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Izuku was sure that this would go well. There was no reason for this not to, considering that it was just a week long activity. Nedzu had apparently been the one to bring up the idea of 1-A visiting Shiketsu for one week to meet their potential allies. Izuku himself hadn’t thought much of it.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was pretty excited, if a little nervous. Or a lot, he thought to himself, trying to push away his instincts. Izuku had been going to UA for a while now. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder, scanning all exits. He shouldn’t be flinching at every move his classmates made, even though they marked it off as him being timid and nervous.
It was better than the truth.
The truth would get him ostracized before he could even defend himself. It was better this way, to pretend that he hadn’t been ground into the dirt, treated like nothing but a bug under someone’s shoes. To pretend that he hadn’t been picked apart, torn apart for every part of him. The curls of his hair. The splatter of freckles across his cheeks. The soft baby fat on his face that people liked to make fun of. The way his voice trembled with terror.
There were too many things people made fun of him for, just because he was Quirkless. Just because Kacchan had called him worthless. And many other things he really didn’t want to think about. He hadn’t seen Kacchan since the Entrance Exam, and that had only been for a moment.
But luckily for Izuku, Kacchan had gotten accepted somewhere else, and decided to go there instead for some reason. He wasn’t sure which hero school Kacchan was going to now, but he really hoped it wasn’t this one.
He would soon learn that he was wrong.
They were all packing their things for the week ahead of them, before they headed for the busses. Aizawa-sensei was watching all of them, occasionally giving them reminders of what they should bring.
Their hero costumes, toothbrushes, any medication they were required to take, clothes, pajamas, shoes, and socks. Izuku had already made a list of things he’d need, with Iida’s frankly ecstatic help. As of now, he was check-marking all the boxes listed on the paper, before shoving pencils, and his analysis notebooks into his bag.
He zipped it closed and gave himself a glance in the mirror sitting near his bed.
He’d cut his hair as soon as he got accepted into UA. It was styled in an undercut, leaving curls atop his head, untamed and wild. Unfortunately, Izuku didn’t do anything for no reason. Kacchan had always cut tufts of his hair off during class in middle school, and he didn’t want to show up to UA looking like he’d let a twelve year old style his hair.
And, surprisingly, it looked good on him. That led to Tokoyami saying he’d look really good with piercings, and now he and Tokoyami always went out to get piercings together. His mother had flipped her shit, but ultimately she was just glad that he was happy.
It made his chest warm with happiness, and his mother had hugged him tightly with a ferocity she hadn’t had in a long, long time.
But anyway, he needed to get his stuff on the bus. He was leaving his room, giving one last glance to the posters in his room. Before meeting All Might, his room had practically been a shrine to All Might.
Now? He had Eraserhead posters that he’d gotten from Shinsou for a pretty penny. He had Present Mic posters, and the occasional All Might one too. Yeah, All Might had given him an amazing Quirk, but unbeknownst to his mentor, he was still angry about what he’d said.
He never let it show, though. He had a persona to maintain. He couldn’t let his true colors show, as dulled and muted as they were. No one wanted to see the part of him that was terrified of his own reflection. Terrified of his own uselessness.
A boy who loathed the world, and didn’t trust it. A boy who had been told time and time again that his life wasn’t worth living, and marched on anyway. Someone who was just looking for a moment to breathe and treated his grievous wounds.
But Izuku had locked it all away. He locked all of that in a box in some dark part of his mind. But of course there were just some things he could never forget. Hence his flinching whenever his classmates' movements were too sudden.
The stutter he couldn’t work out, no matter how much he tried. The blatant distrust of Aizawa-sensei that blessedly no one seemed to notice. The blatant distrust of any teacher, for that matter.
He sighed and closed the door behind him.
“Problem Child,”
And he jumped in the air, trying to mask his fear. In a millisecond, his expression went from terrified to surprised. Aizawa-sensei didn’t notice it, and started speaking.
“Don’t get into trouble while we’re there, okay? You’re representing UA while at Shiketsu.”
Problem Child. Problem Child. Problem Child. Problem Child.
Of course he’s a problem. He’d always been a problem, since his first day here. He’d broken a finger to stay in Class 1-A, and from that point on, Aizawa-sensei had loathed him. And then at the USJ, Izuku had done nothing but destroy himself. And the Sports Festival wasn’t better.
And the Hosu Incident. There was that too, that Aizawa-sensei had been made aware of.
At every corner Izuku had been causing trouble. Even if it wasn’t his fault, it was . Even if it was to save his classmates, or save an innocent citizen it was always his fault. Granted, he’d been a problem child before UA too. His teachers made sure to remind him of that.
They beat it into him whenever he’d gone to them for help. He was a problem, it was his fault, he should just give up. He should just keep his head down. He should just leave Kacchan alone. He shouldn’t breathe too loud, or think.
He should just sit there, still as a statue, and think of nothing. Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. Because that’s what Quirkless people need to do to .
“Okay,” He replied, brushing past his teacher, with a million watt smile. Aizawa-sensei shook his head with a sigh, and Izuku ignored how his chest felt like it might cave. He didn’t see the fondness in his teacher’s expression. He only saw thinly-veiled hatred and disgust that would linger with him all day.
As he carried his bag to the bus, Tokoyami passed him. “Hey Midoriya,”
Never Deku. He’d cried in his room after the first day of school.
“I was thinking about getting a new piercing after all of this. Want to come with me? You don’t have to get one too, if you don’t want.”
Tokoyami gestured to the eyebrow piercing, the nose ring on the opposite side of where his eyebrow piercing was. The many piercings on his ears.
“Sure, I’ll come with you!” Izuku replied with a wide smile. “I think I’m good on piercings for now, but I always like hanging out!”
Tokoyami smiled, and hurried up to his room to probably grab something. Izuku hated the way he subconsciously watched his every move. He hated the way he’d never be able to trust his classmates the way he probably should.
He finally exited the dorms, and puts his luggage in the compartment below the bus. (Realizing that Present Mic will be driving them). Iida was rushing around, double-checking for Aizawa that everyone had everything. Izuku smiled slightly at the image of Iida hastily helping everyone throw their luggage in the bus — ignoring how Iida didn’t help him .
Soon enough, everyone was packed up and ready to go. Aizawa-sensei was the last one to board, with his luggage also safely stored away on the bus. The bus started to move towards their sister school, Shiketsu, and Aizawa-sensei spoke up.
“Alright hellspawn!” Angry, angry. Always angry. “We’re going to Shiketsu for a week, as I informed you. I expect that you act in a way that all UA students should. That’s all.”
Uraraka, who had been sitting next to him the entire time, immediately started a game of iMessage pool with him. He won some and loses some.
“Hey Midoriya,” Asui mumbled through the din of their classmates' conversations. “I’m sorry, but I’m usually pretty blunt and say what’s on my mind, kero.”
Izuku raised an eyebrow at that, and it seemed to prompt her to continue. “I have a question to ask you, if you’re okay with it.”
“O-oh,” He stammers, hating how his face warmed with embarrassment. He desperately tried to quell all of his instincts. The urge to open the bus window and jump out of the bus. The urge to bite through his bottom lip until blood coats his tongue. The urge to duck his head and look as meek as possible.
The roaring of blood in his ears, screaming at him to hide, hide, hide, hide, hide . Run .
Izuku ignored it all to speak in a surprisingly clear voice. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Well, we’ve all talked about before going to UA, and I was just wondering what middle-school you went to, and if you miss your friends? You don’t really talk about before UA, if at all, kero.”
“S-sure I miss some of my f-friends… but UA is… well there’s not much to m-miss from my old s-school?”
“What do you mean?” Uraraka asked, and judging from how everyone was watching his reaction… He needed to play this perfectly. “I’m sure you miss more than just your friends! What about your teachers?”
He tried his best to keep the memories from surfacing. Friends? Teachers? Missing them? Impossible.
He could still remember his homeroom teacher’s Quirk. How it scarred his skin, impossible to forget. Brand was the name of the Quirk and it allowed his home room teacher to… Well it didn’t really matter, did it?
The essential answer to Uraraka’s question was no. “I suppose,” He lied instead, trying his best to look sheepish. Unassuming.
He hated lying. Izuku wanted to tell them that he hated middle school and his teachers. Especially his teachers, who turned a blind eye, or joined in on the fun. He wanted them to see the world for what it truly is, and not just because of villains like Shigaraki.
No. He wants to show them something different.
That not all evil people are villains. That not all heroes rescue and save. Some tore you down almost as much as the people who hurt you, belittled you, and screamed at you. Sometimes, their words hurt much worse than the Quirks that left scars on his skin.
Sometimes their words etched themselves into your soul, only adding to the insults carved into your skin, tattooing your bones. They festered there, eating away at you like acid against skin.
Izuku kept his mouth shut, and Uraraka went back to sending him games on her phone. They kept doing that for a while, before the bus finally pulled into Shiketsu’s campus. It’s massive, but not as big as UA’s illustrious campus.
There was one main building with a sprawling field that has seats outside, presumably for eating lunch outside. That's the first difference he sees.
There’s dorms that he could see, not far off from the main building, much bigger than what should be necessary, but hey. At least he had somewhere to sleep.
The bus finally came to a stop, and Izuku’s eyes were scanning everything in sight. Subconsciously listening to every word, every breath. He watched Iida closely as he tried to get his classmates to calm down so Aizawa-sensei could explain everything. Eventually they did, but Izuku had moved on to other things to mentally note. The quiet emptiness of Shiketsu’s campus. He could tell, even before exiting the bus.
He also noted how Aizawa-sensei’s eyes seemed to linger on him, but Izuku looked away. They all pile out of the bus, which Present Mic had been driving the entire time. Him and Aizawa-sensei exchanged words, mainly about Present Mic taking their luggage to the dorms, before Aizawa led them away.
Izuku didn’t know where he thought they were going, but he wasn’t expecting a massive auditorium. He wasn’t expecting it to be packed with all of Shiketsu’s students, wearing their black and red uniforms along with the hats that Izuku had only seen in pictures.
Suddenly, his hands were getting clammy with sweat. Anxiety coiled in his gut like a treacherous snake. It slithered across his bones, tightening, tightening.
Aizawa led them to the front row where they all took their seats silently. His every move was watched. Analyzed. Criticized. Laughed at. Scorned.
He could feel it, the heat of their collective gazes. It’s Shinsou who grabbed his hand and squeezed it, but neither of them acknowledged it. He doubted Shinsou even realized he’s doing it. So Izuku let it slide, even if it made it hard to breathe, to concentrate, to think.
(Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. Because that’s what Quirkless people needed to do to survive .)
The principal of Shiketsu was some man Izuku didn’t bother to remember, mainly because he couldn't ’t function. It’s been so long since someone touched him. His mother had always hugged him, but that was his mom. She was supposed to do those things. She was the only exception, and even then, she was working too much to do it often enough to be a routine thing.
But no one else in his entire life had touched him. Except for All Might and Recovery Girl, but they had all been formalities. Never had it come from concern, care, or just a genuine want to touch him.
His entire life he’d been shunned, hated, unloved, uncared for, and touch starved. It was fine. He didn’t care. It was safer this way, in reality.
He wouldn’t know how he would react if his classmates jumped on him with every intention to just hug him. Izuku would probably cower on pure instinct, or maybe he’d flip them over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to find out.
It would raise questions he wouldn’t answer, and then suspicion would fester. And then he’d really have a problem if his teachers thought that something was amiss. It didn’t matter if it was UA because teachers never liked him. They never helped him with his problems, and he’d come to learn that they only made things worse.
They cut you down to size. They hurt you. Reduced you to a shaking, sobbing mess. Eyes glassy, hands shaking, jittery, bladder weak and humiliation heating your face.
But he didn’t pull away as he hardly listened to the Principal's words. They weren’t saying much other than introducing Class 1-A, and apparently Class 1-B as well. How did they go unnoticed? How did he miss this?
Izuku stole a subtle glance behind him, making awkward eye-contact with Monoma, who grinned wolfishly at him. He needed to pay more attention. He needed to be better.
He couldn’t let something as simple as not noticing Class 1-B happen again. Izuku prided himself on his ability to keep tabs on everything happening around him. It’s the only way he survived.
His thoughts screeched to a halt as Aizawa-sensei and Vlad King took to the stage, standing next to the Principal. Izuku zeroed in on them, listening as Aizawa-sensei practically groaned into the mic.
“Thank you for your introduction, Principal Tanaki.” He began, rubbing at his eyes as he spoke in a monotone, flat voice. “We’re glad to be partnering with Shiketsu for a week-long training exercise. That is all.”
And then Aizawa got off stage, followed by a snickering Vlad King. “Erm,” The Principal mumbled, probably not expecting such a lackluster response. “I hope you welcome the UA students properly, everyone!”
With that, the assembly was over. Aizawa guided them out of the auditorium last, to avoid all the foot traffic, Izuku presumed. Shinsou had finally let go of his hand and he could finally breathe. They were walking down the deserted hallways and toward the nearest exit to the dorms.
And then Izuku saw red.
Red eyes, blonde hair, angry expression, dangerous, dangerous explosions popping from his palms. Red from burns on his skin. Red from the humiliation burning his cheeks as his teacher told him to stop provoking, stop, stop, stop. Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. Because that’s what Quirkless people need to do. They didn’t deserve to feel emotion, to fight for their own survival. The burning of his teacher’s Quirk Brand, his skin red and puckered with the scar. Red of his blood splattering on his own desk as his teachers sneered at him. Classmates leaving him black and blue. His teachers laughing behind their hands— conditioning him to expect abuse from the people who were his friends. And if he could trust his friends or his teachers, then he couldn’t trust anyone.
EVERYTHING WAS RED.
He couldn’t breathe. Kacchan— Bakugou Katsuki stood in the mouth of the hallway. Aizawa-sensei didn’t even care, and they kept going. For one blessed moment, Izuku thought that Bakugou would leave him be. Leave him alone for the first time in his life.
“I didn’t know they let Quirkless people into UA now,” Bakugou said off-handedly, successfully ending any and all conversation that Izuku had blocked out because Bakugou Katsuki was standing in front of him. He almost stuttered to a stop right there in the hallway, but he didn’t want people to know.
Quirkless. Quirkless. Quirkless. Worthless, ugly, grotesque. Not worth the effort. Problem child. Stupid. Take a swan dive off the roof, Deku!
“Bakugou,” A female voice spoke up. Izuku was too terrified to look back. “Leave those guys alone,”
“Yeah man! You’re always tryin’ to start shit!” A male this time, but no one could stop Bakugou once he got started.
Burning, burning. Keep the mask on.
He ran into Shinsou, who had stopped. Izuku took a cursory glance around, realizing he was losing his grip on everything. Aizawa-sensei had frozen almost mid-step, everyone had stopped, turning to face Bakugou with varying degrees of confusion.
“What do you mean?” Shinsou was the one to break the momentary silence.
“You heard what I said. Isn’t that right, Deku?”
Deku means useless. Worthless. Undeserving of human decency. That’s fine. He didn’t need it anyway.
His knuckles popped loudly in the buzzing silence.
“Who's Deku?” Uraraka asked innocently, before Izuku slowly, painstakingly turned his head to face Bakugou.
The girl had white hair that stopped at her chin, and the boy next to her had his brown hair up in a bun. They were both glaring at Bakugou. “Bakugou, stop. That’s insulting.”
“How do you know what it means, huh?!” Bakugou growled, his palms popping.
“I just recognize an insulting name when I hear it,” The girl snapped. “Our teacher’s going to notice we’re gone. Let’s just go.”
“Yeah, Bakubro. You know how sensei is!”
And Bakugou deflated just ever so slightly, and left with the guy who had been standing by him. The girl however, stayed.
“Sorry about him!” she said, never taking her eyes off of Aizawa-sensei. “I don’t know who he was referring to, but I sincerely apologize.”
“No harm done,” Aizawa replied, short and clipped. “If you’ll excuse us...”
The girl nodded, and fled. They started walking again towards the dorms. The topic of many people’s conversations changed to Bakugou, and who he’d been speaking to.
It didn’t matter.
“Hey Midoriya,” Tokoyami mumbled, from beside him. “Who do you think he was talking about?”
“Oh! I’m not sure… I’m pretty sure none of us are actually Quirkless, not that it matters. I don’t even know who he is.”
It sounded fake to him, and painfully obvious that he was lying. But Tokoyami didn’t say anything, and just nodded.
And then Izuku blinked and they were at the guest rooms, getting assigned sleeping arrangements. Apparently, he was rooming with Tokoyami and Shinsou, and his stuff was already in the room that they were given.
The first chance he got, he ran up to his assigned room and went to sleep. Eager to sleep the entire afternoon away.
Shouta just wanted to sleep more than anything else right now. But he’s up late, of course. And the worst part is that he didn't ’t even know why. He should’ve been asleep ages ago, especially since they had to go and do a training exercise tomorrow. And the next day. And the next, until the week was over, and they could all go back to their usual schedule.
At first, he just thought he couldn’t ’t sleep because he’s in a weird environment. Somewhere he’s never been before.
But his mind kept going back to that hallway. To that kid with the blonde hair and angry expression that Shouta did not like. And he was talking about how UA let Quirkless people into their school now, but he’d spat the word — Quirkless — like it was something disgusting. Something deplorable.
It kept him up, no matter how desperately he wanted to forget it and sleep. He sat up from his bed and headed to his desk, before he stared blankly at the wall. He’s missing something, he knew. That’s why he couldn't sleep.
Just who was Deku? What did the kid even mean when he said that? Was he insinuating that someone in either 1-A or 1-B was this Deku? Someone who was Quirkless? There was a piece missing somewhere. None of the students in the Hero Course were Quirkless, he’d literally helped announce the Sports Festival with his husband. He’d seen all of their Quirks, up close and personal.
And yet.
And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was wrong. There was something he didn’t know. Something that one of his kids wasn't telling him. Something he obviously needed to know.
He ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself that he didn’t currently have his student’s files right now. It would be so much easier to narrow down the options. Because if one of his kids used to be supposedly Quirkless, then he needed to help them.
He himself had never been Quirkless, but it didn’t matter. He had talked too many of them down, from leaping off rooftops. He’d seen too many of them hold the barrel of a gun up to their temple, shuddering with sorrow.
Once or twice, he wasn’t successful, and he could still remember the stickiness of blood on his hands, the wails of anguish.
A knock at the door cut through his constant stream of thought. It was almost so soft he didn’t notice it, but he was a Pro-Hero for god’s sake. He opened the door just as Jirou was raising her hand to knock again.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, immediately assuming that something was amiss. Because knowing his hellspawn and resident Problem Child, there was probably something going on.
“Well, uh,” Jirou began, wringing her hands together anxiously, as if second-guessing her decision to come here. He hated that. “It’s about that guy… the one that was talking about letting Quirkless people into UA?”
“What about it?” Shouta replied, hoping that it’s Jirou, and that he didn’t have to confront someone else, someone more volatile. He hoped this was it.
Jirou was still wringing her hands. “If it’s you then you don’t need to worry—”
“No,” She shook her head, twirling a finger around one of her ears. “Nothing like that… I’ve never been Quirkless. It’s just— just that Midoriya’s heart rate… increased when Bakugou stopped us. I think he knows Bakugou.”
“You think he’s the one Bakugou was talking about, don’t you?”
“Uh— I mean yeah , but that’s not— not all?”
“What else is there?” He asked, surprisingly gentle even to his own ears.
“He’s actually like that alot?” She replied tightly because on some level, she thought she was prying into something personal. And she was, by all accounts, but it’s something Shouta is glad for. “His heart rate is abnormally high a lot of the time.”
“What do you mean by that?” He prompted her to continue, but she didn’t he speak again. “When is his heart rate increased?”
“L-like when we’re training…” She glanced to the side. “When someone speaks too loud. When people touch him by accident… I actually told everyone not to touch him after the first week, because I felt bad for him. It gets especially bad when—” She took a deep, steadying breath. “When you look at him, sensei. Or any teacher, really.”
That… That actually made a lot of sense. He thought back to how many times he brushed off Midoriya’s flinching for timidness. The unwillingness to meet his gaze for anxiety. He thought about the conversation Midoriya and Asui had. He thought of how forced his responses sounded now.
“Thank you for telling me, Jirou. If you see Bakugou trying to do anything please come to me.”
He didn't sleep after she left. Instead, he called Nedzu, his voice hard with conviction and the need for clarification. He needed to know if Midoriya was really Quirkless before UA.
He will be Midoriya’s sorely needed sword and shield. He will protect his student, even if he’s already riddled with bullet holes. Even if Midoriya didn't think he needed it. He will provide it anyway.
He swore to it.
Nedzu picked up immediately. And Shouta wanted to kill him.
They all knew. They all knew that Midoriya’s first name could be read as Deku, as useless , but they’d decided as a class to let Midoriya come to them. The flinching made sense now. The fear, the timidness, the overall skittishness of his behavior. The way he never truly got close to any of them.
It all made sense, and as a class they sent Jirou to Aizawa-sensei. Because it didn’t matter if he was Quirkless until very, very recently. It wouldn’t even matter if he was Quirkless now. They’re heroes, and they could tell Midoriya was drowning.
Izuku’s dreams were dark. They’re as dark as his thoughts, swirling, and tangling together in an embrace. If Tokoyami were awake he’d say something about revelry in the dark, but he’s not. And it’s hardly even three am, and surprisingly, Shinsou was sleeping.
He’s alone with his heavy breathing, alone with the spider lilies falling from a desk that’s no longer there. With the words that have been imprinted on his very bones.
Izuku padded silently out of the room, down toward the kitchen he'd vaguely seen earlier. He made sure there’s no one around before getting himself a glass of water.
“Deku,”
He spilled the water. Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou—
“That’s what he called you, right?” Aizawa-sensei continued, and Izuku is frozen to the spot. “It means useless, doesn’t it?”
His voice is deceptively soft. A cacophony of lies. “N-no,”
“It’s an insult,” Aizawa-sensei guessed in a firm voice that leaves no room for argument. “I could tell that much. You were Quirkless before UA—”
“Stop,” His voice didn’t quiver, but it’s empty. An aching emptiness, and then he started to realize his mistake.
He interrupted a teacher.
He could feel all the blood leave his face, leaving the rest of him too hot. His breaths are coming in short, and he knew he was being annoying. He knew that he was always a distraction and that he should just stop, he knew it .
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he stepped out of range, his chest twisting tighter and tighter.
Burning, burning, burning!
He turned and left the mess of his water on the counter, and rushed to lock himself in the nearest bathroom. He knew Aizawa-sensei was following, and he almost didn't lock the door in time.
The walls were closing in on him and he could only hear the roaring in his ears and he covered them.
He could still hear Aizawa-sensei knocking on the door, asking him if he’s okay in the fake voice that all the teachers at UA seemed to have. Too kind. Too real. All the more painful to hear. He wanted him to go away.
Izuku didn’t know if he said it out loud or not, but after a while, Aizawa-sensei gave up.
(As much as the man could, anyway. Izuku knew there’s more coming. More questions. More anger in his expressions. Because he didn’t want to deal with a problem child. He didn’t want to deal with the Quirkless kid who's useless, worthless, and mere gum stuck to the bottom of his fraying shoes).
Izuku gave himself a few moments to wipe the tears that had streaked down his face and control his breathing. He slowly pushed the door to the bathroom open, and peered out. There’s no one out there but he still took his time.
He went back to the counter and found it clean, with a new drink of water sitting where he’d spilled the previous one. Izuku didn’t drink it, for the fear that it’s laced with something. He left it, and made an entirely new drink of water.
All the while, Aizawa-sensei watched from somewhere . Izuku pretended not to notice because he has no idea where Aizawa was without turning on the lights. He just trudged up the stairs and went back to bed.
Except he didn’t sleep, and startled at the sound of his alarm on his phone ringing. So he got dressed before Tokoyami or Shinsou even stirred. He was downstairs and got himself a bowl of cereal by the time Iida came down. Iida reached toward him to do something, but froze. Izuku, who found himself shrinking, let out the softest sigh of relief.
In the spell of the quiet morning, Iida spoke quietly. “I have… a question, Midoriya,”
“W-what is i-it?” He asked, chewing on his lip.
“You lied to Asui when you said you missed your classmates and teachers, didn’t you.”
It was a statement, not a question.
Shouta had been dead set on walking into the kitchen to get some coffee, vaguely wondering where Hizashi had gone. He was walking down the stairs and paused at seeing around six of his students just sitting there, peeking around the corner.
Uraraka, Asui, Jirou, Tokoyami, Shinsou, and Todoroki. All of them waved at him soundlessly to stop. Todoroki even went as far as to put his arm out, and Shouta sighed.
“You lied to Asui when you said you missed your classmates and teachers, didn’t you.”
Shouta instantly knew who Iida was talking to, and stilled. This was definitely a breach of privacy, just like how it’d been with Jirou, but he was concerned. Worried even.
Midoriya’s response was cold and faraway. “It wasn’t.”
“Midoriya,” Iida said with almost infinite patience. “You’re lying , and that’s okay because you probably don’t want to tell anyone the truth.”
Instantly, Shouta knew that this was going to blow up.
“I’m not,” Midoriya growled, and Shouta’s moving. “I’m not.”
“Iida,” Shouta said calmly, “Drop it, okay?”
Iida relented, and Shouta got a good look at how Midoriya was tugging at his hair, looking so small. So tired.
“Problem Child.”
Midoriya’s head snapped up, his eyes swirling with emotions that flutter across too fast.
“It’s okay,” was all he could say, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s okay.”
Midoriya’s eyes reflected distrust and fear. It made Shouta’s stomach drop with dread. Just like the night before, Midoriya was looking at a teacher, an authority figure, with fear.
That’s why Shouta didn't touch him. He didn’t speak too loudly, and he definitely didn't look at him. Shouta hated this, but he looked right over his student’s shoulder. He’s walking through a cold blizzard, knocking ice from his bones, walking across a bridge made of ice that’s collapsing. He needed to tread carefully with Midoriya.
Midoriya, who needed a sword and shield.
“Let’s just focus on class okay?”
It seemed to take all of Midoriya’s concentration to nod, but his expression was a wall of ice. And Shouta hoped they both made it out of the storm.
He just had to wait until they’re alone to talk to the kid.
He couldn’t get enough oxygen as he walked through the hallways with his classmates. It felt as if everyone was staring at him. It felt as if Bakugou had already told everyone he’s Quirkless and therefore useless.
Phantom pains shot up his spine, reminding him of what it was to be truly useless. His classmates broke off in different directions for a moment, going to their specified lockers.
That’s the thing about Shiketsu. They have lockers, where UA just let them take their bags into class. Izuku remembered the last time he opened his locker. It was the first day of middle school, and he’d opened it to find spider lilies falling out of it in droves.
Apparently, some girl had bribed the janitor to give her the master key to all the lockers, and she and his classmates put them in there. So once they realized that Izuku didn’t use his locker anymore, they just put it on his desk.
One time, he’d even been given one in person, by a giggling girl with razor sharp teeth. He hesitated to open his locker now and dump all of his books in there. He put in his combination anyway, feeling the burn of eyes on him. He didn’t know how many, but he felt them all the same, and he could already feel shame weighing down his shoulders.
Humiliation coloring his cheeks.
He opened it, and froze despite himself. Someone was laughing already, probably seeing his reaction. And there it was, sitting on the bottom of his locker, right where he expected it. A spider lily. He only gave it one glance before piling his books in his locker. He closed it calmer than he should’ve. Izuku should be livid, but he wasn’t. His ears are buzzing and someone laughed again.
He’s cold.
“Little listener?”
It took him too long to collect himself. Present Mic hadn’t touched him or anything, but he still felt sick.
“What?” He asked, subdued, not looking up at him.
“What was that in your locker, buddy?”
He sounded angry, so Izuku just shrugged. “I-I dunno.”
“Okay,” Present Mic said in that fake, fake, fake voice. “Okay kiddo, let’s go to class, hm?”
He knew he was disassociating. He felt Quirkless all over again. It’s slithering across his bones, squeezing around his throat, slinking into his mouth and settling in his stomach.
He felt disgusting. Izuku’s eyes burned without his permission, but he pushed on until they reached the classroom they were supposed to be in. He gave Present Mic a fake smile. He smiled back reassuringly, and Izuku ducked into the classroom.
Aldera. His desk burnt, Quirkless etched into the wood. It made it hard to write his notes down, but he just kept his head low and hoped that no one saw his tears.
He blinked and the illusion was still clinging to him like a vice. He blinked again, and it faded only a fraction. He could see that there’s one desk left open, in front of Bakugou.
The snipping of scissors behind him, finding out later after class that Bakugou had cut his hair until it looked utterly terrible. But he didn’t cut it. He didn’t change it because then Bakugou— he’d throw a fit and make sure he was so ugly—
He choked on the memories. Izuku couldn’t see past the illusion clinging to him, couldn’t feel past the Quirklessness humming in his chest. One for All was a lie now, there’s no Quirk writhing inside his breastbone.
There’s nothing to grasp. Nothing to shield him from being ostracized. No weapon to defend himself with here.
It took all of his energy to sit down. It took all his energy, and he didn’t have any left. It hadn’t been this bad in a long, long time.
He kept his eyes glued to his desk, knuckles white as his fingers dug into the wood. Izuku pulled out his phone discreetly, and pressed the button to record his lessons. He focused on listening as best as he could, but he didn't move to get out his notebook.
He was zeroing in on everyone in the classroom. Especially Bakugou whose breath is on his neck. The classroom itself was huge, bigger than UA’s considering that they’re fitting two classes at once in here.
There’s also a class 1-B of Shiketsu, which was most likely hosting UA’s class 1-B. But that didn't matter.
There were forty kids in here, and he’s listening to all of them breathe, speak, and move. He’s cataloging them, carefully tucking each sound he heard into a box. Lethal, and nonlethal.
He spent every class doing this, head down, shoulders hunched, small, small, small. He didn’t care if Aizawa-sensei saw and realized it was him that Bakugou was talking about.
He needed to defend himself as best as he knew how when it came to Bakugou. He needed to be small, unassuming. He couldn’t breathe too loud. He couldn’t think too loud, which he might already be doing right now—
He needed to be still.
He needed to just sit here, still as a statue, and think of nothing. Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. Because that’s what Quirkless people needed to do.
Izuku noticed as one girl got up and left the classroom, and that’s a small, miniscule relief. It didn’t last long, because she came back and she’s not alone, so it’s forty classmates, plus two teachers, that he had to watch. That he had to make sure they stay at the front of the room. Had to make sure they didn't call on him.
He’s glad he thought of recording his classes, instead of falling through the cracks of his own twisting and tumbling thoughts.
It never used to be this bad. He used to be able to concentrate on school at least. But something was squirming in his gut, begging to crawl up his esophagus. A visceral fear that’s so instinctual that he couldn't think of anything else except keeping everything at bay.
Bakugou’s breath was closer and warmer than before. Then the two teachers left with the girl, and Izuku could feel his shoulders begin to shake.
Leave me alone. It’s something Bakugou had never done.
“Oi Deku,” The voice was haunting only him. Terrifying only him. His hands tightened on his desk, knowing that the word Quirkless etched into was fake, yet real all the same. There were no teachers in the room now, and Izuku knew what was coming. It didn’t matter that his classmates, the people he fought tooth and nail to protect time and time again, were in there with him. It didn't matter because all Izuku could think about were the starburst scars littering every part of him, scalding. Burning.
All he could think about was how Aldera wasn’t just school. It was torture . People locking him in closets, even as he begged to be let out. People not even looking him in the eye when they beat him down to his bones. Their insults like knives embedding themselves in his chest that was already littered with them.
Endless sneering and hatred. An endless need for his blood. “Deku,”
His lungs were shuddering in his chest.
He’s weak. He’s useless. He’s nothing but gum beneath Bakugou’s shoe. Scratch that. Make it gum beneath the world’s shoe. He’s nothing to them, so it didn’t matter if someone put a spider lily in his locker. It didn’t matter if he took a swan dive off the roof, if only he passed on One for All first.
He was nothing without that Quirk. He was nothing but that Quirk. Without it… without it…
Palms were exploding on his desk, and the room was sharpening into focus so quickly that Izuku wanted to puke all over Bakugou’s red and black Shiketsu uniform. All the kids from Shiketsu were just looking away, pretending that it wasn't happening.
There’s the guy from before, who tried to pry Bakugou away the first time in the hall. He’s shooting Bakugou a disapproving look. The girl who had been there as well was gone, so it was safe to say that she had been the one to pull the teachers away.
For what purpose? So Bakugou would be free to hurt me this time? Was all of this just so Bakugou could burn him again and again? To hurt him until he promised to never became a hero? Until he dropped out of UA from pure terror?
Izuku smelled the scent of burning wood coming from his own desk, and everything was so quiet. So, so quiet.
His ears were ringing, and Bakugou’s saying something inches from his face but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear how his classmates were yelling at him, telling him to leave Izuku alone. He only heard the explosions popping again. Again. Again.
His body was on fire, and yet he didn't move. He didn't need to hear to know what Bakugou was saying. He didn't need to hear to know that no one was standing up for him.
Quirkless Deku, if you really want a Quirk in the next life just take a swan dive off the roof!
He remembered that day, tittering so close to the edge. Tears free falling from his lashes, obscuring his vision. Then he thought of his mother, thought of her sacrifices to pay the bills and put food on the table. He couldn’t do it. Even if his mother wasn’t home often, working too many hours a week.
Aw, Quirkless little Deku wants to become a Hero? How pathetic.
He remembered how they’d beaten him bloody that day, but it was fine. That was an everyday thing. It was fine.
It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. He’d sobbed for hours.
Bakugou was grabbing the collar of his shirt beneath his blazer and Izuku wasn’t sure of what happened next. Just that there’s ice everywhere, and there’s a whole in the wall as if someone shoved Bakugou so hard he—
Everything stopped. Izuku knew the ice was Todoroki’s, and he knew that his body was crackling with lightning. Was it Todoroki or him who just threw Bakugou through a wall?
There were spots in his vision. He forgot that his phone was still recording. He forgot that he’s supposed to keep a mask on. He forgot. He forgot.
He’s sure that his classmates were shocked that Izuku just threw Bakugou through a wall with what seemed like zero-prompting. He knew Bakugou’s classmates were probably glaring at him. Probably hating him, whispering behind his back that he’s weak, useless, and unequivocally Quirkless. Izuku hadn’t even got up from his seat, and he really wasn’t planning on vacating it, not even to check if Bakugou was okay.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move.
And his teacher was standing right in front of his desk. Not Aizawa-sensei. Not the Shiketsu teacher, but his homeroom teacher from Aldera.
He knew he was going crazy. He knew it couldn’t be real. “Problem Child,”
He flinched. His throat felt like it’d been filled with cotton, and he swallowed hard, shuddering. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to curl up and die right there. His palms were scarily hot. His face burned.
“Let’s go, okay?”
His teacher's tone didn't register in his brain. All he could tell was that his face flushed and he felt impossibly dizzy and cold all of the sudden. The world swam around him as he tried to grapple onto reality, but it's slipping past his fingers like water. He didn’t register getting up from his seat, but the next time he blinked he’s walking into a different room altogether. This one seemed like the rooms used at UA for therapy sessions with Hound Dog. But it’s his middle school teacher, Mr. Koge, leading him in there, and he felt weak in the knees and ready to collapse from fear.
There are other things he registered, such as the disappointed expression. Such as how his hands are fisting and wrapping in his blazer. The black spots in his vision.
The silence that muffled everything.
He took a shuddering breath as a hand reached for him. He stepped back, bumping into the couch in the center of the room and falling down onto it.
“D-d-d-d—” He couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t get enough air, and it felt like his throat was closing. His heart was hammering in his chest. “D-don’t,”
Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.
He wanted to scream, at Mr. Koge — the scars on his back burn, they burn, and they burn and they burn — who he hoped to leave behind forever took a seat. He really felt like pissing himself too, and that made his face heat up because it happened before, but it was so thoroughly embarrassing—
He stopped thinking about it immediately. “Don’t what, kid?”
Izuku curled up on the couch and wanted to die. He wanted to say many things in response to that, but he couldn’t get his throat to open up enough. It’s sealed shut.
“You’re safe here, kid.”
He shook his head. He didn't believe that. Because he’s heard it before, right before his skin was set on fire. Izuku still had scars—
He didn't even realize he was saying, “No, no, no, no,” over and over.
Izuku didn’t know when he squeezed his eyes shut, but they're closed and that made everything worse. He’s too afraid to open them for fear that he’d either do something he'd regret, or be met with the burning hand that’s seared his skin more times than he could count.
Over stupid things. Like getting tripped by Bakugou. “Losing” his homework, even though he watched Bakugou explode it. Mumbling too loudly. Flinching too much when Bakugou used his Quirk. Supposedly “cheating” on a test he’d aced all on his own, and then he was labeled a liar and a cheat.
He was too much of a coward to face it. “Midoriya,” he said, “I need you to look at me. Really look at me.”
Izuku covered his face with his trembling hands, even if they wouldn’t provide much protection. Even if they were disfigured and ugly . Even if it would do nothing in the end.
Tears spilled down his cheeks. Heaving sobs wracked his chest, constricted him so tightly that he could never hope to get a full breath of air again. Mr. Koge always hated it when Izuku had panic attacks. He always slapped him or yelled at him, but right now there was only buzzing silence that made his ears ring.
Mr. Koge wasn’t saying anything. Or he just couldn’t hear it. Everything was too loud and too quiet at the same time. “Midoriya,”
It’s always his fault.
If he didn’t say anything he would only get angrier. He would only make it hurt worse. He needed to say something. Izuku wanted to run. He wanted to hide.
Everything started pouring out of his mouth anyway. He was just too desperate to avoid the pain, saying anything and everything he could to delay it.
“D-d-don’t look at m-me,” Izuku begged, not sure if he was screaming or whispering. Everything was so quiet. The weight of his gaze was too heavy, and his throat was constricted from sobbing. “D-don’t t-touch me, i-it b-burns,”
He was tearing his fingers through his hair. His voice was growing hysterical and desperate with every breath he took. “I-I’ll s-s-stop p-provoking him. I-I won’t d-do it again!”
“I need you to breathe, kid.”
That gave him pause. His breath got caught in his throat, and he risked a look between his fingers, readying himself for the worst. His vision was blurry with his tears, but he could see the blurry outline of… Aizawa-sensei.
He immediately decided that Aizawa-sensei deserved an acting award because there were tears pricking in his eyes. He actually looked pained by Izuku’s own suffering, and he almost wanted to laugh.
“You think I’m acting?” Aizawa said, and Izuku felt himself freeze. He’d said that out loud? “Oh kid.”
He took a shuddering breath, shaking his head feverishly. “N-no i-it just s-s-slipped,” He said breathlessly, digging his fingers into the soft skin of his jaw. “I-I’m n-not l-lying. P-please, I-I’m n-not,”
“Midoriya,” Aizawa sounded tired. Tired of him, the Problem Child. “I know you don’t want me to touch you but you’re hurting yourself.”
Aizawa-sensei slowly pried his hands from his face and kept them in his hands. Izuku was uncomfortable, but at least he could see Aizawa’s hands, unable to hurt him while they were wrapping around his own.
“You’re okay, kiddo. You’re safe,” Aizawa promised him, rubbing his thumbs in a circle pattern on his hands. “You might think I’m lying. And I can’t do anything to make you see the truth, but it’s okay. You’re safe with me.”
You’re safe with me.
Not once had anyone— not even his mother — told him he was safe in their presence. His teachers lied of course, but even the best of liars never said that. He must’ve heard it wrong.
“W-what?”
“You’re safe with me, kid.” Aizawa repeated, not bothering to wipe away the tears that had finally fallen from his eyes. “You’re safe, I promise. Now let’s go back to UA, okay? I should’ve noticed it sooner, but being here isn’t safe for you or your mental health, alright? Nedzu is already here with All Might—”
At Izuku’s horror-stricken expression he squeezed his hands tighter. “— to take over my class for the remainder of the week. Present Mic is going to help him. We’ve already gotten all of your stuff ready to go.”
Aizawa stood slowly, never letting go of Izuku’s hands as he did so. “I hated Shiketsu anyway,” Aizawa mumbled, with a slight smile.
Shouta was horrified to hear his student so thoroughly break down like that. He was horrified at what it implied. That one of his teachers saw fit to physically hurt him, and got away with it.
He was glad one of the Shiketsu hero students, Kokomi —the girl with white hair— brought everything to his attention just moments before Midoriya threw Bakugou through a wall.
(A small part of him wanted to pat Midoriya on the back for not breaking a bone.)
Her Quirk allowed her to read minds, and she had apparently heard Midoriya’s “terrifyingly self-deprecating and dark thoughts” as she put it. She wouldn’t tell Shouta the specifics, saying most of it was personal and frankly depressing to repeat, but she had said a lot of it had to do with being Quirkless.
It was at that moment that Shouta was glad he thought ahead and called Nedzu to get Midoriya out of there last night. And then Bakugou was flying through a wall.
There was yelling, ice, and threats being thrown around. Shouta was there instantly, finding Midoriya looking horrified and so small, still sitting at his desk. Todoroki was yelling at Bakugou’s classmates, flaming and freezing at the same time.
Iida was holding him back, but he also looked livid. Some of the other Shiketsu students were yelling at Midoriya who didn’t even seem to hear them. Shouta had put himself in front of his student, making it impossible for him to see. Present Mic took control of the situation, and Shouta finally spoke and eased Midoriya out of the room.
And then began the utter clusterfuck of Midoriya crying and screaming, begging. Saying he’d never do it again and that he’d stop provoking Bakugou. As if he was conditioned to say these things.
But the most heart-breaking part was when he was begging Shouta not to look at him, or touch him, or burn him.
Aizawa had never felt such a whirlwind of emotions so strong before. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill everyone who worked at Midoriya's middle school, or cry.
But the most important thing was to make Midoriya see that he was safe now. Every word that flowed from the boy’s mouth was more tragic than the last, but that was to be expected.
Which led to now, where both of them were back at UA sitting on a couch. Midoryia hadn’t said anything since they entered one of the private rooms, but Shouta never expected him to start the conversation.
Until he did.
“Y-you weren’t l-lying, w-were you?” He asked, looking up hopefully. He licked his lips and pressed his hands between his knees. Shouta immediately recognized this as Midoriya trying to hide his shaking hands. “W-when y-you said t-that I was s-safe?”
“I wouldn’t lie about that. I promise you.”
There’s a lull in the conversation after that, so Shouta told the boy something he needed to hear.
“Midoriya,” His head snapped up, and Aizawa continued. “You might not think this right now, but Quirkless does not mean worthless or useless. It doesn’t matter that you got a Quirk late, extremely late. It should’ve been impossible but—”
Midoriya mumbled something. But he didn’t hear it.
“What did you say?” Shouta replied, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s not mine!” Midoriya shouts, face full of tears, waving his hands. “That Quirk— it’s— it’s not my Quirk! I h-have the extra t-toe j-joint. It— it was All Might’s. He gave it to me! I-I’m still useless! I-I’m s-still me!”
Shouta feels a lot of things click into place at that declaration, but decided he’d yell at All Might later for being such a terrible mentor. “You are enough, Midoriya. Your Quirklessness doesn’t define your worth. I will admit that your Quirk helped you immensely to get into the Heroics department, but I have no doubts in my mind that you would’ve made it into Gen Ed. You would’ve gone into the Sports Festival learning everyone’s Quirks, and you would’ve made it into Heroics anyway. Your Quirk, or All Might’s — whatever you want to call it — wouldn’t have changed anything. You would still be an amazing hero.”
And Shouta knew it.