cathartic (deku whump, dad might // tw self harm)
Izuku Midoriya was in the habit of hurting himself.
It wasn't conscious, no. He's a strong boy. That is what everyone knows. Izuku is strong and resilient and stubborn and selfless and heroic in all the ways that should tell you that he would never hurt himself like that.
But he did. And he does. And he will. Because he is human, he is a child, he is afraid, and he feels so very alone in a world that is too big for his ratty red shoes. Too big for his gnarled and scarred fingers to hold. Too big for him to protect.
Sometimes, self-harm looks different on other people.
It doesn't always look like neat little red lines on skin, or trails of crimson deliberated coaxed from the fleshy curve of a thigh. There's not always a razor, or a box-cutter, or a Xacto knife, or a lighter hidden beneath pillows. Sometimes it's subtle. Or different. More painful, less painful, harder, softer, physical, or otherwise. That doesn't make it any less of what it is—which is self-harm.
On one such Izuku Midoriya, it is a combination of everything.
Sweat trickles from his forehead and lands in messy splotches to the training mat below. It is 3 AM and the freckled teen is spending it whaling at a punching bag in the empty gymnasium.
His muscles burn and his throat runs dry with exhaustion, chest heaving and shuddering while he just keeps on fucking going. His punches and kicks land harder and harder, tearing skin around his knuckles and plastering hair to his forehead with all the perspiration that pumps from his skin. Midoriya's whole body is trembling in pain, but he can't bring himself to stop.
Harder. Again. Try it again until I get it right until I can stop thinking until I can't breathe until—!
The punching bag begins to dye red, slippery and metallic in scent as he bleeds himself out through the torn skin on his knuckles. Not enough, his head screams at him. I can't save them like this—I have to be like All Might. Izuku knows he is not allowed to falter, not allowed to give up. The blessings in his life come at a cost, and that is the gravitas of responsibility that bears down on him everyday.
The weight of the world hangs on his shoulders, creaking and groaning as his spine feels like it is about to snap. He has to live up to All Might's legacy, has to beat all evil, has to be the Symbol of Peace because it's that or his loved ones are forced to live with pain and suffering. He needs to be stronger. He needs to be faster. He needs to be better. To be the best. He needs to, he needs to--!
Izuku forces himself to wear a smile.
Bile and blood stain his teeth as Izuku bares his fangs through the pain. He doubles down, goes harder on the punching bag, bleeding and pulling at old injuries and a fuzzy mind that won't stop echoing his fears. Each impact grows louder and louder until the punching bag bursts and breaks on the floor, innards scattering across the matted floors like Izuku’s own as he looks at the aftermath of his meltdown.
It’s not enough, and Izuku knows it never will be. Like many things in his life, he has come to accept that he could never get enough. He would never be enough. He stands, sweat dripping from his bangs and body shaking imperceptibly, and looks at the grains dribbling from the torn-up exterior of the UA-standard reinforced punching bag and it reminds him of spilled guts. Exhaustion grips his body and his mind screams at him to stop moving, yet Izuku still gets up to grab the broom and dustpan, and maybe some bleach to remove the smell of blood that permeates the air.
Its nearing 4 AM and his body hurts so much he might just black out from exhaustion. His clean-up job is a little sloppy, but still acceptable. No blood stains or remains of the torn punching bag stick to the floor and that is all that matters to him. Every twitch of his fingers brings a hot sting of pain to his hand and when he returns the broom to the supplies closet, Izuku hears his wrist socket make sickly pops.
The pain is all secondary to him now. It means nothing, compared to the ever-present throb in his mind.
He’s fine, alright? He’s fine and he knows that it’s just all part of the job. No self-respecting hero has never had their fair share of bruised and bloody knuckles, stupid tendencies and stomach lurches when they so much as thinks of sleeping, right? Izuku is alright. For sure. He doesn’t care about the pain, nor the shudders that wrack through his body. He feels sick, nauseous, like he’s about to throw-up everywhere but his head’s still coherent enough to be running with intrusive thoughts, so he must still be fine.
His legs shake and his head hurts, but Izuku manages to quietly hobble back to the dorms and up into his room. The boy drops by the bathroom, rinsing water over bloody skin as he searches for the first aid kit. He pathetically leans against the cool tile walls to will his heartbeat to stop thrumming, and if he shudders and throws up into the sink when he turns around too quickly, nobody is there to see it at least.
Deku bandages his hands in the deafening silence of his room, not so much as flinching or shaking when disinfectant raises stings of pain into wounds so deep they almost reach bone. It’s nothing to him. It’s nothing but a small comfort. His mind continues to crawl with wretched thoughts and a manic scream that doesn’t leave him alone even this late at night
It’s like this.
Izuku Midoriya isn’t suicidal, okay? He swears it up and down, despite the countless amount of people that will say otherwise. He doesn’t actually want to die. He would never jump off a roof or hang himself because for as much as he doesn’t consider himself to be so incredibly important, he knows that his death may upset a great deal of people and mess up a lot of things bigger than he will ever be. It isn’t worth it, to take himself out for selfish reasons. However just because he doesn’t actively wish to live, does not mean he would want himself to die.
The teen presses down on the bandages, relishing his hisses of pain as his nerves are lit on fire like the echoes of inferno they were against the rough leather of the punching bag. The warm ache dulls his mind and keeps his head quiet. He wouldn’t just let himself die. At the very least, not without purpose.
Deku knows the value of his life. Knows the value of it to other people, especially because of the fact that he holds One for All. If he can find a way to survive a situation while winning and saving, then he will. He’s blessed with so many things in life, and to let himself die so easily would be squandering those blessings.
Although,
Deku also knows the value of his death. He is humble enough to know that his life is not worth more than the lives of other people. If he sees no way out, he accepts that he won’t make it out. If he sees that there is no way to win, then he knows to take his loss with honor. If it just so happened that trying to be the best hero he could be was slowly killing him…
Well, lots of people look up to Hero Deku, and he was never a fan of disappointing others.
When he walks to school the next day, he brushes off Uraraka and Iida’s prying questions about the bandages on his hands by explaining it away as past injuries acting up again. The rest of the day is spent being reminded that he shouldn’t be ashamed of his scars because he got them for being a hero, right? He smiles (lies) through it all and turns down Todoroki when he offers to massage his hands.
“Old aches and pains, Shouto-kun. I’m sure you understand,” is what Izuku says instead, the tranquil lift on the corners of his lips making him seem far older than he actually is. Green eyes drift towards a faded burn-mark on the upper corner of his friend's stony face. Shouto frowns but says nothing.
Technically, Izuku is not lying. After all, he never said that some of these pains weren't just old.
-
Izuku is kind. He is understanding, friendly, and even charismatic according to Aizawa-sensei. He is smart and strong, as well as passionate and extremely determined. Many of these assets were what made the perfect hero, and that is something he’s been told repeatedly.
All of these things tell people that Izuku is an incredibly well-rounded individual. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have his flaws, but overall many people knew Izuku to be, in essence, an incredible role model. The perfect son. The kindest friend.
This is what Toshinori Yagi knows to be true.
All Might knew about as much information on Midoriya Izuku as any doting father figure in the boy’s life would. He knew his favorite color (red), his favorite food (katsudon), his favorite clothes (a limited edition All Might sweater, to his slight embarrassment), and even his least favorite subject (math). All of these facts and fragments of what made Midoriya Izuku a person were painstakingly collected and memorized over the course of two years. He cared more about this boy than words could describe, and felt the regret like a piercing bullet in knowing he’d placed so much burden on his protege’s shoulders.
But, there were many things Toshinori Yagi still did not know.
-
“Whoa, Midoriya! Did I hit you too hard? That cut looks nasty! Sorry, I thought you would dodge it -- C’mon, I’ll get you to Recovery Girl.”
“Hm? Oh, it’s fine Kirishima-kun! Come at me again, I’ll just wrap it up later.”
“You’re sure? It was a pretty harsh blow…”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ve had worse.”
“If you say so, but I’m going lighter this time!”
“Ha -- Your loss!”
-
For example, why Izuku Midoriya often intentionally lets himself get hurt.
Now, Toshinori was a smart man. He didn’t act like it and certainly didn’t look like it nowadays at his age, but he too was once a brilliant and young mind. He had decades of fighting experience under his belt, as well as an observant eye for things out of the ordinary. He knew what halted footwork looked like. Aborted hits and half-hearted blocks. He saw the way Izuku would sometimes predict a hit before it happened, but let it land anyway.
It was something he didn’t think much of at first. After all, he did know that his kid sometimes didn’t trust himself or his instincts. The only times he was ever sure of anything was where villains or young Bakugou were concerned, but that was probably more from pure adrenaline and muddled desperation rather than anything to do with Izuku himself. He thought that with time, he’d see these moments less and less.
But as his boy grew older and more experienced, it just… never really stopped. He was a beast on the field, no hesitation or overthinking when it came to villains. Midoriya would take criminals thrice his size down without so much as a paper cut, and knew in turn how to trust his instincts to the point of leading people into battle. Yet whenever caught in more laidback moments like spars between friends or obstacle courses at school, he always came out a little more scruffed up than usual.
Something didn’t feel right at all.
A glancing uppercut, wayward glass shards, the occasional fire… they’d mar Midoriya’s skin with little nicks and bruises and burns that would definitely sting a little, but never do permanent damage. It was weird, sometimes, seeing him put vicious assailants in jail without a scratch but letting himself get punched in the ribs by a distracted classmate less than three hours later. He saw the way Midoriya’s eyes shone, as it happened. The way he looks as if he was anticipating the injury.
It was exacerbated by the fact that the boy could get by without seeing Recovery Girl, then he most definitely would...
The metaphorical pit within Toshinori Yagi’s belly grew.
-
“Midoriya-shounen.”
The green-haired boy looked up, eyes bruised and sleepy but filled still with such wonder at seeing his mentor. A part of him ached, knowing that in his mind, Yagi would never grow old. To this boy, he was the same as he always was. Still a hero. Still capable of saving people.
“Yes, All Might?”
Yagi clenches his jaw. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Izuku follows his mentor as they make their way to his office, carrying a bento and mochi courtesy of his friends, young Bakugou and Uraraka. The thought made Yagi smile -- worry less, even for only a moment. The freckled boy sits down on his usual place on the couch, watching carefully as Yagi gently lowers himself onto his seat with a huff. Fuck, he was getting old.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” the boy asks, gently.
Toshinori sighs. “There’s something I’ve noticed for a while, but never wanted to bring up. Young Midoriya, I have to ask.”
“Hm?”
“Why do you let yourself get injured during training?”
Izuku sputters a bit, and looks at his mentor with a strange and slightly confused smile. “I’m sorry,” he laughs, amused with the undertone of something different. “I don’t think I understand what you mean by that, sensei.”
Young Midoriya would make an excellent actor, Yagi thinks to himself. But too bad he knows what he saw. Knows by now to trust his instincts in the same way he knows Izuku has the ability to trust his own.
“It’s been going on ever since your starting year at UA, now that I think about it. You could’ve easily side-stepped young Kirishima’s right hook, earlier. I know you were able to see and predict where it was going, yet you let him… graze you anyway.”
Across from him, his protege frowned. “I don’t think that was, er, the case, All Might. I probably just didn’t get enough sleep last night and that made me a bit sloppy, haha…” Izuku brushes it off, scratching the back of his head. “I promise I’ll do better next week!”
It feels off. The way that the apologetic smile and determined eyes look on that tired face. He knows Midoriya hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately, and knows that things just haven’t been the same since the final battle since All for One. He knows, like a father should, that Izuku Midoriya is not okay.
The ex-hero purses his lips in thought. “It’s on your inner forearm, isn’t it?”
“S-sorry?”
“Your inner forearm, my boy. That’s where young Kirishima accidentally hit you.”
“Y-yeah…” Midoriya stutters out, eyes dropping down and body language closing in on himself. Toshinori gently holds his bony hands out, not expecting or judging -- just accepting. He looks at his son with a soft expression.
“Can I see?”
It’s not a demand, and Izuku doesn’t take it as one. He trembles a bit, composing himself and letting go because he trusts All Might. Even after all this time. He can’t say no, can’t lie to someone he loves without feeling the regret eat at him later. The gentle face Toshinori Yagi wears for his son is something that breaks at his resolve and floods him until he is reaching out and extends his scarred arm to his hero.
“... Okay.”
A ruby-red line drips steadily from the cut, even after Izuku had washed it off. It’s jagged, but still shallow enough to heal without a trace. Maybe on another, it’d be ugly and harsh-looking--but amidst the dozens of other scars across his arm, it looks at home on Izuku’s skin. The thought makes him shake with emotions too heavy to bring into words.
Yagi brushes a gnarled thumb over his skin. “Before I made my debut as a hero, there was this young girl I once saved, you know? She was about fourteen and had a quirk that let her make paint from her tears.”
“Hmm?”
The blond man smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling as he watches the freckled boy frown and mutter, arm still gently resting in Toshinori’s hand as he tries to flick through every single rescue All Might’s ever done since before his career started. Eventually, the muttering quells and green eyes look at him confused. Imploring.
“I don’t recall any reports that sound familiar with that rescue, sensei.”
Yagi purses his lips and shakes his head, slow and simple.
“That’s because I never had it reported, my boy.”
“Why not?”
“She was the daughter of my neighbors. A lovely couple who tried their best, even if it wasn’t nearly enough. She was my age, at the time. A little younger, maybe, and I liked to visit their house because of their little orange cat named ‘Baron’ and because she made the best banana bread in town.”
“So what did you save her from?” the boy asks, eyes fervent and curious. “Was it a spy? A haywire quirk? A natural disaster? Why didn’t you report it?”
Toshinori huffs, words feeling like acid on the tip of his tongue. “Mari-san was a little different from other kids on the block," He began slowly, fingers stilling as memories rushed through his head. "She… wanted to leave this Earth on her own terms. She ended up in her bathtub with deep wounds on her wrists and was barely conscious by the time I came in and found her.”
Attentive eyes furrow, glossy and heavy with an unnameable reaction. “What?” his boy whispers, clenching and unclenching as something heavy unfurls in his gut.
“A suicide attempt while her folks were out at work... I mean, I still saved her in the end. Got her help in time and watched her come back to life.” He smiles bitterly, looking at somewhere distant. “I never reported it because it wasn’t really a rescue, was it? I could’ve saved her before. Could’ve listened to her better, or watched her more closely. The point is…”
He glances down and traces the sluggishly bleeding wound gently. Memories dyed in crimson flit behind his eyes and Yagi Toshinori feels himself tremble a little in worry. He’ll be damned before he lets his kid break apart under his watch.
“The battles we fight aren’t always external. And I know what that looks like.”
Izuku raises his head with wide eyes. “It’s -- they -- ! These aren’t s-self…” he takes a breath, calming himself down. “It's not self-harm. It was an accident, because I was sloppy. It’s not -- they’re not self-inflicted injuries or anything…”
“Self-harm wounds don’t always have to be self-inflicted, Midoriya. Sometimes, they’re just intentional.”
“Well, they aren’t!” He snaps, brows furrowed and words loud. Yagi doesn’t flinch, and never will. He can never be afraid of his boy, but that harsh voice breaks something in his chest.
Abrupt silence.
“...I’m sorry, All Might-san.”
Yagi smiles wanly, squeezing the boy's shoulder just the smallest bit. “It’s okay, my boy. I shouldn’t have implied anything. It’s none of my business and if it helps any, I never said yours were.”
“...Okay.”
Yagi’s thin fingers skim over the kaleidoscope of scars and burns, touch gentle and eyes empathetic as he takes it in. He reaches for his first-aid kit and pushes it towards Midoriya, lowering his grip until it's just the room and its oppressive silence. His heart aches, lungs expanding and shrinking with worry, because there’s only so many kinds of problems he knows how to help with. Toshinori can beat up bad guys, topple entire crime syndicates… But what is there to do, when you’re trying to save someone from themselves?
“Midoriya-shounen--”
“I’m fine.” Deku says, pulling his arm away completely and looking anywhere but at him. The old man purses his lips and bows his head with slight resignation and newfound determination. He leans back into his chair and watches the boy nervously fiddle with his slacks.
“I just wanted to say that you should patch up that wound while you’re here. Wouldn’t want to risk it getting infected, now would we?”
The boy shakes his head and that’s that. They spend the rest of their lunch break in silence, Izuku’s arm covered in fresh bandages and stains of betadine. The meal is spent in silence while thoughts no doubt swirl within Midoriya’s noisy head. He’s older, more grown. His eyes look a little more severe, and he doesn’t smile as much as he used to.
Scars trail up and down his arms, some from scary villains and others from something even scarier. Yagi tries not to think about the way blood dripped from his boy’s forearms, sliding and slipping onto the floor while dull green eyes watched it with a terrifying kind of fascination. He can’t help but think that it’s largely his fault, that while Izuku is not his son by blood -- he still inherited all of Yagi’s most painful traits. He wants there to be something he can do.
Izuku absentmindedly rakes harsh fingernails across his forearm, brushing against the bandages in a way that reminds Yagi of a desperate claw. It reminds him of glass shards and blood and bruises so deep they look like splashes of ink. It’s a cruel world outside for heroes like them, but what lies within is always crueler. The boy eventually excuses himself and returns to class.
Toshinori sets a reminder to call Inko later that night.