Work Text:
Midoriya sat, his grip tightening as his mother’s weakened. He bit his lip as the tears fell.
“Mom,” he whispered. He watched as her empty eyes wandered around the room before finally settling on him. Whenever she looked at him, he felt his body go cold. The blankness and confusion in her face—she didn’t look like his mother.
“I love you mom,” Midoriya said. “I hope you sleep well, okay?” She let go of his hand and turned to look at the wall. Midoriya sighed. He walked to his makeshift bed next to hers on the floor.
The last two weeks had been hell for Midoriya. He had talked to Aizawa-sensei and All Might about him being absent from school for a few days. Aizawa had said that he needed his guardian’s approval, but after a short conversation with All Might, Midoriya convinced the former hero to sign off on his absence. Of course, All Might had pressed the issue of why Midoriya’s mother couldn’t sign for him, but Midoriya just told him that she wasn’t well.
That was all he had said.
Two weeks ago, Midoriya had gone to visit his mother at the hospital. She had been in the hospital for two months, and he visited whenever he could. Sometimes, he’d go after school, but most times, he left the U.A. dorms Friday night and stayed with her until early Monday morning, to which he would then walk to school and get ready there.
Two weeks ago, Midoriya sat with his mother when hospice came in. Midoryia Inko had been declining since her admittance, but the doctor told Midoriya that there was nothing more that the team could do for her in the hospital. That the best bet was for her to go into hospice at home. They said that they could send her medication home with him and that a hospice nurse would be out every other day to check on his mother.
Midoriya smiled at the doctor, telling her that he thought that’d be best.
The hospice team had gotten to their apartment before him and his mother, who rode in the hospital transport van. Hospice had set up a medical bed for Inko, and the transport driver helped transfer Inko from the hospital stretcher to the new bed. Midoriya had met the hospice nurse, who had explained to him that at this point, everything was comfort care. If she didn’t want the medication, then don’t give it to her. If she wants to sit outside in the sun, then let her. Midoriya couldn’t help but cry as the nurse talked to him, and she held him. She called him strong, and said that no child should go through the loss of their mother at his age.
Midoriya had grabbed his blanket and pillow from his room and slept on the floor of his mother’s room. Whenever she tossed or turned, Midoriya was by her side. Rarely, the boy slept. Whenever she had to go to the bathroom, Midoriya unfolded the wheelchair hospice had brought and pushed her to the bathroom. She never wanted to take a bath or shower, even though hospice had brought a bath chair.
Sometimes, Inko would say that she wanted food. Midoriya always asked her what she wanted. Sometimes she wanted Midoriya to make a dish, or sometimes she wanted a certain restaurant. Regardless of what it was, Midoriya figured out a way to get her the food she wanted. Watching Inko eat in her wheelchair tore apart Midoriya. Her hands were shaky, and she never ate more than a few bites. She’d always watch Midoriya intently, as if she didn’t know who he was. Sometimes, she’d reach out and hold his hand while she ate, other times, she’d watch the windows.
Inko often thought there was somebody outside the window. Midoriya always tried to close the blinds on the windows, only to get her to mumble out incohesive phrases in disagreement. Midoriya always just took a deep breath and told his mother that he loved her.
When she first came home with Midoriya, she could say what she wanted, and she would talk to Midoriya. She would come out to watch TV with him, and she would eat with him. She would try to walk with her walker, and she’d have tea in the morning with Midoriya. Every day that went by, those sentiments faded. She slowly stopped talking, she stopped drinking tea with Midoriya. She stopped eating, and she stopped walking.
The day that she refused to drink water, Midoriya started counting down the days he had left with his mother. Inko once told him that her uncle went nine days without water while he was in the hospital before he died. Midoriya hoped that his mother wouldn’t go that long without water. Already, her mouth was dry. Her lips were cracked and peeling, and he knew that that couldn’t have been comfortable.
Day five without water, Midoriya woke to his mother wailing. Midoriya sprung up from his spot on the ground and rushed to her side. He tried to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn’t answer. She just cried and cried until Midoriya noticed that she had soiled herself. With a quivering lip, Midoriya had pulled the walker to where he stood. He set the walker up behind himself so that he could hold his mother against his body, but that she could hold on to something behind him. He held in his tears as he undressed his mother and wiped her clean, and redressed her in new clothes. He fumbled to reach for the wheelchair to set her down and began to clean the bed and change the dressing.
Once he had remade the bed, he tucked her back in. She struck at him and yelled nonsense at him. Midoriya felt silent tears run down his cheeks as he told his mother that he loved her and that he wasn’t going anywhere.
On day six, the hospice nurse had come in. The nurse didn’t have much to say. Inko’s blood pressure was the lowest it had been, and her heart rate was exceedingly high for laying down all day. She wished Midoriya a good day and left.
Day seven, technically , day seven, at two in the morning, Midoriya woke. It was odd. His mother had made no noise, but he woke up calm. He was wide awake, as if he hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t move from his spot, out of fear he’d wake his mother. He just...listened.
He heard his mother take a long breath, and let it out slowly. He waited. He checked his phone.
02:32
He waited. He waited, and he waited, and oh god he waited.
There wasn’t another breath.
He stood up and turned the light on. He slowly made his way to his mother’s bed.
There was finally peace on her face.
Midoriya took his mother’s hand and kissed it. He smiled at her and brushed her hair out of her face and told her that he was happy she was finally at peace. That she was finally at rest. He told her he would be with her again soon. That he’d always be thinking of her and soon they would be reunited. He asked her to wait for him. He told her that he loved her.
He opened his phone and called the number for the funeral home he had picked. They gave him their condolences and informed him that someone would be out there in twenty minutes. Midoriya thanked them and hung up. He returned his gaze to his mother.
It felt like forever until the dispatch from the funeral home arrived. He politely asked Midoriya to leave the room, for his own sake, because moving the body over wasn’t the most gracious thing. Midoriya opened his mouth to say that he wanted to help, that he wanted to be there, but the words didn’t come. He simply nodded to the man and stepped out.
Midoriya stood outside the door and waited. When the door finally opened, Midoriya turned to see the stretcher being pushed out of the doorframe. A purple felted blanket lay upon his mother’s body. The man instructed Midoriya that, since it was a Saturday, that he’d get a call on Monday to come to the funeral home to prepare the services he wanted. Midoriya nodded and closed the door after the man.
The pain hit Midoriya like a train.
He slumped against the wall and slid down and broke apart. He cried and cried and cried. When he was finally able to get a breath in, he just cried again.
He sat there until the sun rose.
He wiped his eyes as his phone rang. The hospice nurse said that she’d come by today with a van and a transport team to pick up the equipment and to discard the unused medication. Midoriya simply hummed his acknowledgment and hung up. He didn’t move from his spot.
Hospice came and cleared out their equipment. The nurse hugged Midoriya and gave her condolences. Midoriya just nodded and watched the hospice team as they left.
He could feel One for All hum under his skin. Midoriya clenched and unclenched his fist, but it only seemed to make his heart hurt worse. He looked around the apartment.
“ Mom ,” he whispered. “ Mom, please come back. ”
He left and walked to the grocery store and bought a good amount of boxes. He counted his funds and looked online for the cheapest storage unit. Regardless of how much Midoriya hurt, he knew that he couldn’t afford the apartment, and he knew it’d hurt a lot more if all his mother’s belongings went with her, never to be seen again—
He stopped and cried. He was never going to see his mother again. She was gone.
Midoriya spent the day packing up their apartment. He cried whenever he saw something his mother used to love. Midoriya had the TV on for background noise, and when a commercial played for her favorite show he cried.
Midoriya cried a lot that day.
He packed and packed and packed. He didn’t sleep that night, working well into Sunday. He had cleared out the fridge and threw the food out that would have gone bad soon, and put the food that was fresh in an ice chest to bring to the dorms. He labeled a box of dried foods to go with him too.
He had gone through his mother’s closet and folded all of her clothes. He put her dirty laundry in a bag to take to the laundromat and set it aside. He picked up her favorite blanket off of the desk it was set on when the funeral home dispatch came. He held it tightly in his hands, and decided against packing it.
It was Sunday evening when he had packed most of everything. He decided against moving the couches into the storage unit; Midoriya knew that he wouldn’t be able to get the couches and mattresses to the unit himself. He listed them on a community buy/sell page and hoped that he got a response before he changed his mind.
When Midoriya finally sat down on his makeshift bed in the room he stayed in with his mother, he checked his phone. He had a few missed calls—two from Uraraka, one from Iida, and one from All Might. He saw that his group chat with Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, and Shinsou had a few new messages, but nothing that Midoriya cared to look at. Uraraka and Todoroki had messaged him if he was okay, and Bakugou said he was coming over thirty minutes ago—
Bakugou was coming over?
Midoriya’s mind flashed, and his body went cold. He felt his heart race and his mouth go dry. Breathe, he told himself. He couldn’t breathe—
The knock at his door made Midoriya freeze.
The verdant-headed boy stood, and almost on auto-piolet, answered the door.
“Kacchan—”
“Where the fuck have you been?” Bakugou barked. Midoriya flinched and took a step back. Apparently, Bakugou took that as an allowance of entrance. Midoriya held his breath as the blond stepped past him.
“ The fuck? ” he said. “You’ve been gone for two weeks because you’re packing?” Bakugou turned to look at Midoriya, angered confusion on his face. Izuku just stared at him.
“Well?” Bakugou asked. Midoriya couldn’t find the words to speak. Bakugou growled and looked around.
“Where’s Inko-san?” Midoriya froze. Then, he shattered.
Midoriya couldn’t hold back the tears that fell. He sobbed in front of Bakugou. Midoriya didn’t care if he looked weak, or fragile, or whatever Bakugou thought. He didn’t care.
“Deku…?” Bakugou’s voice grew softer. Midoriya rubbed his eyes with his arm and tried to catch his breath. He looked at Bakugou.
“She passed away,” he whispered. He watched as Bakugou’s eyes widened and his face fell. Midoryia felt another wave of tears threaten to come.
“ What? ” he asked, hushed. Midoriya hiccuped.
“She passed away on Saturday,” Midoryia said. Bakugou looked around. Midoriya watched as his childhood friend opened and closed his mouth, but said nothing.
“Does anyone know?” he finally asked. Midoryia shook his head.
“Deku, you didn’t tell anyone?” The tone in Bakugou’s voice was more concerned than accusatory. Midoriya looked away.
“I—” he stopped. “I didn’t know what to say. I—” He broke down again.
Midoriya cried to himself before he felt Bakugou’s arms around him. He felt Bakugou’s chin rest on his shoulder as the blond’s body shook. He was crying, too, Midoriya guessed.
They stood like that for a minute before Bakugou pushed away to wipe at his eyes. Midoriya looked to Bakugou and they both sighed.
“I’m—is it okay if I tell Mom?” Bakugou asked. Midoriya nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. Bakugou pulled out his phone.
“Have you told All Might?” Bakugou asked. Midoriya shook his head.
“No,” he said. Bakugou nodded.
“Do you want to tell him?” he asked. Midoriya shrugged.
“I’ll tell him eventually.”
Bakugou nodded and turned. Midoriya looked around the apartment and felt his eyes burn. He cried again.
Bakugou returned a few minutes later. Midoriya turned to look at the teen.
“Mom wants to know if you’ve eaten,” he said. Midoriya shook his head.
“I’m not hungry, tell her I said—”
“That wasn’t the fucking question, Deku,” Bakugou growled. Midoriya sighed.
“No, I haven’t, Kacchan.” Midoriya fiddled with his hands as Bakugou finished his phone call with his mother.
Midoriya would never get a phone call from his mom again—
He wept as Bakugou laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Is there anything you need help with?” he asked. Midoriya looked to Bakugou.
“I’m almost done,” he muttered. “I just need to finish packing the pans in the kitchen and finish up my room. Just need to pack my clothes and sheets in there.” Bakugou nodded.
“I’ll finish up the kitchen if you want to work on your bedroom,” he mumbled. Midoriya shook his head.
“You don’t need to help—”
“I wasn’t offering, fuckhead,” Bakugou growled. “I’m tellin’ you that I’ll do it.” Midoriya nodded.
“There are boxes in the kitchen—they’re already labeled.” Bakugou nodded and turned to start working on the kitchen. Midoriya took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Kacchan.”
“ Don’t, ” Bakugou mumbled. “Don’t thank me. I’ll come and get you when Mom gets here.” Midoriya nodded and turned to work in his room.
Midoriya had a sinking suspicion that time wasn’t normal. It felt as if he had been in his room for only a few minutes when Bakugou came in to tell him that Mitsuki-san was here. Midoriya nodded and finished packing the last of his sheets. He wiped his eyes and stood from where he was seated to walk to the kitchen.
Midoriya didn’t look up to Mitsuki-san right away. He felt another wave of tears fall before arms embraced him. Mitsuki’s calm voice was a contrast to her usual brashness, but appreciated nonetheless. She rubbed his back and mumbled soft words to the boy. He didn’t hear much of them, but they soothed him nonetheless.
She pulled away and smiled weakly at Midoriya.
“I stopped and grabbed some food, you look terrible, kiddo,” she said. Midoriya nodded. “I bought some yaki gyoza and some miso soup. Eat as much as you’d like.”
Midoriya said his thanks as Bakugou unpacked the food.
“The plates are packed already,” Bakugou mumbled, “but I found napkins we can use.”
“I’ll pull out some cups for the soup,” Midoriya said. Bakugou and Mitsuki nodded to him as he did so.
Mitsuki stood and looked around the apartment as the boys ate. Midoriya couldn’t help but feel guilty as he ate. His mom loved this restaurant, and it felt wrong to be eating without her here. He felt as though he shouldn’t be eating at all, if he was being honest.
Mitsuki ended up helping the boys finish up the apartment. Midoriya showed Mitsuki where the storage unit and funeral home were located, and she offered to drive him there the next day and to pay for the storage unit. Midoriya tried to convince her that she didn’t need to do that, but Mitsuki asked him to let her. She reminded Midoriya that his mother and herself were friends for a long time. Midoriya accepted her offer.
“Do you want to go back to the dorms? Or you can stay at our house tonight, if you’d like, Midoriya,” Mitsuki asked. Midoriya shook his head.
“I’d like to stay here tonight,” he said. “It’ll probably be my last time staying here.”
Mitsuki pulled him in for a hug one last time. “Alright, kiddo. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. You have my number, right?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Then call me whenever. I’ll be here at eight tomorrow to take you to the funeral home,” she mumbled. “After that, we can go to storage and get everything settled, okay kid?”
“Thank you, Mitsuki-san,” Midoriya bowed. She patted his shoulder.
“No need to be so formal, Midoriya. Stay safe, hun.”
Bakugou nodded to Midoriya as he and his mother left. Midoriya mouthed a quick ‘thank you’, but Bakugou only shook his head. Midoriya cringed as the door closed behind the two.
Alone again.
It was only six, but Midoriya couldn’t help the urge to lie down and sleep. He had nothing else to do, and he just felt...empty. He started walking to his mother’s room when his phone rang.
“Hello?” he questioned. His eyes widened at the phone.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa’s gruff voice said. “You haven’t responded to Uraraka at all since you’ve been gone. She hasn’t been able to give you your assignments,” he said. Midoriya choked.
“Uh, sorry sensei! I had my phone turned off, just family stuff! No need to worry about me. I should be back to school on Tuesday, I think! I’ll just get my schoolwork then and I’ll turn it all in before Friday—”
“Slow down, Midoriya,” Aizawa cut the boy off. “You don’t need to turn everything in before Friday, you’ll have a week starting the day you come back to turn all your assignments in, but I have no issue extending that to two weeks seeing that you have two weeks of work to catch up on.” Midoriya blinked. It’s really been two weeks. “Secondly, if you need to talk to Hound Dog when you get back, I’ll excuse you from homeroom to do that.”
“Thank you, Aizawa-sensei,” Midoriya mumbled. “I think I’m fine, though. I don’t need to talk to Hound Dog.”
“Suit yourself,” Aizawa grumbled. “You’ll be back Tuesday, then? Or should I wait until tomorrow to put you back into the system?”
“I’ll message Uraraka, but I’m pretty sure Tuesday.” Midoriya fumbled with the doorknob to his mother’s room.
“Please actually keep in touch with her this time, Midoriya. Have a good rest of your evening.”
“I-I will,” the teen mumbled. “You too, sensei.”
Midoriya hung up the phone and opened the door. A wave of sadness washed over him, and his breath caught in his throat. He shook his head and sat down on the floor.
He cried himself to sleep.
—
“Midoriya, my class is not the time for you to be sleeping.” Aizawa’s firm voice startled Midoriya. The boy’s head snapped up and he sat up straighter.
“I’m sorry, sensei.” He bowed his head at his teacher, who simply went back to the lesson. Midoriya heard a few snickers from his fellow classmates and felt shame cover his face. He also heard Bakugou hiss at a few of them to shut up. Midoriya sighed.
Midoriya simply stared at his notebook for the remainder of class. His pencil was held against the first line of the page, but none of what Aizawa said stuck with Midoriya. Midoriya couldn’t think, he was just there. He didn’t know what was going on around him, or how long things took.
The bell for lunch jolted him out of his thoughts. Midoriya looked around to his classmates who were pulling out their lunches or their money to go buy food. He caught Aizawa’s gaze, who stared with narrowed eyes. He sat down to grade work.
“Deku!” Uraraka’s voice pierced through Midoriya’s thoughts.
“You’ve been gone a while, Midoriya,” Todoroki said. Midoriya scratched the back of his neck.
“Uh, yeah, just some family stuff. I’m back now, though.” He smiled sheepishly at his friends.
“Did you already get all of your work, Midoriya? I can give you my notes if necessary!” Iida stepped forward, Midoriya cringed back.
“Aizawa-sensei said he’d give me my work after class today,” Midoriya said. “And I think I’ll be needing your notes, Iida. Thank you.”
“You were late to class today, was everything okay?” Uraraka said as she sat down. Midoriya shrugged, thinking back to the panic attack he had this morning with Mitsuki calming him down before driving him to U.A.
“Yeah, just slept in,” Midoriya chuckled awkwardly. Todoroki narrowed his eyes at the green-haired teen, to which Midoriya shrank in on himself.
The excuse seemed to fly with Iida and Uraraka, however, and the two were ready to move on to make new conversation. They talked about the training and assignments Midoriya had missed, along with some 1-A shenanigans. Midoriya only partly listened to the two—a part of him was lost. He didn’t know where his mind wandered off to, because he wanted to find it too.
It wasn’t long after that Aizawa called the class back into session, and his friends returned to their seats. Midoriya was thankful for that bit—he was getting overwhelmed by them. He felt bad for saying that, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone right now.
All he wanted was his mom.
Midoriya felt himself start to choke up in class, and he couldn’t help but put his head down and cry as quietly as he could. He felt stupid, and he felt weak, but he couldn’t help it. His thoughts consisted of his mother. How worried she’d be over her son if she knew how much he was hurting. How she’d make him his favorite meal and they’d watch shows and commercials with All Might just to make him feel better. How she always was by his side, even if she was hurting too.
“Midoriya, I’m not going to say this again—” Aizawa started. Midoriya looked up to his teacher with a vain attempt to cover his face from his classmates. Aizawa’s eyes widened minutely and he cleared his throat.
“Step out if you need to, Midoriya.”
Midoriya nodded and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to his teacher before rushing out of the room. He could practically feel his classmates’ eyes boring into the back of his head. He crouched down next to his classroom door and shrunk in on himself.
He felt waves of emotion run through him. Emotions that Midoriya couldn’t keep up with. Sadness, panic, anger, grief, guilt, paranoia, loneliness, fear—
The tears kept on falling. They fell harder than anything before. Midoriya felt his body tense up as his breath hitched, and One for All ran through him like a swarm of wasps.
He was going to break.
He was going to break.
He was going to break now—
His body grew sore and tired as his quirk ran rampant inside of him, yearning to get out.
Midoriya didn’t know how long he sat there, and to be quite frank, he didn’t really care. It was better to be here in a panic, not fully understanding the things around him nor comprehending his own mind than to be stuck with himself and the thoughts of his mother.
All he could hear were his panicked breaths. In, out, in, in, in, in, out, out, out, in.
Midoriya wasn’t certain that he was actually breathing. Hyperventilating, yes, but breathing? Not so sure.
Midoriya looked up out of the crook of his arms as he felt a tapping on the floor in front of him. The tears in his eyes blocked most of his view, but the dark silhouette was what helped him to recognize his teacher. Midoriya held his breath.
“ —Midoriya, ” Aizawa mumbled, “can you hear me, kid?”
Midoriya just grumbled in response before closing his eyes.
“Midoriya, I need you to look at me,” Aizawa said. “Can you do that for me?”
Midoriya lazily opened his eyes to stare at Aizawa. Midoriya wished that he could encompass the nonchalant and stoic features of his teacher. Then he wouldn’t be in this position.
“Do you need to go see Hound Dog?” his teacher asked. Midoriya shook his head.
“What do you need?” Aizawa leaned forward. Midoriya felt his lip quiver.
“ Mom ,” he muttered. Aizawa nodded.
“Then let’s get you up so you can call her—”
“I can’t,” Midoriya mumbled. The boy watched as his teacher’s eyes narrowed.
“ She died. ”
Midoriya watched as his teacher’s face dropped in shock. Eyes opened wide, mouth slightly agape, skin turned pallor. It had only lasted a second before Aizawa composed himself once again, but any traces of stoicness were just a facade over worry, and boy did it show.
The two sat in silence for a moment, and Midoryia watched as a million thoughts ran across Aizawa’s face. Midoriya felt his heart stop and his stomach drop.
“What do you want to do? I can excuse you from class and you can come and pick up your classwork after, or you can go back to class,” Aizawa asked. Midoriya looked the sullen man in the eyes.
“C-can I go back to class after English?” Midoriya mumbled. “I don’t want anyone to think something is wrong. I—”
Aizawa sighed. “Of course Midoriya,” Aizawa grabbed the boy’s hands. “Is there anywhere you want to go?” Midoriya felt a shock through his body at the foreign tenderness of his homeroom teacher’s touch. He had a feeling—unsure if that feeling was uneasy or grateful—that his homeroom teacher wasn’t leaving him any time soon.
The roof was Midoriya’s initial response, however, he didn’t want to see his teacher's response.
“I don’t know.” Midoriya looked down at his hands, which were grasped tightly by Aizawa. “Not my room.” The older man nodded.
"We can walk around campus if that'll help you clear your head," Aizawa said softly. Midoriya nodded minutely as his teacher stood up. Midoriya shakily took his teacher's hand and rose, as well.
"Did English already start?" the verdant-haired boy asked. Aizawa hummed.
"It did. Present Mic was the one who told me you were out by the door. He tried to get your attention." Aizawa put his hand on Midoriya's back as they started to walk. Midoriya cringed and the thought.
The two walked in silence around U.A., and Midoriya noticed that Aizawa-sensei was directing him through hallways that weren't commonly used by students. He was thankful for that.
"Do you mind if I ask some questions?" his teacher asked. Midoriya shrugged limply.
"Do I have to answer them?"
"Not if you don't want to, I just want to have a better understanding of what is going on." Midoriya nodded.
"I'll answer what I can."
Aizawa sighed in what seemed like relief. "Does anyone know?"
"Bakugou and his parents," Midoriya said. He saw Aizawa raise a brow in his peripheral.
"Did you tell them about what happened?" Aizawa pushed gently between Midoriya's shoulder blades to direct him to the right.
"No. The day after she—" Midoriya stopped to choke back a sob. "—Bakugou said that he was coming over. I was packing up the apartment and he walked in. His mom came a little afterward."
Aizawa hummed. "Why were you packing up?"
Midoriya caved into himself a bit. "I wanted to put her stuff into storage. The last of my money went into paying for her rent, food she could eat, and storage. I had to tell the apartment manager what was going on. They told me we had until the end of the month, but if I needed an extension that they would work something out."
Midoriya could feel his teacher's grasp grow tighter. The teen glanced to the side, and his teacher looked stressed, more so than when a dangerous situation was about. Midoriya felt shame flood through his body.
"Were you taking care of her the full time you were gone?" he asked. Midoriya nodded.
"I went to visit her in the hospital the Sunday before I called out, and they explained to me that there was...nothing else—" Midoriya stopped walking and clenched his fists at his side. He grit his teeth and tried to fight back tears.
"They sent her home with me and some hospital supplies, like a breathing machine and a hospice bed. A nurse came every few days to check her levels and help me with her medication." Midoriya wasn't sure if his teacher could understand him at this point, through the tears, the mumbling, and the shaky voice, he wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't.
"You took care of her by yourself? " Aizawa's voice portrayed what Midoriya could only perceive as shock. The boy nodded.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"...didn't want anyone to worry. Didn't want people to think I was weak," he said softly. He jumped slightly as Aizawa stopped in his tracks.
"Losing a parent does not make you weak, Izuku," he said firmly. "You should never have to go through something like that alone." His voice grew softer the more he spoke.
"I'm not mad at you for any of the choices you made. I know that the loss of someone close can change everything in the world around you," Midoriya saw hurt in the man's dark eyes, "I understand if you don't feel comfortable going to Hound Dog, or any of your peers. Please know that I can only do so much, but I will help you in any way that I can."
Midoriya felt the tears falling down his face intensify.
“ Sensei… ”
At the edge of his vision, he saw Aizawa bend down to meet his gaze.
“Yeah, kid?” he answered. Midoriya choked back a sob.
“Can I p—please hug you?” Izuku cringed at how small his voice seemed. He heard Aizawa sigh before he felt warmth surround him.
“You can get through this kid, and if you need me here, we can get through this together.” Aizawa’s hushed voice said. Midoriya nodded.
“It just feels like...like there’s a hole in my heart,” he whimpered. Aizawa nodded.
“I won’t lie to you, that feeling never goes away. What I can tell you, is that you’ll learn to accept it.” Aizawa pulled away to look at the boy. “I believe in you, Midoriya. Heroes get hurt, too. It doesn’t make you weak. I know your mother will be proud to see the hero you become.”
Midoriya sobbed as he held his teacher closer.
He’d be the best hero there was so that he could save his mom, just like she saved him.