Chapter Text
It’s not one thing that leads Izuku to gazing down at the ground from the ledge of one of the tallest buildings Musutafu has to offer.
It’s not one thing, Izuku thinks; it’s a long time coming.
Izuku’s shoes are lined up neatly beside him, a suicide note tucked into one of them, as useless as it might be knowing that no one out there really cares if he’s dead or alive at this point.
His school bag is leaned against the edge of the ledge, just below his shoes, and tucked inside it, is the scorched and waterlogged notebook Kacchan had gotten ahold of just that afternoon, as well as the notebook All Might had scrawled his signature in.
Izuku shifts where he’s sitting, thoughtful about how his legs dangle over the edge, but not thoughtful enough to be worried about accidentally slipping.
He wouldn’t be up here if that wasn’t the plan at some point.
It had all started years ago.
Four years, to be exact.
When his mom died.
The accident had been quite sudden. An attempted robbery gone wrong. Just one singular casualty. His mom. She’d been in the wrong place, at the wrong time and she’d ended up losing her life.
He’d been only ten years old when police officers had politely knocked at their apartment door, asking to speak to an adult, clearly unaware that it was just Izuku and his mom.
He’d spent that night at the police station, so shocked and scared he couldn’t even find it in himself to cry at the fact that his mom was gone. He faintly remembers officers muttering something to each other about shock, but he doesn’t quite remember.
Truthfully, the whole night is a little fuzzy now.
His mother had died, and after nearly a week of tracking as Izuku stayed with a foster family, Izuku was taken home by his father, whom he hadn’t seen since he was five, who had taken custody of him.
Midoriya Hisashi wasn’t an awful guy.
He also wasn’t a good guy.
He worked in support, making tools and equipment for Heroes.
It was an honorable occupation, and Izuku had been moderately excited to see the inner workings of a support gear manufacturer. He’d always thought support gear was cool.
He thought anything to do with Heroes was cool.
Izuku studied Heroes; Quirks and gear. Heroes as a whole. How they used what they had, fight styles, support gear they relied on. It was all super cool!
Hisashi was married to his work, and that’s all he cared about— that's what mama had always said about Hisashi whenever Izuku would ask after he’d left them. He’d been young when dad left, hadn’t really understood. Seeing it now, Izuku can see exactly what his mom was talking about.
Hisashi lived in a modest three-bedroom apartment when Izuku had moved in with him.
It was a stark upgrade to the little apartment Izuku had shared with his mom, but he had a feeling dad didn’t struggle like mom did. And his dad’s apartment was just an apartment. Mom’s apartment had been a home.
Izuku misses having a home.
Hisashi had showed Izuku the master bedroom, where the man slept, and then the second bedroom which was... more a storage room. It was cluttered with rejected support designs and boxes of old blueprints and sketches. There was even a couple failed prototypes hidden amongst the clutter.
Izuku had spent his first night with his father looking through the boxes at all the designs once the man had locked himself away in his office, leaving Izuku to his own devices. Izuku thinks this might be where he got his journaling habit from— just instead of Heroes, dad liked support gear.
There was no bed in the room. There wasn’t actually any furniture in the room at all. Izuku had slept on the floor for the first week and a half of living with his father.
And then an old rolled up futon had been on the bedroom floor along with a wrinkled ball of sheets and blankets one day when Izuku had come home from school, so he supposes his dad was putting in a bit of effort too. Izuku had honestly thought his dad had forgotten that people typically had beds or futons.
The last bedroom, the office, was always shut, usually locked as well, and that’s usually where his father was. Whenever Izuku managed to peek in, the room was always overflowing with blueprints, prototypes and actual gear he was working on.
Hisashi had forbade him from going into the room.
Actually, he was weird about Izuku going into any room that wasn’t the main living area, the supposed second bedroom or the bathroom. Maybe it was because there was potentially dangerous tools and gear, or maybe it was because his dad didn’t trust him. Izuku couldn’t be sure.
Hisashi wasn’t good at being a dad, Izuku had decided early on.
Where mom would have dinner ready, would pack Izuku neat little bentos for lunch and prepare hearty breakfasts for the day, Hisashi hardly even remembered to get groceries or order food.
The kitchen was usually empty, so even if Izuku wanted to make something to feed himself, he usually couldn’t. And when Hisashi did remember that feeding your children was typically something that was expected of parents, it was usually take-out he’d get delivered.
Sometimes he didn’t even remember to call Izuku into the kitchen to eat.
Izuku was hungry a lot more after his mom died.
He didn’t really talk to dad. He didn’t even really see dad.
He was always at work, or in the office, or sleeping, or even away on business trips across Japan, and even a couple across the world. He was always kind enough to leave Izuku some money to survive while he was gone.
Hisashi didn’t care where Izuku was, or what he did.
He’d done his part, put a roof over Izuku’s head and made sure he had everything he needed for school, not that he cared if Izuku even went or not, but that’s about it.
Izuku accepted that.
He was just thankful the man had taken him in after he’d left all those years ago.
His mom had always said it had nothing to do with Izuku, but Izuku... he thinks that maybe dad had left because he didn’t have a Quirk like everyone else. Dad never said anything, even when he did look up from his work long enough to remember Izuku existed in the same living space as him.
Conversations between them were scarce, especially after Izuku had mentioned he planned on becoming a Hero when he grew up. And his dad had... he’d snorted in amusement.
He’d genuinely laughed at Izuku’s hopes and dreams.
Izuku had never felt so small, staring at his dad as the man laugh as if Izuku had just made a joke. Izuku had known his cheeks had flushed in embarrassment and a foreign feeling of hatred that he couldn’t seem to stem off.
Izuku didn’t mention it again.
His dad didn’t ask.
Izuku was still thankful the man had taken him in, but that doesn’t mean he likes his father.
Outside of moving into a new apartment, nothing else really changed.
Izuku still went to the same school, even if it wasn’t the closest one anymore. He spent an hour and a half on public transit each morning and each evening but didn’t bother voicing this to his father because he was sure the man wouldn’t care. And it’s not like it’s impossible to get to school on time, it was just a change.
Izuku shakes himself from his thoughts, leaning forwards to peer downwards once again.
He doubts his dad will even notice he’s gone.
It’s not like he ever lifts his head away from his projects long enough to even answer phone calls unless it’s something to do with work. Izuku knows. His own calls are always going unanswered— even the school’s calls go straight to voicemail.
Hisashi’s life would probably be easier without Izuku around too.
He can go back to the love of his life, his creation and work, without any hassle of another human depending on him. There’s no question that Hisashi hadn’t felt obligated to take Izuku in after his mother passed away so suddenly— some moral responsibility of taking in their half-orphaned child when Inko no longer could.
Maybe Hisashi didn’t love Izuku, but there was no doubt that mom hadn’t loved him with all her heart. Izuku knew that, and he thinks his dad might as well.
Izuku knows the man would have no contact with them if his mom hadn’t died.
Besides, the man is on a business trip to America right now, and he won’t be back for another three weeks at least.
He really doubts his dad would even answer the calls trying to tell him that Izuku was dead.
He doesn’t think anyone will care if he really does this.
If he takes that step and ends it all.
He just...
He can’t see a future anymore.
When he was little, being Quirkless hadn’t really phased him past the initial shock that he wasn’t going to get something everyone else got. He didn’t mind, everyone else did. Mom had apologized for him not having a Quirk. Dad had left because he didn’t have a Quirk. Kacchan turned cruel when Izuku didn’t manifest a Quirk like everyone else, despite them being best friends before. School friends and teachers suddenly cared a whole lot less.
And despite all that, he’d tried to hold onto his hopes of being a Hero.
He clutched desperately at his dreams.
But... how are you supposed to keep going on when your Hero, the Number One Hero, tells you that you’ll never achieve that goal. That it’s useless. Impossible.
He’d always tried hard to cling onto his dreams, used it as a means to force himself on and keep going because everyone could be a Hero, right?
You can’t be a Hero.
And maybe he’s right.
Even when Izuku had thought he was doing good by helping his childhood friend— being the one to help when Kacchan was being attacked by the same sludge villain that had tried to take Izuku, he still hadn’t done the right thing.
No one else was helping.
Everyone was just... just watching Kacchan die. Watching him suffocate in sludge, just like Izuku had no more than an hour earlier before All Might had swooped in to save the day. The Heroes on scene volunteering each other in place of themselves because no one had a good Quirk match up for the villain, which was stupid because Izuku didn’t even have a Quirk and he’d made a difference. Izuku had just moved before he could think and it— it worked. Kacchan survived.
Kacchan lived and the villain was apprehended so he couldn’t hurt anyone else.
And Izuku... Izuku got scolded.
By the Heroes who hadn’t tried to help.
He’d done good, hadn’t he? He thought he’d done good. Wasn’t that what a Hero was supposed to do? Help? To save people when no one else is? To protect them from harm, and catch the bad guys so they can’t hurt anyone else?
Why hadn’t they been helping?
Why had he been the only one to step in, and why had he gotten in trouble for saving someone’s life?
Maybe he was just naïve to believe he could be anything other than a Quirkless Deku.
Deep down, Izuku knows no one believes in him.
He has always known, if he’s being honest with himself.
Mom had smiled but had clearly never thought that Heroics was something that was unachievable for him, even if she fed into his dreams. If she’d let him cling to growing up to be a Hero like All Might.
Dad had blatantly called it ridiculous without even saying the words, which had honestly hurt even more than his father actually saying his opinion. His father had never believed in him, and Izuku knew that.
Kacchan thought he was useless, and his teachers and classmates could care less what happened to him; he knows they don’t like him— everyone taking every chance they got to ridicule, belittle or mock him for wanting what every other kid wanted.
Why was it so wrong for him to be a Hero too? Why was him applying to Yuuei as a Quirkless kid such a joke to everyone else? Why did no one believe in him?
Even All Might had told him he’d never be able to do it.
So... why bother trying?
Even when he tried his hardest— even when he was useful— when he’d been able to help, been the only one to help, he was still nothing but a useless, Quirkless Deku.
That’s all he’ll ever be, isn’t it?
No matter how hard he tried to be something more.
He was never going to be a Hero.
Izuku forces out an unsteady breath, finally pushing himself to his feet. His socked toes curl over the edge, numb from the chill of the night. He glares down hard at his own feet, as if he can see right through his sock and skin, right down to the humiliating toe joint that makes him so much different from everyone else.
The skies are dark around him, and the city is quiet below.
He doesn’t know what time it is.
He doesn’t care what time it is.
Izuku leans forwards faintly, staring down at the ground now.
The building is at least ten stories— he should know. He’d had to walk down all those stairs after All Might had left him up here, and then he’d had to walk up them all again after his futile attempt at Heroism had left him scolded and numb to the world.
It seemed like a fitting place to end it all.
A dream is just a dream. `
It’s not going to happen.
Not to him, so what’s the point in clinging to it?
Why had he expected anything different? Why had he clung to the idea that he could be something more than he already was? Why had he been so insistent that... that the stars were going to suddenly align for him and everything he’d ever hoped and dreamed of would become a reality before his eyes?
It wouldn’t.
That’s not how the world worked.
He’d been naïve to believe any differently. Childishly clinging to dreams.
Why had he thought he could be something different?
Izuku brings a frozen hand up to palm at his cheek, unsurprised to find tears when he pulls away. He lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut.
Maybe Kacchan was right?
Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to get a Quirk in his next life.
With that last thought, Izuku lets himself tip forwards.
For a second, he feels free.
The wind catches in his hair, and the biting cold air hits his wet cheeks. The wind washes over his skin like relief, clothes whipping in the sharp air as he drops. He sucks in a rush of air, body giving a light shiver.
It feels right.
And then...
It feels wrong.
Izuku’s eyes snap open as panic wells in his chest.
This... was a mistake.
This wasn’t right. How could he... how could he do this? What the hell had he been thinking? Izuku's body tenses up as the ground gets closer and closer. The whipping wind hits his face, and that moment of freedom is crashed over by the reality of what he’d just done.
He was going to die.
He doesn’t really want to die.
How could he be so stupid?
How could he let himself...
The panic in his chest festers until it’s all he can feel. His fingertips buzz with regret and Izuku’s heart feels so heavy with dread as he passes what he thinks might be the third story. Almost at the ground. Almost... almost dead.
I don’t want to die.
Izuku wraps his arms around himself, the only purchase he can find after being so stupid and doing something so permanent. You don’t come back from the dead. He’d made a stupid decision. He’d done something so stupid and now... he had to live with the consequences of that.
He lets his eyes squeeze shut, thoughts going to his mother as he awaits his impending doom.
She would never want this for him.
He knows that she... she was the only person he’d had in his corner. The only person he thinks he could’ve gotten on board, the only support he would’ve had. He knows she’d only want what was best for him and this... this wasn’t that.
Izuku feels tears welling in his eyes as he sucks in another choked breath.
“I know you’ll do great things in life, my sweet little Izuku.”
She’d used to say that, hadn’t she? All the time. Even after... after he’d been diagnosed Quirkless. When the world had turned its back on him, mom never did. When he had bad days. When kids were mean at school. When he couldn’t do anything right. When everything felt hopeless.
She always saw the best in him, even if no one else did.
I’m... I’m so sorry, Mom.
But he’s already made his decision; you can't come back from this.
He stares wide-eyed as the ground gets closer and closer as the seconds tick on, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for impact. He awaits the consequences of his own stupid actions and then—
I change my mind... I don’t want to die...
—and then he opens his eyes and he’s stood peering over the edge of the building he’d just fallen from. Beside him, his shoes are tucked neatly on the ledge, backpack leaned on the ground beside them just as he’d left them. Izuku blinks owlishly, leaning forwards to stare ten stories down. Ten stories down where he’d just been a moment prior, only seconds away from hitting the ground.
He’s... back?
And that’s the first time Midoriya Izuku realizes that he does, in fact, have a Quirk.
For a long second, Izuku just stares.
He stares at his socked feet; then peers down at the ground again. There’s an unpleasant churn of his stomach as the drop down lingers in his head. He’d never been scared of heights, but something about how he’d just felt... it scared him.
He lets his attention crawl to his shoes and backpack, exactly as they’d been the second he’d stepped off the edge, before he gazes down once again. Down at where he... where he should be.
He sucks in a breath that’s nothing but waning adrenaline, wrapping his arms around himself as he inches backwards faintly.
He’d jumped.
He had jumped.
He knows he had.
He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to feel like that without actually feeling like that. The terror that had shot through his body as he came to his senses and the grim acceptance of his mistake. The mistake that should’ve ended his life. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, his breathing shallow and shaky.
It almost feels like he’s one second away from a heart attack.
He’d almost died.
He’d stared down at death itself as he fell.
That couldn’t have been... there’s no way that could’ve been some illusion or idea. He had jumped. The feeling of falling was ingrained in his head at this point. You can’t just make that up, not so realistic. He’d almost died, yet... yet here he was. Back where he’d started.
But he had jumped.
He takes a shaky step backwards, stumbling down off the ledge as his stomach coils guiltily at the thought of just standing so close to his near-death experience. It feels like too much.
He'd almost died.
And that... had been the intention, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d been so close to dying and survived. He’d been just seconds away from the ground. He’d jumped— he can still feel the phantom whipping wind on his cheeks, even when his body doesn’t feel like it had just fallen nearly ten stories.
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck had just happened.
That... had to have been someone’s Quirk. How could it not be someone’s Quirk? He’d jumped off a building, yet here he is safe and sound where he’d been before letting himself fall forwards.
The question is, what kind of Quirk even was that?
And... who did it belong to?
Izuku glances around hazily now, trying to spot anyone that could’ve saved him, used their Quirk on him, but he’s completely alone. It’s quite late, Izuku just knows by how dark the sky had gotten in his time debating whether or not he really wanted to do what he’d come up here to do.
He’s completely alone but... but someone had used a Quirk on him.
Izuku’s attention lowers to his still shoe-less feet, eyes narrowing on his pinky toe.
He flexes the little toe, frowning deeper to himself.
Unless...
What if his doctor had been wrong all those years ago?
Izuku had never gotten a second opinion.
His mother had been so devastated by the news that he’d lack something everyone else had, that he would be shuffled into a minority because of it, so she’d just accepted the diagnosis without question. Izuku thinks his mother had just wanted to take him home and cheer a shell-shocked little Izuku up to the best of her abilities, the thought of misdiagnosis probably in no way crossing her mind.
And it’s not like they had any reason to not believe Izuku’s pediatrician. He’d shown the x-rays showing a pinky-toe joint but... maybe something had gotten mixed up? Maybe they’d accidentally been shown someone else’s x-ray, or even maybe the x-rays were read wrong?
Izuku sucks in a shaky breath, glaring down harder at his feet.
Maybe he... maybe he did have a Quirk?
The thought sends a shock of excitement through Izuku’s chest as he swirls around to slip on his shoes and tug his backpack on, beelining to the doorway leading to the stairwell.
If it really was a Quirk— his Quirk— then he’d better figure it out.
Izuku is jittery by the time he finally makes it home.
There’s a strange anticipation buzzing under his skin as he unlocks the apartment door and beelines for his bedroom. With his father gone, the apartment is eerily quiet, but right now, the isolation of it doesn’t bother him.
He tosses his backpack onto the floor when he reaches the room, shutting his door with a near silent click. He’s careful to be quiet, even if he’s alone and will be for a couple more weeks with his dad out on a business trip somewhere in America. It still makes Izuku feel better to have the safety of a shut door.
He heads further into the room, plopping down on his futon as he reaches over to a small stack of notebooks piled neatly by the futon, analysis journals he’d been working on. He grabs the topmost book, the newest one he’d just recently purchased, brand-new and unused. Perfect for this.
Izuku finds a pencil on the floor by the journals and finally flips the book open, pencil poised to write.
And then he just stares at the book.
What was he even supposed to write? How could he analyze a Quirk that he doesn’t even know if it really exists? He didn’t know anything about what had happened on that rooftop no more than an hour ago. He’s still trying to wrap his head around it, honestly.
He’d very nearly almost died, escaping death just a second before he’d hit the ground. What had actually happened? How had he gotten from point A to point B? Or... or was it point B back to point A?
If point A was the top of the building and point B was the ground, did he go from point A to point B then back to point A? Or did it start at point B, nearly the ground, and end up back at point A, the rooftop?
Did that even make sense?
He’s not entirely sure.
Either way there’s an impossible leap between the ground and the top of a building within a couple seconds. You can’t just end up so high in no longer than a second. Not even Quirks like All Might’s or any teleportation Quirk Izuku had ever seen were so quick.
Izuku should know, any Quirk he’s come into contact with he’s tried to study, and nothing is as instant as what had happened in that second before he’d hit the ground.
Izuku swallows roughly, shaking his head as if to stave away the thoughts.
Had it even...
He knows something had happened— he wouldn’t be sitting here right now if something hadn’t happened, if something had have protected him and saved him from ending his own life, but...
But what the hell was it?
Izuku flops back against the futon, the book spread on his lap falling to the side and flipping closed at the movement. He lifts his arm, twirling the pencil between his fingers, staring up at it with a frown.
Izuku’s hand tightens on the pencil, and he hears a little crack as the wood splits and slinters in his grip. Without a thought, Izuku throws the pencil at the wall in frustration.
Frustration in himself, and the universe.
In Kacchan, and Dad, and even All Might, who are all right about him.
What is he even doing? What is he even thinking?
This is ridiculous. Insane.
He doesn’t have a Quirk. He’s just delusional. He probably didn’t even step off the ledge. It was probably just a daydream— a terror inducing one that had scared him enough to reconsider his choice before he could actually do it.
What else could it really be?
He never stepped off, did he?
Izuku pushes himself up, arms wrapping around his knees as he draws his knees to his chest.
Izuku sniffles in defeat, eyes flicking up to the wall where his pencil had split in two and left a tiny black mark on the wall where it had hit.
Great.
Dad’s going to be pissed if Izuku doesn’t clean that up.
The only times his dad ever seems to notice he even exists is when Izuku’s done something bad, or accidentally damaged something. If Izuku didn’t know his dad’s Quirk was breathing fire, he’d probably think it was something like ‘Izuku’s done something detector’.
And now he’s going to have to find another pencil too.
But wait, wasn’t that his last one? He’d have to buy a whole new box and he’s not even sure he can afford that with what little allowance his dad left for him already spread so thin. He still had a couple weeks to live off it too.
Izuku blows out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut.
And when he opens his eyes again... that’s his pencil in his hand.
He’s on his back again, and he’s staring up at his pencil that’s pinched between his fingers. The pencil he’d thrown at the wall just seconds earlier. The pencil that had cracked into two pieces was now once again one whole, regular, undamaged pencil clutched between his fingers.
Izuku jolts to a sitting position, eyes snapping to the wall.
And it’s... unmarked.
There’s no smear of lead, there’s no scratch from Izuku hurtling a pencil at it. He’s not weak, he knows he has some strength when it comes to throwing things. But it’s... completely as it was before he’d... before he threw it.
That can’t be a fluke.
Not twice.
It can’t be.
That’s two times now. Twice that things that have happened just... didn’t happen.
Izuku’s hand tightens on the pencil as he scrambles to the edge of the bed. His hand tightens on the wood of the pencil, wide eyes staring intently at the wall as he pushes himself to his feet and falls to his knees in front of where there should be a black mark on the wall and a halved pencil.
But it’s not there.
Neither of them.
He’s clutching the pencil, and the wall is completely unmarred.
What?
Izuku’s body sags, falling backwards onto his ass from where he’d been on his knees. It’s almost like his body had melted backwards in bewilderment.
He holds the pencil between two hands, staring down at it.
“I’m going insane,” Izuku mutters aloud, letting his eyes fall shut. “This is insane. I’m insane.”
And when he opens his eyes again, he’s back on the futon, perched exactly where he had been when he’d scooted to the edge of it. The pencil is still clutched in his hold, blankets still ruffled from his scootching and the wall— still unmarred.
Izuku jumps to his feet, dropping the pencil as if it’s the thing doing this to him. He backed away from it, his back hitting his bedroom door. He pulls it open, not taking his eyes off the pencil and slips out the door, making sure to shut it behind him.
In the bathroom, he splashes cool water on his face as if trying to wake himself from whatever vivid hallucinations he’s experiences, hands tightening on the edge of the sink as he sucks in a shaky breath.
Izuku looks at himself in the mirror, blinks owlishly, and then he’s... back in his room, back pressed against his door as his eyes are trained on the pencil.
“No,” Izuku breathes out to himself, “no, no, no... I was just—”
Izuku’s eyes move swiftly from the pencil and down to his hands.
His hands, his dry hands, touch his equally as dry cheeks.
He’d just been wet; water droplets clinging to his hands and face, running down the curves of his jaw and cheeks. He’d been wet. He was wet. Just a second ago, he’d been wet.
But his hands and face are completely dry. No moisture whatsoever.
How is that even possible?
He’d just been at the sink.
He’d just splashed water in his own face but now he’s here, in his bedroom, once again.
It’s like he’d gone back in time—
Izuku stills.
He’d... gone back in time?
But wait, that doesn’t make sense...
If he’d gone back in time, wouldn’t he still be wet? If it’s his body going back, it would still be changed, wouldn’t it? It would make more sense if Izuku was back to this moment, back pressed against the door, but with his hands wet from the sink he was just at, if that was the case.
Izuku turns to his backpack, crouching down as he digs through it.
He pulls out a blue ball-point pen, then hikes the sleeve of his gakuran up so he can hurriedly swipe the tip of the pen across his wrist. He stares at the line, frowning to himself.
If he’s going back in time, the next time it happens, he’d still have the mark, wouldn’t he? He can’t go back in time without going back in time.
Izuku stares at the line and wills himself to... to what?
Activate it?
How had he even been doing it? He doesn’t think he’s doing anything. When it manifested, he’d been falling. After he’d thrown the pencil, he’d flopped back. When he was perched on the edge of the bed, he’d been doing nothing, and at the sink... he’d been wetting his face.
There’s no pattern there.
Nothing he can see.
Maybe it was... subconscious?
What had he been doing in all those instances— what had he been doing the second he’d been... brought back? Was there anything he’d done each time?
His eyes had been closed, Izuku realized.
He’d squeezed his eyes shut accepting death. He’d squeezed his eyes shut accepting the fact he’d be getting in trouble for the wall if he couldn’t get the led mark off. He’d shut his eyes when he realized— or thought, maybe, because he isn’t really sure anymore— he was crazy, and he’d closed his eyes in the bathroom too.
His eyes.
Blinking.
Squeezing them shut.
Closing them in some way.
That’s always there— each time he’d... used the Quirk? That's the only consistent thing each time he realized he’d used the Quirk. So, it... that must be how to activate it.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, clutching at the pen tightly, but when he opens his eyes, he hasn’t moved. He doesn’t even know if this is the position he’d been in? He’d never had to be so aware of how he was holding himself and now he doesn’t know if this had been how he was standing before he’d closed his eyes.
He blinks owlishly in confusion before looking at his wrist, but it’s covered by his shirt again. Had... had his sleeve slid down again? Izuku’s brow furrows as he pushes his sleeve back up, only to suck in a startled breath as his hand goes slack, the pen falling from his grip.
There’s nothing there.
He’d... but there wasn’t...
What was happening?
Izuku thoughts are disturbed by his stomach giving a churning lurch that has him bending in half in an attempt to settle the unease. Dizziness washes over him as his stomach lurches again, threateningly. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut as the pain tightens up, making it feel like he’s going to throw up, but when he forces his eyes open again, he hasn’t moved.
As far as he can see, nothing’s changed this time.
He feels weak as he stumbles his way into the bathroom, and when he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror again, his cheeks are flushed with fever.
Is this... Quirk exhaustion?
Izuku falls to his knees over the toilet as he dry heaves.
He’s never felt sick like this before, and never something that had come on so suddenly. He’d felt fine before he started ending up where he’d been.
He’s heard about Quirk exhaustion. His peers, when they were getting their Quirks as children, had often missed a couple days of school when their Quirks manifested. A lot of Quirks go haywire when they first manifest, so Quirk exhaustion typically follows close after. And then there’s the counselling and training that happens so the kids can learn how to control their abilities before they’re able to return to classes and everyday life.
Izuku’s stomach gives another heave but seems to settle down after that.
He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning to himself when he finds himself down the hallway, halfway towards the bathroom.
He’d just been here.
And, not only that, but the urge to heave is back when he’d just felt sort of fine a second ago. It’s like he’s suddenly back to exactly moment, his body still tense with the overwhelming urge to throw up when he’d felt— well, not fine, exactly, but not like he was going to throw up on the floor. Just a second ago his stomach had calmed down, and now he was back to this point and his stomach definitely hasn’t calmed down yet when he’d been in the current... no, that’s not even right, because it’s no longer current.
Past-future, maybe? Future-past?
So... is his body not coming back in time with him?
Does that even make sense?
Izuku’s stomach gives another protesting churn as he decides then that this is a problem for later. Right now, he needs to do something to control this.
Izuku swallows back the moisture pooling in his mouth at the sheer pain of Quirk overuse churning his stomach and sending strikes of pain through his head. He makes a conscious effort not to throw up as he keeps going, hand running along the wall and supporting him as he moves.
He thinks his knees would buckle inwards if he wasn’t supporting himself.
He passes by the bathroom this time, eyes impossibly wide as he tries to keep them open despite the pain tightening in his stomach. This is awful. He doesn’t know how to stop his Quirk. Has anyone died of Quirk sickness, because he thinks he might be the first if he doesn’t stop his Quirk from sending him back.
Izuku throws his father’s bedroom door open, stumbling in. He barely avoids tumbling to his knees as his hand finally lifts off the wall so he can enter through the doorway, tripping over his own feet as he rushes in, eyes itching demandingly to be shut.
The room is impeccably clean, as it always is.
His dad doesn’t like him in his room, doesn’t really like Izuku anywhere but the spare room that had become his own room. He’s oddly possessive of his bedroom and his office though.
Izuku finds what he’s looking for on his father’s nightstand.
A Quirk cancelling bracelet.
Izuku knew his father had a couple around the apartment for when he needed them.
Hisashi occasionally had bad cases of hiccups, and those and a fire breathing Quirk do not mix well. Izuku had seen his father light multiple things on fire by accident by hiccups catching him off guard, once even catching Izuku’s shirt on fire before he’d thrown a glass of water onto the child to extinguish the flames.
Mom had not been happy about that one.
Izuku slips it onto his own wrist and blows out a shaky breath as he sinks to the floor in his father’s bedroom, completely exhausted. His head is aching, from whatever that Quirk actually does, and his stomach still churning threateningly with a vicious wave of Quirk sickness he’d never in his life experienced.
He feels hot, definitely fevered, he thinks, and all he wants to do is sleep.
He doesn’t even think he has the energy to push himself to his feet.
Quirk sickness is in full swing.
He’s never felt so awful in his life.
He can’t imagine being a child and feeling like this when they manifest their Quirks for the first time. At least he can rest easy knowing there’s no chance of him accidentally using his new Quirk again when he has the bracelet on.
He finally squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the strange ache behind his eyes at them being open for so long. He’d been too scared to accidentally overuse his Quirk again that he hadn’t so much as blinked, and he really felt that now. Ouch.
Izuku doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does on his father’s bedroom floor.
Izuku wakes up on the floor.
He pushes himself up, glances up at his father’s digital alarm clock and groans to himself.
He’s late for school.
He sits up further, stomach giving a protest at the movement. He swallows down the urge to throw up, finally pushing himself to his feet with the support of the bed behind him.
Izuku stands for a second, in his father’s bedroom, wobbling on unsteady feet before he blows out a slow breath as he finally pushes himself forwards and leaves his father’s bedroom.
He distantly wonders if his dad is going to be livid about Izuku going into his room, but he has a good couple weeks before he’ll need to cross that bridge. Izuku makes his way into the bathroom, hands gripping hard at the counter as he sways in spot.
He doesn’t look good.
His eyes are a dull, irritated red and his head aches. He can see his own cheeks flushed a light pink and he knows that he’s still fevered even without actually checking his temperature. His body is stiff and tense, and he just genuinely feels like he’s about to keel over any second.
Izuku sucks in a stuttery breath.
He’s definitely in no shape to be rushing to school. He’s already a couple hours late, and after the travel time he wouldn’t even get there until after lunch. It would be closer to the end of the day, and that’s really not worth it. His core classes are in the morning anyways.
Then he’d have to deal with Kacchan and his friends chasing Izuku to the bus stop and it would be hours after that point before he could finally fall into bed and sleep, like his body so desperately wants.
Izuku turns from the mirror when staring at himself finally starts to make his head spin, and only barely manages to make his way into his room before crumbling into his bed.
When he’s not moving, he almost feels okay.
He lets his eyes fall shut once more, not fighting sleep.
When he wakes up the second time, he does feel a bit better. He doesn’t feel as queasy, the feeling more a distant thought than a constant. He thinks if he moves too fast or suddenly, that feeling will return full force. He doesn’t want that to happen, so he keeps his movements slow.
He reaches blindly for his phone, squinting at the time.
School will almost be finished.
Izuku wonders if his father got a long-distance call from the school trying to confirm his absence, but he knows if the school did call, it would’ve been ignored.
At least he won’t have an angry parent demanding to know why he didn’t go to school.
Small victories, right?
Izuku pushes himself up, perching on the edge of his bed.
It takes far longer than it probably should for the teenager to remember what had led to his body feeling so awful. And when he does, his body freezes in shock.
Quirk exhaustion.
Because he had a Quirk.
He really can’t think of anything else that would’ve come on so suddenly and so aggressively. He’d been completely fine before it started happening. Before whatever... before whatever that was started happening.
What had even happened?
Izuku’s eyes trail over to the wall, still unmarked as if the whole thing hadn’t even happened. His gaze catches on the pencil in the middle of the floor, and then to the pen he’d dropped by his school bag in his haste to make it to the bathroom.
Lastly, his eyes drip to his own wrist, where the Quirk cancelling bracelet still sits.
So it... wasn’t a dream.
He’d really manifested a Quirk.
Izuku’s fingers settle on the edges of the thin metal bracelet, turning it thoughtfully around his wrist.
He has a Quirk.
But...
Who’s going to believe him? He’s medically diagnosed Quirkless. There are x-rays on his medical file that will speak for him before he even gets a chance. No one is going to believe him. No one will believe the delusional Quirkless kid desperate to have any sort of Quirk.
And... and how would he even show anyone?
As far as he can tell, it’s entirely mental and only affects him.
He’s pretty sure it’s just him going back in time—and not even just him, but only his consciousness going back to his body in any specific time. His mind and experiences are the only things that go back.
Well, as far as he knows, at least.
It makes sense.
The world around him might change, but he’s the only one who... he’s sure it’s only changing for him. It’s like he’s going back to a point he’d already been in— like how he’d been brought back to when he felt the sickest, or when he was returned to the moment before he’d scraped the pen tip along his wrist; before he’d even tugged his sleeve up.
So how is he supposed to convince anyone else.
Does he even want to convince anyone else?
What will this really change for him?
Izuku drops his head into his hands, sighing heavily.
The teen pushes himself up slowly to his feet. He digs through a pile of laundry beside his bed, pulling out a dark coloured hoodie that he tugs over his head. He grabs his apartment keys and his wallet, making sure he has his school ID on him before he tucks his hands into the pouch pocket too.
He needs to leave the apartment.
He needs to go, to think about this.
Izuku’s not sure where he’s going when he gets on the train, hood pulled up over his head and body slouched in both exhaustion and the remaining sickness still lingering in his mind and body. Hands hidden in the pocket; he still fiddles with the Quirk bracelet as if taking comfort in the fact it’s there and he’s not a delusion Quirkless kid desperate enough for a Quirk to make one up.
It had happened.
Izuku’s surprised, yet not at the same time, to find himself getting off the train near the cemetery where his mother was buried. Izuku hasn’t come for a while— not since her last birthday. He tried to spend her birthdays and Mother’s Day with his mom, leaving her flowers and small gifts even if he knows she’s never going to actually get them.
Izuku feels bad walking up with nothing, so he stops outside the gates to pick one single flower from one of the nicely trimmed bushes. He hopes they don’t mind too much, but he also doesn’t want to show up empty handed. His mother deserves better than that.
If he wasn’t so scatterbrained and poor, he would’ve stopped to get her a proper bouquet, but he is, so the single flower will have to do. Mom had always liked his crafted gifts over the ones he bought anyways, hadn’t she?
Izuku is still thankful that his father had gotten his mother a nice spot in a well-kept cemetery.
Izuku knows dad doesn’t like him much, but he does know Hisashi had always loved Inko, even if Inko had chosen Izuku in the end. Dad always loved mom. Izuku thinks dad still loves mom.
Izuku’s grip tightens on the stem of the flower in thought as he finally pushes on and crosses under the archway into the cemetery. He knows exactly where he’s going, feet moving completely on autopilot as they carry him along.
He used to spend a lot of time sitting at his mother’s grave.
He doesn’t have as much time anymore.
The tombstone is a modest size, mirroring those around her. Izuku runs a hand along the top of it as if to dust it off, brushing off a bit of moss as he does. The cemetery is well taken care of, which Izuku likes.
Midoriya Inko
Beloved mother, wife and friend.
Izuku stares hard at the engraving, brushing away a tear as he settles onto his knees, laying the flower on the ground between him and the gravestone.
“Hi, mom,” Izuku says quietly. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while.”
The silence is heavy, even though Izuku knows, logically, that his mom isn’t going to respond.
He still can’t help but feel sad that she doesn’t.
“I...” Izuku swallows, staring hard at his mother’s name, “do you... remember when we went to the doctor when I was little? A-about me not manifesting a Quirk like everyone else? And he... told us that I was Quirkless? Well, um, I think he was wrong?”
Izuku lets out a defeated laugh, shifting so he’s no longer on his knees and is instead on his butt with his knees drawn up to his chest. He sets his chin on the gap between his kneecaps, burying his nose too.
His eyes flick to the bracelet, where it’s pressed against his shin with the rest of his arm.
“I think it was a false negative,” Izuku explains quietly, “I... got a Quirk, mama. I was going to... and I know you would’ve been devastated, but just couldn’t... do it anymore, you know? Not if I'd never amount to anything that would make you proud. I’m sorry. B-but, on the bright side, I got a Quirk out of it. And it’s... I don’t know. I’ve always wanted one, but I don’t know how it’ll help people now that I got one. Maybe... maybe you and dad were right. Maybe I’m not suited to be a Hero.”
Izuku is quiet for a second before he lets out another watery laugh, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder when wetness slides down his cheek.
“I met All Might too, Mom,” Izuku tells the stone, eyes blinking shut. “He was so cool. I—I got attacked by a villain and he saved me. He signed my journal too! Can you believe it? But he...” A rough swallow, “he said I couldn’t be a Hero too. Do you think I should keep trying, mama? Is it really useless like everyone thinks? I want to... I want to help people, but what if I can’t?”
A gentle breeze sweeps over Izuku, ruffling through green curls as it goes.
The branches of the cherry blossoms in the distance rattle together as the wind blows across them all. It feels nice on his still slightly fevered cheeks. He lets his eyes fall shut as the wind brushes across his features, his hold on his knees tightening faintly.
Izuku buries his face deeper into his knees when the wind finally calms.
“I wish you were here,” Izuku whispers into his knees. “I miss you.”
He stays for a long time, just sat silently in front of his mother’s gravestone. He thinks people might come and go around him, but he never looks up to see. For the most part, it’s quiet.
He’s left unbothered.
Just another mourner.
It gives Izuku a moment to think.
When he finally decides it’s time to leave, Izuku blinks owlishly at the fact he’s blanketed in darkness. The sun has almost completely set. He hadn’t even noticed.
Izuku runs his hand along the top of the stone, silently bidding his mother goodbye, before finally turning on his heels and heading out. He tucks his hands back into his pockets, shoulder slumping as he moves. He pulls his hood up when a nipping gust of air brushes over his face and ears.
It’s entirely dark when Izuku makes it to the train station. He’d been a bit worried he’d miss the last train back to his neighborhood, but thankfully he makes it on time. With minutes to spare, even.
Izuku turns to head into the station—
It’s a shout that draws in his attention.
He pauses, listening.
And that’s... was that a scream?
He knows he should ignore it or call for help— someone will help. What’s he supposed to do anyways? He’s just a junior high student. A kid. This is a job for the police, or a Hero. And he’s no help to anyone. The Heroes yesterday had made that perfectly clear.
He’s no Hero but—
Yelling. Desperate yelling.
Izuku is moving towards the sound before he even realizes. It’s that same response that had gotten him into trouble yesterday, when he’d tried to help Kacchan. Izuku pushes down the fluttering of hesitance in his stomach.
He hears the scuffle of a fight before he sees it.
He presses himself back against the wall, leering into the alley where he sees a man holding a woman by a tight grip on her arm. She’s pushed into the wall, and the grip the man has on her is tight.
Izuku is sure she’s going to bruise.
“Get off me, you creep!” She shrieks, squirming against him. “Let go!”
“I said, give me your purse unless you want to die tonight,” the man snaps, tightening his hold, “you either hand over your bag, or I stab you and take it myself. Your choice, girlie.”
“Please,” the woman pleads, “you can’t! I have a daughter to take care of! I need the money for her! It’s her sixth birthday this weekend!”
“I don’t give a shit. You could’ve walked away from this and gone home to your precious daughter, but you chose to resist me,” the crook hisses back, arm slipping a bit to the side and then—
Izuku’s heart is in his throat as the knife pierces into the woman’s side.
She screams in pain, but his ears are fuzzy. He watches, eyes wide, as the woman sinks to her knees and then flops to onto her side as she shakily presses her hand against the gushing wound.
That man... he’d stabbed her. She was bleeding. She was bleeding out.
She was dying.
The man tugs the purse from the woman’s now limp arm, grinning down in satisfaction as he watches her bleed out.
Izuku’s heart is pounding in his chest, and he doesn’t know what to do— how to help. The sludge villain had been one thing—Izuku had really just needed to distract him, maybe give Kacchan and opening to use his Quirk, or for the actual Heroes to step in but this... she was bleeding. She’d been stabbed.
She was going to die.
She was going to leave her daughter, all because of this bad man.
Izuku thinks of his own mom, of himself four years ago when he’d suddenly had to start navigating life without his mom, the pain of losing her so suddenly and he knows he doesn’t want any other child to have to go through that if he can stop it.
Without a thought, Izuku rips the bracelet off his wrist, letting it fall to the ground so it’s not touching him at all. He hesitates for just a second, unsure, before he sucks in a desperate breath, hands tightening into fists at his sides.
Please work, please work, please work.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut.
“Please!” He hears the shrill voice, and a moment of relief settles in his chest. “You can’t! I have a daughter to take care of! I need the money for her! It’s her sixth birthday this weekend!”
Izuku moves without thinking, rushing into the alley and grabbing a hold of the man arm, the one now poised to stab right into the woman’s stomach, as he launches all his weight onto the man’s back and shoulder.
“I don’t give a shit— what the fuck?!”
He can’t let it play out like it just had.
He refuses to let another life be lost to violence like this.
He can save her.
At the surprise of sudden weight on him, the man’s grip on the woman weakens enough for her to squirm free, backing away a couple steps before she’s staring wide-eyed at Izuku like she’s trying to decide whether she should be helping him, or fleeing.
“Run,” Izuku wheezes out as the man tosses him back off of him, Izuku’s body slamming back into the opposite building. It’s enough force to stun him, his spine tingling in pain as he tries to remember how to breathe. He sees, out of the corner of his eye, the Quirk bracelet back on his wrist. He slips it off again, hoping there’s enough of a gap between this point and the next time that he uses it that he won’t be wearing it in the point he’s sent back to.
He’s screwed if he goes to use the Quirk and his mind is sent to a point where he’s still wearing it.
The woman hesitates for a moment longer, clearly concerned, before she does as the boy has demanded, disappearing out of the mouth of the alley and leaving Izuku with her attacker.
He can only hope she’s calling the police or searching for help.
The assailant’s eyes are narrowed in anger when he notices the woman had slipped away, attention focusing entirely on Izuku, where he still hadn’t managed to push himself to his feet when his back had hit the wall.
Izuku is outmatched here.
Izuku knows he’s not strong. He knows he’s weak.
This man is anything but.
“You little shit!” the mugger roars, grabbing Izuku by his shirt. He’s hoisted to his feet and slammed back against the wall again, just like how the man had been holding the woman earlier. “Punks like you should learn to mind your own goddamn business! What, you playing Hero, little boy? How’s that working for you? I was going to play nice if she gave up her bag, but it looks like I get to kill someone tonight anyways!”
Izuku’s brain stalls as the man’s arm draws back before coming closer.
Izuku blinks without a thought and he must only go a second or so back because the man is still arching his hand back to stab him like he’d stabbed the woman, but there’s enough time for Izuku to intercept the movement.
His eyes dart to his wrist and he feels lighter at seeing his wrist sans any Quirk suppressor.
He brings a hand up, swatting at the man’s hand without thought.
He uses all his strength, and thankfully, it’s not in vain.
The knife goes flying from his grip, and a furious glaze settles in the man’s gaze. A hand grips Izuku’s hair, and he draws in a shaky, pained breath. He reaches up to try to get a hand on the man again, but at the angle, with the grip he has on Izuku, it’s near impossible.
The man’s forearm shoves hard into Izuku’s chest, and he can’t breathe. There’s so much pressure Izuku is surprised nothing has broken yet. Izuku’s too busy trying to suck in air as he struggles weakly.
“You’re dying tonight whether I do it with a knife or my own goddamn hands, runt.”
A thrum of pain shoots through his head when he blinks again, and suddenly the man isn’t as close anymore. It’s just before he’d managed to get a grip on Izuku’s hair and lean into his chest so much, so he has time to do something different.
Izuku thoughts feel like they’re going a mile a minute, and it only takes a second for his fight or flight response to kick in. He needs to get away. This was a losing fight, and he’d done what he needed to. That woman was safe. Now he needed a way out too. An escape.
The plan is half-baked at best, but there’s not much Izuku can do.
His brain is running on panic and adrenaline.
He uses how he’s pinned to his own advantage, trusting the strength of the man holding him against the wall as he hastily brings his legs up and kicks with all his might, feet connecting right in the center of the man’s chest and sending him flying backwards.
Izuku falls hard to the ground, brain a little fuzzy now. He sees the man trip over a box, or a bag, or maybe even his own feet, as he stumbles back and then the assailant is tumbling back into the wall behind him.
Izuku thinks he might’ve hit his head or something, but can’t tell for sure, not while he’s still reeling from adrenaline and pain.
The nausea has returned, and the sharp pain in his head is back, but Izuku is alive, and so is the woman this man had threatened first, so he considers it a win.
Izuku whips back to face the man, pushing himself to his feet as he runs on nothing but adrenaline at this point. The man hadn’t gotten up, still sat against the wall where he’d gone down. He’d hit the wall pretty hard too. Izuku hopes he’s not dead, but he does see the man’s chest rising faintly.
Izuku swallows roughly as he scans the area.
He can just let this guy get away so he can target other people.
Izuku hopes the police are on the way.
He doesn’t find much he can use to detain this man, but he does find an old plastic bag in a puddle that’s soaked through with dirt and gross water that he’s able to stretch enough and tie around the man’s arms and ankles to keep him in place.
He’s strong, but so is stretched plastic.
It’s not the best, but it’s better than nothing. At least it’s a little bit of a buffer if the man does come to. It’ll give them a chance to escape before he can hurt them again.
Hopefully he stays unconscious until police arrive.
A distant whir of sirens a couple blocks over announces the police’s incoming arrival, and Izuku... he panics. He doesn’t want to get in trouble again. He doesn’t feel well enough to sit through another scolding and lecture. He scans the ground for his bracelet, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes open in fear of using his Quirk again.
He’s not sure how far it’ll go back, but he doesn’t want to risk anything.
Not when he’d won against all odds and saved someone’s life.
He finds the bracelet just by the entrance of the alley, breathing a sigh of relief as he slips it onto his wrist, so he doesn’t have to be worried about another Quirk accident. He sways in where he’s stood, only coming to his senses when a gentle hand touches his arm.
“Are you okay?”
It’s the woman. The one he’d helped. He scans her quickly, swallows down the rush of nausea he feels when he thinks about this woman bleeding out; about seeing so much blood pooling around her. He’d seen that. If he hadn’t had been there... she’d be...
“Are you okay?” Izuku asks in return, trying to keep his tone neutral.
He doesn’t think he manages.
Her lips press downwards in a frown before she nods shakily, “yes... yes, thank you so much. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t helped. That was... really brave. Thank you. I... when I saw that knife, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see my little girl again. I was praying for a miracle, and then you showed up... Thank you. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t helped me...”
You would’ve died by his hands.
Izuku swallows down the thought, doesn’t dare mutter such a thing.
The woman lets out a shaky breath, hand on Izuku’s arm tightening faintly, “I called the police when I was at a safe distance. They’re coming. He won’t... come for us, will he? Did you... stop him?”
“I tied him up,” Izuku says quietly. “I don’t know how long it’ll hold. He was unresponsive when I tied him up, but he’s... breathing. The police should be here soon if you called them. I think I heard sirens a second ago.”
The woman nods slowly, watching Izuku as if trying to understand him. He shifts uneasily at the attention, and her grip finally loosens in response. Izuku takes that chance to pull away completely.
He takes a couple steps back, silently grateful that the woman doesn’t follow or try to grab him again. Maybe she can see the fear on his face, or maybe she just doesn’t want him to feel cornered.
Either way, he takes the chance to put distance between them.
He can’t stay here.
He can’t wait around to be scolded and yelled at again.
He needs to be gone.
He needs to have never been here at all.
The last time he’d tried to be the bigger person and rely on Heroes and the police after helping someone, he’d gotten into trouble. He refuses to let himself get hurt like he had after Kacchan had been attacked by the sludge villain again.
And the only way he can ensure that happens is if he was never here in the first place.
Izuku bows his head at the woman, offering a tiny smile, “please wait here for the police and tell them what happened. A-and, um, make sure he gets arrested. I don’t want him hurting anyone else like he tried to hurt you. Stay safe, okay? And... and wish your daughter a happy birthday for me. E-enjoy your time with her. You... never know how much you’ll really get in the end, you know?”
He turns and runs before she can speak again.
He hears her call after him, faintly, but doesn’t turn to look. He barely sees flashing lights pulling up reflecting in the damp pavement he’s running on as he disappears into the crowd of pedestrians on the main street.
That’s one of the good things about being Quirkless, you blend in.
With a heavy sigh, Izuku starts walking towards the apartment.
He’d definitely missed the train.
He doesn’t mind much.
Because he’d helped someone.
He’d saved someone’s life, just like a Hero.
A chilly breeze sweeps over Izuku again, rustling through his curls before he tugs his hood up and bows into the warmth of the hoodie. He fists his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the cold, pain and overwhelming urge to throw up on the sidewalk.
Maybe... maybe I can be a Hero