Izuku Midoriya is ten years old and he's so, overwhelmingly tired. He cannot handle the sadness that has seeped into the walls that smell of mildew, and he cannot handle the harsh words and hot hands of kids at school. He doesn't know when the last time he's seen his mother is, and similarly doesn't know the last time he got any positive attention was - adult or otherwise. The only thing he has is his analysis.

He will always have his analysis to fall back to, even when his heroes will inevitably fail him, even when his mother stopped caring and the teachers encouraged the kids at school. The books will always have a special place in his heart, hours and hours of information written down in his chicken scrawl handwriting carving out a home inside of him. He doesn't know what he would do without them, in all honesty. Those notebooks are all that he has, what he's shaped his life around him.

Those notebooks give him hope, hope that one day he'll be a hero that saves people with a smile, who people know will always be there to help. They tell him that if he won't develop a quirk, he'll use his analysis and quick reflexes rather than brute strength. They fill him with the childish hope that one day everything will mend itself and people will realize he's not useless. The notebooks fuel that hope, and that hope fuels the books, giving him motivation to keep writing.

But Izuku is ten, and he isn't stupid. The kids at school have shown him that there is no place for him in the world, that nobody will see him as an equal. His mother has shown him that he amounts to how troublesome he is, that he's defined by the quirk. His mother has taught him abandonment and forced him to manage his money, spend it only on things that are necessary. Bakugo has indirectly taught him first aid, how to mend the burns he inflicts on him. The teachers have shown him that nobody will listen. Everyone has taught him that he isn't viewed as human just for having that extra joint in his toe.

That doesn't stop him from hoping and collecting all information he can. That doesn't stop him from hoping so dangerously, because he is ten, and he is a child. He is a child that will hope even though nobody has given him a reason to. He is a child that has been burnt but keeps going back to get burnt again, hoping one day it will change. He will hope and hope and hope until there is nothing left and he's worked himself to the bone and nobody has helped him or fueled that hope. That's the fate he resigned himself to at four years old, the ideology that he will continue to have until the day he dies.

He knows all of this, he knows he's pathetic, he knows it's only three years until he'll be completely and utterly alone, and he knows he's a child, but he can't bring himself to care. He can't care about all of that when he's backed against a corner of the classroom with a horrendous metal contraption on his head and kids with rampant quirks and bloodlust in their gazes cornering him in. Today had been a bad day in general, and it was being made worse by the Tesaki's long fingers digging into his arms. Bakugou was set and front stage, glaring down at him as his hands popped wildly.

God, did he hate today. Now, it had started like any other day, with Izuku waking up to an empty house and flickering lights with no mother to be seen. He had made a small and light bento for school in the hopes that it wouldn't get dumped on him again and set off. He had a slight limp, but his uniform was intact, and he only got a few glowers and murmured curses on the way to school. His landlord had been going into the building and gave him a disapproving look that he ignored, because if he acknowledged it then Inko would be told to "put her son on a goddamn leash, woman".

So, the walk to school was fine and the sun was beating down on him, what was the problem? Getting called into the principal's office first thing in the morning is where it all went wrong. The principal had scowled at him and yelled for cheating on tests, telling him he would never make a living or even graduate at this rate. That had confused Izuku, because he hadn't actually cheated, and he pointed that out but his assistant just scoffed and said, "something as under-evolved as you cannot get those scores". He decided to take it as a compliment.

The principal, however, was not as kind as his assistant had been, and had started yelling at him for lying and tearing down the school's reputation. His face was red and spittle was flying everywhere, and if Izuku wasn't so damn scared of him he might've laughed. But, he didn't. because this man was being gracious by even letting him attend the school, God knows how many schools have a firm ban on quirkless kids. He tried to defend himself, albeit weakly, but all that got was more spittle flying at him and a hand to the face.

He had eventually gotten fed up with the child, because he's only ten, mind you, ten and completely undeserving of this treatment, and turned to his assistant to whisper something to her. She had seemed unsure, weakly protesting with an, "isn't that too far?" but the principal had not let up. And, now, Izuku knew the principal's assistant was far kinder than anyone in the school, but nothing was really too far for her, so anxiety welled up in his stomach and he tracked her every movement like a hawk. He could hear her heels clack on the linoleum floors as she went to the closet and his stomach dropped.

He hated the closet, hated it so, so much. Because the closet in the principals office meant muzzles and handcuffs that chafed at his skin, or maybe it meant that black bag over his head that was overwhelmingly tight but not enough to choke him to death. His English teacher was...fond of the principals closet, so he was somewhat familiar with it. Terrifyingly familiar with the ways they would punish him during school hours, in ways he knows aren't legal but the court will make exceptions for a Quirkless child.

But, what the woman pulled out was not a muzzle, or handcuffs, or the black cloth bag, or even a fucking leash, because that's happened once or twice. He hadn't seen the contraption before, but it looked like some medieval torture thing. It was built like a muzzle, with the metal straps over the head and mouth, but it had spikes on the mouth piece, a triangle slot for the nose, and had circles for the eyes. He looked back at the principal with dread creeping up his spine, but he felt like he got dunked in cold water by the look on his face.

His face was not twisted into uncertainty when he held the device, and he did not hold it as if it would burn him at any moment like his assistant, no, he had a smug smile on his face and seemed to take pride in it. He dangled the...thing in front of his face, "do you know what this is, boy?" He asked, his gruff voice grating on his ears.

Izuku shook his head, and the man glared at him all the more viciously. "This is called a 'scold's bridle'. The muzzle doesn't seem to work on ya', so I figured I might as well try this little thing." He shook it like it was a fucking Christmas bell, and he wanted so badly to crawl up a hole and die. He had no idea what a 'scold's bridle' was, but apparently it was whatever was dangling in front of his face. "Hold em down," he said to his assistant.

Izuku immediately started to struggle, icy terror racing through his veins as the principal brought the thing closer to him. The assistant grabbed his arms - which completely dwarfed her hands and made him squirm uncomfortably - and her nails dug into his uniform-clad flesh as she held him still. He thought he could hear her whisper, "I'm sorry," but that must've been his imagination. The man walked closer and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry and scream about how it's not fair.

He doesn't know why having that extra organ, that extra goddamn joint in his pinky toe - like, seriously, not even his feet having a completely different bone structure, a joint in his pinky toe - makes him deserving of this torture. He doesn't know why, doesn't think he could comprehend the reason if it was spelled out for him, but he accepts it nonetheless. Well, he accepts it all except for this.

A metal - actually, is that iron? - clamp is undone before it's slipped onto his face, and he has to open his mouth for the spikes unless he wants the outside of his face mutilated. Hot tears are running down his face as muffled sobs escape him and shake his body. He wants to shake his head until this thing is taken off of him but he won't because that will just make it worse. The iron is cold against his face and he can only breath in the scent of the rusted metal because of the cage on his nose. He hates the circles for his eyes, he can feel them on his skin and he can see them as well because they are much too small.

His principal takes a step back, looking proud of his work, with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. He gestures for his assistant to let go of him, and she drops him like a hot potato. He crumples to the floor and sobs, blood coating his tongue from the spikey contraption. He can feel his hair all messed up and tangled from how his principal put it on and he wants to comb it all out again. The assistant looks vaguely ill before she excuses herself from the room.

"Well," his principal speaks, his normal disdain evident in his voice and eyes, "off you go. Mr. Miller will be waiting for you."

Izuku wants to vomit. He wants to scream and cry and yell at the world because this isn't fair! It's so, so unfair and he wants to cry out of humilation and pain. All he can taste and smell is rust and iron because blood smells the same as the contraption and his ever so light breakfast threatens to come up his throat. But he just nods and stands up, picking up his ripped yellow atrocity of a bag before walking down the hallway for class.

The kids in the halls point and laugh at him, because surely he looks like a nutcase, but some look...blank. They look like it's a normal occurrence and they're completely indifferent. Just another day in Aldera elementary. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Izuku Midoriya is tortured.

He hates these eyes on him, younger and older, and even teachers outside of classroom doors look at him in disgust. He hates it, hates it so much, but there's nothing he can do. They know he can't do anything, because he's a ten year old quirkless boy and they're adults with quirks who actually have a place in society. Every whisper seems like a screech in his ears as he walks - he knows they're talking about him, laughing at him. It's a routine to gawk at the quirkless boy like he's a zoo exhibit, but the huge iron clasp on his head makes it worse. So, so much worse.

When he finally reaches the door to his classroom, he's not relieved, not in the slightest. He's not relieved because he knows his English teacher, Mr. Miller, will be waiting behind that door with a sick smirk on his face as the kids laugh and point at him. He knows that's what will happen, and he's right. He's always right in deciding his fate, if not underestimating it.

He opens the door slowly, hearing the loud creak sound it makes and cringing back on instinct. Every face in the room turned to him, watching his every move. He feels uncomfortable, he wants to scratch his skin off and hide, hide, hide, but he can't and it pains him. The spikes in his mouth are painful and he can feel a tiny bit of blood dribble down his chin before the class bursts out in laughter. The teacher looks at him with fucking glee, that absolute sadistic bastard, before yelling at him to get to his seat.

He sees Bakugou's face amongst the sea of children and he doesn't know what to make of it. His face is crinkled in uncertainty, and it's so unusual to not see his face twisted in that childish scowl that's still somehow filled with all the hate in the world that it's unnerving. It makes him sweat and shy away from his ruby gaze, shy away from the eyes that track him and observe him like a hawk. God, he hates that look.

(He doesn't hate it, he yearns for it. That sort of uncertainty that screams "maybe this is wrong", "maybe we shouldn't do this" is so fulfilling but he doesn't know how to react. He's only been glared at with malice or indifference for years and years so he doesn't know how to react to care, and it makes his stomach flip-flop uncomfortably because how is he supposed to process that? He wishes he didn't see that emotion flicker on Bakugo's face instead of his mothers, he wishes it was someone who could do something or even patch up his wounds because god, does he want a fucking hug, but Bakugo is...well, Bakugo.

Bakugo is prickly and filled with hatred, terrified of losing his place at the top, so Bakugo will pretend like he doesn't care. He will pretend he enjoys the way Izuku cries as the muzzle is placed on him or pretend he's indifferent to the bag on his head. He will pretend and pretend because that is all he knows how to do when it comes to Izuku. He will pretend to fit in, because all the adults and children and parents will gaze at him with malice and disgust so he has to, too.

Izuku hates how similar they are, yet in all the wrong ways.)

And classes go by slowly. He can feel the scold's bridle on him at all times, reminding him of his place. He pretends like he cannot hear the jeers and whispers directed at him, and he will pretend like he didn't just get hit with a note that calls him a dog. Classes go by slowly because he is ignored at best and tormented at worst, but he knows it's going to get so, so much worse when the bell rings and the children are not occupied by schoolwork.

The bell rings. The teacher does not leave, and the kids get out of their desks and swarm him.

"Looks like he's gotten something new," Tesaki says, stretching out his fingers to wrap around Izuku's arm and yanking him out of his seat. The other kids crowded around him - those faceless kids in the background, the kids who have no voice because they are not Bakugo or Tesaki or Chiba or even Mr. Miller, so they don't take the lead, they never will - and laughed, some getting in a few kicks here and there. They're not really that strong, despite being hero hopefuls. They're not strong because it is just a dream for them, a highly unachievable dream and their parents care so they do not want them to get hurt.

But Bakugo shoulders his way into the front of the crowd, looking at him with that same distasteful look he always has and a scowl on his face. He holds up his hands threateningly as they pop and sizzle, and he can't help but cower away, having been on the receiving end of those explosions, big and small, far too many times. He wears the scars and scabs to prove it, and he has an old uniform that was too burnt it was unsalvageable.

"What's that, Deku?" He asks - and Izuku thinks it's funny that he avoids swearing at all costs because of his mother yet beats him into the dirt regularly. He pops an explosion in front of his face, heating up the iron and he winces. The iron is hot on his face where it was once cold and he wants nothing more than to take it off or rip off his face. He can't answer Bakugo, and he doesn't know if the question was rhetoric or not, and that terrifies him. Ignoring Bakugo riles him up more and makes more explosions and blood and pain.

He shakes his head weakly, trying to yank his arm out of Tesaki's grip, but he doesn't want to break the brittle bones in his hands. Bakugo, as expected, gets even more mad, his face heating up and flushing red all over as his explosions increased in size and heat. Izuku cringed away instinctively but Tesaki yanked him closer to the explosions before letting go to protect his fingers.

(He's picked up on the fact that the more they stretch, the more weak Tesaki's fingers get. His bones are brittle and his skin is stretched thin and easy to burn or cut. He shamefully thinks of that when it gets bad and instead of a hollow feeling in his chest he feels anger and imagines taking revenge on them, on fighting back from his hold and snapping his fingers like twigs. But he doesn't, and he represses those thoughts because they're unheroic, and he's resigned himself to this fate. It hurts, it hurts so much, but this is his life, and he will make the most of it. He may not be allowed to fight back against the kids at school but he just has to look forward to the future where he's not being beat up constantly.)

He can't hear what Bakugo is yelling at him because of the explosions, and he seems angered by that. He sets them off right in front of his eyes before he closes them and flinches back, the pops of white hot fire licking his face. He looks back at the teacher for help, for confirmation he won't do anything, and he's looking right at him with a smirk on his face and dark eyes. It makes his heart wilt a little more inside, chipped and burned from all of his experience.

Bakugo sets off a large explosion right next to his ear, aimed right at his head, and he screams. His ears ring painfully and his hair is singed and the iron is white-hot but screaming isn't doing anything but making the pain worse as blood coats his tongue. He's grateful for the nose piece, because he does not want to smell how his blood and flesh and that caramel scent of Bakugo's explosions mix to make a sickly combination. He looks up at Bakugo who's looking at him with horror on his face, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. The other kids are laughing, he can tell by the wide smiles on their faces. Bakugo looks at his hand like it just fucked his goldfish after holding his family hostage.

And, at some point, Bakugo finally leaves. And he's grateful, because he won't be burned anymore, but then he realizes that it's only Bakugo who left. When they're done the kids all follow Bakugo like lost little dogs but they're still there, standing over his burnt and bloodied form with these looks on their faces that make him feel like a freakshow. He hopes that they'll change their mind and turn around and leave and just go hangout with Bakugo, he so desperately hopes that they'll get bored soon.

They do not.

Tesaki yells at him and Chiba spits on him as the faceless children laugh. Chiba lifts up his uniform shirt so Tesaki can use his fingers to carve something into his skin, because although his fingers might be brittle and easy to break, he always takes care of his nails and sharpens them for times like this. He can't think above the agony he's in, with nails digging into his stomach and prodding around to make sure it will scar and the spike in his mouth because he can't help but scream, despite how muffled it is. And the faceless children just laugh and point and snicker, because they're children, just like him, and they cannot comprehend compassion and empathy. To them, he is just a doll, something that isn't human.

He's a target to the world, and these kids take it in stride and use it to their advantage. He has many scars from many different quirks and many mental scars from punishments issued by the faculty that hadn't scarred physically. He has the muzzle scars over his nose and the branding on his back to prove it, to prove how he's treated like some misbehaving dog. But he's not a misbehaving dog or a dummy for people to use and discard at will, he is a human, a child with rampant emotions that he has to suppress so it's not worse.

The kids will tire eventually, they will tire once he's bruised and cut and sluggishly blinking up at them. They will tire once he stops screaming and thrashing, and complies, and they will tire then because it's not fun to kick him when he's already down. It's not fun to watch him take their words and kicks and punches, it's much more entertaining to watch him fight back and try to defend himself, much more amusing to watch him struggle to tell them that quirkless doesn't mean useless in between his sobs and hiccups.

And they do tire. The faceless kids stop laughing and start walking away one by one, and Chiba and Tesaki aren't as vigorous with their violence. They stand and scowl at him, looking at him with disgust evident in their gazes, and he can't blame them. He can't blame them because that's what he will do in the mirror, even after he's cleaned up. He must look absolutely disgusting, or at least pitiful, with the iron muzzle-like contraption on his face and blood wiped on his chin and tears sluggishly flowing from his eyes onto burnt cheeks. He must look absolutely disgusting with his shirt pulled up and his new wounds shown to the world, in all of its gory glory.

Izuku is tired and on the verge of unconsciousness, but he wants the goddamn scold's bridle off, like yesterday. So he gets up and shoves his shirt down, not looking at the wound because it's too painful, grabs his bag, and makes his way down the halls. There are still some kids in the school, though not nearly as much as the morning, and yet they still laugh and whisper and point at him. They snicker behind their hands at their lockers and they trip him because it's free game, right?

The trek to the principal's office feels like it took forever and his legs are straining painfully and his head is throbbing rhythmically, but he shoves his way through. The lights are painfully bright against his eyes and make the iron circles in his vision all the more visible. He opens the door and is met with the empty seat of his principal. Dread wells up in his stomach, as he thinks no, no, no, this can't be happening-!

The assistant comes out of the nurses office attached to the principal's office and startles looking at him. Her gaze is filled with pity as she goes to a drawer in the principal's desk to pull out the key before she puts it in and takes it off. Her hands are unusually gentle and her touches are feather-light as she takes it off, and he opens his mouth so the muzzle piece can slip out.

Blood dribbles down his chin in thicker streams with nothing forcing it back into his mouth. It drips from his chin onto his uniform and the assistant cringes. She's still looking at him with that pitying gaze even as she puts the contraption in the closet and he turns around to leave. He doesn't want to hear her excuses or pity or hear her call him disgusting. He can't handle that, not after being stuck in that iron hell all day and being forced to swallow his own blood and bile.

He rubs his jaw as he walks through the doors with his bag slung over his shoulder. He's limping pretty badly and his whole body is straining to stay upright. He just needs to make it to the apartment before he passes out. He needs to get back into that cold and clean apartment that he hates so much and then he can cry and scream and hide. But he doesn't have the energy, so he slowly walks down the sidewalk. People ignore him and others glower but he ignores it.

Everybody knows who he is, here - what he is. He is the only quirkless person in the area, the only under-evolved child they've seen in their sad little lives. But he shouldn't call other people's lives sad or miserable or small or pathetic, because that's hypocritical. The old man that sells cigarettes in the alley in the corner offers him one, and then scoffs when he declines, just like every day. It's annoying and dreary and he hates it, the same things happening every day with scummy people flocking around him.

And then his day, somehow, gets worse. Because he's walking under the overpass to get to his apartment and he's thinking about dropping out of school when the sewer grate is moving and he locks up. Fear courses through his veins and his only thoughts are I can't do this again. He hears a garbled voice but doesn't bother trying to decipher what it's saying or pinpoint it to a person because he knows what's coming. He knows this encounter will end with more bruises and a new enemy because he does not recognize the voice, and he knows he will hear more words spat at him violently like he's the scum of the earth.

News flash - he was not prepared, he did not know what was coming, because he did not think he would be covered in sludge as it tries to make its way down his bloody throat. Anxiety crawls up his throat and makes him want to vomit but the sludgy liquid forces it down. He thinks he can hear the voice talking about 'meat suits' but he really can't tell, and he wonders why he doesn't just go to a butchers shop instead of holding a ten year old hostage. The sludge is cold and thick and his fingers just get caught up in it as he tries to breathe.

He grips at the sludge and tries to get it away but to no avail. He kicks his legs and tries to scream but there's the hauntingly familiar feeling that it's useless, that his screams are muffled and nobody's coming for him. He thinks that this is how it always has been, and always will be. Little Deku, fighting so hard only to be useless and unheard in the end.

His world is going black and his head is filled with cotton, and he wonders how long it would take for anyone to notice he died. His struggling becomes sluggish and his eyes droop down, and he can't help but be grateful that the sludge is cold on his new burns and cuts, soothing the pain for a while. He's also immensely grateful that his life will end early and he won't have to live another day in this hell that is his life, because he doesn't know how much more he can take. He doesn't know how much longer it would take before he cracks and it all comes crashing down on him and he can't pick himself back up.

And then there's a large gust of wind, a hearty "I AM HERE!", and he passes out on the cold tar ground.

He must only be unconscious for a few seconds, five minutes maximum, but he's rudely awoken by a large hand slapping his face. Now, he's used to being woken up with beatings, but it's never been someone that large, it's never been an adult using physical violence against him, but he thinks this is pretty tame for a first. He opens his green eyes slowly and winces at the figure in front of him. He wants to cringe away from the large face with shadowed features and a blinding white smile and horrendously styled yellow hair-

Oh. That's...All Might.

Holy fuck it's All Might!

Izuku might not idolize All Might anymore, instead favoring heroes with mental or less-flashy quirks like Eraserhead or Manual, and refuses to idolize them in fear that they'll end up being terrible people who would trade him to the black market for a corn chip, but it's still a shock to see the man right in front of him. He's knocked into awareness, almost too much because now he can feel everything, and scrambles to sit up. "All Might!?" he yells, his voice cracking from the absolute torture his mouth and throat have faced in one day.

The bulky figure laughs, "Yes, it is I, All Might! You gave me quite the scare, boy! You almost wouldn't wake up!" He says it like it's the funniest thing in the world, and Izuku doesn't know how to feel about that. Like, okay, yes, him almost not waking up is kind of funny to the kids at school and teachers and himself, but All Might doesn't know him. All Might doesn't know of his condition, of his quirklessness. "But, now, I must get going!"

Izuku blue screens, and, in a moment of stupidity, or maybe weakness, he grabs his bag and clutches onto All Might's pant leg as he takes off. It's a stupid decision, of course, but he doesn't think he's thinking straight. When All Might notices him, he tries to shove him off his leg, which almost works, mind you. His large hand was placed harshly on Izuku's tangled hair as he shoved, and he had to point out to the number one fucking hero that he would die if he was pushed to get him to stop.

He can feel the air whip through his hair and he's holding on for dear life, torn between letting go and dying and clinging to All Might like his life depends on it. (It does). But the decision is made for him when they land onto a rooftop in the middle of the city. It's a high one, four stories high, and Izuku wonders why All Might didn't land on the shorter building right next to them.

The man turns back to him, his smile strained and disdain leaking into his expression. "That was wreckless, young man! What could you possibly want? I've already signed your notebook!" All Might yells and swings his hands a bit for emphasis, making Izuku take a step back. He...signed his notebook? While he was unconscious? What the fuck-?

"I- I just need to ask you something!" He tries, desperately. He's grown out of hope for the most part, or likes to think he has, but God, does he hope All Might will tell him yes. He hopes, not only for him but those other quirkless kids, that All Might will tell him he will achieve his dream. "I've always admired you and I want to become a hero like you! But I'm quirkless," he hates how he notices All Might's smile dim and become even more strained at that, "and everybody tells me I can't! They tell me that I can't do anything, that I should give up, but I need to hear it from you!"

He hates his rambling habit, so, so much. All Might looks so bored, like he would rather be anywhere else right now, and Izuku can't blame him. He does, too. But, he carries on, with his voice hoarse and so much raw emotion leaking through it makes him nauseous.

"Can I be a hero who smiles in the face of danger, even without a quirk!?"

Logically, he knew he could. He knew he could probably do things pros can and more. He can make logical and efficient plans for take-downs and rescue, and he knows how to be sensitive to victims. He knows how to make support items and how to fight dirty. He knows how to use people's mental state and weaknesses or fears against them. So, logically, he knows he can be a hero.

But he lacks the flashy quirk, the thing that makes the hero. It's a common belief that you need a strong quirk to be a hero, and his teachers would tell someone with a so-called villainous quirk they could be a hero over him any day. Because, to them, it's not about talent or fight or analysis. It's about action and attention. It's about how flashy they are and how good of a show they can put on. It's how Endeavor got to his number two position despite being a scumbag, after all.

He knows he can be a hero, but the logical side of his brain is clouded by years of people telling him he couldn't make it, statistics telling him he wouldn't like past High School. The logic is clouded by years of being told quirkless means useless, years of being shown that people can discard him at will like it's nothing. But, now, he thinks this is the deciding factor. Being on a roof with the Symbol of Peace staring down at him, waiting eagerly for him to answer his question, is what he knows will make or break him.

(He knows the answer before All Might even opens his mouth. It's obvious in the way his face has fallen and he looks bored, it's obvious in the strained posture of the hero. It's obvious in the way that society seems to share one mind, and that mind says 'fuck you, Izuku Midoriya.')

"I'm sorry, but you cannot be a hero without a quirk. It's simply too dangerous."

His heart falls, and absolutely shatters.

He doesn't listen to his rant, only catching stray phrases like, "you need to be realistic," before All Might is blasting away and leaving him on a roof alone. He feels betrayed, almost, but that's stupid. He knew this was coming, he knew All Might would say no. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew but he ignored it. He forced himself to be willfully ignorant like his mother is, because he didn't think he could handle the harsh reality of the world.

And- and he's angry. He's so, so angry because he's All Might and he can't just say things like that-! He's All Might, the number one hero, and he was supposed to smile and tell him anyone could be a hero! So- so why didn't he? Why was it so hard to tell a kid they could become a hero, and why was leaving them on a roof top the better solution?

He's angry and he doesn't want to be anymore, because it's a horrid feeling that burns white-hot under his skin and fills his brain with chaos. He hasn't felt angry in a long time - hasn't really allowed himself to. Because he's quirkless little Deku, whose only function in the world is to be an unfeeling punching bag. Every time he felt the slightest flicker of it shame and disgust would overpower it and tell him no. He folded it up in a tight little box and shoved it to the back of his brain to be ignored, but he can't do that now. He can't do that so he's stuck feeling the icky, gooey feeling of anger with no way out.

He doesn't know if he even has the right to feel angry about this. Because All Might said to be realistic, and he wasn't doing that before, was he? He was, he was, he was, he was being more than realistic, downright pessimistic, because of the shitty hand he's been dealt in life. But he's angry as he tries to leave the roof only to find out that the door is locked and there's only the fast way down.

And then the anger is replaced by sadness, and that's almost worse. Because now he's tired from his anger and there's this pit in his stomach that leaves him feeling hollow and empty and he just wants to curl up in bed and never leave but he can't- And that's...that's kind of scary.

The sadness weighs him down, making the ground below him seem so inviting, but he won't. He won't give in, to just become another statistic, another quirkless kid who couldn't take it, another quirkless kid with no one to mourn them. He just...He can't go out like that. In such a pathetic way, killing himself because somebody told him no. And he knows that that's not all there is to it, but that's how people will say it is, how it will seem to society.

It's not fair, he thinks, that he can just say those things. He just needed an ounce of hope, because he knows his dreams are unattainable and he won't get anywhere solely based on the portion of society that's heavily prejudiced. And, without that hope...he doesn't know what to do, who he is. He's put his all into heroics, and for that dream to just be crushed like it was nothing more than a slime bug under his shoe? It's disheartening and gut wrenching but it's what everyone does.

It's like he's not seen as human just because he doesn't have some supernatural ability, and that's kind of hypocritical, he thinks, because quirked people were thought to be alien and were feared. So why have the tables turned, all odds stacked against him?

He wants to go against the odds, that's what he's been shooting for his whole life. He wants to be a hero, even if he'll have to climb his way to the top and his hands are bloody and broken. He doesn't want to be another statistic, despite the dark thoughts he will get when he's having a hard day. He will always power through by the skin of his teeth, just barely scraping by and defying society's expectations.

He doesn't care if society hates him and he's on everybody's shit list, he already is, so why not embrace it? He will be a hero, and if he dies trying then it's completely worth it. He will carve out a place for himself in the world, and he will give hope to those quirkless children out there who have the same dreams as him and have been told no time and time again.

And, thank fuck for his lock-picking skills, because now the door is unlocked and he can make his way down safely. The door creaks on its hinges and the stairs are unstable as he walks but he can't bring himself to mind.

It doesn't matter how shitty today had been, because he leaves the roof with a newfound determination.