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Back when Inko was pregnant, asking about what it was like to have a child, some mother had told her, “The whole thing is heartbreaking.”
She’d laughed nervously, directing the conversation to less ominous topics like diaper changes. The incident faded in her mind when she carried Izuku in her arms for the first time, joy like nothing she ever experienced swelling in her chest. It came back over the years with The Diagnosis, the bullying.
It comes back now as she sits by Izuku’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall, seeing the bandages and wounds on her boy, her heart. Heartbreaking, indeed.
The clock by the bedside reads 7PM. It’s quiet in the hospital room save for the humming of machines, the quiet steady beeping of the heart monitor. She should be leaving, getting dinner, preparing for another early shift tomorrow. She can’t quite bring herself to move.
Leaning forward, she presses a gentle kiss on Izuku’s curls. “I’m sorry, Izuku. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Apology after apology. None of them ever feel adequate for the suffering her son goes through.
The door opens just as she’s contemplating staying for another hour. She looks up with a smile, expecting a doctor, or perhaps one of Izuku’s friends.
Bakugou Katsuki freezes in the doorway. For a moment, they simply stare at each other. Inko clears her throat. "Hello, Katsuki. Come in."
He wavers before nodding jerkily, shutting the door behind him. She hasn’t seen him in a long time, his presence disappearing from her house when he got his quirk, until all that’s left are Izuku’s stories. But she thinks of him every so often, always accompanied with feelings aged dark and bitter.
Katsuki gingerly lowers himself into the visitor chair on the other side of the bed, knuckles white from gripping the armrests. He stares at Izuku. And stares. And stares. If not for his tense posture, Inko would’ve thought he didn’t notice her at all. Perhaps her presence deters him from talking to Izuku, or whatever he came here to do. Some part of her is quietly vindicated — she remembers crying and scrapes and burns, despite Izuku’s best attempts to hide them.
(Once, after the Sports Festival, Inko asks if Katsuki had ever bullied him. Izuku pauses, frowning at his plate. “Is this because of the medal ceremony?
His tone is filled with disappointment. Inko is ashamed to admit that the ceremony was part of it, yes, but he seemed rather aggressive during the matches as well—
“If he didn’t want it, they shouldn’t have forced him to take it.” His expression grows into a scowl, eyes bright. “He was lashing out because he was scared. And he was aggressive because he took his opponents seriously, I know Uraraka appreciated it—”
The conversation derails from there to prejudices and the true purpose of the Sports Festival. Later, Inko realises he never answered the initial question. Too smart for his own good, her Izuku.)
She looks at Katsuki again, and the dark tangle of emotions in her chest loosens slightly. With shadows across his face and bandages disappearing into his hospital gown, he’s worlds away from the brash, proud boy from years ago. He has always seemed like a force of nature, strong and unbeatable. Maybe that’s the problem: what does that kind of expectation do to a child?
"Are you sure you should be out of bed?"
Katsuki scowls, eyes flickering up and back to Izuku. "Those dipshits can't stop me. I walked here perfectly fine on my own."
Not perfectly fine. He hides it well, but now that she's looking for it, she can see the pain in his face, the careful way he moves to avoid aggravating his injuries. Izuku used to do that when he stayed at home, not wanting her to worry.
Unfortunately, that’s all she does. Worry and worry.
"How did you get hurt?"
He shoots her an incredulous look. For what exactly, she's not sure. "Deku was trying to fight Freaky Hands himself. The bastard got a bunch of new quirks, and one of them was creating…I don't know, multiple spears. He wasn't going to avoid them in time."
As he talks, a bandaged hand goes to hover over his side in a seemingly subconscious action.
"You saved him,” Inko says when he doesn’t continue.
"Yeah."
No boasting. No proud smile. He seems pensive, almost guilty.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he snaps, his eyes burning. "The idiot got himself nearly killed anyway, so it wasn't much good."
“Even so, I’m glad you’re alright,” she says. As he glares at her, she adds, “I do mean it.”
His glare twists into a grimace. “Uhuh.”
(It’s not exactly true that she hasn’t seen him in years. She visited the Bakugous after hearing that Katsuki had been rescued. She doesn't expect Katsuki to answer the door, bleary-eyed and hair mussed from sleep.
"Is your mother home?"
He stares blankly at her. "No. She'll probably be back soon."
“Well, this is for her. For you and your father too, of course.”
He blinks at the bento box she holds out, taking it with a mumbled thanks. Mitsuki had told her that he was whole and mostly unharmed, and Inko had cried with her. Looking at Katsuki’s haunted gaze and shadows under his eyes, she thinks “unharmed” might have been incorrect.
She says, "I'm glad you're alright."
Katsuki says, "Really?"
A beat. Katsuki's eyes grow wide and he blurts, “I didn’t mean that,” before the door slams in her face.)
“Why did you think I was lying?”
He shrugs. “Shouldn’t you be happy if I get what I deserve?”
Oh, so they’re talking about that. She could’ve lived with the ambiguity, with accepting Izuku’s explanations and never having to confront their complicated relationship. Maybe that is another problem: her doing too little, too late. Now, more than ever, Inko wishes Izuku would wake up for this conversation.
“I’m…not happy about what you did in the past,” she says slowly, “but that doesn’t mean you deserve the bad things that’ve happened to you.”
He stares at her like she just said that she’s the next All Might.
"You can say it. I bullied him." The statement rings in the air like a gunshot. "Tormented him. Told him to- to pray for a quirk and jump off—”
"Katsuki." They both flinch at her tone, sharper than it has ever been. "What are you doing?"
He tries to cross his arms and winces, putting them on his lap instead. “You don’t have to pretend to like me.”
“I’m not.” He looks unconvinced. This is going nowhere, and it’s not the point, anyway. She changes tracks. “Why did you do it?”
Katsuki swallows, staring at his hands. “I don’t know.”
Proud boy, she thinks, an age old anger beginning to stir within her. “You don’t know why you bullied Izuku.”
“Does it matter? I was wrong, and I know it.” He shifts. “Nothing will justify what I did to Deku—"
“Don’t call him that,” she snaps, years too late.
(“Are…are you sure you want this as your hero name, Izuku?”
“Yeah. I know it means ‘worthless’, but Uraraka taught me a new way of seeing it.” Izuku beams. “From now on, my ‘Deku’ means ‘you can do it!’”
She can’t help but smile at his infectious mood — her brilliant boy, a fighter through and through. Deep down a voice whispers, what kind of mother doesn’t help her own son fight?)
Katsuki stares at her, mouth parted in surprise. Embarrassment prickles across her skin. “Sorry. I know it’s his hero name, but...”
But what? But it’s still hard to hear? But she’s not sure whether it still means 'worthless' when Katsuki says it? But she wanted to do what she should’ve done a long time ago?
He just shakes his head, still looking stunned. “I’m an idiot,” he says so quietly Inko almost misses it. Straightening, he takes a deep breath.
“Izuku,” Katsuki says carefully, syllables stilted and halting. He shoots her a wary look. When she doesn’t say anything, he continues, a strange new resolve burning in his eyes. “He still reaches out. I can’t undo what I did, but I’m becoming better. And then— I’m going to make up for it. All of it.”
Telling Izuku to jump, then taking a blow for him. Inko has never felt so many varying emotions towards someone in the span of twenty minutes. The emotional whiplash has her struggling to reconcile it all. Except, those two events are years apart, separated by fights and setbacks and growth that Izuku has alluded to, every now and then. A start. A change.
He stands abruptly, startling her out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he says in a rush of words. “For everything I’ve done to him.”
Her jaw drops as he bows, his movements slow and laborious. She has heard Katsuki apologise perhaps twice, both times when he was still running around with Izuku.
“Stand up, please.” She reaches out to grasp his shoulders, mindful of his injuries. He straightens but ducks his head, eyes covered by blond bangs. “Will you look at me, Katsuki?”
She waits until crimson eyes meet her gaze. “Thank you for your apology. But it’s not me you should be saying it to.”
He waves vaguely at the bed. “Gonna talk to him when he’s actually awake. But I had to tell you too, for what it’s worth."
There's a growing lump in her throat. Katsuki nods, accepting her silence, and limps to the door, visibly more exhausted than when he came in.
She finally finds words. Imperfect and insufficient, but a start. She can work with that. "Be careful, Katsuki."
He pauses briefly at the door. "You too, Auntie."
Her heart swells with affection at the term, just a little, and tears finally fall when Katsuki leaves. She remembers a little blond boy who wanted to be a hero and save people. Izuku must remember him too. Dammit, they both go soft too easily, a recipe for certain pain. The mother's words come back again, but heartbreaking isn't exactly right to encompass this strange, tumultuous journey. In the quiet of the hospital room and holding onto Izuku's hand, she wouldn't trade it for the world.