Bnha one-shots!

The Salvadori Circus

Main ship: None

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"Izuku,"

"Katsuki,"

~~~

"WHY DID I HAVE TO BE CURSED WITH A SON LIKE YOU!" Inko yelled, kicking her six-year-old son in his chest as he curled up into a ball on the ground and struggled to breathe.

This had become a common occurrence in the Midoriya household after Izuku's 'diagnosis', like a disease, he thought, about his quirklessness two years ago. That night, he heard his parents fighting, his father yelling about how he can't have a quirkless son as it'll ruin his business, and Inko begging him not to leave him alone to raise a freak.

With tears burning in his eyes, he slid down against his door, and as he fell asleep, he heard the voice of his father for the last time.

Since then, it all went downhill from there. His mother blamed him for his father leaving, as well as condemning her to raise a useless freak alone, ostracising her from all of her friends. She had started beating him as a way to cope, otherwise, she would ignore him entirely and focus on her time at work as a nurse.

His best friend, Kacchan, also started beating him, calling him a "worthless Deku", in his words. He would punch and kick him, worsening the injuries he would get from his mother, before burning him with his quirk. He wasn't powerful enough yet to hit him with an actual explosion, but he would leave handprints with his smoking hands.

He's accumulated a lot of scars in his measly six years of living.

Tuning back into his mother's words after dissociating a bit, he heard the words clearly.

"-I WISH I HAD THAT ABORTION!" She yelled, kicking him one last time before she huffed and stomped to her room, smalling the door shut with a bang, though Izuku didn't hear it.

Why couldn't he just leave?

He didn't really mind his mother's words anymore. Yes, it stung and hurt and made him cry at the beginning, as he was four and only knew of his mother's warm hugs and soft kisses, but after two years of constant abuse, both from her and from his one closest friends, he didn't mind them anymore.

He's lost all of the love he had for them.

It didn't take a single moment for it to happen, no it happened slowly. Day by day, he would feel less sadness and pain from their words, feeling only acceptance and hatred.

Hatred was a new emotion for him, at first.

Now, he didn't care for his mother or his old friend. He didn't care for their words, as they lost meaning over time.

He didn't need them.

Standing up from his bloody circle on the floor, he stood up and stumbled to his room with pained grunts, and his arm wrapped around his torso.

She really did a number on him this time, huh?

He, as quickly as he could with probably a broken rib or two, packed up all of the stuff he would need, clothes, foods he's hidden in his room over the years, and a Present Mic figurine he loves, he climbed, huffing all the way, out the window and onto the fire escape.

He quickly yet quietly climbed down, and took a couple of deep breathes, with his hands on his knees, bending over to try and get more precious air, as he landed on the ground of the alleyway.

He stumbled and winced whenever his ribs were jostled too much, so he wasn't able to run, only a slow shamble, down the street, dodging the people on their way to whatever they were headed on a Saturday afternoon.