Chapter Text
Here’s the sad truth: all men are not created equal.
Izuku Midoriya is only four years old when he learns this irrevocable truth. All of his friends, including Katsuki Bakugo, have started to show some sign of a quirk. Kacchan’s quirk is amazing, explosions on his small hands that will grow to be something adaptable and perfect for hero work. Izuku… hasn’t gotten anything yet, and his mother is worried, so they go to a doctor.
The doctor looks a little like a walrus-turned-man with small glasses, and he tells Izuku that he’s something called “quirkless.” His mother looks alarmed and says “Oh, dear, so you really think there’s something wrong, then?”
Izuku never forgets that reply– something wrong.
The doctor gives some long explanation about his toes and joints and evolution, and he’s really not listening to most of it, but what sinks in to his child’s brain is that he is under-evolved, wrong, and never going to be a hero.
And that’s unfortunate.
When they get home, his mother is unusually quiet and tense. She sends him off to his room to play with his toys, and picks up the phone to call his father. He’s not particularly put out to not be part of that call–he’s never seen his father outside of photos, since he’s been in America doing some kind of business. He sent a birthday card in March, congratulating Izuku on turning five; Izuku turned four in July, so this was perplexing, but he kept the card anyway.
He hears his mom speaking in quiet tones in the livingroom, explaining the doctor’s visit and what they learned; she seems to be planning for alternative schooling options for him, or something of the sort. She cuts off abruptly, though, and he feels that familiar prickle of curiosity. Izuku gets up, shuffling to the door to listen more closely.
“I don’t understand. What would coming to America do for him? The prejudice against people without quirks isn’t any–” she stops again, listening for a long moment. “Without… Izuku?” Another pause. “What are you saying to me, Hisashi?”
Izuku hears a sharp intake of breath, then a creak as his mother launches to her feet. “How dare you even suggest–that is our son! You–I can’t–you’re!” she sputters incoherently for a moment. “You will never speak to him again, do you understand me? I don’t want to hear your voice again. I hope you enjoy America, Hisashi, because there is nothing left for you here anymore,” she snaps. He hears a beep and then a thud as she flings the phone onto the couch.
Izuku stands stock still for a moment, trying not to understand what just happened. Under-evolved, wrong, never going to be a hero, worthless to his father. He slowly backs away from the door, and then hops into the computer chair, spinning around to face the computer. He wiggles the mouse, pleased to see that it’s on the video from before the left for the doctor’s office–she had let him watch it a few times in anticipation. He dragged the cursor back to the start and hit play.
“Who is he? The guy’s already saved a hundred people at least, and it hasn’t even been ten minutes!”
“... Izuku,” his mother’s voice says softly from the doorway. He looks back over his shoulder at her, suddenly aware of the tears that are dripping down his face.
“Do you think…” he takes a breath. Under-evolved, wrong, NEVER going to be a hero…
“Fear not, citizens! Help has arrived!”
“I can be a hero, too?” he asks, his voice breaking.
“Because I am here!”
His mother puts her hand over her mouth, tears spilling over, and she falls to her knees, grabbing him tightly. “Oh, Izuku. I’m so sorry! I wish things were different!” she cries.
And Izuku knows what it means, that hard truth.
***
Of course, that doesn’t mean he ever stopped trying to even the scales. He knew from an early age that he’d never be a hero (under-evolved, wrong, never going to be a hero, worthless, hated by his best friend) but by the time he turned fourteen, he learned ways to help heroes. He analyzed them from all angles, and found that he had a knack for creating support items.
Izuku realized he had a talent for pinpointing weaknesses, and his mind liked to supply fixes for those weaknesses. His notebooks, originally focused on his dreams of becoming a hero, morphed into analysis of combat and support items, and eventually were filled with diagram upon diagram and sketch upon sketch of items that he would eventually create.
His room was constantly a mess of scraps of metal, wire, chemicals, and various odds and ends that he tinkered with, and his mother’s constant enthusiasm about his “little inventions” eventually led to him getting his own small workshop shed in the back yard to store them all.
Izuku didn’t have many friends–any friends, really; Kacchan saw to that. Anyone who would associate with them was inevitably scared away by the explosive screams and the constant targeting–no one wanted to draw his attention in the way Izuku had. So, he had plenty of time to work, improve, and focus. He was in class, fiddling with a stearic acid-based formula that would make a proper sticky capture weapon, scribbling out various combinations, sketching out various containers for the vessel. He sketched out one that looked like a grenade, then crossed it out quickly, focusing more on a vial-type shatter-release.
His teacher was closing out the lesson and seemed to be discussing a few aptitude tests. “I’d hand these out to do and turn in later, but, who am I kidding? You all want to be heroes!” he said, throwing the papers in the air.
Izuku glanced up, frowning slightly. He knew of at least two others who weren’t going the hero track in high school–one who didn’t think she’d be able to handle the stress and another who wasn’t interested in the career at all. No one cared about those who didn’t want to go the hero track, or those who were pragmatic enough to consider other options, Izuku noticed.
“Don’t lump me in with this bunch of losers,” a drawling voice said through the din.
Izuku sank into his chair, sighing. Whenever he got going, it was inevitably going to be an unpleasant day.
“I’m the real deal, but these guys will be lucky to end up as sidekicks to some busted-ass D-listers,” Kacchan said, smirking.
The outcry was drowned out by Kacchan's self-confident “Oh, shaddup, I’ll take you all on!” and his loud cackle.
The teacher shrugged, flipping through some papers. “You do have impressive test results. Maybe you will get into UA High,” he said.
A hush. Izuku sank lower into his seat. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
“That school’s impossible to get into…”
“That’s exactly why it’s the only place worthy of me. I aced all of the mock tests. I’m the only one at this school who stands a chance of getting in. I’ll end up more popular than All Might,” Kacchan boasted, grinning.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
The teacher’s eyes wandered over to him from the paper he was looking at. He frantically shook his head, mouthing no no no nononono!
“Oh, yeah, Midoriya,” the teacher said, heedless. “Aren’t you applying to UA, too?” he asked.
The class immediately broke into pandemonium, laughter echoing throughout. He groaned.
“You’re joking! ” someone yelled.
“You can’t get into the hero course without a quirk!”
Kacchan turned to look at him, his eyes burning with hatred.
“It’s not the hero course! I’m applying for the support course! Support!” Izuku corrected quickly, holding his hands up defensively.
Kacchan's eye twitched. “And you think that makes a damn difference, useless nerd?” he snarled.
“I–yes?” he asked, lost.
“Absolutely not, Deku,” he snapped. “This school’s already a shithole, do you really want to embarrass it even more by failing so hard?”
Izuku blinked. “I–how do you–I might not?” he said hesitantly.
“Okay, class, okay!” the teacher called. “Anyway, focus–I know this is all very exciting, but we do need to discuss the homework for tonight…”
Kacchan glowered at him for a long moment before slowly turning back in his seat, the promise of murder in his glare. He sighed–this definitely wasn’t over.
***
The moment class was over, Izuku was on his feet, grabbing his bag and his notebook, trying to head toward the door. Kacchan cut him off.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, Deku, but we’re not done,” he snapped, grabbing the notebook out of his hands. He looked at the cover, his lips turning into a grimace of annoyance.
“Whatcha got, his diary?” one of his friends asked.
Izuku hunched his shoulders, clutching his bag. “Can you just–can I have it back?”
Kacchan ignored it, holding the notebook up to his friends.
Hero Analysis and Support Items
“There’s no need for you to apply to UA. Go somewhere fucking else. I don’t want to have to look at your face,” Kacchan said.
“It’s not like you’ll have to–we wouldn’t be in the same class,” Izuku pointed out nervously.
Kacchan growled. “You’re not listening to me,” he snapped, gripping his shoulder with a sharp pop of fire that seared into his skin. “When I’m the only student from this garbage junior high to get into UA, people will realize I’m the next big thing. They’ll understand my talent. I don’t need your stupid ass muddying the waters, so here’s a word of advice: don’t even think of applying.”
Izuku hissed through his teeth at the pain, hating the way tears sprung into his eyes, the way he curled forward into himself. He wanted to argue, to shove him away. His mother had allowed him to enroll in self-defense courses when he was younger, and he knew how to break this hold, he knew what moves to make, he knew how to get Kacchan away from him, but he couldn’t get his locked muscles to move. “I…” His voice cracked and, horrifyingly, turned into a whimper of pain.
Kacchan nodded and let go, turning on his heel to leave. “I thought you’d have some fight in you,” he said over his shoulder with some contempt.
“That’s just sad,” one of his friends agreed.
The other let out an obnoxious snicker. “He can’t play on the same field as Bakugo,” he said, bumping against his shoulder. Kacchan narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed by the contact.
“He’s right, you know,” Kacchan said, voice laced with a new burst of annoyance. Izuku gripped the desk behind him. Dammit, you just had to touch him, he thought. Any time someone egged Kacchan on when he was in a foul mood, he used the annoyance as fuel to get particularly nasty. “But thinking about it, there’s probably one way you could play on the same level as me…” he said, with a mock smile, pausing for effect. “Pray you’ll be born with an awesome quirk in your next life, and take a swan-dive off the roof of the building!”
Izuku froze, his fingers locked on the desk, his eyes wide. He had never taken it that far before, never…
He saw a flash of something Kacchan's eyes, for just a second, then his lips tightened into a smirk again and he left, followed by his friends and their raucous laughter.
The room was silent, the smell of burnt fabric and singed skin turning his stomach as he leaned against the desk for a long moment. Izuku sighed, pushing his hair back from his face.
Take a swan dive off the roof of the building, huh? He thought morosely. “What would you do then, Kacchan?” he asked the empty room, voice soft. “If I did?”
He pushed off from the desk, grabbing his bag roughly off the ground, and stalked outside to go find his notebook. Kacchan still had it in his hands, but he probably hadn’t taken it far, knowing him. He didn’t want to keep any of Izuku’s things. Sure enough, a few steps outside of the door, he saw the slightly charred notebook on the ground, next to the koi pond. He sighed, picking it up and fillping through a few pages to see how badly the pages were damaged. Most of them seemed intact, surprisingly, except for…
He flipped frantically back and forth for a moment. Where was it?
Izuku paused, bending the notebook back slightly to see a tear where a page had been pulled out. His brow furrowed. Why the hell did Kacchan want that page? He huffed, heading toward his usual route home. His mother would be worried if he was too late getting home. He forced a smile onto his face. All Might would be able to smile, he knew.
All Might wouldn’t have been told to take a swan-dive off the roof by his best friend, All Might wasn’t under-evolved-wrong-nevergoingtobeahero-worthless-hatedbyhisfriend–
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Izuku burst out in an impression of All Might, louder than his dark thoughts, throwing his head back and repeating it again and again until it bounced off of the bridge’s echoing tops. His fake laughter was so loud he almost didn’t hear the odd swish behind him until he felt something wrap around his ankle.
“Wh–”
“Heheh, you’ll make a perfect skin suit for me to hide in, kid!”
***
Drowning in a liquid body wasn’t something Izuku could adequately describe. It wasn’t completely liquid, more like a mucus that blocked his throat and his nose, slithering across his skin. He struggled and grabbed at it uselessly and then he struggled to grab for his bag. He had been working on something to solidify liquids when they made contact with air for his capture weapons, it was in a flask in his bag to experiment on when he got back home, if only he could–he couldn’t reach it.
Dammit, dammit, under-evolved-wrong-nevergoingtobeahero-worthless-hatedbyhisfriend-DEAD Izuku.
He wanted to wail in despair, but he couldn’t even make a sound.
“HAVE NO FEAR! YOU’RE SAFE! Now that I’m here, that is! Texas…….. SMAAAAAAAAASH!”
Izuku felt everything around him vanish as a broad, warm hand gripped the back of his neck, keeping him grounded in place in the eye of a hurricane… and then he passed out.
***
“Hey!” Patpatpatpatpatpat. “Wake up. Hey!” The voice was deep, and overall… familiar.
Izuku blinked, and– “Ohmygodyou’reAllMight?” he asked.
All Might definitely replied something that was probably in Japanese, and probably very heroic, but Izuku’s brain was not comprehending any of that beyond !!!!ALL MIGHT!!!!!!!!
“C-Can you sign my noteboo–” he started to ask, flipping to a spare page before freezing at the signature already across two pages. “Ohmygodhealreadydid.”
“Heroes battle time as well as villains,” he said with a wink. “Stand back, now, I need to take him off to the station.”
“Wait– no, I need to–” Izuku said, staggering forward. “I have a question!” he yelled.
All Might didn’t seem to hear, stretching and then squatting to launch. Izuku launched forward at the last minute, grabbing him quickly around the legs.
The next few minutes were fraught, like holding onto a launched rocket.
“Heyheyhey, let go! I love my fans, but this is too much!”
Is he stupid? Izuku thought blankly. “No way! We’re flying! If I let go, I’ll die!” he screamed.
“Oh. That’s… a good point.”
“I just have a question! I need to ask you! It’s important!” he screamed over the wind.
“Okay, okay! I get it. Just! Eugh, close your eyes.”
All Might landed with a thud, dropping Izuku on a roof–take a swan-dive off of– and turned to look at him.
“That was not very smart, young man. Bang on that door, there, and someone will let you in. Now, I really need to go,” he stressed, turning to launch back off of the roof.
Izuku’s eyes narrowed, watching the way he gripped his shirt at his side, the way he turned, the way his teeth gritted. These hints, they washed over him, not sinking in. He reached out desperately, grabbing his arm to stop him from running away. “Wait! Not yet!” he yelled. “I need to know!”
“I don’t have time!” The desperation skimmed past him, too.
“Is it possible for me to become a hero, even if I don’t have a quirk?” Izuku demanded. “Could I ever hope to be someone like you?”
All Might finally stopped trying to run away, freezing in place.
“I… Ever since I was a kid, I thought saving people was the best thing to do. I want people to feel safe when I arrive. I wanted to be the kind of hero everyone could look up to, like you are. But I… I don’t have a quirk, and no one thinks I can do it. Everyone makes fun of me for making support items to make up for it, but I can create things that would replicate most quirks, that would make up for most weaknesses. I… Do you think I could ever…” he froze, watching as All Might… deflated.
He screamed.
All Might sighed, sitting down. “I told you I didn’t have time,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t think that meant you were going to deflate!” Izuku screamed. “Why did you break?!”
All Might wheezed a laugh. “You know those guys at the pool that suck in and flex, tryin’ to look buff? It’s kinda like that for me… now, anyway. Come on, you might as well sit for a moment,” he said.
Izuku sat. “What happened?”
He lifted his shirt, showing off a star-shaped arrangement of scars that spanned across his entire skeletal-thin side. “Gross, isn’t it? Big fight, five years back destroyed most of my respiratory system, my whole stomach… All the surgeries to keep me alive have pretty much worn me out. An’ it can’t be fixed.”
Izuku leaned forward, analyzing it for a moment.
“I’m trustin’ you not to go talking about this to all of your friends,” All Might said sternly.
“I don’t have any,” he replied immediately without thinking, eyes still on the wound, imagining what armor could bolster the side, what would hold him in place best.
“You–” All Might blinked. “That was a depressing answer.”
Izuku looked up at him, focusing. “Oh–sorry! I uh… haha, yeah. I won’t tell anyone is what I mean.”
“Right. Right now, I can only do hero work for about three hours a day. The rest of the time, I look like… well…” he shrugged, gesturing to himself.
“Five years ago…” Izuku mused. “Do you mean with Toxic Chainsaw?” he asked, brows raised.
All Might laughed again. “You know your stuff, huh? No, that punk may have landed hits, but he couldn’t bring me down. Most of the world has never heard of this fight. I did everything I could to keep it under wraps. I’m supposed to be the guy who’s always smiling, right? I’m the Symbol of Peace. But honestly…” he took a deep breath. “I smile to hide the fear inside. It’s a brave face I put on when the pressure is high. Being a hero isn’t easy.”
Izuku stared at him, frowning as he realized where this was going.
“Pro heroes are always having to risk their lives. Some villains just can’t be beaten without powers,” he said, his voice gentle. “So… can you be a hero? Not without a quirk.”
Izuku pushed to his feet, brushing the dirt off of his pants, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes.
Under-evolved, wrong, NEVER GOING TO BE A HERO, worthless, hated by his best friend.
“I see.”
“If you want to help people, there are plenty of other ways to do it. You said you make support items–helping heroes with support items is a fine way to do it, or you could even become a police officer if you want a more direct option.” He shrugged. “It’s not bad to have a dream, young man. Just make sure your dreams are attainable. Realistic. Understand?”
Izuku nodded, looking out over the city, and didn’t bother to reply as All Might went into the building.