Chapter Text
A young man with with hair a green so dark it drank the light and eyes to match sat alone on the weathered porch of the Apollo cabin. Behind him, his siblings slept on, for at least a few more hours.
Sleep had abandoned the young man hours ago.
It wasn’t just restlessness. It was the dreams. Ever since he came to camp they became sharper. Not the usual hazy impressions, but vivid, relentless visions that clung to him even after waking. Every night they grew stronger.
And that terrified him more than he cared to admit. The future was coming. A future with events he was and wasn’t allowed to change.
The sky at the horizon began to split open, bleeding gold into the dark. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the rising light.
“So it begins… doesn’t it, Lord Apollon?” .
For a moment, nothing answered. Then a gentle warmth spilled through him, settling beneath his skin. It felt how gentle sunlight felt on a summer's day, playfully nipping at the skin.
He let out a quiet, humorless breath.
“Fate has a cruel sense of humor,” he said, almost to himself. “And knowing too much…” His lips pressed into a thin line. “That might be crueler still.”
The chair rocked softly beneath him, back and forth, back and forth. Finally a name that had evaded him for so long found its way to the tip of his tongue.
“Perseus Jackson…” he repeated, tasting sea salt on his tongue. “What a fate you have. Fortunately, neither of us is known for listening too well. We may not be able to change our fates, but the road we take to them is still our own.”
As the first edge of sunlight broke over the horizon, the young man thought back to his childhood. When everything was so much simpler.
***
Izuku knew. He always knew. What did he know? At the moment, he knew he was going to be punched in the face. Not right now, though. Right now he was building a sandcastle. The sand was warm beneath his fingers as he packed another tower into place. Sure, he was by himself, but he was still having fun.
Aside from Kaachan, nobody really liked talking to Izuku. And Kaachan had stayed home today, which meant Izuku was alone.
It wasn’t his fault people didn’t like the things he said. He had to say them. They mattered. They were the truth, and his mother always said he had to be an honest boy. It was also simply in his nature and you could sooner divert a river than deny Izuku his nature.
Eventually, Izuku stood up and brushed the sand from his hands before heading toward the water fountain. His throat was dry.
Halfway there, he frowned.
The feeling from earlier was getting stronger. That meant he was getting punched soon. His jaw was already starting to ache in anticipation. Maybe he should wait…No he was going to drink water. He wasn’t a coward.
When he reached the fountain, Izuku leaned down to drink. As the cool water splashed against his lips, he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned.
A boy stood there. Or rather, something like the blur of a boy. Izuku’s eyesight was getting worse. But that didn’t matter, he already knew who it was. The feeling always told him, and even if it didn’t Izuku had other ways of knowing..
“Yes, Kato?”
Without warning, the boy rushed forward and punched him in the face.
Ah.
The moment the punch landed, Izuku understood why Kato was angry.
Izuku hadn’t meant to upset him when he told Kato’s crush that Kato liked her. The feeling had simply made him say it. Though that had happened a while ago. So Izuku wasn’t entirely sure why he was getting punched now.
Still, Izuku had grown up with Kaachan, the closest thing he had to a brother.
That meant he knew how to fight.
He shoved Kato away and swung back, his small fist connecting with the other boy’s shoulder. Kato lunged again, and Izuku punched him once more. They tumbled across the playground sand, trading clumsy blows.
It didn’t take long before the teachers noticed.
It didn’t take long before they were pulled apart.
And it didn’t take long after that for Izuku to find himself standing outside the classroom, quietly kicking at the ground while his mom spoke with his teacher inside. It wasn’t long before the two were in the car, as silent as ever.
Izuku knew. He always knew with his mother. Sometimes she didn’t even have to speak. Sometimes all it took was a look, and Izuku’s feeling of just knowing would tell him everything she wasn’t saying.
That's why today he didn’t try to defend himself like every other day. But he already knew it wouldn’t matter.
His mother didn’t really care if he got in trouble as long as it wasn’t too serious. And in her book, very few things were ‘serious’.
The point was he knew he wasn’t wanted right now. Today was one of those days.
Izuku shifted in his seat, staring down at his hands before mumbling, “Can I go to Kaachan’s house?”
“No. Doctor’s appointment.”
Izuku frowned.
Right. He had forgotten about his quirk appointment after school. Turning his head, he looked out the window as the scenery blurred past. His frown didn’t go away.
This was going to be a long day. Not hard. Just… quiet. And lonely. Izuku was used to quiet and lonely. Sometimes he liked it like that. Sometimes it was peaceful. Other times it was boring. But most of the time it was just horrible
“Radio?” he asked softly.
Inko’s green eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. For a moment, it felt like she was looking straight through him, like she could see everything he was thinking and everything he wasn’t saying.
Then she sighed and turned it on.
Music filled the car.
And just like that, Izuku’s feelings shifted. His mother’s annoyance was turned to guilt.
Izuku hated his feelings.
Kaachan said it would be easier without them.
Kaachan didn’t like Inko.
But Izuku did.
Izuku loved his mom. His feelings would never let him hate her, because they always told him the truth. His mother was sad. Even when she was sad, she still cared about him. Maybe not the way Kaachan’s mom cared about Kaachan, loud and certain and warm.
But she cared.
Izuku didn’t want Kaachan’s mom.
He wanted his mom. He just wished his mom wanted him.
***
Izuku stood up from the chair with a grim expression. There was too much to do, not enough time, and so little he could do.
Bitterness bloomed in his heart. . He exhaled slowly through his nose. Doomed to see everything… and still be powerless to change what truly counted.
He looked up at the sky where gold had begun to swallow the last traces of night. A brittle smile tugged at his lips.
“All the threads you’ve deemed untouchable…” he said quietly, voice steady despite the storm beneath it, “they’ll play out. I won’t fight that. I know what fate would befall me if I try.”
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
“But the rest…” His eyes hardened, something resolute flickering behind the green. “Anything left unwritten….I’ll rewrite it.”
The air shifted.
An invisible hand opened the door to the Apollo cabin creaked open. The faint scent of sun-warmed wood and laurel drifted out to meet him. Izuku stepped inside without hesitation.
The door shut behind him with a soft, final click.
But the quiet didn’t follow. His mind was never quiet. Some ghosts… didn’t need prophecy to haunt him.
***
Izuku sat beside his mother, impatiently tapping his fingers against the armrests of his chair. The doctor was taking too long. Izuku was not amused. He had already sat still for all the tests. He had been poked and prodded and told to wait—again and again—and now he was getting restless.
He was missing time with his best friend for this. His quirk better be a good one.
“Izuku Midoriya? Your results are ready.”
Joy rushed through him all at once.
Izuku jumped out of his chair and hurried toward the open door without waiting, his shoes squeaking faintly against the floor.
Behind him, his mother stood much more slowly, following at a calm, unhurried pace as the assistant led them down the hall.
They entered a new room.
“Wait here for the doctor for a moment.”
Izuku groaned and dropped into the chair, slumping back with a frustrated sigh. From one waiting room to another.
At least this time, it didn’t take long.
The door opened, and the doctor stepped in.
He was short and stout, with a bald head, a bushy mustache, and goggles covering his eyes.
Izuku immediately didn’t like him. His knowing said the man was bad.
“Good evening, Mrs. Midoriya.”
Inko nodded politely. “Good evening.”
“I have good news. Your son has a rather nice quirk.” The doctor clasped his hands together. “What are yours and his father’s quirks? It would make it easier to explain.”
Inko shifted slightly in her seat. The moment the doctor mentioned his father, something in Izuku tightened.
Izuku didn’t like his father. He had never met him, but his knowing told him enough. His father had hurt his mother. His father was why she was always sad. And Izuku hated when she was sad.
“I can pull small objects toward me,” Inko said quietly. “As for his father… he isn’t in the picture. I don’t know his quirk.”
The doctor continued as if nothing had changed, ignoring the tension in her voice. His attention shifted to Izuku.
Izuku felt anger rise in his chest. He didn’t like this man. A bad doctor who made his mom uncomfortable.
“Your quirk is similar to your mother’s,” the doctor said. “But instead of simply pulling objects toward you, you can touch them with invisible hands and move them.”
Something fluttered in Izuku’s chest.
It was like his mom’s. He liked that. He really liked that.
“Why hasn’t it developed yet?” Inko asked.
“Some children develop later,” the doctor replied easily. “It’s not a cause for concern. If it takes more than a year, then quirk counseling would be your best option to help it along.”
Inko nodded, already standing.
“Come, Izuku. We’re leaving.”
The ride home was quiet.
Home was a touchy subject for Izuku. It was suffocating. It was too quiet. He had to be too still, too small…too invisible. It was hard. But it was also when his mom felt the best, at least when he was around that is.
So he did it.
He stayed in his room, door closed, careful with every movement, every sound. He made himself into something that barely existed.
A ghost in his own house.
That was why he liked Kaachan’s house. It was loud. Chaotic. Messy. But Izuku could be himself there. That was how he and Kaachan had gotten so close in the first place. What started as playdates turned into sleepovers, and then something more. A second home. A better one.
And when Izuku came back, his mother would be… nicer. Softer. The longer he stayed away, the better it was when he returned.
But now he had been in the house too long. A week. That meant things would be worse. Now, being invisible wouldn’t be enough. He would have to be nothing at all.
Izuku didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did.
So instead, he sat down on the floor and pulled out his notebook and drew his feelings, his knowing…his dreams. They spilled out in color and shape, messy and tangled across the page.
His drawings had gotten him in trouble at school before, so now he only drew at home. His mother never asked to see them. He never wanted to show her anyway.m Only he understood what the strange, clashing colors meant.
Sometimes there were monsters. Sometimes there were tears. Most of the time there was blood. There was death. There was violence.
Nothing ever fit together cleanly. Nothing made sense at first glance. It was up to Izuku to interpret it all, to piece it together into something understandable.
But he was just a kid. He didn’t know what any of it meant.
Sometimes, Izuku thought he was crazy.
His teachers thought he was violent.
The only person who thought he was normal was Kaachan. Kaachan liked the violence. So Kaachan was his only friend.
Izuku was okay with that. Because unlike everyone else Kaachan was honest.
Lost in his drawings and his thoughts, Izuku almost didn’t notice the knock on his door. Almost. The house was too quiet for him to miss the only sound in it.
It was time for dinner.
Izuku grieved dinner the most.
At Kaachan’s house, everyone sat together. They talked. Loudly. Casually. About nothing and everything at the same time. Izuku liked it. It was such a small thing, but it meant everything.
Dinner at his house was never like that. He sat across from his mother in silence, the space between them heavy and unmoving. Neither of them spoke. Not even a little.
It was just… quiet.
So Izuku filled the silence the only way he knew how.
He reached for his feelings.
They were always there, just beneath the surface, waiting. He tugged at them gently, like strings only he could see, only he could pull.
His mother was the sharp crack of a gavel striking wood. She was the shift of paper beneath steady fingers. She was the rush of thoughts. She was the unwavering need for truth and justice.
That was his mother.
***
“Lame!”
Izuku frowned at Kaachan.
“We can’t all have explosion quirks. Mine’s cool,” he muttered, crossing his arms.
Kaachan stuck his tongue out at him.
“Maybe if you could actually use it.”
Izuku rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.
“Well, it’s good enough for you to be my sidekick.” Kaachan declared with the finality only an overconfident four year old could have.
“And if I don’t become a hero?”
“I’ll be number one,” Kaachan said immediately. “And you’ll work at my agency. That makes you my number two even if you’re not a hero.” He grinned, sharp and confident. “I’ll beat up anyone who says otherwise.”
Izuku huffed out.
“Maybe try beating me first.”
Kaachan growled and lunged at him.
The two hit the floor in an instant, rolling across it in a mess of limbs and laughter, punches thrown without hesitation. It was chaotic, loud, and a little rough but neither of them held back. They loved it. Eventually, they collapsed side by side, breathing hard and grinning up at the sky. They couldn’t fight for too long before the teacher noticed and got them in trouble.
Most people hated roughhousing like that. Izuku and Kaachan thrived in it.
Kaachan was violent. He was the thunder of explosions. He was the heat of pride. For some reason, Izuku found himself feeling like he belonged around Kaachan. Like violence was where he belonged. He felt like a fish in water when they were fighting.
“Are you coming over today?” Kaachan asked, a spark of excitement in his voice.
When Izuku stayed over, they could fight all day. It was the best.
Izuku nodded. “My mom said yes. She said I can stay as long as you want me to.”
“Awesome! Let’s try to activate your quirk. For real this time.”
***
Izuku was six, and with Kaachan as his best friend, the two of them were always in trouble. Always. But because Kaachan had a good quirk, and Izuku had a ‘decent’ one, the punishments were never that bad. Most of the time, they were just made to stand outside.
Still Izuku got in more trouble than Kaachan. Kaachan could stand still when he needed to. He could sit quietly, flip through a book, and actually read it.
Izuku couldn’t.
He was always moving. Always fidgeting, his fingers tapping, his legs bouncing. Words slipped out under his breath before he could stop them.
And the hiragana on the page never stayed still. The letters shifted and blurred, sliding into each other until they stopped making sense altogether. Like they refused to be understood. It didn’t help that they were already hard to see. Like everything else they were just a little too blurry.
Kaachan always told him to tell his mom. Izuku never did. He didn’t want to bother her. So instead, he dealt with the disappointed looks, the whispers, and the quiet humiliation.
Izuku knew he wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t stupid. So he didn’t care what they said.
Not really.
The real problem—the thing that always got him in trouble— was what his teachers called “his need to cause trouble.”
Izuku didn’t think it was trouble. He was just telling the truth. He thought back to one time he called out a boy for stealing. Not because he saw it but because he knew. Another time he told a girl to stop forgetting her homework or her dad would be mad.
Every new day he said something that would make the people around him uncomfortable. And it would always end with more scolding, more punishment, and more time outside.
Izuku didn’t understand. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He wasn’t trying to cause trouble. He just knew. And the knowing didn’t stay quiet inside him. No matter how hard he tried.