Chapter Text
Rain was always a welcome distraction for the young god.
The frigid downpour would eventually push many away - similar to him in ways more than one - but there would always be those rare few that sought it out. Those that drenched themselves in the icy water and felt the wind whistling past their face as they sat shivering in the chilled air, revelling in the anonymity it offered. Those who sat alone in the rain, letting the gentle brush of nature’s hand conceal the tears tracking down their face. Always, they were always hoping that no one would notice their tears, but he did. He would always.
It was on a dreary Friday morning that he felt such a presence, sitting alone at a filthy beach, heedless of the growing storm. The emotions broiling through him would have been more than enough to catch the god’s attention, but the young god had had an eye on this child for many years. The intense desires and wishes in his mind had marked the child as one of his years ago, when the child's need to help was only just sprouting yet still as bright as any other. Like a star bursting to life, this child’s dreams were a rarely seen phenomenon in their world. Many have the want to help, but the need, nestled deep inside their hearts, was rarer still.
Yet, as the young god examined the child closer, he could feel those very same dreams begin to splutter out and die.
Well, he simply could not allow that.
Standing and sighing, the young god forced himself away from his memories with a heavy heart. Like the young child, he too had been sitting alone, yet at the edge of a different ocean. Reflecting as he stared out over the tranquil waters, thinking back to his earliest years. On all the mistakes he had made, all the people he had pushed away, all the lives he’d changed. Time can dull even a god’s memory, chipping away at it without ever tiring or slowing.
But this young god did not know if he wanted to forget. There was so much good that he had done, and just as much bad. Should he forget, and allow his pain to dissolve into nothingness? Should he let his memories fade, let those shadows that followed him finally die?
He did not know, and so - so, he remembered instead.
To that end, the young god rarely left the place that he once called home. He wandered the beaches of old New York on his lonesome, keeping to familiar cabins and unfamiliar ruins. Every step was a memory of a life he’d thrown aside, a reminder of friends now buried.
He did not want to leave, and so, he rarely left. Duties and obligations be damned, he did as he wished.
But he would leave now.
He would leave this place of bittersweet memories, depart from this now-silent once house of lost and broken children.
Because, somewhere across the globe, there was a young hero who desperately needed his assistance. And not just any hero - his little star themself. The young god already knew that this young child would grow into a hero beyond any in living memory. That was simply fact. As death was Thanatos’ domain, heroes were his. Deep-down, he knew this child was going to be someone great.
So, why were this boy's dreams shattering as he cried alone at a filthy beach? The young god intended to find out, and quickly.
A single thought later, he found himself standing at the edge of Dagobah Beach. When his physical form had constructed himself, the young god stared at the beach and blinked in simple and disgusted surprise. Logically, he had known that Dagobah Beach was a trash-dump, but even after more than three-hundred years of life, the enormity of mortal’s lack of compassion still made him feel small in comparison. Anger rose up in him, at the fact that mortals would treat a beach like this, but he squashed it down as his gaze searched for the young child.
He was not hard to find, not at all. The child shone like the sun, almost blinding the young god. Veritable fountains of heroic instinct and selflessness pouring off of him. Even as his willpower crumbled and his vision of the future became muddier, the young boy’s heroic nature was no less bright. Nothing could ever hope to mute it.
Alone in the rain, the child was seated on a broken bench at the base of one of the larger trash heaps. Seeing him made the young god still for a miniscule second. How young was he, to be dreaming of such things?
Everyone wanted to be a hero these days, far be it from him to end a child’s dreams, but the boy was only… eleven at most. The thought struck the young god like a bolt of lightning – had he only been twelve when he learnt what the real world was like?
He had. He'd been twelve when any dreams of being a real hero left him, when the facts of life became clear to him. But how could this child know what reality was like? Dreams are to be cherished, and far be it from him to end another's dreams. He has failed too many to fail another.
The child was young, but he was in no way free of the injustices of the world. He looked disheveled; his yellowish shirt crumpled, burnt, and covered in a thin layer of dirt. His cheeks still sported baby fat and were covered with freckles and dirt alike, but much more noticeable were the tear marks jutting across them. The child’s green locks were pressed down against his face by the wind and the rain, and the eye bags under his shut eyes spoke of long hours without sleep.
What happened, the young god wondered, that pushed the child here, to sit in a storm at the edge of the world? He debated simply searching through his memories, but it had been a year or two since he’d spoken to a mortal. He'd figure this one out on his own.
Curiosity was natural in him, and old habits were hard to break after all. He had a lot of questions that he wanted answered.
Why was the boy here? Alone, alongside the trash? Why were his dreams spluttering out? What was going on?
He walked forward, stepping loudly in rippling puddles to alert the child to his presence. It worked. The child looked up in alarm, and his emerald eyes - so similar and yet so different to the gods, still so full of life - widened in surprise and shock. Shadowed by his viridian curls, he stared at the young god in vibrant surprise.
The young god gave him a rare smile; he didn’t smile much these years, but he maintained that children deserved to grow up in a happier world than what they were given. He’d do whatever it took to make it that way. With a careful hand adjusting his form, he expanded his presence to give off a soft and comforting aura as he neared the child.
The child, so full of dreams and hopes and wishes, so full of desire for a thing he for some reason thinks he cannot have, was still seated on the bench. He didn’t seem to be moving any time soon, so the young god perched on its edge. He sat in silence for a long moment while the child stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Thunder crackled in the distance; uncle disapproved whenever he blessed a mortal, but the young god of heroes cannot find it in himself to care. Ever since the flame of the gods migrated to Japan and the second age of heroes came to be, there isn’t much the other gods could do to touch him, let alone harm him.
“This beach used to be such a beautiful place,” his voice cracked from disuse, but the nostalgia in it is implacable. It had been many years since he came to Dagobah, yet he still remembers meeting with his father here once: the soft sand between his toes, the gentle sea breeze ruffling his hair. “But now it’s nothing but a trash heap. Tell me, kid, if such an amazing place can turn to this, what’s stopping something else from growing into something greater?”
The child kept his eyes on him, but within them shock, confusion and something akin to hope flickered. He’s not in the habit of letting kids have the answer immediately - a lesson in teaching he took from his mentor - so he’ll let the kid figure it out on his own. Slowly, he began to speak, his voice still raw from the barely concealed crying, “Um… well, nothing, apart from whoever’s working on it, their dedication and talent? I guess?” So hesitant , so scared of being rejected. His voice was soft and quiet; the voice of one who'd learnt to keep themselves out of sight and out of mind.
The young god nodded, deep in thought. Honestly, he wouldn’t have expected such a response from himself at eleven, but he should have expected it from this one. The child shone brightly in his domain, brighter than all of the others.
His spirit’s shine rivals that of powerful Toshinori, that of efficient Shouta, of vigilant Chizome. Even though he is still years away from even applying to become a hero, the child is a miniature supernova in his peripherals, expanding impossibly fast. And yet, he still found his little star here, sitting alone at the edge of the ocean. He was lamenting, hoping like all the rest that the rainfall would be able to hide his tears.
While the rain did a good job of it, but it shouldn’t have to.
The two sit in silence for a few more seconds, each observing the other. The young god resisted the urge to wipe away the child's tears and tell him - no, promise him - that everything would eventually be alright.
“What’s your name, kid? You’ll catch a cold out here, alone.” he probed, waving a hand and absent-mindedly directing the rain away from the pair. He swore that the child’s eyes brightened up at that as he immediately launched into a barrage of questions, “A hydrokinetic quirk? Or hydrophilic, maybe? I don’t think any hydrokinesis quirk could redirect rain, it’s too small and numerous, or at least that’s what my mom said when I asked her if she could and if drops of water counted as small – oh, I’m so sorry,” he cut himself off, looking legitimately scared. “I – my name is M-Midoriya Izuku, it’s nice to meet you.” He stuttered out, looking almost like he was expecting to be shouted at.
The young god learned early on, before he even became a god, that undirected anger was never helpful. Still, he cannot stop it from rising in him for just a moment, before he smashes it down. Children are far too perceptive; it wouldn’t do for the little one to think that he’s angry at him.
After all, he knew too well the fear of authority, all-consuming. Childhood is not something he would ever want to relive, especially his own. Unless, well - unless he could make different choices; then he knew what he would do. What he would change.
Looking back up at the dark, stormy sky, with lightning flashing intermittently despite the sun valiantly trying to shine through, he decided that he should probably get the kid to a cleaner spot before he actually caught something. A cold, or the attention of his relatives. And he can’t say he wasn’t curious to learn even more about this one; after all, he’s had his eyes on him ever since he appeared in his domain. As a sheer need to help others overshadowed everything else in his vision like a star exploding into being, the god of heroes had been made aware of this one since his very birth. But, at the very least, this god tried to respect mortal’s privacy.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to want to become a hero, not in these times.
But to wish and hope as hard as this Izuku had was.
“Well then, Izuku-kun, I’m sure you don't want to get sick, right? Let’s get you somewhere clean. And I’ll answer any questions about my quirk that you want to ask, so there’s no need to look so down. Chin up.” Mentally, the young god swore when he added that sentence. Quirks. How could something be so beneficial and annoying at the same time? Even the gods didn’t know exactly know caused it, although Hecate had hypothesized that the godly power in mortal’s blood had diluted enough for them to access magic on their own. Whatever the reason those powers developed, it had immensely helped demigods and gods explain their divine abilities.
Still, making up believable limits to a limitless power was always slightly frustrating. Yet as he saw the kid’s face perk up at that, he couldn’t really bring himself to regret it.
Gently, he pulled the child off the bench by his arm and led him to the edge of the beach, the two sharing a companionable silence as they picked across shards of broken glass and sharp bits of metal; a very important task for the child, and a way to pretend he was still mortal for the god.
The moment they’d climbed up the stairs to the mainland, the god turned around and quietly asked, “So, which way is your house?” He didn’t miss how his face fell instantaneously and how his eyes began to fill with tears, as he instead mumbled, “Can we talk about quirks first?”
Slowly, he bent down and looked the kid in the eyes, young and bright emerald staring into deep sea-green eyes older than the city itself. He paused, tilting his head as he watched the boy valiantly try to hold his tears back. Futile, but he made a good effort.
“Kid, why don’t you want to go home?” he asked, his voice as soft as the rain splashing around them, but not inquisitive, not firm. He’d like to say he’s good with children, but like everything else in his life, it had come at a cost.
Watching as his friend’s children grew up, then mourning his friends with their children, watching as their children grow up, mourning them with their children, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.
Izuku looks away, ashamed, before he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘dad’. Again, the anger rose in him, but this time it was more personal, ugly memories rearing to the forefront of his mind; the sound of bottles breaking, hiding bruises mottled purple and blue from his mother, cigarette smoke choking him every day, the stench of alcohol following him everywhere he walked. He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. He hadn’t thought about that man in decades and he certainly wouldn’t begin now, but he can't help but feel a little bit closer to the child.
As well as a little bit more responsible. Some god of heroes he was, not even checking up on his little star.
He swallowed back a sad sigh. “Well, in that case, uh, you must be feeling a bit hungry, right? Why don’t we get some food in you, hm? There’s a nice ramen place nearby, and I’d rather you not stay in the rain and get sick. And we can talk about quirks, I suppose.” He began walking again, his heels clicking against the pavement as he gestured for Izuku to follow him, expanding his aura to be even more comfortable and inviting.
After a moment, the child ran to catch up. He seemed to have regained some of the light in his eyes; the young god was glad. His hands fidgeting excitedly, he asked, “What’s your quirk, sir? I thought it was hydrokinesis, but most hydrokinetic quirks require a lot of concentration, and wouldn't work on individual droplets, considering their size and number. And I didn’t see you attracting any water, only repelling it, so is it a sort of hydrophilic quirk?”
His voice was still soft, but the curiosity and intelligence in it was obvious. For just a moment, he was reminded of golden curls and wise grey eyes, before he violently pushed that memory away.
His eyes melancholy but voice calm, he responded, “Well, you would be correct in assuming hydrokinesis. I’ve been blessed with a very powerful hydrokinetic quirk. What about you, kiddo?” His lips curl when he calls himself ‘blessed’, if anything, his powers were a curse. Stuck in his self-loathing thoughts as he was, he barely noticed as the child stopped walking suddenly.
“I – I don’t have a quirk, sir.” He says, voice soft. The young god understood better, now. Izuku looked away, choosing to stare across the street instead of at the god. Percy didn't speak for a long moment, rooted in his own despair - how could he have not known such a fact about the boy? How had he ignored his obligations to his subjects for so long? “I - I understand, sir. I’ll be, um, heading home now.” So used to rejection that he’ll do it himself and save others the trouble.
The young god shook his head in muted disbelief; but Izuku’s actions, his thoughts, his dying dreams, all made a little more sense now. He cursed himself again; he should have been here. He should have helped this one much earlier, back when he was needed. Of course mortals would hate his little star for not having powers, when barely a century ago they hated those with powers.
He wasn't going to let this child's dreams die to a set-back as small as this. Even if he had to train the boy himself.
“What does not having a quirk have to do with anything? Get back here, kid. We’re still getting you some ramen.” he said, his voice hopefully calm and not betraying the rage building inside him at the people who have failed this child. Well. He was one of those people, and now there was nothing he could do but atone.
He hoped indifference would be a better choice than showing pity or shock. The child turned, his face carefully painted in a neutral expression. The god could still see the slight disbelief underneath it. Slowly, like approaching an easily startled cat, the child stepped back to him. His shock only increased as the god began walking again, strolling across the pavement happily. The pair continued on their way quietly, and they reached the store the god had spoken of before either of them had spoken another word.
“What’s your name, sir?” the child asked suddenly, his eyes sharp and almost distrustful. Good, he was wondering how long the godly aura would distract the child from realizing he was talking to and following a stranger. The god supposed that maintaining the aura was a bit distracting, but he couldn't believe he hadn't given the kid a name. He hummed quietly, thinking on which alias to use. So many names, titles, faces.
“You can call me Percy.” he said finally, the long-forgotten nickname ringing in the wind. It washed through the empty city alongside the rain, resonating deep in both of their hearts. They both felt it, the name echoing their very selves. It was a signal; of a new era for both the young god and the young hero.