No Seeking Salvation

It was cold and he's running out. 4000 yen left from the initial 15000 that he snatched from his dad's pocket before Ryuu-kun ate his body and he ran out, setting fire to the place he once called home.

It's been a few days since the day he ended up killing his father. For eight years, he believed he was quirkless. When subjected to heavy beatings and derogatory slurs coming from a parental figure and people who he used to think of as friends, he couldn't help but believe them subconsciously.

Because why would they call him useless if he really wasn't?

So now he's homeless, broke, and in dire need of a shower. For two days in a row, he's been searching for a job that wasn't too sketchy and would hire a 12 year old kid but with no luck.

The good news is that he had a fairly useful quirk so that widens his options even just for a little bit. But, what confuses him is the lack of guilt he felt upon having killed his father.

 Was this a side effect of his quirk? Upon finding shelter in an empty warehouse three days ago, the first thing that Midoriya Izuku- no, he shouldn't call himself by that name anymore- did was experiment with his quirk.

He later realized that people aside from him are able to see his made up creatures if and only if he wishes them too. Otherwise, they would just stay invisible.

He smiled wryly. If he had known this a long time ago, he wouldn't have been subjected to so much violence. Maybe then, he would've still been friends with Katsuki and his father would have loved him more.

But there's no going back now when his father was already dead and he was supposed to have died in a house fire too, taking his dreams with its burning embers.

Supposedly, he should have been running around happily like most kids his age, wishing hopefully for a glorious future surrounded by brilliant heroes. But, punch after punch, kick after kick, his dreams have slowly faded, much like the bruises that told the story of his abuse on the canvas that is his body.

Until he was left as nothing more than a hollow vessel just waiting for the end.

Even now, having left behind his name and identity, all that he possessed was the 4000 yen in his pocket and the dirty clothes on his body.

Languidly, he stared at his hands, fiddling with the dirt filled cracks of his nails, the brown stains that used to be the crimson blood of the man he used to call dad.

It was cold and lonely. The unforgiving wind of early winter rattled at the rusted roof and banged on the steel door, so gloomy and dreary that not even Mocha-chan's cheerful singing amidst her brother, Macha-kun's berating, managed to alleviate it.

In nights like this, he couldn't help but think of what ifs. 

Like what if his mom didn't die when he was young? Or if his father cared for him? Or if a passing hero took notice of his bruises and lent a helping hand? What if he never avoided Katsuki and they were still friends? Or what if a teacher was on his side for once?

Would there be a difference?

And then he thought, if only he could make it a reality.

And so he did.

Izuku?

"Dad!" 

Crawling on his hands and knees, not bothering when he got injured from glass shards and nails, he quickly got closer to the figure of his father.

Though he knew it was merely something that was a product of his fantasies, it was incredibly realistic, dulling his perception.

With a loving smile on his face, his father reached and caressed his hair tenderly, nearly bringing out tears from his eyes. "Izuku."

It was warm while it lasted.

"Why are you so useless?" 

Suddenly, he found himself being thrown violently into a wall, gasping in pain when he slid down and glass shards embedded themselves in his palms.

"Dad! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Curling up to protect his head, he cried out pathetically.

"If you're really sorry, then you should've just died with your mother all those years ago instead of wasting my time!" He heard his father yell and despite not seeing his father's face he knew all to well that the man must be getting ready to let out a breath of fire by now after all those years of repeating the same routine.

"I'm sorry! Dad, please stop!" He panicked, sobbing out as he curled deeper into himself but, before the first lick of flames touched his skin, his subconscious acted out as a gigantic crimson dragon flew towards his father, maw gaping wide to swallow the man whole for a second time.

Even knowing what happened, having killed his father twice, he sobbed on the floor, body trembling as his breaths grew quicker. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

That was the day he realized he couldn't create something which he deems impossible even in his fantasies.