Chapter Text
The night that Izuku Midoriya turns four, he wakes up screaming.
His mother Inko is shocked out of her sleep by the sound of her child falling apart, his cries like nails on a chalkboard as he tries to scratch at his back, blunt nails clawing at tiny shoulders as the souls of the damned force their way up his throat. She doesn’t know what to do, trying her best to find out what’s wrong. There’s nothing on his back, little hands reaching for a blank canvas that he can’t even reach.
She rushes him to the hospital, begging the nurse for help as he screams bloody murder in the waiting room. They rush him back, forced to sedate him so they can take some tests. Even in his sleep, his hands clench and unclench as though scratching at an invisible itch. She holds his tiny fingers in hers, begging to anyone who is listening for her little boy to be okay.
The doctors can’t find an issue.
Every test comes back negative. He’s the picture of health for a four-year-old boy. They try weaning him off the sedatives, but the moment he wakes, more screams push themselves out of his chest and the scratching starts anew. They put him back on sedatives, and a kind nurse tells her that it looks like a rough Quirk awakening.
Not a day ago, Inko would have loved for her child to get a Quirk. Right now, she’s not so sure.
She’s sent home with a pack of sedatives and a promise to return if he isn’t better by the time she runs out of medicine. Her best friend Mitsuki calls, asking why Izuku is missing from the playground. All she can say is that her little boy is sick, because she doesn’t know what else to call it.
It feels so much worse though, so much worse.
Four days later, she forgets to give him the sedatives. Once again, he wakes up screaming, clawing at his back but only reaching his shoulders. She rushes to administer them, crying as she watches him slowly stop the scratching.
Only… the tiny marks that he usually leaves have turned into thin gashes that sluggishly drip onto his All Might themed blankets. She looks at his tiny hands, shocked to see sharp nails where they should be dull.
She researches like her life depends on it, eventually finding an article on the Doomsday Theory. It says that quirks may grow too powerful for a person’s body to contain, that people will literally fray apart at the seams because the power inside them is too much to handle. She dreads the thought of just how powerful he will be with this much pain, even more worried than before because what if this is just the beginning?
A week in, she runs out of sedatives. He wakes up screaming once again, and she rushes to get ready, picking him up and running to the door.
The second she takes a step out into the night air, the screaming stops, and every electronic device in a ten-mile radius shuts down.
Her breathing is heavy, tears running down her face as she slowly unwraps him from the swaddle of blankets she wrapped him in. Her first instinct is to check his pulse, her own heart hammering in her chest as she searches for a vein in his oh so tiny wrist.
When she finds one, pulsing and steady right under her fingers, she sobs in relief, waddling back into her apartment, falling onto the sofa with her son in her arms. The lights are out, and her phone won’t work, and she silently thanks whoever is out there that this didn’t happen at the hospital, where so many people would have died without power.
It’s right there on that couch that he finally wakes up, bundled up in his mother’s arms as she weeps into his curly hair.
“Mom. Why are you crying?” The question only makes her sob even harder, her arms pulling him impossibly close as she once again thanks the universe for giving back her son. He asks again why she is crying, tiny, clawed hands trying to wipe away the tears. It takes him a minute to notice the new addition, a small gasp escaping his chest as he looks at the thin marks he left behind on his mother’s face.
“I’m sorry Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scratch you.” He starts crying himself, hiding his hands into the blanket. She doesn’t let that line of thinking fester, pulling his hands into hers and kissing them over and over again.
“It’s okay, honey, I’m okay. Don’t hide your hands, they’re- beautiful.” She punctuates her words with a kiss on his forehead, opening her palms and looking at his fingers. His eyes follow hers, sparkling when they see the nails and finally realizing what it means.
“Mommy. I got a quirk.” It’s spoken in a whisper, like it’s some sort of secret. He gives her a big smile, showing off teeth that look sharper than razors.
“Is that why my back feels so weird, Mommy?” Her eyebrows furrow, a hand reaching to lift his shirt. The moment it’s lifted all the way up, he hears her gasp and tries to turn and look himself, but can’t turn all the way, only able to see the healing cuts on his shoulders.
“Do you want to see them?” He nods, eyes lighting up with joy. She carries him to the bathroom, slowly lifting his shirt and handing him a mirror. She knows the moment he sees them, his feet kicking back and forth as he squeals in delight.
“Wings! Mama, I have wings!” They’re tiny things, barely the width of Inko’s hands, but wings nonetheless. Bright red and gold, shimmering in the bathroom light, and small, and fluffy, and beautiful.
“I’m a bird, Mommy! I’m a bird!”
“Yes, you are, honey.” She brings up a hand and pinches his cheek, earning that beautiful peal of laughter she missed so much. She almost starts crying again, pulling him back into a hug as he continues to laugh.
She never wants to hear her child scream again.
Midoriya Izuku is six when he starts to change.
His wings have grown, now the width of his mother’s arm span and strong enough to lift him a little off the ground. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of hovering yet, but he swears he’ll figure it out soon.
Inko believes him because he hasn’t been wrong about his own quirk yet. She loves her little genius, doing whatever she can to stimulate his natural curiosity before the school system tries to chew it up and spit it out like ten-yen gum.
She doesn’t have to worry, though. No amount of stomping will ever destroy his yearning to learn, his love for the world, or his passion to capture every second of his life.
Katsuki, who has learned that he isn’t the center of the universe as Izuku continuously beats him in every academic area, sticks close to his childhood friend. They play together, often speaking of how they will be an unbeatable hero duo. Mitsuki and Inko love watching them play, but then something changes that they can’t quite understand.
Suddenly, Inko’s son is drawn to heat like a moth to a flame, touching candles and breathing in smoke like a second skin. The first time she finds him with his finger in the fire, she freaks out, but there is no burn on his finger, no blister on his arm.
Coupled with this love of fire comes another change. His once bubbly, outgoing persona turns… floaty, like he’s drifting through life and not living it. He still hangs out with Kacchan, but he doesn’t play as much. He draws constantly, cataloging his life in new ways that only he can see.
Katsuki pokes and prods, trying to bring back his lively companion but never succeeding. Nobody knows what to do but adapt, because something has changed, and there’s nothing they can do about it.
Inko wonders what this quirk has done to her boy as he washes the dishes with boiling water.
She hopes it doesn’t take anything else.
Izuku Midoriya is eight when he dies.
A villain fight that caused a pileup, cars stacked atop each other and flipped over on the road. Inko wakes up hanging upside down, her head aching and body throbbing. Her first thought is, ‘ Where is Izuku? Where is my son?’ A firefighter pulls her out of the car, trying to calm her down as she fights to stay where she is because her son isn’t with them.
Everyone freezes at the sound of anguish that echoes across the road. Even the villain stops midair, staring as a mother weeps over her child with screams that cut through the air like a knife. Nobody moves, tears dripping from their eyes as she cradles the mangled body of her son. Her little sun.
That means they’re all looking, helicopters and heroes, when the child in her arms bursts into flame.
Someone tries to pull her away, but she refuses to move, cradling the little fire that refuses to burn its mother. Everyone is looking as he turns to ash, slipping through her fingers like sand on a beach. Everyone is looking when the flames grow higher, surrounding the mother in an embrace as the child forms back into a human, wings spread wide and feathers alight in beautiful orange flames.
When the fire goes out, his wings have changed. The colors that were once a calm red and gold now glow in the low light of the evening. It’s not just the fire, gold plumes shining with the brightness of the sun.
He settles into place, arms wrapped around his mother, body covered in ash. She’s crying still, tears dripping into his now white hair. Nobody moves, the feeling of something larger than life still pressing down on them.
The hero and villain are no longer in the air, forced to the ground by an overwhelming presence. The civilians are on their knees, looking at the image of a mother and son who will forever be seared into their eyeballs.
Inko refuses to let go of her child until he pulls away, eyes dazed but hands holding hers like that night four years ago. A firefighter is the first to move, rushing forward with a blanket to replace the charred clothes that lay on the ground.
Izuku looks at him, nodding slightly as he wraps himself up and goes back to leaning against his mother. Her cries have stopped. Soft, unburned hands stroking his hair and back. Around her, the fire still burns, charred concrete under her feet as she carries him out of the crater he formed.
She takes him to a paramedic, and they let him sit on the gurney because they’re not brave enough to force him to lie down. They do a quick checkup, and everything comes back fine. Once again, he’s the perfect picture of health. Even the broken arm he had been nursing is healed like it never existed. Inko, who has gotten quite used to prayer, thanks the heavens that her son is alive.
She prays she never has to see him burn again, prays this is a onetime thing. Katsuki is thrilled to see the bright shimmer on his best friend’s wings, poking and prodding all the spots he knows it doesn’t hurt. Izuku giggles, wrapping his wings around his torso and batting curious hands away.
Mitsuki hugs her best friend, letting the woman sob as she talks about ash and fire and the power she felt. This isn’t just a quirk. She’s never felt such a presence before, even in front of All Might. This is something else, and she is scared. Mitsuki tries to comfort her, but it isn’t until Izuku walks in and holds his mother’s hands with a soft smile that she stops crying.
“Hey, Mom, look what I can do!” She nods her head, wiping away the tears and focusing on her baby. He takes a step back, holds up his hand, and lights it on fire. Both parents yelp, Mitsuki jumping back, and Inko jumping forward.
But the fire doesn’t burn as it covers his hand. It just sits, dancing over his skin.
“Isn’t it pretty, Mom?” She nods, forcing the lump in her throat down.
“Yeah, honey. It’s beautiful. Just like you.” He lets out that joyous peal of laughter she loves so much before putting down his hand, the fire going out. His wings are still wrapped around his torso, protecting him from the toy that bounces off red feathers.
“Kacchan! Stop doing that!” Inko watches as her son goes back to his friend, heart heavy and eyes tearing up.
She knows.
This was the first time her son died.
It won’t be the last.
Izuku Midoriya is ten when everything falls apart.
Flames that aren’t his own dance over his skin, what was supposed to be his home now ash and rubble beneath his knees. There are screams and sirens, fire trucks surrounding the burning building, and firefighters rushing in, trying to save even one person.
Izuku doesn’t move, kneeling on the ground, staring at the remnants of his living room and the burning wood all around him. No one looks for him, convinced that anyone that close to the blast couldn’t have survived.
They would be right, charred clothes on the ground, fire licking at the ashes left behind. They would be right, everyone did die, they just didn’t know that one of them could come back.
Three hours later, as they explore the rubble, they find a young boy sitting in the ruins of the building. At first, they think it must be a kid who got past their barricade, annoyed that no one stopped him. Then they see the lack of clothes and ash-covered skin, and that annoyance turns to confusion. He doesn’t move when they reach him, staring at a pile of rubble, eyes dry, face blank.
They ask him if he’s okay, he doesn’t respond. Someone drapes a shock blanket over his lap, unsure how to work around the wings because they’re supposed to be the cleanup crew, this isn’t their job. The kid doesn’t budge, doesn’t blink, just staring at the destruction no matter what they try to do. Eventually, someone calls over a firefighter.
They ask the kid where his parents are. A clawed finger points at the rubble.
They spend hours trying to coax him into leaving, eventually sedating him when he tries to fight the firefighters attempting to help. They all watch with sad eyes as he’s sent to the hospital, hoping he gets better even though they couldn’t find a single injury.
A week passes. The building is unsalvageable. They find bones under the debris. Midoriya Inko is pronounced dead. Died in a fire started by the number two hero. The child, now labeled Izuku Midoriya, refuses to speak. They can’t find any living relatives, eventually contacting his godmother, Bakugou Mitsuki.
It turns out that she was looking for him and thanks them profusely when they finally tell her where he is. She hugs him, cries into his white hair, strokes the wings that glow and shift beneath her fingers.
He still doesn’t talk, staring straight ahead at white walls with blank eyes.
A few days later, they tell her they can discharge him. Thankfully, he follows her, still staring ahead without blinking as she drives them home. Katsuki is beside himself, trying as hard as he can to get a reaction. Nothing works. Izuku refuses to use his fire, refuses to play like a child, refuses to do anything but sit and stare and hide.
Weeks pass. Izuku doesn’t change. Other kids avoid him, Katsuki gets mad, he still doesn’t change. Mitsuki tries her best, she really does, but Izuku seems to ignore her efforts. It’s a struggle, getting him to eat, getting him to do anything but stare into the distance.
He turns eleven, wings growing wide, body growing taller. Katsuki stays angry, protecting Izuku from the harsh words of their classmates, getting disciplinaries every time he picks a fight. People stop talking about Izuku altogether to avoid Katsuki's wrath.
Izuku still doesn't use his flames, still hides away from the world, still refuses to show emotion.
He starts flying. He leaves for hours at a time, gone with the wind, no trace of him left behind. Mitsuki lets him leave because she doesn’t know what else to do. He never comes back past curfew, never tests her rules, but it still scares her. He doesn’t play anymore, doesn’t pay attention to heroes, doesn’t write. He just… flies.
Something changes when he turns twelve. It’s not him, he stays the same. He still looks into the distance like he’s seeing things that aren’t there.
He doesn’t change, but his body does.
Katsuki notices first, poking and prodding to try and figure out when he has time to train and when he got all those strange muscles. Katsuki notices first, then Mitsuki, then Masaru, all wondering where he’s going during the day.
He starts coming home injured, just bruises at first, but that changes fast. Cuts, scrapes, large wounds. They start noticing blood on his clothes and medical supplies in his room. Mitsuki tries to keep him from going out, he just vanishes no matter what she does. They try to talk to him, try to get him help. Nothing works.
On his thirteenth birthday, Izuku Midoriya vanishes.
The Bakugou family panics, tries their best to find him. Heroes are called, the police open a case, and the news picks up the story and runs with it. The media drops the story after a couple of weeks, but the panic stays for three months before he shows up again. No one knows where he went, just that he’s back now, just that he has scars all over his body that no thirteen-year-old should ever carry.
He goes back to school, keeps getting good grades without trying. No one can get anything out of him, they never figure out where he was. Mitsuki doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix things. She cries in her husband’s arms, missing her best friend, missing the sweet boy her son loved.
Izuku Midoriya is ten when everything falls apart.
And no one can figure out how to put things back together again.