You Only Tell The Truth
2. They Think It's A Lie You Told
When Izuku is eight, his mother takes him to the library.
Inko worried that her son didn't interact a great deal with his peer group. Izuku didn't communicate with anyone outside of herself and the occasional adult who asked him a question. He didn't even invite friends home from school or went on playdates anymore, and Inko's motherly sensibilities were screaming that she should do something. While books aren't a replacement for human interaction, they were a gateway to something creative. Inko hoped books could be something for Izuku to look forward to outside of Heroes and Villains and coming home only to sit in his room alone; that he could find friends and support in inked pages and learn from there.
The library wasn't all that great. It was a neglected public service compared to several Quirk-orientated facilities in the area, but somehow it remained open. The books were neat and orderly despite being old and tattered, and the staff were never judging to those who visited. For that, Inko was thankful. Izuku so desperately believed he had a Quirk, and Inko knew children's imaginations should be indulged… but the Doctor had clearly denounced any possibility of her son inheriting her or Hisashi's power. It was wrong of her to encourage Izuku to fabricate a Quirk for himself, but it was also wrong for her to hurt him too.
What kind of mother wants to dash her child's hopes and dreams to pieces, after all?
So she takes him to the library and sets him loose in the children's section, hoping that he'll dash right over to the Hero stories and comic books. They never fail to make Izuku smile, even if he has the plot worked out three pages in.
However, Izuku surprises her – bypassing the comics and fiction books altogether. He roots through the section dedicated solely to fairy tales and mythology with the intent of a child tearing through layers of sand on the beach. You have to dig deep to find the perfect sand for building castles, of course, and the stacks of ragged library books are no exception. Izuku flips open a book he eventually finds, fingers skimming along the context page until he discovers a chapter he wants to read.
Inko peers over her son's shoulder. The heading of the chapter reads 'Cassandra', and a vague recollection of the name has her frowning. Izuku likes Heroes and Quirks, so why was he reading about Greek Mythology? And why that myth in particular? Sure, Odysseus' decade-long journey wasn't exactly prime reading material for eight-year-olds, but the heroism and adventure would keep Izuku entertained over other tales. When she asks why he's picked that chapter over many others, he shrugs and simply says that it looks interesting.
Directing her son to some of the battered beanbag chairs scattered through the children's area, she leaves him to read in peace while she gathers some books for herself. Hisashi has been gone longer than anticipated, and Inko gets lonely sometimes for a type affection that Izuku definitely can't provide. Satisfied with the steamy stack of romance novels she's compiled, Inko returns to collect Izuku; only to find him floods of tears. She drops her books and scoops Izuku into her arms, pulling him from the beanbag chair to the brightly printed rug on the floor.
"It's s-so-" Izuku sucks in a breath as he sobs, and he fists his small hands into the front of her cardigan. "It's so sad, Mama!"
"What's sad sweetheart?" She asks in return.
The look in her son's eyes as he responds will haunt Inko forever. "No one b-believes her. They a-all think Cassie lies."
The words 'Just like me' go unspoken.
Visions were strange things that Izuku had generally just learnt to put up with throughout the years. Often they arrived well in advance – sometimes up to five months in advance – and other times they could happen a split second before the future came to pass.
The early visions weren't always helpful either. No impending doom for pedestrians being hit by cars, major Villain attacks, or catastrophic events would appear and cloud Izuku's eyes, but rather the simple things in life. Such as knowing not what to put for the answer on a test when he could clearly see the result a week prior, skirting around one neighbourhood because Izuku was likely to get gum stuck to his shoe on precisely three months next Tuesday, and even seeing that his mother was going to make his favourite for dinner on his birthday.
(The latter was an entirely useless vision, because she always made his favourite without fail.)
There were days when he went visionless, but visionless days were a double-edged sword. They were blessed and rare, but also invoked a primal sort of terror within him; like he'd been sent out into the world stripped bare of a weapon and asked to battle a monster blindfolded. If he'd been at home, safe in his room and ignorant to the world, a day without visions would be enjoyable. If a visionless day coincided with school and Izuku's daily commute however, it was a living nightmare.
One of the perks of visionless days, despite how exposed they made Izuku feel at times, was that without frequent apparitions plaguing him there would be no headaches or migraines. If a day packed full of visions was especially trying and straining on his eyesight, Izuku would just forgo dinner with his mother and lie in his room with the curtains firmly shut.
Inko probably thought it was just him being a typical teenager, or still being hung up on his Quirklessness and not accepting who he was. The truth of the matter was that the evening sunlight was enough to pain his fatigued eyes. The darkened room and comfort of his All Might bedsheets were familiar and relaxing, allowing his tired mind to unwind.
Izuku has seen and stopped many horrors from occurring in his short fourteen years of life, all from minute actions on his part. Nobody would believe him still, even after all these years, so he kept the gruesome details between himself and the darkened room. They'd only say he'd lied or cart him off to the nearest psychiatric ward if he decided to share.
What Izuku saw wasn't exactly what the movies and books traditionally depicted for Seers – there were no touching analepsis scenes that delved into a character's entire past and future, nor any blurring jump cuts of premonitions or overwhelming feelings of dread emancipated from skin to skin contact. There were, instead, spectres of people and places. Pathways of fate that overlapped in layers of probability like an onion skin, which varied in opacity. The layer with most likely outcome held the strongest tangibility and colour, with the weakest line of fate appearing as mere outline etchings.
Sometimes there were more than one path fate could take present in Izuku's visions, and, to a certain point, they would intersect one another before dancing away down different routes in Izuku's eyes like a kaleidoscope of chaos. The moment when fate split into four or more possibilities was the moment Izuku to broke out the aspirin; things got very confusing with four or more pathways, and it all became a bit too much for him to process. Anything less than that he could handle just fine.
Today Izuku's fate was split into two paths. His teacher prattled on about applications for high schools, scattering the application forms like confetti as his classmates jeered. Izuku placed his head into his hands. His fingers trembled; nails clenching into the skin of his forehead.
If his fate was split in two, and two pathways were usually manageable to Izuku, then why did it hurt so much? The sharp lancing pain behind his eyes didn't release even after he scrunched up his face and squinted, or when he lowered his head onto the desk and slipped down unkemptly in his seat. Pain like this turned him into a stuttering mess – there was no coherency beyond the fleeting visions, and it only served to alienate him further from his peers.
Izuku watches as the two paths become converged, layered over the top of one another until he can't tell which is the less plausible track to follow.
Suddenly, one path darkens.
Izuku crushes his left eye closed, hissing as the pain he'd felt before intensifies. The second path is not to be followed.
The second path will kill him – of his own volition – though it's not as if the first of the two is any better.
He'd prefer not to choke to death on a sludge Villain that afternoon. His mother is making katsudon tonight, and he'd never forgive himself if he missed that – dead or alive.
Izuku's not entirely sure why the fates would present the second path to him at all. Ever since Kacchan (he should really start calling him Bakugou, what with their lack of civility, but it amused Izuku to no end with how it rubs the blond teen the wrong way) made sure Izuku's pleas would be useless for the entirety of his childhood – and therein cut him off from ever making friends the normal way – Izuku had largely kept to himself.
There was no need to build yourself up, meddle with a new acquaintance's fate, only to be turned away. So why bother when people only think that he lies? There was no use stuttering to speak to someone in vain, so why stutter at all when you could just be silent?
Izuku's sure he hasn't spoken to Kacchan in months, let alone been bullied by the teen. No, the bullying stopped when Izuku decided he no longer cared to play up to Katsuki Bakugou's behaviour; the sparking palms striking his skin and the beatings soon ceased. Izuku could see how his whimpers – soft pleadings for Kacchan to believe him, to acknowledge his Quirk – only introduced more pain into his life. From then on, he made sure to keep his mouth welded shut whenever Bakugou turned on him.
Unsurprisingly, there's no fun for a bully in targeting an unresponsive victim.
Until the teacher opens their mouth and offers Izuku Midoriya up like bait for Katsuki Bakugou. The blond is furious from the discovery that 'Quirkless Deku' was applying for Yūei; his hands crackle in anticipation, swivelling in his seat to stare down Izuku.
The latter is too distracted to care for Bakugou's hurtful words and promises of pain to follow later; too preoccupied with what both visions mean to take note of how Kacchan has broken his streak for trying to ignore him all because of one carless sentence on the teacher's part.
The second vision depicted Izuku writing in a notebook, one marked as 'Hero Analysis For The Future #13', and he knows this is what could have been, because he hasn't used notebooks in ages. They're too easily damaged and discarded, as the vision clearly showed. Too easily discovered and used to humiliate him further also, which was probably why he pitched himself off the school's roof in the second vision.
The second vision, Izuku decides, is his Quirk letting him off with a warning. The second pathway was one he could – and probably would – have taken had his Quirk not have been present; and had he not been strong enough to keep on pushing through life, despite being branded a liar and pathetic even though he has a Quirk, Izuku may have followed that path too.
Only, instead of the notebook, it's a smartphone plunging from the school window; cracking against the concrete below. Unlike the notebook, the phone is too heavy to gently float to relative safety.
Suicide is messy for every individual involved; whether it's the one who has lost their life, the first people to respond to the scene, or the families who have lost a loved one. Izuku has Seen and stopped them from happening before, and now he had witnessed what could have been his own demise. Thankfully the vision cut out before he hit the ground – which was why his skull ached fiercely after everything went dark – and he hadn't had to witness his mother's future without him there beside her.
Izuku was glad the second of the two fates was not to be his. He couldn't bare to leave his mother in that way.
As he'd found Seen before though, the first vision was not much better. For now, there were multiple pathways; some where his path lead to greatness, other to ruin, and some in humble anonymity. Unless he could directly influence it, like how he prevented the business man from being ploughed over by an out of control car only a year ago, fate was rarely ever adaptable.
Izuku had Seen his fate for the next few months play out for now – he knew what to expect. He hadn't given up on becoming a Hero, he just wasn't going to be the mighty Hero he'd dreamt up as a child. Izuku would have to get creative, play it sneaky – like an underground Hero – and more importantly, he'd have to learn that he wouldn't be able to save everyone.
Fate liked to throw others under the metaphorical bus to compensate for any significant meddling.
He would also have to taste the bitter tang of unrecognised efforts. No one was yet to believe he wasn't Quirkless, so why would they ever think that him helping them (like the business man of so long ago) was anything more than pure coincidence? It was almost the same as giving up his dream altogether; settling for a mundane life over one of heroics, all because he'd never get anywhere without the tiniest slither of support and belief behind his actions.
However, owning up to his deeds would be the same as trying to paint himself a liar. Izuku was partway there, if Bakugou had done his job right. Playing the long game, playing smart, proving them all wrong – proving them that it wasn't just a lie he'd told. That was what Izuku's fate so far installed. Because he'd played nice with destiny over the years, there were relatively few bumps and scrapes to be had along the way also.
With the second of two paths diminished, only the first remained. It did not branch into smaller pathways; walking underneath the bridge on his way home was unavoidable. Izuku would only end up there anyway even if he tried to bypass it altogether.
So it looked all the likely that he would near choke to death in a few hours. With a sigh, Izuku resigned himself to it all; rubbing at his throat distractedly as the end-of-day school bell rand while Bakugou bared down into his face. The blond hissed and spat his bile words, trying to intimidate him, but Izuku was beyond caring.
He also needed to buy a roll of duct tape. Specifically, one that was bright pink and bunny-patterned, weirdly. Izuku was used to strange compulsions influencing him out of the blue because of a vision, but if his Sight thought pink bunny tape was important, then he'd happily purchase it. It might just brighten his life before the inevitable choking too.
Still, he'd get All Might's autograph out of this mess and be able to walk away without a scratch – albeit with a healthy aversion to the slime putty that was becoming a fad for children and adults alike.
Sure enough, Izuku is heaving sludge from his lungs not long after school ends and he's purchased the tape from a small art store.
All Might appears in his resplendent, grinning glory to save the day; pats Izuku's face until he wakes, and then flings himself back as teen almost lands a perfect hurl of slime and bile on the number one Hero's shoes.
"That was worse than what I'd seen," Izuku huffs quietly, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his gakuran. Black and slime really aren't a great combination, and his mum will surely interrogate him about the mess. She will press for details on whether it was just unlucky happenstance or something else, a fact that terrifies him to no end because Izuku knows the truth will only worry her more.
"What?" All Might questions.
"What?" Izuku echoes, all too innocently. They stare at one another awkwardly for a few moments. The sludge Villain All Might had been chasing down jiggles inside multiple soda bottles, nearly loosening the cap of the bottle which held them prisoner.
All Might slaps his hand over the top of the container hurriedly.
"Do you want some tape for that?" Izuku inquires.
"That would be mighty helpful," the Hero replies. Izuku withdraws the tape from his backpack, along with a blank leaf of paper and a marker pen.
He offers All Might the pen and paper. "Could I be cheeky and…?"
"Say no more," the Hero replies, scrawling his signature and then eying the patterned strips of tape Izuku hands him. Izuku utters a thank you, placing the signed paper and the tape back into his bag.
That really should be the end of it. All Might should hop away into the sky and deposit the Villain safely into Police custody, and Izuku should go home and eat a quiet dinner with his mother; ducking his head sheepishly while she scolds him about the slime on his uniform.
So why doesn't Izuku want this to end?
"Well, time is of the essence. Thank you for the… tape," All Might's grin wavers as he eyes the bunny-taped soda bottle in his trouser pocket. Fate is screaming at Izuku not to do it – multiple visons, far too many for Izuku to handle, collide before his eyes, none of them good – yet he still grabs hold of All Might's leg as the Hero launches himself into the sky. "Hey! What do you think you're- let go!"
Through the panic of his blurred eyesight and the pressure the wind creates against his mouth, Izuku's reply is strangely calm. "If I let go now, I will die."
(He will. That line of fate is cancelled when All Might thankfully agrees and safely lands the two of them in an alleyway between two office buildings.)
Still dazed from the diversion of fate, Izuku rubs at his temples.
"If that's all, then I really must go-" All Might says, hand attempting to pat the pocket containing the trapped Villain.
Only, the pocket is empty.
The visions lash at Izuku again; he hisses and collapses to his knees in the dingey alley. Each of the layers of possibility combine, building and building in intensity until only one pathway remains. This has never happened before – probably because up until five minutes ago, Izuku had always complied to the assigned pathways – and the teen is not sure what that means for him.
Has he forever changed something or created far too many new problems for him to handle?
"Are you okay, boy?" All Might queries, but the tense lines of his body imply he'd rather be tracking down that Villain again before things got ugly. Izuku agrees and waves the Hero off; his questions can wait, because they will meet again.
The clout of multiple explosions sound in the distance, and All Might dashes away. Izuku wobbles in his attempt to stand, and shakily follows the sounds of destruction. He knows what they mean – what they entail.
He can See it all.
Only one future awaits Izuku currently, all because of one selfish and silly action. Now he just has to hang tight and watch the future he's unwittingly influenced unfurl before his eyes. Again.
Perhaps, in another of fate's pathways, Izuku would redeem himself; racing in to save the day and Katsuki Bakugou – the latter being who he has just resigned to a potential sludgy end should All Might not reach him in time. Now all Izuku can do is stand at the side lines while All Might powers through the amassed spectators and flailing first-response Heroes. He's too late to influence his own destiny back to what it was; to any semblance of becoming a perfect, if somewhat anonymous, Hero.
While it is amazing to witness the Sludge Villain destroyed with a single punch, all Izuku can focus on is the crimson gaze of Katsuki Bakugou.
There is terror in those eyes. Recognition. Then loathing.
Kacchan has seen him stood there. Kacchan has seen him not even attempt to help – has seen Izuku undeniably turn his back on his childhood dream of being a Hero and become another member of the crowd gawking and transfixed over another's suffering. With the Quirkless misunderstanding or not, the Izuku Kacchan knew would almost always step in to help – because that was what Izuku did. He meddled with people's lives and shaped them for the better. Infuriatingly, Izuku had always been Hero material.
Now though, in failing to race to Kacchan's rescue – through selfishly stretching out his hands and failing to let go – Izuku's affirmed what the blond had always thought.
Quirkless.
Useless.
Now Katsuki can add 'Coward' to the list.
Izuku Midoriya has sealed his fate. It is too late to change paths now.
Not going to lie, I was a little afraid when I checked my email inbox this morning and saw all of the reviews and follows for this story. Nothing like this has really ever happened so intensely for my stories before in so short a time, so I'm still a little shocked even hours later.
Still, here's chapter two. Not sure when the next one will arrive, because I've got my final exam coming up. Three hours of Shakespearian hell. Yay.
A HUUUUUUGE thank you to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed this story so far!
Guest – Tense is always something I struggle with when writing, but in this case I think it's kind of a happy accident? You can't always tell where Izuku's life is currently, or if it's the past or a vision. (Kinda sounds like a cop-out for shitty writing, but y'know, I'm trying. This was something I wrote on a whim, so it's not going to be super polished either.)
Lokilust – Glad I could be of assistance? I recently read a one-shot fic on A03 called 'Refraction' by ekourege that covers similar concepts. It's short but worth checking out!
EDIT 13/5/2018: Thank you to FF user Silversun XD for notifying me about a gaping hole in the plot. I'd posted an earlier version of the chapter without meaning to; got caught up in some salty Eurovision commentary, thought I'd plugged the aforementioned gaps, and published Chapter Two anyway.
This is the revised version. Sorry for any confusion, and thank you again for your support!