"I'm sorry"
Those were the last words All Might had spoken to him before disappearing into the stairwell leading off the rooftop they had landed on. Was it so much to ask for at least one person in this life to tell him it was possible, to say that his lifelong dream could be more than just a dream? Was that just how it is?
It was times like this, and during his darkest moments, he remembered the day his own mother had denied him the right to dream.
When that doctor had told him he was that one in a million, the kid that was different, the only one that wasn't special.
The tears that had been welling up in his eyes spilled over, running hot lines down his cheeks. His hands clenched so tightly that his bones ached from the force. But when his knees wobbled, when it felt like the weight of the sky itself pressed on his shoulders he stood.
Twitchingly his face shifted from the broken loss of a child to an unholy rage. His eyes darted to the sky, two emeralds pouring their viridian hatred into the heavens themselves.
"Why?" He asked.
A silent moment passed, a simple cool breeze passing him by.
"Why?" he repeated, snarling the word. "I just want to help people. I want to be normal." He spat out the word normal as if he loathed the very thought of it. "Bakugo gets to play pretend like he wants to be a hero when all he wants is for people to know him?"
A few leaves that had somehow found their way onto the roof with him rustled, pushed along by another breeze that answered the boy with silence.
"People who only want to hurt, to steal, to kill get to be special, be normal and I have to be the freak that can't fit in?" His eyes darted about the clouds, looking for a shift, a sign, a reason, something. Something, anything, to give meaning to it all.
Silence
"Fine!" he snarled once again, "I'll give up."
And as quickly as it had come the wave of anger that had overtaken him fell away. The sadness that had preceded it withered away into a dull ache and, after a moment, it too ceased to be. Swallowed by the endless abyss that had formed at the core of what was once Izuku Midoriya.
"I give up..."
He sighed, lifting his backpack from where he had dropped it on the ground. Heaving it over one arm, leaving the other strap to hang limply down the center of his back. He quietly plodded over to the exit All Might had used what felt like a lifetime ago now.
Only the soft taps of his sneakers accompanied him down and out onto the sidewalk at the front of the building. A few pedestrians gave him a wide berth from time to time as he made his way home, either bothered by the cold impassiveness of his tear-stained face or simply dodging the teen.
Not that he gave them much mind.
Desperately he tried not to think about the days that would lie ahead of him. There had never been any life for him outside of wanting to be a hero, having few interests, and fewer hobbies. There was never any choice for his future other than Yuuei, no backup plans.
Maybe he could ask his mom, she would be excited to hear he had given up on being a hero at least. But what was he supposed to do now? Be a teacher?
History was a topic he enjoyed, maybe he could get a position close to home as a teacher at one of the nearby schools. That seemed...nice, or as nice as any option could get.
An explosion rocked the street a bit further down. A crowd was forming around some spectacle. A second explosion rocked some turf high enough to sail over the crowd and into his line of sight.
A couple of heroes began to usher the people back. Carefully avoiding the blast radius along with them.
He frowned, unslinging his bag and reaching into it with the opposite hand, pulling out a simple charred notebook. The letters were smudged and damaged beyond repair, but he knew it to be his newest analysis book, though far from the first Katsuki had tried to destroy.
Had this happened only an hour ago he would be right up there with the rest of them. Battling for a spot where he could watch the heroes duke it out with some poor villain. Where he could learn just a little more about how to be the best hero he could be.
'What's the point?"
He chucked the notebook into the nearest trash can. Sparing one last glance to the crowd as another explosion shattered a nearby window he turned down a side street, headed toward a side street that would get him back home in time for dinner.
"DIE!"
BOOM
He spun on his heel with all the speed and grace of a seasoned fighter. He knew that voice, that stupid, hateful, entitled voice that had tormented him for about as long as he could remember.
The crowd shifted as the explosion rocked the entire street. Then he saw it, a sickly green viscous liquid he now knew all too intimately. A flash of blond hair and crimson eyes. The black and white of his school's standard uniform. That damn snarl that had stared him down for every breath he took.
Then he just...ran.
The muscles in his legs moved before he had even registered what he was doing. A hero known in the area, Death Arms, had seen him coming and tried to stop him with a yell he barely registered, swiping at air as Izuku dipped under the hero's attempt to grab him.
Some of the crowd turned to look at the commotion. What they saw was a streak of green as he weaved through them. Pushing and ducking through them with all the might his frail body could supply him.
The villain caught sight of him as he broke from the pack. Tightening his hold on Bakugo for a moment until he realized it wasn't one of the heroes that had finally gotten ballsy enough to rush him. The tension in his eyes all but disappeared when he recognized the green-haired boy.
"You again? Payback time kid!" A toothy cartoon smile distinguished his face from the rest of the ooze. The only mistake Izuku needed.
A stream of ooze rushed toward him, swinging in a wide arc in an attempt to strike him in his side. With a burst of energy Izuku did not even know he was capable of he quickened his pace, ducking right before it reached him. Rising just in time to see another coming down with all the force of a falling tree.
Using the remaining inertia from his initial dodge he pivoted to the side, twisting with his book bag strap in hand. Then released it at the end of his move. All life stilled as it soared through the air like stone launched from a trebuchet.
Then it struck, a collective gasp echoing from the crowd around them as it met its intended target, the villain's exposed eyes.
"GHAAAAHHA!"
Ignoring the villain's pained cries, the young teen continued his mad rush, all but diving into the creature's sludge-like body.
"What the fuck are you doing Deku!?"
Saving his worst enemy, Izuku realized in that moment, that's what he was doing. Even after the world itself had come crumbling down around him, even knowing he was risking his life to do something so incredibly stupid, after everyone had told him it wasn't possible, he was saving someone.
Not because he wanted money. Not because he wanted people to know his name. Not even because he cared about the bully he was now desperately fighting to free. It was just the right thing to do.
"Run you fucking moron!"
He knew he should be running. That he should be safely behind the heroes waiting for something to be done. But nothing was being done.
So he stayed, he clawed away at the sludge-like his life depended on it, clawed to free the boy that had tormented him. Then when most of it had fallen away he pulled. Planting his feet into the asphalt and heaving with everything he had.
Bakugo was ripped free from the villain's grasp, hacking up bits of sludge as he slammed hard into the road below them.
The villain rounded on them, one eye bloodshot, both filled with a murderous rage. It snarled, rising as if to engulf them in a wave of green ooze.
Then it was gone.
BOOM
A final explosion echoed through the area, but this time it sounded less like an explosion and more like a sonic boom. Silence reigned for a moment as slime came down on them in a thick rain.
With his ears ringing from the aftershock Izuku tuned out the beating of viscous rain against the concrete and nearly did not notice the raging Bakugo beside him. After a moment he found the power to break his eyes from where the villain had been moments before, glancing instead to the front of the crowd.
There he stood, the hero of heroes.
All Might's omnipresent smile was there, but for once it did not reach his eyes. Even as the crowd surrounded him. As they begged and prodded for autographs and photos. His hands signed away at the papers and shirts and bags. His cerulean orbs never once moved from Izuku.
There was so much depth there. Pain, loss, regret, anger, all directed at the boy he had shattered hardly an hour ago atop some random forgettable rooftop.
Izuku simply stood, grabbed his bag, and left. His own mind struggling to come to terms with what he had just done and not willing to stay to be reprimanded by the heroes. He ignored the biting rage of his childhood bully, dipping into an alley and disappearing toward his home.
When he was sure no one had followed him he stopped. Slowly he raised his shaking hand to eye level, the same hand that had thrown his bag, the hand that had clawed at the villain, the hand that pulled Bokugo free.
The hand that had made him a hero.
He had done it. The doctor had told him to give up. His mother had abandoned his dreams, desperate for him to face reality. His own hero had told him it was hopeless, that nothing would change.
But he had done it.
Without a quirk he had stepped up when trained heroes watched on helplessly. Risked his life on a whim knowing he would receive no praise, no compensation. He clenched his hand, forcing the shaking to stop after a moment. Once more his gaze turned toward the sky. No longer asking for a sign, but daring the heavens to deny him even this.
When nothing came he nodded, taking himself home.
Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep
Izuku rolled over in his bed, glaring at the offending alarm that had chosen to rouse the irritable teen from what he considered a well-deserved rest. The adrenalin from last night had hit him like a freight train as soon as he stepped through the door.
He had all but pushed past his frantic mother, who was only panicking because he had gotten home about half an hour later than usual, and collapsed the moment he hit his bed. He almost thought to thank the Kami that she remained blissfully unaware of his attempt at heroics.
That would have been exhausting.
Don't get him wrong, his mother was probably the only person in his life that meant anything to him these days. After his father had left and all his friends found out he was quirkless she was just about the only person that spared him more than a passing glance. She cared, in her way.
Rolling out of bed with a groan he stopped the alarm from its attempts at assassinating his ears.
Today was Saturday so his mom was probably pulling one of her extra shifts. That meant he had the whole apartment to himself, not exactly what he wanted with his mind racing with the thoughts of yesterday. No matter how often he tried to put himself somewhere else he kept coming back to All Might.
The conversation on the roof. The fire that had burned in his eyes after the slime villain had evaporated.
He took a quick shower, relishing the warm water on his skin but not willing to be alone with his thoughts there either. Throwing on a t-shirt before donning a simple pair of shorts and his patented red sneakers.
A simple wrapped lunch and some leftover breakfast were waiting for him in the kitchen. As much as he loved his mother he hated that she always got up even earlier than she had to just to make a few meals for him. It wasn't fair that she worked so hard.
Not when he was useless...
'But I wasn't,' a rebellious part of his brain argued back, 'I moved when no one else would.'
Shaking his head with a deep sigh he snagged a piece of toast, his keys, wallet, and made his way down onto the streets below. Mostly intent on just enjoying the air instead of stewing in his room.
'And just maybe,' that same part of his inner thoughts pondered for him, 'I can be useful again.'
Though hopefully this time it came without a life-threatening encounter with a body-snatching serial killer. Then again he would rather have the mass murderer than have to deal with Bakugo again today.
The weather was nicer than normal, warm but not overly so. That same breeze that had murmured to him on the rooftops blowing about a few leaves here and there. A few people were wandering around, shopping, or out on their own little adventures.
A few kids around his age, a girl with bubblegum pink skin and a pair of yellow horns, and a purple-haired punk-rock girl were laughing outside an arcade he had walked by a few times. Some other kids around them wandered in and out of the building.
For a moment he thought about joining them. Maybe blowing some of his allowance on some games would make him feel a bit better. But in the end, he kept walking.
Shop after shop passed him by until he had left the more densely packed areas of the city. After a moment he found himself standing on a beach he vaguely remembered from his childhood. Back when he and Bakugo were still on speaking terms.
Whatever memories he had made here were long gone now, but then again so was the beach itself. White sand had been replaced by proverbial mountains of garbage. Loose appliances, plastic, trash, hell he was almost positive that the cab to a semi-truck was peaking through one of the mounds.
A few large open-top trash cans sat a bit off the beach further down. Part of a project he remembered being announced a few years back. A few regional heroes offered to clean the beach that had given up the moment the publicity had vanished from it.
Rage billowed within his chest at the thought. Another group of money-hungry heroes that only cared about their image. Another group of Bokugos.
With a snarl he stepped onto the beach, lifting a tire nearly as large as him with what little strength his sore muscles could muster. His arms yelled for him to stop but he preserved, getting the large tire upright. With a heave, he began to carefully roll it toward the cans.
"Not too heavy, is it?" A kind voice asked from the other side of the tire.
Thankfully the high-pitched shriek that followed only managed to scare off the group of seagulls.
Thudding against the ground the tire revealed an elderly man. He was tall, nearly as large as All Might stood in his muscle form. Long silver hair was tied with a simple string, revealing an aged Japanese face cracked with time in the sun. His black eyes shimmered with a kind mirth with some hidden fire behind them.
His beard, silver as his hair, flowed down to the center of his chest in a neatly trimmed cascade. In place of what a sane person would wear the beach, let alone a dumping ground be it a legal one or not, was a traditional set of robes, white as snow.
"Ah, a bit heavy then I take it?" He asked, glancing toward the fallen tire and back to Izuku with a wry smile.
Izuku just stared at the man. Rather, the long spear he held in his hands. He recognized it from museums and history textbooks. A naginata, a weapon of the warriors of old.
The man chuckled, "More a walking stick than anything these days," he waved Izuku off as if he wasn't holding a weapon. "Would you like to hold it?"
He offered the weapon like it was the most casual encounter in the world.
"U-uh, no thank you?" Izuku grimaced, trying not to sound rude. But then again what exactly was someone supposed to say when offered a spear? 'Yes thank you very much. I would like to play with your pointy stick, strange old man.'
"Old?" The man raised a brow, but the mirth never left his eyes.
Had...had he said that out loud?
"You might as well have." The man chuckled at his look of abject horror. "Is there a reason a young man like you is cleaning a beach instead of enjoying your weekend like any other teen should be?"
What is going on right now?
"I-uh, I'm sorry. Who are you?" The greenette tried not to cringe at his own words but failed miserably.
"Doesn't matter," the man waved him off like a bad smell, "I asked you a question. It may have been some time since I had to worry about manners but I do believe it is still proper to respond to your elders when asked a question, no?"
Honestly, Izuku wasn't exactly sure what was proper manners in this exact situation. But after nearly dying from having his body turned into a meat puppet and becoming an insider to one of the best-kept hero secrets in history there really shouldn't be much that surprised him.
Plus realistically he could probably take this old guy in a fight if he had to, or at the very least he could run fast enough to get away. He glanced back toward the man, finding the same fire in his eyes as before.
"I...I can't just leave it like this." He gestured toward the beach, a few pieces of plastic being pushed off their pile by the wind as if to accentuate his point.
"Oh?" The man raised his brow in curiosity once more, stroking the length of his beard with his free hand, "and why exactly not?"
"Because it's not right!" Izuku exclaimed, glaring out across the dump his childhood had become.
Nodding slowly the man hummed, still stroking at his beard but now staring down at Izuku with a much more meaningful gaze than before. "So it's your problem?"
"No," Izuku shook his head, "but that doesn't mean I should just sit back and do nothing."
A wide smile split the man's aged features, "No I suppose it doesn't. But you get no compensation, no recognition, you'll toil away on this beach for weeks before you make but one of these mountains move. Would you rather not spend your time elsewhere?"
It was a good question. Everyone he knew spent their weekends with friends, out shopping, or in the arcades. It was normal for them to spend their free time relaxing. Izuku didn't have that luxury. He didn't have some fancy quirk to carry him through life.
So he had to work, to improve, to build muscle and prove that he could help no matter where it mattered.
His visitor smiled brightly as if hearing his internal monologue.
"Do you want to be a hero?"
Izuku started.
That question, that stupid fucking question. It had haunted him from the moment he could understand its meaning. Of course he wanted to be a hero, but what chance did he have? All Might himself, the greatest hero the world over, had told him to point blank to give up on that childish dream of going beyond his mundane life.
Then he had done exactly that. Rushing headlong into danger not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. So did he want to be a hero?
Yes, with all his heart.
Green met onyx as the old man broke into a wide toothy grin. He crouched down, coming to meet the teen at eye level. There was something else in his gaze now. Joy? Content? Whatever it was the man seemed to have gotten his answer before Izuku could so much as speak it.
"You wanted to know why you?" Asked the stranger, drawing a curious look from Izuku who did not remember asking such a question, "Because even the strongest steel needs to be tempered and folded before it can stand on its own."
Suddenly the man stood, almost startling Izuku with the speed at which he moved despite his obvious age. His eyes flicked toward the cloudless sky, all warmth leaving his gaze as his voice became cold and collected.
"I have found your champion. Complete your business before my family is forced to step in, we will be watching old friends." And with that, he was gone.
There was no sign, no words, nothing. He just poofed into a fine white mist that was carried away in the wind. Once more leaving Izuku alone on the former beach. The teen blinked once, twice, then rubbed his eyes. Yep, still gone.
Well, that was weird. Did he accidentally eat some of that sludge and now he was hallucinating?
"Oh, you're gonna wish that was a hallucination, punk."
Izuku snapped his attention to a trash pile just off to the side of him.
There sat yet another stranger, but this one was different. His sharp features were definitely European, younger but still around middle-aged. Scars covered his olive skin, one jagged white line running from his left temple, across his eye and nose, then down to his right cheek.
He was clean-shaven with a head of short black hair. A wicked smile split across his face and a pair of crimson eyes stared at him like a wolf eyeing its next meal. Bronze-colored armor covered his upper body, ending in several red-leather straps that formed a sort of skirt.
Gauntlets of the same metal covered his forearms alongside a matching pair of grieves. A helmet Izuku vaguely recalled from his textbooks sat tucked under his arm, capped with a horizontal crimson plume.
The man stood from his seat atop an old leather recliner, revealing a curved sword strapped to his waist.
"Don't worry kid," the man chuckled darkly, slowly donning his helmet, "sword practice doesn't start today," he cracked his knuckles before raising his hands into a fighting stance.
"Names Ares, now let's see what you're made of."
Izuku shrieked as the man rushed him. Then everything went black.
Once again Izuku collapsed in his bed the moment he was close enough to do so without hitting the floor, though thankfully he vaguely remembered managing to get a shower before doing so. A small blessing because he was pretty sure the alternative would have left his whole room smelling like garbage and sweat for weeks.
Ares, whoever that jerk was, had summarily beaten him to a pulp and then had the audacity to call him weak. As if the strength difference between a man who looked like a seasoned veteran of some ancient war and a teen who had never worked out a day in his life was supposed to be nonexistent.
Hell, the asshole had hardly helped him off the ground before handing materializing a pair of chains from seemingly nowhere and demanding he drag an entire refrigerator across the beach. Turning a surprise beating from a stranger into a workout session with his new personal, sadistic trainer.
But what was he supposed to do, say no and leave? Well, to be fair he had tried, but Ares had just frowned and said something about not working with quitters. For some reason that had bothered him.
A lot.
So he spent the day training with a stranger who had just beaten him up. Gods above his mother were going to be pissed if she ever found out.
The smell of food wafted into his room.
Weird...normally his mom would be home well after he had gone to bed. Rising a bit from his self-proclaimed safe space he glanced at the clock on his bedside table.
9:30pm
Did something happen at the hospital?
With a great deal of effort, he coaxed his tired body back onto its feet. With all the grace of a zombie, he managed to wander his way into the kitchen. Then suddenly decided that he should have just called it a night.
A woman who was decidedly not his mother was standing on the inner side of the small island that separates the kitchen from the living room, carefully plating a meal that smelled like heaven itself. He thought about running to his room, locking the door, and calling the police. Three strangers in one day was a bit more than he could handle.
Then their eyes met.
Only she didn't have eyes, or at least not like he did.
Instead, pools of liquid fire swirled about her gaze. The fear he had felt melted away in that moment, embraced by a kind of radiance he had never felt in his life. Like a hug from his mother after a long day. Yet there was so much more kindness there, such acceptance.
Warm chestnut hair was tied into an intricate Greek braid. Her features were sharp and youthful, showing just enough signs of aging to tell him she was around the age his mother was supposed to be. A simple brown robe covered her, shifting slightly as she waved him gently over toward her.
"Come, sit down and eat. I do believe you have earned it after today." She smiled motherly, carefully placing the meal she had made down in front of one of the stools. Then without another word went about cleaning the dishes, humming an unfamiliar tune as she did so.
A groan rumbled from his stomach as if demanding he did as she asked. The woman in turn chuckled a bit at the sound but kept about her task.
"Some of us had reservations about sending Ares to greet you first, but my brothers were hoping it would 'build character'" She said as he finally began to make his way over, raising her soap-covered hands from the sink to air quote the final bit.
"But I had my doubts." She removed a cleaned skillet from the sink, drying to and setting it to the side.
"You know Ares?" He carefully asked as he sat down before the meal.
Tonkatsu, his favorite, just like his mom always made for him after a rough week. But they hadn't gone shopping yet this week. Where did she...?
"Unfortunately," the lights around them flickered a bit at the word, "he is my nephew and far from the first impression I would like my family to have on you." She hummed thoughtfully, putting away pieces of dried cutlery.
Truthfully he pondered asking his next question, or at the very least thought about a way to ask without risking being murdered by the strange woman who had broken into his home to cook him a meal. The strange woman that was apparently related to the man that beat the ever-living shit out of him earlier that same day.
Logic failed him however as he chose to bluntly ask, "I'm sorry who are you?"
Foot meet mouth. On the bright side, he was too tired to stutter his way through the words like had expected.
His newest guest snorted in response, clearly amused.
She turned to meet him with that same gentle smile, her eyes gazing at him amusedly. "I am Hestia, goddess of Hearth and Home. But do feel free to just call me auntie."
He nearly choked on his tonkatsu. Coughing a bit before finally managing to get it down. Did she just say, goddess? Wait...that means that the guy that had pummeled him all day wasn't just any armor-wearing maniac that was...
"Ares, god of War and Courage, and as I said, my nephew."
Let it be known that Izuku Midoriya managed a whole four seconds to process what she had just said before he passed out face-first into his meal. Though if ever asked about it he would fervently deny it until the day he died.