B-But I—”
“But nothing, worthless nerd. Give up, UA will reject you on the spot if you walk in, so don't,” Izuku flinched as he leaned closer, “Got it?”
Izuku swallowed hard, nearly losing his breath before he spoke, “Y-Yeah, got it…”
“Bakugou, please return to your seat.” The teacher slowly articulated, finally taking the time to interject, “And don't damage the desks, please.” That he failed to mention the obvious threats, no one was surprised.
Bakugou stayed there for a moment longer, just staring at Izuku in a way that was hard to identify, before backing off with a quiet “Tsk…” and returning to his seat.
Izuku let out a sigh of relief just as Bakugou sat down, feeling like he'd held his breath for hours due to the tension. The teacher continued on with his final remarks of the day, but Izuku couldn't bring himself to listen in.
He'd love to argue against them all, prove that he could be a hero that prevailed as an underdog and made themselves known but… that probably wasn't gonna happen, right?
Izuku was at every disadvantage in life, it felt like he'd hit the lottery in reverse.
He was quirkless in a Japanese Era where being such was a genetic anomaly. 20% of the population may have been quirkless, but that was mostly regional hotspots of markers. Japan was only 3.2% quirkless. And even then, 95% of that greater 20% was comprised of people over the age of forty-five.
Izuku was barely 17.
He was frail by design, and hadn't made any progress in gaining muscle mass. Fitting, considering most people believed the quirkless were more ‘fragile’ than those with quirks. The whole ‘fragility’ stigma was baseless to quirkless people as a whole, there was no scientific truth to it, but people rarely listened to reason.
It was ironically accurate to Izuku though.
He was a nervous, depressed wreck—the culmination of years of systemic neglect, childish bullying, and mass propaganda serving only to further dampen his daily mood. Izuku had yet to see a therapist, but he could only imagine the disorders lurking inside his brain.
A mess of repressed memories and heightened emotions, that's how one could best describe Izuku.
And, of course, he couldn't fuse. Well, he could, but who would want to fuse with him? He was solid, infusible, unstable. Fusing with Izuku Midoriya would only lead to a painful, unnatural, and/or villainous amalgamation.
At least, that's what everyone believed.
Izuku gave a longing glance toward Bakugou, who was now sat scowling in his seat, posted up like a delinquent. The blonde-haired teen refused to even look Izuku’s way, and Izuku felt his heart falter.
Fusing with Izuku Midoriya was a mistake, and everyone knew it.
Izuku certainly couldn't prove them wrong.
⟡─ ❖ ─⟡
Bakugou Katsuki’s room was a mess of action figures, explosion-pattern bedsheets, and laminated posters of pro-hero fusions frozen. The air smelled faintly of sweat and sugar, and the carpet under Izuku’s legs was stiff with char and soot.
Their moms had set them up a playdate of sorts, leaving them to play in the room whilst they talked in the kitchen. They were playing—or at least, Izuku thought they were.
Kacchan sat cross-legged near the corner, fiddling with a broken All Might figurine, the head missing and the left arm melted at the socket. He grunted under his breath, clearly annoyed. Izuku had offered to try and fix it earlier, but Kacchan had snapped something under his breath and turned away.
It had been like that for a few weeks now, the snapping and dismissing. Growing colder, louder. Kacchan didn’t hit him or anything, not yet anyways, but he acted like every word Izuku said was sand in his teeth. It didn’t stop Izuku from trying. He still wanted to be close, still wanted to believe they were friends.
So when silence filled the room again, Izuku offered a question.
“…Have you ever fused with someone before?” He slowly verbalized his thoughts.
Kacchan scoffed, but didn’t look up, “Tried it once. Didn’t work.”
“Really?” Izuku tilted his head, “I thought you were, um… kinda perfect for it.”
Kacchan clicked his tongue, “Was thinking too hard or somethin’... it's whatever.”
Izuku laughed softly, almost to himself, “I think… I think fusing would be amazing. Like—not just the powers, but the feeling. You get to become someone new. Someone made of two people. That’s… that’s beautiful, right?”
Kacchan looked at him then, really looked. His eyes were narrowed, but curious, “It's not beautiful, it's powerful.”
“Besides, you can’t even do anything, Deku,” He muttered, not harshly, just matter-of-fact, “No quirk.”
Izuku wilted slightly, “But… what if I did? I could fuse with someone who… had enough for the both of us.”
Kacchan stared at him for a moment longer, the gears turning behind his eyes.
“…If we fused,” He murmured under his breath, “you’d have power, wouldn’t you? You’d be useful.”
Izuku hopefully nodded, “I, um, I think so.”
Kacchan stayed quiet for another moment, before he shifted slightly, “...Alright.”
Izuku’s breath caught, “You mean—you’d do it?”
Kacchan shrugged, already standing, “Tch, yeah. Just don’t mess it up.”
Izuku scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the toys he'd been previously busy with. His heart was pounding so hard it made his chest feel too small, “O-Okay! Okay, um—they always dance, right? On the sh-shows, before they fuse. It’s how they sync up!”
Kacchan rolled his eyes but didn’t object, “Fine.”
Their “dance” was clumsy—half jumping, half spinning, like two kids pretending to know what rhythm meant. Kacchan moved too fast, stomping like a soldier. Izuku moved too soft, stepping like he thought they were being watched.
It didn’t work, not at first.
Kacchan huffed, “This is dumb.”
He turned to step away, already giving up.
But Izuku grabbed his hand, “W-Wait..!”
And, in an instant, everything clicked.
The orange light that quickly covered them was warm. Not blinding, but gentle, like someone turning on the sun from behind your eyelids. It started in Izuku’s chest—a pull, a pop, a gravity between souls—but quickly spread up his ribs and shoulders and into his mind until his entire body felt loose.
And then, just as quickly, the tension relented, and Izuku was gone. Kacchan was too.
They weren’t two anymore.
They were one.
The fusion blinked, feeling an odd sort of pressure in their head. They were slightly taller than before, and nearly lost their balance the moment their eyes opened. There was a weight on their sides that they quickly lifted.
Four arms, freckled with dark soot at the elbows and fully blackened at the fingertips. They- He could feel the combustive pressure in his limbs, like an overpressurized soda can. It was discomforting, but he could barely notice.
Crux laughed a low note, using their top two hands to feel their face, “…It worked,” He whispered, voice layered and reverberating. Crux took one step forward, then another, stretching out their newfound existence.
For a moment, it was everything Crux's two halves had dreamed of. A being not made like him but also with him. Izuku’s childish admiration had Crux feeling giddy with excitement, while Katsuki’s confidence made him feel on top of the world.
He felt like he could conquer anything, everything.
And then… Crux looked in the mirror.
His limbs were long and spindly for his diminutive size, like he was being stretched thin. The soot that covered his arms lightly dusted his whole body, giving him a pale sheen.
His hair was like a fading lightning bolt—green and yellow roots near-instantly turning into black spikes. Two red eyes blinked above a sharp, spiked mouth, then a third, green one opened on his forehead.
Something inside him churns at the sight of his own form.
Crux can feel just how much Katsuki loathes Izuku, a strange kind of mishandled hatred rattling his nerves. Crux can feel Izuku's nervous fear for himself, as it washes over his trembling limbs.
With anger and fear taking hold of him, it’s hard to tell where they begin and he ends. In this form, Crux feels something neither boy had ever truly felt before: hatred.
Hatred for himself.
Crux hates. He hates himself. He somehow hates the two people who made him, for putting him in this mess. He hates the pressure that's still building in his limbs, he hates his stupid blackened hair and soot-covered skin and the way he feels like throwing up, spindly and frail with two conflicting inputs pounding into his skull.
People always say fusion is supposed to be something beautiful, something powerful.
Crux feels none of that. He only hates how he feels ugly, and weak.
He stared at his own hands. One pair trembled in fear while the other clenched in rage. His two red eyes narrowed in fury while his higher green teared-up with despair. His body felt like it was being pulled in two directions, as Crux collapsed in on himself, the light crumpling, the form distorting.
Crux screamed in self-hatred, in fear and anger and disgust and expectation melding into one volatile emotion.
They’re torn apart, roughly landing onto the dust covered carpet. Izuku sobbed into the carpet, panting harshly. Kacchan was quiet, hollow even, as he stared into the floor.
Izuku sniffled, breath catching, as he dragged his eyes up to his best-friend, to his only friend, “Are- Are you o-okay, Kacchan?”
Kacchan flinched, and his hands curled into the carpet. He refused to look up as his breathing quickened.
The door burst open with a slam. Inko and Mitsuki rushed in, alarmed from the raw scream that came out of Kacchan's room.
“Oh my god—! Izu, baby…”
“Kat, what the hell did you—?!”
Inko lifted Izuku gently, brushing his curls from his face and wiping tears from his eyes. He buried himself into her neck, breath still hitching in his throat.
As she carried him out of the room, he turned his head one last time.
Bakugou was still sitting on the floor, his eyes wide and hands still gripping the carpet.
But now, he looked at Izuku.
Not with fear, not with regret—but with pure, searing anger.
Like Izuku had taken something from him.
⟡─ ❖ ─⟡
The bell rang with that violent screech that always seemed to echo in Izuku’s head, a loud clatter that hummed with the crackling of old speakers. Most of the students instantly left their seats in a hurry to get somewhere, anywhere but school.
Izuku was no exception. He hurriedly stood with a quick breath, haphazardly forcing his notebooks into his bag. But of course, as he grabbed his ink-stained analysis notebook, someone snatched it back out of his hand.
“Deku still thinks he can be a hero, huh?” The long-fingered boy—Izuku's never actually learned his name, now that he thought about it—sneered, reading over the title of the notebook, “Studying quirks and fusion now, nerd? Pretty ironic, eh, Bakugou?”
Bakugou lazily scoffed, “Hah? Yeah, pathetic really.” Bakugou grabbed the book harshly, giving it a single scan.
“Kacchan, please give me that back—” Izuku was trying to ask, calmly and kindly, before he got cut off.
“You can't be a hero, you'd just get someone else hurt. You're quirkless, or are you too dumb to remember?” Bakugou’s other crony—once again, Izuku had completely missed his name—chimed in.
Izuku just sighed, “Please, just give me—”
Bakugou tilted his head slightly, almost an unnoticeable amount. He glanced back at the book, before actually turning to Izuku.
He scoffed again, “Look Deku, this creepy shit won't help you be a hero. Only a quirk, like mine, could. You don't have that.” He set off an explosion on the book, a loud pop sounding from his hands, “You’re only hope at even getting a quirk would be to fuse, and… well.”
Bakugou looked him dead in the eyes, “We know how that went, right?”
Izuku almost felt like there were two layers to that sentence. There was the obvious implication that Izuku was infusible, a solid that would quickly ruin any fusion he managed to initiate.
But, then again… there was a subtle glint in Bakugou’s eyes, like he was telling Izuku something. An instruction of some kind, a common understanding.
Izuku chooses to ignore that glint, “K-Kacchan, I know that I’ll probably fail, but… well, I might as well try, r-right?” He nervously smiled, “S-So, can I please have my notebook back?”
Bakugou flatly looked at him, as a quiet sigh softly escaped his rough lips, “You want it?” He reared his arm back, “Go get it.”
Bakugou tossed the notebook out the open window behind Izuku. Izuku turned just fast enough to watch as it glided through the threshold of the building, flung outside.
Izuku paused as he looked out the window, until Bakugou spoke again, where he turned his head slowly back, “You really wanna be a hero that bad?” He asked, “Alright then, I've got an idea for you.” Bakugou took a small breath in as he made eye contact with Izuku.
“See if you get lucky in your next life.” Bakugou shrugged slightly, “Maybe you’ll have a quirk next time, or can actually fuse without messing it up.” Something between a laugh and a sigh passed through Bakugou’s next breath, “Knowing your damn luck though, you won't be useful, even the second time around.”
Izuku felt a frown tug at his features, as he tried to determine exactly what that meant.
“Might as well take a swan dive off the roof, get it over with quickly.” Bakugou muttered, almost like he was torn between saying it and not. His red eyes never left Izuku’s greens though.
‘Ah. So, that’s…’ A bout of realization struck Izuku, finally connecting the dots, and he let his gaze fall to the floor.
He heard Bakugou’s footsteps move away a few moments later. His social orbiters quickly ran to catch up to him.
And, once again, Izuku was alone.
⟡─ ❖ ─⟡
“Fusions are not made from power,” All-Might said, a boisterous laugh coming through the microphone’s static, “Even when it’s two heroes. They’re made from trust. From choice. What you become says as much about you… as it does about the person who stood beside you.”
He shifted back a bit, taking a softer tone than before, “People think it’s a technique. A strategy. But it isn’t. Fusion isn’t a show you put on—it’s a way of being. It’s what happens when two souls stop trying to be separate.” He gave a wide smile, trying to convey exactly what he meant.
“We don’t fuse to win, we fuse to understand.” The paragon slowly shook his head with a laugh, “Fusion is the result of connection, where you and someone you ought to trust more than anyone come together. You create something beautiful—something like a name, unique and personal—because you see them for what they truly are.” His eyes softened and, for just a moment, there was a human standing in All-Might's place.
Not the No. 1 Hero, the Symbol of Peace, but just… a man, with hopes and dreams that had long passed him.
He brazenly smiled, with an edge of sadness that barely came through, “We fuse to say: I see you!”
And, sometimes… to ask, softly: Will you see me?
Please, see me?