Izuku could feel.

He could feel every excruciating moment of his body being jostled around, hurried into an ambulance, and the bumpy ride of the vehicle.

He should be dead 

He told himself he would die anyway, but the pain he felt while waiting for the inevitable was awful.

His right side hurt.

That was probably what he landed on.

He could've sworn that his skull would shatter and brain be turned into mush the moment he hit the ground. He never expected to wake up a few moments later.

He could barely hear the muffled noises of people trying to "save" his life.

He felt like an agonizing puzzle, being torn apart and put back together for someone's amusement or boredom.

The world around him slowly became clear.

People gasped around him.

"Impossible." He heard a disbelieving voice say from his left.

The white haired boy was not dead.

This was not the same child they picked up just minutes ago, shattered skull and an arm practically hanging off a string.

"Get him fluids and a HRM now!" A doctor shouted out.

"Hey kid, I need you to stay awake please. Can you do that?" There was a gentle woman's voice that spoke muffled in his ears. Blearily he nodded.

It was hard to see out of his right eye.

"Okay good good. Now you don't have to answer if you can't, but can you try to tell me your name?" The voice was so soothing, so beautiful and calming. He couldn't help but try to answer.

Something poked his arm.

As he tried to speak, a gurgled noise came out, mixed oddly with letters and sounds.

"I...ku...ido...ya." He could feel his face morph into a painful disappointed face. He wanted to answer the kind woman's question. He tried again, some letter more clear this time.

"Hey hey, that's okay, don't try talk now if you can't."

The nurse stared in horrid fascination as the boys right side began slowly pulling itself back together. His arm reconnecting and face reconstructing.

There was a scar, almost like a firework blew up only on his right side, his eye squinted and a pale color. (mans out here with tubbo scars now)

"Don't worry, it's going to be okay, you're going to be okay." They said.

But he doesn't want to be okay.

He wants to be dead.

Nothing more than a splatter of blood and flesh on the pavement.

For the first time in years he felt hot, fat tears stream down his face.

It hurt so bad.

---

Eraserhead watched the boy be pulled into an ambulance.

'To hell with patrol.' He thought to himself. It was a calm night, and he was going to know if that boy survived, whether the doctors liked him along or not.

Hurriedly he rushed himself down from the roof.

There was just so much blood.

He felt sick knowing that all of it belonged to a child no older than what his hero course student will be.

He never considered himself one for the dramatics.

Getting overly emotional was not something that he did.

But as he watched the white haired boys broken and bloody body be hauled off in the ambulance, he felt like breaking down.

He felt like puking up everything he'd eaten that day.

Shakily, he moved to the ambulance, asking to enter and showing his hero license as confirmation.

When he stepped in, he watched blood seep into the clean white bed, as paramedics tried their best to keep this boy living.

But eventually, they stopped the rushing. Stopped the poking and prodding of needles. Stopped everything.

The boy was dead 

Except, the heart rate monitors steady beeping returned once again, ceasing the monotonous long tone of his heart no longer beating.

---

Does one die in their dreams, or die in their nightmares.

Perspective is the matter.

Just as one might say curiosity did not kill the cat, but lack of knowledge did.

Or the glass is neither half full nor empty, it is simply just a glass.

A matter of perspective is everything.

Heroes and villains. Who is really the bad guy?

Life and death. Which is truly more eternal peace?

Dreams and nightmares. Which death is the bad one?

Izuku never truly understood why it was such a big deal that he was quirkless.

He was human just like the rest of them, was he not?

No.

In their eyes, Izuku Midoriya was a freak of nature.

A mistake never meant to be.

But perspective is at fault.

Blame the twisted society for it's beliefs. Blame it for drilling those thoughts into the heads of children.

The quirkless are not human.

They are less than dirt.

Izuku Midoriya hated being alive to this point.

And now he must suffer the purgatory that is his world longer.

What a hell hole this place was.

---

"Why aren't I dead?"

Eraserhead shot up when he heard a timid voice strain out those words.

He glanced over to be met with emerald green eyes, one squinted and pale.

He pressed the call button for a doctor.

"Hey kid, how are you feeling?" He didn't know what to say in this situation.

The boy ignored him.

"Why aren't I dead?" He asked more firmly this time.

Shakily, the boy took his freckled legs and slung them over the edge of the bed.

Eraserhead tried to gently coax the boy back to bed, but it was futile.

The kid kept giving weak pushes, trying to reach a wall.

"Alright kid, can you tell me your name?"

"Izuku Midoriya."

When the boy reached the wall, he stared at it for a moment, his cold palms pressed flat against the smooth surface.

Without so much as a warning, the boy bolted out the door, rushing down the halls.

Eraserhead hurried after him.

A million thoughts stormed through his head. The most logical was that he was heading for the roof. But the doors would be locked.

Wouldn't they?

---

Izuku was shaking.

Shaking so much the world trembled around him.

He tripped.

It was annoying not being able to see out of your right eye.

He heard the quick steps of the hero behind him, but couldn't bring himself to slow down as he ascended the stairs.

A small flicker of hope ran through him when he saw the doors.

He can end it.

End his misery.

End his sorrow.

Finally he can-

The doors were locked.

---

see ya next time shawty - depresso