Archive of Our Own

When Izuku first walked into his house with burns lining his body and bruises etched into his knees, he expected comforting words from his mother, he expected promises that this would be the last time it happened, that she would help him. He was barely five and he wanted the throbbing in his body to stop, he felt like he was dying. He hardly knew what death was but he knew it hurt, and knew that the flares of heat pulsing through his body at every breath couldn’t be normal, because nothing had ever hurt him as much as this. 

His house was mostly quiet when he walked in, the old tv in the living room showing a man sputtering through the daily reports, a list of names being read out, and pictures with big kanji Izuku couldn’t read yet showing on the screen. The man on the screen wore a crumpled suit and had barely any hair left, wrinkles etched into his face in permanent strokes. He seemed saddened by whatever he was reading, the list of names going on and on as more and more children showed on the screen. His mother was sitting by the couch, dutifully writing down the names in a notebook with big words on the cover, ones Izuku mostly didn’t know except for two that had been recently engraved into him. Quirkless Kid caught his attention the same way it did when it was written on his desk, or yelled at him on the playground. Izuku had a sinking suspicion that those kids had been taken by the bad people his mother now constantly warned him about, the ones in vans or big black masks. The ones that would hurt him because he was different . (“Is something wrong with him after all?” His mother whispered in a sterile white room while Izuku sat in a paper gown, a doctor stamping a word on his forehead he would soon never be able to forget.) 

Izuku thinks those kids on the screen must’ve been hurt by big evil monsters made of black goo and tentacles, large teeth shaped by wicked smiles, and big red eyes the color of Kacchan’s. He doesn’t think of it for long, the throbbing in his knees earning more of his attention. He steps more obviously into the room, and his mother catches sight of him immediately; frantic green eyes flicking back and forth from him to the screen. The tv is turned off with an aggressive swing of the remote in her hand, a look of fear passing through her face as she sees his injuries. That look is quickly smothered by a look Izuku can’t place, a firm set to her mouth and a hard look in her eyes as she takes a first aid kit out of her bag that didn’t used to be there and then handing it to him. She glances down at the notebook again, the page open to the latest entry and Izuku sees more unfamiliar big words, the sounds empty of meaning. ‘Kidnapping’ ‘murder’ ‘hate crime’ ‘unemployment’ ‘villain ’, and the most frequent one, quirkless . Whatever they meant, they were making his mom sad, so he reaches out and tries to wrap his arms around her and bring a warm comfort, like she does for him. Instead, she turns away and in an uneven choked-up voice asks him to ‘leave mommy alone to do grown-up things’. 

He takes the first aid kit and leaves her like she asks, heading to his room. He sits on his hardwood floor and gently puts hundreds of bandaids on his burns and scrapes. He put the All Might ones on his arms, his Endeavor ones on his legs, his Present mic ones on his stomach and shoulders. He’s never had a wound that couldn’t be fixed by a few days of wearing a bandaid, so he covers every inch of his battered body with a heroes smiling face.

A few days later he goes to un-peel the bandaids, tiny fingers finding the edge of one of the All Might ones and tentatively picking at. He knew how bandaids worked; you had to hurt a little before you could see the new unhurt stuff. You had to remove the curtain to see the final act. He found a grip on the edge of one of them and slowly tries to peel it off. Tears prick at his eyes, it burns so much. Was it supposed to burn? He tried to remind himself that a little hurt was needed but another tug sent agony shooting through his arm. He curls into a ball and keeps his hands where they are, teeth grinding together in a joint effort to maul his lips, his eyes shedding hot tears and body trembling slightly. God, he was such a baby, wasn’t he? It was just a bandaid, he was old enough to do this by himself without any fuss, even his mom thought so. What would All Might think? He was sitting here crying on the floor because of a stupid bandaid. All Might saved people with a smile, he fought till he won, he didn’t give up after a little scrape. Yeah, okay, he could do this. He bites into his lip so sharply it bleeds into his mouth and rips off the bandaid, translucent skin hanging to the sticky part and blood bubbling up from his two-day-old burns. His eyebrows have dug a valley into his forehead, his throat sore from holding in a scream and tight from shedding so many tears. He smooths out his face to the best of his ability and stares at the blood dribbling down in streams to the other side of his arm, looping down before meeting and falling to the floor in drops. Tap tap tap . It goes as it hits the floor and makes a puddle that’s slowly sinking into the wood planks of his bedroom floor. He can’t help but stare; bandaids we’re supposed to fix the owie, why hadn’t it worked? He stared at the bandaids still covering his arms. Had none of them worked? The idea of every bandaid hurting that much was unfathomable, his body already screaming at the idea of having to repeat the feeling even once more. He stands on shaky feet before waddling into the bathroom. There is a stool set up so he can reach the sink, and he gently runs cold water over the red patchy skin All Might’s face uncovered. When the bleeding has mostly stopped he finds his mom on the couch just like yesterday and gently looks for an answer.

“T-the bandaids didn’t work,”

“Oh Izuku,” Her lips wobble and her eyes go glassy before she’s taking his hand and they walk out the door, just like that. Izuku doesn’t even have his shoes on, but they wander down the streets regardless, not the ones that go to school though, and he stares at the trees without paying a lot of attention. They end up in a store with big white aprons and large pans, a man that looks like the ladies at the hospital offering advice to anyone who asks on what white tube to buy. His mother finds a small tube, the one in the clearance section worth no more than a few yen, and buys one before trudging back out of the store, their outing over. Izuku follows after her dutifully and smiles widely when she puts the tube in his hand later and tells him to avoid further injuries in the future. He nods before heading off to his room, spending a few seconds entranced by the new rust-colored stain on his floor. He manages to pry his eyes away from the image sometime later, and he begins the process of un-peeling the hero-themed band-aids, washing off the blood in a mad dash to the sink, and then putting the smallest bits of the cream on his throbbing skin. His trash can becomes a collage of smiley heroes dappled in blood, his floor gains a few new stains, and he runs out of cream only a few burns shy, but he’s just glad the heat that’s followed him like a shadow of kacchan has finally cooled. 

Tap tap tap.

--

The next day he finds himself covered in a few new deep red burns, Kacchan’s hands getting a little hotter as his quirk grows and the skin just shy of blistering. He’s out of mom’s cream, so he takes a detour after school (he was a big boy, his mom didn’t pick him up anymore!) and he heads to the store his mom took him to yesterday. He gets lost a few times along the way, a wrong turn here and a wrong turn there, but he gets there eventually

He enters the store quietly, feet barely tapping as they hit the ground. He’s a little nervous to be here without his mom, but he figures it will be fine. He doesn’t want to see that glassy look on her face again if he can help it. He doesn’t like to see people cry or scream. He doesn’t like seeing people get pushed to emotional brinks unless they were positive ones.

He finds the clearance section and tries to grab the same bottle as yesterday, but it’s too high up. His tip toes have him swaying as he tries to will his stubby fingers to grow longer, but he didn’t have a quirk for that (or a quirk at all) and so he stood back on his heels and pouted. He didn’t know how to fix this. 

He watched enviously as a white-haired boy covered in bandages (just like him!) reached for a big tube with a flame on it a few feet away. He was in the expensive section, the one Izuku’s mom avoided at all costs. He keeps staring at him and wonders if his bandages hurt to take off like Izuku’s do, or if it only hurts because Izuku’s useless like that. 

It becomes obvious he’s been staring too long when he notices the boy staring back. The white-haired boy stalks over and his bandages rustle with the movement. His eyes zero in on something on Izuku’s arm, trailing over his body and Izuku watches as his eyes keep narrowing the more they see. He’s not sure why until he remembers his hero-themed band-aids and blushes at how silly he must look, covered in a hero as great as All Might. 

The boy stops in front of him and he is easily twice as tall as Izuku, his curly green hair ending at the other boy’s hip. 

(He has pretty eyes, Izuku notices, bright blue, and even as he recognizes the anger in the boy’s gaze, he can’t help but think that they look way less scary while mad than the red ones he’s used to.)

The boy wordlessly hands him the tube he picked out, and Izuku’s hands are up to deny it before he’s even fully processed the gesture.

“Can’t. Too much,” He hates rejecting people, hates the feeling that comes with saying no, hates making people feel bad, but his mom always told him to reject expensive gifts, and his mom usually knew best.

But the boy only reaches out gently and pries his fingers open, his wrapped hands twining together with Izuku’s bandaged ones. He’s led to the counter with the employee people, and the white-haired boy smiles demurely at them before passing over two tubes of fire cream (Izuku never even noticed him grabbing a second one) and places down a black gleaming card. Izuku averts his gaze as the boy pays, remembering a time he was paying with his mom and started reading the numbers aloud. His mom had not been thrilled and covered his mouth before telling him not to do that. Izuku had nodded even if he still didn’t understand why. He didn’t look at the plastic cards anymore, because sometimes words came out of his mouth without him noticing, and he didn’t want to get in trouble again. 

So he averts his eyes from the boy’s card and listens as the machines beep and rumble, listens and waits for the coast to be clear again. The white-haired boy taps his shoulder and smiles down at him, his hair flopping over as his head tilts. Giggles escape his throat before he can help it, and the boy’s glacial eyes seem to soften the tiniest bit.

Izuku feels cold hands ruffle his hair and almost doesn’t notice when the hand that was holding his is replaced with one of the tubes. The white-haired boy looks at him with a weird expression, a half-smile twitching on his face even as his eyebrows try to create a frown. Izuku naturally does what he always does when his mom looks sad or weird. He tries to hug the expression away. But unlike with his mother, the boy accepts his arms winding around his waist and head burrowing into the other boy’s stomach. When he feels he’s done he lets go, bows to accept the cream, and scurries back home to find his mother staring at the same man on tv from the previous day, more pages filled in the book and a worried expression etched so severely into her face Izuku worries it’s permanent. 

This time when his mother notices him her eyes go straight to his injuries, and her expression splinters as a single tear rolls down her face. Her mouth forms two words, whispered so quietly Izuku hasn’t the faintest idea what she’s saying. His mind supplements the sound of a choked-up voice wailing I’m sorry I’m so so sorry but he blinks the memory away. 

The sound still echoes in his skull though, melding together with the face of his crying mother, and he vows not to hurt her anymore. His teacher always chides him for getting into fights, for hurting people, and Izuku doesn’t want to do that to anyone, least of all his mother. And he doesn’t know how to stop the fights, doesn’t know if he can stop them, or the pain that follows, but he figures he can stop letting her see his bandages, and that’s the least he would do if it makes his mom happier. 

--

Every time he goes to the burn store, the boy with white hair boy is there, the severity of both their burns increasing with each visit. And each time Izuku spots the boy there he can’t help but wonder if he lives there secretly. When he plucks up the courage and asks, the boy snorts.

“I wish,” Izuku frowns and the boy immediately bonks him on the head for it.

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles,” the boy scolds, the words sounding a little unnatural in his mouth, and Izuku smooths out his face before trying to hide the smile blooming on his face. They go about the usual routine of the boy picking out the best burn creams, two for each of them nowadays, and paying for them as Izuku covers his eyes with his hands so he doesn’t read out the numbers accidentally. Except for this time, the boy doesn’t immediately head off, instead gesturing for him to follow.

“Come on, let’s go to the park. I can teach you how to put your cream on the right way,” He grins and Izuku is about to follow him like a duckling when he remembers being told not to follow strangers. Something about secondary locations. This boy doesn’t feel like a stranger, but how would Izuku know? They don’t even know each other’s names-

“I don’t know your name!” He says it with all the outrage it deserves. They’ve known each other for weeks, how rude must Izuku have looked to never introduce himself!

The other boy looks conflicted, and for one frightening moment Izuku worries perhaps the boy is big, bad, and scary before he shrugs his shoulders and half-smiles. 

“...Touya.” 

Izuku nods enthusiastically, “You can call me Deku! That’s what my friend calls me.” 

The others face twists dramatically in displeasure. “I’m not calling you an insult what the fuck.” Izuku gasps at the bad word.

He wants to protest that it’s not an insult, not really, because he’s quirkless, but the words die on his tongue. Instead, he finds himself nodding once more. “Izuku then! That’s what my mom calls me, so you should too! Nice to meet you Touya,” He grins and the boy-Touya- smiles softly in return, hands moving to offer Izuku a handshake. It feels so formal that Izuku giggles. He feels like a grown-up.

“Nice to meet you Izuku,” and they shake hands like the big kids they aren’t, before Izuku follows Touya like a duckling to the park. 

They arrive in an old field with half-rotted swings being the only decoration in an otherwise empty area. Long dry grass tickles at Izuku’s ankles and he suppresses another giggle. His mother can’t really tickle him anymore, not with all of the burns, but before she used to do it all the time. He never really stopped being super ticklish thanks to that. 

Touya plops down onto the swings with zero hesitation, paying no mind to the way they sway and creak, nor the rusty screw that falls out as Izuku gently sits down in the swing next door. He then pulls out the cream and gestures at Izuku to unwrap his bandages- he got a stern scolding to use bandages instead of bandaids the last time they met- and he gently rubs circles of the cream into the burn, using way more than Izuku has ever dared to. It does feel better, but it also feels like a waste.

“It’s never a waste. You need to be willing to use everything around you to get proper medical stuff. Some of this stuff is already going to scar, you don’t need to make it worse.” He sounds so upset that Izuku shivers a little, nodding to appease him. Touya immediately narrows his eyes at the reaction.

“I didn’t mean...sorry...wasn’t trying to yell at you or whatever,” He sounds so gruff.

“It’s okay! I don’t really like seeing people upset, but you were just looking out for me!” And he puts on a big smile to convey how okay he finds it. He shouldn’t mind a little yelling if he’s going to be friends with Kacchan anyway. Yelling just comes with the territory. Touya just keeps frowning though.

Izuku bops him on the nose, “Don’t frown or you’ll get wrinkles, remember?” And Touya scowls even harder. 

When Izuku walks home later that day his chest hurts from laughter instead of burns, and the content smile on his face doesn’t fade until long after sleep claims him.

--

Kacchan had had a bad day. That much was obvious, the constant stream of nearly popping explosions making that clear to even the newest of Kacchan’s followers. Izuku makes a desperate attempt at

staying out of the other’s way but he’s never quite been able to crack the code on that one, and at the end of the day he has a ring of burns around his throat to show for it. 

He goes to the burn store like always, meeting Touya there like usual. Touya takes one look at him and they head to the park wordlessly, and Touya treats his wounds the way he always does, even though Izuku by now is more than capable of doing it himself. 

“I don’t like that you keep getting hurt,” Touya whispers.

“I...I know. But I want to be a hero and he does too. And what kind of hero would I be if I denied people their dreams the way they’ve denied mine? It’s not like I can do anything about it anyway. Kacchan...he’ll learn, eventually. I think,” He hates how unsure he sounds but at least the words are right.

They sit in silence for a while, only the quiet sound of bandages wrapping against skin tearing pockets in the quiet. 

“I have a brother like you. Two actually, and a sister,” Touya whispers eventually. 

Izuku raises his head but doesn’t look at him, eye contact becoming harder and harder to manage with red eyes and fear rooted in his memory. He hums to show he’s listening.

“I don’t get to see the youngest much anymore. My dad spends all his time beating him,”

Izuku inhales sharply. He knew that someone must’ve been hurting Touya, but he hadn’t really considered it would be a family member, let alone a father. The idea of a father hurting his kids feels kind of removed from his reality. He always thought that Touya had a person like Kacchan in his life. A friend-ish with a little too much anger. 

Knowing the truth is worse. He can imagine Kacchan hurting someone, but the idea of his mom doing that makes him violently ill. She’s his mom . That man is Touya’s dad .

“I-”

“-He calls it by a different name too. He punches him until he throws up, forces him to push past his quirk’s limits until he passes out. And he calls it training, so the police will never do anything about it.”

“That’s...that’s terrible,” Touya nods aggressively.

“But just because that bastard calls it training, or says it will make Shouto better, doesn’t mean that it does. Sometimes the people that hurt us justify what they do, or others justify it for them. But even if everyone believes them over you, or covers for them, it still doesn’t change the fact that they are abusing you. Kid, just because this ‘Kacchan’ could be better in the future, just because he could put hundreds of people in jail in the future, or save a thousand lives, doesn’t mean he can get a free pass for being an abusive asshole. And the heroes, they probably won’t save you, or me. Because heroes have to save the lives of many over the lives of one, and that means that they choose useful assholes over us sometimes. But you can’t let them do that okay? You have to fight it.” Touya sounds choked up, and Izuku doesn’t think he’s just talking about his younger brother anymore. 

“What if I fight and lose?” Izuku whispers, a thought that’s haunted him for years voicing itself at last.

Touya wraps him up into a hug. 

“Then I’ll be there, no matter if you win or lose.” And for now, that feels like enough. 

-

It’s a week later that their positions are reversed, Izuku finding Touya covered in his own collection of burns and bruises. Sitting on their usual swings, Touya sitting patiently as Izuku wraps his burns, Izuku thinks he understands how Touya feels seeing him every day. Every new burn he discovers, every imprint of a large knuckle burnt into Touya’s body makes Izuku ache. Touya was good, he was kind, he was a kid. Touya didn’t deserve this, and even as Izuku conjured images of the scariest, evilest people he knew of, he couldn’t imagine someone deserving this. 

“I...can I help?” He’s not sure what a useless Deku has to offer but he would do just about anything for Touya to stop hurting. Every time they see each other the layer of bandages around Touya gets thicker. He understands the white-haired boy better in this way too. He already knows the limits of his help, but at the very least he could wrap his wounds and wait for the day when he could do more. 

“No, kid. Just focus on fighting your own demons. If all goes well I’ll find someone who believes my side of the story soon enough,” And Touya boops his nose as if to emphasize that point.

Izuku nods, and like so many times before, he goes home feeling helpless, the solution to his worries out of reach no matter how tall he tries to stand. 

He just wants Touya to be safe.

--

Izuku turns seven and Touya disappears, leaving nothing but an empty location haunted by memories in his wake. Izuku tries not to mind, but his mom has been more distant lately, the news reports she’s so obsessed about dropping in frequency before disappearing entirely. He’s not sure why, but now just looking at him seems to make her cry, and he doesn’t know what to do to fix it when he’s the problem. He tries to not be around her when he can help it, hoping that will make her happier. He knows he’s being spoiled, but he wishes he had Touya here to keep him company. He’s not sure what big brothers really are but the title of Touya-nii has a place inside his head that always seems right.

He tries not to miss him and fails miserably. Every burn and blast feels so much more painful when it’s punctuated by emptiness. Quiet haunts him at home, at the park, at the store, everywhere except where kacchan is. Izuku isn’t a huge fan of hanging out with kacchan anymore, but he does it more often if only to chase away the quiet.

It’s months later, when Izuku is closer to nine than seven, that Touya appears once more. He shows up with deep purple burns lining his face and shiny staples piecing his skin together. His hair is dyed black and he wears significantly more run-down clothing than he usually does.

Touya smiles at him softly, the look bittersweet on his now disfigured face, but still infinitely better than the blank look he wore the last time they saw each other. 

“I dyed my hair?” He says but it sounds more like a question, an olive branch extended to ask are we okay?

Izuku pets his arm gently as they sit in the park, and says the only thing that comes to mind.

“I like it. We almost match.” Yes, of course.

Dark-colored hair smooshes together and they sit side by side on the swings until even the sun has fallen out of the sky. They wrap around each other in a lung-crushing hug and both ignore the liquid dripping down their cheeks and little heaves bursting from their chests. 

Izuku feels home again.

--

It’s after another particularly violent day from Kacchan, that he meets up with Touya. It’s special, they don’t meet up as often since Touya was ‘sent to hell and ejected right back’ as he puts it. Sometimes Touya shows up with wounds, and Izuku learns from him the do’s and don'ts of stitching up someone made of dead skin and staples. He learns pretty quickly, and Izuku’s just grateful that whatever Touya’s new extracurriculars are, they don’t get him hurt too often. 

Unfortunately the same could not be said of Izuku. But the age-old burns and scars, the searing heat and pink skin, while uncomfortable, doesn’t hurt as much as the words ringing through his head. 

“Heroes...are good right?”

Touya gives him a contemplating look before answering. “Don’t know really. I’ve only met shit ones, but I’m sure good ones exist out there somewhere,” Izuku’s face must show something because his eyes soften and he runs a hand through his curls. “I think you’d be a good one though,” He adds, and Izuku feels his heart warm. The last time someone believed in him was before he was quirkless. 

“I think you’d be a good hero too, Touya,” 

The other boy is silent again, a deep inhale and shaky exhale filling the space before he answers. “Nah, I’d be too grumpy for it. Hero-ing’s not for me.” 

“That’s okay. You’re already my hero,” Touya looks stunned for a minute before quietly whispering his thanks into the night air.

--

He applies to U.A. with All Might’s words of wisdom ringing through his ears, a promise of a new quirk whispering through his veins, with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be the kind of hero that people like Touya need. He trains hard, and for the first time in a while, he feels completely fulfilled. He has Touya watching his back, All Might guiding him, and he’s working towards his dream with active support from his hero. 

Better yet, Kacchan doesn’t hurt him as often, Izuku slipping away to train before he gets the chance. Of course, Kacchan’s pain is replaced with the pains of growing muscles and constant training, but Izuku finds he doesn’t mind these much at all. Sometimes Touya still frowns at his bruises, but for the most part, they’re both happy with the change.

 Unfortunately, all the extra training means he and Touya meet even less frequently, but they make do. They switch from meeting at the park to the beach, Izuku’s progress (or lack thereof) on full display.

“So All Might said we might have to up my training soon, and I’m going to get to do-“he cuts himself off as he notices Touya’s glassy expression. Far away and hazy, Touya looks into the sea ahead of them and is clearly a million miles away.

Izuku wonders what caused it, pouring over their interaction today, searching for the flaw. Searching for his mistake.  

He tries to go over their conversation but finds most of it forgotten, already, a haze of excitement carrying the winds of conversation more than Izuku’s actual brain.

He remembers his last sentence, but all he did was talk about training, why would that set Touya off? 

The answer hits Izuku in the face like a truck. God. Training . Jesus. He’d been using that word all afternoon like an idiot. He’d been calling it training in front of Touya.

‘ Just because that bastard calls it training, or says it will make Shouto better, doesn’t mean that it does.’

God, he was such an idiot. He brushes Touya’s arm gently. His eyes are almost normal, whatever spiral of thoughts and memories Izuku had led him down spitting him back out into the world of the living. If Touya wants to talk to him about something he will, otherwise Izuku won’t get anything out of him and there’s no point in even trying. But Izuku’s house is filled with quiet, and he prefers to fill the space with his mumblings when it won’t give him a burnt arm. So Izuku keeps talking, allowing Touya whatever time or space he may need, mindful to pick his words more carefully. 

“Anyways All Might wants to have me exercise more and let me tell you, the fitness gram pacer test was a goddamn breeze compared to this-“

When Touya huffs a laugh later, he feels the last knot of worry leave him. 

--

He gets into U.A through luck, rescue points, and probably All Might’s influence. And though the first few weeks are hectic, with battles, USJ, and preparations for the Sports Festival, he can honestly say that he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He feels spoiled, he gets a quirk, his dream school, Touya, and All Might. And with his new quirk, he has friends and nice teachers and everything is looking up. 

He meets up with Touya at the park again, and they sit on the same rusty swings as always. Touya likes to listen to him talk about his day, and if Touya hasn’t done anything too illegal, Izuku likes to hear about his too. 

“And then Todoroki froze the building. The WHOLE BUILDING! And he did it in like a second! Touya it was so cool you have no idea. I can’t wait to work with him in the field and learn about his quirk. Do you think that was the upper limits of his abilities? Didn’t seem like it…Oh, the ice disappeared once the exercise was over though, maybe he can displace it? Or Melt it? Teleport it? The possibilities are endless!” He rattles on, getting lost in the discovery of a new, unknown quirk. Touya just sits quietly and listens to his rambling, a softer smile than usual resting on his face.

--

The door clicks as his mother enters the quiet apartment, keys jangling as she pulls them from the hole. Izuku sits on his bed, the familiar All Might cover smiling up at him, not dissimilarly to how the man did a few hours ago, when Izuku was nursing a more obvious set of shattered bones. Now, after hours with Recovery Girl, his arms were healed and his hands were good enough. One of them would never be the same apparently, a fact he knew Touya would loathe to hear, but he wasn’t too bothered. Scars had been a part of his memories longer than any unscarred body parts were, and he would gladly gain a few more if it meant seeing Todoroki grin wickedly as his arms lit up with fire and ice. 

Still, his mother never enjoys seeing his injuries, always grimacing and crying or going carefully blank, so Izuku straightens up and erases any traces of pain to the best of his ability. He didn’t like to worry his mother if he could help it.

Running downstairs he sees her shuffling out of her work attire into more comfortable clothes, her face lighting up when she sees him. 

“Izuku!! Come here, I’ve missed you so much!” Opening her arms wide he runs into her comforting embrace like he’s dreamed of doing for years. Burns have never been very welcoming of hugs, and his mother seemed to grow a distaste for them over time. His newly-handed quirk seemed to have fixed that issue. His mother didn’t mind his dreams or injuries as much when she knew he had a quirk to protect himself. 

She nuzzles into his hair and runs reassuring hands along his back just like she used to do when he was two or three. Like she did when he didn’t get his quirk. And just like all those years ago, she whispers into his ears, words heavy with emotion and laced with tears. “I’m so proud of you.” She says through a hoarse voice.

This time, the words feel right.

—

He meets Touya in the park the day after the sports festival with his hand crooked and scarred. It aches and he keeps flexing it under his sweater paws to try and warm the creaks out of it. Touya notices after a few minutes of quiet conversation and hears his hands up to massage it. Izuku gets Deja vú.

“Todoroki did that yesterday too. He refused to let my hand go until his match was about to start. Maybe he was nervous to fight against Kacchan? They are both really powerful,” Izuku hums thoughtfully while Touya snorts.

“Or he felt bad for blowing your arms to smithereens. I doubt Sh-the kid could brush off a fight like that quite as easily as his others. You blew up a third of your body and broke every other bone waist up. You did remember this was just a school tournament right?” He injects his usual amount of snark into it, but his expression is soft.

“I- he needed my help!! What kind of person would I be if I ignored a cry for help?” 

“One with a shred of self-preservation and a fraction of sanity but we know that’s been gone since your pain tolerance came in.”

“Touya!” He screeches, scandalized. But the other boy just laughs wildly despite Izuku’s attempts at channeling a grumpy face. His frown cracking into a smile admittedly ruins the whole effect.

A warm hand ruffles his hair and he hears the other boy whisper, “Ya did good kid. You did good.”

—

The next few weeks fly by in a flurry of NDA’s and hospital visits, and by the time Class 1-A’s moving into the dorms he doesn’t know if he even qualifies as the same person anymore. He’s still Midoriya Izuku he supposed, but he’s also learnt a whole lot more about heroics and has one or two more illegal missions than he had initially anticipated. 

He was a boy covered in patchwork scars with a quirk he couldn’t control that was barely his, a mentor who was now nothing more than a legacy to the public, and a brand new home to call his. His mother had had surprisingly few reservations about him moving to the dorms, the sight of the former number one hero seemingly enough to convince her that her son would be safer elsewhere. Izuku supposes that was simply the power high-ranked heroes possessed. Their presence alone was a promise of safety. He thinks of Endeavor and wonders if this is a good thing. But surely it must be...He focuses on decorating his new room instead of thinking. Some thoughts were better left alone.

The class settles down for their first dinner together, everyone shuffling around awkwardly as only a few of them had any idea of how to prepare a meal for this many people. Kacchan, after very little prompting, begins cooking their dinner explosively. Izuku has to move away as his traitorous body won’t stop flinching at every last explosion. As if Kacchan would do that when he’s busy cooking. 

Dinner is stilted, every person unsure and eating differently. Some of them eat right after sitting down, others waiting for everyone to arrive at the table. A few of them almost subconsciously hold up their hands to say a prayer before putting their hands back down when the people around them eat without as much as an itadakimasu. Some of them gape at the sparkly silver utensils, others wondering why they each only have three utensils per person, a way smaller amount then they are used to. It’s obvious to everyone in the room that they have yet to mesh routines, every fumble leaving room for more tight smiles and strained laughs. 

“So...how about these grapes?” Kaminari tries, only for Iida to scoff.

“They’re radishes! A hero in training of your standard should be familiar with all such fruit! A healthy lifestyle is the foundation of a healthy hero!” Hands waving around erratically.

Momo clears her throat, cheeks flushed and tone embarrassed. “...Aren’t radishes vegetables?” 

Iida gasps in outrage, Kirishima googles it, and the following round of profuse apologies leave everyone quietly eating if only to avoid talking. 

Overall, Izuku considers the evening a success. He even doesn’t get blown up by Kacchan!

—

“Kacchan’s been getting better recently.” He says to Touya the next time they meet. Izuku still gets his burns wrapped by Touya, the number of injuries shrinking only marginally as Aizawa pairs Kacchan and him up at every opportunity. Partner work was not Kacchan’s forte.

Touya hums without answering, a troubled look on his face. It was harder to know what he was thinking, he’d started wearing masks every time they hung out, but Izuku could tell he was debating saying something, even if what he expects is not what he gets.

“I, uh, probably should have said something earlier but...I don't know it never seemed like the right time-” Izuku is set on edge but the stutter in Touya’s voice, the anxious undertones in his voice. Touya rarely stutters. “-I joined a villain group. I wasn’t going to, but I want to kill my old man, and they have the resources to let me do that. I just...thought you should know.” Izuku can’t tell what he’s thinking at all, his eyes shuttered and closed off, but he’s known Touya for long enough to know that right now, Touya is expecting a bad reaction. He’s prepared to be hurt. 

And Izuku is uncomfortable with Touya being a villain. Villains attacked his school, hurt his mentor, his teacher, his friends. Villains tried to kill the few people in his life that had never tried to hurt him. He doesn’t want to look at Touya and see a villain. 

Yet even as worry sturs in his gut, and thoughts of just how bad this could all turn out churn in his head, he reminds himself that this is Touya . And Izuku couldn’t agree with the decision to become a villain, and he couldn’t support it. But Touya wasn’t asking him to. Izuku may not be able to support a villain, but he could support Touya. 

He wraps his arms around Touya, mindful of the staples lining his body, and snuggles in close. Touya tenses minutely, and Izuku loosens his arms so he can pull away if he wants to.

“You’ll always be Touya first. Nothing’s gonna change that.” He murmurs. Touya relaxes, and Izuku curls his arms around as tightly as he dares.

“Unless you implicate me, then you’re dead.” 

The laughter ricocheting across the field could probably be heard on Mars, and Izuku can’t find it in himself to care. 

When he goes back to the dorms, he feels warm despite the looming worry and the sound of Kacchan exploding three doors down. 

--

It started with a text message at the end of class, two words from an unknown number popping up on his screen. I’m sorry .

He wasn’t sure why. He probably should’ve panicked, an unknown person was texting his phone. But he figured it was a random number text, and so he resolved to tell the person of their mistake later, after many drafts of figuring out how to do so politely. 

He forgot about it. He got wrapped up in studying with his friends, in finishing his homework, and in pushing his body just shy of its limits, then slipping and going a little over. 

It’s dinner time when he remembers the message again, the class gathered around the watch an hour of news before they ate. He wasn’t sure who had started it, but they all benefited from seeing the world was still in one piece. News reporters were known to make things out to be the worst they could, and if they said things were fine, the class was able to relax a bit better. They’d gone through one too many surprise fights to be able to truly let their guard down without proper reassurance.

And the news was usually pretty interesting, even if Kaminari did not agree. He preferred the more interview-esk types of news channels, and the class gave everyone a chance to watch the news they were interested in a couple of times a week. 

Usually, they watched segments on heroes and interviews with them right after battles. Kaminari liked them because they were ‘raw and exciting’ though he later admitted it was also hot to see the heroes shining with sweat after a fight. Izuku didn’t mind, he just jotted down notes as always.

He was only mildly surprised to see himself appear on the screen. Mildly because he knew the sports festival and recent villain attacks had put UA in the spotlight in a rather unfortunate way, and his class, in particular, had suffered quite a lot of attacks. But even knowing all that didn’t stop a cold sweat from breaking out all across his body because oh my god holy crap he was on tv what if he had made a mistake and now it was being broadcasted and everyone would know how useless he was-

“Denki turn it up Midobro’s on!” Kirishima called from his spot next to Kacchan. 

The blonde boy does as asked and turns up the news channel, a newscasting woman interviewing a stocky man in a recently ironed old suit, a barely visible faded pattern making its age known.

“Welcome everyone to Channel 37 news, I’m today’s host Nakamura Tsukamu, and today we have a rather unusual guest. Can you please introduce yourself, sir?” 

“Um, right, hello there. I’m Shinjitsu Sakebi, and...”

“-And he’s here to share a story. But before that, would you mind telling everyone what your quirk is?”

“Right, yes of course. I live through someone’s life if they touch my hands. It’s a rather weak quirk really, and I haven’t trained it. It’s incredibly invasive and I try to avoid situations where it’s used.” The words sound practiced and plastic and Izuku wonders if he’s lying about his quirk. He struggles to imagine why. 

“And it’s activated all the time?” The woman prompts. 

“Yes.”

“And it was one such incident that led you to see something you shouldn’t have, isn’t that right Shinjitsu-san?”

Izuku gets a bad feeling. 

“Regrettably. I had forgotten a pair of gloves at home and I’d gotten most of the way to the store before I realized it. I figured I would buy some new gloves at the store and it wouldn’t be an issue. But as I was walking in I brushed hands with somebody. And, you see, most people live boring lives, with ups and downs but a lot of monotony. Seeing their lives lets me see what they’ve been through their eyes, but not their feelings on the matter or how it impacted them mentally. And I’m usually pretty glad of that every time an accident like this happens.”

“And why is that?”

“ I’m sure you can guess. Point is, the life I saw was, unfortunately, not a pleasant one. As a kid the boy wanted to be a hero with his best friend, they had a whole little toddler plan and everything. The problem was the kid didn’t get his quirk. And once that information spreads around, in this social climate, your whole life changes. This kid got bullied for breathing wrong, and even his best friend turned on him. Despite all that, and I’m still not sure why, this kid wanted to be a hero with his whole being, and nothing or no one could change that. Despite all of that, this kid wanted to save people.” 

Izuku’s body freezes as he realizes what is about to happen. He remains in place as if physically prevented from moving, his breath catching as the interview just keeps going. 

“Can you give me some examples of this so-called ‘bullying’?”

No. Nononononononono-

“I remember this one time in his elementary school a teacher whacked him with a ruler across his arms and legs until he dyed the floor red. I remember this other kid popping an explosion so close to the kid’s ear that he went deaf until a quirk doctor fixed it. Every day after school, during lunch, before school, walking home, every single moment of this child’s life was spent either getting beat up or fixing himself up. And his mom never helped him. She just gave him the bandages and turned away. Don’t think he understood it, young as he was, but the mom was obviously watching those news campaigns run by the president at the time. That man was anal about quirkless people and the lives they lead. Wanted the whole world to know how worthless they were, and accidentally showed us how badly they were treated. Never have so many surveys shown us something was wrong just for us to ignore it. But the mom obviously saw what his life was gonna be like, and I think she was detaching herself, preparing for the onslaught of terror the news promised her would happen. Compared to kidnapping and murders, what’re a few burns to her kid’s arms? Thing is, the kid was five. He didn’t know how to treat burns, especially not quirk-enhanced burns. What kind of six-year-old has learned how to treat those kinds of injuries by that point? And you know what? Seeing a kid get beaten every day for years by teachers and students and having it be ignored is terrible, but not as terrible as seeing his old best friend burn him over and over and over. And every time it happened the kid would whisper ‘it’s okay. He didn’t mean it.‘ It took years for him to understand that this kind of treatment wasn’t supposed to be normal. That it wasn’t supposed to be ‘okay’.”

“You mentioned the abuser had done worse, would you elaborate?”

“I’m sure you could find the security tapes to confirm this, but middle school was rough on the kid. There were a few times where I genuinely thought that would be the end of him. One such day was when a teacher called out the kid for trying to be a quirkless hero. Things escalated and the bully said ‘if you really want a quirk, here’s a time-saving idea for you: pray for a quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof.’”

“W-well then.”

“And then the kid tried to walk home only to be almost suffocated by a villain. Luckily he got saved by his favorite hero; All Might. And the kid was desperate to ask a question to his favorite hero, his idol, and inspiration. ‘Can a person be a hero without a quirk?’ And you wanna know what All Might said? ‘I cannot in good conscience say you can be a hero without power. It’s good to dream, but you have to be realistic young man.’ And then the number one hero left the kid on a roof, the same day his bully told him to jump off one, with his dreams crushed beneath his feet. I would’ve jumped. Instead, the kid ran down the street and saved his abuser’s life, and got told he was worthless for his trouble.”

“While this is terrible, it isn’t enough to get put on the news, unfortunately.”

“I know. And usually, to be honest, I would’ve just left it to the heroes to deal with. That’s their job after all, and I have no interest in playing hero. But...they’ve been with this kid for months and he has never spoken up about it and they’ve never asked. At this rate, this kid just won’t be saved. So here I am, intervening. I would have solved this privately but I don’t think I would’ve been allowed contact with him.”

“This kid worked his ass off to be a hero, and then the day of the entrance exam he finally manifests a quirk. Seems like he needed a certain amount of muscle in order to manifest it. And guess what? His quirk is great except for one teeny tiny snag; it breaks his bones like toothpicks. And some of you probably know the U.A. student I’m talking about now. I’m gonna ask you to hold your tongues until I have finished.”

“I don’t think this kid knows he’s been wrongly hurt. He just looks at the scars and is glad it happened to him rather than someone else. And I know he’s seen it happen to other kids and like the hero in training he is, he’s saved them no matter the costs. But I don’t think he’s ever connected that what happens to him is just as wrong. I don’t think he’s ever connected that he was abused and it was let go because the other kid had a heroic quirk. I think if he ever did think it was wrong, he wouldn’t speak up about it because it would ruin the other kid's future. And this kid is way too kind to ever ruin someone else’s future.”

“And I’m gonna be honest here, I don’t think the other kid knows what he did was wrong either. But he sure was vicious about it. And earlier this year his homeroom teacher declared to everyone that Bakugo Katsuki was and would always be a hero. And I agree. He will be a hero, one that represents the worst part of heroics. Because Bakugo Katsuki has abused Midoriya Izuku since his explosive quirk came in. And not once has he apologized. I will not stand here and watch as another abusive asshole becomes a hero because the system values power over personality. Heroes shouldn’t abuse people. And I’m sorry Midoriya, I’m sorry that every time, even at your dream school, you thought about asking for help, it was denied. I’m sorry this couldn’t remain private. But Bakugo doesn’t deserve privacy, and he doesn’t deserve you’re sympathy and understanding. Left to your own devices he would’ve undoubtedly got both of them, and U.A. would have gladly swept this all under the rug. ”

“W-we’re out of time for today’s channel 37 segment, b-but we’ll be on again the same time tomorrow! Thank you Shinjitsu-San.”

Silence rushes through every inch of the common room. It suffocated Izuku, claiming his eyes and lungs and ears until all he can feel is the primal urge to get out, to get away before the silence is broken.

He vaguely sees Todoroki reaching out to him, notices distantly the open mouths of Uraraka and Iida, but he’s already moving up and out of the room, out of the campus, before he can truly process it.

He thinks the dorms could use some more milk. Steps echo across the street where his feet meet the pavement, his hands trembling and shoved inside his hoodie pocket. He’s wearing an All Might hoodie oddly enough, and it’s then he notices he’s leaving cracks in the pavement, that small shocks of green lightning are coming off of him, and that his cheeks are wet with tears.

He feels like laughing. He feels like screaming out the shattered feeling of something in his chest like if he makes enough noise into the empty street the monster suffocating his lungs will come out. 

He rubs at his eyes until they burn and swallows past the tightness in his throat. He’s getting milk. 

He’s getting milk. He’ll need to get a lot of it because everyone likes something different. Satou likes 2% but he only bakes with whole milk, and Kaminari prefers chocolate milk, whereas Momo likes oat milk. Uraraka drinks everything, and Todoroki likes strawberry milk best but doesn’t know how to say it. Iida needs more tea, and Kacchan likes.

Kacchan likes?

The monster curls tighter against his chest. Izuku forgets how to breathe. Air whooshes out of his lungs and he doesn’t know how to get it back. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. He was dying he couldn’t breathe. He opens his mouth to try and scream for help but finds every noise muffled. Was he making noise? 

Warm hands find his shoulders and through swimming vision, he sees an old man, watches enraptured as his mouth moves.

He feels his body hit the cracked cement, watches as the old man demonstrates their breathing. He was taught to breathe like a newborn baby by a man wearing a Hawaiian bowling shirt. 

He breathes in for three and releases it in a gush for four. He keeps doing this until the man’s hands on his shoulders remove themselves, until the monster in his ribcage has gone dormant once more. 

He looks up at the man and realizes that he probably knows who he is. He probably watched the sports festival, then the interview, probably knew more about Izuku’s life than he had ever wanted to share. 

He had never wanted the world to know his secrets. They were the only thing that were well and truly his, his mind a fortress very few quirks could penetrate and he liked it that way. His body could be battered and burned but his mind was a haven he could retreat to. No one had to know what was happening there unless he chose to tell them. 

It was supposed to be his choice to tell them.

Now everyone knew. 

He pushes off the ground and bows to the man. The words are on his tongue and for once he does not voice them. He conveys a ‘thank you’ but cannot verbalize it. He hopes the man understands him anyway. 

The other man walks off and Izuku stands there, unsure of where to go. He couldn’t stay out here, not with his life secrets a click away for the reporters and general public. He couldn’t go back to U.A., couldn’t face...everyone really. He couldn’t go home, wasn’t ready for the reaction of his mother, no matter what it was. 

He wasn’t for reactions at all, and so he went to the one place where he might find more than demands of explanations. 

The park is the same as it has always been. Long tall grass, dry and yellow, popping up in every crevice not jammed with cracked cement or decades-old playground equipment. The swings are rusted, paint faded from a once fiery red to a greying pink. The safety labels have long since fallen off, and the entire place looks more like a haunted house than a child’s park when paired with the overcast weather. 

His eyes sweep the park without his consent and the almost instant hole in his chest at the lack of spiky black hair and warm scraggly arms in sight makes his blood boil. He knew that Touya didn’t live at the park. He knew that he wouldn’t be here on a random day when they weren’t supposed to meet. He knew that Touya had no reason to be here. It was stupid to be disappointed, he knew this. But knowing and feeling are two different things. 

He sits down on one of the swings and curls up against the harsh wind. Touya isn’t here, but this place is still quiet, still familiar. It still has traces of the person he has come to call home. He closes his eyes and leans into the wind, pretending the feeling of it wrapping around him brings comfort instead of cold.

Staring into the trees surrounding the area is a boring, endless activity. His brain has nothing to do but think. And think, he does.

What will happen to Kacchan now that they know? Will he be expelled? Will he be shunned and sent off to juvie with charges of assault? Or will U.A. look at him and see Kacchan’s potential- because Izuku knew he did have potential- and ignore the accusations in the name of improvement they demanded to see?

For some reason, neither option sounded pleasant to him. Now that everything was out in the open, both the erasure of Kacchan’s actions or punishment for Kacchan’s actions left Izuku’s brain screaming wrong wrong wrong .

He wished no one knew. He wasn’t ready for anyone to know. He just wanted to go back to when no one knew. 

He wished he could hate the man, or the interviewer, but he couldn’t. They were just trying to help. 

He could never fault someone for trying to help. 

He feels more than sees the figure sit down on the swings, the dust on the ground kicking up into the air as they swing their legs lethargically. He stares at their shoes, black combat boots with dull silver eyelets feeding dull brown laces through them. The shoes were dusty, the tips of them covered by wrinkled leather pants, odd holes and singed edges leaking through the seams. His eyes drag up through the person's long jacket and white loose shirt before landing on the tips of black spiky hair and purple marred skin. It’s only when silver staples gleam in the light that Izuku’s brain catches up with his eyes and realizes that the person in front of him is Touya. 

Touya was here, the realization making his heart leap. With the little energy he has left, tears springing to his eyes, he makes grabby hands, and with a huff that might just be a laugh Touya pulls Izuku into his lap. Now, surrounded by his brother's warmth, he does cry.

“You won,” Touya whispers, something like awe coloring his tone. Izuku’s breath hiccups.

“B-but I didn’t fight. I-I, I didn’t do anything!”

Touya shakes his head and smiles the way he does when he talks about Shouto, when he talks about the family he lost. 

“But you survived .” He traces the scars lining Izuku’s forearms, little fireworks that have faded but never left. 

They sit like that, and Izuku doesn’t feel okay, not yet, but he feels better, a little line in the sand to separate from his fears, Touya the fierce dragon making sure the line doesn’t get blown away.

He doesn’t feel okay, but he will , and that’s enough for now.