Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Midoriya Izuku was drifting. Engulfed in abysmal darkness, his small self floated peacefully as a faint mumbling grew louder in his ear.

“—ku!” He jerked suddenly awake, staring confusedly at his mother’s face and the bright waves that wreathed her every motion. In the distance, beeping monitors could be heard.

“Mama,” he giggled, “you’re glowing!”

“Oi, crazy light boy!” Izuku’s frantic packing slowed at the familiar voice behind him, stomach flipping in anxious knots. “I’m talking to you, turn the fuck around nerd.” Spinning cautiously on his heels, Izuku turned to face the source of the loud voice. So much for getting out of here unnoticed, his brain chittered unhelpfully. Raging crimson eyes stared him down.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku muttered, holding the notebook he had been about to put in his schoolbag close against his chest. 

“So, you think you can get into UA, huh? Fat chance, you can’t do anything useful. Not to mention there’s no way you actually have a quirk, loser.” The taller blond boy mocked, aggressively stepping closer to Izuku.

“I do have a quirk,” Izuku asserted quietly, “you know that.” His hands clenched and unclenched in tight knots around his notebook.

“Oh, yeah, those mysterious shitty lights that only you can see. You actually think anyone believes that crap?” Bakugou snarled, reaching out to grab the notebook straight from Izuku’s hands. The speed of the motion flashed brightly across Izuku’s vision, making him wince. Bakugou chuckled darkly. “Instead of making up a quirk, maybe you should just take a swan dive off the roof and hope for a quirk in your next life.” He punctuated his sentences with crackling explosions from his palms that scorched the book and filled the air with the scent of burnt paper. With each spark and hiss, Izuku felt his heart sink heavily. He had spent months taking notes in there, but of course Kacchan was always going to be ahead of him. Of course. With an air of finality, Bakugou threw the smoking notebook straight out the open classroom window and turned to go, his two chuckling lackeys following him. In a panic, Izuku watched the notebook arc through the air, trailed by undulating neon green waves. What’s even the point of being able to see these if I can’t do anything with them? He thought glumly, trailing his fingers over the vanishing lights.

Gathering the last of his things, Izuku shuffled through the halls of Aldera Middle School, and finally out the front doors. Looping around the corner, he found his notebook floating in the koi pond under the window from which it had been thrown. It was a sorry sight surrounded by gently nibbling koi. Sighing dejectedly, Izuku picked up the book and attempted to shake off some of the water. The dark ink on the front, which had previously read Hero Analysis for the Future - No. 13, had bled through the waterlogged paper and ruined the first several pages of notes. Izuku felt his eyes sting. He pushed the feeling down.

Walking home, Izuku had to slip on his spare sunglasses. The wind that had stirred up was filling the air with bright green lights that burned harshly against his retinas. Absently, he wondered if he needed to pick up anything from the grocer’s for dinner. Mom was making katsudon tonight, which honestly was exactly what he needed after the day he had. Maybe if he hurried, he could stop and grab a new notebook from the department store too. Some of those notes are still salvageable, so I can copy them into the new book later, he thought as he entered an underpass. 

A loud rattle echoed behind him, and he startled and whipped around nervously. In the dim light under the underpass, complete with his sunglasses, he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. Was that…? Izuku had heard reports of a sludge villain attacking downtown that afternoon, though he figured the villain would have been caught by now. But who else could this gelatinous puddle be, heaving themself menacingly out of the manhole like that? Izuku froze as the bloodshot yellow eyes locked onto him, cold sweat running down his back.

“Hey, kid,” a guttural voice projected from the villain’s toothy mouth, “you’ll make a perfect skinsuit for me to escape in!” The intimidating green mass was in motion before he even finished speaking, barrelling straight towards Izuku. Neon ripples of light chased the racing form. Shocked into motion, Izuku turned to run, but his reaction wasn’t fast enough. A thin tendril of slime wrapped tightly around his ankle. Dragged backwards, Izuku kicked out at the fluid, but it simply reshaped around his foot to avoid the blow. He was so close now that he could smell the villain’s rancid breath. He opened his mouth to scream. Big mistake. Viscous liquid forced itself into his throat and nose, pumping foul sludge in burning trails to his lungs and stomach. Izuku’s heart sped up, and he thrashed wildly in the confines of the ooze. Trying to fight the liquid was like swimming against a powerful current. Izuku felt himself being overcome. His lungs screamed for air, and he reflexively gasped, pulling yet more slime down his throat. “Almost there kid,” the villain growled. His vision grew darker, fuzzing out at the edges. Is this how I die? He pondered desperately. …don’t want to die…! It was becoming harder to form cohesive thoughts… In one final plea for escape, Izuku reached out to the swirling lights.

The waves and ripples flared brightly, drawing in towards Izuku. They vanished beneath his skin, and the villain froze in place. What? The sudden energy flooding Izuku’s body forced him into motion, tearing rapidly at the goo around his face. Coughs racked his body, dark green ooze spewing out of his airways. Kicking himself free, he crawled to the tunnel wall and leaned back. The cool cement felt nice. Breathing felt nice. Living felt nice. Faintly, Izuku realized his hands were shaking.

Across the tunnel, the villain still hadn’t moved.

A four-year-old Izuku lay breathlessly against cold concrete. His ribs ached, bruises already beginning to color the skin that peeked through seared holes in his shirt. His legs ached from running, and blood trickled from one of his ears. Most likely his eardrum had ruptured. He shivered.

Tiredly, he recalled the last hour of his life. He had been accosted on the playground by red eyes and harsh words, accompanied by the shadows of many others. Escape was attempted, but his small legs could only hold out for so long. Blows landed harshly across his skin, forcing him downwards until he curled defensively on the schoolyard pavement. Dancing bright lights waved around him, forcing his eyes shut. Loud bangs and snaps echoed. Orange flares lit his inner eyelids. Everything burned.

 Toshinori was confused. After the villain had disappeared into Musutafu’s sewer system, he had struggled to find them - but the last thing he had expected was to catch them frozen like some freaky wax effigy. Lacking time to properly investigate, he had scooped the villain into some discarded soda bottles and hustled to the police department to deposit the evildoer and file an incident report. But now, lying awake in bed, he found himself contemplating the scene. Signs of a struggle had littered the underpass. Scuff marks and dried streaks of slime had been everywhere, and a slimy handprint or two complete the surreal picture. In the center of it all, the villain had been frozen in a position of attack, an intimidating look marring the mushy complexion. Oddly enough, there was no one else around. No heroes, no civilians, and no victims.

So what the hell happened?

Chapter Text

Why was Izuku at the mall at seven in the morning with a miniature tennis ball launcher under his arm, you may be wondering. Izuku found himself asking the same question. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes with his free hand, he yawns and barely avoids walking into another early riser. He mumbled an apology and wandered towards a small coffee outlet, ordering a grande caramel latte to go. While waiting for his drink (which didn’t take long at all, thank god) he sat and thought over the best location for his plans. Obviously, when he’d gotten home the previous evening he had been utterly unable to sleep. Near-death experiences tended to do that. So, instead, he had spent all night frantically researching and theorizing on his quirk. 

For the longest time, Izuku had believed that his quirk was simply vision based - he could see those unusual waves and rippling lights that eluded others. But the events of the evening prior had utterly flipped his opinion on the matter. Crazy, right? As a kid, Izuku had spent long hours desperately trying to interact with the lights, but he had never had any success. And now some dormant factor of his quirk appeared to have been awakened. Honestly, Izuku was still struggling to process it.

To begin his investigation he had dug out an older notebook from his collection, started about a year after his quirk developed. The book contained notes on his quirk from before he had given up on being able to interact with the lights. Most of it was filled with far-fetched theories, but two observations caught his eye. Firstly, that the lights were probably a tangible form of kinetic energy, since they only appeared around or within moving substances. And secondly, that the color of the energy changed to match its frequency - with slow movement producing dark green lights, and the color slowly brightening to white as the movement grew faster. Both of these statements rang true with the experiences that Izuku has had with his quirk. After gathering that information, he had searched his other notebooks and the internet for any mentions of a similar quirk. He spent several hours on this, but all he managed to find was speculation about Mirko, the No. 5 hero, being able to store kinetic energy in her legs. Overall, not very useful. Finally, Izuku had turned to writing his own recently developed speculations down in the back half of his ruined notebook (he hadn’t had time to pick up a new one that evening). Which led him to where he was now, standing in the mall at an unreasonable hour, nursing a massive coffee and pondering the best place to launch tennis balls at himself.

It was going to be a fun day.

Izuku jogged home, thankful that he had thought to throw on a sweater before leaving the house. The March air was warming somewhat, but traces of winter still clung to the city. It would be another week or so before spring really arrived. Trotting up the stone steps of his apartment complex, he let himself in to find his mother already in the kitchen prepping some breakfast. 

“Izuku! What were you doing out so early?” Midoriya Inko huffed exasperatedly.

“Sorry, mom! I just needed to run out and grab something for later today,” he explained in a rush, hucking his brilliant red sneakers off in the small entryway. He set the heavy tennis ball launcher and his other purchases down on a side table, relieved at the removal of the weight. I should probably consider strength training, he mused. Walking into their small kitchen, he padded up alongside his mother and hugged her. He had to lean down to do so, her small stature making Izuku seem tall by comparison. 

“Did you at least remember your meds before you went out?” She questioned, chuckling lowly and carding her hand through Izuku’s messy green curls. Izuku winced.

“I’ll take them in a bit, I was just distracted when I got up.” Inko glared at him. “Okay, okay! I’ll take them now!” He separated from the hug and ducked to avoid the towel his mother threw at his head. Marching into the bathroom, he pulled out his unlabeled white pill bottle and threw back two of the small capsules. He shuddered at the bitter taste. He’d been taking these since his quirk came in, so he’d gotten pretty used to the unpleasant flavor. That didn’t mean he had to like it though.

Walking back out to the kitchen, he poured himself a mug of coffee. He was going to be jittery as all get out later from sheer concentrated caffeine consumption, but that was a problem for future Izuku. Izuku and Inko both headed to the living room and sat on their sagging old couch, and Inko flicked on the news. As the weather reporter droned quietly, Inko turned to look at Izuku.

“So… what was so important that you needed to go shopping the second the stores opened?” She asked curiously, nudging him with her foot. Izuku paused and thought over his answer. He had a feeling that saying I got caught by a villain and now I have more questions about my quirk than answers wouldn’t go over very well.

“Well,” he began, chewing at his bottom lip, “I tried again to interact with the lights. And, um, this time it actually… worked? I’m not really sure how it happened, so I bought some stuff to help me run some tests. Actually, I’ll probably be out of the house most of the day for the same reason.” As he spoke, Inko’s face flashed through a series of emotions. Concern, relief, excitement - and was that anger? It was gone before Izuku could be sure, and anyone less familiar with his mother would have definitely missed it. Setting down her own coffee, Inko leaned towards him and grasped his hands with her smaller ones. Moisture welled in her eyes.

“That’s amazing, honey! I’m so proud of you. Just know, whether you can do it again or not, I’m here to support you.”

“I know mom.”

Takobah Municipal Beach stunk. Littered with massive heaps of rusting metal and decomposing garbage, Izuku wished that there were somewhere different he could go to test his quirk. Unfortunately, the beach was the only spot where he was sure to be uninterrupted, hidden as he was within the maze of trash. It’s where you belong anyway, his mind hissed, reminiscent of Bakugou’s voice. Among the other useless garbage. Sighing, he pulled some scrap out of the way to form a small clearing that he could practice in. He set the small tennis ball launcher to one side of the area, laying an old tarp he found over the trash at the opposite side. He didn’t want to lose any of his brand new tennis balls. Laying the new notebook he had purchased open on the sand, Izuku loaded up the launcher and set it to the lowest speed, backing off to the side when he finished. He stood there dumbly as the first tennis ball shot past, trailed by lime green waves. When the second shot out, he was slightly more prepared. He tried to mentally call the waves, basing the action off what he had felt when it triggered before. A pounding headache threatened to bloom at the base of his skull. The ball slowed, some of the lights darting towards Izuku, but his hold on the connection slipped and the ball continued on its course. It’s a start. No where near good enough to pass the UA entrance exam in a month, but a start nonetheless. When the third tennis ball looses from the launcher, Izuku reaches out again, louder this time. The sensation is odd, like wordlessly hollering through water. His headache is in full swing now. When the lights begin to dart towards him this time, he struggles to maintain his hold on the wirelike connection he has created. The ball freezes in midair.

The energy inside of Izuku is foreign, urging him to move and dispel it. Diving downwards, he snatches his notebook quickly from the sand as particles of the pale rock and dust dance into the air around him. With the burst of energy now dispelled from his system, he notes a few things down in his notebook before standing and walking towards the frozen ball. The way that it hovers so utterly still sends shivers down his spine. He reaches out to touch it cautiously, and the effect of the quirk breaks, leaving the ball to tumble to the sand. Another ball shoots out of the machine, and Izuku scrambles to remove himself from the path of the airborne object. Circling around the clearing, Izuku reaches the ball launcher and turns the speed dial up a notch. The next ball to come out is trailed by slightly lighter colored lights. Kinetic energy, he reminds himself. I need to get used to calling it that. He has a much more difficult time connecting with this energy, noting that it has almost a warm quality to it when he reaches out to it. The ball hits the tarp. The next few tennis balls do the same. He rakes his hand through his hair in frustration, both at his lack of skill and the migraine that hammers his temples. On the one hand, I can’t expect to master my quirk when I just barely know how it works, he berates himself, but on the other hand, everyone else has had years of experience with their abilities because they weren’t so useless that they couldn’t figure out their own quirks as kids. He turns the speed dial on the launcher back down.

Izuku spends the next few hours practicing manipulating the kinetic energy from the slow-pitched tennis balls. He finds that he can absorb the energy into himself quite easily, and that the absorbed energy can be used to boost his speed momentarily. However, when he attempts to manipulate the kinetic waves outside of his body, he finds the focus required about triples in size, and at his current level he just can’t manage to maintain that connection. Combine that with the fact that he’s only working with low frequency kinetic energy, and Izuku knows he has a long way to go. 

Yet, he finds himself fighting a smile as he packs up his things.

Izuku leaves the beach, glancing backwards at the dump with a wince. Someone should really clean this place up. Checking his phone, he notes that it’s almost noon. A yawn worms its way out of his throat, and his brain aches dully within his skull.

He debates a quick nap when he reaches home, but the thought of closing his eyes makes him shudder. He just. Can’t. Not right now, anyway. So instead, he drops his stuff in his room and heads out again, letting his feet move as his mind wanders. Focusing on his quirk is easier than thinking about yesterday, easier than thinking about returning to school on Monday. Easier than thinking about Kacchan.

A bell chimes as Izuku enters a small boba shop a few blocks down from his apartment. Ordering a drink, he sits in a windowside booth and nibbles on his straw, watching the dancing energy that follows people and cars outside the shop. For as much trouble as his quirk can be sometimes, it really is beautiful. Izuku bites his lip with the thought and takes a long sip from his boba. His mind has been a whirlwind of so many emotions in the last fourty-eight hours, and he’s just so tired. Idiot, of course you’re tired, you stayed up all damn night, he thinks with a chuckle. He’s so engrossed in his thought process that he almost doesn’t notice the chime of the door opening and the unfamiliar boy who slides into the booth facing him.

Almost.

Whenever Ejirou needs to think, he likes to visit White Brews. Sure, the cafe is a bit of a ways from home, but it's rarely busy and has the best red bean boba on this side of Musutafu - not to mention he’s good friends with the owner of the shop. He often spends Saturday afternoons there, chatting with the other regulars or completing homework. Not many people frequent the cafe, so when he opens the door that afternoon and finds an unfamiliar face, he can’t help but be surprised. The boy sits hunched beside a window, sipping a strawberry matcha and chewing his bottom lip. Definitely the same age as himself. His fluffy green curls are wild atop his head, and Ejirou can’t help but notice the way the sunlight dances across his multitude of freckles. He looks so contemplative… 

Ejirou finds himself walking over with fresh purpose, sliding into the booth seat across from the boy.

“Hey man, mind if I sit here?” Ejirou murmurs, trying not to disturb the other boy. Despite his soft approach, the boy startles, looking at Ejirou as though asking who, me?

“Um, yeah, that’s fine?” The boy phrases it like a question, his eyes wary.

“Sooooo - what brings you to this little cafe? It’s not often that we see new faces around here,” Ejirou chirps. Maybe I can make him more comfortable, talk about whatever’s on his mind? Then again, who would pour their guts out to someone they just met? He thinks curiously. “I’m Kirishima Ejirou, and you are?”

“Midoriya Izuku. Nice to meet you. And… I just sort of walked? I was thinking about some stuff and ended up here.” Midoriya relaxes somewhat as he speaks, and Ejirou can’t help but feel happy as the greenette grows more comfortable. 

“Yeah, this is a good place to mull things over. I like to come here whenever I need to think too.” Midoriya blinks at him, looking surprised.

“If you came here to think, why are you sitting here talking with me? Wait, sorry if that’s rude, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Midoriya’s brow furrows and he waves his hands flusteredly as he speaks. Ejirou chuckles lightly.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind! I just came to hang out for a bit today - sort of a Saturday ritual - and you looked like you could use a chat!” He rubs the back of his neck, watching Midoriya. The boy’s eyes are an interesting shade of green, like the wings of a butterfly. “Besides, there’s not a lot on my mind lately. I’ve just been trying to pick a high school. There’s waaaay too many options, y’know? I thought about UA, but I don’t think I’d make the cut for somewhere that elite.” 

“You want to be a hero?” Midoriya questions, eyes alight with interest. “Do you mind if I ask about your quirk?” Ejirou winces. Midoriya won’t be quite so excited once he sees my quirk. Pushing away the negative thought, he holds up his right arm and activates his quirk. The soft skin instantly becomes stony and hard, rising in small peaks and ridges across his forearm.

“Hardening. I can basically harden any part of my body.” Ejirou expects Midoriya to lose interest. What he does not expect is for the boy to pull out a notebook and somehow look even more excited.

“Wow, that’s amazing! What are the limits? Where do you fall on the Mohs hardness scale? How long can you keep it activated? If you concentrate it in one area, can you improve the hardening there? Have you ever tried deflecting objects with your quirk? If so, how much force can your hardening hold up under? Could you deflect a bullet?” The questions are coming rapid fire, and Ejirou doesn’t have time to answer any of them. He’s feeling slightly overwhelmed, staring dumbly at Midoriya, when Midoriya groans and stops. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to overload you, I’m just really interested in quirks and quirk analysis. You probably don’t want to sit here and tell me everything about your quirk anyway. I’ll, um, I’ll go.” The short boy starts to stand, but Ejirou catches his wrist.

“Midoriya! If you’re going to leave, at least let me give you my number. That way you can ask all the questions you want. I’m more than willing to answer them.” Looking shocked, Midoriya slowly slides him his phone. He quickly adds his number to Midoriya’s contact list, trying to ignore the fact that there are only two other numbers saved. “Alright, you’re good to go, man!” He flashes Midoriya a smile, handing the phone back. Midoriya’s out the door before he can say anything else.