Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku had always been different from other kids. Before he was four, it was because of his speech. Some kids would pick on him for it, but Kacchan was there to defend him, and eventually, he would grow out of it.
Izuku knew it wasn’t normal for your dad to push you around, but that was something he could hide from others- no one had to know he was even more different than the other kids. Not after finding out he didn’t have a quirk. Surely a hero would help him. His mom must know, right? So of course someone would help him.
A hero never came to help him.
Izuku remembers his mom arguing with his dad, and the next day Inko told him he would be working overseas and sending money to them every month. Izuku wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad either, Hisashi wouldn’t hurt him again.
It did not take long for Izuku to realize his dad had left because of his diagnosis, not because Inko had told him to leave. His mom did not help him.
That was something else that made him different, he realized. He was always good at piecing things together. Whereas someone his age did not understand why people disliked them, Izuku did. Whereas someone his age did not understand why their neighbour was being arrested, a woman crying (happily) and holding her daughter tightly as her husband was arrested, Izuku did.
Izuku was seven when he realized he was more observant than other kids his age.
Izuku was seven when he asked his mom to sign him up for self-defence lessons. Initially, she had been concerned, but Izuku explained that he could defend himself against people like Hisashi.
He found out then that Inko didn’t know Hisashi was hurting him when he was young. Inko took it a step further and signed him up for Krav Maga lessons, she wanted her baby to feel safe. When he started, he noted that the gym looked sketchy, Inko had said something about them not asking questions.
Izuku realized it may have been difficult to find a place to teach him, that did not ask about quirks.
Izuku was eight when he realized sometimes heroes hurt people.
At first, he remembers seeing a boy- his age, with a large man, in an inconspicuous disguise (inconspicuously as possible when in front of a hero-obsessed eight-year-old). He knew it was Endeavour, and he wanted to ask for an autograph, but when he looked back at the boy, he realized something was wrong. It was clear they were related, but the scar on the boy's face was what caught Izuku's attention, and the way the boy froze when Endeavor put his hand on his shoulder. And the small amount of smoke he saw rising from the place he had been holding.
His mom had dragged him out of the store before he could say anything- do anything. She was oblivious to what had been happening.
The next time was in one of his classes at the gym. He asked his teacher how he got the scar on the side of his head. “A hero mistook me for a villain during an accident,” is all he had said. But Izuku knew “Because of my quirk,” was withheld from that sentence. His teacher had fiddled with his horns as he explained, he had never done that in any other conversation.
His teacher had two black curling horns, and his eyes were completely white, Izuku had at first thought he was blind, but it quickly turned out that was simply the way his quirk made him look.
Izuku was eight when he realized even heroes could be quirkest.
Izuku was ten when he figured out- on some Internet forum- that it was more common for kids like him to be unsafe in their homes than it was for them to be safe. Izuku was grateful he had Inko, if she had left too, he didn’t think he’d be safe in a new home.
Izuku was almost eleven when he was proven right.
It took seven months of jumping around homes to find a place where he wasn’t treated horribly. He always made sure to record any injuries and compile proof so he could leave a bad home. He knew if he hadn’t then he would be forced to stay. The house he was in was with an older couple, and they had a few other foster kids. Izuku's physical needs were all met, and he wasn’t abused. It was better than nothing, even if he was being ignored.
Izuku was eleven when he figured out how to treat his own wounds, he was eleven when he figured out how to cook his own meals, and he was eleven when he realized he was alone.
His self-defence classes continued, his teacher had been sympathetic and told him he could start payments again when he got into a stable home.
Izuku was eleven when he learned to code.
Izuku was twelve when his foster parents gave him a key, and told him he could come and go as he pleased.