Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seeing the words 'anti-bullying seminar' sparked a reaction so visceral even Izuku didn't expect it.

Not among peers—no, his classmates were chattering away, as they did before class, Iida imploring that everyone kindly take their seats and wait for—an unusually late—home room teacher to arrive.

Izuku, however, conversed casually with Uraraka before dropping into his chair and glancing up.

Anti bullying seminar.

What a fucking joke.

Kacchan seemed to remember—if the still, fragile composure he was sporting was to be trusted.

The view of the board and Kacchan in his chair wasn't improving the memories his mind dredges up—he half expected a mass of students or Ikeda sensei to stroll through the door, stupid fucking binder clutched in his hands.

Deep breaths.

Izuku's heart stuttered illogically when the door opened, only for Aizawa sensei to shuffle in—obviously it would be Aizawa sensei.

"Listen up, hellions," Aizawa sensei starts, not an unusual opening for him. "We've finally gotten to the social problems surrounding heroics. There's plenty to teach you about the world, how it treats people, what kind of people you'll meet and how to deal with them, and more. Our first section--different types of stigma and how they'll affect you during your career.

"For the first day we're going to start with something relatively slow paced and easily digestible. Which is why we're starting with—" a screen flits on and a graph fill the space. "—statistics."

Aizawa sensei seemed to perk up at the resounding groans, dipping his head into his scarf for a moment.

"Lets get started."

It drags on an obscene amount of time, downright gruesome facts and numbers filling the screen, a mix of sheer boredom and disconcertment. Izuku might fall asleep if he wasn't counting in his head how many statistics applied—how many still applied.

"That class was such a drag!" Kaminari groans out once class finally lets out.

Tucking her hair behind her head, Uraraka murmured uncharacteristically downtrodden. "It was pretty dark, wasn't it?"

"It's not even the—y'know—" Kaminari spoke up again "it's statistics. It's like he wants us to zone out."

Their conversation continues on monotonously, a background noise to the chaos happening in his head. He makes brief eye contact with Kacchan, but he turns away before Kacchan can get anything across. He doesn't want to think about it—He doubts the other boy does, either.

So he doesn't. He ignores it until their next class. He goes through the motions in his other classes—only half paying attention—then does homework, eats, trains some more, and retires to his room early.

Tomorrow will be a new day, a day in which he never has to think about the person he was before, or the person who sits in front of him, learns with him, fights with him, was before.

Izuku didn't know why, but he had a sliver of hope that the board would have something new written on it today, and that he could pretend he never existed before UA.

"Today's going to be different from our past classes." Aizawa sensei tells them, sharp eyed and serious. "We're starting the more graphic examples of bullying—while I don't agree that this footage can't wait until second year, I do agree with Nezu on one thing. You're upcoming hero's—you're going to see some of the darkest this world has to offer—and it's better to be prepared than to realize on the job exactly what that means."

There's a long pause to reflect on what their teacher has said, and Aizawa sensei lets them sit on it. "However, bullying can be a tough subject. Whether it's something you've experienced or someone you love—and as such, we've agreed that anyone who thinks this might be too much for them can step out. So, anyone who feels unable or unequipped to deal with graphic footage depicting severe bullying, raise your hand."

There room is dead quiet in the wake of his speech, usual whispering or giggling absent. Aizawa sensei's sigh is emphatic.

"I also want to mention that taking up this offer does not make you weak. It does not mean you are not suited for this career. You're first years, you'll have time to learn about the real dark side of heroics. So, I ask you again. Does anyone here feel unprepared to watch graphic footage?"

This time, a hesitant hand crawls its way up. "My little sister was bullied. Ribbit." Tsuyu tells him.

"That's completely acceptable. No need to tell me your reasons."

Slowly, more hands creep up—Koda's, Aoyoma's, Shoji's, and surprisingly, Mina's and Sero's.

"Alright. You six will have an independent study session with Mic. And remember, if anyone at any point decides this is too much for them, just raise your hand and you'll be excused."

They're already filing out of the room when Kacchan glances questioningly back at him and Izuku realizes he's missed his chance to escape, but it seems like it would be much more attention drawing and anxiety inducing to ask to leave along with them.

"Keep in mind, the publisher of this footage and the perpetrators themselves have not been revealed—if you know anything about the identities of anyone in this film, you're obligated to come forward." Aizawa nods then, shuts the lights out like it's a home movie, and hits play.

The footage is grainy, slightly lower than a person's eyes—either it's a quirk or the camera rests on the chest of someone. Izuku doesn't even recognize it at first—partly due to quality and partly because he'd dissociated so hard back then that it might as well be another life. But he does recognize it. He especially recognizes the person taking up space on it.

There Deku is, hiding behind the camera and filming the worst days of his life.

If the words on the board back on their first day caused a reaction, this one was besetting and all consuming.

It was familiar, the grip on his lungs—pushingpushingsqueezing—the immediate tremble, vibrations like an incoming train wracking his body, fuzzy vision and booming heart in his ears—Boom.Boom.Boom.

And still, he couldn't do anything about it, stuck in his chair and ears ringing with 'look, he's crying!' sharp laughter gurgling in his ears.

Kacchan is still in his chair, but Uraraka is rambling sympathetically in his ear, Iida's books thudding in his bag as he puts them away, Aizawa sensei telling them about tomorrows class—probably, he assumes.

"DEKU?"

It sends wasps back through his eyes and down his throat, into his stomach.

There's no Deku here. He wants to scream. It's just me.

"Deku?" Her hand is cold on his arm, four fingers gentle on his too warm skin.

"Sorry." He answers on autopilot. If he was actually there, he might've flinched or drawn back, but he's not so he doesn't.

"Sorry, must've zoned out." The words are hard to push out, but not as hard as he'd have thought they'd be.

"That's ok!" Her voice brightens. No one is ever that happy to talk to Deku. "But I do have to go, I'm visiting home and I'm about to miss my train." She says regretfully.

The clock looks off, but if Uraraka's train is leaving then it can't be.

"Midoriya?" Aizawa sensei calls—he sounds bored but not bored bored—worried bored.
"Sorry," Deku says again, but it's better, he'd rehearsed just seconds ago. He didn't notice Uraraka leave. "The lights off must've put me to sleep."

Aizawa sensei's worry still bleeds into his eyes, but there's faint anger now, irritation.

Deku is sorry he doesn't mean to be so annoying he doesn't mean to cause so much anger hatred.

"It's fine, kid. I expect you to pay attention next class, understood?"

Deku nods hysterically—just let him leave—and shoots up, bows deeply. "Sorry." He mutters, then scuttles out like a coward.

The air is no thinner out here, but the pressure on his chest has started easing, the temperature cooling.

"Hey—"

And like a match had been lit, the flames return. If anything, the air is thicker here—they should invest in better vents—but Deku knows better. It wasn't the vents here, and it wasn't the vents in Aldera. It's him. He's the problem. He's the one who can't breathe. And breathing is pretty essential, but he can't do it, and he'll probably die because the stupid vents aren't working—

"In two—come on please just breathe you know I hate saying please but here I am fucking doing it."

Izuku wonders if that's his guardian angel, but if it is they've been doing a really shitty job and also, they probably shouldn't curse at the dying kid.

"You're not fucking dying D-" the voice huffs, a small sad thing. "Just follow me, ok?"

The hand reaches out to touch but touch is bad no one touches him sweetly not even his mom who used to be so gentle and nice but now doesn't touch him at all and he wonders if maybe he's cursed—or diseased like the other kids always said—and that's why they never wanted to make skin contact when they beat him into the ground of a dirty ally.

"I don't know what to do—should I get Aizawa SENSEI."

"No," the raspy broken word escapes. "No, no, no—"

"Ok—no. That's fine. Just, fuck I'm so not the one who should be here. Just breathe with me, ok?"

He does as he's told, because thoughtless, weak Deku always does as he's told. It burns at first, but he's ignored worse for less, and it will hurt more if he doesn't listen to the voice.

Spiky hair fades in—not like he couldn't see before, but like the processing center of his brain took a break so that he could focus on not dying.

And thank Kami it's spiky hair, because Kacchan he can deal with. Kacchan is mean and hurts his feelings but he's also safe because he's the only person the others won't commit attempted murder in front of.

Attempted murder is a bit much. Manslaughter, maybe. Aggravated assault?

What does it matter, no one would convict based on the of a quirkless kid.

"Come on you were doing it, do it again."

He follows again, wondering why Kacchan would be commanding anything of him in that soft small tone, but it's a kind voice, and Deku would do anything for a kind voice.

It takes time, the breath to revive his lungs, the blur to even out, the feel of the ground underneath him--but things get clearer and clearer, and he realizes what it is that Kacchan is doing--he's done it for himself many times.

"I'm--" Izuku starts, raspy. "I'm ok--"

"No, the fuck you're not," Kacchan says borderline hysterically, hands running through his hair. "What the fuck--no you're not."

"I am, now. You--you did good--"

"Please stop." Kacchan has his hands over his eyes, sitting back against the wall and finally taking a moment to decompress.

They don't speak until Kacchan leans his face against his knees. "I have to tell Aizawa sensei, you know that, right?"

"What?" Izuku bursts, a new round of adrenaline fighting out of him. "No--don't you dare."

Kacchan stares gob smacked, blinking dumbly. "Are you kidding? Oh, you're fucking kidding, right?"

'It's fine--I'll just, we'll just get through the videos and then it will be over, and we won't have to think about it again."

"Oh my god, you've got to be kidding me." Kacchan grumbles. "You think I'm gunna sit on this information for one more second?"

"You did for a year." Izuku answers blandly, tinge of indignation slipping out.

Kacchan doesn't expect it, but he recovers quickly. "Yeah, and I was an idiot to do that, too."

"You owe me." Izuku says quietly, anything to get Kacchan to stop.

Kacchan's heated half glare pierces into him, red eyes darting between his. "You're a conniving little shit, you know that?"

Izuku feels equal parts irritation and amusement. "Yeah, I know."

They sit for a moment, Izuku catching his breath and Kacchan his composure. "I guess...I'll see you in class." Izuku says finally.

Kacchan makes a noise of agreement and Izuku hesitantly walks off, heading to the dorms to sleep away his thoughts. And on Monday, he'll have to do it all again.

Chapter Text

"Come on, Deku. We dragged you all the way up here, least you could do is do your part."

Red eyes. Jagged sharklike teeth and extended claws. One second, he's here. The next, somewhere else.

Two hands push his shoulder blades—pain.

Deku jerks up, heart pounding and phantom pain edging up his stomach and head. His phone is buzzing, a notification from All Might that reads--Great work yesterday, young Midoriya. Meet same time, same place?

Sure. Izuku texts back blearily, rubbing his hands over sleep crusted eyes.

He goes through his classes in a daze—one that makes him see smiling glinting teeth and hear a persistent buzz of whispers. Each thud is explosive, each call of his name—not his name, it's not his—sending him down a genetically modified killer rabbit hole. He can't write anything legible down, his hands shaking so much he promises to write it from memory in his dorm room—where it's safe. Safer.

"Hey, little listener." Mic sensei greets. It shocks him enough that he jumps, and Mic pulls his hand back from Izuku's shoulder, amused mask not quite covering the concern. "Sorry there, can't ever tell how loud I'm being."

"Oh! No--I'm sorry, I've just been in my head is all. It wasn't--wasn't your fault." Izuku reassures, not missing the way Mic sensei is eyeing him subtly.

"Just letting you know that class ended--you seemed pretty out of it." Mic tells him cheerfully, and Izuku realizes that it's true. The classroom is empty, half of the writing Izuku hadn't seen appear erased from the board. The clock looks off.

"R-right. Sorry, sensei." Izuku grabs his bag and starts packing things away quickly, hoping not to be late to his next class. He's a little surprised that nobody shook him from his reverie or even called his name, but a part of him thinks he shouldn't be.

This is what people do, remember?

It's what people do to the quirkless. He argues back.

"You sure you don't want to take a minute? I can write you a slip for your next class."

Mic drags him out of his own head, now looking concerned and having taken a seat across from him.

Izuku is quick to respond, not pausing in his hurry. "I'm sure, Mic sensei."

He leaves before his teacher can respond, flying into his next class and immediately realizing he forgot his late slip--but Ectoplasm merely tosses him a strange glance and continues onward.

He sits down in his chair for math, numbers and signs he feels he should recognize scattered all over the board. Uraraka writes vigorously and he sees why in a moment after a piece of paper is passed to him.

Sorry I didn't stay behind I called you but you were really out of it and Mic sensei told us to go ahead :(

That's ok Izuku writes back he was right, just tired Ig >.<

She reads it and then throws a relieved look to him, turning back to the board before Ectoplasm calls them out.

Kacchan's eyes are following him when Izuku turns, and even when Kacchan turns back to the board Izuku still feels like eyes are boring into him.

______________________________________

"I can't help but notice that you seem to be more distracted." All Might tells him whilst Izuku destroys the training grounds. "And destructive."

"I-I have?" Izuku asks, dread building steadily.

All Might hums. "Not that I'm upset with you," He's quick to correct, well aware of Izuku's habit of catastrophizing. "I-I find myself worried." He admits.

"Worried." Izuku echos dimly. That's all he feels like, lately. An echo, a reverberation of someone else's thoughts, ideas, self. Sometimes, Izuku doubts that he really exists at all, and that he's merely a collection of all the reflections he's mirrored until it created something passably authentic.

"Well, you're usually such a diligent student, and your proneness to violence has only ever been turned inward." Izuku realizes what he means when he sees just how much demolition has been done throughout their session. It's still odd to consider Izuku violent, but it's true--Izuku just hadn't ever thought of violence directed towards him as truly violent.

"Ah," All Might interrupts his thoughts ruefully, tinged with disappointment. "It seems our time is up. I'll walk you to your homeroom." He tells Izuku cheerfully. He feels so incredibly lucky that not only does someone put up with his presence but actively enjoys it.

Izuku spies Todoroki watching him suspiciously while All Might bids him farewell at the door and crosses his fingers that a second round of rumors don't spread.

The door creaks ominously, which Izuku is sure it has never done before, and he takes his seat.

"You know the drill." Aizawa calls out boredly. Surprisingly, he doesn't sequester himself to his sleeping bag while they watch, instead sitting back in his chair, hands in pockets, and watches like he's never seen it before, despite Izuku being sure that he must've vetted all the footage before he'd shown it--unless Izuku was overestimating his prudence.

The screen flickers on, and Izuku holds it in, mood plummeting at an incredibly quick rate. It's like a living being, writhing and scrambling in his stomach—a black hole he's trying to contain with his arms wrapped around and a very intent will.

Kacchan is purposefully still in front of him, but his hands are gripping his pants, and his foot is tapping in an uneven rhythm.

Tap. Tap.....tap. Tap tap.

Voices filter through. "Hey, we just wanted to chat." The arm wraps around his—Deku's—shoulder. Like they're friends. Like it's even necessary to pretend—it's not, no one would care. He's not pretending, he's mocking.

"Don't be so shy, we wanna be your friend!"
Snickers. People walk by--teachers walk by. The silence is full of accusations. Why won't you help me. Why won't you save me. Will you regret this moment when the spider lilies on my desk are placed on my grave?

They won't.

"Hey, I've got to get to class but y'know what? I'll make time just for you, that sound good? Same time same place? You're a real hero, --Static--

Deku. He knows that's what Suzaki said, having edited the name out himself. Even misshapen and shapeless as it is, it cuts into Deku like the boy is standing in front of him.

The video stops.

"Now, this time it might've been harder to catch, can anyone tell me what tactics are being used to belittle or attack the student recording?"

"Uh—social bullying? Right? Unless it's verbal." Uraraka answers, finger to her lip.

Aizawa's head dips, and Deku hates that everyone is so composed, that their worlds can be fine and his is literally crashing out in 4k. "Good job, most people can't name some types of bullying. And it's not one single answer, it can be a combination of two, sometimes more. Yes, Kirishima."

"What exactly is social bullying? Isn't that all bullying?"

"Good question." Aizawa sensei answers. "There's no one way to bully someone. There's physical, which can be anywhere from a full-blown fistfight or simply tugging on sticking your leg out in front of someone. It can also be stealing or destroying someone's belongings.

"There's verbal—what you say to someone, names you call them--it's a pretty straightforward description. Social, also known as relational bullying, is when the perpetrators actions are intended to or result in the degeneration of the victims' relationships or reputation. This can be harder to identify and catch--similar to the video it can be a person pretending to treat you fairly or positively, but the intention is to degrade the person they're targeting. It can be hard to pin down if someone actually has negative intentions and it's even harder to prove that they do. Other examples of relational bullying that are common is starting rumors, passing unsavory notes--you get the idea.

"There's also cyberbullying, when someone bullies another through technology in some way—the internet, social media, messaging—"

"Can't they just turn their phone off?" Mineta cuts in. "No offense, but how can you let yourself be bullied if you can just ignore it?"

"What an excellent question." Aizawa answers testily. "It's true that you can turn the device off, but usually cyberbullying occurs with someone you know. Turning it off doesn't solve the issue, it just allows the rumors and accusations to run rampant until you finally do make contact with the person inciting it. Not to mention that 'ignoring the bullying' is an incredibly inefficient method, which not only can lead to escalation to get a reaction but also shifts the blame to the victim for reacting to their abuse. I don't think that's what you're trying to get across, is it Mineta?"

Mineta shakes his head fervently, but Izuku is just glad they took so much attention off of the videos. Of course, moments later the videos start up again.

Deku looks at the time, but there's still a large chunk of class left, and despite his unspoken prayers, another video appears.

Some prayers were answered, at least. This clip doesn't have anything that Izuku thinks will set him off, nor anything he'd be terribly embarrassed to have someone see. The only reason it was posted was because he'd thought viewers should see how small acts could impact someone, of course that was ruined once he realized all his viewers were from people he knew spamming his comment section with insults or insensitive remarks about how life goes on.

In the clip, it's just Deku, hiding in the bathrooms at lunch because he'd been driven out of the cafeteria. His mom had stopped making him bento's long ago, and not being able to go to get lunch meant he had no food and a ton of free time. Even just walking around, even when people could be spending their lunch talking to their friends or on their phones, they still chose to torment him--like it was enough fun in itself that they'd waste their free time.

So, he hid in the bathroom and ignored the banging that would come and go once people first realized he was in there and then finally got bored and left. He played on his phone, texted his mom 'when will you be home tonight?' with no reply, and peeked periodically underneath the stalls. The bell would ring, but Deku had to wait until the late bell rang so he could leave. Being quirkless meant you got in trouble every day--might as well be unblemished from bruises and in trouble.

Lo' and behold, he was. Instant detention and sent to the principle. It ended before they could see that clusterfuck.

"I want to point out, before anyone gets any ideas, that this behavior from the teachers is entirely irresponsible and incredibly harmful." Aizawa clears up, eyes mutinous and intense. "Even just from that short clip, it's clear that the discrimination extends to the faculty, if not from the harsh repercussions than from the neglectful behavior from the first video. If you ever experience an adult treating, you unfairly--find another adult. I know it feels counterintuitive seeing as the first one you've gone to has abused that trust, but at UA, every teacher here is rooting for you--if you can't trust any other adult, trust me when I say this--I will not allow this behavior from any adult--staff or not--to any child, student or not."

He's so genuine and passionate watching them, and Izuku can't help but believe him. He wishes he'd known Aizawa 'before'. He wishes he'd known it was possible to trust someone to help him.

"Bullying doesn't just come from peers, sometimes it comes from someone in power. It's not unlikely each of you may experience this as rookies on the field with more experienced hero's. Now, let's move onto how to deal with this type of behavior, for yourself and others, throughout your careers."

Chapter Text

Izuku stands outside the door, already having told Uraraka and Iida that he’d forgotten something and that they should go ahead without him.

He can hear Aizawa sensei’s muffled voice going over what will we on the test, and the knowledge that he’s late due to his procrastination only makes him want to turn around again. The light goes out in the room, and Izuku takes that as his cue to slip in.

Aizawa squints through the dark but says nothing as he takes his seat—though Izuku is sure he’ll have plenty to say after class, he’s not one to let go of that kind of thing.

They're in class. It was probably during break, seeing as a chunk of people are missing—Kacchan is gone too—of course.

(Secretly, Izuku is very very glad that he'd never published anything with Kacchan’s face, he felt enough guilt without it.)

(Extra extra secretly—Deku wishes Kacchan had gotten caught at least once)

Deku is sitting down, hands trembling in his lap, and across from him, arms crossed and smirking, Hashiga.

"So, tell me, —..static..—, can you really read? Cuz I've heard the only reason you're passing is cuz you're passing out favors for your teachers. Which is crazy, because why would anyone want to touch you?"

His fists clench, but he's silent, because anything he says will make it worse—he knows.

"Nothing to say? I guess it's hard to defend when everyone knows the truth, isn't it, —..Static..—."

The camera moves with Deku's breaths, speeding up with his. Up, down. Up, down.

The teacher is in the corner of the frame, typing away on his computer and occasionally glancing towards them—making sure the scene they're causing doesn't extend past him—to anyone that matters.

"Say, we wrote a couple of get-well letters for you, what with your disease, want us to read them for you?" Hashiga coughs, clearing their voice performatively.

"Dear Quirkless waste of space, a null like you has absolutely no worth besides the one that half the staff has taken advantage of, but that's ok, because it's common knowledge that gaining a quirk is child's play, all you have to do is jump in front of traffic and hope the gods deem you worthy of a second chance. We'll cash in the favor that is our advice for a favor from you soon. sincerely, everyone."

Hashiga crumples it up and throws it in Deku's face, which had clearly ducked to avoid losing an eye.

Deku remembers his lungs seizing up, remembers the terror and building anxiety waiting after school for someone to finally take him up on that ‘favor’. But no one ever came, Deku’s fear finally beginning to settle once he realized no one wanted to touch him. It never fully goes away, and every now and then while they were antagonizing relentlessly, he wondered if today would be the day that changed.

He’s distracted from the lesson by Kacchan who's sitting in front of him, practically trembling with—cold? Rage? Something else?

He sets his head on the desk, clearly trying to get a hold of himself as he breathes to the pattern he'd taught Izuku.

Hesitantly, Izuku reaches under the desk and taps his leg with his own which stills Kacchan’s tap tapping.

Kacchan swallows, but scoots his chair back imperceptibly and slowly reaches with his own hand, holding Izuku's hand gently at first, then so tightly it almost hurts.

He doesn't pull away until the screen is turned off and the lights on.

Twenty minutes later, Izuku is skipping lunch to camp out with Kacchan in his dorm room, hands sparking as he walks the area while Izuku watches from his place curled up in the desk chair.

"I said the exact same shit that this fucking—abuser said to you. How—I'm not—how can you even—"

"In two." Izuku reminds him to breathe, not even a little vindictive as he wishes he could be. He wishes he could hate Kacchan, that he could say "see? See what you did?"

But he's never hated Kacchan, and even though it hurt, it hurt in the way a cut hurts compared to a gunshot wound.

"Watching those videos—" Kacchan starts, now fully sitting on the ground. "It makes me want to vomit. Or—hit something. Scream. Fuck I wanna scream.

"We should tell someone, right?"

"No." Izuku stresses, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. It's over now, no one will hurt me like that ever again—" he wishes he believed himself. "I don't wanna dredge up the past."

"The past? The fucking past? I'm in that shit! I ruined your life I told you—" he cuts off, head in hands, breathing.

"You're not." Izuku says after a moment. "In the videos."

Kacchan stares like he's an idiot. "Why the hell not?" He looks even more stressed now, which is surprising for someone who previously thought their hero career was over.

"Why the ever loving fuck am I not in those videos? Do you hate yourself?"

"No," Izuku starts, feeling incredibly wrong footed. "But I don't hate you."

"Why not?" He sounds so ruined, like watching those videos was like watching it happen to him. Like it really, truly fucking hurt.

"Because it's all you saw. Everyone you trusted hated me. Everyone you liked despised me. Can you seriously say that any impressionable kid would've stood up for me?"

Kacchan stares, an indescribably look on his face. “You would've."

"I can see how you've changed.” Izuku pivots. “And I—I care about you. Maybe that makes me fucked up, but I can see your potential—and not in the way they did, because you know I'd never let you hurt Uraraka, or Iida—"

"Just you?" He replies blandly. Izuku ignores him.

"Maybe you think you deserve to be punished—maybe you do—but I don't want that. I want you to be the best hero—the best person that you can."

He clearly disagrees, but he just huffs and sits on his bed, arms wrapped around one leg, until Izuku’s stomach growls.

They walk side by side, even as they approach the cafeteria, and it grows increasingly obvious that Kacchan isn't going anywhere.

Odd looks surface from the other table from Kacchans usual group as he passes, enough so that it seems to get on Kacchans nerves, and he barks out 'what are you extras staring at?!'

Kirishima doesn't flinch, used to his behavior. "No offense, but uh, have you sat with Midoriya before—ever?"

"I sit where I want!" He slams his tray down, sitting beside Izuku. It—it's kind of nice. It sort of feels like Kacchan is checking up on him, or like he wants to make sure he's ok.

"We could all sit together!" Uraraka suggests.

Iida approved immediately, hands chopping in agreement. "An excellent idea!"

They move to put the two tables together, a loud screeching noise ringing out—

Tires skid on the ground—there's not enough time, and Izuku thinks he's probably going to die, now. They'll probably think he just killed himself, and no one will look any further. He hopes the person driving finds out he was quirkless, otherwise they’d have a whole lot of guilt for a long time.

"—Deku?" He blinks, and car headlights are no longer staring him in the face.

"Sorry," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "Just thinking."

"Of course you are." Jirou teases lightly, hand swinging her headphone in circles.

Normally it wouldn't bother him, but all he can think about is the way Suzuki looked when he thought he'd gotten Izuku killed, and the insecurity sparks.

"Yknow, this is technically the longest we've ever gone without some type of incident." Sero tells them, head propped up on his palm.

"You've basically just jinxed it." Kaminari said in amusement.

Sero sat up in indignation. "I was just making an observation! Now if something happens everyone will blame me."

Mina pats his cheek. "You mean when something happens."

"You haven't been spending as much time with All Might." Todoroki says across from Izuku, conversation lapping over the others.

"Again with the All Might thing." Uraraka grumbles.

"What All Might thing?" Kaminari asks, and Todoroki lights up light a thousand suns.
_________________________________________

Izuku doesn't spend much time with Aizawa sensei--not that he doesn't want to! It's just, Aizawa is a little intimidating, and he finds it hard to interact with a teacher so stoic without bursting into flames.

Ironically, Aizawa sensei is also the teacher Izuku trusts the most. You'd think it would be All Might--and he is a strong contender, but Aizawa sensei has risked his life to save his students, risks his life every day on the streets, fighting for the little guy, for the ones who can't look out for themselves--and gets no recognition for it--expects no recognition for it.

And a small part of him remembers being someone who felt much younger, much more fragile, standing on a roof and watching as his idol took off with the shattered remains of Deku's hope.

It's contradictory to trust someone so much and to also fear them, just a little--but Izuku has had contradictory, complicated relationships with adults before.

"You should be asleep."

Izuku jumps, not used to being snuck up on. Aizawa is still, eyes almost glowing in the dark common room and leaning on the doorway, arms crossed.

"W-what are you doing here?" Izuku whispers. Aizawa's lip twitches.

"Teachers patrol the dorms periodically and it's my turn, tonight." He answers. Izuku feels stupid for not realizing that. UA's security measures had really improved lately. "You?"

Izuku shrugs instead of answering and Aizawa's eyes sharpen. "You wouldn't be looking for trouble, would you?" It isn't combative, it's more amused than anything else, but Izuku is so unused to someone older joking with him that it feels like accusation--or maybe like a joke was being played on him, but Aizawa sensei isn't like that, even if he is a teacher.

Instead of unloading all of that, Izuku just shakes his head, heading to the sink to fill up his water. Aizawa's eyes narrow again, more suspicious this time now that Izuku hadn't taken the bait.

Izuku remembers, in the empty space their conversation has arrived at, an interaction that felt like years ago, in which Aizawa had caught him spacing out during their recent lessons. "I'm taking our lessons seriously." Izuku wants to cringe at the direct, unprompted nature of his comment.

Aizawa quirks a brow, likely thinking the same. "I would hope so."

"It's just," Izuku continues turning the faucet, wanting to fix the likely unsavory image of himself and awkward atmosphere he's created. He pauses, heart picking up rapidly. What if he just, said it? What would happen if he just decided to be honest, if someone Izuku could trust to give a damn was given the opportunity to give a damn?

Then, reality creeps in--images of being turned away by doctors, of coming home and crying just to get his mom to check on him only to realize she wasn't there, of sitting in an office with another kid as they berated his 'delinquency', his mom driving them home in silence.

The water pours out of his cup, overflowing. "Kid?"

"Sorry," Izuku answers blandly. "Guess I'm pretty tired."

"Why don't we talk in my office?" Aizawa sounds both distant and closer, a dangerous combination.

"No." Izuku tries not to sound too eager to escape a 'talk in the office', tries to sound like a normal kid. "I'll feel better after I sleep, a little. Thanks, sensei."

Izuku doesn't remember when he goes to sleep, or when he gets up, or when he attends class. All he knows is that he's staring at a screen that doesn't look like a screen--looks like he's really seeing it, which is ironic considering Izuku has felt like his entire life he was watching one big screen.

The image lights up, imprinted in his mind. Bugs crawl down his spine and it feels as though they've made a home in him, rotting him from the inside out. Sometimes it feels like people can see it, can smell it, can feel it. Can they see him rotting? Is he no good?

He—he didn't want to see this one. He didn't want to watch this—he didn't want any of them to watch this.

It's not the most violent, not even the worst of the recordings he'd had hoarded away—but it's so humiliating, so degrading and dehumanizing and embarrassing.

It plays anyway.

It's hard to tell what's going on camera, but Deku feels the fingers clawing in his scalp, pulling his hair towards the fucking public toilet.

"Want an interview with your future, worthless static?"

Distorted stammering makes its way out—because no footage of Deku would ever give a clue as to who he was, not the names he was called or the voice he had—before he was shoved in.

It takes long, too long. Deku remembers the burning of his lungs, the disgust because even as he was actively being drowned, he couldn't help thinking of how gross it actually was. He remembers how long they held him there—so long that they had to drag him out because he hadn't had the strength.

When he’s pulled out, he doesn’t feel anger or vindication, he just feels debased. When they laugh, he doesn’t think ‘how could they do this?, he thinks ‘I must look so disgusting right now.

He hacks up on the tile, he remembers a flash, but the video shows it more clearly, the phone shoved in his face. Someone has that photo. It will exist there, forever.

The videos at least serve a purpose—please don't let this happen to another kid, please do something worthwhile with my suffering.
(They did. He got his wish. It feels like bad karma.)—but that photo is only used to re-victimize, to immortalize his pathetic wretched helplessness.

He coughs up water, eyes bleary and feeling incredibly cold. It is winter, and they'd pulled off his coat when he'd tried making a break for it. He doesn't want to walk to an empty house in sewer water heavy clothes through the freezing air. He doesn't want to leave the bathroom and see all the people making a joke out of him, he doesn't want to be.

And then suddenly he isn't cold. He's warm, and dry, and they're in the middle of a bullying seminar.

Izuku's eyes flit down, and Kacchan's hand is there, just resting in his own under the desk. He has to lean back to do it, but he ends up looking like his usual unbothered delinquent self. His hand is very warm.

He follows breathing patterns through the rest of their class, dejected disappointment stinging when Kacchan has to pull his hand away. He won't cry. Deku cries, Deku can't do anything to help himself, so he cries instead, he isn't Deku.

"I didn't freak out." Izuku tells Kacchan later, after they've left class, and he's pulled inconspicuously into an empty hallway.

"I know freaking out--you freaked out. Dammit, D--" He shakes his head in frustration. "How much shit are you gunna take before you let someone help you?

"You can call me Deku, you know." Izuku tells him in the quiet, clearly deflecting.

Kacchan huffs. "No, I can't. Not with—" he shakes his head, mouth thin. "Why—"

Izuku frowns, the confusing mix of emotions on the other boys face unguarded.

"Why didn't you tell someone?" He breaks finally, not meeting his eyes and a suspicious sheen glazing his own. "Some of that stuff--it's so bad. It's fucking criminal and--" He starts pacing, an animal in a cage.

"I don't understand how--the teachers here are so different--I could never see Aizawa sensei standing by for any of that shit." It's telling, how he speaks of Aizawa. He really respects him, Izuku realizes. He's never had a teacher he could respect before.

Society really fucked both of them up.

"I don't wanna watch you lose it again." Kacchan puts indelicately. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"I need to do this—I know it doesn't make sense but—I can't, I can't sit in some other classroom wondering what all my classmates saw about me. Even if they don't know it's me."

Kacchan gives in.

Chapter Text

Izuku is constantly on edge, lately.

The lack of sleep has started weighing on him, drowsy throughout the day and then a burst of life whenever he's watching those god forsaken videos play and then crashing again, a weird sort of jittery exhaustion.

It's reminiscent of his middle school days, except he can't crash at home now, instead fighting through until his head hits the pillow--but by then the short vivid dreams jolt him awake. Sometimes, he can't even fall asleep. He just lays in bed, desperately tired to the point of frustrated tears when his body refuses to sleep.

It comes to a head during their heroics class.

It's some exercise that Izuku honestly couldn't be bothered to pay attention to, a half baked plan carried by Yaoyorozu's quick thinking. He barely hears the remarks about their performance through the microphone, too focused on standing straight and not walking into the walls.

"Duck!" Someone cries out, but he's too rattled by the unexpected bangs and reflexes too slow to follow through.

"Sorry." He mutters to the sky, blinking spots away and thinking that the concrete is just comfortable enough to fall asleep when someone stands over him.

"Tough hit." Kaminari comments, hand stretched to help Izuku up. Izuku jerks back instinctually, hands half coming up to protect himself before he realizes and aborts. Kaminari's hand also retreats, hurt and confusion warring. "You don't have a concussion, do you?"

Izuku thinks he might, because the next thing he knows he's sitting at the sidelines, icepack to his head.

"Is it cold enough?" Todoroki asks tonelessly.

Izuku feels bad that he forgot the guy was even there. "Oh, uh, yeah."

"Good." He replies. Then, he turns to Izuku with an unusually intense look, whole body pivoting to Izuku. "You should get some sleep."

Izuku blinks at him, and realizes that this is Todoroki attempting to connect with him. "T-thanks. I'll definitely do that." Todoroki nods, then turns and watches the rest of the lesson with him, even after All Might calls him. (Izuku would be lying if he said All Mights confused floundering when Todoroki refused to join cheered him up, just a little.)

___________________________________________________________________

Aizawa warns it's violent.

Kacchan twitches, foot tap tapping, and barely stops from turning around and glaring.

"That said, we'll continue where we left off."

This one—this one was brutal. He doesn't know which one is the most violent or cruel, but this one would be a contender.

"Geneless piece of shit, maybe if you'd actually followed through and just taken a step off that ledge, we wouldn't have to spend all this time fixing it.

One of them got distracted, or bored maybe, and wandered off. That was fine—good, one less pair of fists. But they'd gandered back with such a sickeningly gleeful look—and the others noticed it too.

"This ain't sharp enough to kill, ya think?"

Cold ice flooded his veins, he couldn't even see it, but those words made a pretty horrifying image. Knives, glass, rusty razors lying on the ground—his mind was conniving, but they were too.

"Just use the blunt side." Suzuki called—the grateful feeling was lead in his stomach.

It didn't turn out to be anything horrifying, just a fucking open can from the garbage, but deku knew better than anyone that anything could be a weapon—and a good one, too. Kids were creative.

Deku didn't usually beg—sometimes it would get through, but he knew it was pointless. Better to curl up and hope your arms and legs could protect you than to wait for someone else to.

But they weren't stopping. They'd beat him up, get bored or disgusted, then walk off.

But they weren't stopping.

Another hand among the mass reached out, quick and raised. Piercing voices murmuring, hands on his arms.

He couldn't make it to the dumpster, so he threw up next to it. Sorry to whoever cleans up next to the dumpsters. Deku didn't know who that was. Someone had to, right?

He tried ducking behind it, hiding from any other middle schoolers that may pass by. The space is smaller than he thought, something crushing him from both sides.

He wondered if he still had the camera on—that would be embarrassing.

He tried not to shake so hard, because it made noise when he bumped against the dumpster, and he didn't think he'd survive another round.

He wondered what time it was, if everyone else had passed by now.

He could hear Kacchan, muffled voice growing closer to his hiding spot. Kacchan wouldn't kill him—but Deku didn't want to come out, either. It wouldn't just be embarrassing, what if Kacchan left him? He didn't know what he'd do then. Die, probably.

"You're not dying." Kacchan said, having found him. Deku thought he'd been so quiet, too.

"I'm going home—" he manages. "I—I—I won't tell my mom anything—I just wanna go home."

"Ok," Kacchan murmurs. "No one's gonna stop you. I just wanna make sure you're ok."

"Fine. I'm fine. They're gone—"

"Yeah," Kacchan says, voice delicate, weary and sad. "They're gone—Izuku."

Izuku. It feels like somebody else, like he hasn't been Izuku in a long time, and he never will be again.

"You uh, just, look around, tell me what you see."

It's an odd request, and Deku feels like it could be a trick, but Kacchan sounds nice in a way he hasn't in a long time, so he does whatever Kacchan tells him to. There are walls—not walls, a stall, the toilet and the stall door trapping him in.

"Good job," Kacchan tells him, he didn't think anyone would tell him he'd done something good ever again. "And uh, hearing is next, I think. What do you hear?"

Izuku keeps telling him things Kacchan already knew, and it occurs to him when they get to touch what he's doing. Izuku's had to walk himself through it before—he didn't know Kacchan knew how to also.

"'ow'd you—"

"I looked it up after that first video."

They're in the bathroom, Izuku notices. He doesn't know how they left class, or how Kacchan had explained it—oh Kami he hopes he didn't freak out.

He tastes something sour and frankly quite familiar. "Did I throw up?"

"Just in time to make it to the toilet."

A knocking at the door has them jumping. "Everything ok in there?"

"Yes!" Izuku calls before Kacchan can say anything contradicting. "We're ok, thank you Aizawa sensei!"

There's a shuffle and a pause, like he's listening or waiting, and a sigh. "Mind opening on up?"

Izuku bites his lip, phantom flashes of silver and red and the smell of metal,

"We'll just be a minute." Kacchan calls, ever knowing.

"What happened?" Izuku whispered, in case someone is listening.

"Don't worry." Kacchan reassured, finally settling back. "I asked--" He puts heavy quotations on this, sounding annoyed and disbelieving that no one questioned it. "--If I could go to the bathroom then I 'asked' you if you wanted to. I made sure it looked natural—or as natural as I could. You weren't really responsive.

Deja vu hits, and Izuku thinks it’s probably because this scene has been recreated so many times in one week, that every day since they started this course he’s been talked down from a panic attack. It’s feeling incredibly repetitive, and he can see it start weighing on Kacchan, too.

It’s started affecting other people—not just me. He thinks suddenly, watching as Kacchan takes deep shaky breaths.

"I'm not gunna try and convince you not to sit in." Kacchan starts. "You're damn stubborn and I know it won't work--"

"I won't sit in, anymore."

"Okay, what the hell." Kacchan replies immediately. "You're trying to piss me off."

Izuku waves his hands quickly. "I swear I'm not! I just--" He breaks off, vulnerable and small. "--I don't want to feel like this anymore."

Kacchan is watching in that way everyone seems to be doing lately, and sighs. "Okay."

"Okay."

______________________________________

"Aizawa sensei is so serious about this section." Uraraka comments during hero class after they'd gotten 'out' on their training.

"I know, it's so manly how hard he fights for this type of thing, y'know?" Kirishima comments watching Kacchan and Todoroki avidly.

"I kind of wish I'd stayed for the videos." Mina whines, head cupped by her hands. "I mean, I thought I'd get too worked up but now I'm kind of interested based on all the stories you guys have afterwards."

Don't be. Izuku thinks instinctually. He knows they only want to see on an academic level--know what to do and how to do it--but it stings. You want to see it so bad? A part of him rages, a part of him spits. Try living behind the camera, then see how interested you are.

"Bakugou gets kind of worked up too." Kirishima comments. "I didn't notice at first because the videos are intense, but these last few he's really taken it hard."

"Oh, yeah. Didn't you have to leave with him, Deku?" Like a lightbulb flicking on, anxiety pours through him--They know they know they know--rushing through him.

"Seriously? How was he? Did he seem, like, affected?" Mina questioned, black and yellow eyes honing in.

"He--I mean, he was fine, I guess. We just kind of talked in the, in the bathroom as we waited it out."

"Wait--" Uraraka sits up straighter. "You were ok, weren't you? I didn't even think to ask--!"

Izuku laughs as sincerely as he knows how to fake. "Yeah, of course. I was just keeping him c-company."

Uraraka relaxes back down and Izuku cheers. Sorry, Kacchan.

"I hope you guys are paying attention." All Might calls, voice larger than life. He sounds more prodding than upset, an easy air to his words.

"Yes, sensei!" They call out, like liars.

"This game is unfairly skewed against short range." Jirou grumbles as she sits down next to them.

"I'm not short range." Mina defends.

Jirou gives her a sour look. "You were too busy chasing me around to notice that there were other people in the game."

"And oh boy was that a waste." Mina answers dramatically, leaning against Kirishima.

It feels nice, to be around people. It drags him out of whatever state he gets into alone. Deku was always alone, Deku didn't have a single person who liked him, who talked to him. Talking to people, having people enjoy being around him, it split the lives in two. It helped that his life was so drastically different--he could pretend like they were two different lives, two different people.

Deku the quirkless outcast and Izuku the problem child.

It was getting harder to separate himself from his past when his past kept creeping in though. He started dreading class--and wondering why the section in this unit was taking so damn long. It had only been three days, true, but when you see yourself being re victimized over and over, three days stretches a lifetime.

How many more did they have? Only three or four, Izuku thinks. He can get through four classes, right? Maybe if he dissociated hard enough, he wouldn't even remember them.

But he remembers what he'd told Kacchan, and even though he now felt like maybe he could power through it, a deal is a deal.

Walking into Aizawa sensei's class felt like walking to his execution. It must show, because Aizawa tosses a concerned look to him, any amusement he might feel fragile and searching.

Kacchan is sitting at his seat, eyeing him with an intense prodding. "I uh--" he starts, throat dry. "I wanted to be excluded from--from today's class--with the others, please." His voice gets quieter and quieter as his sentences fades off.

Aizawa's face softens, and he mumbles into his scarf about how he 'knew he shouldn't've shown such a graphic video' but nods anyway. "That's no problem, Midoriya. Mic will be in his classroom along with your classmates." Izuku nods, and it feels like a weight has lifted from his chest. He'll hang out with the others, go over the section's exam, and he'll never have to be Deku again.

Deku has never had very good luck, and Izuku will always be Deku.

"And Midorya," Aizawa calls as he turns, and Izuku should've known it wouldn't be that easy--but he just looks imploring and sincere. "I'd like to talk to you this weekend."

Chapter Text

The moment he leaves the room, that tugging ache in his chest disappears, like when you get to miss school for being sick, or when you think you're about to get bad news, but it turns out ok. Even the impending deadline for this weekend with Aizawa sensei can't bring him down—he'll likely feel a lot better by then anyway, and then things will go back to normal.

He takes his time walking to Mic sensei's room, rebelling in the freedom that had an intensity he hadn't expected. He didn't even mind that he'd be going over the facts over paper—even though looking at them made his stomach churn over how many he'd experienced firsthand and how watered down the reality was.

The door clicks open when he arrives, the chatter pausing for a moment to see who's interrupting. Again, the anxiety spikes.

"Um," he starts awkwardly. "I'm supposed to join?"

Mic sensei's eyes flash with something unidentifiable, but he just smiles his iconic smile. "Heyyyy! No problem, sit on down in the circle."

The tables are positioned in a circle facing each other, not dissimilar to the 'icebreakers' schools usually did.

He takes a seat, ignoring the questioning eyes. Mic sensei makes the tension bearable, just gets right back into it causing Mina to slump down with a groan while Sero pokes her in his boredom.

There's a tap on his shoulder and Izuku turns, blinking at Tsuyu. Her eyes are sharp and focused.

"Are you ok?" She ribbits, blinking dazedly.

"I-yes!" He answers hushed, eyes flickering to Mic and back. "Of course."

She blinks again; one eye just slightly faster than the other. There's an off look to her, a furrow in her brow. She ribbits again.

"Ok."

She leans back, eyes watching him before they glide back to Mic sensei.

Mic sensei turns to write on the board—common misconceptions, this time—and permission to chatter has been given.

"Why'd you skip out?" Sero questions from next to him. It feels like an interrogation, but Sero is laidback and casual as usual.

"Yeah," Mina adds. "It's got to be better than this."

"You really think so?" Mic asks with a lighthearted voice before Izuku can respond—but his body is attentive and taught. They snap to attention at being caught.

"Listen up," he calls, settling to lean against his desk and watch them. "You've been in my class with me this whole time, learning all the facts, what to watch out for—but you haven't really learned. Not like the kids in Shou's class—or Midoriya, I'm guessing."

Izuku stiffens like wood, sudden eyes weighing on him. He realizes though, that Mic sensei is only talking about Izuku having been in Aizawa's class, not being behind the camera.

"There's a reason Shou offered for you kids to skip out—so let's not make light of it, ya dig?"

There's a chorus of 'sorry's, and Izuku feels himself deflate. The words are so odd, such a completely different approach to bullying.

People didn't 'bring it up'. It wasn't talked about. The 'handle it yourself' mentality had been strong, unless of course, you had a powerful quirk. So bullying assemblies, anti-suicide posters, and absent chiding while staring at their computer—that was as much as they did, a performative mockery of care and activism. It felt like they were kind of just joining in along with the bullying, like they saw what happened every day and decided—'yknow what would be funny? If we told all these brutalized kids that we're here for them and then did fucking nothing.'

So, seeing someone step in—even for the smallest remarks, comments not even intentionally malicious—it made him surprisingly—angry.

But Izuku didn't like letting his anger grab a hold of him, so he stuffed it down in the 'don't touch' box and pretended the duct tape wasn't peeling off the sides.

Mic calls him after class and tells him not to let anyone pressure him into answering questions and that there's no shame in being unable to just watch someone who needs help—and the box in his mind gives an ominous creak.
_________________________________

Ochako is worried about Deku.

Of course she is! She'd noticed his daydreaming, his quiet demeanor, the fact that he'd stumbled through heroics the other day. But Deku is—well, he's a hero. He can do pretty much anything he sets his mind to, so she doesn't let herself worry too much.

The optimism in her dims slightly at the way he'd stuttered through an excuse to leave. She'll just have to ask after class, that's all.

She tries putting it out of her mind as Aizawa sensei starts class—focus.

"Now I know that last part was incredibly disturbing, which is why I gave you the option to opt out. But the truth is, this is all too common—maybe not to that degree, but it happens. Bullying is an incredibly common and underreported issue. As hero's, it's not common to see in this line of work, but as hero students, it's your job to put a stop to this behavior. If you see something, regardless of who or why, say something."

"The next couple pieces of footage aren't as intense, but they're just as important. Because of that, I'm trusting you on your own for the remainder of this lesson. Do not abuse this trust."

She blinks in surprise—she doesn't think Aizawa sensei has ever left the class unattended. Was it a test? Where was he going? She shakes herself out of it—she's here to learn how to be a hero, not what her teacher does with his time.

Besides, he's right. Compared to what Uraraka has seen already, this doesn't feel nearly as frightful. It doesn't make it any easier to watch. There's not much commotion in the classroom, probably because the subject is serious and really who can cause chaos during a movie—but eventually, as the clock runs out, she can feel the lesson coming to a close.

Instead, the footage cuts oddly, repeating a clip twice, as if it had been spliced in editing and the remaining footage hadn't been removed.

There's another push, harsher this time. Hard enough that the person on the receiving end stumbles to the ground, camera jostled and clattering to the floor, tilted at an odd angle.

Ochako wonders if this final bit is supposed to make you extra sympathetic by seeing the victim, making the few reluctant to empathize really see how bullying affects people.

"The fuck is this?" The kid picks up the device, a couple of other students glancing in interest before turning away again.

"Ohhhh I see. Little attention seeking Deku thought someone might give a shit, huh?"

Deku? That seems strange. Sure, Deku doesn't own the word Deku, but how many people have that nickname? It sounded much more like an insult from these people, and she makes it a point to remember to ask if it makes Deku uncomfortable.

"Well guess what?" He asks, turning the camera against the victim and using it to further humiliate them.

They're on the ground, one hand supporting them upright and the other curled around their stomach, head ducked, and green hair clouded with red in one spot.

Green hair.

They look through their bangs, eyes gleaming before ducking down again in shame.

It is him. It's Deku—Izuku. She's never seen him like this—broken and beaten down, like he's given up.

You can do it. She's never using that name again.

He has so many bruises—yellowed fading ones and stark purple and black ones.

"Aww don't hide now rock star, you're so popular!" The person teases, leaning down and zooming in to get a closer look. "And we all know how much you love being on camera." He said suggestively, innuendo lost on no one.

"What'd I say?" The annoyed kid says grabbing at his hair—he already has a head wound just leave him alone—"you can film all you want, run on back to your parents, oh wait, parent, who doesn't give a damn, and do fuck all. Nobody gives a shit now, and nobody ever will."

Izuku's shoulders shake but he says nothing, the people milling about—walking around him, say nothing.

Why doesn't he say anything? Do anything?

The kid throws the camera back at him at a speed which seems dangerous but based on the angle it looks like it was caught, if just barely.

It's held in Izuku's hand as he walks out of school, familiar jeers and taunts following. It's clear the footage was unintentionally left in, if not for the face reveal, then because of the next five minutes of footage where he just walks home, goes to his room, and throws the camera on the bed. Eventually it must die, because the film cuts off.

The room explodes with chatter—worried, confused, angry voices buzzing like wasps until the room is full of it.

Iida doesn't even try and mediate, lost look on his face as he stares at the blank screen. Oddly, him and Bakugou are the only ones not blindly panicking.

"Enough!" Aizawa sensei yells, hand slamming the desk. The class quiets at his entrance, half the class standing now.

"Someone please explain to me why on earth you're making all this racket." Aizawa sensei grinds out.

"Did you know?" Uraraka asks immediately. Because if he did—if he knew they were all watching their classmate—fuck, if he knew Izuku was watching—

"Know what?"

"That D--" Kirishima starts, and there's a lurch in her stomach just hearing it, and it doesn't seem like she's the only one. "That all that stuff—that Midoriya was—that it was him."

Aizawa sensei's anger melts off, blank faced and quiet. "Elaborate."

"You haven't seen the end footage?" Momo pipes in, confused and nervous.

Aizawa sensei's eyes dart between them and then once towards the screen, mind piecing it together. He straightens, face unreadable. "Nobody in this class will say a word of this to anyone outside of 1A on threat of immediate expulsion am I understood?"

There are scattered nods, the reality of the situation settling in like dirty silt on stilling waters.

"If any of you come across Midoriya send him to my office immediately and without comment, understood?" He asks again with the same amount of acceptance. "Good. Now get out."

Chapter Text

Shota has seen horrific things. The worst of humanity in its desperation and depravity. He's been lucky enough to never come across a case he was personally involved in throughout all his years of heroics and teaching, but he'd known the day would come.

Today is that day.

He rewatches the footage—first, the end of the last piece of film, the film he'd so stupidly trusted to have been cut and edited as the rest had been. It doesn't matter that he was off, it doesn't matter that he hasn't slept, it doesn't matter. He missed it.

He's missed a lot of shit, apparently. To the incredibly grave detriment of not just one of his students, but all of them.

He's always been soft on kids, something about children's cases just gets to him. It's part of why he became a teacher.

He's especially soft on these kids—this batch of students. Something about their pure potential, their determination, has gotten him attached. Unlike his previous classes, they hadn't needed to face the reality of heroics—they'd seen and experienced it first hand, they didn't need someone to prepare them for that, they needed someone who could steady them before they burnt out completely.

He's especially especially soft on this particular problem child, who seems to burn especially bright and especially quick.

Fuck.

And he'd thought the problem child just wasn't taking the class seriously—He should've known better.

One thing he had done—he'd made sure the footage wasn't too graphic for his class. He wanted to impress upon them the importance of stopping abuse and bullying, not traumatize them.

It was all brutal, but some of it was gruesome.

He'd watched some kids push his kid in front of a car. And then told him to jump in front of one. Watched them lock him in a closet for six hours in the middle of summer. Watched as they held him down and beat him with a can—fucking no wonder the kid took off—with Bakugou.

It clicked, suddenly. Bakugou was in that same middle school. Bakugou attacked Midoriya on his first day yelling about his lack of a quirk. Deku.

Fuck he was even stupider than he thought.

And why—why did he leave the room? He's been teaching for three years, he's left students unattended a mere handful of times—whether to clear up an urgent issue or something more mundane like testing their discipline without clear consequence—but Shouta knew that if it was truly urgent then Nezu would've said so, all they'd done was talk over tea—

Of course. Of. Course.

"Aizawa sensei?" Midoriya peered in, tense.

"Midoriya." Shota answered, trying not to appear threatening, previous lividity sizzling on the backburner.

After seeing so many crime scenes, Shota can imagine pretty well how certain scenes may injure a civilian.

He was hit by a car.

"Iida said you wanted to see me." Thank Kami, the kid most likely to follow Shouta's instructions.

But it also told him that Midoriya had no clue what this was about. Shota hated his job, sometimes.

"Take a seat."

Midoriya does, jittery and uneasy.

"First of all, I would like to apologize with the utmost sincerity about my lack of professionalism and irresponsibility. I made an unforgivable mistake earlier today, and I don't expect you to forgive it."

Midoriya looks less anxious now, like the idea that someone has hurt him is easier to handle than the idea that he could be in trouble. It probably is--being in trouble probably meant being hurt anyway. Being hurt was better than being in trouble and hurt--Shota would know.

"Oh. Uh--it's--"

"Before you say anything," Shota cuts off regrettably. "I need you to understand the gravity of my mistake. During class today, I stepped out for a moment without realizing that I had incorrectly cut some footage."

He can see the moment Midoriya puts it together--shockingly quickly--can see the gears turning and his fidgeting hands stilling. "What--."

Shota continues when he doesn't finish. "I've since reviewed the footage. I need you to be honest with me, is the person recording you?"

Midoriya stands, chair scraping the ground. He's not running or speaking, just shakes in place and stares at the floor with unbridled terror. Shota wonders if pleading has ever helped him before, and then he remembers an empty can and a child with a scratchy prepubescent voice hiding behind dumpsters.

"First off, is your mother aware of what was going on during this time?"

Midoriya shakes his head, sniffing quietly. He says nothing.

"Ok." Shota answers. Time to change tactics. "You're not in trouble. I'm just trying to establish what has been done about this situation and what I can do to make it better."

"Make it better." He repeats blankly, likely lost in some level of dissociation.

"That's my job as your teacher. I realize that this is likely unusual for you, and that I've made a mistake regarding your safety and happiness before, so if you're more comfortable with another staff member stepping in--"

"No." He protests quickly. "No, I--I don't want anyone else to know." Midoriya clearly comes to another conclusion then, and Shouta begins wondering how smart this kid actually is. "You said you made a mistake--were you referring to--you said you 'cut footage' wrong--"

Shota swallows. He feels like a goddamn villain right now. "If you're asking if your classmates know, they do."

Midoriya sits back down, or more accurately sinks back into his seat, and puts his head in his hands.

"Now, there are things we have to do, and things you can decide." He tells the kid. He looks small now; he wonders how small he looked a year ago. "We have to file a police report."

Midoriya nods without looking up. Shota expects most of what he says now won't be processed, so he saves the important stuff for later. "Most stuff can wait, but I need to talk with your mother immediately. From there we can decide how we want to report this, and to who. Okay?"

Another nod. "Do you want me to come with you to get your things, or maybe another teacher?"

He shakes his head this time, and Shota sends him to get his stuff feeling like a failure.

______________________________________

Izuku tries flying past undetected to his dorm room to grab his shit and run, frantic and blurry edged, but they're quicker--more determined.

"D--" Uraraka cringes, similar to how Kacchan has been for days now. "I--All of that stuff--was that really you?"

"Look, Uraraka," Izuku starts, eyeing the people entering the hallway and hoping to Kami none of them are his peers. "I--Aizawa sensei is taking me home, for a bit and I've gotta get packed. I'll see you this weekend."

"Wait--D--Midoriya!"

Izuku squeezes past the throngs of people, rushing through. The dorms feel further than they ever have, but he doesn't come across anyone who knows.

The common room is empty save for Mina and Sero who are playing some game on the screen. "Hey, Mido, have you seen anyone else yet?" Mina asks as he passes through.

"Uh, I don't know." He answers distractedly, looking for anything that he'd have to take with him. "I'm heading to my mom's."

Sero turns from their game to Izuku, frown on his face. "In the middle of the week--hey, you don't look so good."

Izuku doesn't respond, patience running thin as he scrambles to get out before he comes across anyone who knows. He hadn't even expected to come across them, but he should've seeing as they were closer to the dorms anyway.

He throws things in blindly, mind ruminating over 'how the hell did they get his face on camera he was so careful—and 'why would Aizawa sensei leave their class that doesn't make sense--Is Izuku's luck just really that bad?—then sneaks back out, grateful they hadn't had the time to come up and bombard his door.

"Hey, what's going on?" Sero's voice drifts in.

"Have you seen Midoriya?" Todoroki's cool voice asks, tinged in worry.

He tries slipping by, but Uraraka runs into him on the way out. "D-Midoriya!" She shouts, gathering attention to them.

He can feel the walls caving in, can feel Deku slipping into his skin and taking over. The air tastes stale, and he thinks he can feel this life drifting away.

"Please, let me go." He whispers to her. "Just--I wanna go. Let me out." He tries not to touch her, and she acquiesces with a look of endlessly sad concern.

"Ok," She answers in a small voice. "T-text me--" She calls as the door shuts behind him, the voices of the others louder and overlapping even through the door.

Aizawa sensei is waiting by the door, grim look on his face. Izuku shuffles past, not wanting the rest of the class to realize they can follow. "That's everything?" Aizawa sensei asks—it doesn't sound judgmental, it just sounds carefully crafted, like he doesn't want anything getting through.

Izuku nods and they head for the gates. A car is parked outside, though Izuku doesn't know who brought it seeing as it was empty.

"Figured you'd appreciate less of an audience." Aizawa sensei comments, seeming to know.

He nods again, feeling very un-talkative and like he's making pretty bad company. Aizawa doesn't seem to mind, even opens the door for him.

It makes him feel a little bit like a child, but he just gets in and waits for Aizawa to start driving, watching the window and wondering how the hell he's gonna tell his mom what's going on, and if her reaction is going to get them both in trouble

Chapter Text

The car ride is awkward and stifling. He's glad that Aizawa is the one coming with him but knowing that he's seen Deku--It's almost too much. He kind of wants to jump out of the car headfirst and into traffic.

"You might want to let your mom know we're coming." Aizawa breaks the silence.

"She, uh--she's probably not home." Izuku remembers. "I... probably should've mentioned that before."

"It's fine." Aizawa tells him. "Is she gone a lot then?"

Izuku shrugs, following the trees with his eyes. "I guess. She's a nurse so she works a lot."

Aizawa hums. "Is that why she didn't realize what was happening?"

Izuku swears his neck could snap with how quickly he turned around. "It isn't her fault." He bristles. "She--she had to work--and it was my word against a hundred of other kids--teachers too."

Aizawa sensei looks at him with a long, strange look, and Izuku remembers all the footage he has that tears his argument to shreds. "Okay, kid."

Unlike Izuku had thought, his mom actually is home, for once.

Aizawa Sensei knocks—two perfunctory times, and his mom opens the door, performative smile drooping at the sight of them.

"Oh," she says in a small voice. "Has Izuku gotten in trouble?"

A shot of—something—shoots down his spine, like Izuku thinks Aizawa sensei is suddenly going to change his mind and go:

'Actually, yes. We've found out all about his past, and we actually don't want him anymore.'

And Inko will say, 'oh, I understand. I'll take him off your hands.'

And then Inko will sweep him inside and hide him away so nobody has to recognize his existence, and he will forget, too.

But Aizawa doesn't do that. His face tightens, and he says "Of course not. May we come in?"

She ushers them in after that, worrying about formalities and darting back and forth. "Would you like some tea?"

Aizawa just shakes his head, short and respectful. "Midoriya-San, I've come across some concerning findings—"

"Oh, just Midoriya is fine, and I assume you're talking about Izuku's penchant for trouble?" She shrinks, as if the words themselves are an admission.

"Why would you think that?" Aizawa asks without missing a beat.

"Well—" she stutters, caught off guard. "That's what's caused some issues for us in the past."

Aizawa hums in the same way he did earlier with Izuku, letting the silence linger. It's a disarming sound, he realizes. Meant to make you think he's just making conversation.

"It came to my attention that your son was severely bullied and that no action has been taken for his healing or against his perpetrators."

If anything, she sags at the mention, tension melting away like they're talking about the weather.

"Aizawa I've been Izuku's mother for a very long time—" she starts in that tone she always uses, that 'I know what I'm talking about' mixed with 'It's a fact of life that my son is a troublemaker.' And a side of 'I'm so sorry he's been causing trouble.' It's a very specific tone.

"—I've talked to many of his teachers before. Now, Izuku can be a bit sensitive, sure. He inherited it from me, after all. But from first hand accounts he's usually the instigator. Not to say I don't love and support him!" She rushes to defend, one hand going onto Dekus arm, as if comforting him.

"I love him very much, I've just noticed—well, due to all the discrimination, he lashes out quite a bit. Troubled, you could say. But I think that 'getting him help' would be incredibly beneficial!"

"...excuse me?"

"It's just—he's had a difficult life. Since Katsuki’s falling out and his Izuku’s been very—"

"Katsuki?" Aizawa interrupts sharply. "As in Bakugou?"

"Well, yes—" she answers mildly alarmed. "—as I was saying, he takes things very harshly—and his quirkless status—he's more fragile than other kids, sure. But I can't imagine Katsuki and the others doing anything like what he's described. Not to mention he stopped his stories very quickly once the teachers stepped in."

"I see." Aizawa responds slowly.

You don't. Deku can't help but think. You don't understand—it's not true—and then he remembers the footage. Remembers Aizawa's reaction—and he lets himself relax just a little, because there's evidence. And it's being taken seriously.

Maybe if he could just show his mom—

"No offense, Midoriya-San," He hears Aizawa say. "But that's bullshit."

Inko gasps at the language, and Izuku just barely holds it back, though his eyes do dart to Aizawa in alarm.

"Midoriya is one of the best students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching. Knowing how little training he's had with his quirk only heightens my commendation for him. Now, I don't know what his past teachers have been feeding you, but I have clear evidence of the contrary."

"Well now, you don't understand—"

Aizawa stands, not threatening, but like he's getting ready to leave. Like he knows the conversation won't get anywhere—but if he thinks that, why is he still talking to her? "No, you don't understand. You let a quirkist staff and a couple of students sway your opinion of your own child, you put him in severe danger every day, and you repeatedly failed your duty as a parent to protect Izuku.”

Aizawas eyes meet his, a small jolt of his head towards the door—like he's asking if Izuku wants to leave.

Can he leave?

Izuku stands up, and his mom's sharp nails wrap around his arm.

"What are you doing?" She asks, voice betrayed and small.

"I-"

"Get your hands off him." Aizawa commands calmly, quirk enacted.

She jolts back as if burned, eyes watery. "Izuku?"

"We're heading to the station to file a report—what you should've done years ago." Aizawa tells her, hardened with anger and drawing her attention back to him. "You can come with, but we are leaving."

Please come with us, mom. He thinks as hard as he can, as if sheer will can change her mind. He doesn't have the courage to ask.

"I-" she stutters, indecisive. "I won't stand by and let him slander Katsuki and the others—I can't do that to Mitsuki, it wouldn't be right."

I'm right here. He blinks back tears. I'm standing right in front of you and all you care about is everyone else. What about me?

Aizawa nods his head, clearly holding back a few choice words, and walks out the door with Deku in tow.

The ride to the station is silent, brewing helplessness and rage sitting stiflingly in the atmosphere. Aizawa's hands tighten on the wheel.

"How long have you had your quirk?" He asks tonelessly.

It sparks bottomless fear, the realization that he hadn't had before making a late comeback—because Aizawa sensei knows. He'd been so distracted he hadn't even realized what his mother had admitted to, but now that he has the fear fills up like an overflowing cup, an electric wire he walked into.

He tries to answer, but a breathy noise is all that leaves. He feels the tremors building back up, realizing he's trapped in a car and that Aizawa sensei could take him anywhere.

"Izuku I need you to breathe—I can't, fuck I can't pull over, so I need you to work with me."

The cursing kind of makes him want to laugh, because he'd never expected Aizawa to be a potty mouth but it's kind of sounding like he is, outside of school.

"Yeah, it's very funny, haha." Aizawa agrees, having overheard his muttering. "Tell me what you see, kid."

Izuku does, and then he tells him the rest without being asked, just moves seamlessly from one to the other. It isn't as hard to come back as it usually is, noises clearing quicker and the blurry road sharpening.

"There we are. Good job. I apologize; I should've thought about how that would come across." Aizawa tells him, apologizing without a second thought. "And I want you to know, I won't tell anyone you don't give me explicit permission to tell—even the police."

"R-really?" Izuku asks, shocked at the fact that Aizawa might impede his duty to report just so Izuku isn't afraid—he seems like the type to always follow the rules and put heroics first. After all, Izuku can't rationally justify keeping that crucial piece of information from his report.

"It will make prosecution much harder." Aizawa admits. "But we're doing this for your safety and peace of mind. If it doesn't achieve that, I'm not doing my job as an adult in your life."

"But wouldn't that mean there's a higher chance of them hurting someone else?"

"Yes." He answers, brutally honest. "But you are my priority right now."

Priority. When has Izuku ever been a priority?

It feels unspeakably nice to have someone choose him, for once.

Aizawa doesn't ask any more questions.

Walking into the station is nerve wracking, doubts and insecurities jumping ahead of him.

"Ok." Tsukauchi answers softly. "For the record, please state your name and the date."

Izuku does, and the pen scratching paper fills the eerie silence.

"Are you currently safe?" Izuku nods before remembering to answer verbally, and he doesn't analyze the relief that comes when Tsukauchi just nods.

"What are the names of the perpetrators?" He starts bluntly, clinically save for the compassionate gleam in his eye.

"That's—I mean that's complicated. Who counts as a 'perpetrator'? If it's physical violence I can probably keep it under ten, if it's destroying stuff or saying stuff it's like, the whole class. Ignoring it would be the whole school—so I don't—I don't really know how to answer."

He asks other things—when it started, how it started, injuries and how those injuries were treated--by himself? How else?, if Izuku ever told anyone, —"Were you ever sexually assaulted or harassed?"

"No." Izuku answers, and Tsukauchis eyes flit upward from the paper, Aizawa's hands tightening imperceptible in Izuku's peripheral.

"I swear!" Izuku straightens. "I mean—kids used to threaten and, and make jokes, but they never physically—y'know, did anything."

Tsukauchi visibly relaxes at that, but he writes something down anyway.

"Has an adult ever participated in any type of abuse?"

Izuku doesn't really know how to answer—he has no evidence, and even ringing true with the quirk seems easily dismissed.

Izuku hadn't filmed any discrimination from the teachers at Aldera, mostly because it was hard to recognize that there was any.

Izuku isn't stupid, he knows what discrimination is and what it looks like, but it was hard to reconcile adults treating him poorly with the image he'd had as a four year old.

For his first four years, adults were trusted, capable people, similar to hero's in the way he saw them. They kept him safe, they seemed to always know how to fix things.

Then it flipped like a switch. And suddenly Izuku was wondering what he did wrong, trying to reconcile the fact that adults protected and knew things with the fact that the way they treated him made him feel bad.

He realized something must be wrong with him, a reason adults just seemed to know they shouldn't be kind to him.

After learning about discrimination, and that the Quirkless were a minority, Izuku realized it wasn't him, but his mind never caught up, stuck in the 'what could I have done to avoid this? What did I do to deserve it?'

Filming that kind of felt like filming his own crime scene—like either he was the guilty or the abused, but either way nobody would want to look.

When it was other kids, it was just bullying—and bullying was wrong.

It feels like maybe the adults weren't.

But he doesn't say that, because he recognizes, logically, that if this happened to another quirkless kid he would be horrified, so it must be wrong.

So no, he doesn't have footage of a teacher treating him poorly, but Aizawa seems to know anyway, even before he answers.

"I—guess. Yeah."

"Alright. I have another set of questions, is that alright with you?"

Izuku nods, not answering if only because the question is just a formality—they don't really care if he wants to or not.

"Was your mother aware of the abuse?"

Izuku's eyes snap to Aizawa sensei, a sense of betrayed indignation welling up. "They're standard questions, kid."

Izuku thinks Aizawa sensei must have at least nudged Tsukauchi in that direction, that he'd rigged the interview somehow, but he has no proof, and Tsukauchi just agrees.

"I just have to get them out of the way, Midoriya."

"No." Izuku tells him snappily. "I hid all of it."

Tsukauchi's eye twitches, something Izuku has figured out means his quirk has gone off, and he asks in a non-confrontationally bland tone, "Would you mind elaborating?"

Izuku does. Mind. But he does it anyway, Tsukauchi ignoring the lie with a tight-lipped smile and continuing on to the questions. They're accusatory, barbed things—or maybe it just feels that way when his answers all feel wrong, even true as they are. Some questions feel like relief, when he can answer honestly and it doesn't paint them in a bad light.

Too many answers leave them stony faced, and too many catch Izuku off guard with how raw and vulnerable they make him feel.

"Alright, Midoriya. That's all I need from you."

Izuku tries to walk in pace with Aizawa as they leave, but it still feels like running

Chapter Text

"Am I going back to my mom's now?"

Not home. Shota notes.

Still, it's murky waters, here. Technically, UA's teachers are appointed guardians, but only on campus and in emergency situations like abuse. The problem is—Midoriya-san wasn't outwardly abusive.

Unhelpful and obstinate? Yes. Borderline delusional and out of touch? Sure. But she wasn't completely checked out or catatonic, she seemed to genuinely want what's best for her kid (even though her ideas of her child are discriminatory, bigoted and completely inaccurate).

But Midoriya clearly cared for her, and to some extent Shota does believe his mother loves him as well—in her own childish, selfish way.

He remembers telling her what he'd discovered, trying not to say it too bluntly or accusatorially—who doesn't notice their child coming home from that?—trying to soften the insurmountable blow it is. Her face didn't drop in horror or concern—it tightened in disapproval.

Izuku is a very troubled child.

Shota's teeth grind.

"It's uh—I just mean, you said to pack my stuff but we're not heading back—not to say you're, like, kidnapping me—" Midoriya pales and turns towards him, hands waving. "I am not saying that—"

"I didn't think that." Shouta interrupts, not wanting the kid's anxiety to spiral. "I was just thinking. Do you want to go back to your mom's?"

It shocks him out of his scramble, hands dipping from his face. He looks confused—not used to being taken into account, maybe. "Oh." Midoriya says quietly. "I mean—I probably should go, right?"

"There's nothing you should do. What do you want to do?"

"I mean—it's hers or the dorms, right?" He sounds so incredibly uncomfortable, like no options are ideal and he just has to put up with the least worst place to be.

"It's true there aren't many options, but if you'd feel better about staying with another family member or a teacher that's available to you."

"A teacher? Any teacher?"

Ah, of course. All Might. Shouta doesn't know that it's the best option—the man can be naive and downright irresponsible regarding his students—but if Midoriya feels safe around him as a teacher and adult, he has very little qualms nurturing that kind of healthy relationship. "Any teacher, kid."

"Would—I mean," he fumbles with his hands, clearly nervous about something—maybe their relationship isn't so good. He'll look into it.

"Do you also count?"

Oh. These damn kids.

"Any teacher, kid." He reiterates, trying not to let his words creak at such an inopportune time.

And that's that.

The drive has the same atmosphere as all of their time together recently—quiet, new, uncertain. Both just trying to feel the other out.

The kid is quiet when they get back, small and curled, trying to take up as little space as he thinks he deserves. It's reminiscent of a stray cat that hasn't learned that there are no dogs or angry brooms in here.

Shota lets him be, as he does for his usual strays—not that this kid is a stray—or his—but the sentiment is the same.

He doesn't hear much, especially on the first night. The kid kind of just comes and goes—though he never takes snacks despite being in the prime for growth--just eats with Shota whenever he makes a meal.

He has to be bored—but he doesn't ask to hang out with anyone—barely leaves his room—and utters maybe two sentences to Shota the first day.

The second day he must either get incredibly bored, lonely, or confident—or all three—because he peeks out from the corner of the living room and Shota pretends that he can't see him—as he would for all his strays.

This must encourage him, as he shuffles over and sits on the couch while Shota grades papers—not on his most recent class, because despite his preference for logical thinking, he does possess a heart.

The silence lingers though not uncomfortably, and the next day he decides that maybe the kid is ready for Shota to reach out, or at least to check in.

The door is cracked—Shota doesn't think the kid has closed it once since being here and he reminds himself to look in on that, (he has a lot of things to look into, lately) and he knocks, door creaking open.

"I'm sorry—" Midoriya stutters, already shoving whatever is in his hands away and drawers closed.

"I know you'll feed me—I, I don't know why I did it. I'm not trying to waste food or anything—" Food. The kid has food.

"Midoriya—Midoriya," Shota placates, slow moving and tense. "I'm not upset, if it makes you feel better, go ahead. I'm not angry.

The kid shivers there, wide eyed and watching, like he doesn't know how to deal with a calm acceptance.

"It's not—my mom feeds me." He tries to reassure. It does the opposite. "I just—I just get hungry sometimes that's all."

He just gets hungry sometimes. If Shota had thought about handing Midoriya back to his mom before, that course of action was completely obliterated.

"Midoriya, if you ever get hungry, you're welcome to anything in the kitchen—I should've made that clear."

"No!" Midoriya scrambles, hands waving. "I knew that! I-I know that. I just, it's a stupid habit, that's all."

It isn't stupid, and it's not just a habit—it's a deep-rooted, longstanding conditioning coming from a severely neglected child—but Midoriya isn't ready to face that, so he just tells him it's fine and pretends not to notice when he sneaks food off his plate.

They have a long way to go.

__________________________________

Aizawa is the strangest person he's ever met.

He doesn't do a single thing that Izuku expects, not a single thing that he's recognized in the patterns other people adhere to unanimously. Not the way they touch him—rough like they don't care how it feels and featherlight like they can't bear to touch him—not the way they talk—like he isn't there and every word is sharpened on brooding disgust—and not the way they treat him, like he'll never amount to anything so nobody will ever care what's done to him.

Even when he'd gone and reignited the really creepy habit of storing his food in his—the cupboards like he was a fucking squirrel. Not only was it weird—it was embarrassing. 'Yeah, no I just keep all my food in my room instead of the perfectly good kitchen because I couldn't handle being sent without a meal.

She didn't starve him, and he worried that maybe that's what it looked like—like Aizawa might jump to the wrong conclusion and get them both in trouble.

Most of his food problems had more to do with the kids at school making sure he couldn't get into the cafeteria—and his mom not making him lunch—he was twelve. He didn't need his mom to make him lunch.

He ignored the voice that said they'd had nothing in their fridge to make it with anyway. That sometimes she'd go months without getting food, that some of the ingredients he'd thrown together were downright nasty, and that sometimes a punishment would last days. She thought he was getting cafeteria meals—so the punishment made sense.

And then he'd found it—and it was strange. He'd acted so scandalized, but not the kind Izuku expected. He'd kind of just soothed him real slow, like a startled animal.

A squirrel?

Izuku feels a sense of blank annoyance at his own mind and ignores the thought. But that's not the point—the point is, he was so understanding. So—kind?

His mother was kind too, in her own way. But every time she'd found his storages; she'd get this frantic mix of self-blame and anger.

Like, how could you hide food away it's going to rot and attract animals, and I feed you don't I?

Like, am I that terrible? You make me feel like a monster, plenty of kids go without meals! (Who are you trying to convince?) Though, they aren't quirkless—oh my baby, I'm so sorry!

He hated the second worse, the need to reassure and guilt meshed together. At least the first one felt like a normal scolding, like he could pretend he was normal.

And it continued--Aizawa's weird, nonchalant goodwill. Handing out amiability as if it was so easy, as if he didn't have to think twice.

Why was it so hard for them to be kind?

"If you really want to see your mother, we can go this weekend, does that sound ok?" Aizawa asks, clearly responding to something Izuku had said or asked.

"I—thought I'd be going back to school this weekend?"

"If that's what you want, we can arrange that." Aizawa tells him in a cautious manner. "But I would advise against it. It's my personal opinion that a few more days away from school would benefit you, but only you know if that's true."

Izuku nods, as if he's thinking about his options--but he already knows where he wants to be--which is strange, because Izuku is used to only having places he didn't want to be.

"I think—I think I'd like to just, stay here a little longer—just until Monday." Shota frowns, likely confused at the sudden mind change, but he doesn't comment.

A waterfall of rushing texts has been lighting up his phone the last couple days, intermittent light flooding his dark room and refusing to turn his head to look. It's everyone—his classmates, All might, mom.

He's taken to ignoring his phone completely. It's a bad decision to isolate, he knows, but Aizawa isn't stopping him so he just keeps doing it.

Eventually, his leniency ends with a call to the living room, Aizawa already waiting for him with tea.

They talk. About school—if he's willing to back, if he wants to attend therapy now or to wait—notice how those are the only options Izuku was given—about how he's dealing. The attention is equally giddying as it is terrifying.

"Do you want to press charges against the school?"

Izuku opens and closes his mouth, feeling like a fish. "I don't—I don't understand."

Aizawa doesn't look disappointed—maybe in himself, but not at Izuku. "There was gross negligence towards you and the fact that unreviewed footage made its way into my classroom is deplorable. While the unedited film seen was harmful, it could've been much worse—it could've been traumatizing not just for you but everyone in my classroom, so I'm asking you—would you liked to press charges?"

Izuku doesn't answer, stares at his hands tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. "Do—do I have to?—I just, I want everything to go back to normal, I don't want to, to cause trouble, or..." He trails off.

"Midoriya—while it would make UA's life more difficult—I find myself imploring you to really think about it—I don't want you to refuse simply because it was my class or the staff of UA. If anything, it makes the situation that much more severe and unacceptable. To be honest, I have my own feelings about the way the situation was handled with a staff member."

"Oh." Izuku says, both surprised that he's being so honest and that someone is angry for him. "I am angry." Izuku answers quietly, like maybe it won't be heard. Aizawa's seems glad to hear it, anyway. "But—not at the school. And maybe I should be but—what you saw...that was my life. It kind of makes UA's mistake seem—not that bad? I guess. And—it feels wrong. To be angry at the only people who want to help me."

Aizawa accepts that as is. "You can think on it more—and if your answer is still no, that's ok too. But I want you to know, nobody would blame you if you did—there's no right or wrong, there's just what you need."

Izuku needs to feel safe—and he doesn't know how to do that anywhere that isn't hiding behind Aizawa. What will he do if he presses charges and it ends up with Aizawa out of his reach?

Izuku will go back to school Monday—he'll attend class and hopefully it will all blow over, and he'll never have to decide.

Chapter Text

Aizawa tells him it will be easier if he faces it head on, before classes start back up after the weekend—so they go back Sunday night.

It's quiet, no one awaiting his arrival—just the sound of the gate buzzing open and their footsteps against concrete.

Eventually, they come to a crossroads, and Izuku finds he really, really doesn't want Aizawa to leave. But he's not a kid, and he's been alone this long. He can do it another day.

"I-I think I want to talk to All Might first." Izuku admits.

"I thought so." Aizawa admits. "When you're done, send Bakugou my way, will you?" Izuku holds his breath, feeling unfairly betrayed.

"I've been trying to give you the most choices regarding this process." Aizawa admits, addressing Izuku's wounded look. "But this is non-negotiable. Reviewing his behavior towards you has put them in a new, unflattering light. I refuse to stand by—if I did, I'd be no better than your past teachers. But I value your input—you know him better than me and you're the most affected."

"You can't expel him. He has so much potential—"

He nods. "In that case, I'll be as merciful as I can allow. That does not mean he'll go unpunished—if his behavior hasn't changed it'll mean the opposite—which I understand you'll see as unfair but trust me—that is merciful. If he has, I'm receptive towards something lighter and less permanent."

The relief for Kacchan is akin to his own, like his pain had been to Kacchan. "He's changed. He—he's been helping me with, with the videos, and getting through it." Izuku admits shame faced. "He fought me a lot, too—not physically!" He says at Aizawa's jolt of (fear.

"He—he's actually wanted to tell you. A lot."

Aizawa stares, probably trying to determine his sincerity. "Good." He nods finally. "I'll remember that. If he isn't there by two, I'm coming back."

Izuku acquiesces and Aizawa puts a careful hand on his head, and Izuku isn't afraid.

"You're ready?" He checks in.

Izuku just shrugs, but the determined gleam is clear, and Aizawa leaves him to it.

He heads into the staff room, thankfully empty due to the time save for All Might, who Izuku knows typically stays pretty late--even on weekends.

"Hi." Izuku announces stiffly. All Might pops up, blinking tiredly from his place in the chair. "Midoriya!" He calls immediately, then coughs and brings a hand to his mouth. "Apologies--I didn't expect to see you here today."

"I didn't really expect it either." Izuku admits, eyes not meeting his idol's. He--feels unexpectedly humiliated. Like now that everyone knows, they've seen the real him. They've seen the real him, and he doesn't think they like what they see.

"I heard about--everything." All Might starts awkwardly. "I--had no idea. I didn't know that discrimination had gotten so--ah." He waves off. "Anyway, I...I won't ask, I'm sure you've had enough of that. But I am here for you. And I'm willing to listen, should you need an ear."

"You don't--you don't think I'm...weak? Or..." like I deserved it?

"Midoriya." He chides softly. "I could never think that of you, and from what I've heard and seen--It only strengthens my resolve in you, the fact that you can remain so kind and heroic--any doubts I could possibly have has long been dispelled."

Izuku traps him in a spontaneous hug, tight and emotional. "Thank you."

All Mights anxious demeanor melts away, and his arms wrap around Izuku like a warm blanket. "Of course, my boy." He murmurs.

Just his entire class, now.

Aizawa isn't there to come drag him into confrontation, having trusted Izuku to go through with it on his own. He did not account for the fact that despite Izuku's tendency to jump into danger, he is in fact a coward.

He sneaks up, concerningly easy considering Kaminari and Sero in front of the tv on the floor, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Hagakure talking solemnly at the table, and Kacchan in the kitchen.

If he isn't there by two, I'm coming back. Fuck. Ok—he'll just text him. It's fine.

"You're cheating!" Izuku hears faintly from downstairs as he trod up the steps, texting Kacchan all the while. "Am not! And you pushed me first!" Kaminari responds.

1:32
Aizawa wants to see you in his office.

He really should've watched where he was going, but hindsight and all.

"Apologies, Midoriya." Tokoyami responds, not outwardly surprised at the collision or Izuku's arrival besides a blinking dark shadow. "We did not see you."

"No I—should've looked where I was going. Uh—could you maybe not tell anyone I'm here?" Izuku asks him.

He nods slowly. "If that is what you wish.

Izuku sighs. "Thanks—we really appreciate it."

Dark shadow continues blinking at him and moving from one side of Tokoyami to the other, unusually quiet, and Tokoyami tilts his head then bows it. They head off, then turn back. "We're glad you're back."

"Yeah—me, me too."

One down. Eighteen to go.

__________________________________

The UA door is as large and grandiose as always, but the loud questions and demands behind it make it seem fragile, like just breathing on it will have it tumbling down and baring Izuku to everyone behind it.

He takes a breath, remembers Aizawa's words, and twists the handle.

The class quiets like the calm after a thunderstorm, the sound of submerging your head under violent crashing waters.

He pauses at the doorway for a moment too long, hands gripped around his backpack and shoulders tensed.

He ducks his head, hating the image he must make—he's not that kid anymore—and shuffles to his desk under rotating heads.

Stop looking.

"Eyes to the front." Aizawa commands, and Izuku's head snaps up. Aizawa just gives an imperceptible nod and continues on, any hushed voices stricken down immediately.

Even the class that had been absent for Aizawa's lessons seemed to know what was going on, or at least the severity of it.

Something about this room, about the blank screen—about the way they all seem to want answers—it gets to him.

Anxiety and annoyance build, remembering the feeling of sitting in a worn-down middle school desk while a bunch of vultures drooled in their seats for a piece of meat.

It's different—these people are just concerned—but the weight in his chest, the unease, the anticipation and jump at each sound—it all feels the same.

Aizawa drags the class past his usual benchmark just ahead of the bell and Izuku wonders if it's to deter their usual after class chattering.

But he can't control them after class.

The bell rings, and it seems the whole class moves as one body, not darting to him with loaded abundant questions, just hovering around like circling birds.

"Midoriya," Uraraka calls after he ducks past the living statues, ignoring her call.

Distantly he hears Iida—'said not to pester him'—Thanks for trying Aizawa sensei.

A hand wraps around his bicep, and he swears their fingers sharpen into claws. He twists instinctively, but Kacchan's face is the only one that comes into focus.

"Go to the dorms, tonight." Is all he says, head ducked and already stalking away with his hands in his pockets.

He blinks, but nobody follows since Kacchan's entrance, the hallway clear of familiar faces.

"So." He jumps, a startled yelp bursting out of him. Aizawa is standing with his arms crossed, not angry, more—painfully amused. "You didn't talk to them."

He huffs, shoe scraping at the floor. "Couldn't."

Aizawa hums, coming to lean against the wall with him. "It's going to be harder now that they've waited a whole class in suspense."

"I know that." He bites under his breath. He regrets it immediately. Aizawa isn't angry either—just, surprised.

"I'm sorry—I don't know why I feel so—" fists clench—relax.

Aizawa is a steady figure besides him, but the anger doesn't wane. "Let's head to the gym." He speaks finally. "Seems like you could use it."

He's right—it feels like someone else takes over his skin, beaten down anger roaring to the front and destroying the field. Like he's in the passenger seat, and all the destruction and hatred and long buried resentment is the remnants of another far away life.

But it helps—the angry wasps soothed under his skin. Anger drained, something else taking its place. Aizawa is not shocked by the sudden painful cries, just takes a sobbing Izuku in his arms and holds him together. It leaves him drained, a lifetime worth of pain ignored by him and everyone else demanding to be heard—but it's a little less than before, a little calmer.

He thinks—it's probably time to confront the others.
__________________________________

In the common room—practically the entire class waits, bitten nails and tapping feet.

Kirishima straightens at seeing him, shark teeth curving with his smile. "Mido—"

"Kacchan told me you wanted to talk to me." Izuku rushes quickly, throwing the other kid under the bus immediately.

He isn't there to correct him, having been permanently scheduled for mandatory anger management, so the lack of angry denials is honestly both disquieting and yet not unpleasant.

"Yes—" Iida starts, standing up stiffly. "We wanted to address the situation as a class—"

Kaminari groans and wipes a hand across Iida's face. Says something about Iida's stiff approach as Iida reprimands him for his behavior. It soothes him, just a little.

"We don't see you any different." Mina pipes over the two, used to their shenanigans. "And we just wanted to say—what happened was—terrible. And we're here for you."

Uraraka nods rapidly, eyes determined. "And we asked Aizawa sensei and he said he was working towards getting that whole school taken down for negligence and discrimination and be held liable for any--uh, for injuries." She ends awkwardly, eyes dipping down and face red.

"Oh." Izuku says faintly. He doesn't know how to feel about that—doesn't know what to do with his body now that he feels on display.

"Yeah." Kaminari adds once he's stopped pestering Iida. "It—it wasn't cool. It was actually pretty awful."

"Yeah, it—oh." Izuku starts, Todoroki having walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We are here to help." He's so genuine, and Izuku sees Sero face planting in his hand at his stilted blatantness. "T-thank you."

Kirishima huffs, eyes downcast. "I don't understand how a person can do that to another person—"

"I mean," Izuku pipes in quietly, eyes glued to his feet. "I was the only quirkless kid at my school—"

"We don't give a fuck, Midoriya." Jirou interrupts. "Even if you were still quirkless."

The waterworks fill his eyes, and a myriad of gentle arms rest around his shoulders.

"Oh—Midoriya!" Voices cry out, not a single voice anything but welcoming and concerned.

Izuku was diagnosed quirkless at four years old. From that moment on, people in his life treated him like garbage, subhuman. All the people he loved turned on him in all different ways, and his entire life he had yearned for a single person to just not give a damn. To see his worth outside of his quirk status. He has not had a single person stand up for him in his entire life.

The heavy weight that is these facts weighed on him like rocks tied to his waist, struggling not to meet the ocean floor.

He thinks maybe the ropes have been cut loose, or at least a hand has reached to anchor him—and that maybe fighting against the current won't be so hard. Maybe he'll finally have something to fight for.