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When Izuku isn’t around, the house is as quiet as a tomb. Too still. Too stifling. As the years have gone by it’s eaten at Inko, gnawing her edges. Alone with her own thoughts all the worst things that could happen slither in mercilessly.
Inko always knew that she was a fretful mess. Her mother said it, Hisashi said it, and even the regular check-out clerk laughs about it at the grocery.
So, she knows how much she worries isn’t normal. The eerie silence of the apartment only fuels it. Sometimes it’s hard not to want Hisashi back. When dating she’d been so wrapped up in him that all her college friends had moved on. And now even he’s gone (because she was too needy, too clingy, and wouldn’t some space do us both good, dear?)
The neighbors take one look at her and see the lack of husband and her Quirkless child and assume. Not that she particularly wants to deal with those who don’t see how brilliant and bright Izuku can be.
To ease her mind she turns on the television. Years ago it was cartoons, embarrassing as it is to admit. The simplicity and loud colors brighten the room. And, well. They reminded her of Izuku, the warmest sun in her life.
As of last year, though, she’s been watching the news. Rarely do the stories ease her nerves, but all Izuku wants to talk about are heroes and hero fights. Not too much of a change since early childhood, but with far more frequency as his mentions of friends and classmates ceased.
Even then, lately he’s stopped talking much at all. Izuku hides in his room, scuttling in after school, head bowed. The dinner table is quiet and he only replies in clipped tones. He helps with clean-up, but instead of the fun they used to have he dashes through fox-swift, retreating to his hide-away once more.
Still, Inko watches the news. She’s tried to push him, but how much is too much? Her worrying already broke her marriage; she won’t let it break her child.
(Even though some awful part of her whispers that it already has.)
The news starts out mild, the few hero fights mentioned she presses into her memory. Things Izuku might note, might actually want to talk about. The cleaning goes quickly; the bills less so.
She’s half-way through when the reporter moves on from the light downtown clean-up story. His voice turns far more somber.
“Another tragedy today. This marks the fourth completed suicide in Mustufa this year, and by a grade school student. A note was found and is under review. Fears that bullying has increased as it is suspected the death ties in with anti-mutative Quirk prejudice. The others this past year were also suspected to be connected to Quirk discrimination, and in one case, Quirkless discrimination by the fellow students at their schools.”
Inko drops her pen, mouth hanging wide in shock. She whirls around to face the television, palms damp with sweat.
“...Now some further warning signs are: acting anxious or agitated, withdrawing, and isolation. Please remember the crisis line at…”
Static fills her ears.
...Is Izuku going through that? The thought fills her head until there isn’t any room left.
He hasn’t said anything but...he hasn’t been telling her anything.
The teachers at school, during conferences, have nothing to say either. They tell her Izuku is smart. Quiet. A bit of a loner.
They say very little else.
When it comes to parenting, Inko always has tried her hardest not to overwhelm Izuku. Her anxiety always makes it hard to tell if she’s being overprotective and going overboard.
Her failures loom over her, heavy and threatening.
But it does remind her of something.
There’s a pamphlet she’s hidden religiously on the top shelf of her room.
On Parenting a Quirkless Child
After scanning through what felt like hundreds of different types of literature, it’s the only one she’s found that doesn’t bring bile to her throat. The author is Quirkless, which soothed Inko when she found it.
She’s read the pamphlet more than probably normal, the words memorized from hours upon hours of pouring over the pages.
Inko tries to think of it when she’s like this, on the edge of breathless and trembling.
‘What if I’m doing something wrong’, a voice whispers,’ What if I’ve done everything wrong?’
The questions swirl around as she tugs her hair, sharp pangs of shame slicing through her. She’s tried to follow what it says but…
Let your child assume increasingly greater degrees of independence and responsibility.
Hasn’t she done that? Did it backfire? Was her misstep not stepping in earlier?
But she’s never wanted to smother Izuku the way she had Hisashi. He’d switched to once a month phone calls because of her pushiness and Inko never wants Izuku to feel that way.
Her hand smoothes over the bill she’s crinkled while in thought.
One last subheader lingers in her thoughts.
You won’t always get it right.
Inko is very sure she’s gotten it completely wrong.
She lets her head fall in her hands. Izuku will be home soon.
Inko hears Izuku come in the front door, quieter than she thinks an eight year-old should probably be. He offers no welcome. Her lips purse and she heads out of the kitchen area.
Izuku is hunched over his backpack but there are scuffs on his clothes. Dirt and grass too.
"Izuku?" She calls, something twisting in her gut. Izuku doesn't do horseplay anymore, from what she can tell. Hope shines dimly within that perhaps he's found someone to do so with.
He tenses and her frown deepens.
"Izuku, is everything alright?"
"Yeah, mom! Everything's fine!" He's obviously trying to sound chipper, but there's strain to his voice.
Izuku still hasn't turned around.
Inko crouches next to him and he turns his face away.
"Izuku..."
She cups his chin and tilts his face up.
A gasp slips out, impossible to stifle.
Deep mottled reds and purples paint Izuku's eye and down to his cheek, the eyelid swollen slightly. There's a scrape by his chin, another bruise blooming around the jawline.
Her hand trembles as it hovers above the injuries and she can't stop her lip from wobbling.
"Izuku, honey, what happened?"
He tries to duck his head again, but her hand is firm.
"Izuku please," the last time she took this sharp of a tone with him was when he was three and wouldn't stop putting his hand near the stove. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, like they always uselessly do when she's upset.
His eyes dart away from hers, "I just fell."
"Are you lying to me?" She chokes out, a lump in her throat. Izuku still isn't looking at her.
He swallows so loud she can hear it.
“No,” he says, but his voice wobbles the same way it did when he broke her favorite mug and tried to hide it.
The tears slip out, unbidden, from her eyes.
“Izuku, please don’t lie to me!” Her hand slips from his chin to cup his shoulder and he winces at the contact. He wriggles away and she lets him, shocked.
He hunches inward on himself and frantically says, “It’s nothing! Like I said, I just fell!”
Inko collapses, landing on her knees. The impact resonates throughout her body and she grits her teeth.
“Izuku...honey, if someone’s hurting you just tell me. I can-”
“No!” He says, loudly with tears welling in his eyes now, “I told you that I’m alright!”
Frustration bleeds into her voice and she slaps the floor, “You clearly aren’t! And I can tell you’re lying to me! Just tell me what’s wrong!”
“There’s nothing wrong!” He shouts, tears streaming down the dark purple bruise on his cheek.
She tries again, “I just don’t want you hurt!”
He sniffles, running his hand across his face. There are more bruises on his hand, she realizes. Stomach sinking, a lump forms in her throat. The carpet under her fingers catches on her nails when she digs in.
Finally Izuku snaps under her gaze, stomping his foot.
“I’m not weak and I’m not helpless!”
“Izuku that’s not-”
He spins around, rushing into his room and slamming the door. Her hand hovers in the air. Uselessly.
She slumps against the wall, head cradled in her knees.
Inko fucked up. Again.
Tears fall from her eyes but she stays silent. It’s clear she pushed too hard and too fast and now Izuku is upset. The bruises across his skin haunt her, the thought that someone would hurt her son, her only-
Whoever did it she wants to hurt.
Hate isn’t an emotion she’s used to having.
She lifts her head and cleans her face with her sweater.
Izuku's door creaks open. A small head of curly green hair pokes out, his tear-stained and bruised face peeking from below.
"Hey," he says, voice raspy.
"Hey," she replies, sounding no better.
He darts toward her, arms tight around her shoulders. She returns the gesture, clutching him as tight as she can.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair.
“I am too,” she says, clutching him even harder.
Izuku shakes his head, “No you were just worried, I wasn’t thinking.”
She sits there, holding him. He sits in her lap, only slightly too big. Inko doesn’t mind.
“Can you tell me what happened,” the words come out hesitant, trembling.
He sniffs. Inko traces feather-light circles on his back.
“Hanamura was getting bullied, because his Quirk is ‘girly’” He says, “I stepped in and they beat me up instead.”
“Izuku…”
Rearing back, he looks at her with eyes blazing with determination.
“They said I was useless, but Hanamura got away and nobody hurt him! So I wasn’t useless! I helped somebody!”
There are challenges your child will go through that you may never understand.
Gently, she takes hold of him again, running her fingers through his hair. She smiles, though it’s weak.
“I’m happy you helped someone, but I don’t want to see you hurt like this again, okay?”
He stiffens briefly, before melting into her arms.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you see me hurt again.”
A relieved breath almost punches its way out of her lungs. Hopefully he’ll grab and run with the next kid to get a teacher.
“You’d tell me if there was anything else wrong, right?” She asks, “I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Izuku runs his fingers through her hair.
“I love you too.”
Inko frowns at the lack of confirmation. Izuku seems to sense it though because he laughs a short soft laugh.
“Don’t worry,” he says, twisting her ends between his fingers. She smiles again, resting her head on top of his.
“Good,” she says, tension leaking from her body, “That’s good.”