If you scream in a city, it will drown you out
Detention was served after class, of course, the teacher didn't care much for his 'excuses' as he put it, he was seen as the trouble maker, the problem, oh how wrong they would be, he would show them, he just needed the time, time for a plan, time for the courage, and time to build up the strength to be Izuku again. It might take decades if he needed to do all of that, but he couldn't wait, not by a long shot.
He was made to hold water buckets during detention, the typical punishment, his arms burned and his breath was labored by the time he was done, but there would be no rest in sight for him, the gods above would not let him rest, not until he was dead, he looked out in front of him, his bullies, of course they had waited for him, because they hated him enough to waste their freetime just so they could get to him
-pov Deku-
I watched as the look of recognition filled their expressions, they had seen me, and there was no way that I could escape this time, not even a chance. He knew these bullies, but not by name, they had never thought to tell him anything other than that he was useless, but he did know them by the names that Bakugo had called them, Fingers and Wings. He had never described them any other way, never a name, only by quirk
That only made more sense, of all people Bakugo would be the one to call people by their quirks, and since it's him, they didn't seem to care at all. "Oi, deku, finally out of detention eh, you wasted out time, so you better fucking make up for it, now be a good punching bag and stand still!" Bakugo didn't even give him time to escape, an explosion blew him off of his feet, flinging him into the gate of the school
"Damn it deku, you damaged the school, looks like you've got another day's detention coming your way, and I fucking hate having to wait for your ass, I might just have to find you before school then, might aswell be late if your already gonna have detention!" Bakugo barely stalked forward, standing over him as fingers stood behind, his creepily long fingers grabbing him around the neck and arms, a wrestling hold he presumed
Wings stood back, grinning from ear to ear as he took a video of him being tor- bullied. The sick feeling of them getting joy out of this made a pit in his stomach, it sickened him that they had a very real chance to be heroes, not only that, if he managed to be a hero, they would always have those videos, and that haunted him, even if he could be number one, he would never escape those videos.
He was sent back to his own body as another explosion lit his midsection, burning through his clothes and skin alike, leaving his own personal mark on him, it wouldn't me permanent, like most of them, only a few ever scared, well, a lot, he can't count how many of Bakugo's handprints adorn his body, mocking his weakness, mocking him.
They haunted his dreams and his waking hours, his nightmares mimicking his life as he went on, restricting his movement, the pale scared skin healing well under his care, no longer carrying the char it once had, blackened skin turned pale as quirk enhanced healing cream and rigorous days of healing and cleaning, he had to nurture each an every mark, if he missed even one of them they could get infected, and he already knew that would be bad.
By the time the bullies were done with him, his body was lit with light burns, bruises, and cuts, he could still hear them chuckling from his pain, he hadn't wanted to do it, but he chuckled along with them, laughing both at his own suffering and their stupidity to not see through his facade, it hurt him, but under his burns and bruises, he was thriving each hit educated him more, each swing gave him more an of idea of how they fought, hot to beat them, how to kill them
But he couldn't. That wasn't who he was, it is not who he wanted to be, he could crush them at any time he wanted, he had planned each and every murder and each and every attack, but he would never use them, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He was too weak, too compassionate, he cared too much for those around him and it hurt. Everyday it was the same, over and over the cycle continued, and he couldn't let it go on any longer, he just couldn't
When he finally let himself out of his internal monologue, they had finished with him, of course, that only meant he would have to wait another day for them to do the same thing, It was such a normal thing that bystanders knew who he was, they knew what he was, and they didn't care, not even a little, they watched as they beat him, they watched as he screamed for help, they watched as he suffered.
And he could take it no longer. The pain he had endured his entire life had dawned on him, finally sinking in the amount of injuries, the amount of bones broken bloody noses, scratches, bites, cuts. It was all so much, and he couldn't take it, it flared in the back of his head like hot metal, each and every second he tried to forget it all came rushing through, every beating, every injury, every insult. All at once and yet feeling like hours, days of time passing in that same second.
It was unreal, he could see it all in high definition, feel each punch, kick, and explosion. He could hear the cruel laughs of his tormentors and he couldn't protect himself from them, as much as he tried his mind only made him watch on and on each encounter he had with his bullies, feel each sensation, and emotion. The tide of fear nearly overcame him, but the fiery pits of rage was the only thing he could feel.
It was unlike anything he could have ever felt before, the rage he felt patching each uniform, the rage he felt with each insult, the rage he so desperately tried to hide. It had finally reared its ugly head, his iron grip on his rage slipping, and it overcame him, swallowing him whole. And for a moment, nothing, he felt in bliss, not an emotion to speak of, no pain or grief, only him. And then he realized that in that one moment he had realized what he had to do,=, and there was no avoiding it.