Work Text:
“Nurse Inko…”
She settled in the chair beside Eli. He’d long since asked her to call him that, not his birth name. It was something about how he didn’t have anyone left, so he wanted to be known by his given name instead. He wanted that sort of relationship with someone. She couldn’t blame him. There was no one for him, no one who had come, not even friends.
From what she knew, it was because he was Quirkless. If Izuku hadn’t developed his Quirk, then this could have been him. Lying in a hospital bed, dying before he even reached thirty with no one to hold him. She couldn’t help but look at Eli, drawn and gaunt with hollowed-out cheeks and dark circles beneath his light brown eyes, and think of her Izuku. When he’d come into her care, he’d had bright orange hair. A bright kid, in his early twenties. Most of her patients were older. He, however, was not. She’d been the only nurse to take his case, and they all knew it. Everyone in the hospice did, just like everyone knew that Inko worked the double shift because Hisashi’s money didn’t always cover all the bills and Izuku deserved his dreams.
The doctors didn’t know what was wrong with Eli. They could only give him palliative treatment. Try to ease the pain before the illness eventually overtook him. As for Inko, she could deliver his meds. She could hold his hand.
And she could watch him wither.
It had been slow, at first. Eli had come of his own accord, paying for the hospice with money that should have been used for his education. He’d been solemn, the first couple of days. She brought him some paints, some canvases for him to use. Some brushes Izuku hadn’t used in years, that still held little flecks of dried paint on them. They usually sat around her flat, unused and collecting dust in some box in a closet. Someone might as well use them.
Eli had painted so many things. She’d brought him more canvases. Homemade bento boxes, because she couldn’t just go to Yuuei and do the same for Izuku, not on the daily. She wanted to. Heavens, she would have loved to. But the world was not so kind to them. She knew that too well.
Three months since he had arrived, and Eli was fading.
“Can you stay?” Eli asked, light brown eyes searching her face. There was a bit of worry there. Something that had been weighing down his shoulders since he had arrived. With a soft smile, Inko reached over and then took Eli’s hand.
“Of course.”
Izuku came back to the apartment to his mother crying.
This wasn’t unusual, but he knew that something was wrong. When he walked in, putting his bag down and kicking his shoes off, he glanced over. “Mom?” He asked, worriedly. She didn’t respond. Leaving his bag on the floor, Izuku rushed from the entryway to the kitchen, where she must have been. He could see her standing there at the oven, arms wrapped around herself. Her face was wet, raw eyes focused on the food in front of her. Scrubbing at her face, she blinked a few times. “Mom?”
She turned to look at him. The only way he could describe her face was as something drawn. Weary, almost. Like she had been on the battlefield or something, he couldn’t quite—
“Izuku?” She started, catching his attention and cutting through his thoughts. “Can I have a hug? Please?”
Looking at her, feeling his heart sink, Izuku didn’t say anything. Stepping in, he wrapped his arms around her. She grabbed him back, buried her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Tears wet his shoulder. Fingers tangled themselves in the back of his shirt. Resting his chin on her head, Izuku kept silent. Waited. Patiently.
His mom squeezed him tight.
Sniffing, she tightened her grip even more, like she didn’t want to let go of him. “I love you.” She said. “Your dreams terrify me sometimes, but I love you, so much. No matter how angry I ever get, or how scared, or how much I might stress over you. I love you so much.”
“I…I love you, too, Mom.” He said. Then, stepping back, she reached up, hands landing on his face.
“No. You look at me, Izuku.” When she inhaled, it was wet, raspy. Like she’d been crying for hours by then. Maybe she had. Looking at him fiercely, she said, “I love you, Izuku. Tell me you know that.”
Staring at her, blinking, Izuku reached up. He grabbed her hand in his own, felt her fingers twitch once. “I know, Mom.” He searched her face. “Are you okay?”
Taking another shaky breath, she looked at him. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. You’re here, you’re—” Stepping back, hands trembling, she dropped her gaze and said, “You’re here. You’re safe. I’m fine, everything’s fine.”
She took another step back.
Her gaze went to the oven. “I…I made dinner. Katsudon. Do you…do you want some?” Nervously, she glanced back at him. “It’s pork katsudon. And—and there’s—uhm—”
“Dinner sounds great, mom.” He replied, looking at her.
She smiled at him.
It didn’t reach her eyes.
Mitsuki knew something was wrong when she and Inko sat down for tea and Inko hadn’t started talking.
The two of them sat in silence. For a brief moment, Mitsuki found herself thrown back almost seventeen years. When she and Inko had been sitting in her hospital room, a very pregnant Inko trying to comfort her while Mitsuki stressed over her newborn baby boy…who had been in the NICU. She and Masaru had barely even named him, and already Katsuki was fighting for his life. Maybe that was why every single day was a fight for him, why he fought everything tooth and nail. He was just…born battling it out with everything. Masaru had been with Katsuki, but Mitsuki had almost bled out and she needed to stay in her room. The only person who could comfort her was, in fact, the short, green-haired nurse who was seven months pregnant at the time with her own first child. A first son, nonetheless. Just like Mitsuki.
Back then, Mitsuki had been the one in shock. She had been sitting there, looking at the Jell-O like it had done something wrong to her. Inko, meanwhile, hadn’t been cowed by Mitsuki’s aggression, fighting back against it with a fire in her green eyes like what her husband could apparently spit.
So, Mitsuki needed to do what Inko had done for her back then.
“Alright,” smacking the table with a hand, she leaned to the side and propped herself up against the chair arm, “you need to eat.” Getting up, she stomped over to the fridge. Inko looked after her.
“What?”
Coming back, Mitsuki slammed a bowl of soup down on the table. Egg and rice, mostly. “Don’t complain, it’s something I made the other day for my brat but he didn’t come home. Someone’s gotta eat it.” Crossing her arms, she looked down at Inko, arched an eyebrow. Inko stared at her. “Well? Eat.”
Blinking, Inko turned to the food, spooning some into her mouth. While she wasn’t looking, Mitsuki pulled out her phone, checked it behind her back. There was a text from Inko’s boy there.
Izuku: How’s Mom?
Quickly, Mitsuki typed out a response.
Self: Got her to eat
Self: I’ll send you home with some soup
Self: Katsuki never eats enough of it anyways, something about carbs
Izuku sent back a laugh emoji at that last text. Her phone buzzed again.
Izuku: thank you
Smiling triumphantly, Mitsuki went back to watching Inko eat.