Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a funny thing, gravity.

In their big blue world full of amazing things and amazing quirks, there have become very few constants. Somehow humans- inoffensive and insignificant specks in the grand scheme of things- have developed the ability to defy all given laws of nature, even gravity itself. The paradoxical, deinoterous drive of man marching ever onwards in spite of the laws of the universe.

Abilities conjured by some freak mutation of human evolution allowed man to leave the world he once knew behind. Where once humanity escaped earthly bonds by building their wings, now even the most average person could simply be born with them. But flight was now an insignificant triviality compared to the challenges of cosmic proportions man now faced every day.

What is a city to the monumental power of a Tsunami, a devastation of nature come to heel at the foot of man? What is gravity to the power of a black hole, localized entirely in the palm of a woman’s hand? How does anything at all- even the core principals of reality or physics- stand up to the power of a weaponized “if-then” statement?

Yet, despite man’s definitive mastery over gravity, the force had a stubborn habit of pulling forever downwards. While everyone else gets wings or quirks that break the rules, Izuku gets 9.8 meters per second, straight down.

He hadn’t meant to fall.

Things had been building up to this point, he knows, and while thoughts of suicide had come and gone in the past, he had never let them linger long enough to fester and boil over. But today had been different.

The morning had gone well enough, by his standards, though Inko had run out of her meds and would have missed two doses by the time Izuku had a chance to get to the pharmacy after school.

She told him she’d be fine as she sipped at the glass of orange juice he brought her, neither of them acknowledging the tremble of her hand and the weakness of her arms.

He tore the kitchen apart looking for the bottle where he kept her emergency supply, but even that had been depleted. His mother refused to let him skip part of the school day to go to the pharmacy first, citing that he was one more unexcused absence away from a suspension, which he really couldn’t afford so close to the high school entrance exams.

So Izuku gritted his teeth into a semblance of a smile as he walked to school, avoiding Kacchan’s usual route by taking the long way, and then inevitably running into the blond anyways in homeroom.

Kacchan and his cronies kept up their usual teasing through class, though the level of vitriol was somewhat lighter. Things didn’t get bad until final period, when their bone-headed teacher ousted Izuku’s intentions of applying to UA to the entire class. But even the fallout from that wasn’t completly terrible.

All these things, Izuku could tolerate. The bullying, the threats, his possessions being destroyed. These were constant, empirical truths in his life that he had neither the will nor the skill to overcome.

But what happened after was more than he could bear.

His beloved, soggy notebook dropped from his hands as they scrambled for purchase against slime. Light warped and tinted green, as if he was peering through the glass of an old beer bottle. The pressure around his neck and lungs intensified, his breath squeezing out even as his body desperately tried to suck it back in.

His throat reflexivley spasmed and contracted as the taste of sewage touched his tongue, the contents of his stomach attempting to expel as the slime plunged in, acid and toxic waste mixing and swirling in his throat as he choked.

It burst from his nose, his head exploding in agony as his life and energy dulled, the torturous sensation lessened only by his inability to process it as oxygen left his brain. He could feel his blood pounding in his skull like a hollow drum, the pressure from each wave threatening to pop his eyes out of their sockets.

His body quickly lost stregnth, his hands falling limply to his sides as the slime curled around his neck shifted and sqeezed. 

Dark spots entered his vison, and suddenly he was very lightheaded, floating. The sensation was almost freeing, were it not so terrifying. Even still, even though he couldn’t do much- couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe- he shied away from it, clinging to the final scraps of breath left within him. 

His fight was not in vain. In mere moments Izuku was on the ground, vomiting bile and slime as his idol hovered overhead. After he had time to recover, he told All Might he was okay, the hero accepting Izuku’s blasé assessment of his own condition after such an experience rather quickly.

But it wasn’t All Might’s worry Izuku needed. In a fit of panic and stupidity, he reached out to the most powerful man in Japan for validation. Even though Izuku himself had only the barest scraps of faith in his own dream, he needed someone to believe in it too.

He should have expected the negative outcome.

It would have been antithetical to the theme of Izuku’s life if All Might had responded in any other way.

In their big blue world full of amazing people and amazing quirks, Izuku was not and had not. This was his constant. Where some may grow wings and defy gravity, Izuku had only one way to go, only one response to such overwhelming force.

Down.

Left behind on that rooftop as a significantly smaller All Might took his leave, Izuku lingered, watching the sun go down over the city as he sat on the ledge, his feet dangling out over empty space. It was windy so high up, but as long as Izuku remained seated it didn’t push him around too much.

Inevitably those thoughts returned, the ones that had been easy to brush off in the past now taking hold of him and crawling inside like so much slime.

I should have let him kill me. Why did I fight so hard? Easy out.

He thought of his mother, who he knew loved him and would miss him, but who was also getting worse every day, her condition ravaging her body to the point that she hadn’t stepped foot out of their apartment in almost a year. Izuku’s time with her now was only borrowed and fleeting.

In another year she’d be gone, and Izuku would be alone.

The least selfish thing he could do would be to wait. Wait for Inko to pass and then follow her out. She had put up with a lot while he was growing up, so the least he could do was take care of her until the end. But the slime inside choked those thoughts out, and for a moment anger overcame his sadness.

He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to do the one thing he knew he could do, the one thing he had every right to do. Everyone else in this world had something exceptional within them that they could call their own.

Izuku had only his body and mind. That was all he was given, and if Izuku wanted to throw that gift away, then that was his choice.

His anger brought him to his feet, and for a moment he balanced there on that ledge, the red tips of his shoes poking out as he looked down at the alleyway below. He wanted to jump, if for nothing else than for pure spite.

Everyone else in this world had real options, things they could do and places they could go with their lives and quirks, things that Izuku could only dream of. He would be barred from most skilled professions without a quirk, forever doomed to the life of a salaryman or some customer service job until the day he died.

Izuku’s death would be the only thing in life he would every have complete control over.

Fucking ironic.

He balanced there, red shoes scuffed against the ledge, wind clawing at his jacket. Kacchan's laugh echoed in his skull- "quirkless freak"- and for a spiteful second, he leaned forward.

But then the anger seeped out of him, clarity returning with his melancholy and leaving him hollow. Inko's voice, soft from a better day, tugged him back.

Izuku may have control of his death, but he didn’t want to die.

Not today.

Izuku moved to step back from the ledge, and in that moment, the universe played its final trick.

The wind picked up, upsetting Izuku’s careful balance on the ledge and tipping him over before he could do anything to stop it. He fell end over end, his hands briefly scrabbling against the brick before his body careened away from the side of the building.

Gravity took over, and within the span of a few seconds, Izuku Midoriya was reduced to a bloody mass on the concrete.

Consciousness came back in bits and pieces.

Quiet cold gave way to a mix of agonizing sensations, his entire body and all his perception reduced to a massive, writhing, raw nerve. His every sense a jumble of signals, all tripping over one another on their way to the remnants of his brain. Pain was dominant, all other functions and feelings steamrolled by relentless waves of agony.

A feeling like sandpaper rubbing directly onto raw muscle plagued every inch of his body, even as he could feel bone and tissue slowly knitting itself back together.

For ages he was deaf and blind, his perception of the world around him reduced to the raw data provided by his ravaged senses. He knew nothing and was nothing, reduced to a primordial mass of flesh and bone which interpreted the world in all its abstract forms. 

Something important finally pieced itself together, restoring his sense of self with it.

Consciousness coalesced into the here and now, and Izuku was born again.

With consciousness came memory, memory of both who he was and what he had been doing. Memory of the events leading up to his death- or failed death, it seemed.

In the midst of the agony, Izuku was able to acknowledge the joke that was played on him in those final moments, and some sick part of him did actually think it was kind of funny. If he had a working mouth or vocal cords, he would have laughed with them. 

Vision returned after what felt like hours, and for some more hours still Izuku could do nothing but stare up at the night sky as his body creaked and groaned against his will.

Bones unshattered, limbs regrew, the wet sound of open muscles flexing and repairing his only company on that dark night. At some point his upper body repaired enough that he was finally able to physically cry as the pain continued to wrack his body.

New skin and nerve endings grew, his epidermis layers crawling over muscle and cartilage and settling likes ants over a spider’s corpse. It itched like mad, the scratching sensation over his raw nerves almost a tangible thing that he could hear deep within his ear canals.

Every sense fired simultaneously, a jumble of signals that left him reeling as hot mixed with rough mixed with copper mixed with cold mixed with hurt mixed with dry, mixed with silence, mixed with-

Izuku clenched his eyes shut, his fists too, now, as he desperately tried to regain a semblance of control over his mind. He compartmentalized, trying each sense individually.

Taste-copper, blood. Hear- silence, its night time in a quiet area. See- darkness, no there's some light, a streetlamp just out of view, but its glow reaches here just a little. Smell- blood, trash. I'm in an alleyway. Touch- ground, concrete. It’s rough. It's cold, but my body is hot.

Izuku breathed out and in and out again, marveling at the feeling of air filling and emptying his lungs.

He did this for some time as the intensity faded, his body quieted, and the pain receded, until Izuku was left with nothing but a migraine throbbing behind his eyes.

He slowly sat up, expecting some pain or protest from his body, but there was none. He stood, and his legs were steady. The ground around him was covered in drying blood, Izuku was covered in blood.

The concrete ground and the bricks of the alley walls were stained a deep red, and numbly Izuku realized that his own internal organs still littered the ground around him. He looked down to see what he thought might be a piece of intestine under his bloody shoes. Unidentifiable masses of tissue and viscera littered the bloodstained concrete like so much trash. It looked like a murder scene, but he was perfectly fine.

Izuku dared to stretch and twist experimentally, his limbs slightly shaky from shock. Instead of the pain he would expect after falling from a seven-story building, he only felt the relaxing stretch of warm, healthy muscle.

He should probably have been freaked out by this, but after the hours of physical and mental agony he had just gone through, he was probably in shock and simply incapable of processing it. Some primordial part of his brain was having trouble coping with consciousness, while another was desperately sorting through the tidal waves of stimuli from the world around him. 

With nothing else to do and no way to properly address what happened, Izuku retrieved his backpack-which had been on his shoulders when he fell and was also now soaked in his blood- and numbly stumbled home.

His shattered phone screen told him it was nearing four am, his dull stupor washing away momentarily under a wave of panic as he realized, “I forgot to get mom’s medication.”

He stopped dead in the street for a moment, part of his brain immediately clamoring to turn around and run to the pharmacy as fast as possible, but the part of him that was still numb was quick to calm.

It was nearly four am, he was covered in blood, and Inko was probably worried about him. She would be worse off after going a full 24 hours without her medicine, but the prescription was mostly meant to help with the pain and the shakiness. She wouldn’t die without it.

The thoughts were cold, but he knew he was right. Izuku trudged onwards and spent the rest of the walk home trying to stop feeling so guilty.

The apartment was quiet as he slipped through the front door. Izuku carefully took off his shoes, not bothering to put on his house slippers as he stealthily tiptoed barefoot on the linoleum floor past the genkan.

Inko’s bedroom door was slightly ajar and Izuku stuck his head through the crack. The bedroom was dark, save for the faint white light from the parking lot several floors below them peeking through the curtains.

The woman herself was fast asleep, her chest rising and falling peacefully. The medical equipment next to her beeped quietly, keeping rhythm with her steady heartbeat.

Izuku backed away from the door and headed deeper into the apartment. He stopped by his room briefly to grab a change of clothes and then went to the bathroom. He turned on the light but kept his back to the mirror as he silently undressed.

His school uniform was ruined, the pants and gakuran torn and ripped to shreds and soaked through with blood. The uniform shirt underneath, which had once been white, was dyed crimson.

Izuku’s hands shook as he dropped the clothes on the floor. His fingers were also covered in blood, the stuff dried and caked underneath his brand new, perfectly manicured fingernails.

He stared at his fingernails, his own mental image of that they should look like disagreeing with what was directly in front of his face. His hands never looked like that. Izuku was a nervous wreck on most days, so he was always biting his nails down to the quick, no matter how much he tried to stop or how much mom scolded him. These hands, though covered in blood, were perfect. They weren’t his.

A shuddering breath left him as curiosity took hold, and he turned to face his reflection. What would he see in the mirror? New skin and teeth and hair remade into perfection, only hours old and unmarred by the damage of his previous life? Or would there be scars? In every place where muscle and bone and blood had burst through the seams of a compromised epidermis, or where everything inside of himself had been crushed by the weight of everything on the outside pushing down.

He’s not sure which he would have preferred as he stared into his new eyes. He vaguely registered that everything looked generally the same.

He was still the same skinny kid with green hair who probably needed to work out and eat a little more. Old scars from the attentions of his bullies had disappeared, even the starburst of burns that had once decorated his shoulders and arms. He wasn’t sad to see those gone, but the discovery only registered in the back of his mind as he stared back into that stranger’s gaze.

The eyes in his reflection were not his own. They weren’t the big, vibrant green he had become familiar with. A perfect, bloodstained hand clapped over his mouth to suppress his sobs as he stared into his coal black eyes, the inky depths of his sclera punched through by the glow of blood red irises. Black veins burst like spider webs from the corners of his eyes towards his ears. His other hand reached up, brushing against those pulsing, straining veins with a feather light touch.He watched as tears welled up in those soulless black eyes until he couldn’t stand to look at them anymore. Izuku crouched down onto the bathroom floor, his arms wrapping around his knees as sobs burst from his chest uncontrollably.

The dam finally broke as he buried his face in his knees to muffle the sound, his shoulders and back shaking from the force of his cries.

The events of the day came to bear, all of them crashing down onto his body like a physical force, the weight of it too much for his new body to handle.

He cried for ages, the dried blood on his knees, arms, and hands turning into slick, sticky paste as it absorbed his tears. The mess drove him into the shower, where he continued to let his sorrow pour out as the water washed the gore down the drain.

Eventually his tears ran out, and he was left to robotically wash and scrub the blood out of his hair and hard to reach places. He spent ages picking the crusted, ruddy copper out from under his finger and toenails, crouched on the shower floor as the water turned from warm to ice cold. He didn’t notice.

Once he was clean, he put on his fresh clothes and left to retrieve an old, unused pillowcase from the linen closet. He stuffed the soiled uniform into it and stashed the pillowcase away in his bedroom closet, a vague plan of how he would dispose of it forming to be addressed later.

He returned to the bathroom with cleaning supplies, focusing his mind on methodically purging every trace of blood from the tile and grout.

It was nearing six am when Izuku finally dragged himself to bed, absolutely spent. His school alarm would be going off at seven, but Izuku had no intention to attend. He was exhausted, and he didn’t want anyone to see him until he could figure out how to hide his eyes. Plus, he still needed to get Inko her medication.

Izuku collapsed into the bed, his tired body relaxing into the comforter immediately. Within minutes, he was asleep.

The time for school came and went, leaving Izuku to rise groggily sometime after ten in the morning. He felt like death warmed over as he forced himself into a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt.

A quick check on his mother revealed that she was still asleep, which was to be expected when she had gone so long without her medication. He spotted a bottle of sleeping pills on her nightstand. She wasn’t supposed to take them, but he understood her need for relief from the pain.

He didn’t bother wasting time on breakfast as he grabbed one of mom’s spare tote bags from the closet next to the genkan and an old pair of white sneakers- his own backpack and usual red shoes were ruined.

He waffled about for a moment as he considered how to hide his eyes. Mutations like his weren’t rare by any means, so it wouldn’t necessarily draw attention if people saw them, but to Izuku they were unnerving. He couldn’t manage to look his own reflection in the eye for longer than a few seconds before the turning in his stomach made him look away.

After some deliberation, he finally settled on wearing an All Might hoodie with the hood pulled low over his face. It wouldn’t work well if people got too close, but it was better than nothing.

Izuku left the apartment, his nerves dogging his heels and making him walk faster than he normally would. He kept his head ducked down whenever he passed by others, praying that none of them looked too closely. No one seemed to pay him any mind, and after his ten-minute walk to the pharmacy, Izuku had relaxed a little.

Those nerves shot up again at the prospect of stepping into the store itself, but he pushed them down. Inko’s medication was more important than his discomfort.

Luckily, there weren’t that many people inside the store, allowing Izuku to make his way to the pharmacy counter without incident.

The pharmacist, a woman with blue skin and purple eyes, smiled kindly at him as Izuku passed his ID and pharmacy order. He kept his head down, but she still managed to get a look at his face. He held his breath as they made eye contact, but she only smiled and turned away to retrieve the order, completely nonplussed. 

Izuku breathed a sigh of relief as she moved towards the shelves. Logically, he knew that most people wouldn't be bothered by his eyes, and even if they were they wouldn't say it. Anti-mutants existed, sure, but most people were polite enough not to speak their opinions out loud in public. Her casual acceptance of his freaky black eyes actually made him feel a tad better.

The pharmacist returned and told him the cost, which he payed. As she held out her hand to pass him the paper prescription bag, Izuku hesitated in taking it as a smell reached his nose.

He couldn’t properly identify what, exactly, the smell was, only that it was divine, and his mouth instantly began to water. Izuku whipped his head around as he breathed in deep, the scent curling into his nose and making its home there. It smelled like firey spice and greasy pork, like miso soup and fresh steamed rice, like-

The pharmacist laughed as Izuku's stomach made a sound like an angry toad trapped in a box, the vibration rumbling up into his chest. Izuku flushed red in embarrassment, the smell completely forgotten as he apologized profusely while she waved it off. 

Izuku quickly took his leave as his stomach continued to protest, the pharmacist’s amused chuckle chasing him out the door.

“That was embarrassing.” Izuku mumbled as he paused outside the pharmacy, trying to regain some control over his breathing and the hot blush on his face. “Though I supposed it’s only natural. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

The reminder made his stomach grumble again, and Izuku sighed in annoyance as he trudged down the sidewalk back towards home. The smell that had set off his hunger from before was gone, leaving Izuku a bit disappointed. Even though he was trying to avoid people at the moment, he would have braved the attention of whoever was making that amazing food so long as he could get a bite. 

He settled for a Konbini onigiri, which he picked up along with a can of coffee. He didn’t normally drink the stuff, but he was still dead tired and needed the caffeine.

He briefly entertained the idea of just sleeping the rest of the day away after giving Inko her medication, but in the end thought better of it. He had no doubt that the school would be calling Inko later today to inform her of his absence and that he was suspended for at least a week. He needed to get a head start on the makeup work he would be swamped with in the coming days.

Not only that, but he needed to take a moment to analyze this new quirk that had brought him back to life.

He had avoided acknowledging it until now, but Izuku had died in that fall. The exact amount of time between his last moment of consciousness and the abrupt reawakening were unknown to him, but he does know that what he experienced in that tenuous in-between couldn't have been anything but death.

At the end, the human body is nothing more than a fleshy puppet that the consciousness pilots from within. The moment Izuku’s consciousness (soul?) separated from his body, he had effectively died. 

It was clear that his new quirk could only activate under very specific circumstances. Unless he was dead or dying, he was- or rather had been- just as human as anyone else. Save for his eyes, no one would ever suspect that anything had changed about Izuku at all.

“Take a swan dive and hope for a quirk in your next life.”

Kacchan’s words from yesterday rang in his ears as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Somehow, the blond always managed to be right, in the end. Even words spit out carelessly added precedence to Izuku’s altered reality.

When he arrived home Inko was thankfully still asleep, allowing Izuku to slip into her room and leave the medication on her nightstand undetected. He still hadn’t figured out a way to hide his eyes, and he didn’t want her to see him like this. Izuku slunk back to his room, the bag of coffee and onigiri in hand.

He set the bag on his desk before delving into his bookshelf to retrieve an old notebook that hadn’t been touched in years.

Between “Hero Analysis for the Future” volumes three and four was a sky-blue Campos journal titled “My Quirk.”

The pages were empty, save the first two or three, which had been filled with a messy scrawl of hiragana by a much younger Izuku. He knew without looking that those pages contained all the wild, hopeful conjecture of a child who hadn’t yet been clued into his cruel reality.

Those words were written by a version of himself that had died a long time ago, no swan dive required.

He brushed the dust from its cover as he flipped to a fresh page, a pen finding its way into his hand as his analytical side crept to the forefront. He took a moment to think as he retrieved the can of black coffee and popped the tab, taking a tentative sip of the bitter liquid.

To his surprise, it was actually pretty good, the bitter taste he had expected muted underneath a rich, nutty flavor. Izuku hummed in appreciation as he took a bigger drink, his opposite hand delving into the plastic Konbini bag for the onigiri. After taking a moment to remove the plastic wrapper, Izuku eagerly took a big bite-

And then immediately scrambled for the plastic bag as a taste not at all unlike the raw sewage from the sludge villain assaulted his tastebuds.

Izuku retched and heaved as his entire body coiled and tensed in complete rejection of the tempura and rice. The black veins bordering his eyes seemed to pulse in time with his dry heaves, making his eyes clench and water.

The convulsions eventually stopped, leaving Izuku gasping for breath, the remnants of the onigiri in his hand crumbling into mush as he unclenched is fist. He shook his hand out over the bag, eyeing the dubious insides of the onigiri carefully.

Had the shrimp gone bad? He checked the wrapper for an expiration label, but there was none. Izuku huffed in annoyance as he used a tissue to gather up the bits of rice dotting his table before leaving his room briefly to throw the bag in the kitchen garbage can.

He trudged dejectedly back to his room and slumped into his chair, his hand gravitating to the can of coffee to wash away the lingering taste of the toxic onigiri.

The zing from the caffeine tingled pleasantly down his spine, allowing him to brush the incident from his mind as he once again focused on his notebook. Still sipping on his coffee, his right hand took up his pen and began writing, his mind drifting along behind it as he remembered the events of the previous night.

He was surprisingly calm as he notated the details of the pain he had experienced, the account Interspersed with observations about the conditions of his quirk’s activation.

It wasn’t unusual for quirks to require extremely specific parameters to activate. Some methods he had heard of were so convoluted it was honestly a miracle people learned to activate their quirks at all. Izuku’s was the first he had ever encountered or even heard of that required death- or perhaps near death- as a catalyst.

There were plenty of regeneration and healing quirks out there, but none were capable of literally reforming a brand-new body from essentially nothing. His quirk hadn’t just reused or reformed from his own mass, it grew new limbs and parts and whatever else was needed. His own blood and internal organs had been left behind at the scene, his quirk opting to discard them rather than at least reuse the organic tissue.

Izuku had seemingly created a new body, conjuring muscle and blood and bones, from nothing. Besides the fact that Izuku had literally died and then been brought back, he had ignored the laws of nature and created living, organic matter from nothing, all while essentially brain dead.

As far as he could tell, there hadn't even been some kind of energy requirement, like with Recovery Girl's quirk, which required an equal amount of energy from the injured persons body as it would take to heal normally, the only benefit being that the process was exponentially expedited. That process couldn't magically restore lost limbs, as the normal human body is incapable of doing such a thing in the first place.

The virtue of Recovery Girl's quirk is its efficiency and its ability to even the odds, but there are no guarantees. 

Izuku’s ability to regenerate limbs without any noticeable tradeoff made his quirk insanely powerful, neverminded everything else it had mended and remade. The only caveat was that he had no way of knowing if it only worked on him or if he could extend the ability to others.

With his current knowledge of how it activated he wasn’t too eager to experiment.

Then there were his eyes. Obviously, they hadn’t been black before his quirk’s activation. It’s possible that he might still be healing, and the effect on his eyes might only be active during that time, or they might just be a side effect of the process in general and are only temporary. He had no way of knowing until his eyes potentially returned to normal. 

Izuku spent a few hours at this, even going so far as to undress and closely examine his body for any other potential marks that would hint at what had happened.

He found nothing, other than the fact that his skin was very pale compared to how it used to be, likely because it had not been exposed to the sun as much compared to his old skin. He recorded his findings, as well as the fact that all his pre-existing scars had been repaired, though he was sure it wasn’t so much that they were repaired but rather that the skin which had been damaged was completely destroyed and replaced as his body reformed.

For all intents and purposes, Izuku was walking around in the skin of a newborn.

Eventually Izuku reached the point that there was nothing more to write about his new quirk, and he put down his pen. Outside his window, the sun had gone past its zenith and was well into its descent towards the western horizon.

He could hear Inko huffling around in the kitchen as she made herself a late lunch. She probably didn't realize Izuku was even home since he had been careful about making noise, and his red shoes were absent from the genkan.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his room, working on assignments and papers that had been in sore need of attention. 

At three o'clock Izuku became antsy. School typically let out at 3:30, which meant that any time now Inko would be getting the suspension call from the school.

He paced quietly for twenty minutes until, finally, he heard his mom's default phone ringtone break the silence of the apartment. Izuku froze and listened carefully as mom's slippered feet pattered over to the phone.

"Hello?" Inko answered quietly. She sounded tired.

"Ah, yes this is she. Hm.... what?!" Izuku winced as her weak voice turned slightly shrill.

"I'm terribly sorry! Is there any way you can overlook this? Please- Izuku's a good boy. He wouldn't miss a day if he could help it!"

Izuku turned away from the door, his body gravitating towards the bed. He slumped down onto the All Might comforter, his hand grasping for a pillow as his head hit the mattress. He draped the pillow over his face as he closed his eyes, his arms crossing over the top and his world descending into darkness as he listened to his mother finish the call with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

There were the soft thumps of her feet in the hallway, followed by a tentative knock. "Izuku, are you in there honey? Can I come in?"

"Yeah." he managed to croak out.

The door squeaked on its hinges, the sound of Inko's steps becoming muted by the All Might themed rug around his bed. Inko patted his leg, and he moved it aside so she could sit on the edge of his bed.

Her hand found one of his, her thin, boney fingers tangling with his full, healthy ones. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, calm and understanding. Inko had never been the type to raise her voice at others, especially not her son, though she had thankfully never needed to.

They were both so quick to cry that they often managed to settle any mother-son disputes by having a good heart to heart and a cuddle session with plenty of tissues on hand. That didn't happen as often now that Izuku was getting older, but they often had very few things to disagree about.

If you ever asked Inko, she would say Izuku was a good boy and a good son, and that he had proved it more and more in the last year as he willingly took on more responsibility around the house. She had told him so many times, but he had trouble believing her. He barely managed to scrape by in school, which was pretty pathetic because Izuku was basically a shut in when he wasn't at school. He could always do better. 

Izuku had always had issues with school, mainly since his quirkless diagnosis. But he had gotten used to the bullying and ostracization. The real problems began when Inko got sick.

It had been better in the beginning. Inko quit her job when her health got bad, but the money Hizashi sent was enough to support them, even with the additional cost of her treatments and medication.

But Inko was dying, there was no sugar coating that. After six months of treatment without getting better, the doctors had determined that there wasn't much else they could do. Medications to stifle the pain and curtail the shakes and epilepsy- the more minor symptoms of her terminal diagnosis- and she could live maybe another year in relative comfort.

Every month that her condition worsened, the more responsibility Izuku took on. Before school he would bring her breakfast, if she was awake to eat, and he would prepare a lunch for her when he could, though more often recently lunches had been reduced to frozen meals or simple foods like soup or sandwiches.

In the evenings he would dote on her, spending time in her bedroom to talk to her and sometimes walking her into the kitchen to sit on a barstool so she could do her best to be helpful as they made dinner together and watched hero news.

On weekends and whenever he had a spare moment after school, Izuku would take care of the laundry and other household chores, though Inko usually insisted on folding the clothes, as that was something she could do in bed.

But sometimes she had bad days, days where her pain became unbearable and the medication could do nothing against her fits and seizures.

Izuku would drop everything to be there with her. He would hold her hand as she cried, or would wrap his arms around her as her body convulsed, his voice wobbly and soothing as they waited out the episode.

Nowadays, when Izuku isn't at school, he's at home with her. The missed days at school began to pile up, and though Izuku doesn't talk about it, Inko knows he's fallen in the class ranking. He'd already been suspended once, and now again, incidents that will remain permanently on his school record. 

The guilt eats at Inko's every time she sees her son's smiling face. She'd been selfish, asking him to give up so much to care for her, when it should be just the opposite.

They shouldn't be at this point yet. Inko was supposed to be old and grey and Izuku was supposed to have grown into a successful young man with a beautiful family. They were supposed to have a bittersweet goodbye at the end of a life well-lived.

But here they were, Inko barely into her forties, her son only fifteen, and she was dying. 

Izuku shook his head, the fabric of the pillowcase making a swishing noise against his skin. She wants to know why he skipped out, and there's no way he can tell her the truth. But if he tries to lie to her right now he'll just choke on the words. He deflects.

"Did you take your medication?"

"Yes. Thank you for getting it for me," she said softly.

"Have you eaten?" He already knows the answer, but he's stalling for time

"Have you?" She quips back, teasing.

Izuku grimaces, the memory of the onigiri resurfacing. "I wasn't feeling well." 

Inko hums in response, a tinge of worry in the tone. Her hand untangles from Izuku's, and he only has seconds to close his eyes as Inko's hand worms underneath the pillow and lifts it away, her other hand coming to rest on his forehead. Her cool palm lingers there for a moment, and Izuku basks in the feeling until it lifts away. 

"No fever, but it doesn't surprise me that you're feeling sick. You've been working yourself too hard lately." Inko frets, and he can hear the dry, papery skin of her palms rubbing together in her typical nervous habit. 

"Oh!" her tone lifts in excitement. "How about I make Katsudon tonight? It's been a while, and that always makes you feel better."

Izuku's stomach answers for him by making its decidedly empty status known, and Inko giggles as she pushes up from her place on Izuku's bed. He makes to stand so he can help her walk there, but she just smacks him with his pillow. 

"I'm feeling fine enough to walk there myself honey. Let your mom take care of you for once, okay?" Her words are teasing, but Izuku can detect the tinge of held back tears, so he acquiesces.

Normally he might have protested more, but he was currently hiding his eyes, and he wasn't sure he could manage walking her to the kitchen with them closed without being questioned about it. 

"Okay." 

Inko leaves, pulling the door shut behind her. Izuku exhales heavily as he opens his eyes, his gaze automatically moving to lazily track the motion of the slowly rotating blades of his ceiling fan. 

"Now what?" he asked the room at large, the walls not deigning to give him an answer. He was running out of time. Making dinner would take mom a bit, but all the time in the world wasn't enough for Izuku to figure out how to hide his eyes.

If he refused to come to dinner it would just make Inko upset, and if he kept hiding his face then she would know immediately that something was up.

Izuku panicked silently on his bed as the minutes ticked by and no solid ideas came to mind. He sighed in defeat, resigned to bite the bullet and tell mom at least part of the truth.

He'd have to play it cool, and mentioning his accidental suicide was absolutely not an option. He could admit to the situation with the sludge villain and how All Might saved him. He could say his quirk activated when he panicked.... yeah that seemed good enough. She would surely freak out when he told her, but he would still try to spare her as many details as possible. 

Inko knew enough from his own ramblings about quirks that activation was possible in dire situations or if the wielder was stressed enough. Stuff like that made the news all the time.

With his decision made, Izuku braced himself for the call to dinner, which came about an hour later.

Izuku exited his room and stepped nervously down the hallway, his feet faltering just at the corner that would open up into the living room and kitchen.

He could hear Inko humming quietly to herself, the gentle ping of the plastic rice spoon against a ceramic bowl, the reedy clacking of bamboo chopsticks knocking together.

The smell of the Katsudon in the air was amazing, the scent bringing nostalgic memories of happier times to the forefront. Izuku smiled to himself as those gentle memories helped quiet his nerves, and with a final bracing exhale, he stepped out of the hallway. 

Inko didn't look up immediately. She was standing at the kitchen island, carefully sliding the fried pork and its bed of egg over pillowey rice. Her arm shook from the strain of holding up the pan, but Izuku didn't rush to intervene. Inko wasn't able to do much on her own nowadays, so even the small victory of making dinner by herself was a monumental achievement.

The pork landed safely in the bowl, and Inko made the biggest smile that Izuku had seen from her in a long while. Despite his nerves, it made him smile too.

Inko's hand reached for the other bowl of rice, and she finally looked up to greet him as she did. She froze as they made eye contact, her own big, forest green ones widening in shock as she gasped.

The bowl slipped from her hand, rice flying out to scatter onto the kitchen floor as the ceramic shattered. "I-Izuku-"

"Mom!" Izuku hurried over, carefully picking around the sharp ceramic shards as he retrieved the broom. "Stay where you are mom, let me sweep this up."

"Izuku, your eyes! What happened?" Inko ignored his order, sliding her feet over the floor without lifting them to avoid stepping on the shards. She was wearing slippers, but still. She reached for him, but he turned away slightly and pretended to be occupied by sweeping up the shards, a desperate attempt to put off the conversation for just a few seconds more.

She hesitated, her arm dropping to her side. She stood there for a moment before carefully crouching down next to him to pick up the bigger shards while Izuku used the tip of the broom to gather up the pieces that had launched themselves under the lip of the cabinets. 

"I, um, got into an accident...." he excused sheepishly, keeping his eyes on his task to avoid looking at her, but he could feel her stare. "I was attacked by a villain on my way home, but All Might saved me!" He rushed to explain, her panic at even the notion of Izuku being attacked almost manifesting as a physical miasma. "All Might saved me, but I was still panicked so... I think my quirk activated?" 

He looked down to meet her eyes and found only a deep worry in that gaze. No anger, disgust, or judgement, only the concern any mother would have for her son. He could se a million questions in her eyes as they flitted between scanning over his body and staring back into his own inky gaze. She wouldn't find so much as a hint of the true damage his body had suffered, yet somehow he felt that if she looked hard enough, she would somehow see. See that he was barely hanging on, that the seemingly hale and healthy body he wore was hiding something dead and rotting and broken.

The ceramic shards and rice collected into a jumbled pile, and the moment passed. Izuku reached down to help her get up, but she waved him off. She moved to lift herself from the floor, then stopped and reached quickly for Izuku's foot. "You stepped on a piece."

She gripped his ankle and pulled, Izuku's hand scrambling for the counter to balance his weight. Inko blinked in confused surprise as she plucked the ceramic shard from his heel, the white porcelain coming away completely clean. "You're lucky that didn't cut you," she sighed in relief. 

"I didn't even notice it," Izuku murmured as she set the shard into the pile with the others.

He continued to hover as Inko got herself up, his hands open and waiting in case she needed to lean on him. She eventually made it to her feet, huffing and puffing as sweat beaded up on her brow.

Izuku stepped away to let her recover, trading the broom for the dustpan to dispose of the ceramic and rice. An uneasy silence settled between them as Izuku finished and Inko returned to portioning out the rest of the rice and katsudon into a new bowl. Izuku grabbed the bowls and brought them to the table, mom pattering along behind him. He pulled out her chair and pushed it in after she sat down, then crossed the table to sit in his seat. 

Once they were settled, there was no avoiding the coming conversation. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat as Inko reached for his hand, and Izuku gave it. The papery skin of her thumb rasped over his knuckles as she stared into his black eyes. Izuku tried not to squirm as her green gaze assessed his entire body again, endlessly checking and double checking that she hadn't missed so much as a papercut on her son's skin.

"Is this why you didn't go to school today?" She asked quietly. "And why you didn't come home last night?" Izuku nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I was scared of what you would say." He admitted. "I know I've been messing up a lot lately, and you have so much on your plate. I didn't want to bother you with this when you should be resting and it's my fault anyways if I hadn't been so stupid I could have avoided this and you wouldn't have to worry and-"

"Izuku I always worry about you." Inko assured gently, her hand squeezing his weakly. "You're my son, I'm your mom, it's my job to worry."

Tears welled up in her green eyes, and Izuku could feel them in his own too.

"I know things have been hard," she breathed, her voice shaky and strained from the pressure of the sadness welling up in her throat. "You've taken on so, so much. You stepped up to the plate and you've been going at it the best that you can. I can't ask for any more than that.

"You're my son and I love you, and I will always love you. And every day I'm so proud because I see the man that you're going to become, and I wish-" her tears choked her words, the hand not holding Izuku's coming up to cradle her forehead.

"Mom-"

"No let me finish." She breathed, her voice rattling with the weight of her emotions.

"I wish I would get to see that man." She croaked. "It's not fair that you have to take on so much. It's not fair that you have to take care of me when you should be out there making friends and getting into trouble and going on dates and everything else teenagers should be doing."

Izuku blushed at the implication, but Inko didn't notice. Her other hand came down to grip his, and she met his eyes as tears poured down her face.

"I'm sorry that things couldn't turn out better. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough, and that I've forced this onto you. But you need to know that right now, while I'm still here, you don't have to carry your burdens alone. Let me worry about you, okay. Because there's not much else I can do."

Izuku nodded through his own choked sobs, and they both sat there at the dinner table and cried, their hands intertwined as their forgotten meal cooled.

Izuku left the table briefly to retrieve a box of tissues, and after they had managed to dry up all the tears and snot, Izuku got around to explaining what happened the day before. He sanitized most of it, for Inko's sake, leaving out the bullying and just how close to death he actually got during his encounter with the sludge villain. He played up All Might's intervention, which wasn't very hard due to his own admiration for the hero, which had only been slightly dulled by his devastating advice.

Izuku couldn't hold All Might's judgement against him. Because really, he was right. Taking on villains with dangerous powers was not something that even the average quirked person could do, much less a scrawny quirklesss kid. Having a quirk didn't automatically make you a prime hero candidate. You still had to work for it the same way you had to study for tests. Statistically, there were actually very few people in the quirked population with powers actually suited to hero work, and of those, only a smaller fraction actually became pro's with long-lived careers like All Might or Endeavor. 

The hard reality was that most of them got burned out just a few years into their careers and fell into obscurity or quit, while others kept going until they physically couldn't any more or were killed on the job. And as it turned out, All Might wasn't any different. The horrific injury the hero had revealed to him had already reduced the man to a shadow of his former self. All Might was the most powerful hero Japan- and perhaps even the world- had ever seen. If even he could be laid low, what chance did Izuku have?

He left out the latter part of his interaction with All Might. He'd promised the hero he would keep his secret, and it's not like the truth of All Might's health was the most important secret he was keeping from inko. 

After lots of fretting and questioning and even one more good cry, they finally got around to eating. Izuku's stomach was practically chewing on his spine by that point, so he was eager to dig in. Inko was a little more reserved, nibbling at her rice as Izuku brought the fist piece of pork to his mouth.

A taste like rancid sea water and rust assaulted Izuku's tongue as the brillo-pad texture of the fried pork grated against his palate. He instantly began to choke and cough, but he clamped his lips shut and gnashed his teeth over the meat as Inko looked up in alarm. "Is something wrong?" She fretted.

Izuku shook his head, tears coming to his eyes as his hand shot out to retrieve his glass of water. He took a large pull and, before he could second guess himself, swallowed the water and pork all at once. He continued to cough as Inko tried a piece of her own pork, looking confused when she didn't taste anything out of the ordinary. 

"Izuku are your sure you're alright? I know you said you weren't feeling well earlier, I can make something else..."

"No, no this is fine mom, sorry," Izuku placated, shaking his head. "I think I'm still shaken up about yesterday, plus..." A thought occurred to him then as he recalled the incident with the Onigiri.

"I think it could be an effect of my quirk? The only change I've noticed so far is that my eyes are different, but I did try to eat earlier today and the flavors of the food were super overpowering. I thought it might have just been expired or something, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe my sense of taste is more sensitive?"

Inko hummed with worry. "Well, try the rice then. It's pretty plain, so maybe that wont be so bad." Izuku nodded and scooped up a bit of rice. When it touched his tongue, he immediately got the impression that he was eating maggots, the rice mushing like their guts in his mouth.

Izuku swallowed quickly to keep himself from vomiting and to avoid his reaction from showing in his expression. He mustered up a smile for Inko, and she took it as confirmation that the rice was acceptable. Alarm bells blared in the back of his head as the rice slid like a slug into his stomach, which roiled in displeasure. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep the reflexive sensation of nausea from expressing itself on his face

"Why don't we sit down later this week and try to find what you can and can't eat. No son of mine is going to live off of just rice, quirk or no," Inko joked, and Izuku took the chance to stutter out a laugh to hide his panic.

Something was definitely wrong here. Had his quirk messed up when it was rebuilding his sense of taste? He recalled the time he spent sorting out the different sensory signals and the overwhelming tide of information that had clamored for attention in his mind.

Maybe his sense of taste was still sensitive and would return to normal with time. But what if it didn't? Would he have to chance cutting out his own tongue in hopes that it would regrow with the issue corrected? His stomach turned at the thought. 

Inko chattered on through the rest of dinner about different rice-based dishes they could try, Izuku forcing himself to swallow a few bites of rice as he listened. She didn't make a fuss when he didn't eat very much, coming to her own conclusion that the dashi broth and other seasonings from the pork and eggs had gotten into the rice and made the flavor too intense. Izuku jumped on the excuse as they finished and cleaned up together.

They migrated to the living room and sat on the couch together to watch hero news, Inko's small frame leaning into Izuku, her head on his shoulder. Izuku pulled a blanket over the both of them.

He could feel his stomach rumbling and rolling, the few bites of rice and pork not sitting well, but he grit his teeth and ignored it. Inko became distracted by the TV, but Izuku's mind refused to settle.

He worried endlessly about how many other things could have changed without him noticing. He tried to test if his eyesight had possibly improved, or if he could sense anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed normal. 

He ground his teeth in frustration. How did his changed eyes and taste factor into the resurrection and regeneration abilities of his quirk? It didn't make any sense. The only conclusion he could come to was that he was suffering the drawbacks of brand new sensory organs that simply weren't attuned to the stress of the world around him. But if that were the case, then his eyesight and sense of smell should also be sensitive.

He inhaled deeply, and for a moment he didn't detect anything unusual. The smell of floral fabric softener on the blankets, mom's shampoo, the lingering smell of their dinner. But there was something else. He inhaled again, his head gravitating towards the source of the smell.

Spicy notes of cinnamon and nutmeg curled into his nose, followed closely by the cloying scents of sugar and vanilla. Izuku shuddered as the aroma seemed to fill his body, and he inhaled deeply again as he leaned into it, his mouth beginning to water.

It smelled like the most delicious cookies in the world. He could practically feel the texture of them on his tongue, the warmth they would bring as he ate them fresh from the oven. His mouth opened reflexively as he imagined biting into them. 

Drool dripped from his mouth, oozing down to drip onto Inko's hair. The sight of it shook Izuku from his daydream, and with barely restrained panic he realized his teeth were hovering over his mother's ear, ready to clamp down over cartilage and skin and ready to bite, bite and eat and get rid of the hunger-

He gasped in horror at the urge, his body freezing in a deadlock of dueling wills as Izuku pushed the sudden, ravenous hunger away. Inko was oblivious to his struggle as Izuku sat there, still as a statue, the hunger hissing and snarling.

It quieted after a few minutes, and Izuku quickly excused himself, citing that he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. Inko accepted his excuse easily, and she bid him goodnight after gently planting a kiss on his forehead, her green gaze as gentle and trusting as ever. 

Izuku's guilt chased him from the room, the agony of knowing what he had almost done eating him alive. He locked himself in his bedroom for the rest of the night, but he didn't sleep for a long while.

The events of the day hounded him as he tossed and turned in his bed, sleep only coming after he gave in and wrote down his new findings in his quirk journal. The final lines of the entry followed him into his dreams.

"I want to eat meat."

The next three days were a nightmare.

Inko spent the majority of the first day in bed, too tired after the emotional and physical tolls from the previous day. Izuku was glad though because it gave him an excuse to keep away.

His hunger had grown overnight, his stomach now hounding him almost constantly. Izuku eventually raided the kitchen out of desperation, valiantly attempting to sample anything he could get his hands on.

Fish and meat were absolute no goes, as the instant they touched his tongue his body forced him to gag violently. Other strong flavors like nori or miso were also unpalatable, and just like the night before, the texture of rice only conjured images of rotting meat and squirming maggots.

Raw ingredients like sugar, spices, flour, and salt tasted like eating sand, and chewing bread was like gnawing on a moldy sponge. Dairy products immediately induced uncontrollable vomiting. The few bites of dinner he had managed to keep down made a reappearance, so Izuku called it quits.

On the second day Inko had an episode, though it was thankfully short lived. Izuku curled up in bed behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her torso as she thrashed and shook. His teeth were gritted all the while, his body locked in place as he fought through waves of hunger. She sobbed in pain once it passed, and Izuku shushed and rocked her gently until sleep took her, valiantly ignoring the smell of fresh baked cookies.

Mercifully, his hunger didn't take over during that time, the walls of his willpower holding fast against the violent tides. But Izuku didn't dare push his luck by lingering for too long. Once Inko had settled to a fitful sleep, he made himself scarce, distracting himself by doing some homework and chores. When Inko eventually stirred around dinnertime, he made her some grilled fish and miso soup. She ate very little, but it was enough that she wouldn't get sick when she took her medication. 

On the third day, Izuku was nearing his wit's end. His hunger was impossible to ignore now, the pain of his empty stomach migrating into the space beneath his ribs and jabbing at his insides.

The black veins surrounding his eyes had spread and become more prominent over the past few days. They bulged and pulsed, the spidery threads now extending down to his cheekbones. His hunger kept him up at night, making the bruises under his eyes grow deeper and deeper, casting his black gaze into deeper shadow.

Izuku was always a skinny kid, but the days without food were already beginning to take a visible toll. His skin was waxy and pale, his stomach becoming hollowed out as his skin pulled tight against his ribs. His face looked like death.

If Izuku didn't come up with a solution soon, he would starve, or worse, his hunger would take control like it almost had the other night, and he might do something unforgiveable.

He had already determined that everything within the fridge was inedible, and he didn't dare enter Inko's room to chance encountering the smell that had set off his ravenous hunger from before. but he needed to eat, and he needed to take care of mom.

His only option was to leave the apartment and try to hunt down something edible. 

He got dressed quickly, checked on Inko, and then bolted out the door. He made a beeline for the nearest Konbini, carefully avoiding getting too close to the people he passed on the sidewalk.

His sense of smell was definitely stronger, and every person he encountered smelled of rich, delectable flavors. The scent of oyster sauce and fried rice from a young mother and her baby. Cilantro, lime, and fried meat from a high schooler. Three men in business suits smelling like a medley of grilled vegetables. Izuku chewed on the inside of his cheek, using the pain to distract him from the smells.

He reached the Konbini, stepped inside, and then began perusing the shelves. The air was clearer here, the smell of cleaning products and air freshener helping to diffuse the lingering aroma of other customers.

Most of the items he found were written off immediately, as they contained elements that he knew he couldn't stomach, such as dairy and rice.

He tried his chances with a few items, grabbing a box of dry spaghetti, as well as a few random drinks and some other mild foods like plain tofu and bean sprouts. The cashier raised an eyebrow at his odd selection, but Izuku didn't pay them any mind as his eyes landed on the drink machines outside the store. One was full of coffee, reminding Izuku of the can he had been able to drink a few days ago.

He paid for his items and walked out to the machine as he fished some extra yen from his pocket. He selected a few different brands and flavors, storing most of the cans in his bag. He popped the tab on a can of plain black coffee and took a hesitant sip, fully prepared to spit it out.

To his surprise, it was not immediately revolting. The flavor was sharp and pungent, but it went down smooth, and his stomach didn't immediately revolt at being forced to contain it.

Izuku sighed in relief. He now had one other item besides plain water that he could ingest. But he couldn't sustain himself on coffee alone. He needed real food.

Izuku sipped the coffee as he made his way back home, the scent and flavor of it distracting him from the smells in the air around him.

He was only a couple blocks away from home when a noise grabbed his attention. It sounded like a scuffle going on down an alleyway to his right. Izuku stopped at the corner and carefully peeked around.

A man in a black hoodie and dark skinny jeans had another man pinned against the brick wall. The man against the wall was dressed like as salaryman, though his shirt had been untucked from his navy-blue slacks in the struggle.

The man in the hoodie was gripping the salaryman's tie in one hand while the other pressed bladelike claws to his throat. Izuku gasped, his hand flying up to his mouth to cover the sound, but it was pointless. The hoodie man heard him, his head turning towards him, red eyes dark and malicious. 

"The fuck are you looking at?" he spat. "Scram kid!"

The salaryman whimpered as hoodie man's grip on his tie tightened. He stared at Izuku, his expression afraid and hopeful. "H-help! Please! Call a hero or something!"

Hoodie man snarled, his bladed fingers pressing deeper into the salaryman's neck, making blood well up from a shallow cut. "If you speak again, I'll tear your fucking throat out," he hissed.

The salaryman nodded frantically, his hands raising in surrender. The smell of the two drifted towards Izuku, a bright zing of adrenaline coloring the scent of chili sauce and kimchi. There was also the scent of grilled mushrooms, but it was soured by a pungent tinge of fear.

Izuku took shallow breaths, the hand over his mouth shifting to clamp over his nose as he took a hesitant step back to distance himself from the smells. 

Hoodie man chuckled, interpreting Izuku's movement as him choosing to back out and mind his own business. "The kid is smarter than you, Minato." He turned away from Izuku, focusing his attention back on the salaryman, Minato. 

"It's time to pay your debt," hoodie man declared, the hand on Minato's tie releasing to delve into the man's pockets. "You owe the boss almost 100,000 yen, and he’s tired of waiting on your sorry ass to pay."

"I don't have that much," Minato cried, his hands coming up to grip the wrist of the bladed hand at his throat. "I told Yoshimura I just needed a little more time. Please, I'll have it by the end of the month!"

"No can do." Hoodie man said coolly as he finally located Minato's wallet, flipping it open to find only 800 yen and some change inside. He scowled and tossed the wallet away.

"You're time is up Minato. Unluckily for you, your kidneys alone will fetch a better price on the market than you ever would." His clawed hand raised, bladed fingers spread and ready to come down to deliver a killing blow. "Better luck in your next life."

Before Izuku could think better of his absolutely stupid next move, the can of coffee in his hand had gone airborne. It connected with the back of hoody man's head with a satisfying thunk, its contents spilling out all over hoodie man and Minato as the can careened away.

''You fucking shit!'' Hoodie man howled, whirling around to face him. He threw Minato to the side, the salaryman tumbling to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He stalked quickly forwards, his long legs eating up the distance between he and Izuku in just a few seconds.

Izuku scrambled back, his usual clumsiness once again biting him in the ass as he tripped over his own feet. He tried to throw the Konbini bag at hoodie man's legs to trip him up, but the man easily dodged around it, his clawed hand raising to take a swipe at Izuku's face.

Izuku clenched his eyes shut, bracing for the blow. But in the time it took for him to shut his eyes, he heard the tear of fabric, his upper body lurching back as something attached to him lunged forwards.

Izuku's eyes flew open as hoodie man's metal claws screeched against the crystalline surface of a shining red tentacle. The man cursed, his other hand flying in to swipe at Izuku's unprotected side, but that hand was also met by a second tentacle, Izuku's body lurching from the force of its emergence. Izuku gasped in shock as the tentacles forced hoodie man back, the villain's shoes scraping against the pavement as he unsuccessfully tried to push back. 

Izuku scrambled to his feet, the tentacles emerging from his back flexing and warping with his movement to maintain the block against hoodie man.

''Nice quirk, brat.'' The man complimented, though his expression was murderous.

''Th-thanks.'' Izuku gasped, more shocked about the presence of the tentacles than anyone else here. What the hell was going on with this quirk?

''Look kid, that flashy quirk a' yours aint gonna save you if I decide to get serious. I'm gonna be generous and give you one more chance to get your tiny ass outta here.'' Hoodie man said, his bladed hands pulling away from the tentacles blocking him from Izuku.

Izuku glanced to the alley where Minato was still lying on the ground. The man had his phone held up to his ear, his lips moving as he spoke to someone. He was probably calling the police, so Izuku just needed to stall long enough for a hero to arrive.

Izuku shifted, his feet spreading into a wider stance as he bent his knees slightly. ''Not a chance.'' he said firmly, trying to imitate Kacchan with the confidence of his tone, but on the inside, he felt anything but. Izuku hardly ever managed to stand up to his own bullies, so what chance did he have against an actual villain?

He pushed his doubt aside as hoodie man smirked, his right hand raising to point the tips of his bladed fingers directly at Izuku. ''Warned ya.''

With that, the blades shot forwards, morphing from weapons the size of steak knives into full blown spears. Izuku jumped out of the way, barely managing to doge the spears as they stabbed into the concrete.

The villain's other hand came up to shoot spears as well, the dual assault forcing Izuku to retreat into the street. His tentacles reacted to the threat faster than Izuku could process, each swiping out to block the blades that would have punched through Izuku's legs and arms. 

The villain gritted his teeth in annoyance as Izuku kept deflecting and dodging his attacks. He swept his right arm back before flinging forwards, the long blades of his fingers suddenly becoming less ridged.

The now whip-like appendages wrapped around one of Izuku's tentacles, and hoodie man took the opportunity to yank Izuku forward. Izuku stumbled as he was jerked around, his other tentacle whipping out like an angry snake to slam down on the length of blade between the villain's hand and the captured tentacle. 

The blades shattered, Izuku's tentacle flying free as the bladed whips fell away. Izuku stumbled back, barely managing to keep upright as the two tentacles curled in front of him, forming a protective wall between him and the villain.

The long blades of the villain’s quirk retracted, the black lengths reeling back like the length of a tape measure.

Police sirens sounded in the distance, and hoodie man scowled as he stared at Izuku. Izuku stared back, not daring to make a move as hoodie man seemed to debate his next steps.

“This is fucking pointless,” hoodie man spat, turning away from Izuku to point his hand at Minato, who had gotten up and was watching them warily.

“No!” Izuku screamed, his right arm reaching out to stop him. it was useless though; the villain was too far away. Spears shot out, straight for Minato, izuku useless to do anything but watch. But Izuku's arm was still moving, and one of his tentacles was moving after it, responding fluidly to his will in the blink of an eye.

It shot out like a gleaming red bullet towards hoodie man, and before Izuku or the villain could stop it, it punched straight through the man’s chest.

Izuku froze in horror as Minato screamed. Hoodie man slumped over, his arm falling limply to his side as the stiff blades of his quirk shattered.

The tentacle retracted, the crystal making a wet, squelching sound as it rubbed against muscle and bone. The villains body collapsed to the ground as Minato turned tail, booking it in the direction the police sirens were coming from.

Izuku stood frozen in the middle of the street as his shining tentacles slowly receded back into his body, the right one trailing the villain’s blood as it dragged along the ground. The smell of kimchi and chili came with it, along with some other unidentifiable smell that made Izuku’s hunger roar in his ears.

The tentacle slithered towards him, the tip rising to level out with Izuku’s eye line. The smell became stronger.

Izuku stared at it like it was a snake, coiled up and ready to strike, but it did no such thing. The tentacle hovered under Izuku’s nose, red crystal filled his vision, the tantalizing scent of blood, bloodbloodblood, fresh blood, fleshbloodfreshMEAT-

Izuku’s tongue darted out as the tentacle twitched, his tongue flattening against its crystalline surface. A taste like pure sin exploded in his mouth, his body shuddering in ecstasy as the warmth of the crimson liquid warmed him down to his toes.

He licked more, his tongue chasing the dripping rivulets. Nothin he had ever tasted before was this good, not even Inko's katsudon. The tentacle shifted to give him access to the flowing blood, exposing the villains body lying just a few feet away on the sidewalk.

Izuku paused, the hunger inside him clamoring for the fresh kill. But the sirens, once distant, now sounded as if they were only blocks away. The noise shook him from his blood trance, leaving Izuku gasping in horror as his stomach howled. 

Ice filled his bones, the sensation of his limb punching through flesh like drywall on repeat in his mind.

Disgust and horror made nauseua roll through him, the force of it making him double over and dry heave, but the blood he had ingested remained stubbornly inside. Izuku bit back tears as his feet stumbled backwards, his body instinctively moving away from the scene.

“I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” he screamed at the body as he moved away. The tentacles fully retracted as Izuku’s legs carried him away from the scene.

The run back to the apartment was a blur, Izuku’s vision obscured by his tears as he ran. He just killed someone. He killed them like it was nothing and then he ate their blood and he liked it.

Izuku slammed the apartment door shut behind him as he beelined for his bedroom, not bothering to be quiet as he thundered over the linoleum floors.

He entered his bedroom and locked the door behind him, then rushed over to his dresser to push it in front of the door. He needed to barricade himself in, put as many obstacles in the way as possible to keep himself contained.

He pushed the bed and desk in front of the door as well, leaving nothing on the outside facing wall except his window, which would lead to nothing except a three-story fall.

Izuku crouched down in the middle of the floor, his hands coming up to tangle into the green strands as fresh tears sprang up.

What was he going to do? He killed a man, and Minato likely ran to the police and was probably giving them Izuku’s description right now. If they came to the house, Izuku wouldn’t be able to hold himself back.

His stomach growled then, as if to confirm his fear. Izuku groaned and cried as he sat on the floor in a pile of misery. He wouldn’t dare leave his room, for fear of doing something unforgiveable.

But that wouldn’t be enough. The police would come calling within the day to drag the murderous villain away, and Izuku would lose control.

He could already imagine it, the tearing of hot flesh as his teeth rank in, the sanguine song of blood as it spilled from bodies ripped open by his tentacles. The taste of fresh meat meatmeatmeatmeat-

Izuku shuddered and writhed, his tentacles bursting from his back and flailing wildly. Pieces of furniture and splintered wood went flying as the tentacles smashed into them, the writhing libs decimating Izuku’s feeble barricade.

“Stop, stop! Please STOP!” Izuku screamed. The tentacles swayed to a standstill, but the tips still twitched in agitation. They seemed to have a mind of their own, their purpose intrinsically tied to the satiation of his overwhelming hunger. Izuku’s breath labored in and out of his chest as he spiraled into a panic.

“What do I do? WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo?” he mumbled as his body rocked back and forth. he couldn't stay here, that was clear. Hs barrier was destroyed, and Inko was just a short hallway away, defenseless. He could run away, but then he’d be outside, and there were people out there, people he could eat- yeah that sounded really gooood.

“No!” He bellowed, his fists raising to pound against his skull, as if he could knock the thoughts and desires from his mind is he hit hard enough. “I can’t! I won’t!” he insisted, even as his will to fight the urge to jump out the window was eclipsed by his hunger.

"I can't do this, I can't." He sobbed. His agitated tentacles drew towards the window as izuku crawled into a corner, trying to keep his distance from both the window and the door. 

"I-I couldn't live with myself. I wouldn't be human anymore!" He insisted, trying to reason with the dark instinct inside that was slowly taking over.

"Then die." It hissed back.

Izuku froze, his tentacles stilling their restless motion as the thought hung in the air.

Then die. Then die, die, die. Kill yourself dead.

He lunged from the floor, all other thoughts swallowed by the black eclipse of purpose that filled his body. 

Take a swan dive.

He reached the door in record time, his tentacles bursting through and reducing it to splinters. He careened into the hallway wall, peeling off quickly to thunder into the kitchen. His tentacles tore into the walls behind him, the sharp crystal shredding them as he went. It took only seconds for him to arrive in the kitchen, his left hand scrabbling over the smooth counter as his right hand closed around the hilt of a knife in the block.

You need to be realistic.

His tentacles whipped around wildly, jerking him about as if they were impeding his progress. The kitchen cabinets were shredded in the process, but he ignored the carnage as he pulled up his shirt and held the hem in his teeth. He held the blade in a reverse grip, carefully positioning the tip over his heart. He had come back from the fall, but not all his body had been damaged right? Maybe his heart had gotten out unscathed, keeping his quirk alive long enough for it to reverse the damage. He had no way of knowing.

The plan was dubious at best, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to think things through. Izuku gritted his teeth, his resolve hardening as he put both hands on the handle of the blade. His tentacles continued to thrash, but a steely hiss of "be still" through his gritted teeth had them freezing like chastised dogs.  

The room turned still, the very walls seeming to hold their breath as Izuku's arms tensed. He closed his eyes, and with one last bracing breath, he moved, the knife plunging into his chest as he screamed his resolve and desperation with his final breath.

A sound like tearing tinfoil rang through the air, Izuku's eyes flying open to watch in horror as the blade bent like rubber against his skin. His grip went limp, the ruined knife clattering to the floor as he fell to his knees.

“I can’t even fucking kill myself?!” he screamed incredulously, his fists pounding on the floor as rage and sorrow tore through him. His tentacles drifted towards him, the tip of one brushing his face, as if trying to console him. Izuku slapped it away, his gaze full of hate and sorrow as he looked at it. 

He hated those tentacles. He hated his eyes, his skin, this body-all of it. He hated his quirk for making him this way. He hated himself for having wanted it. He got a quirk like he had always wanted, and in just a few days he had become a murderer. It must have been divine intervention that kept his quirk from manifesting in the first place, a mercy from the universe to keep him from a villainous fate. And he was noting but an ungrateful idiot in return. 

What a fucking fool he'd been. He would give anything to turn back into the quirkless loser he was just a few days ago. He wanted to go to school and see Kacchan again, even if it mean getting beaten into the dirt. He wanted to eat Katsudon with mom and hold her close as long as he could. 

“Izuku?”

His blood ran cold.

Inko 's frail form appeared from the hallway, her wide eyes passing over the destruction around her to land on her son. Her bare feet carefully picked over the shattered wood and furniture. The walls around her had been reduced to tattered splinters, and there were deep gouges in the floor. The dining room table was nothing but scrap wood. The kitchen cabinets had been torn from the wall, their contents flung about and shattered. Those tentacles still writhed from his agitation, the crystal fractals shining and twisting. 

But Inko didn’t pay attention to any of that, her gaze focused on Izuku as she picked her way through the mess, barefoot. 

Izuku scrambled away from her, backpedaling until his shoulders collided with the lower kitchen cabinets, the island standing between them. “K- KEEP AWAY!” he ordered, his tentacles crossing in front of his body as a shield.

Inko stopped in shock, her body leaning into the island for support. She looked terrible, her skin paler than ever, her purple veins visible under her thin skin. She was soaked in sweat, her chest heaving for breath as her legs and arms trembled uncontrollably. She must have suffered through another episode while Izuku was gone. He cringed from guilt. 

"She should be resting, not dealing with this."

But despite all of that, her voice was gentle, and her gaze was kind. “Izuku, it’s okay baby," her voice quavered. "It’s okay, it’s just mom.”

Tears poured down Izuku’s face, his hands wrapping around his middle as the pain and guilt inside permeated his very bones, the hunger turning to agony.

“Don’t come near me.” He gasped, his tentacles curling inwards protectively. “I’ll hurt you. Stay away.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Inko professed, her voice firm and strong even as her body betrayed her. She edged around the island, her weak legs barely supporting her weight as she inched closer.

Izuku pleaded with her to stop, but she didn’t listen. When she reached the end of the island, she crawled towards him on her hands and knees. Splinters embedded themselves in her hands and legs, but she paid them no mind. “It’s okay Izuku, it’s okay. Mom’s here.”

Izuku wailed as her hand reached out, her bloody palm pressing delicately against a crystalline tentacle. She leaned against it, trusting the deadly appendage because it was part of him, the son that she loved and trusted completely. The tentacle rose to greet her, rising up to giver her support as she settled in front of him. The sharp crystals did not cut her as he thought they would. 

Izuku’s defenses dropped against his will, his other tentacle sliding away to allow Inko access to her son. Her strength gave out then, her head falling into his chest.

He reached for her reflexively, his arms pulling her frail body into him as he sobbed. Her arms curled over his shoulders, her hands making their way to his hair as she shushed him gently.

He cradled her head, his own dipping to pour his tears into her chest. The blood on her hands smeared on his face. Izuku’s tentacles curled back in, wrapping protectively around them both as Izuku cried and Inko comforted him.

But Izuku’s control was already at breaking point. The smell of warm cookies and fresh blood took hold, and Izuku keened as he felt the last of his control slip through his fingers, the hunger roaring though his body in triumph.

Inko pulled his face up, red eyes meeting green, her gaze full of affection. She smiled, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay. I love you, no matter what." 

He shuddered, his head dipping back down into her neck. Her hands cradled his head. "You hear me, Izuku? I lov-"

Her words cut off with a wet gurgle as Izuku’s teeth sank into her throat.

Ecstasy poured in as his he swallowed the first mouthful, his head eagerly descending for the next as the body slumped to the floor.

Izuku crouched over it like an animal, his hands grabbing at whatever they could reach, tearing flesh from bone and stuffing it into his mouth as fast as possible. Instinct dove him to the abdomen, his tentacles spearing down to crack open the ribcage, heart and lungs and stomach disappearing as he delved deeper.

He cracked bones to suck out the marrow like soda through a straw. Fat and blood cooled and congealed in the chest cavity, creating a heavenly slurry that he cupped in his hands like water and drank like a man dying of thirst.

Consciousness left as he ravaged the body, the only thing pushing him forward the hunger that demanded more, more, more.

When he returned to himself, his tentacles had retracted, and he was drenched in his mother’s blood. Very little of her body remained, but what did was gathered mournfully in his arms.

Izuku screamed in anguish as he stared into his mother’s eyeless skull.