Work Text:
Izuku was running.
What from, he wasn’t sure. At least, not specifically. Maybe he was running from his mother, from his responsibilities, from what he could have been and what he was expected to be. He couldn’t parse through the different possibilities, not now. All he could focus on was running, running, running until his legs were shattered beyond repair to match his cracked heart and burning lungs.
The world was neon and shadows, black whipped through by pink and green and cyan. Raindrops formed puddles on slick black concrete. It almost looked like his mother’s velvet skirt, the black one, when he’d bunched it up in his fists as a little child. He’d been hiding behind her, meeting Kacchan for the first time—
His nose and cheeks burned. Once-unshed tears met the petrichor-soaked air, running down his face. Scrubbing at his cheeks did nothing, and yet. He kept running. His red sneakers hammered on the asphalt like a drum, pounding and pounding and pounding pounding pounding—
Keep running. Keep running. Keep running. Two words thrummed a mantra in his mind, like a slim second verse to the tempo of his feet, his heart, his harsh and ragged breathing. He didn’t know how long he had been running. His backpack slammed into his shoulders, the small of his back, his spine. It was a heavy weight and yet whatever was settled in his chest was so, so much worse. His breaths came in short, gasping spurts. He needed to keep running. Keep running, keep fighting, keep his focus ahead—
Nine. One of the voices in the back of his mind murmured.
No. Not now. Please. He begged without opening his mouth. Squinting through the tears and the rain, Izuku raced down the asphalt of another side road. How long had he been running? Thirty minutes? Forty? An hour? More?
There was more pressure at the back of his mind. Shoving it away, Izuku shook his head. A sob ripped its way from his throat. Shaking his head again, ignoring the second sob that gripped his lungs, he forced his legs to run more, to run harder. He was in the middle of Los Angeles, sure, but he wasn’t Quirkless. Not anymore.
Not anymore. He was fine. He was fine he was fine it didn’t matter what his mother said because she was wrong, she was wrong, she had to be wrong and it didn’t—he couldn’t—screaming, Izuku threw himself forward. He kept running, trying and failing to ignore the burning of his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, his lungs and legs and chest—
(He just couldn’t do it anymore. Sure, he had been on a trip with Sensei and the others, but he needed to run, he needed to move. His mother had called him, and he had heard her mention something about Quirkless people and then how glad she was that his “issue” had been “resolved”. Even though it took blood and broken bones and sweat and tears for him to get that far, even though it took too many near-death experiences and moments where he was sure his mother would abandon him simply for being. She was getting nicer, now. Now that he was different. Now that he had a Quirk. Now that he was something she could be proud of, that she could show off to her friends without the shame of him being him. Once, he’d made the mistake of saying he was helping out the local Quirkless charter with something innocuous. Putting up decorations, baking cupcakes, something like that as they tried to raise awareness.
She’d gone through his phone—which was okay, she owned it back then—and looked through everything. His contacts, his photos, his notes. He’d been grounded, forbidden from seeing his Quirkless friends. She’d forced him to read some sort of book that claimed Quirkless people were predators, they were monstrous, they were disgusting and delusional and couldn’t make up their minds. They didn’t deserve marriage rights because if they did, well—
He didn’t like thinking about it.)
He reached the end of the road. In front of him was the Los Angeles River, the steep concrete embankment that was blocked off by a chain link fence. Izuku slammed on the brakes, only because he didn’t feel like slamming into the fence. His fingers locked around cold, rainswept metal. There was a ringing sound from his momentum jolting the fence. Panting, he pressed his forehead against wet metal, squeezing his eyes shut. His backpack hung heavy around his shoulders, dragging back on him.
I can’t do this anymore.
There wasn’t anything left of him. He was torn in a thousand different ways. Control yourself, he curled his fingers tighter around the cold metal. Raindrops slipped down his knuckles, the back of his hands, over his arms, until they dropped down, down, down to the ground beneath him. He didn’t bother listening for them. The storm raged overhead, clouds dyed dark silver by the endless glow of the streetlights. Somewhere just behind him, the familiar buzz of neon signs crackled away. He could see more glowing across the river, shining and bright and tempting.
It would be so tempting to jump the chain link fence, to cross over to the other side of the river and just…keep walking. America was big enough. He could disappear into the fog and never be seen again. He could just—
“Izuku!”
He whipped around, fingers still tangled in metal. Behind him, four figures raced through the rain-misted air. Iida was in the back, holding an umbrella. Shouto had his jacket up to shield his head from the rain, arms still tangled in the sleeves. Uraraka’s hair was mussed from sleep, and Tsu was still in her pajamas. She didn’t even have shoes on. Something in his chest ached at the sight of them all, for multiple reasons. Swallowing, Izuku pulled away from the chain-link fence, turning around.
Uraraka sprinted into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Face buried in his neck, she wailed, “We found your bed empty and were running out after you. You didn’t even seem to be hearing us and you just kept getting further away—”
Looking up, he met Shouto’s gaze. Iida had arrived, holding the umbrella over the four of them. Tsu was standing in the rain still. Though, from the way that she was looking at the sky, eyes closed like she was thanking some God or other that they had found Izuku, it seemed to be on purpose. After a moment, she opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on him. With a soft smile, she reached out and patted his arm. He smiled back at her, tightly.
“We’ll have to take a train back to the hotel with Mr. Aizawa and the rest of the class. Here, I managed to grab some clothes for us as we were on the way out the door.” Iida explained, as prepared as ever.
Beside him, Shouto let down his jacket and added, “I also brought some clothes. They’re from my go bag, but they should fit you, Midoriya.”
“Thank you…” Izuku took the offered bundle of clothes. “But, wait. I have my go bag with me.” He turned, showing it to them.
“Absolutely not, those clothes are soaked!” Uraraka stole his bag from him, casually throwing it over her shoulder. It wasn’t exactly heavy, but it wasn’t incredibly light, either. She shouldered it like it didn’t weigh anything.
“Oh—okay. I guess—I guess I’ll wear these, then.” Uraraka nodded happily. Glancing at Shouto and Iida, Izuku laughed weakly. “Thank you. All of you.”
“You will be explaining this on the train back!” Iida waved one of his hands.
Snorting, Izuku barked out a laugh.
Chat: The Problem Children
Aizawa: where are all of you
Aizawa: you are not in your rooms
Shouto: Good morning, sir.
Aizawa: it is two o’clock am
Aizawa: I would not describe this morning as “GOOD”
Shouto: It is a greeting.
Shouto: I was unaware that there were different variations for whether or not it was a “good” or “bad” morning.
Aizawa: not what I meant problem child
Shouto: ah
Shouto: understood
Tsu: Mr. Aizawa
Aizawa: Tsu
Aizawa: care to explain?
Tsu: of course
Tsu: Midoriya had to take a call from his mother before we went to bed. From what we understand, both of them ended up incredibly upset. Midoriya was the kind of mad where he didn’t cry; he ended up getting hung up on and when Uraraka woke up in the middle of the night because she had coffee from the hotel room coffee maker, he was gone. We raced out the door and he was already running off down the road, so we tried to catch up.
Tsu: We eventually did at the Los Angeles River, but by that point Midoriya was really far away from the hotel, so we’re taking a monorail back
Aizawa: understood
Aizawa: do you know when you’re going to get back?
Tsu: about five minutes or so
Tsu: Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida are all asleep already
Tsu: tsu.photo_1256.img
Aizawa: understood, see you outside the monorail station. I will be there.
Aizawa: contact me if anything happens.
Tsu: of course
Tsu: Todoroki has joined the pile
Tsu: tsu.photo_1299.img
Aizawa cornered him the next morning at the complimentary breakfast bar in the hotel lobby.
Well, technically, Aizawa cornered him when he was sitting at one of the tables as Iida, Tsu, Shouto, and Uraraka tried to figure out the waffle maker with the rest of the class. “Problem Child.” Aizawa began, voice tight. Glancing up, Izuku automatically shrank down in his chair. Shoulders slumping, Aizawa softened. Then, gently, he corrected, “Midoriya.”
“Mr. Aizawa.” Izuku greeted. His teacher gestured to one of the other four chairs at the table. “You can sit. I don’t mind. I don’t think the others are going to mind, either.”
“Good to know.” Aizawa settled down. He had a bottle of apple juice, a coffee, and a plate filled with food. “You’re sticking to your diet plan, yes? The one Fat Gum organized for you? Your plate should be significantly fuller than mine.”
“I’m waiting until they’re done with…that.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at where Iida and Momo were trying to work with the waffle maker and Kaminari was squinting at it like it might bite him. “It might be a bit. If I’m hungry before then I’ll get more eggs and bacon.”
With a hum, Aizawa stirred his own eggs around, mixing some of the syrup in with them and his sausage. “So. This is not going to be a fun conversation. If you need time to collect your thoughts, feel free to eat more. But I would like to know why you ran off last night.”
Izuku shoved a whole spoonful of eggs in his mouth.
Aizawa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s fair. Here’s what I want to know—if the school needs to step in, if your mother has placed you in danger, or if you are in danger of harming yourself.”
Pausing, Izuku thought for a second. He could not say anything. He could stay silent on what his mother was like, what she had said to him, and everything that had happened…including the Quirkless part. It would be comfortable. It would be familiar. And yet…
Yeah, fuck it.
He’d hit his limit long before his shoes had hit the asphalt the night before.
Raising his hands, he asked, “You sign?”
“I do.” Aizawa replied. “My husband is deaf. You?”
“Learned just because.” (Because he couldn’t hear sometimes after Bakugou exploded stuff by his ears. It never caused any permanent damage. He’d been lucky.) Midoriya paused long enough to get his thoughts together, then began rapidly signing. He signed about his mother, about One for All, about being Quirkless and growing up without a Quirk and everything that came with it. Shouto, Iida, Uraraka, and Tsu eventually arrived—and Shouto dropped off a whole second plate of waffles the way that Izuku preferred them (Uraraka handed him another full plate of bacon and eggs). He signed as he ate—one of the best things about signing. Speaking and eating could happen at the same time.
Aizawa got more and more irritable as he continued explaining. Izuku knew well enough that the affronted expression wasn’t directed at him. When he finished, when all had been signed out and Izuku’s fingers were beginning to ache, Aizawa pushed himself up. He simply signed, “I’m going to handle this.” His eyes flicked to Shouto, and he added, “And his problem, too.”
Then, Aizawa left. Izuku stared at him as he went. “So…what just happened?” Uraraka prompted.
“I saw something about…waffles?” Shouto replied, glancing around. Looking at Tsu and Iida only got him shrugs. Meanwhile, Izuku kept looking after Aizawa.
“I think Aizawa’s going to kill some people.”