Chapter Text
The air is stale, mold speckling the roof like homemade stars. It’s cold, and teeth chattering is audible through footsteps emerging from down the hall.
A door swings open, marking the wall with another hole as a woman steps into the eerie room, huffing at the sight before her.
“What did I tell you, sweetheart?”
On the floor, in the corner, was a boy.
“..To hide them.”
And furled out behind him like a cloak were dark green wings.
Izuku Midoriya was young when he learned that not all men were created equal.
He had thought that once his quirk manifested, he could be.
Oh, how he wished he wasn’t so naive.
Izuku shifts uncomfortably to the feeling of the tight binding squeezing his chest. His labored, but quiet breaths part between his lips as he forces himself to sit still during his class.
He can feel a constriction on his back and the joints of his wings are plagued with tremors down to the soles of his feet. Sighing out another wave of discomfort, Izuku tries to focus on writing something down on his worksheet but finds it blank.
The pen in his hand jitters softly to the vice grip he has on it, willing that the clicking of the clock on the wall in front of him moves faster. He silently wishes to himself that he can make it back home in time to avoid another night of laying on the cold wooden floor, riding out a deep-rooted agony in his skin.
Being forced to bind them tightly, Izuku’s life has been nothing but debilitating. Everyday like a routine he would bind them before he even left his home, always pulled close and firm to his back for the majority of the hours of the day. For as long as he could remember he’s had countless, sleepless nights where all he had known to do was mumble his cries into a sheeted bed on the ground and hope the cool floor brought comfort to the cramping.
However, despite the suffering and begging and pleading Izuku was forced to live this way of life—always under his mother’s thumb. Just do what she says. Don’t stand out, hide your wings, don’t tell anyone. Though Izuku firmly believes that she would rather him never take it off to begin with.
Overhead the bell rings, signaling the end to the day and Izuku couldn't help crying a little in relief. Quick to pack up his belongings into his worn, yellow rucksack, he picks up his notebook, moving to put it away, but just as his fingers brush the worn texture, a hand slams down onto the surface of his desk.
Startling Izuku from his excitement to leave, a blur reached over and snatched his book straight from his grasp.
Izuku hears Bakugou bark out a loud laugh as he reads over the title to his group of lackeys.
“G-give that back, Kacchan!” Izuku cries a little, reaching up to grab his notebook from the blonde.
“This is pathetic, Deku. Don’t tell me you think note-taking will get you into the hero course at UA?” Bakugou says, taunting it over his head as if reminding Izuku of what his quirk could do to it.
Frowning at what he said, Izuku inwardly sank lower into his seat. Willing away the tears that spark at the jab to his dream, Izuku takes a steady breath and looks down at his hands.
Furled around the edge of his shirt, he shrinks into himself and just begs for their laughter to stop ringing in his head.
“Hey, don’t ignore me, Deku. Do you take being a hero is a joke? Or is that what all you quirkless losers think?” Bakugou says, slamming the notebook harshly on the top of his desk. He sneers at Izuku who whimpers meekly in response to the onslaught of snickering. “Freak.” He mumbles out and marches past Izuku’s desk.
Shaking slightly, Izuku tries blinking away the tears pooling on his lashes, clenching his trembling lips shut.
Izuku hears the laughing of Bakugou and the boys trailing him, listening as it stops by the doorway of the classroom.
“Oh, yeah.” The blonde suddenly announces, as if the thought was left unsaid until now, offhand. “I might know how you can become a better hero.”
Looking up slightly, he hears the small giggles coming from behind the blonde and then watches the smirk fall over Bakugou's face, as if satisfied of himself.
“Pray for a quirk in your next life before jumping off the roof of a building. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get one worthy enough to be a hero!” Bakugou barks out and walks out of the classroom.
For a while, Izuku just sits at his desk, wide-eyed and trembling. Sniffling, Izuku says to the empty room, “Would you have said the same k-knowing I had one?”
Although Izuku has previously been excited to go home and take off the binding on his wings, that same feeling has faded as he climbs his way up a flight of stairs.
It was almost sundown by the time Izuku made his way out onto the terrace rooftop. A cool breeze of the evening flitted through his hair as he stepped out into the open area.
He had wanted to go home, but the very thought of seeing his mother made his heart clog up in his throat and die on his tongue.
She always fretted to him about the importance of binding his wings to his back. “People will see them as valuable and will try to take them from you. Your wings are very unique, dear.”
“You are d-disgusted by them, aren’t you, mother?”
Izuku swears he can hear her defiance, only to mistake it for the chatter of people down below.
“Promise me you’ll bind them. No one can know. Okay, Izuku dear?”
Rubbing his nose harshly, Izuku begins untying his shoes. “Yeah, right.” He takes them off and places them side by side. Placing his bag down alongside the red shoes, Izuku begins unclipping his school shirt.
Taking it off reveals a black fabric hugging his torso, pressing down on the appendages bound to his back. It was a gift from his last birthday as he had grown out of the one he got as a child. Just the thought that it had been the only thing he unwrapped that morning sent a sob out of his mouth.
Peeling off its velcro, Izuku throws it to the ground in an action akin to disgust. His wings immediately droop out of the tight confines and fall to his side unnaturally. Sighing in relief, Izuku glances over his shoulder and frowns at them.
Over the years Izuku had only groomed his feathers a measly handful of times, he knew they looked hideous, but despite that, he couldn’t help but feel the pain in his chest at how he had let this happen. He knows its her but if he hadn’t been born like this—
Now shirtless and numbing a bit to the breeze, Izuku steps up towards the edge indefinitely and admires the orange hues fading behind the other buildings around him.
Lights around him began twinkling, lighting up the city as if welcoming the night.
Izuku couldn’t help but fall back into the thoughts of what Bakugou had said. Maybe he was right, his dream was hopeless and as someone who was quirkless , highly unachievable. At least in his words.
His mother never pushed him to reach his dream, she only ever pushed him to this ledge.
The idea of jumping off the roof has plagued him all afternoon, and Izuku is now substantially positive in the fact that he would be following along with the advice.
Shaking, Izuku stumbles over the railing and feels amused to think of how these could even prevent a death.
Placing his hands on the bars behind him, Izuku leans over a little to look at the pavement. A fall from this height would be sure to kill anyone, quirkless or not. Briefly, he acknowledges that his wings will try to catch him on instinct, and laughs at that.
They couldn’t even keep themselves up while he stood still—
He frowns knowing, with such sadness in his heart, that not even his own body is strong enough to save itself.
A sudden but expected thought to leave a note by his belongings crosses his mind, but he discards it just as quickly. No one would truly miss him. Although it’s usually in good conscience to write one, Izuku finds himself to not care.
A sudden rush of his heartbeat thumps under his ears as he leans further forward, letting one hand go from the railing to swipe at the tears cascading down his cheeks.
His lips tremble as he remembers the suffering he had endured due to the status of his quirk. Quirklessness, even. All those horrible things his mother tried drilling into his head, her ensuring that she loved him despite how she would check up on him hourly to make sure the bindings were still on.
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have hidden me the way you did.”
He remembers Bakugou’s sweaty hand on his chest before the explosions pop in his face and charring his skin. The harsh things yelled at him, the suicide baiting— and oh god that really did happen. It all comes flooding back as a sudden knock of wind slams into his wings, igniting a painful gasp.
Izuku’s fingers begin peeling off the bar as he leans forward more.
Briefly, he wonders what Bakugou will think when his face is on the news about a suicide. A sadness befalls Izuku thinking that he wouldn’t care, he would be unfazed by the death of his childhood friend, caused by his own, sparking hands.
Swallowing the dryness in his throat, Izuku lets the last pump of adrenaline fill his body as he fully lets go of the railing. He drops over the ledge as if he was shot from the sky.
The feeling of cold air feels exhilarating against his wings and skin, making the feathers fan out to slow his fall. But as weak as they were, they flail uselessly behind and for a moment Izuku wants to think this is what flying feels like.
Between his half-lidded eyes, he sees the pavement come closer. He hears the screams of people below and the cars passing by.
A sad, small smile covers his lips as closes his eyes and descends to the ground. The rushing in his ears deafens him, shaking the insides of his head and clogging it up.
Screaming grows closer and closer and Izuku knows he’s close to his death. But in a sudden change of trajectory, the wind is knocked from his chest and his fall stops immutability.
He heaved heavily as he felt himself lowered to the ground gently. Voices calls out to him and hands are on his shoulder, holding him gently. Izuku doesn’t know what’s going on, everything was so loud and so quiet at the same time and fingers were digging strongly all over his body and why is he not dead— he is supposed to be dead!
Only after he catches his breath through choked sobs does he open his eyes. Something similar to a wobbled gasp passes through Izuku’s lips as he sees who had prevented his fall.
Because standing in front of him is no one other than the number three hero, Hawks.
“Alright everyone, step back please!” Hawks says, glancing to his right at the crowd of civilians gathered to witness.
Izuku couldn’t help but sit there in stunned silence as he observed the hero before him.
Crouching down Hawks pulls Izuku closer to him and then wraps his red wings around the two, a makeshift barrier to secure some sort of privacy. But in all honesty, Izuku was more comforted by the action.
“Are you alright, kid?” The winged hero asks softly, grasping Izuku close with unconcealed concern.
Izuku nodded dumbly, unable to form words. He’s wasn’t okay. Not at all— but the shock of falling off a roof and living has barely caught up to his sluggish brain and all he could understand was Hawks looking all over his body for any injuries and that he was supposed to die—He can’t help but watch as the hero frowns at the state of his wings, a clear difference from the big red ones on his back. Izuku knows he must be thinking how disgusting they look compared to his own. How humiliating— so fucking embarrassing.
His eyes begin to pool with more unshed tears, and a racked sobs spill from his mouth as Izuku dips to the floor and grasps at the pavement. His chest shakes and his wings jitters to his sorrow.
Hawks could only frown at Izuku, seeming to sense the deep-rooted pain radiating to the heavy cries falling from his lips.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, Baby Bird.” Izuku hears Hawks whisper to him. Gloved hands cup at the sides of his face and wipe at the tears on his cheeks.
Izuku couldn’t help the tears streaming from his eyes, a trembling in his lips and he tried to nod at the hero’s words. The sudden guilt of attempting to kill himself hits full swing and his chest seizes in regret. But he had wanted it so bad.
It seems that the hero understood the implications of his fitful crying as his head was soon brought to Hawks' chest. A hand rests on hair as it is rubbed and soothed. Hawks begin to chitter softly at him, mimicking the comforting sounds of a mother bird.
It takes a while for Izuku to calm himself to form a coherent sentence, but once he does he regrettably pulls away from the hero. The red wings get folded to Hawks’ back and only now Izuku realised that they were alone.
“S-sorry.” Is the first thing Izuku can muster to say. And he is shamelessly sorry.
“No need for that, Baby Bird. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Hawk says as he pats Izuku’s back a few times before standing. Izuku scrambles to his feet, suddenly feeling the cold of the night in his skin so he wraps himself in his arms. “There is an ambulance here for a mandatory check-up. Don’t worry, it's only routine, okay? And the police are on their way. Also, routine, Kiddo.”
Izuku can’t help but admire the soft way Hawks was talking to him. It’s all he’s ever wanted—But he once again nods silently and follows behind the pro, making a small note to himself to bolt before the police arrive. His mother can’t know—
After the check-up and clear to go from the nurses in the ambulance, Izuku begins walking back over to the entrance of the building, preparing himself to climb another flight of stairs because they’ll be here soon and they’re going to find out—
However, Hawks beat him to it.
“Rest here a moment. I’ll fetch your things from the rooftop.”
Izuku couldn’t even ponder the fact that Hawks knew what he was going back up for before, though, internally glad he hadn’t caught onto his desperation to leave the scene entirely. Eventually the hero returned with his bag, shirt, shoes and sadly, his wing binder. Hawks passed everything along to him except the binder and waited patiently for him to redress himself.
The articles of his missing clothing made him feel a little warmer, but only slightly as the air was starting to chill more than he was accustomed to.
Izuku watches as Hawks visibly frowns at him as his wings are halfway tucked awkwardly and unnaturally under the clothing, instead of having customised wind slots in the shirt like most with mutations.
Looking down in shame, Izuku clutches his bag in his hand loosely and waits to get scolded by the hero. But instead, he hears a soft, almost sad-sounding chirp.
“Baby Bird,” Hawks starts, holding out the binder in front of him as if getting too close would burn him. “Why do you have this?”
Izuku didn’t need to look up to know what Hawks was referencing.
“It’s dangerous for wings to be bound, you know?” Hawks said softly. Placing a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, ignoring the way it made him flinch. He asked again. “Who gave this to you?”
Barely containing a sniffle, he looks up at the concerned hero and stutters out his response. “My… m-mother.” He whispers.
Nothing can stop the small gasp that comes from the hero. But Izuku just hunches in on himself, conscious of the way it makes his mother sound. “S-she does it to p-protect me.” And fuck he’s blown it now—she’ll kill him if she found out—he has to go!
The distant sound of sirens echo from downward and it only reinforces his desire to run.
He hears Hawks grunt in disagreement. “Do you know why?” He asks gently.
Before Izuku can say too much—but shit hasn’t he already—he snatches the binder from the hero’s hand and sprints down the path. It had gotten late after all and his mother would go frantic if he wasn’t back soon.
Izuku hears Hawks calling after him, but with relief, he does not hear the sound of wings following behind him.