A/N before we start: if you've come from apathy, you'll know I haven't posted any new writing on wattpad in like. 3 years. I am warning you now that this fic will have slow updates. I have a job, bills, a life, and adhd. I will forget that this fic exists for months at a time before randomly dropping a chapter. Do not ask me when I'm going to update, because it will only make me not want to. Okay, thank you, please enjoy!

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The ceiling above his bed is home to a sun-faded All Might poster. The first one he ever received, actually, given to him by his father before the diagnosis. It's corny and was once nearly neon in color, though you would never guess looking at it now. Izuku stares up at it, comforter twisted around his limbs and weak sun shining on his face, and frowns.

He distinctly remembers the poster curling into itself as flame burnt away the faded face of his old hero, that press smile crumbling to ash as Izuku drunkenly cried. Freshly twenty, it had been the first time he'd ever drank. His mother eventually came in and gave him one of her pitying looks before bundling him off to bed and throwing the charred poster away. The next morning was mostly him avoiding meeting Inko's eyes, refusing to acknowledge the hangover migraine pounding on his skull as they ate breakfast.

The point is that the poster grinning down at Izuku should definitely not be there. It should be at the bottom of a dumpster somewhere, along with Izuku's hopes and dreams. He can practically smell the plastic-like paper melting, surprisingly sweet. It smells faintly of bananas. Or more accurately, nitroglycerin.

a hand pressed against his mask, the smell of bananas seeping into the fabric smothering him. a plea, a nickname desperately gasped in between gloved fingers —

Izuku throws himself out of bed in a mess of appendages and fabric, barely making it to the All Might Brand trashcan sat next to the desk across the room. He hunches over it and retches, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. The comforter sits halfway on his shoulders, the rest draped across the floor like a cape as Izuku heaves into the can. The bitter taste in his mouth doesn't drown out the smell, so it's probably completely in his head, yet he can't stop his stomach from rolling.

Izuku doesn't notice his mother opening his bedroom door and padding to his side until she kneels next to him and starts smoothing his bangs away from his face, whispering comforting words. He startles, looking up with wide, wild eyes that freeze on her face. She looks at him with gentle concern, matronly expression at home on her round face. The stench of a funeral home mixes with the nitroglycerin and Izuku ducks back into the trash can, emptying his stomach for a second time.

"Oh, Izuku..." his mother sighs, smoothing back his hair again. Izuku can't help but sob, because he hasn't heard that voice in years. Inko Midoriya died the week after Izuku moved out at twenty-three, caught in the crossfire between the League of Villains and a pro-hero. Her funeral was only attended by a few work friends, the Bakugos, and Izuku himself. Izuku doesn't remember a word spoken because he was too busy staring blankly at his mother's casket until the service was over.

Forget the poster that should be ashes. If Inko is here, that means it belongs. The thing that is out of place in this room is him.

Eventually, the heaving stops and the tears slow. Izuku tugs his comforter off his shoulder to sluggishly wipe his mouth with it. He feels gross and exhausted.

"Feeling better?" Inko asks quietly, still petting his hair. He nods weakly and she pulls him in for a hug that he fully leans into. They sit like that for a few more moments before Inko gently pushes him out of the hug, reaching up to wipe some errant tears away with her thumb. "You should take a shower. It'll make you feel better. I'll have breakfast ready when you get out, alright?"

"Okay." Izuku agrees quietly, voice croaking.

With one last hair ruffle, Inko leaves him to pick a pair of clothes and head to the shower. Izuku bites his tongue so he wont call out for her to stay in his anxiety, struck by the sudden fear that she's going to disappear the moment she's out of sight. He stands in his room, bathed in early morning light, until he hears noise in the kitchen. The clatter of dishes and the clicking of the stove starting up take the weight off of Izuku's chest and he finally moves.

It takes him a few minutes of going through his closet to find a shirt without All Might on it — nearly his entire closet is All Might merch. Normally he might feel a bit guilty about indulging in his grudge against a dead man so blatantly, but this is a dream. That, or he's died and miraculously been sent to the past. In either scenario, All Might will be alive. Just like Izuku's mother. Izuku thinks it's fine to pick an old Nighteye shirt instead.

The bathroom is like a memory come to life. There is a distinct lack of blood stains in the grout of the tiles, and the shower is sporting a pair of themed curtains that were replaced after Izuku was rejected from Yuuei. He avoids looking at the mirror, but he assumes the corner isn't cracked. His old All Might toothbrush is on the counter, in an All Might cup, with All Might toothpaste. Making a face, Izuku sets his clothes on the sink counter, next to a normal cup of water his mother has left him. He uses half of it to rinse the bile from his mouth before he approaches the shower.

He turns the water on recklessly, spinning the knobs without looking at what temperature he's setting. There are probably better ways to test the dream theory, but Izuku is tired, and the shower is available. If he's dreaming, the water will be the temperature he likes; or it might not feel like anything at all.

When he steps in a few minutes later, the water is so hot his skin immediately turns red and starts stinging. Wordlessly, Izuku adjusts the knobs on the wall. Then he sinks to the floor of the shower and has a panic attack under the spray.

"Oh my god," he whispers, "I fucking died. I'm dead."

Curling into a ball in the basin of the tub, Izuku lets the pounding spray of water wash away his tears. The warm water cascades over his back and the sound of it hitting the porcelain floor masks the sounds of his quiet sobs.

He always knew he would die, of course. Vigilantism is a dangerous career path, even back in the days when there wasn't a full on war between heroes and villains. Treading the line between the two was bound to put him in his grave. It's just — he wasn't ready to go. There were still so many people relying on him for him to die so abruptly. He wasn't ready to die.

Especially not at the hands of —

his head cracks against the broken concrete, pro-hero kneeling on top of him. izuku can feel his ribs creak under a metal knee pad. a hand presses down against the mask Izuku wears to hide his face and grinds his head into the rubble. he reaches up to grab the pro's wrists, pushing at them fruitlessly. he cannot breathe through the sweat soaking into his mask.

the pro leans closer, snarl on his face.

"caught you, delta."

The voice rings so clearly in Izuku's mind that his head jerks up of its own accord, scanning the shower even though there is absolutely no way for anyone else to be there. His stomach rolls again and he forces himself to take a moment to breathe so it settles.

…This is ridiculous.

He needs to get up; he needs to move on. If he reacts like this to every little reminder, he'll never get a goddamn thing done. Izuku cannot let a death that hasn't truly happened yet cripple him.

"Move." He commands himself; voice barely a whisper. His locked up body twitches but does nothing more. Izuku grits his teeth and forces himself to slowly un-curl. "Move, Izuku."

He's faced worse than this as Delta — he's felt his bones break time and time again and endured more concussions than he can count. He's seen hundreds die, right out of his reach, and he will not be selfish enough to let his own death stop him from functioning.

Izuku hoists himself off the floor, slowly but surely, and stumbles out of the shower. He rests on shaking legs for a moment before he makes himself move again to complete the shower routine.

As he's patting out the excess water from his hair with one of the towels, a soft knock comes at the door.

"Breakfast is done, sweetie." Inko calls softly from the other side. "Come eat, then we can talk about if you want to go to school today, alright?"

"Okay, mom." Izuku answers. He hates the way his voice shakes; he has completely forgotten that being here, being in the past, means he has to deal with the things he already experienced. Like school. Like —

Izuku swears. From the lack of reproach, Inko has already walked off. Emboldened by her absence, Izuku swears again.

He has to go through everything again. He has to experience that hell once more. He has to face Bakugo.

"Fuck." Izuku swears for a third time in the last minute.

Some would say Bakugo Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku were two halves of one coin. The hero in the making and the quirkless wannabe; the bully and the victim. Even after being rejected from Yuuei, Izuku never really stopped chasing Katsuki's shadow. While Katsuki trained in a state of the art facility, Izuku was fighting for his life in back alleys.

He told himself, through broken ribs and bloody noses, that at least he could make a difference this way. That Delta was more of a boon to society than Izuku ever could be. Delta took out small-time villains so that the heroes could focus on the big guys, and when that wasn't enough, he started sabotaging the League directly to get them off of 1A's backs.

Even if Katsuki never knew what he'd done. Even if he had begun hunting Izuku after the war. Everything was for the sake of him and the citizens he helped protect. Delta may not be a hero in the legal sense, but he damn well was one in the literal one.

Of course, the heroes didn't see it that way. Delta opposed some laws and broke others. He would help those labeled villains if he saw fit, and the fact he chose to side with the heroes a majority of the time was overlooked because of it. Thus, he was hunted.

Thus, he died.

Izuku doesn't know what will happen when he sees Bakugo — Bakugo, not Kacchan or Katsuki, because this will be his shit middle school self, not the man Izuku knows from the future (past?). If Izuku throws up at the false smell of nitroglycerin, what will he do when it's real? If the phantom sensation of a hand pressed against his face sends him spiraling, how in the hell is he going to survive Bakugo's attacks day after day?

Izuku steps out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed and dry. He trudges towards the kitchen while brushing his bangs away from his eyes. His hair is a bit too long for his tastes after sporting an undercut for so many years, and the bangs are particularly annoying. Maybe he can buy a headband to push them back.

Inko is already sitting at the table when he arrives, clearly waiting for him. Izuku sits and mumbles a quick thank you before he begins to pick at his food. Despite this being the first time in a literal decade he's had his mother's cooking, he's not all that hungry. Too many thoughts are swirling through his head for him to have an appetite. Inko seems to pick up on his mood, because she doesn't speak the whole time they're eating.

Eventually though, she puts down her chopsticks. The quiet sound of wood against ceramic breaks Izuku from his thoughts. He glances up at her.

"How are you feeling?" She asks him gently. Izuku answers with a half-shrug. He can't exactly tell her that he's formulating a thousand and a half ways to avoid Bakugo so he doesn't get beaten to a pulp. He never could tell her about everything Bakugo does to him, even when he was younger. "Are you up for school?"

"...I dunno," he answers quietly, pushing rice around in his bowl. He knows he doesn't have a fever, so he'll probably be asked to go anyway. It's not like he can claim he needs a day to acclimate from being brought back from the dead.

...Right?

"Mom," Izuku says abruptly, "what if I told you that I'm actually a grown man who was killed and found himself back in his teenage body?"

Inko stares. Izuku rushes to explain before the silence stretches on for too long.

"Like, I grew up and there was a whole war between heroes and villains. And because I was a vigilante, the heroes and the villains had it out for me," he rambles, gesturing with his chopsticks as if to say 'you know how it is,' "and finally one day a hero caught me. And because of the war, they had a kill-on-sight policy, so Katsuki — he was the hero, by the way — just kinda..."

Izuku trails off. Inko reaches across the table and puts her hand on his own, shaking one, searching his face. He chuckles awkwardly.

"Yeah, um. Anyway I woke up today and I'm what, thirteen?" He gives Inko a questioning look and she nods slowly. "Yeah? Thirteen, okay. Which is really weird."

Izuku fiddles with his chopsticks, ducking his head and watching his mom from underneath his bangs. She's still staring at him in a slightly alarmed way, holding his free hand. Izuku waits for her to speak; waits for his mother's judgment.

"That..." Inko starts after what feels like an eternity, "sounds terrible. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Relief and hope make his stomach swoop. She believes him. He just told her something insane, but she believes —

"It must have been a really realistic nightmare for you to be this affected…"

Oh.

Right, of course. What was he thinking? Who in their right mind would believe such a thing, no matter how true it is? To assume he would be heard... what a foolish thing.

"...Yeah." Izuku agrees hollowly, tears burning at the back of his throat. He grips the chopsticks until his knuckles are white. Do not cry. "Yeah, it must have been."

Izuku stands, pulling his hand from his mother's grasp. Inko stares at him with poorly veiled concern as he jerkily stacks his half full plates to carry over to the sink. He does it quickly so he can escape this situation. Inko waits until he's fleeing wordlessly towards his room to call out to him.

"Izuku?"

He pauses. Part of him, the thirteen year old who trusts her, hopes she's changed her mind. The other part, the one that's already lived so long, that knows what kind of mother Inko is, does not.

"Yes, mom?"

"You should still go to school if you can. I'll pack you a lunch...?"

Izuku clenches his jaw for a moment, teeth creaking under the pressure. Then he exhales, forcibly relaxing his body.

"Okay, mom." he says, and continues walking.

The door clicks shut softly behind him as he pads over to his desk and takes a seat. He stares at the screen of his desktop computer, blankly meeting his reflection's eyes. He can almost imagine that he's seeing himself at his prime, older and more tired; scarred and proud.

He can't let his life be wasted. He won't give up just because no one would believe him. Delta has to live on to do the one thing he was good at — helping people.

The reflection in the monitor grins at him, looking proud of his resolve. Izuku wipes the remains of tears from his eyes and boots up his computer.

He has plans to make.