Chapter Text
Izuku was very excited. Tomorrow was his fourth birthday—which meant that, any time after that, his quirk could awaken.
He had been dreaming about his quirk for as long as he could remember. Maybe he’d get a mental one like Mama, and be able to move things with his mind. Or maybe he’d have an elemental quirk—Mama said Daddy could breathe fire! Or maybe he’d have one like his grandparents—his dad’s dad had a quirk called Dragon’s Scale, which gave him super-tough, armored skin like scales.
Whatever he got, Izuku knew he’d make the best of it. He wanted to be a hero one day and getting his quirk was the very first step.
He was so excited, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep.
“Really, Izu-chan,” Mama said with a smile, peeking into his room, “I know you’re excited, but you need to sleep. You don’t want to be too sleepy to enjoy your birthday now, do you?”
Mama was always so smart.
“No, Mama. Sorry.”
“That’s quite alright, baby. Do you want a story?”
“Yes, please, Mama! Can you tell me again about Grandma’s quirk?”
“Okay, baby. Are you comfy?” She waited for his nod from the nest of blankets wrapped around him before continuing. “Now, your grandmother—my mama—had a mental quirk, like many in the family. But hers was very special. She could help people in comas at the hospital communicate with their loved ones.”
“And she helped people with it? Like a hero!”
“Yes, baby. She helped them write their wills, make medical decisions, and say goodbye to the people they loved. She didn’t fight villains, but there are other ways to help people, aren’t there? I want you to remember that when you get your quirk—and when you grow up to be a big hero.”
“I will, Mama.”
“Good. Now it’s time to sleep. Goodnight, baby.”
“G’night, Mama.”
She kissed his forehead and left him to sleep.
Tomorrow would start with a bang.
Desmond Miles didn’t know where he was.
And while used to strange things happening (Animus glitches, ancestral memories, being dead-ish?), one moment, he’d been in the Gray, having just helped his son on his personal quest against the Templars. The next, he was standing in an endless white space.
It looked a lot like the Gray... but felt different. To start, he had far less control over his surroundings.
Desmond walked aimlessly, searching for anything—anyone—that might tell him where he was and then, suddenly, he wasn’t alone.
A little boy had appeared. No older than four or five, with black hair tinged with a faint green shine.
“Hello Mister. Who are you? Where am I? Where’s Mama?”
“Whoa, slow down, kid,” Desmond said gently, crouching to the boy’s level. Despite the surreal circumstances, the child didn’t seem scared. Just... curious. “My name’s Desmond Miles. As for where we are—or where your mom is—I’m afraid I don’t know. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” the boy said calmly. “I don’t think we’re in danger. Mama will find me.”
Ah, to have the trust of a child.
“What’s your name, kiddo?”
“I’m Izuku! I’m four. What’s your quirk?”
His what now?
“I don’t know what you mean, kiddo. What’s a quirk?”
Izuku stared at him in disbelief, wide-eyed like Desmond had just said he didn’t know what the sky was.
“You don’t know what a quirk is?! It’s the best thing ever! Everybody gets one—it’s like a superpower! You get yours when you turn four. I’m getting mine today—it’s my birthday! And with it, I’m gonna become a hero! It’s gonna be awesome!”
Desmond chuckled. “Well, it sure sounds awesome.”
He paused for a moment, then added, “I guess the only power I’ve got is something called Eagle Vision. It’s kind of like having a computer in my head—helps me notice important stuff. I can see people who are dangerous, track things others miss... that kind of thing.”
The moment Desmond finished speaking, he realized he had never hesitated—not once—to reveal what had never before been spoken outside the Brotherhood. Why did I just—?
“Wow, that’s awesome!! Are you a her—”
Izuku’s words cut off suddenly. He was gone.
In his place, a glowing window shimmered open, revealing what looked like... a normal room. A child’s bedroom.
Cautiously, Desmond stepped through the light.
He blinked and looked around himself.
He was standing on a carpet, surrounded by plush toys and picture books. The walls were covered in posters of what looked like superheroes. One with an especially goofy smile and enormous muscle, was the star of the show.
“...Huh,” came a small voice behind him. “Desmond-san, what are you doing in my room?”
Desmond whirled around. Izuku was sitting up in bed, watching him with wide, curious eyes. Before he could say a word, the boy continued:
“And why can I see through you? I thought your power was in your eyes?”
Desmond opened his mouth—but again, before he could respond to that wild statement, a voice came from the hallway.
“Baby, are you awake? Who are you talking to?”
“Mama! I was talking to Desmond-san. I don’t know how he got in my room!”
“What?!”
A woman—clearly the boy’s mother—burst through the door, scanning the room with concern. Desmond instinctively shifted into a defensive stance, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d defend himself in this strange ghost-like state.
But she didn’t look at him, instead, she rushed over to Izuku, brushing his hair aside with worry in her eyes.
“Izuku! Don’t scare me like that. There’s nobody here.”
Desmond stared, then slowly, ever so slowly, raised a hand and waved it in front of her face.
Nothing. No reaction. She didn’t see him.
He turned to Izuku, who had been watching the whole thing silently, head tilted like he was solving a puzzle.
“Mama,” the boy said slowly, “I think I got my quirk. I can see someone. I dreamed about him—and now he’s here.”
Inko gasped, her worry turning to wonder. “Oh baby, I’m so happy for you. Come on, time for breakfast. Then we’ll see what your quirk can do, hmm? And happy birthday, baby!”
“Thanks, Mama!”
Izuku hopped out of bed and followed her out.
Desmond stayed behind for a second. He needed time to process.
Ghost? Quirk? What the hell is going on?
But before he could take another breath, something yanked at his gut—like a hook tugging behind his navel—and suddenly, he was no longer in the bedroom.
He was next to Izuku again, now stepping into a bright, cozy kitchen.
Over the next few hours, Desmond learned quite a lot.
For one thing, despite never having learned Japanese—even with his extensive genetic memory—he could understand and speak it fluently.
Then there was the location, apparently, he was in Japan (hence the language). Just yesterday, he’d been very much dead, existing in the Gray—everywhere and nowhere. But now he was... here. Wherever here was.
And then there were the quirks.
It didn’t take long to confirm that this was definitely not his world. He’d seen a man casually walking down the street with elephant tusks growing from his mouth, and no one batted an eye.
Quirks were a big deal, which brought him to his current situation.
“Midoriya-san, I understand that you’re eager for your son to awaken his quirk,” the doctor said with carefully measured patience, “but an imaginary friend does not a quirk make.”
“Doctor, please,” Inko said, clearly trying to stay calm. “Just because you can’t see Desmond doesn’t make him imaginary. Mental quirks run in my family.”
“And I understand that, Midoriya-san, but I still need some kind of proof...”
The conversation dragged on. Desmond could see Inko’s frustration mounting, and Izuku slowly curling inward on himself, looking more and more crushed.
Desmond wanted to help, really he did—but there was nothing he could do. Izuku was the only one who could see or hear him, and he couldn’t touch anything or anyone else. He’d know, he tried.
In the end, they left the clinic without registration.
Because apparently, that was a thing—quirk registration. The idea of government registration over personnel power sounded like a nightmare to him, but as the saying went, When in Rome…
Izuku’s shoulders had long drooped, and even Inko’s smile was strained.
Desmond walked quietly alongside the kid, thinking about his situation. Even like this, he still had Eagle Vision—and the kid glowed gold, edged in blue.
This definitely wasn’t his world, so the slip shouldn’t matter. It had to be some kind of inherent trust he felt toward Izuku.
Even then, it didn’t feel malicious, and Desmond had long learned to trust his Isu driven instinct, so he nudged the kid gently with his voice.
“Hey, Izuku... I’m sorry I couldn’t help you in there.”
Izuku looked up at him and shook his head. “That’s alright, Desmond-san. It’s not your fault.”
Desmond paused. “Maybe I could teach you a few things and train you a bit. If you learn stuff no four-year-old should know, maybe they’ll start to believe you.”
That earned a small smile. “Maybe.”
Inko, who had been watching her son with quiet concern, finally spoke. “Izuku, baby... what did Desmond-san say?”
“He said he could train me! Teach me stuff no one else could! And then they’ll have to believe us!”
Inko tilted her head. “That might be a good idea... Do you know what he’d train you in?”
Izuku turned to Desmond with wide, hopeful eyes.
And that’s how Desmond Miles—former Assassin, occasional prophet, and reluctant ghost—found himself agreeing to train a four-year-old in the basics of stealth, agility, and acrobatics. Because, apparently, this was his afterlife now.
It had been five weeks since his... life? Death?—whatever this existence was—had started anew.
Izuku had proven to be an eager and attentive student. Especially for a four-year-old, whose attention span, as Desmond had come to learn, was fleeting at best.
Still, he made progress.
Desmond began with spatial awareness—having Izuku people-watch during walks and then asking him seemingly random questions: How many exits were in the store? What color jacket was the man at the crosswalk wearing? Which direction did the barking dog come from?
Then they moved on to agility and basic acrobatics, using the nearby playground’s jungle gym and other climbing structures. Izuku’s small frame and natural energy made him surprisingly suited to it, once he learned to focus.
All in all, the training was going well.
The same couldn’t be said for his relationships with his peers.
The quirk registration officer hadn’t been the only skeptic. Izuku had excitedly told his so-called best friend—one Bakugou Katsuki—about Desmond the moment he saw him.
Katsuki was... less than supportive.
Bratty, loud, explosive—in both personality and, as it turned out, quite literally.
For all that Izuku called the boy his best friend, the sentiment clearly wasn’t mutual. Katsuki had been the first to laugh at him, to call him a liar, and to label him Deku—a cruel twist on dekunobou, meaning a useless doll.
That nickname stuck, but it was nothing on the emotional toll of losing his ‘best-friend’ to something completely out of his control.
Katsuki had become the ringleader of Izuku’s torment on the playground, turning skepticism into mockery and mockery into isolation.
Desmond didn’t know how to help, not in any way that would matter immediately. He couldn’t confront the kid, couldn’t defend Izuku outright. All he could do was keep giving him the tools—the awareness, the control, the escape routes.
And that takes time.
So Desmond watched and taught, he stayed close and did what he could to support the kid emotionally.
Hell, Izuku had started calling him big brother, so it should mean he was doing something right. And he hoped it would be enough.
After months of constant drills and training, Izuku felt like he could do anything.
At least, as long as he was with Desmond-nii.
Really, Mama and Nii-san were the only ones who believed in him. Even Kacchan—amazing, brilliant Kacchan—didn’t believe Desmond existed.
Mama had taken him back to the quirk registry twice, but still, no one believed.
So here he was, eight months after his fourth birthday, being chased through the streets by Kacchan and his gang. His only crime? Standing up for a smaller kid who was being bullied.
Now, he just needed to get himself to safety.
Desmond-nii was running beside him (trotting, he was definitely trotting), calm and watchful like always.
And that’s when it happened, the world around him shifted.
Suddenly, everything went gray—muted and still—except for strange bursts of color dotting the environment. White glows on escape routes, red flickers where danger lurked. It was disorienting... and familiar.
Izuku didn’t stop—Desmond had taught him better than that—but he did slow down just a bit, glancing around with wide, glowing eyes.
“Izuku, quick—this way!”
Desmond’s voice rang clear, cutting through the strange fog. He pointed toward a tall, white building. Izuku’s gaze was drawn immediately to a set of handholds—ledges, cracks, a drainage pipe—like they were outlined just for him.
He didn’t question it and before he knew it, he was scaling the wall, hands and feet moving with practiced ease. He reached the rooftop in seconds, panting but exhilarated. From the top, he could see Kacchan and his gang tearing past the building, chasing a ghost.
They never even looked up.
Desmond crossed his arms, watching them go. “So,” he asked, “why’d you slow down?”
Izuku turned to him, eyes wide with wonder.
“Nii-san... I think I’m using your Eagle Vision.”
“Huh… I was just thinking it’d be neat if you could.”
“You think I’m borrowing your power?”
“Maybe. Or maybe you learned it, Eagle Vision’s a teachable skill, you know—and you did the work.”
Desmond smiled, and Izuku couldn’t help but smile back.
In time, they came to understand that while Izuku could use Eagle Vision almost at will, it only worked when Desmond-nii allowed it. Like Desmond was the battery, and he was the light.
They tried again to register his quirk—but Eagle Vision was entirely mental. No flashy effects or measurable output. And the staff didn’t even try to use some machine Desmond-nii talked about to check his brain’s activity. They just rejected his word like he was an overimaginative puppy and once again, they were sent home without a registration.
Tomorrow would be his fifth birthday. A whole year since Desmond-nii appeared. A whole year of trying—and failing—to convince anyone but Mama that Desmond was real.
And school was only getting harder the longer he went “without” a quirk.
That night, Izuku fell asleep thinking how tired he was of not being believed.
Then he opened his eyes and the white space greeted him once again.
But this time, beside Desmond... stood another man.