In a world teeming with heroes and villains, your family was spectacularly average. Your parents were a couple of quirkless nobodies who met, fell in love, and were perfectly content to live out their humdrum lives in relative peace with their little bundle of joy.

Growing up in a quirkless household, you didn't have much money, but there was never a lack of love in the home. Your parents told you that you didn't need a quirk to be special, that you were amazing and perfect, just being you. You adored them so much, always doing what you could to show them that, even though you were so young. Helping mama in the kitchen and in her garden, gifting her flowers you found while playing outside. Bringing papa one of his beers special sodas when he had a hard day at work and just listening as he vented about his adult problems that you didn't quite understand.

Still, you thought, there had to be something more you could do for them!

One day, you and mama were meandering through the shopping district when she stopped suddenly at a shop window. Her hand squeezed your own a little tighter and she made a wistful sound as she gazed at an elegant dress on display. Her eyes were glued to the beautifully embroidered bodice and carefully tailored hemline, but her face fell when she noted the price tag.

"My, it's beautiful, isn't it?" She murmured. "We could never afford something like that, but a girl can dream can't she?"

A girl can dream?

You pictured it in your mind, and the image came to you easily. You could see it clear as day. Your mama wearing that dress in the shop window, looking radiant and free and so happy. You wanted her to see it too! Your tiny hand squeezed hers tightly. You looked up at her with the biggest smile, but the sight you were greeted with made your little heart fill with dread.

Mama's face was blank, her eyes closed, and she swayed precariously on her heels before falling over onto the sidewalk with a sickening thud. Viscous red blood began to pool around her cracked skull, and no matter how much you screamed or cried or begged, she did not wake up.

By the time your father showed up at the hospital and heard the doctors' explanation of the situation and your newly manifested quirk, you had run out of tears. Staring at your mother's comatose form hooked up to a series of machines beeping rhythmically left you drained beyond belief. You were just nodding off when your father's pitched cries rang out in the relatively quiet operating room, startling you. You had never heard him raise his voice before.

"That's impossible!" He was shouting at the hospital staff. "Her mother and I are quirkless! She was normal when I left for work this morning. There's no way—"

"Sir, our quirk detection system never lies," the doctor replied with a practiced, reserved cadence. "There are many cases in which quirks can be recessive, skipping generations, or even mutations—"

"My wife," your father's voice had never sounded so broken, and it made you shrink in on yourself. "What about my wife?"

Your hands clenched into fists, itchy and restless in the latex gloves the staff had provided you with. You were tired of hearing this. You were so tired. Belatedly, your ears registered the words coma and deep sleep . A deep sleep sounded really good right now. Maybe, in a twisted and roundabout way, you'd done a good thing?

From the way your father threw himself at your mother's still form, trembling with choked sobs and pained cries and whimpers of her name— you determined that it was not a good thing you had done after all.

You're not sure how long he stayed like that, clutching her and pleading desperately for her to wake up, but you forced yourself to stay awake. Despite your heavy eyelids and nodding head, you forced yourself to watch, to hear, to burn this into your tear drained retinas.

You did this to mama.

You did this.

Eventually his breathing slowed, and his wails subsided. With great effort, he pried himself away from her slumbering body, smoothing her hair and caressing her face one last time before turning away. When you met his gaze, for a split second, the dark look in your father's eyes was a mixture of swirling emotions that utterly paralyzed you. He was practically unrecognizable.

"I'm sorry, papa," you whispered. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt mama… I just wanted her to see what I saw."

To his credit, your father did a decent job at stamping down the loathing in his expression, but it is much more difficult to dispel it from his heart. The ride home is quiet, and the gentle rocking of the beat up old station wagon lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

***

The years that follow are a dull blur.

Your father takes on a second and a third job in an effort to keep up with your mother's medical expenses. Sometimes he has to choose between paying the light bill or keeping her stabilizing machines plugged in. So sometimes your small home is a dark and empty place physically as well as emotionally. On rare occasions, you would be forced to go hungry so that her feeding tubes could remain connected. Anytime he wasn't working, your father sat dutifully by her bedside. He never outright blamed you for the accident or her condition, but he didn't have to verbalize it. The cold emptiness in his eyes and twitch of his lip whenever he saw you said more than words ever could.

The time stretched longer and longer between your hospital visits until you stopped going altogether. You tell yourself it's because there's no point. The reality is that seeing your mother lying there makes you hate yourself and deep, deep down, a part of you begins to resent her too.

At least she got to rest.

To dream of a better world.

You do what you can to pick up the slack and fill her void, but you soon realize that cooking and cleaning was only a minuscule part of the comfort that she provided. The garden falls into disarray, and you find yourself sitting amongst the many dead plants when your mood is particularly dismal. You do your schoolwork with a yawn and try not to flinch when a classmate asks about the thick leather gloves you never seem to take off. Or why you're always alone on Parents' Day.

But you are tired. You are always, consistently, perpetually tired.

***

High school isn't much different than middle school. Teachers cycle through the classroom, subjects bleed together, and the chatter of your classmates during breaks leaves you feeling lethargic. Much to your teachers' irritation, you frequently nod off in your seat at the back of the class. Still, whenever they awake you with a question about the coursework in an effort to embarrass you, your answers are correct, if a little slurred from sleep. However, this only seems to make them all the more aggravated with you.

"You're bright, but don't think for a second that your university professors will tolerate this sort of behavior!" Your home room teacher admonishes you one day.

You scoff at the very idea of being able to afford a higher education and rub the sleep from your eyes with a heavy yawn, gazing out the window.

***

There's a particular afternoon that you fall asleep at your desk, remaining there long after classes end for the day. Although you don't dream, sleeping is one of the few times your body and mind feel truly at peace. That is, until you feel a strange anxiety ripple through your slumbering form. Your nerves alight, and you get a sense that something very… wrong is about to occur.

Your eyes blink awake, and you find your desk surrounded by three of your male classmates sneering down at you in the late afternoon sunlight. Even groggy with the remnants of sleep, you recognize the look in their gazes to be something predatory and wholly unpleasant. You rise from your seat and wordlessly begin gathering your things.

"Tch , Ichiru, your loud ass mouth breathing woke her up," one of the boys complains about his heavyset comrade.

"Hahhh, it would've happened eventually," the chubby one shrugs with indifference. "Plus, I like to look a girl in the eyes when I break her down."

You pause at his lewd tone of voice, grimacing with distaste, but this only encourages them.

"I heard from a guy who went to the same middle school as you that you've got mouths on your hands," said the third boy, practically salivating as he spoke. "Is it true? It is, isn't it?"

"That way you could service all three of us at once, right?" Ichiru panted, reaching for your gloved hands. "Take 'em off!"

It all happened so fast. His sweaty palms tugged at your leather gloves. You shouted in protest, but the other two boys grabbed your arms and restrained you so quickly. Your school uniform had long sleeves, but sweat formed on your brow at the situation.

"You stupid pervs!" You clenched your fists, trying to angle your hands away from them. "Don't touch me!"

"Ehhh??" the male on your left was in disbelief. "Summon your extra mouths or we'll just take turns using the one on your stupid face!"

You couldn't believe this was happening. Someone had started a filthy rumor about you, and it'd sent these three into a horny hormonal frenzy. And your gloves were off! Gods, what if you touch one of them? You feel your throat closing up, and your heart beats wildly in your chest.

It's going to happen again.

Just like with mama, it's going to happen again!

"Ohh, look at her panic," Ichiru moans with sick pleasure and reaches for your hands. "Show us your mouths! Show us—"

You scream your dissent, but it's too late. His hands, cold and clammy, grasp yours before his face goes slack. His beady eyes flutter closed and he wobbles unsteadily.

No. Not again. You refuse!!

With all your strength, you stomp on one of your assailant's feet, and the boy loosened his grip on you enough for you to wrench yourself free from the other one. You dive forward as the heavyset brute plummets to the floor, hands moving to cradle his head carefully just before impact. You both hit the floorboard with a thud, and your heart has never been louder in your ears as you try to rouse him.

You're shaking him roughly, urging him awake, and the other two boys have backed up from you both in fear now, and you can't help the way your mother's crumpled body forces its way up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your memories right now. It's unwelcome and it's unwarranted but it's there , bright and crisp on the forefront of your brain as your body and mind stews in the parallels, tortures you with the utter déjà vu of it all.

You did this.

"Please wake up," you're begging again, and you can see mama's cracked skull so clearly once more, can almost smell the blood. "Please—"

"What did you do to him?!"

"PLEASE WAKE UP!!" you smack him harshly, and all three of his chins recoil.

And miraculously, he bolts upright with a stuttering gasp. You feel a weight, heavy as he is himself, lift from your shoulders. Then he scrambles backwards away from you, the screech of desks and chairs wailing as he pushes them back too in an effort to get away from you. As if you were the one intending to violate him.

"You killed her?" He speaks, and it knocks the air from your lungs as powerfully as a blow to the gut. "Your own mother?"

Somehow he knows. He saw .

The realization tears you asunder. You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you. It seems pointless to say no, didn't kill her, but she's been in a coma for ten years. It was an accident feels all too damning, even though it was, it was an accident.

So instead you snatch your leather gloves from the floor and hastily place them back on your hands. The venomous look you cast down upon the boys makes them tremble, and you think one of them soils himself.

"Next time, when a girl tells you not to touch her, you should listen."

They scurry out of the room, shouting over their shoulders how your reputation will be completely ruined by this time tomorrow. A yawn rips through you as you shoulder your bag, wondering distantly how much of a rep you had to begin with.

As you exit the school, your mind is listless, and you don't realize where your feet lead you until you're standing before the hospital.

"Ah, it's been a while," the nurse at the desk says, not unkindly. "You can go on up."

You still remember the way to your mother's gurney, and she looks the same way that she did last time that you were here. Hauntingly beautiful, frozen in time as machines beep and hum in the background. There's a well of emotions that springs forth at the sight of her face, and it takes all of your strength to keep your composure.

Why did I come here?

Tentatively, after a quick glance around for wandering nurses, you remove your gloves. The hospital's cold and sterile air hits your palms, bristles your fingers, but you don't draw back. Instead you rack your brain in order to summon a happy memory, a time when your family was warm and united and full of vibrant energy.

It was Spring. The air was just a little sweeter as you sat in the garden with your parents, hands and knees buried in the rich, earthy soil. Your papa was pulling weeds while your mama planted hyacinths and lilies. A dandelion was grasped in your tiny fingers before you blew gently on the weed, dispersing the seeds into a cloud that drifted on the gentle wind. The dandelion seeds caused your papa to go into a sneezing fit, and mama laughed and laughed, harder than you'd ever heard her laugh before. Or since.

It was a good memory, and you were glad that you could still recall it. Holding the image in your head, you reached out to your mother's expressionless face. Maybe you could give her this memory, give her a happy dream to bask in while she slept. Perhaps one day she would wake and end your living nightmare, and your family could be whole again, happy again.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

You flinched and whirled around, meeting your father's scathing glare. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he clutched a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, no doubt to replace the wilting ones in the vase by your mother's bedside. His eyes were glued to your hand, bare from its glove.

"I-I was just trying to help—"

"Help?!" He snatched you up by the shoulder with a bruising grip and all but tossed you out of the room. "I told you to never take those gloves off outside. You're in no position to help anyone! Don't you ever try to touch my wife again!"

Your wife?

She's my mother. I'm your daughter!

You shove your hand into your glove and take off running out of the hospital, and you don't stop running until you make it home. The tears don't stop coming until you're sound asleep in bed.

***

About a year later, you're walking to the local grocery store, cutting though the usual alleyway to avoid the heavy afternoon foot traffic. You yawn groggily.

High school graduation was coming up soon, and you had to figure out your next move. Maybe you should get a job application while you're at the store. The faster you can save up money, the faster you can move out on your own. Even with how little you saw each other, living with your father had grown increasingly difficult. Suddenly you heard a choked scream that freezes you on the spot. Peeking around the corner, you have to cover your mouth to smother the yelp threatening to escape at the scene unfolding before you.

There's a green haired young man about your age, being surrounded— no, invaded and enveloped by some sort of… sentient black sludge? It has to be a villain or a quirk of some sort, and it's slowly forcing its way inside of his mouth while he thrashed violently in futile resistance.

What the hell?! Where are the heroes—?

"Just relax, kid," the sludge groans out. "I need to use your body."

Instantly, your mind flashes back one year, when those three pigs cornered you with the intent to use your body, your mouth, for their own disgusting desires. And something you can't quite name compels you. Your feet are moving before your brain can even think to send the signal to stop. Your glove is between your teeth, wrenching your hand free as you sprint as fast as you can.

Previously, your quirk had only ever been activated on accident. After your father caught you in the hospital a year ago, you'd never even dared to imagine using your quirk on someone on purpose. Not until now.

"You goddamn sick bastard!" You growled, placing your palm onto the sticky black sludge. "How would you like it if someone violated you, huh?!"

And the well of your mind springs forth, spouting off images of this sludge filth being frozen and shattered into a million pieces, cast off into the ocean to dilute and dissolve into nothingness, being crushed and blended into a frothy, lifeless state. The black mass trembles and expels itself from the coughing, spluttering boy before collapsing in an oozing heap on the ground.

With great care, you used your gloved hand to extract the young man from the remnants of sticky goo and pull him a few feet from the scene. You pat him on the back until his wheezing subsided.

"Are you okay?"

There was a smattering of freckles across his flushed cheeks, his lips red and swollen and slightly drooling from the recent abuse. He was red faced and tear stricken, but he gazed at you with such starry eyed admiration in his bright emerald irises that your heartbeat stuttered in your chest. Cute, was your first thought, but you stamped it down violently. There had to be something utterly depraved about you to find him attractive in such a ruined state.

"Y-you saved me," he choked out in awe. "You're… a hero."

Hero?

Your eyes, normally half-lidded with drowsiness, grew wide and you shook your head quickly, despite the warm feeling that spread throughout your body like honey. "No, no, I'm not anything like that—"

"You are!" He insisted, still with that wonderstruck look. "You didn't have to help me, but you saved my life."

You… helped?

"Yeah…" For the first time in a long time, you smiled genuinely. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Just then, a deep, booming voice calls out. "Everything will be fine, because I'm here!"

And, as if this day couldn't get any more eventful, the Number One hero landed right in front of you two, sporting his signature grin. Huh, it really did set you at ease.

"I-it's All M-Might!" The boy squeaked beside you, tittering with excitement.

"Number One," you started, tugging your glove back on. "That sludge thingy attacked this guy. It's sleeping now, so you've got an opening to finish it off."

"You knocked it out?" The Pro Hero asked in surprise.

Before you could respond, the greenette piped up. "She totally saved my life!! It was really amazing!"

"It's what anyone would've done," you said.

"No," All Might placed a hand on your shoulder. "It's what a hero would've done. I'll take care of things from here, young ones!"

There's that word again. Hero… why does that one little word make you feel so whole?

"Right!" You two said in unison, getting out of the splash zone just as All Might unleashed a Texas Smash on the sludge villain, splattering the black goop to bits.

The boy murmured almost imperceptibly to himself as the two of you exited the alleyway, your own mind uncharacteristically buzzing with activity. Usually this was around the time of day where you'd be clamoring for a nap, but there was no way you could sleep anytime soon with your veins still pumped full of adrenaline. Before long the alleyway opened up to reveal the busy street ahead, and you turned to head off in the direction of the grocery store.

"W-wait!" The young man called out, and his cheeks flushed deeply when you turned. "I-I almost forgot t-to thank you… for saving me…" he bowed deeply. "So thank you!!"

That warm honeyed feeling in the pit of your belly intensified, spreading to your fingers and toes. It was almost euphoric, and you allowed yourself a moment to marinate in the sensation, so as not to ever forget.

"You're welcome," you said sincerely. "I'm really glad you're alright."

The two of you waved goodbye and went your separate ways. You felt as if you were on cloud nine for the rest of the day. The uneasy tension you'd felt about your plans post graduation faded away. Deep down, you knew it was a long shot, but you'd be doing yourself a great disservice if you didn't at least try to pursue this dream.

You laughed softly at yourself at the idea. For the first time since your quirk manifested, you actually had a dream to call your own. And you were willing to do whatever it takes, to go beyond, in order to become a hero.

////////////////////////////////////////////////

Quirk : Dreamcast; can induce deep sleep into a living target upon physical contact and implant dreams as well as nightmares; heightened awareness while sleeping; enhanced motor skills when sleepwalking

Drawbacks : tends to be drowsy all the time, and prolonged quirk usage can lead to full on slumber; never dreams :(