3. Wrecking Truth

When Izuku wakes up in the hospital a few months after his fourth birthday, he's told he's diagnosed with a life-changing hereditary condition. One that requires a different and more strict diet. One that requires regular medical check-ups. One that requires he sticks a needle in his skin every month. A condition that had the capacity, or so he's told, to end his young life early if he doesn't follow the treatment plan.

He's not sure he really understood that any of this meant. He was too young; the medical jargon thrown at him, even broken down to the simplest of words, didn't actually mean anything to him, other than "eat well, take your medication, and we'll see you soon." What really mattered to him was to go back home and be allowed to play at the park with Kacchan.

The first thing he really understood, even before he was released from the hospital, is that his treatment hurt. The nurse who taught him how to use the prepared syringe was very kind and patient, slowly showing each steps carefully to make sure his mom and he understood the process. Then, she guided hi, through his own first self-injection, which, he remembers well enough, ended up with him in tears and clutching at him mom for comfort.

It didn't hurt that much, in reality. Just a sting, there and gone, with a little bit of soreness afterwards, but just the anticipation had him tensing with anxiousness, and when all was said and done, the dam broke and he evacuated all his stress in his mother's embrace.

His first diner home, he learned, was something kind of bland, and not the katsudon he had hoped. That's the other big change in his life he went through. His diet was scrutinized carefully, and he was allowed only specific foods and drinks to make sure he would stay healthy. Thus, he had to say goodbye to delicious treats (even though that got replaced by almost equally yummy healthy treats) and to his disappointment, almost never stayed for diner at Kacchan's home. Kacchan didn't like what he had to eat, and Izuku couldn't eat what Kacchan wanted to eat, so it made joint meals incredibly difficult.

Then, about four months later, he was diagnosed quirkless by his doctor, the one he's been seeing almost every month to make sure he was still healthy and that no complication from his condition arose.

Izuku remembers all of this, and explains all he remembers to his teacher and the detective sitting somberly in front of him.

Aizawa-sensei asked him to stay after school that Friday afternoon, and although he had no way to be sure, he guessed this was to give him updates on the case about the huge misunderstanding that ended with him holding a quirk suppressor syringe only to days prior.

That's why he wasn't overly surprised when his teacher led him to a private conference room to meet with Detective Tsukauchi. It's also why he let out a confused noise when said detective asked him what he remembered of the time he was diagnosed with HoFH.

"This is everything you remember?" Aizawa-sensei asks once he's done narrating this specific part of his past. Izuku nods, but he feels unsettled by his teacher's mood. It's not like there's any outside sign or anything, but Aizawa looks... stiffer. He looks angry, but not the explosive kind Izuku is used to, but rather a simmering anger, boiling just beneath the surface, waiting the perfect moment to let it flow in a destructive torrent.

Aizawa-sensei looks like an underground hero looking for blood. Izuku is just glad that anger is not directed at him.

His teacher is leaning against the wall behind the detective, a little bit to the side, arms crossed and gaze trained deliberately on Izuku. Detective Tsukauchi is also standing, just behind one of the chairs that surrounds the conference table and Izuku had stood automatically in from of him right across it to answer his questions. There was some kind of tension in the room, although Izuku couldn't put his finger on its cause even if he could feel it.

At some point during Izuku's tale, the detective had made himself comfortable by removing his trench coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

"Midoriya, do you remember what happened before you woke up at the hospital that da?" Izuku doesn't know what the detective is fishing for, but he answers as truthfully as he can.

"I don't remember much," he admits, eyes flicking to his teacher unconsciously. The man only offers a small nod in encouragement. "Um, I don't remember what happened directly during the incident that led me there. My mom told me I passed out because of my illness..." Tsukauchi send him a reassuring smile as soon as he notices his hesitation. "If I remember correctly, um, it happened not long after before my father left for the United-States. I know I was angry. Not at him of course!" He hastily adds. "But at the situation. I knew it wasn't dad's fault, but I didn't know how to react so I got mad at him." The memory is fuzzy, almost like it came from a dream, but somehow he remembers the anger he felt that day vividly. "Doctor Tsubasa explained the stress of my fight with my dad probably provoked my symptoms to worsen enough to send my to the emergencies. He said it's also why I was diagnosed so young and because of that it probably saved my life."

There's a beat of silence, but Izuku sees how Tsukauchi clenches his teeth for a second before he forces himself to relax. The detective and his teacher share a glance, and Izuku is filled with a foreboding that leaves his mouth dry. He feels fear gnaw at his insides when Tsukauchi levels a careful gaze at him, expression carefully crafted into an emotionless mask.

"You might want to take a seat, Midoriya," the man suggests, but it's these words that sends anxiety rippling through his body.

"Wha – what's happening?" There's a heaviness that presses on his chest when he takes his next breath and he feels his limbs shaking as he enters what he knows to be a fight of flight state. He turns green pleading eyes to his teacher, because right now really needs to know what the hell is going on and Aizawa-sensei never hides anything from them.

"Just sit down, kid," the man huffs gently. Since he trusts his teacher, he listens to him and pulls out a chair, lowering himself on it while keeping a close wary eye on the two adults. It's Tsukauchi that speaks up and breaks the thick silence.

"This is no easy conversation," the detective warns, "if, at any time, you need space or time to process, please let me know." Izuku nods, although he's not sur if he's really acquiescing or of it's just out of politeness. His nerves are already frayed and Detective Tsukauchi hasn't even started yet.

"First of all, Midoriya Hisashi is not in the United-States," the detective says, and Izuku lets out a small emotionless "oh", almost indifferent. He's not really surprised. After learning his son was sick and would never develop a quirk, Midoriya Hisashi had completely disappeared from their lives. Izuku is still bitter at him for this, even if he understands why the man would want to have another chance at a happy family somewhere else. He still couldn't bring himself to delete the emails he's sent all those years ago before he completely went off the radar and stopped answering any messages sent his way.

"No, Midoriya, he didn't leave to start a new life. Midoriya Hisashi passed away twelve years ago. The same day he was supposed to leave for America."

What?

It didn't make sense. At all.

Izuku's brains stutters at the world-shattering news. He doesn't even know how to react to this, thinking his father had abandoned him and his mother all those years ago. Wait, what about the email? It has to be a mistake.

"That day when you awoke at the hospital," Tsukauchi continues, "wasn't because of your condition. In fact, you don't even suffer from HoFH."

"What –"

"Let me finish please," Tsukauchi kindly implores, so Izuku snaps his jaw shut, still reeling from what he's hearing. It's like a fever dream, he thinks. "That day when you were four years old, you got in a fight with your father, and developed your quirk. Unfortunately, in the state of extreme distress you were in that day, your quirk manifested extremely fast and before either of your parents could react, it was already too late."

Izuku just stares at the detective, feeling a special kind of numbness he's never felt before. He hears his heart beating wildly in his chest and his blood roars in his ears, almost covering up the him of the heating system pushing warm air inside the room. He just stares idly at the man before him and only one thought springs to his mind at the moment.

"You-you're k-kidding, right?" His mouth is awfully dry and he tries to gulp what's left of saliva before he speaks again. "T-this is a, this is a j-joke, right? It can't be true," he's almost begging, staring straight into the dark eyes of the detective, but the man only shakes his head, subtle enough hat Izuku thinks he might e imagining it. He swivels his head towards Aizawa-sensei, reluctant hope blooming in his chest as he lets out a weak "Sensei?"

"No, kid. I'm sorry," he answers with a soft voice. It feels foreign coming out of his gruff teacher's mouth.

"But! But it doesn't make sense, it really doesn't!" Panic slowly takes control of him, but he doesn't let it and forces himself to think rationally. "I'm a late bloomer," he says, and he tries lo ignore the way his voice shakes, "I was diagnosed quirkless. I grew up quirkless! And, and..." he trails off, wracking his brain for anything that's off about this whole hypothesis. "And! Emails! I exchanged emails with dad for two whole years after my diagnosis!" He's sure of it now. "I don't know where you heard this from, detective, but it can't be right." He stills feels extremely shaky, but he's in control of the situation now and he feels his heart calm down gradually. "Are you sure you didn't study the wrong file?" He asks with a kind smile. People always make mistakes, it's no big deal, he understands.

"Midoriya." Tsukauchi's face is pinched, as if he's in pain. No one says anything for a while and Izuku keeps switching his gaze between the detective and his teacher. Their postures are stiff, and Aizawa-sensei refuses to meet his eyes, keeping his own dark gaze focused on Tsukauchi.

"No," Izuku whispers. He doesn't know what's going on. "That can't be right," he repeats, as if saying it enough time will make it true.

"Midoriya." Izuku's eyes snap to the detective. "Your mother told us everything. She and your doctor, Doctor Tsubasa, decided your quirk as too dangerous and tried to eliminate it with regular high doses of quirk suppressors. They thought they had succeeded until your quirk manifested a second time just before high school. They started upping the dose, hoping to let it die before your injured yourself further."

Izuku is already crying at this point. He can't stop the flow of tears that slip from his eyes, clenched closed with the despair that grows within him. He shakes his head and clings to the idea that it's all a mistake, a misunderstanding, a joke. "No way," he sniffles, and he can't help the keening noise that escapes his throat. "No, no, nononono..." It's like a mantra – no way, it's not true, it's a mistake, it can't be, etc. Words bubble up between sobs and heaving breaths. His hands shake badly as he hides his face in them, tears slipping down his wrists to wet the cuffs of his school uniform.

"I'm sorry, Izuku," Tsukauchi says, and Izuku's reaction is immediate.

"Don't call me that!" The yell comes out unbidden, accompanied by the loud scrape of the chair as he stands up suddenly and followed by the clatter it makes when it topples violently on the ground. "You don't get to call me that!"

Rationally, he knows the detective has nothing to do with the whole situation, yet Izuku, in that moment, can only feel hatred towards the man who, in the course of a single hour, destroyed Izuku's world thoroughly. Everything he ever knew is shattered, and he can only loath the man who brought the hammer down on the illusion that was his whole life.

The anger burns. There's fire in his lungs and lava in his veins. The hatred scratches at his throat as he shrieks in anguish. He doesn't recognize himself, and at the moment he absolutely doesn't care. Green lightning sparks and die out intermittently around him, and he really wants to hit something. He feels the urge to destroy, just like he's just been destroyed, but he has enough self-restraint to try and keep it all in, even if it means he has to space furiously around his half of the conference room, biting his lips viciously, hard enough to draw blood.

His thoughts are a jumbled mess, but the only thing that keeps coming at the forefront is this – my life is a lie. Tsukauchi and Aizawa don't even know the whole truth of it. Desperate screeches push past clenched teeth while hands twist painfully at his hair. He kicks the downed chair with all his force, but it's not enough! He's suffocating in his anger, breath coming out ragged and coming in with barely enough oxygen to supply his brain.

In a flash of lucidity, he suddenly feels extremely scared of himself, and in his mind's eyes he sees a younger Kacchan snarling in outrage and hurting him deliberately to release his wrath. He's scared he'll hurt someone, absently looking at the chair as it smashes against the wall before clattering loudly on the ground. He's scared he'll hurt someone, like Kacchan hurt him repeatedly in the past, but somehow this thought only fuels his fury further.

He's seething even as he forces his legs to stop moving and his temper only worsens when he tries to take deep grounding breaths. As if the oxygen he breathes has the sole purpose of feeding the fire burning bright and hot within his chest. He feels like he's going to explode.

The only thing left he can think of, in that moment, is to lift an arm, pointer finger firmly positioned towards the door, as he snarls a low and dangerous "Out" at the other occupants of the room.

To Tsukauchi's credit, he only hesitates for a brief instant before he folds his trench coat over an arm and makes his way out the door without a single word or glance in his direction.

The room is eerily silent except for Izuku's heaving breaths. He expects Aizawa-sensei to follow the other man to leave him alone with his rage, but the underground hero stays leaning against the wall, not having moved a muscle since the beginning of his outburst.

Aizawa-sensei may very well be the only constant left in his life right now. He never lies, is always brutally honest, and truly cares like no one, except his mother, ever did before. It's that realization, he thinks, that somehow soothes his anger enough for him to calm down and let himself fall on a chair, leaving him with a hollowness he doesn't know what to do with. Aizawa-sensei will never leave, as he just proved by staying by his side through all of this shitty situation. Izuku knows he'll help him, and that he'll guide him through what's to come. He knows he'll get through this, if Aizawa stays by his side.

For now, thought, he lets the despair break his heart and he melts down in hot fat tears, hiding his face on folded arms laid on the surface of the table.

Aizawa-sensei keeps watch over him. Izuku lets himself break completely, knowing he'll be there to pick up the pieces.