Izuku Snaps (While being kidnapped)
My Hero
1 Izuku fing snaps (while being kidnapped)(quirked)
Izuku had had a bad couple of days. While this was probably the best period of his life, the days long gone still haunted him.
He feared the dark; every light socket closer to the ground in his room held a nightlight. He always had sunglasses on hand incase of sudden bright light, too. Markers to trace over scars to cover the warped, broken skin. (he was ripped around the edges. Maybe one day he’d bleed pain and sorrow instead of blood)
The training camp was supposed to be a world removed from all that. Just them, the woods, and endless drills and exercises.
Then the forest caught on fire, villains emerged from the blaze, and, predictably, another 1-A field trip went sideways.
They tried to take Kachan. Despite having studied psychology, and knowing none of this is healthy, and he definitely shouldn’t feel this much positive emotion for his… abuser. (He still struggled with that. Kachan was his friend, he just played rough! Yeah, right. But old habits are hard to break.)
He sacrificed himself for- Bakugou. And told himself it was just because it was the right thing to do.
He knew their leader, (maybe lower level leader, look out for big boss?) was interested in him, so it was a decent enough tradeoff for a bunch of freshly-recruited, tired, injured thugs. (Thugs was the most accurate term, but it felt a bit insulting. He knew some of these people from the rumors, the stories deep within partially illegal message boards and chat rooms. The magician who snapped, but still showed card tricks and marble magic to people who asked nicely enough. The girl with a vampiric quirk, her abuse story (and the resulting double murder) having made it’s rounds last month. The burnt man, a known advocate for street rats, abused people, and quirk rights. He never hurt kids. Ever.)
He let them tie him up, put the quirk-cancelling cuffs on him, strap him to a chair. Dabi, the crispy man, looked a bit surprised when touching his chest to wrap the chains tighter, for some reason.
Maybe he felt the scar tissue.
He was directly across from the bar, where the blue-haired Hand Man sat, staring at him in deep concentration. He tried not to stare back, unsure how to react.
The others in the room seemed decently relaxed; a man who looked like a lizard gave out basic first-aid, clearly knowledgeable, but with an inexperienced hand that made him internally wince. Another man with speech problems and that refused to take off his mask did impressions to cheer up Toga, the schoolgirl only a few years older than him. Dabi was taking a staple gun to his own arm, making Izuku mildly queasy while his mind spun of better options.
Finally, Shigaraki, he thought that was his name anyway, spoke up. “Midoriya Izuku.”
He let his gaze flick back to the man, unease stirring in his gut. Here we go.
An unhinged smile. The crackling static of the TV in the corner grew slightly louder.
He held his chin high, holding back the familiar burn of tears.
This couldn’t possibly be worse than his school days.
Because it wouldn’t be nearly as personal.
So he looked back at the scraggly man, and held the fear away from his heart.
“Shigaraki.” (His voice didn’t even shake!) An amused smirk. A flaking hand (skin condition?) playing with a shot glass, much to the annoyance of the misty bartender.
Shigaraki leaned forward, a glimmer in his eye Izuku didn’t like. “What do you think’s going to happen?”
Any number of things. Murder, torture, a recruiting rant. That was the point, wasn’t it? Not knowing?
He remained silent, scrutinizing the man before him.
Shigaraki grinned, and leaned back again. “This is going to be fun. You’re interesting, Midoriya. Strange. You’ve been treasured, the lucky few at the top of society, and yet…” Red eyes looking into his own. Which was a good thing, since the jolt of fear to his system was the only thing holding back the hysterical laughter.
“So weak and afraid.” Dabi snorted, and Toga stuck out her tongue at Shigaraki, clearly annoyed at that remark. Maybe they had heard of him. Shigaraki ignored both of them steadfastly.
Izuku carefully regulated his breathing to keep it steady, remained acutely aware of every motion his body made.
“So I’ve been told.” A slight tremble at the end, gah.
A dark grin spread across the villain’s face, and Izuku felt his heart clench. It didn’t stop beating, as it would for Bakugou, but it was noticeable still.
“Why?”
It was almost like his life flashed before his eyes. His hold on his secrets slipped slightly, just a little bit.
“Why what?” Oh no that was too aggressive how would he-
But Shigaraki only snorted, seemingly unbothered. “Why are you-” The shot glass crumbled to dust, collapsing in on itself as the clear surface turned to a fine, shimmery powder, making Izuku’s inner being filled with memories of past hurt scream. “-the way that you are?”
It was almost like he felt something in him snap. Something he had carried with him for so long that he never really noticed it was there at all.
It snapped cleanly, like he had put both hands on something hard to even bend and pushed so harshly it came apart with no resistance.
Maybe cracks had been building up.
“Why am I-?” And then his life really did flash before him. Visions and memories- almost all bad. Beatings and humiliation, shame and fear. Anger swiftly turning to an instinctual breed of panic. The vague surprise when he realized his fight or flight response was dulled at best, maybe even gone. (Everyone else flinched when the alarm for a drill went off. He hadn’t even twitched, just calmly finished the paragraph he had been writing in his notes.)
He was twitching slightly, itching to express his feelings with more than words. Tone would have to do then. Something between steel and burning fire, liking nothing he had ever heard, only read about.
“Because I have been beat down at every corner, Shigaraki.” His voice held a sudden calm, despite the sudden emotional shift, the tears building in his eyes. He always hated his form of anger- a burning, compressed rage, but wet, so full of tears, that made him feel weak as well as strong. “Because I’m just the useless nobody that should just die already. Did you do your research? Do you know when I got this quirk? Maybe my medical history, heard some rumors of the green-haired brat-nerd who doesn’t know how to quit?” A bitter laugh bubbled up, but he stopped it after a few seconds. If he started laughing now, he’d never stop. Because that’s what he did; he smiled when he was sad. Laughing while falling apart seemed only natural.
“I figured out how to activate it the day of the entrance exam for UA. Until then, I was the quirkless kid. Do you know what that’s like? Being told you’re nothing and you never will be, that you’re a mistake and a waste?” His eyes were burning, the feeling of held-back tears mingling with the strange willing for his eyes to express the bundle of compressed rage he held within him that suddenly was sparked alight.
If he could have, he would have spread out his arms, who knows why. As it was, he giggled slightly. “Here’s the secret. Why I throw myself into every dangerous, crazy situation I see. Because I’ve felt all that pain before, because my death wouldn’t be half the tragedy the death of one of classmate’s would be. Maybe not even a quarter. I’ve broken damn near every bone in my body, a few times all at the same time. I’ve nearly bled out, I’ve had my organs pierced and bruised. My deepest, darkest fears taken advantage of and crammed in my face. I’ve been betrayed and backstabbed, I’ve been taken advantage of and scorned. I don’t really fear you, even ignoring my actual opinion of you and your actions. Because it won’t be the same. You don’t know me. This isn’t personal. I’m not the punching bag you’ve had since both of us could walk, I’m not the person you can’t seem to get rid of. I’m an oddity to you. Something weird to look at and throw away. And frankly I think I prefer that.” Dead silence. Shocked glances, slowed movements.
His head felt funny, like his thoughts were swimming. It was like he was vaguely off-center, he couldn’t tell if he was sitting up straight or slightly to the right or left of something. He tried leaning forward a little bit, overestimated, and was probably only saved from face-planting from how firmly he was lashed to the chair.
Iron manacles. Who even does that?
He was smiling now, God knows why. Not him, certainly.
“Go ahead. Hit me, burn me, break my bones. I’ll tell you how good you do, if you want.” The fury was winding down, not because he was running out of anger, but because that was his usual reaction. Emotions like anger and sadness weren’t allowed; wasn’t it so much easier to just breath in, breath out, and be blank?
That eerie calm settled in his core, a practiced internal motion. He almost felt disappointed as the fire went out of his eyes.
And then he wasn’t Izuku Midoriya, he definitely wasn’t Deku, hero or useless nerd. He wasn’t anyone at all. He was a vessel to feel. Usually pain and sadness, or fear, sometimes anger.
He was tired of feeling empty, numb. Or weak, afraid.
He was angry. Determined, hurt and beaten, patched up over and over. A soul too young exposed to too much.
He wouldn’t be smiling much for a while, now. But maybe he’d bare his teeth.
Muscles tensed, nostrils flared, eyes wide not with fear but a burning rage that was honestly long overdue, (he was only held back by his physical chains now, he knew this on a base level. His emotional and social ones were snapped or shoved aside. Not now, not now. He had bottled up and ignored for too long, now was time for everything he hadn’t been allowed that he needed) but he didn’t feel like causing harm. Not true revenge, not hurt. He didn’t want to punch or kick, didn’t want to let the world shake from his fury.
Maybe he had his own kind of anger. Kachan got explosions and punches. He got blackmail and speeches. Life-ruining, emotionally charged, (metaphorically) blood-soaked speeches. (was it metaphorical if the blood had dried and flaked away?)(Was it even blood if it had been a Deku that had done the hurting? If a useless tree falls, is there even a sound, let alone a carcass?)
He was twitching, minutely. He couldn’t be bothered to care.
He was calm even while angry. Well, composed. Put-together. He wasn’t the brilliant trainwreck that Kachan embodied- he was a natural disaster they should have seen coming, and certainly hadn’t prepared for. Even if he were to be released, he didn’t know what he’d do. Rage in place, rant and rave maybe. But no violence.
He’d had enough violence.
“I could even do your research for you. Already have, kinda. I’ve got journals, not all of them are my ‘stalker books’ or whatever. Some of them are records. I stopped around second year of middle school, but still. I suppose my memory could fill in after that, wasn’t too long ago. It certainly made an impact.” A different breed of silence, one like plans were being made but no one wanted to voice them when he was like this.
“Mom always goes out on Tuesdays for groceries, at roughly two o’clock, just before I’m finishing up and getting home. That might not be the case with well,” Another bitter laugh, his thought now back to the iron chains. Cold metal against skin that wasn’t hot enough to show his true anger. “Anyway, that’ll take about an hour. She’s always been an angel to me, don’t hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. I’ve indirectly hurt her enough. She thinks I don’t know what they say about me, and her by extension. But I do.”
Speaking of.
“My father left after my diag- well, diagnosis. But it’s not a disease, is it? No more than quirk are. A flip in the genes, a simple genetic switch. Like red hair or blue eyes.” His voice was getting progressively more and more dreamy, looking into his past. He hardly noticed. “To America. Don’t really remember him, don’t know what he’s doing. Business trip my left foot, just because there haven’t been divorce papers didn’t mean it didn’t happen to us. Don’t have any friends for you to check out, not since I was tiny. Everyone else was- well everyone else was an enemy.”
Dark figures on the horizon, an ever-lasting and constant threat. His mother’s apartment had been his only ever safe place, a haven from the shame and fear of the outside world. His home was all he had, his mom included. Anywhere else on the planet was enemy territory.
And here he was, spilling his guts. Oh well, go out with a bang or whatever.
He wondered if All Might-sensei would be disappointed in him for this.
He hoped not. He knew that probably wasn’t true, though.
Dabi shifted, like he had stopped a movement to get closer to him halfway. Toga was edging ever closer, and Shigaraki was shell-shocked, faintly twitching. Everyone else was statue-still. Even Kuriogiri’s misty body seemed to have paused in time, like he had pressed pause on the universe.
That was a nice thought. It all just... stopping.
“If you’re going to kill me, or anyone I know, I’d at least like for the real story to come out first. Or after. Somewhere along the line-”
“Kid.”
He looked up. Dabi was staring seemingly into his soul, an air of finality wrapped around him.
“We aren’t going to kill you.”