Chapter Text
In retrospect, Izuku shouldn’t have been surprised. Bakugo Katsuki had all kinds of hangers-on. It wasn’t impossible for some of them to be women. Girls, Izuku supposed, since they were all in middle school.
But it was still surreal to be told to go kill yourself to the accompaniment of backup dancers.
The torn pieces of a notebook drifted. Izuku clutched a fistful of paper angrily. Above him, bits of paper had scattered to the four winds. A lifetime of work, and for what?
Izuku took a deep breath, expelling turbid air as he had often seen his mother do. No. He was still safe, and most of the work was in his mind. He just couldn’t access it easily without organized notes.
It was inevitable that most people wouldn’t appreciate what he was doing, or what he was trying to do. Hadn’t mom told him repeatedly? If you want to be a hero, Izuku, you have to get used to the idea that other people are not going to listen. Understanding is based on shared frames of reference, but most people will not have your experiences.
It had seemed so logical at the time, so obvious, but the reality was far more brutal.
After centering himself, Izuku collected a few remaining scraps of paper and went home. What was gone was gone. Ten thousand things rise and fall ceaselessly; creating without possessiveness, working without demanding credit. Work is done, then forgotten.
Adherents of the Great Dao often warned that a loss could be a gain in disguise, and vice versa. What Izuku needed to do was use this loss as a learning experience, an opportunity to sharpen his mind.
So focused was he on this philosophical reflection that he failed to notice the slime in the alley he was in getting thicker and thicker. His first hint that something was amiss was when a tendril of green slime wrapped itself around his neck and began choking him.
Time slowed to a crawl. In the space between heartbeats, the space between breaths, Izuku could hear himself think. This was stupid. Kacchan wasn’t his friend anymore. He hadn’t been for some time — years, if he was being honest.
This was a lie, wasn’t it? He was living a lie.
Izuku felt strangely calm. Outside, he was still being choked, but in here, deep in his thoughts, he had realized something and gained clarity. His heart rate was rising, his temperature was rising — but his mind was cool, clear, free of drama. He took in his surroundings, and in the moment between heartbeats, he saw everything. The cracks in the asphalt, the details of the worn municipal stamp on the nearby manhole cover, even the faint trembling that indicated it was about to blow. All of these were true on some level, but on another level they were part of the lie.
And that which can be destroyed by the truth, should be.
Izuku’s entire body ignited with white flames that appeared to burn fiercely, a fire that seemed somehow more real than all the fires he had ever seen in the past. The slime villain shrieked, releasing him and falling away, even as, a split second later —
“TEXAS SMASH!” yelled the sonorous vice of All Might. Even though he had suspected something was coming, Izuku flinched. Both flame and slime were blown away by a huge shockwave. The villain was horribly outclassed, and All Might swiftly subdued him and stuffed him into a soda bottle.
Izuku stared at his hero with discerning eyes. They had never met before, not face-to-face, but he knew the Number One Hero. He knew him well. Izuku’s own bedroom was full of All Might posters, though his mother had convinced him to moderate his purchases of material goods and not waste money on collectibles. This close to the man, he could see the pattern of life force, the subtle structure of his very being, and this man’s pattern was cracked and broken. All Might’s life was leaking away.
“I must bring this fellow to authorities! You can catch me again on TV!” yelled All Might with a trademark grin.
“Wait a minute,” said Izuku.
“A pro battles not only enemies, but also time,” said All Might, preparing to jump. “Thanks for your support!”
Izuku couldn’t say what possessed him to move in that moment, to cling to All Might, any more than he could say why he knew what he knew. It was evident to his senses, just as he could tell if someone was singing off-key or correctly, just as a dying plant looked sickly somehow. Certainly, a botanist would be able to tell you the exact and specific details, but anyone who looked could get a vague sense…
The wind was whipping past his ears, now, and All Might looked down in consternation. “Hey now!” he barked, his tone turning stern. “Such enthusiasm is a bit much!”
“Sorry but if I let go now I’ll die!” yelled Izuku. “I really must ask you some things!”
They landed unceremoniously on a rooftop. All Might didn’t seem terribly pleased about having his getaway delayed, but Izuku had already done it, so he might as well persist. If this was rudeness to his benefactor and hero, well, so be it. He was trying to do something important.
Even five minutes ago, he would have clung to All Might to ask him if a quirkless kid could become a hero. However, with what he had just experienced and seen, these things were totally gone from his mind.
“Excuse me,” he said, and instead of stepping back, he lifted a green-glowing hand to All Might’s midsection. “You are badly wounded, I can sense, and it is only going to get worse over time. Your life force is bleeding out.”
The hero blinked. “You can sense that? What a useful Quirk. But it’s no use; even Recovery Girl can’t — “
All Might had a distinct feeling of his skin crawling, as flesh re-knit itself. Suddenly, as abruptly as it started, it stopped. Izuku wavered on his feet, the green glow gone from his hands. “That was more tiring than — “
He remembered nothing after that.