Chapter Text
Chapter Warnings:
References to death, self-depreciation
Asphodel:
My regrets follow you to the grave
Woe is the flower that signifies regret, for even as you bleed it follows you to the grave.
There was a pulsing, an echoing in his skull. He couldn’t hear past it. It was like all other noise was simply gone.
The dull ache resonated through his bones like a nail hammering into his temple. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t act.
His eyes scanned the vision before him. He clawed at the earth. The feeling of his nails digging into the dirt was all that grounded him.
If he didn’t have that, if he wasn’t feeling the pinch and the wetness under his fingers, he was sure he would have lost himself.
Terror raced down his spine. He couldn’t help it.
He was staring at the worst sight of his life. He had seen it before, but only in passing. He had always managed to save them before it turned for the worst. He had never witnessed a death right in front of his eyes.
But this, here and now, was something out of his worst nightmares.
Because staring him down like a ticking bomb was the number over Aizawa’s head. The number counting down to his death.
And whereas that morning it had been a steady stream of days, amounting to several dozen years, now the number was amounting to mere minutes.
There wasn’t even an hour left.
Izuku was able to tell how long a person will live for a long time. At first, he had thought it was normal. He thought everyone knew what he did. He hadn’t connected the hazy numbers over someone’s head to their lifespan. He hadn’t thought he had a power like that, a quirk.
No one thought he had a quirk at all.
He was diagnosed quirkless at five years old. The doctor had taken one look at his toes and decided that he could never have a quirk. At the time, it had been heartbreaking for Izuku. He had wanted nothing more than to be a hero, and that almost sealed the deal for him.
How was he supposed to help if he didn’t have a quirk? How could he be a hero?
Izuku was quirkless. But he wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t useless.
It took some time for him to not agree with the doctor, with the cruel children who mocked him at school. Izuku struggled to think of himself as something more, as someone worth anything.
Only, Izuku started to notice things. He noticed how the numbers changed. Sometimes it was caused by an adult moving too fast, or a child too recklessly. Sometimes it was as simple as picking one meal over another and the numbers would grow. Sometimes…Izuku watched the numbers drop considerably. He started to feel dread as he saw the count on a person’s head dwindle.
It all came to a close when he had to spend a night with his mother at the hospital. A rough day at school had left Izuku with a broken arm, bruised ribs, and an angry Inko set on a warpath. His mother had fretted, fussed, and promised Izuku he would never have to return to that damned school again.
And, as Izuku sat in the nurses' station waiting for his mother to get off work so they could go over his other options for school, he had seen his first signs of death.
His mother worked in the ICU. Inko was a great nurse and exceptional at her job. The other nurses looked to her for guidance often and had a tendency to treat Izuku like one of their own because of it. Due to that, Izuku only got a glimpse of the grizzly scene before one of the younger nurses practically dragged him away.
It was a man wheeled in on a stretcher. He was covered in blood and his skin was torn to shreds. Glass shards dotted his body from what Izuku could see as he looked back. The nurse’s hand on his shoulder couldn’t block the grisly scene.
Hovering above the head of the victim were three numbers. A one, a three, and a five. The five counted down to a four, and then it continued to drop.
One hundred and thirty seconds were left by the time Izuku could no longer see the man.
No one spoke of what happened. None of the nurses told him if the victim survived. Izuku still knew what had happened.
He didn’t need to see his mother’s tight expression. He didn’t need to catch a glimpse of the black bag wheeled out the door.
His mother was tired that night when they returned. She didn’t go to sleep right away, instead, she set him up in his room and watched TV well into the night. Izuku woke up midway through the night to find his mother curled up on the couch clutching a glass of wine.
The numbers over her head were lower. He grabbed a blanket, pulled it over her shoulders, and took the glass of wine to dump into the sink. Then he spared one last glance at his mother before heading to bed.
Her numbers were high again.
There were several other moments like those. For the most part, the numbers would remain close to what they started as. Some people fluctuated every so often, but generally not by huge jumps. But there were exceptions to everything.
There were days when Izuku saw something he almost wished he hadn’t. Days where Izuku saw the numbers above someone’s head inch toward death. Sometimes they never reached the end. Sometimes they spiked up and seconds became years. Just like with his mother.
Other times, Izuku never had to wonder what had happened to them. He never saw them again.
He tried mentioning these numbers to his mother. He wanted to know if it could possibly be a quirk. Inko had looked at him in horror when he revealed it to her. But she had taken it to heart and brought it up to his doctor.
They were laughed out of the office.
Dr. Tsubasa had called him ludicrous. He had looked Izuku in the eye as he spoke.
“Don’t lie my boy. We both know it’s impossible for you to have a quirk. You are Quirkless. These are just figments of your imagination in desperation to fill the void you have. You just want to be complete.”
Izuku could still hear the echo of his mother’s hand as it struck the doctor. The image of his mother’s hand, red and shaking, hanging in the air next to the doctor’s face played out over and over in his dreams.
She never let anyone downplay her son. It was the whole reason Izuku had felt so comfortable with telling her about his ability. Her harsh protectiveness and fierce loyalty made it so that Izuku never doubted her.
Izuku never went back to Doctor Tsubasa. Inko found him another doctor, and while neither of them ever brought up Izuku’s apparent ability again, Izuku much preferred Doctor Sarumi to Doctor Tsubasa.
Sarumi was odd but he knew Izuku’s father. Or he knew of him. Inko wouldn’t explain and neither would Dr. Sarumi, but Izuku didn’t mind. He was just glad that his quirkless status wasn’t being rubbed in his face anymore.
Dr. Sarumi was a great doctor. He helped Izuku out and even offered options to Izuku for maintaining his health. With his insight, Izuku was able to develop a meal plan and exercise regimen that would help him be a better hero.
He enjoyed his visits with the doctor and their talks about quirks. He was able to hone his skills thanks to the doctor’s suggestions. And he learned more than a few things about his ability in the process.
He learned how he could use his unique ability to help.
He learned how he could be a hero.
(Cover Art for Asphodel)
