When the voices start to whisper, Midoriya mumbles. He mumbles scrambled messages and cries of help from voices that can't speak. He mumbles apologizes the world will never hear and names that have long since been forgotten. He mumbles the pleads of those long since past begging. He mumbles, and mumbles, and mumbles.
There are too many voices to properly intake their words. Too many to pass messages for. Too many that have words they can no longer say. Too many inside his head.
Sometimes, the voices will close off, silent, for a few minutes, as if mourning an invisible loss. When that happens, Izuku mourns too. Mourns a past he will never discover, mourn a thousand souls he'll never know, mourn a thousand wishes he'll never grant.
That's why he wants to be a hero. Being a hero means discovering the past of thousands. Being a hero means making sure those thousands have a future. Being a hero mans knowing each and every one of them. Being a hero means making sure every wish is granted, no matter how small. It means just being there, to save, to speak, to listen. To do everything for those who can do nothing. To make every big thing feel small. To make people who feel small realize how they tower over the world. Even if it's all lies. Even if HE'S a lie. At least it'll make someone feel better, stronger, for a tiny bit. All the people need is that tiny bit. It's all he needs, after all. A tiny bit of silence, of an uninterupted peace he knows will not last, a bit of hope that perhaps the voices had settled. A tiny bit was all he will ever need.
But, maybe there was another reason. A selfish, terrible reason that made him burn with hot, ugly shame. Something that made his heart of gold melt away with the scorching heat of his disappointment. He wanted, sometimes above saving others, to prove them all wrong. To prove that he was not the snotty, quirkless crybaby they all thought him to be. To prove he had a quirk, because he thought there was no was that the voices weren't a quirk. A cursed quirk, yes, but one that filled him with a bight determination to make sure the voices could settle, or at least, not be joined by a thousand other voices, whispering in a fear-filled panic. He would finally prove that he was a hero.
And when that happened, he would scream it at the top of his lungs. Scream like the voices never dared to do. Scream to his dear mother, with eyes filled with worry, looking down at him. Scream to his childhood friend who, even with his temper filled soul, would never be able to push his down again.
The story would've ended hear, a boy with his head too high in the clouds, unable to understand that the world would forever slip free of his grasp. But, it didn't. No, ladies and gentlemen, the story had just begun. A hero with a heart too open and a head that pounded with too similair memories made sure of it. Armed a manic spirit with the firepower to turn the world into putty and shape it as he so wished. He had given a child driven by thousand others the power to rule the world.
Izuku didn't disappoint.
He reached far, and so did his inner voices. They went from manic whispers lurking in the midst of his thoughts to panicked screams overtaking everything in his mind. Sometimes, just sometimes, they would quiet down to a crowd of uncomfortable murmurs. Those were the times where retreating into his mind became common practice once again. When his murmering could finally come to a stop
And sometimes, the screaming would get so deafeningly loud that he would retreat out, out to the heat of battle, to the quiet of an abandoned field. And on nights like these, to the common room.
It was quiet, eerily so when comparing it to the riot in his head. He had his small, muscled body huddled beneath a mountain of blankets and pillows. He muffled his mumbling, hoping not to wake anyone up in this cursed hour. And he didn't, someone had already awaken on their own. That someone was the local insomniac, Shinsou, who had stumbled his way downstairs to find the greenette mumbling away. It wasn't that surprising, the entire class was plagued with nightmares. There was always someone up and about in the dead of the night. The really startling thing, for Shinsou, were the few words he caught in Midoriya's storm of mumbling.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it..." Midoriya had his lip caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It wasn't me... I only wanted to help.." He had his palms pressed against his ears. Shinsou, standing awkwardly by the doorway could only flinch as more apologizes poured out of his friend's open mouth, all seemingly unrealated. He wanted to help, he really did. That's what a hero does, right? But...now, Shinsou wasn't a hero, he was Izuku's friend. And it was obvious that Izuku needed his space.
So Shinsou turned, and swiftly left. He could handle this tomorrow. Midoriya would need the night to himself. You can't grant everyone's wishes, after all.