Chapter Text
Izuku has always been a different kid.
Inko knows this very well.
She’s always had this feeling about him. Before he was even born, Inko knows there was something off about him. And she’s enraptured by this fact. She doesn’t have any reasons, nor does she understand why she feels this way, but she knows it to be true. A startling clarity sets into her bones and she accepts it quietly and continues.
It’s why when she gives birth to him, she isn’t surprised when he doesn’t cry. He comes into the world quietly, an unnatural stillness hangs in the air at his arrival. The hospital monitor beeps and the doctor and nurses congratulate her, but all she can do is focus on her baby boy. His white hair and doe green eyes stared back at her and she rocked him, gently back and forth in her arms, quiet and content.
“Ma’am?” The hospital door opens to reveal a nurse. She never tears her eyes away from her baby and continues to smile, taken by him. “We have the birth certificate. We just wanted to know the name you want for him,” she says softly.
“Izuku.” She says it without any thought. She doesn’t know where the name comes from. What it means or how it falls from her lips with a practiced sort of ease one could only gain by using it many times before.
“Would you want the last name to be…” her voice trails off, and though she doesn’t say it, Inko can hear his name loud and clear.
She shakes her head and says, “Midoriya.” Her name. Her family name.
The nurse doesn’t say much afterward. She nods and fills out the paperwork, her pen filling the air with scratches and tears. Inko faintly registers her leaving, the door quietly clicking closed behind her.
Inko smiles at Izuku again and speaks, “You’re destined for so much. For so much more.” She realizes she doesn’t know what more is, but she knows it to be true. Like many other things in her life.
Days pass and they arrive home. Izuku is as quiet as ever. He doesn’t say anything or make a noise. He only ever watches the world with those bright green eyes. She can see something flicker underneath them, a feeling mixed in with those green orbs but isn’t quite sure what. She takes care of him as best as she can. Trying to be careful and considerate of a child who she can’t quite understand. She sees him cry sometimes. They’re never the loud cries or sobs other babies do, but a silent glassy-eyed one that, over time, she becomes privy to.
Days turn into months. Months turn into years. Izuku stays the same for the most part. He learns to crawl, then to walk. He never says anything and Inko doesn’t push it. He’s expressive enough with his hands and understands her, so she speaks to her song in silence. His eyes and arms are all she needs.
He is four when he speaks for the first time. He’s watching cartoons one day and she comes over and watches with him. He looks engrossed, eyes wide with curiosity and adoration, and says, “All Might.” Inko short circuits but goes wide-eyed when she realizes he just talked. She cheers and Izuku looks at her like she’s grown a second head but she does it anyway, her laughter filling the quiet little apartment.
He starts to speak more after that. It’s never much or particularly expressive, but he talks with her and that is all she can ask for. He becomes somewhat of a hero fanatic. He often says hero names to her and she goes to buy figurines the next day. He starts drawing them in notebooks. A colorful scrawl and collection of lines that she hangs on the fridge until she has to make room for the next one.
He is six when he starts elementary. She watches him stand away, aloof. A blonde boy comes up to him and rambles. Inko isn’t sure why he did but she’s happy all the same. She watches as he pulls Izuku to a floor of toys and talks while Izuku only watches. Over time, Izuku becomes more expressive and Inko learns that his name is Katsuki, and a lot like his mother Mitsuki, he’s loud.
It’s around the age of eight when the topic of quirks comes up. Izuku’s ecstatic and Inko smiles and listens to him ramble on.
“I could get a telekinetic quirk like you. Or maybe an evolved form. Did you know quirks can-”
“Izuku,” she says softly. “Slow down.”
He giggles. “Yes, mom.” He continues to divulge all the information about quirks he knows and how they can change from parent to child. Person-to-person. She sets the table as she listens, humming along.
“Hey.” It comes out breathless, likely because of his wordy ramble. “What was dad’s quirk?”
She nearly drops the plate she’s holding, her body seizing up at the question. It’s the first time in years she’s thought of him, much less been asked about him. She realizes, belatedly, that she doesn’t know. She also realizes she doesn’t know much about the man at all. All she has is a name and a face to put to him, and the memories of the time they spent together.
“A fire quirk.” It’s a lie but a small white one. It’s a lie she hopes will be harmless, for now, and forever.
Izuku’s eyes widen and he yells, “Cool!” He starts again to list everything he knows about quirks and how a fire quirk, in particular, can mix with a telekinetic one.
A year passes and no sign of a quirk shows. Izuku becomes discouraged and Inko tells him that he could be a “late bloomer,” and his worry shifts into relief then one of lingering excitement. The other kids treat him no differently and accept him as they once did. Things continue as they were.
He turns ten and the conversation is brought back up again. Izuku is worried now and Inko hates to see him that way, so she sets up an appointment for a quirk examiner a few months away.
Days before the date, he sprints into the kitchen, face a paragon of excitement.
“Mom. I got my quirk!”
“That’s wonderful honey.”
He points at his hair and it is then that she notices a butterfly nesting in his white curls. It is not ordinary. Its body is completely black, completely absent of color. It is a stark contrast to its wings, a beautiful mix of colors that look almost like stained glass.
“It’s a butterfly,” he states, the smile never leaving his features. “Doesn’t it look cool?”
“It does honey,” he says. Then, a bit worried, she asks,” What does it do?”
“I don’t know.” It comes out soft and honest, and Izuku doesn’t look unhappy. Just proud. “A lady in a dream told me my powers would come when they were ready.”
“A lady in a dream?”
“Yup!” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world and Inko can do nothing but look.
She stares at the butterfly longer, the way it sits unnaturally still in his hair, and then its wings flap.
Inko startles and for the second time in her life, a startling clarity takes over her. She realizes that the butterfly is an omen. One small flap of its wings could change everything. She doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad, and what that means for Izuku but she understands it means something. She just wishes she knew when.
The kids at school don’t take the news well. It may be fascinating to look at, but it isn’t much. She goes to get his quirk registered as “Butterfly,” but is rejected. They simply label him as functionally quirkless and the rest is history.
She starts to notice bruises on him as he comes from school from then on. She doesn’t say anything but she signs him up for martial arts. He doesn’t question it. Just accepts it with quiet ease, and from then on, the bruises stop. He starts to talk less and less, a mirror of his childhood days. She worries and hates that it’s become his reality. She tries to talk to him and hang out with him more often. Money is never quite a worry when your husband deposits millions of yen monthly. He doesn’t talk about it much and eventually, she drops it. She learns sign language with him and they talk in their own language, and she doesn’t love him any differently.
It’s a few years later, around the time Izuku turns fifteen, that she gets sick. She doesn’t stress, goes to the doctor, and tries to figure out what it is that’s causing her so much pain. She is told it is cancer and she feels her world shift on her axis. Everything else after that falls on her ears like cotton. She isn’t aware of how she gets home but when she becomes lucid again, pamphlets are in her hand she’s staring at the TV absentmindedly.
She tells Izuku sometime later. It is a teary affair and filled with sniffles.
“Are you going to be okay?” He’s sobbing. His hiccups and sniffles fill the air and Inko’s heart breaks.
She doesn’t want to lie but she only wants him to experience that heartbreak once. Of knowing his mother is gone. She says, “Yes. I’ll be okay, and, most importantly, you will too.”
She decides that she’ll fight it for him, for Izuku. The chances may be low, but she wants him to know she tried.
She starts chemotherapy sometime after that. Things change in the house and as much as she wants to, she can’t change it. She starts to prepare him for the world. She teaches him how to cook, and how to season it. She teaches him how to fix basic things. She teaches him how to pay a bill. How to clean. How to groom. How to take care of yourself. How to be kind.
It is a while after he turns sixteen that the doctors tell her she isn’t going to make it. She knows this. Has known it for a while now. A fact that sat uncomfortably in her bones and that she, eventually, made a friend.
They put her under twenty-four-hour care in the hospital. Izuku visits every day. She feels bad that it has to be this way, but he tells her that he finished the online high school courses and that he has nothing else to do. She smiles and spends this time trying to cheer him up. Asking him random questions and talking about memories that she is fond of and he, is embarrassed by.
One day, her body seizes. Her mind falls into some dreamlike state, flickering between here and not here. She’s vaguely aware that Izuku rushes to go get the doctor. She hears yelling and voices that sing in her ears like a choir.
“This is it,” she realizes. This is it.
She manages to move her body, some unknown force empowering her. She places her hand on Izuku’s cheek and smiles. It is weak. It is frail, but it is there.
“I love you.”
He sobs and she’s sad she can’t comfort him. Tell him anything else.
“I am proud of you, and through everything, I will always be there. You’ll do great things Izuku. Meet great people and live a great life. I’ll always be here.”
She taps at his chest, right above his heart. Her hands fall at her side, the strength leaving her body quickly.
She fights the fatigue and looks at his eyes once more. They are bright. An unbridled light shone through them. They are beautiful. Like an emerald in the summer sun. Dazzling.
And then they are gone. And the world fades to black and she is struck by a nothingness that rattles her but she feels something take her hand and she is settled.
And then she leaves.