Chapter 1: Canvassing I
Izuku's palms itched. The writhing tongue under his pencil was doing its best to escape, uncaring of the unbearable itch it was causing in his palm, and the other reciprocated its twin's tension, despite its comparative freedom. Unable to take the itch for any longer, he stealthily opened his palm and tried to scratch underneath the grinning mouth that took up almost his entire palm without anyone noticing. Unfortunately for him, his palm had other plans, letting out a low, gurgling coo as it was freed from its stationery prison. Almost instantly, the back half of the class turned to face him, disgust and disapproval clear in their faces. Izuku's stomach clenched in fear, and he could feel the blood drain from his face.
"Midoriya, what did I say about keeping those things quiet?" His teacher asked from the front, exasperation clear in his tone. Izuku fidgeted silently in his seat, his eyes flickering wildly between people until they landed on a certain ruby-eyed blonde, who met his eyes with a violent glare. Izuku quickly forced his gaze back to the teacher.
"Um, you said not to let them-to make sure they don't distract the class." He stammered his way through the sentence, wincing as chuckles raced through the students. His teacher raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"I said not to make sure they distract the class? Speak up, Midoriya." Izuku pushed his palms together, feeling his mouths lick up the sweat that had gathered.
"You said to make sure-make sure they don't distract the class." He forced his way through slightly easier this time; now all he could do was pray that the teacher had had enough.
"Hmph. Next time, remember that before they decide to act up, understand?" Relief filled his body.
"Yes sir, I'll be more–more careful next time." He slumped back into his chair, his teacher turning away.
"Now that Midoriya's had his little alone time, let's get back on topic." Izuku flushed, sinking into his chair as the class burst into snickers once again. "As we come up on the end of the school year, and your last year as Aldera Junior High students, it's time for you guys to think about your futures." He pulled out a stack of papers that Izuku vaguely remembered from a few weeks back and patted the top of the stack emphatically. "Some of you might recognize these as your High School application forms. I'll be passing them back to you with the school's decisions on whether you meet their minimum application requirements." He started walking down the aisles, handing out sheets one by one to students who slumped in relief or collapsed in horror. The tension in his body rose as the teacher got closer and closer, until he was just a few desks away.
"Katsuki, U.A. is notoriously tough on their applicants, it's extremely impressive that they green-lighted you, you should take pride in that!" Izuku couldn't help the spike of envy that shot through his mind. Such similar Quirks between the two of them, but only he had the misfortune of being a freak. Bakugo let out a prideful grunt.
"Of course U.A. accepted me, I'm not like the rest of you extras, and they'd be idiots not to take the future Number One!" He sneered, kicking his feet up onto the desk.
"Hey, we've got just as much of a chance as you, Katsuki!" One student protested, and others joined in rapidly. Izuku just slumped further down in his chair. The feeling of envy was only increasing, watching Bakugo mess around with the other students, like they used to do when they were kids. The teacher continued over his thoughts. "I hope you don't forget us once you go pro, Katsuki!" Another pat on the back and the man continued, his path of rejects and acceptances growing further lopsided as he did. Izuku kept his head down, eyes low, and just waited, not willing to agitate any of the already emotional students.
"Midoriya." The teacher's shoes clicked heavily next to his desk, the man's voice carrying almost as much weight as his steps. "I'm not sure what you're thinking, but you should be grateful U.A. gave you the chance to even attempt their entry exam. Don't even think of cheating, or you'll disgrace the whole school." He slammed Izuku's paper down, but Izuku, for once, couldn't care less what his teacher was saying, relief and happiness tuning out the man's voice. Lost in his glee, he didn't notice the familiar black shoes stomping towards his desk, but the explosion in front of his face certainly brought his attention right to them. He yelped, almost falling out of his chair in shock as the bright flash struck his sensitive eye, and his palms let out a similar sound, unhappy with the rough treatment.
"Deku." Bakugou hissed out, his eyes smouldering with rage and his palm smoking. "Where do you get off thinking you can try to compete with me, you fucking freak?!" Another explosion actually did knock him out of his desk and onto the floor, his back connecting with the tile with a loud thud. Izuku forced himself to scramble backwards, his tongues groaning in protest against the dusty floor.
"N-no, you've got it-I'm not trying to-I don't want to compete with you, Kacchan!" He struggled to find the right words to say, anything could get him exploded at this point.
"You don't wanna compete with me?" The blonde repeated, his voice full of anger. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot, Deku?!" His voice rose as he kept talking.
"No, no! You-you're the best, Kacchan!" Izuku's head hit the class's back wall, and he curled into himself, hoping he wouldn't get hit by another faceful of smoke, but Bakugo's shoes continued to stomp towards him. Izuku screwed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.
"Katsuki, settle down." The teacher's voice was like an angel's song to Izuku's ears. "Don't disturb the class, we have a lot to cover before finals." Bakugo clicked his teeth.
"Don't you think this is over, Deku." He hissed, stomping away. "I won't tolerate getting looked down on by you, fuckin' gigolo." Izuku felt the burning of tears coming to his eyes, but he forced them down. Harsh words were easier to deal with than explosions, after all. Standing up slowly and keeping his eyes to the ground, Izuku walked back to his chair amidst the quiet laughs still filling the air around him, righted his desk, and sat back down. This time, he ignored the itch on his palms, no matter how much the writhing flesh irritated his skin.
When the bell rang again, the last few hours were almost forgettable; after all, he could try out for U.A. now, and no one could stop him from trying! He had forgotten, however, that there was in fact someone who was very, very eager to test that theory. As he went to stow away his notebook, someone ripped it from his hands. He snapped his head up in surprise and saw that it was one of Bakugo's friends, or at least, one of the people he allowed to hang around him.
" "Notes for the Future?" " The boy quoted, sniggering lightly at the title. "Are you being serious, Deku?" Izuku reached for it weakly, keeping his hands closed into fists.
"Give it back!" He cried out, feeling tears start to well up. The boy dodged his feeble attempts and handed it off to Bakugo, who immediately blew it to pieces. Izuku gaped, watching weeks of work get turned to ash. Looking up and seeing Bakugo's still-smoking hands, a pit formed in his stomach. It didn't look like he'd be getting off easy today.
"Hey, Deku." Izuku toyed nervously with the bang covering his eye, his hair lopsided. "I'm talking to you, you fucking creep!" Izuku looked up slowly, green eye meeting crimson. Bakugo looked the same as ever, ash blond hair framing a scowling, angular face.
"Do you know what most top Heroes have in common, Deku?" He asked rhetorically. "It's that they have a nice backstory to go with their strength. I wanna be the only Hero to come out of this shitty school, and the one and only student to go to U.A., that's how I'll cement my backstory among the greats!" He pointed a thumb at his chest, grinning pridefully. Izuku's chest contracted.
"So let me tell you here and now, just to be clear." A burning hot hand gripped his shoulder, and smoke flared from his clothes. Bakugo loomed in, a saccharine grin on his face. "Don't you even think about applying to U.A., Deku!"
"I-I'm not even-I'm not applying for the Hero course!" Izuku squeaked out, hating the way he trembled. "I-U.A. has one of the best gen-ed courses, I want to go to-I want to try to attend a good University!" The hand tightened on his shoulder.
"No University worth its name would accept a freak like you, Deku! You'd probably drop the average grade just by existing there!" One of the cronies cackled, but Bakugo didn't seem to think anything was funny. In fact, he looked even angrier than before.
"You think you can talk back to me now, Deku!?" He hissed, letting go of Izuku's shoulder and grabbing his hair, lifting the bang off of his eye. Izuku yelped, feeling his eye burn in the light of the classroom. "You're a fucking monster! You should be feeling lucky I'm not putting you down right now!" Bakugo let him go and shoved him backwards, his hair thankfully falling back over his eye. Izuku clutched his right eye, the sensitive one, and fell back onto the floor, his head pounding.
"I'll only tell you one more time, Deku, don't you dare apply for U.A.!" Izuku heard his tormentor start to stomp away, and then stop suddenly. He dared to peek his head up and saw Bakugo glaring down at him, before a grin overtook his face. "Hey, how about I give you one last bit of advice, the last bit of favour I'll give to my childhood friend. If you wanna be anything better than the freak you are right now, put all of your hope in getting a normal Quirk," The boy put his hands into a mock prayer position. "Then, give me your best impression of your old man, and take a swan dive off the roof! Maybe you'll be born normal in your next life!" Izuku froze at the mention of his father and whipped his head around to face Bakugo, who just glared back at him, hand crackling again.
"What, you have something to say?" He taunted, flexing his hands. Izuku stared at him for a second more and then turned away in fear. He heard Bakugo click his tongue.
"You're so fucking pathetic." The door shut behind him with a decisive click. Izuku stayed on the floor for what felt like hours, clenching his fists until they whined in pain. He quickly loosened his hands and let the mouths breathe. He took a long look at his hands, at the Quirk that had doomed him to the fate of a monster for the rest of his life, and couldn't muster up even the slightest hatred towards them. As he watched the mouths pant and grin, a soft smile came to his face.
"I shouldn't have to cage myself like this." He whispered, his body tensing with anger. "No one understands my Quirk, but that doesn't mean I'm a monster!" He raised his voice slightly at the end, and then immediately cowered slightly, waiting for the punishment that usually came with speaking out before remembering he was alone. He sighed in disgust and got up, staring mournfully at the decimated journal for a moment before leaving the building.
He reminisced about his father on the way home, Bakugo's words dragging up memories that were comforting and sickening in equal parts.
"Art is something to be cherished, Izuku." He remembered his words, back when business was good and there weren't unpaid bills on the table. "When you make a piece of art, you should be thinking about how to make it outlive you, because true art is an eternal, unfading beauty." His father leaned in close, smelling of clay and smoke. "Kind of like your mother!"
Izuku had laughed then, as his mother smacked his father lightly while blushing up a storm. Those were the good days, when his father didn't come home smelling like sake and his mother wasn't trying to hide bruises and burns. He looked at his palms, taking in the wiggling tongues and the perpetually grinning mouths.
"His Quirk is the mouths on his hands?" His mother asked the doctor worriedly. It'd been a long night for the whole family. Izuku had woken up screaming, his palms burning in agony as they split down the middle to reveal pearly white teeth before they opened wide and spat out a clump of clay. The clump sat in front of them in a tube of clear liquid. The doctor pushed his glasses up and took a look at his clipboard.
"Well, partially, yes." His father cleared his throat, clearly waiting for an explanation. The doctor took the hint. "Before I continue, could I know your Quirks? It would be a good way for me to find out how his Quirk really works." Izuku's parents exchanged worried looks over his head, but he was too busy playing with his new mouths and giggling as the tongues tickled his palms.
"My Quirk is called Sculpt." Izuku's father leaned forward, wringing his hands. "It lets me manipulate clay however I want, as in drying it, liquefying it, shaping it, you name it." The doctor hummed, taking a note in his clipboard before pointing to his mother.
"And you, ma'am?"
"My Quirk is Nitrogen, it's a pretty basic Quirk that gives my body a bit of a boost when it comes to hormone production and amino acids. How do those combine to make mouths on my son's hands?" His mother was almost beside herself with anxiety, and his father put an arm around her shoulder.
"I'm getting there, ma'am." The doctor said, making a few more notes on his board. When he finally looked up, he looked triumphant. "Your son's Quirk is…incredibly interesting if you don't mind me saying."
"Well, we don't, but we would really rather you get to explaining it instead of just praising it." Izuku's father said, an edge in his voice. The doctor nodded frantically, shaking himself out of it.
"Yes, of course. Well, to begin with, the palms on your son's hands seem to spit out some sort of clay, which they can mold and shape to their will."
"So it's similar to my Quirk?" His father asked, excited. "But then why is the clay white?"
"I'm getting there, please let me finish." The doctor looked at him reproachfully. Clearing his throat, he started again. "As I was saying, the clay he makes isn't any regular clay; it's got high amounts of ammonium nitrate in it, it's an explosive clay." His parents gasped, but Izuku didn't see the problem. Kacchan could make his hands explode, so why was this such a big deal?
"Could it explode right now?!" His father stood up suddenly, but the doctor raised his hands in a calming motion.
"No, no, there's no chance of that happening. Ammonium nitrate is also more commonly known as fertilizer, after all."
"So, he can produce fertilizer clay?" His father asked, quickly growing exasperated.
"Well, yes, but I have a hunch he can also remotely detonate his clay." The doctor grew more animated. "The mouths in his palms secrete an odd liquid that seems to cover the clay, and from all the tests, it should be extremely flammable, but it won't light even if we put a match over it." The doctor grabbed a paper from his board and turned it to face them. Izuku wasn't sure what it was, but it looked really funny!
"His brain scan shows a developing portion that should come to replace his eye, and it looks like once it finishes developing, it'll take the same properties as a fire-based Quirk would, albeit on a much smaller scale."
"So he can glare at his clay to make it explode?" His father clarified. The doctor sighed.
"He should be able to once the Quirk is fully developed." He muttered something under his breath about appreciation. Turning to Izuku, the man held his hand out for a shake, which Izuku reciprocated until the tongues had had enough of being cooped up.
"Congrats, kid, you're gonna be a great Hero!" Izuku smiled, but looked confused.
"Thanks, but I don't wanna be a Hero!" The doctor coughed, taken aback.
"Oh, uh, really? Well, in that case, what do you want to be?" He tried recovering.
"I wanna be an artist, just like dad!" Izuku cheered, the new mouths cheering with him.
That had been one of the last good years of his life, before his father's art started going out of style and money started getting tight, before all of his friends started calling him a freak. He remembered the last day he'd seen his father alive, dining table covered in red bills and unopened envelopes. He'd seemed almost happier that day, like he thought the choice he was making was for the better. When he'd come back to school, his father was dead. Suicide, they'd said, jumped off his studio's roof without even a note.
Izuku didn't want to be an artist after that. He didn't want much of anything, really.
Maybe that was why, even though he heard the sewer lid rattle and saw it shoot up as a gigantic, noxious slime rose out of the ground, he didn't move. Maybe that was why he didn't let out the clay that sat dormant in his arms, or try to struggle as the slime filled his mouth.
"Take a swan dive off the roof, just like your old man!"Bakugo's taunting voice filled his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd feel when he learned that Izuku was dead.
'He'd probably say something about me having it coming.'Izuku thought, closing his eyes against the sludge.
"TEXAS SMASH!"
When Izuku woke up, he found his face being slapped repeatedly. He opened his eyes groggily, blinked once, then twice, and shot up.
"Slime!" He shouted, then coughed up a chunk of it. A large hand handed him a tissue.
"Are you alright, young man?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine, thanks a lot for the help!" As he wiped his mouth of the slimy residue, he turned to face the man who had helped him, and nearly had a heart attack.
"A-A-A-All Might!" He screamed, waving his hands frantically. The Hero in front of him laughed boisterously, his t-shirt struggling to contain his frame.
"That's me! I'm glad you're okay, young man, but I must get this villain to the police! Justice never waits, after all!"
"Wait, an-an autograph, or-or a picture!" Izuku scrambled for his phone, but there was already a picture on it; apparently, All Might had taken a selfie with his unconscious body.
"Goodbye, young man!"
"Wait, I need-I have to ask you-I need to ask you-!" He shouted, reaching out with a hand to reach the Hero, but it was too late. The man vanished with a shockwave that almost sent him flying into the alley wall. "Something." He finished lamely, lowering his hand, one that he just realized was splayed open.
"Guess that answers the question. He probably thought my Quirk was disgusting too," Izuku muttered, unable to stop the wave of resentment. "Otherwise, he would've taken me to a hospital or something instead of slapping me awake." He walked around the alleyway, trying to find his backpack. Seeing it propped up on the other side, he picked it up roughly and continued his walk home, only hoping it wouldn't continue to be as eventful as the first half.
"I'm home." He called out, closing the door behind him. He took his shoes off at the door and walked into the kitchen, where, as usual, no one was there. His mom wasn't home often these days; she had to work to cover the debts his father had left. What was odd, however, was the lack of a boxed lunch with an encouraging note atop its lid. Replacing it was a large envelope lying on the table, unopened and standing out in the midst of the mess of unpaid bills that surrounded it. Walking towards it, he felt like something was terribly wrong, but he couldn't make out what it was, no matter how deep the pit in his stomach went. He grabbed the envelope and tore it open. A single letter and a stack of yen fell out and landed on the floor, and the bad feeling only intensified as he reached for the letter. Carefully, so as not to let his tongues damage the paper, he unfolded it and took in the contents slowly, each word like a knife to his heart.
"To Izuku,
I can't stand it anymore, my son. I've barely been holding on since your father's death, and I can't do it any longer. I know I've been a terrible mother for you, especially recently, but I've been planning this for longer than you know. I just had to know you could take care of yourself when I wasn't around before I went through with it, and I think you've reached that point in your life where I can take my leave.
I don't want you to think this is because of your Quirk, Izuku, because it isn't. Your Quirk was the one thing your father and I agreed on in the last years before he killed himself; we both thought it was such a beautiful combination of our Quirks, such an amazing creation that we brought to life.
I don't know if you remember, but your father used to be good. The both of you used to stay holed up in his studio all day making different little pots and plates out of your clay, and you'd run home and show me with such a happy glint in your eyes. Those were the best years of my life, Izuku, but they didn't last. Your father fell out of favour after he used his Quirk to stop a thief, and suddenly, no one wanted to buy from a vigilante. That was when he started drinking.
I tried to hide it from you, Izuku, I really did, but I'm sure you noticed. You've always been such a smart kid.
The last bit of advice I can give you as your mother is the same advice I gave to your father back when he hadn't opened his studio: find your own art, Izuku. Hisashi wanted to create something eternal, something that would outlive him and then some. Think about what your art, Izuku, whether that's sculpting clay or doing math, or saving lives, whatever it is, find your own path.
The Bakugos will take care of you. You've been friends with their son for so long, and I know Mitsuki and Masaru are good people, so you should have nothing to worry about. The envelope should also have enough money for them to care for you until you graduate from high school; it's all the savings I had left after draining my accounts.
Don't come to see me too quickly, Izuku. Live a long and fulfilling life.
Your mother, Inko."
The letter fell from numb hands. His Quirk, as if sensing his distress, whined sadly, the perpetually grinning mouths dipping into a frown. Izuku's world narrowed down to the paper in front of him, and the words rushed through his mind over and over again. He gazed blankly at the paper. His head was pounding. He staggered a few steps back and tripped over a chair, landing flat on his ass in a cruel mockery of how he'd fallen at school today. His chest hurt. The letter stayed tightly gripped in his shaking hands as he took in the contents again. His body felt numb except for the blood rushing through it. He sat there for…he wasn't sure how long he sat there, slumped over on the floor and staring at the paper like the words might change from sheer will alone. He was all too aware of every function his body made, each breath expanding his lungs, each heartbeat sending blood pouring through his veins, each blink of his eyelids, and above all, each movement the tongues made.
"Mother is…Mom is dead?" He asked the air, lungs shaking in his chest. It was weird. He knew, subjectively, that he was grieving. He knew the crushing feeling, the weight that he felt in his chest was loss. But if that was true, then…
"Why am I not crying?" He whispered, gingerly rubbing the dry skin under his eyes. Izuku couldn't feel even the slightest hint of tears building in his eyes; all he could feel was that unbearable weight on his chest. It was a bit ironic, he thought, a laugh bubbling up in his chest, that he'd cried so heavily in the face of Bakugo's threats, but his mother's death couldn't rouse a single tear.
"The more I think about it," He sniggered under his breath. "The funnier it gets. Put an explosion up to my face and I'm sobbing, but my mom dies and I'm-I'm fucking laughing!" The snickers grew louder until he was outright laughing, wheezing at the situation he found himself in. It took a while until he calmed down again, the laughter dying back down to chuckles, then to a sigh. He buried his head in his knees.
"I'm so fucked." He whispered into his knees, shaking with unshed tears.
When he finally managed to stand up on numb legs, he didn't know what to do. Thankfully, his body moved on autopilot, mechanically washing dishes and wiping down the counter. He zoned out until it felt like he was a spectator to his own body, watching it tie the trash bag shut and throw it out before moving on to the living room. He continued to watch, unthinking and unfeeling, as he methodically cleaned every square inch of their-his home, as he made his bed and then his mother's. He hung up all of his mother's laundry, unwilling to think about how she'd never wear any of those clothes again, and cleaned her bathroom. He caught a glimpse of the soap she normally used, a cheap scent that was all she could afford, and couldn't stop himself from taking a smell of it, as a reminder of her presence. When he was done, he was brought back to his body, standing idly in the hall. He didn't move for a while, feeling the aches and sweat that he'd built up while cleaning scream for awareness, but he ignored them. Instead, he focused on his hands once again.
"It's just me and you." He whispered, watching the mouths pant. He flexed his hands and watched as their lips closed and bulged around something, chewing excitedly before opening wide and spitting out a small, but beautiful, clay statuette of his mother, back when times were better. He stared at it, smiling softly for a moment, and then brushed the bangs aside from his right eye and focused. The second his eye twitched, the clay detonated with a loud bang, creating a cloud of smoke and a brief burst of fire. He shook his hand with a hiss. His Quirk gave him good resistance to explosions, but the fire still hurt even if it didn't burn him. He waved the smoke off of his palm, but the residual ash would need him to wash his hands properly, or else it'd start getting sticky. He went to the bathroom and automatically washed his hands thoroughly, while his eyes stayed fixed on his reflection in the mirror.
He looked sickly pale, like all the blood had poured out of his body, but that was normal for him nowadays, Bakugo had a knack for finding him when he went outside. His hair was getting longer, almost to his shoulders on the right side, where he'd pushed it over to cover his eye. He toyed with the ends, pulling them up to expose his right eye. It was an odd sight, his face with both eyes uncovered. The left eye was, by all means, completely normal, with a green iris and a black pupil. His right, however, was the issue. A completely black iris surrounding an extremely constricted, white pupil that looked like a pinprick in the light. The doctor had explained that his eye functioned like a built-in detonator for his clay, with the "neat" ability to zoom in like a lens. He sighed, letting his bang drop. The zoom was nice, but it had the unfortunate side effect of making his eye almost completely intolerant to light, even now it was starting to ache at the exposure. He yanked the ends downwards, making sure his eye was covered by the curtain of silky green hair. Apparently, he'd had curly hair as a kid, the pictures proved it, but it straightened out as he grew. His mother told him how hers did the same thing, something about how the excess nitrogen messed with her hormones and forced the curls to loosen, but he didn't feel like remembering their talks in detail. He stared at himself in the mirror, leaning over the counter with both hands on the sink's edge.
"What am I gonna do?" He whispered to himself, clutching the sink and feeling everything start to catch up to him. He thought of the letter's last paragraph and felt bile well up in his chest. He couldn't live with Bakugo; there wasn't any chance of coexistence with the boy who had tormented him for almost a decade for being born differently, no matter how kind his parents might be. He knew Mitsuki would keep anything from happening at home, but the moment they were out of sight, everything would be magnified: the names, the pain, the jeers; he wouldn't be able to escape it for the rest of his life. He shuddered just thinking about it, his grip only growing tighter on the porcelain.
"Should I just kill myself?" He thought aloud, his hands finally loosening. He knew, logically, that it was supposed to be bad to think about committing suicide, but the more he thought about it, the more enticing it sounded. If he were dead, he wouldn't have to worry about going to school with Bakugo, he wouldn't have to worry about money or where to live, he could be…
"Free." He whispered, his hand reaching into his mother's medicine cabinet. It was possible to overdose on Tylenol, right? He held the bottle to the light, making sure there were enough pills left to make sure he was dead, then popped the cap and shook the contents into his mouth. He let them sit in his mouth for a moment, savouring the sweet covering that preceded the bitter medicine.
'Live a long and fulfilling life, Izuku.'
His eyes bulged, remembering his mother's last words, and he hacked up the pills instantly, coughing and choking as a few were forced out of his throat. He bent over the toilet and shoved a finger into his mouth, scratching the back of his throat until he was vomiting violently into the bowl, yellow bile and red pills mixing with the clear water. He heaved up what felt like everything his stomach had to offer, and then stayed kneeling on the floor, taking deep breaths as spit flowed down his chin. Small droplets from his face rippled as they hit the surface of the toilet water. He was confused for a second before he realized that the self-induced vomiting must have caused his eyes to water, as his vision blurred with tears.
"What the fuck am I doing?" He hissed, clutching his chest. He sat there, uncaring of the sharp pain that developed in his knees, hugging the toilet and waiting until he felt steady enough to stand. He hobbled back to the sink and washed his face thoroughly, cleaning it of the accumulated filth that had covered it, and made his way out of the bathroom and away from the medicine cabinet before he got any more ideas.
He sat in the living room, watching the TV screen flicker through channels vacantly. He settled on the news, probably in some attempt to see if she'd be mentioned, but he knew it was a futile effort. Japan was no stranger to suicide, and one middle-aged woman taking her life wasn't exactly headline material. Still, he sat in front of the screen as time passed, unmoving and unfeeling, until a sharp knock rattled the door.
"Izuku, are you in there?" For the first time since he'd gotten home, Izuku felt a stab of fear run through his body. Mitsuki Bakugo was at the door, her voice uncharacteristically soft. He felt stuck in place, like a deer in headlights, until another knock snapped him to action.
"Izuku, your mom left us a letter in the mail. I know we're a bit late, but you need to let us in; there's something we have to tell you." Her husband, Masaru, took the lead this time, low and kind, but Izuku filed that away for later. Right now, he had to hide. He stood up and swung his head wildly from side to side. There wasn't much time. He knew they were just being kind, they'd had a spare key for as long as he could remember. Forcing his feet to tread as quietly as possible, he rushed upstairs and into his room right as the door swung open. He dove into his closet and covered himself in as many clothes as he could, fear sending shivers down his spine. He couldn't live with Katsuki. He wouldn't live with Katsuki. Deep in his mind, he knew that if he was forced to live with Katsuki Bakugo, he'd follow after her in a number of weeks, no matter how much he wanted to fulfill his mother's last wish. He stayed as still as he possibly could, trying his best not to make a single noise as Mitsuki and Masaru trudged around the first floor of his home, calling out his name. He felt a sharp stab of guilt as their voices grew more and more frantic, but he refused to move, no matter what, he couldn't let them find him. Eventually, their footsteps stopped, but he could still hear their voices. He strained his ears, successfully trying to catch their conversation.
"-You stay here and see if he comes home, I'll go look for him near the boy's school." Mitsuki was saying, her tone sharp but worried. Izuku didn't hear Masaru say anything, but he assumed the man agreed as the front door opened and shut.
He cursed mentally. How could he possibly get out of this now?! There was someone downstairs and someone looking for him outside, where was he supposed to go? He wracked his brains, desperate for any solution that could get him out of the worst-case scenario, but he couldn't think of anything. He clutched his head with a low whine, feeling the blood start to pound. Then, he heard a familiar sound from downstairs, the sound of the window sliding open, and his brain started to work again. He crept out of the closet, as quietly as he possibly could, and stood in the middle of his room. He took one last look around at the dreary walls, devoid of any decorations that would be an unneeded expense, and cemented his decision in his mind. Slowly, he tiptoed to the window and slid it open inch by inch, praying that with every movement it would stay silent. His progress was excruciatingly slow, he couldn't risk a single creak of plastic reaching Masaru downstairs or a stray noise from his feet alerting the man in any way, but it seemed like luck was smiling down on him as the window opened completely silently. He took a deep breath, then focused on his Quirk, feeling his storage of clay drain steadily as his mouths chewed and chewed. He pointed them out of the window and let them spit out their burden, a long lattice of clay that landed on the floor and hardened instantly, climbing up until it reached his position. He cut off his Quirk, panting at the exertion, and took a tentative step onto the clay ladder that he'd built to get him out of the house. It held against his weight. Izuku moved quickly down the ladder. He had to be fast, or else someone would see him and call out, ruining everything, but he had to be careful, or he'd fall off the ladder and get found out instantly if he didn't die before that. Step by step, he made his way down until he reached the bottom, sweaty and aching, but unseen. He took a brief moment to gather his breath, bent over and wheezing with exertion, before placing his hands back onto the ladder and concentrating one more time. Calling on the "molding" aspect of his Quirk, he forced the ladder to condense, the hardened clay morphing and bending to his will, until it was a large ball that he split in two and stuffed into his pockets, allowing his hands to eat their fill. He took a moment to relish in the feelings of a plan gone right, then walked quickly away from his old home, burying the feelings of sadness and guilt deep in his heart as the building faded away behind him.
With how well his plan had gone, Izuku should've known his karma would balance itself eventually, but he had no idea that it'd be so soon. Only 20 minutes after his escape, he found himself in a convenience store, standing at the counter with an armful of food and clothes and not a cent in his pocket.
"Hey, kid, you gonna pay for this or what?" The cashier asked impatiently, glaring at him. Izuku could feel sweat building on his body, and the usual antsy beat of his heart increasing, and tried for a smile.
"I-I left-I'm really sorry, I left my wallet at–at home." He gave his best attempt at a nervous chuckle and winced as it came out strained and weak. The cashier scoffed.
"Sure, kid, and I have a heteromorphic Quirk."
"R-really? It's not that obvious from here." Izuku asked, his curiosity peaking. The cashier narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose up.
"That's because I don't have one. What kind of game are you playing at here?" Izuku raised his hands.
"No-no game, sir, I-"
"No, you know what, I don't care." The cashier waved him off. "Just leave the stuff here and get out before I call the cops." Izuku wanted to ask why he'd call the cops, but judging by his expression, the cashier wouldn't respond very kindly to another question, so he silently left the things behind and walked out, cursing himself for leaving the money his mother had left him behind. He found himself wandering the streets aimlessly, kicking a rock down the road as people passed by him on both sides.
'I really am useless.' He thought dejectedly, kicking it near a sewer drain. 'How could I just leave the money behind?' He briefly entertained the idea of going back to his house and sneaking in to grab it, but dismissed it almost instantly. The chances of getting caught were astronomical, and by now Mistuki and Masaru must have found the letter and the roll of money on the dining table. He kicked it again and watched as it was swallowed up by the sea of people that surrounded him. Suddenly, he felt anger rising in his body, a burning heat that spread to his face, forcing him to tense up until he stood stock still in the middle of the crowd. He felt like screaming at the people passing him by, couldn't they see him? See his ratty school uniform with burn marks and bits of green sludge covering his body? Why wasn't anyone asking him if he needed help?
A kid ran past, cheering as he swung a Ryukyuu figurine through the air, mimicking 'whoosh' sounds as he moved the doll in intricate patterns. Izuku's anger only grew at the sight. Why weren't the Heroes helping him? Was he really such a freak that not even the Heroes would help him? He remembered All Might leaving him in the alley to rot without even telling him where to go if he was hurt, just a few slaps and a superpowered jump to get away from him.
Suddenly, he saw a black wallet fall out of a man's pocket. He didn't look like anything special, just another salaryman on his way to work, but the wallet undoubtedly had more cash than Izuku had on him right now. Before he could think about it, his body was already standing over the dropped wallet, and his hand was reaching down to grab it. His fingers brushed the smooth leather, and he froze.
'What are you doing, Izuku?!' He yanked his hand back, like he'd touched fire. 'Mother wouldn't want me to be a criminal!'
'Well, she should've thought about that before she went and killed herself.' A snide voice that sounded awfully like his own argued back. He knew it was just his imagination, but he couldn't help responding.
'She couldn't have known about what was happening with the Bakugos, this is my fault!'
'She should've been paying more attention to you, then she would have known!' The voice returned. It was, Izuku thought reluctantly, making a lot of sense.
'Whatever! That has nothing to do with this situation!'
'You need this money to live, this is the life you chose!'
His hand went back towards the wallet, but stopped midway.
'Can I really do this? Can I really steal from a man whose only crime was being a bit too loose around his wallet?' His hand inched back.
'He should've cared more about it, just like he should've asked the kid covered in sludge why he looks like that. Just like your mother should've asked you why you were coming home covered in burns!'
'A Hero would return the wallet, or at least leave it be!'
'Since when have you wanted to be a Hero? And even if you wanted to, they'd never accept a freak like you!'
'That's why I have to prove that I'm more than my Quirk!' He was losing steam. This was the mantra that had gotten him through so many years of schooling, so much torment at the hands of his old friends. If he could prove that there was something beyond his Quirk, beyond his monstrous appearance, then maybe he could fit in, maybe he could be normal.
'What do you have to prove? That you're not a monster? They gave you that title, why do you think they'd be so keen to take it away?' Izuku didn't have a response to that.
'But still, I can't do this! Sure, some people don't care, but that doesn't mean that everyone's completely uncaring!' He argued weakly.
'Really? You're a child arguing with yourself, bent over a wallet that clearly isn't yours, in the middle of a busy street, and not one person has asked you what you're doing. Doesn't that prove how uncaring they all are?' His head snapped up, and true to the voice's, his own, word, there wasn't a single person who spared him even a wayward glance. His heart sank deep in his chest.
'You see?' He sounded almost triumphant.
'If I stole this, I'd prove everyone who called me a monster right.' He put up his final defence.
'It's just a wallet, it's not like you're killing someone! The most you're causing here is a little inconvenience to the one guy who lost his wallet, it's no big deal!' The defence crumbled in the face of his own thoughts.
Izuku picked up the wallet.
"What do you want, kid? Didn't I tell you I'd call the cops if you didn't scram?!" Izuku grinned sheepishly and handed the man a wad of cash.
"I went to grab my wallet, sorry it took so long! The walk home is a little far, you see?"
Izuku sighed deeply. Getting out of sludge-filled clothes had been the last thing on his mind when he was home, but it was a huge relief now that he was clean. Currently, it had gotten late, and he had used most of the money in the man's wallet to get a hotel room for a week in one of the seedier parts of town, but it wasn't a permanent solution. Falling back into the bed with an 'oomph', he thought about his future. His living situation could only go down from here, but he could squat in some of the empty apartments nearby. Some of them were up for demolition, and some were just overrun with people in the same situation as him, which made them hard to sell, but that wasn't the main issue; food was. He had enough for this last week, but he needed to find a way to make more money, or else he'd starve to death in the streets.
"There are easier ways to die." He mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. He could still taste the Tylenol's sweetness on his tongue. He recognized where his thoughts were going and shook himself out of them, albeit reluctantly.
Closing his eyes against those thoughts, Izuku did his best to fall asleep, trying to ignore the way his mother's letter flashed through his mind.
"Izuku, that's not how you do it!" His father laughed from above his head, warm and comforting. Izuku pouted, staring down at another flattened lump of clay spinning slowly on the pottery wheel with his arms crossed over his chest.
"This isn't fair!" He whined, throwing his hands into the air. "You get perfect bowls every time with your Quirk, and I have to use only my hands! Why can't I let my Quirk make the bowls too!?" His father chuckled and patted his head.
"You don't think I can make a bowl without my Quirk?" Izuku shook his head vigorously. He'd been trying for almost an hour now, and he still couldn't do it; it had to be impossible! His father lifted him gently off the chair and sat down before placing him back onto his lap.
"Alright, if I can do this, you have to learn how to make these yourself, and if I can't, then you can use your Quirk immediately. How's that sound?" There was a teasing lilt in his father's tone, but Izuku was confident.
"Deal!" He held out his hand to shake, and his father obliged with a laugh.
"Alright, here we go!" Izuku watched, confident at first, then amazed, and then despondent, as his father created a perfect bowl without a single use of his Quirk, hands flowing over the clay smoothly and skillfully, kneading and pulling until the bowl sat in front of them, unfired and dark, but smooth and symmetrical.
"Well? How did I do?" His father asked, laughing again. Izuku stared at the bowl, open-mouthed, then turned to glare at his father.
"You cheated!" He meant it as a joke, but his father's grin faded, replaced by a more stern expression.
"Izuku, just because you can't do something doesn't mean it's impossible, you know that, right?" Izuku shuffled nervously in his lap.
"Well, yeah." He muttered, staring at his father's shoes. "But I don't like it when I mess up, it makes me feel bad." He swung his feet back and forth, keeping his eyes fixed downwards. His father's hand raised, and Izuku flinched a little, expecting to be lifted off and scolded, but he was just patted on the head gently.
"Nobody likes messing up, Izuku, but it's a part of life." He leaned into his father's chest, inhaling the familiar earthy scent as he continued. "When I first started out, it took me two weeks to make a bowl without my Quirk, did you know that?" Izuku shook his head, too comfortable to move up and talk. "Well, it did, and you know what my dad told me when I got frustrated? He told me that nothing good comes out of doing nothing." Izuku hummed in confusion, not understanding what his father meant. "What I mean by that is, no matter what situation you find yourself in, if you try your best, you'll figure it out, but if you sit around and don't do anything, you'll never get it. Understand now?" Izuku nodded and settled deeper into his father's chest with a yawn. He chuckled, the vibrations running through his chest and into Izuku's head. "Is my little artist tired?" Izuku nodded again. "Well then, let's get you home before your mother gets mad at us both, and you can get some sleep. Sound good?" Izuku gave a sound of agreement, but his father still wasn't standing. Confused, he cracked his eyes open and looked upwards.
Half of his father's face was crushed, like he'd gone through a meat grinder, and the warmth from his chest was moving into Izuku's body. Horrified, he looked downwards and saw copious amounts of blood, leaking into his shirt and skin, bits of bone poking through twisted skin. He looked back up, and his father was looking down at him, one eye grey and lifeless and the other invisible under the mass of pulped flesh.
"What's wrong, Izuku?" The relatively intact half of his face's lips curved into a grin. "Don't you want to spend time with dear old dad?" Izuku tried to run away, but his body wouldn't move as his father leaned in closer. "Why don't you come join me, Izuku? Your mother and I are waiting for you, you know?"
Izuku's eyes snapped open as he awoke with a huge gasp of air. Feeling bile come up and into his mouth, he leaned over the edge of the bed and heaved. His throat burned as more and more rose into his chest and out of his lips, splattering on the floor with a loud splash. The image of his father's skull poking through his face remained vivid in his mind, no matter how desperately he tried to block it out. Would his mother have looked like that, too? The thought and resulting image sent another vicious gag through his body. He remained bent over the bedside for a while longer, even when he no longer had anything left to throw up, gasping for air and clutching his chest. Eventually, he stood up and grabbed a mop from his room closet, carefully stepping around the puddle of bile on the floor, and got to cleaning. He went through the process systematically. First, he mopped up his mess and wrung out the mop head before pouring cleaning product onto the floor and picking that up, then repeating until he could no longer smell the acrid stench. As he mopped, his focus remained on his dream, but now it was on the earlier part of it, the memory of his father giving him advice as they worked on a bowl together.
'Nothing good comes out of doing nothing, huh?' He mused, grinding the mop into a particularly stubborn stain on the floor. 'But what can I do? I can't get a job this young, and I can't go to a shelter in case the Bakugos already reported me as missing.' He wrung out the mop one final time and put it back in the closet. 'Nothing good comes out of doing nothing…' Looking back over to the bedside, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the wallet he'd stolen. His eyes locked onto the black leather for what felt like an eternity.
'Maybe I could…'
He shook himself out of it. 'I can't do that! There has to be a job somewhere that'll hire me, even if I get paid less or something! Anything!"
He walked out of the motel, determined to make an honest living.
It took a week and the remainder of his food to force Izuku to steal again. Over 100 applications and over 100 rejections, he didn't have a choice anymore. He wouldn't be as lucky this time around, no conveniently dropped wallet to pounce on, no, this time he'd have to get involved more directly. He planned it out carefully, more than aware that getting caught would have him sent either to jail or to the Bakugos' house, neither of which was appealing to him. The next day, He got on the bus at the busiest time with his last few yen and waited for his chance, which came soon after when a woman turned her back to him and put her purse on the floor. He prepared himself mentally, took a deep breath, and shuffled over until he was just a little bit behind her, pulling out his phone and acting as a normal teenager on his phone. He stayed like that for about five minutes, praying each second that she wouldn't get off the bus before he was ready. Finally, he noticed her shoulders relax and her attention fall completely to her phone; now was his chance. He got ready, then hesitated. Could he do this again? This woman wasn't being negligent; he was taking advantage of her faith in society!
'Where was society's faith in you when your Quirk developed?'
His voice came to mind.
'That's different, no one was all that mean to me because of my Quirk except in my school!' He had practiced arguments against himself this time, back when he'd vowed to make an honest living. His voice snorted.
'Some vow that was!' He mocked. 'And haven't we gone over this already? Why do you have to live by these rules when people can break them all when it comes to you?'
'What? No one's ever stolen from me before!' He protested, taken off guard.
'You can't seriously think that all the shit they pulled against you was legal, can you?!' His voice was incredulous. 'They beat you down, and the adults, the teachers, they all watched and let it happen! All Might left you after a villain attack because of your Quirk! Your parents killed themselves because society decided your father was WRONG for saving a life! Are you really going to bend down and take a knee for that system?!' Izuku couldn't respond. Everything the voice was saying made sense.
'Of course it makes sense.' His voice cooed. 'I'm you, after all.'
'But dad said that nothing good happens to those who do nothing!' Izuku found his thoughts again, but the voice just scoffed.
'He didn't say that nothing good came to those who did something that wasn't good, did he? We're still doing something, still fighting! He'd be proud of us, proud of us for not giving up!'
Izuku's resistance gave way, and he enacted his plan. To make sure no one else took suspicion at him kneeling down and rummaging around on the floor, he dropped his phone, cringing at the loud 'crack' it hit the ground. He got a few wayward glances, but they all turned away quickly enough as he kneeled and began searching for his phone. Now was the tricky part; he had to get his hand into the woman's purse without her or anyone around them noticing, and for this, the only thing he could do was make as much of a distraction as possible to draw people's attention away from the purse. He swiped his left hand around wildly as if raking the ground for his phone, muttering apologies at the noises of annoyance as he smacked people's ankles. While he did, he moved his right hand to hover above the woman's purse, took a quick peek to make sure no one saw him, and dove into it, grabbing what felt like a wallet and immediately tucking it away into his pocket as he stood up, phone in hand. He got off at the next stop and ran into a nearby alley. Reaching into his pocket and praying for a miracle, he pulled out a fancy-looking designer wallet, gold-coloured clasps and a rich turquoise colour that forced his lips into a smile. He didn't resist the curl of his lips; he was too busy counting out the wads of cash that were stuffed into the luxurious leather. Well, she looked well off enough, he reasoned in his head as he emptied the wallet. She wasn't struggling like he was; he needed that money more than she did!
…Right?
A month had passed since Izuku's escape, and, if he was being honest, it was only getting better. He'd found a nice abandoned building near his old motel, and since spring was in full swing at the moment, he wasn't struggling with the cold. The building was old and leaky, but there were habitable rooms, and he'd even bought a futon and some smaller things like a phone charger and a blanket and pillows set now that he had a handle on the whole robbery thing. He had, much to his chagrin earlier on, become both much better at stealing and gathered much more money than he'd thought possible as his life on the streets continued. He had been able to swipe wallets and purses from people on the bus more often, and he'd managed to expand to the streets as well, especially outside of bars and clubs, where people were more likely to be trusting. Today was another one of those days; he was camped out by the entrance of a club that he knew was one of the crazier ones, and where he had been successful in many of his attempts already. For him, this place was almost a guaranteed hit, which was why he was so surprised when the man he was following to a nearby alleyway turned around and pinned him to the wall by his throat. He gagged, the pressure on his neck almost making him black out and white dots spread across his vision with the force. His hands rose to grab the man's arm blindly, but his grip only tightened.
"Who are you, and why are you following me?" His voice was iron. Izuku's vision slowly cleared up, and, to his horror, he recognized the man in front of him.
"S–Slugger?" He croaked out, his airways restricted. The man, dressed in a bright red costume with a large 's' on the front and holding a baseball bat by his side, blinked and then loosened his grip.
"Hold on, you're just a kid!" Izuku sensed his chance and jumped on it.
"I'm sorry!" He sniffled, forcing tears to his eyes. "I was trying to get back home, and I took a wrong turn, and I didn't know where I was, and–" The Hero's grip loosened even further.
"Shit, kid, I'm sorry. I thought you were a villain or something!" Izuku shook his head and raised his hands into the air to demonstrate his helplessness. He knew he'd made a mistake when the Hero's eyes hardened, along with his grip.
"Why?" He wheezed out, scratching at the man's arm again. Before he knew what was happening, the Hero grabbed one of his hands and turned it to his face, scowling deeply at his mouth as it whined in confusion and pain.
"You're one of them mutts, aren't you, freak?" Slugger snarled, increasing the grip he was putting on Izuku's hands. Izuku screamed silently, his hand literally groaning in pain at feeling the bones shift and creak under the Hero's strength. "Did you think I wouldn't notice, fuckin' mutant!" Izuku scratched at the arm pinning him to the wall frantically, but it was like Slugger didn't even notice.
"Please!" A whisper was all he could muster with his throat clenched as it was. Slugger turned his gaze back to his face, a dark smile crossing his face.
"I think I'll take you to the station for illegal Quirk use, how does that sound?" Izuku couldn't make a sound. "I'll take that as you agreeing!" He cheered before leaning in closer. "And if I was to rough you up a bit beforehand for, say, resisting arrest, you wouldn't mind, would you?" He mocked, using his arm to move Izuku's head up and down in a twisted facsimile of a nod. "Perfect! In that case, you'd better clench your teeth, freak!" The hand pinning him down let go of him, but before he could run, a baseball bat slammed straight into his stomach, forcing up a spray of vomit. "Don't spray your mutant shit on me, you animal!" Izuku clawed at the ground, trying to crawl away, but the Hero dragged him back. "What should I do to you next? Maybe I'll knock the teeth out of those fucked up hands of yours, huh?" Izuku whimpered in fear as the man turned him over, then screamed as Slugger pulled his right hand over his head before stepping on his wrist, his Quirk screaming with him. "Don't move too much now, I don't want'a hit your head!" As the Hero raised his bat, it felt like time was slowing down.
'Are you really just going to let him do this to you, Izuku?'The voice was back, but now it just sounded disappointed.
'What do I do?! Please, help me!' He begged himself for answers, too frantic to think about the ridiculousness of it all.
You already know what to do, Izuku. You just need to do it.'
'Can I really…?'
'No more hesitation! Do it!'
'But–!'
'Do it! NOW!'
Izuku's left hand snapped around the Hero's leg, and clay immediately poured out of it.
"Huh?" Slugger laughed. "What's that supposed to be, some sort of last-ditch effort?"
Izuku turned his head to the side and forced his Quirk to activate.
Slugger's leg blew up.
"Huh?" The Hero blinked, then the pain kicked in, and he started screaming. "What the fuck did you do to me!? My leg! My fucking leg!" Izuku lay on the ground for a bit, well aware that no one was going to rush to help anyone in this part of town, not unless they wanted to be suckered. He got up as Slugger's screams devolved into moans. He caught the Hero's eyes as he did, the man taking deep, labouring breaths.
"Kid, Kid, I'm–I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, I swear!" Izuku walked closer, his hand reaching out like it had a mind of its own. "Kid, please! I–I'll be better, just please, let me live!" Izuku let his right hand hover over the man's face, its mouth opening and dripping flammable saliva all over his face as it cooed with joy at the chance to get revenge.
"You–You won't kill me!" He gave up on the pretense of humility, screaming and spraying spit everywhere. "You're just a kid, you don't have the balls!"
"Nothing good comes out of doing nothing."
Izuku would make sure he did something.
Clay poured out of his right hand, his mouth chewing up and forming it until it had made a crude imitation of a baseball, albeit sized up. It landed with a soft thud against the man's chest and stuck there, the clay not fully dried.
"Stop it." Slugger whispered, watching as Izuku pulled his bangs away from the right side of his face, allowing him to see the Hero's face in the dark. "Stop it!" Slugger screamed. Izuku focused, and Slugger exploded. Izuku's eye allowed him to see the explosion happen like it was in slow motion; he could see the surface of the clay light up as he ignited the liquid covering, then he watched it expand rapidly until the light the explosion gave off was too much and he had to shut his eyes. The explosion's shockwave threw him back, and he landed on his back, where he immediately curled up and coughed, his injuries catching up to him. Soon enough, however, the coughs turned to laughs, and suddenly, Izuku was laughing hysterically next to the dismembered legs of the man he'd just killed. The sequence was engraved in his head, and as the laughter died down, it was replaced by something else.
For the first time since his mother's death, Midoriya Izuku wept, but not out of sadness or guilt.
"Find your own art, Izuku."
His mother's letter came to mind.
'I think I've found it, mom.'
"That was so beautiful!" His eyes shone with tears of wonder and happiness, glimmering in the small fires that were spreading in the huge crater he'd left in the stone. "That was the most amazing art I've ever seen!"
He fell back, his body finally giving in to the accumulated damage and Quirk usage, but his grin stayed wide across his face. Before his vision faded to black, he caught the barest glimpse of a swirling purple mist twisting into existence by his side, and then he knew nothing more.