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Izuku was on a stakeout. From his perch, he could see in through the apartment window and the sidewalk outside. If Mom left, he would know. If she opened a window or came out onto the balcony, he would know.
Mom was still sitting on the couch. She'd been there for a long time.
Like all stakeouts, it was simultaneously boring and nerve-wracking. Nothing was happening. Izuku was hungry. He needed something to happen.
One of their neighbors, a story up and three houses over, had a huge number of flowerpots on his balcony. Izuku had been flying over there to eat every so often, but he was running out of nector. Pretty soon, he'd need to start finding other food sources, and that would involve flying, which would take more energy. It would end the stakeout.
Oh, right—by the way, Izuku was currently some kind of bug.
Earlier in the week, Izuku was walking back from the train station when he heard a child crying. She'd been seperated from her kindergarten class, and Izuku was just giving her directions when her quirk had activated. Luckily, he'd still managed to lead her back to her friends.
He didn't get a good look at himself until yesterday, when he finally made it back home. Now he could see a dim reflection in the mirror. The top half of his body was green. Then there was a red and black strip around his middle, and after that he was yellow. He had wings, black around the edges, sheer and nearly invisible everywhere else. He was definitely going to look himself up once he got back to normal.
But for that, he needed to learn more about the quirk activation and deactivation requirements, and to get in contact with the girl who had been lost. For both of those, he needed the internet and a friend who was heavy enough to press down the key of a keyboard. (He'd already tried a library computer). His Mom was definitely nice enough to help him out, and he owed her a visit. She'd probably been worrying about him.
Mom stood up. Izuku nearly jumped into the air, wings fluttering in excitement, but he forced himself to be still and keep watching.
Slowly, Mom shuffled toward the door to the balcony. It was something too good to be true, like a limited edition All Might figure tossed in the corner at a thrift store. When she got close, her hand closed around the handle. The latch turned.
As soon as he had an inch of space, Izuku darted forward, above Mom's head, slipping through the gap between door and frame.
Mom shrieked, jumping back. The door kept swinging, blown by the wind.
Izuku landed on the wall. He felt bad for scaring her by flying so quickly. Also, he hadn't figured out part two of his plan.
"Oh," Mom said. She had one hand over her heart, and she was still taking deep breaths, but her eyes had fixed on him, blown wide with wonder. "Hello there."
Izuku flapped his wings. He had the sudden idea to use Wabun code to communicate—but Mom probably didn't have it memorized. It would have worked on Kacchan, but he was at his agency in Tokyo. Izuku couldn't fly that far even if he wanted to.
Slowly, Mom siddled toward the kitchen, keeping her eyes locked on him. When she made it to the counter, she reached up and into a cabinet. Her hand came out holding a cup.
Izuku had a pretty good idea of where this was going. Preemptively, he flew into the living room and perched just under the TV.
"Wait!" Mom called. She stepped back toward the living room, looking around, but her eyes scanned right over his hiding spot. "Honey—you don't belong in here."
Slowly, Izuku backed up until the shadow of the screen covered him.
Mom walked farther into the apartment until she disappeared down the hall. After a few moments she emerged again, shoulders slumped, and sat back down on the couch. Then she set the cup down on a side table, her elbows on her knees. Her face turned down to rest in her hands.
Once her eyes were obscured, Izuku flitted forward and landed on the coffee table, where he could see better. Mom was crying quietly, tears dripping down between her fingers. That wasn't how Mom normally cried.
Instinctively, Izuku flew over and landed on her shoulder. It was the best he could do.
"AAAIIIIAHHHH!" Mom screamed, flicking him away with her hand.
Izuku landed on the couch cushion beside her. He wasn't hurt, but his wings were folded wrong under him. He needed to roll over.
Mom grabbed the decorative pillow beside her and slammed it down over Izuku.
Izuku blinked, stunned. Then he realized that he could blink.
"Izuku?!" Mom shrieked.
Izuku scrambled to stand up. He was human, and he'd fallen on the floor in the gap between the couch and the coffee table. "Mom, I think you killed me and it deactivated the quirk! That's amazing!"
Mom covered her mouth with one hand. Her whole face went pale, like she might faint.
Izuku grabbed her by the forearms. "Mom, sit down. It's okay—I'm okay."
Mom let him sit her down on the couch. She was trembling.
"Sorry for scaring you," Izuku said, sitting down beside her. He reached into her lap and took her nearest hand. "Uh, twice."
Mom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wavering. With her free hand, she wiped a palm over her eyes.
"Hey," Izuku said, "Is something going on? You seemed sad when I got here."
"Izuku," Mom said, "No one could find you for a week. They found—you went and talked to that little girl, and her quirk—It was new. Nobody knew what it did. And we waited so long that they were saying—I was starting to think that—that you'd never—"
"But I did," Izuku said, gripping her hand tigher, "I am here, now, so—it's alright. Sorry that I worried you."
Mom choked on a laugh. "You were a bug!"
"Yeah," Izuku said, smiling. Then his stomach rumbled.
"Let's eat," Mom said, jumping up. "What do you want? I'll make anything."
Izuku didn't really care, but he had a feeling Mom might need this. Also, he was very hungry. "Um, not nectar. Whatever you can make the fastest."