You Only Tell The Truth
5. You Only Tell The Truth
In all his years as a Hero –as All Might– Yagi Toshinori has been exposed to some horrific sights. Behind his eyes when he eventually drifts into a restless few hours of sleep are the faces of those from his career who he did not say 'I am here!' to in time. The people who were dead and gone long before All Might descended from the skyline and hefted the rubble off from on top of them. Those who he had to leave behind because the Villain had to be dealt with first. Those he wasn't quick enough to pull out harm's way. Those who bled openly over All Might's façade as he carted them to the ambulance.
People who weren't his priority, people who died despite his efforts, and those who were gone because Toshinori had failed to prevent their demise. They swam in his mind and he choked, drowned, over the guilt he felt for them. In this business though, one saved just as many lives as those they could not –more so, often– but that did not stop the ghosts from haunting you.
Toshinori had seen harmless members of the public snap and take those in their vicinity with them. He'd held back the elements while staging a mass evacuation. He'd arrived too late at a Villain's massacre. But All Might –and his alternate form, Yagi Toshinori– had never seen someone so bright and promising turn on one of their own before.
Stood before him outside of Class 1-A's classroom was young Bakugou; his eyes glazed, his knuckles bruised and bloodied. Splinters of wood had weaselled their way between the tightly woven fibres of the boy's uniform – thrown like artless darts in irregular shards around his knees and hips.
"What has happened, young-"
"I beat the shit out of stupid Deku," Bakugou answered robotically. "I kicked his head in. I used my Quirk. The room is a fucking tip. I wanted to kill him, 'cos he looks down on me – the Quirkless fuck."
"-Bakugou." Toshinori feels as though his innards have turned to ice. There is no feeling other than all-encapsulating, freezing horror inside of him.
"It felt good. I enjoyed it. He deserves it, he deserved it – and then I got told to tell someone."
The fog, for lack of a better term, lifts from over Bakugou's mind when Toshinori reaches out and grabs the boy. The slack and vacant expression he wore moments prior sharpens into its usual sneer, grit teeth, and ferocious glare with the application of pressure on his shoulders and a light warning squeeze. Sparks dance off of the teen's palms in irritation.
"The fuck just happened, one minute I was-" Katsuki's mouth clamps shut, and he catches his words before they can spill from his mouth.
"One minute you were what, young Bakugou?" Toshinori inquires, towering over the unimpressed teen. "Assaulting another student, perhaps? Which student, in particular? What department?"
"Stupid fuck was asking for it, he's been goading me since we were kids," Bakugou spat. "Stupid Deku, from the shitty Gen Ed department here."
Toshinori is gone, sprinting down the hall before any more bile can spew from Bakugou Katsuki's crooked lips. Belatedly, and still fighting off the disorientation that resulted from Shino using his Quirk, Bakugou followed behind the Hero, back to the scene of his crime. Back to where Shinso Hitoshi was just about keeping Midoriya with them in the land of the living while other faculty members arrived, alerted by the sounds of explosions and the flood of unease filling the hallways.
"He's only just passed out," a boy who could have been Aizawa's carbon copy (if not for the fact that his hair was completely the wrong colour and the eyebags more pronounced) told Toshinori. Recovery Girl scuttled into the room as fast as she could, setting a heavy medical case beside a worryingly still Izuku.
The more Toshinori looked at the scene of devastation around him –in an environment where the aforementioned should never have happened– the more 1-C's classroom became near unrecognisable. Desks lay splintered and charred, metal table and chair legs warped from the heat. Scorn marks lined the walls and the ceiling; cracks stretched like spider webs across the wide window panes. And the blood…
How could one person, so small and fragile, contain so much fluid? Beneath that tousled mop of green curls (and Toshinori's gut wrenched in recognition, because he'd met this child before) a pool of blood had collected; dripping sluggishly now from the lacerations on the boy's face. Other than the smell of charred wood from their surroundings, another scent filled the air. Almost like a barbeque gone horribly wrong, where the food had fallen into the coals and had been left to burn.
Aizawa's copy seemed to realise where the smell originated from too, eyes flicking to Izuku's hole-riddled clothing. The purple-haired boy's hand managed to clasp itself over his mouth before he could heave, and heavy breaths could be heard as Shinso willed himself and the waste paper basket outside to the hall.
Recovery Girl worked methodically; unwrapping Midoriya Izuku as gently as she could from the remnants of his Yuuei uniform. Worried about his unconscious state, but not willing to rouse the child because of the undoubted surge of pain it would case him, the elderly medic worked as quickly to clean and treat his burnt and splinter punctured skin, and to staunch the sluggish bleeding around his head. Then, and only then, would she use her Quirk on the poor boy.
"How did none of us notice this?" Recover Girl muttered under her breath, but Toshinori heard her loud and clear. "That boy sent one of his classmates to my infirmary during your training session, All Might; action should have been taken then to prevent something similar happening – and yet here I am, patching up someone else he has lashed out at."
"We can not be sure that young Bakugou did lash out-" Toshinori blustered.
"He did," came confirmation from the doorway. Shinso grimaced, clutching the waste paper basket close in case he needed it (he hadn't so far, but all colour had dropped from his face). "Midoriya wouldn't hurt anyone. He's the class clown – said he could see the future on our first day here, despite being Quirkless. He's too kind for his own good; couldn't fight his way out of wet paper bag, and if I had just…"
"If you had just what?"
"If I had just stayed with him, if I hadn't walked away, then maybe this wouldn't have happened," Hitoshi whispered.
The wet smack of Recovery Girl planting a kiss on Izuku's forehead ricocheted around the destroyed classroom, and both Toshinori and Hitoshi flinched.
"I think I have him stabilised," the elder stated, beginning the lengthy process of smearing burn ointments along the injured teen's torso and arms, and then wrapping the skin to protect it. "We'll have to move him though; I want to be closer to my equipment."
Hitoshi trailed after All Might and Recovery Girl, watching two specially programmed medic-bots carry Izuku away on a stretcher. The number one Hero's hands rested briefly on Hitoshi sagging shoulders.
"You could not have known what could have happened had you not have stayed, young one," All Might nodded gravely. "You cannot take that blame upon yourself; only a select few people have Quirks that show a possible future. I highly doubt you are one of them."
If only Toshinori knew.
Consciousness eluded Izuku for the longest time.
Sometimes, in his dreams, the curse of his Cassandrian Quirk would haunt him. Relaying events from the prior day and warping them; sort of like macabre action replays. Not even in sleep was Izuku granted a reprieve from his Quirk. The majority of the time though when Izuku dreamt, other than the recantations of the outcomes of his questionable choices, there would be a glimmer of hope. Simple snippets of what might have been, what may come, who he could have been. They were at best, upsetting for their purity, and at worst, crippling, to him who suffered under the pressure of his Sight.
Thankfully, whatever Bakugou had done to him, or whatever someone had prescribed in the aftermath, kept Izuku numb. There had been times growing up when researching into his Quirk (shortly before he'd crushingly realised that no one could ever know –and would never know– what his Quirk entailed) where Izuku read up about prophets. False though they might have been, he read of those at Delphi and how experts now thought fumes or ingesting toxic plants were what caused the oracles to communicate their prophecies. He learnt in a much later age, how people were inspired by the substances they consumed; opium-eaters who became so dependent on their poison that they wasted into nothingness. The latter was a double-edged sword. As liberating as those drugs may have been, they corroded the user beyond recognition. Dependency for creativity soon morphed into dependency for desensitisation, and later, just to struggle through the monotonous throes of each day.
If Izuku had been allowed to dampen his Sight with medicines, would he have been the same person he was today? Would he have suffered just as much, or could he have lived life as an innocuous percentage of the population, blissfully aware that his powers were useless to everyone but himself? Would he have rotted like those who abused their hallucinogenic habits? Would it have made a difference at all or would Izuku have been oblivious to the hurt, and the multiple branching pathways of fate, and how someone he once considered his friend could wreck his body?
The days of his recovery from Bakugou's attack are punctuated with painkillers, sloppy healing kisses, people holding on to his less injured hand, and more radio silence. Izuku's Quirk crackles in the background like white noise – desperate to share images and pathways but having no authority to do so while the drugs course around his system.
For the brief moments where Izuku is lucid, his Quirk reaches out tentatively. The things that he Sees happening are gentle, almost friendly, coming from a Quirk that acts as the harbinger of catastrophes on a daily basis. Little things like his mother entering his partitioned section of the room in Yuuei's infirmary – Shino too. The way the red rope binding the two boys has strengthened. Sometimes, Izuku's Quirk shows him his appearance. If he's lucky it's the bandages. If not, then the burn scars –slowing morphing from angry red to silver– which span his body; lightening with every smooch Recovery Girl pressed to his flesh.
"Awake are we finally?" Croaks a voice to Izuku's left. Dazedly his eyes roll to find the source. Recovery Girl peers down at her patient. "About time too; any longer and I would have had to hand you over to my colleagues at Musutafu General. What ever happened for you to end up in this state child?"
Izuku wants to respond, he really does, but his tongue lays limp in his mouth – though he isn't sure whether it is from disuse or from his Quirk keeping schtum.
"Hmm," the elderly medic hums. "Give it an hour or so and you'll be more coherent. We'll speak then. For now, however, you just listen while I rattle off your injuries, and we'll see about getting you fixed up with something to eat."
Slowly he is allowed to sit up; to eat, and to drink. His parched throat rejoices. His tongue remains unwieldy in his mouth. He wants to speak to someone desperately. Something deep inside of him tells Izuku he can't.
The silence continues over the next few days. Izuku reintegrates himself into school, Quirkless and now mute. The teachers haven't been able to get a statement out of him yet, not even a written explanation – and they have grown desperate. Bakugou roams the halls, hindered but free; there is enough evidence to bring about his expulsion, but no cooperation from Izuku to confirm what the teachers discovered in that classroom.
All Might grows despondent at the sight of green curls and lifeless green eyes (he has had a hand in killing this boy's spirit, he realises, in his negligence of improving young Bakugou's temper). Eventually, when no methods seem to reach Izuku Midoriya, force remains the only option. Toshinori bows his head, swallows his pride, and dials a number in his contact list that has remained untouched for many years. There is only one person he knows, and is -was- on great enough terms with to call in a favour. Only one person that will oblige if the situation is dire enough, and who can glean an individual's lifetime in one touch and glance.
Izuku can't help but feel like he's being punished for suffering under Bakugou Katsuki's abuse. That now he's no longer allowed to talk on top of being unable to communicate what he Sees. Slowly, pathways emerge once more, and trouble brews on the horizon.
A crumbling gate, a monstrous bird-man, hands, and death loom over the burn-scared boy's shoulders. It feels bad. It's going to be bad. Izuku can do nothing about it. There is no way out.
It all comes to blows when an old acquaintance of All Might's arrives at Yuuei. His pristine white suit, worn under a thick woollen coat, is blinding in the Spring sunshine; shining brighter than the future Izuku Sees. The teen is called to the Headmaster's office, and there awaits All Might and his estranged sidekick, Sir Nighteye. The latter's face is pinched with disapproval, and All Might frowns as his once closest compatriot peels off one winter glove and stretches a hand out at a panicking Izuku. Izuku knows what Nighteye's Quirk does – what those fingers, and later his eyes, will See. What he doesn't know is what his Quirk will do to the man.
"Let's get this over with, shall we," says Sir, laying a hand on Izuku's forehead –trapping a few springy green-tinted curls under his palm– and staring intently in deadened green eyes.
N O !
Nighteye stills instantly. His fingers begin to tremble. It has to be excruciating for the Hero, if what he feels is similar to Izuku, to view Izuku Midoriya's life in one sitting (to See what he Sees). Pain lances out from Izuku's head; eyes, ears, and cranium rattling with untraceable shudders over the wrongness of one Seer clashing with another. His mind feels vulnerable. The lines of Fate he views instinctively warp like a fogged lens; the colours blurring together and intensifying like a saturated and overly-exposed photograph.
Izuku doesn't like this at all – make it stop, he and his Quirk cry. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-
"I though you said that this boy was Quirkless, Headmaster," Nighteye gasped, eventually managing to pull his hand and eyes away. "And if this is a joke, I can assure you it is in poor taste."
"Midoriya Izuku has no listed Quirk in his medical file and was diagnosed as such from the age of four," Nedzu squeaked in return.
Utterly fed up with the return of the painful headaches his Quirk caused, and discovering that he could, in fact, articulate once more, Izuku snapped; "I've tried to tell people time and time again that I am not Quirkless!"
His foot stomped against the ground; temper reaching its peak. Then, he slaps his hands over his mouth. Cassandra could never speak of her gift, and yet…
Izuku burst into hysterical laughter. "Only joking, I am."
…there it was.
"Extraordinary," Sir Nighteye breathed. A trickle of blood drips down from his nose and narrowly misses the front of his suit jacket. Izuku rubs at his own nose. Red smears the side of his hand. "It won't let you acknowledge that you have- urk-"
The worlds garble in Sir Nighteye's mouth and in the ears of those present in the room listening. Izuku hangs his head, watching the man choking on his own voice and scrabbling at his throat desperately for breath.
"Don't fight it," he says, and Nighteye's bewildered gaze lands on the boy. "I'm not able to say anything either."
"We both S̶̗͓̋̓͂̽ę̴̩̲͎̺̰̭̆̓͛͆͋̈́̉e̶̯̳͕̎," Nighteye protests, persevering through whatever element of Izuku's Quirk is binding him. "How…?"
Izuku shrugs. He wished he could only spill the truth, but no one would believe him even if he tried.
A/N [05/11/2018] : Okay, so it's only been nearly five months since I updated this story. (Sorry?)
There's something I'd like to address about that actually, other than my total lack of muse for this after Chapter Four. I did a lot of writing over the summer (2018) for a few different fandoms (more work than I've produced in a looooooooooooong time actually…), and it sort of drained me, and shit happened, and my life changed, and I lost my way with this story.
Looking back on it now, while this fic deserved to finally have its no doubt crappy ending, I was never too sure about where I was going to take it outside of the general consensus of 'Izuku has a Quirk but guess what he can't tell anyone about it – literally!'. I also feel, having caught up on the BnHA Manga and Anime, that I know these characters a little better than I did when I started YOTTT. While I'll never be a huge fan of Bakugou –though I can see why the character appeals to some people– I don't think that my interpretation of him here matches up with his canonical growth (or rather, in the case of this story, his lack thereof and pejorative to canon behaviour.)
So yes, I'm treating this story as a little experiment. I owe it to all of you readers, reviewers, and Kudos-givers out there to finish off this project, but I'm never going to be 100% happy with it because of the changes to my own knowledge and style, and because I really don't like my characterisation here. Still, as a method of testing out my AU skills (which later developed Orbit and other various short pieces for BnHA), and as a display of just how long I can procrastinate over writing for something –my record is just over a year now, please don't hate me Pom-Pom Pom! readers– YOTTT is long overdue for it's final update.
I must apologise for the wait and thank you so much for sticking with me.
-Yuilhan
Musical Inspiration
"Cassandra" – Sophie Ellis-Bextor, 'Familia' (2016)
"Lonely Boy" – Andrew Gold, 'What's Wrong With This Picture?' (1976)
"Hurricane Drunk" – Florence + the Machine, 'Lungs' (2009)
"Dark Night" – Philip Sheppard, 'Detroit: Become Human (Original Soundtrack)' (2018)
"Take Me To Church" – Hozier, 'Hozier' (2014)
"Holding Out for a Hero" – Nothing But Thieves, 'Holding Out For a Hero (From the Trailer for "Vikings" – Series Two)' (2015)