Chapter Text
“I’m gonna be the number one hero someday! Even better than All Might!”
—
Inko poked her head around the living room door. A small smile crossed her face when she spotted two young boys running around in All Might onesies. “Hey, be careful!” she called out. “Don’t — ah,” Inko winced and sighed when a miscalculated jump off of their sofa sent the blond-haired child, Katsuki, sprawling head first onto the carpet.
“Kacchan, are you— WAH!” The other boy, her son Izuku, had scrambled over to check on his friend. But as he reached the end of the couch, Izuku slipped, landing with a loud yelp in a crumpled heap next to Katsuki.
“Boys! Are you both alright?” Inko hurried over to where both boys were slowly sitting up on the carpet. “You really shouldn’t be jumping off of the furniture! We’ve talked about this.”
Katsuki brushed away Inko’s proffered hand and scowled fiercely. “I’m fine, Auntie! I am!” he insisted, when Inko raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m gonna be a hero, and heroes are strong! That didn’t hurt at all! ‘sides, I gotta train!” Katsuki insisted as he thrust out his chest and lifted his chin.
Inko bit back another sigh before turning to her son. “Izu? You alright?”
Izuku nodded. “I’m okay, Mama. My shoulder hurt when I hit the table, but it’s gone now. I’m okay.”
“Baby,” Katsuki rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Izuku. “You can’t be my sidekick if you think that tiny, little fall hurts!”
“Katsuki,” Inko warned, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. “Your mom and I have talked to you about being nice to your friends, haven't we?”
Katsuki scrunched up his nose and crossed both arms over his chest. A hint of a spark flashed in his hands, though it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. “Ha! I don’t care what the old hag says, Auntie! And you’re not my mom, so I don’t gotta listen to you!”
“Kacchan, don’t be rude—”
“I’m not!” Katsuki interrupted, throwing a glare at Izuku, who withered under his glare. “I’m just tellin’ the truth! She’s a ‘pitch’, and you’re being a—”
“That’s enough,” Inko raised her voice, cutting in firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t curse in this household. Not now, not ever. This playdate is now over — it’s time for you to go home. It’s nearly dinner-time, anyways,” she glanced at the clock, “It’s already past 5:30 and your mother said to be back no later than 5:45. Head straight home, young man; no dallying in the street. I’ll be watching you from the kitchen window until you go through your front door.”
Katsuki stared at Inko for a long moment, defiant red eyes meeting stern green ones, before he huffed and stomped to the front door. “Fine! We can keep practicing for you to be my sidekick tomorrow at school, Deku.”
Izuku hesitated and glanced over at his mother, before he nodded resignedly. “O-okay. Bye, Kacchan.” He watched as Katsuki shoved his feet into his sneakers and slammed the door shut behind him. The entire house shook from the force, causing both mother and son to wince.
“Well.” Inko turned and headed into the kitchen. She pulled back the curtain, eyes following the sulking 5 year old until he’d disappeared into the house next door. “He’s back safely,” she said, walking back into the living room. “And with that, we should talk.”
Izuku shrugged noncommittally. “What about?” he asked, quietly beginning to pick up the cushions that had fallen off the small sofa.
Inko made her way over to help him. “Izu, are you sure you want him to keep coming over? I know you like spending time with him but…” she trailed off as they worked together to straighten the cushions and fold the plush blanket kept at one end for impromptu movie nights.
“Kacchan’s gonna be a hero, Mama,” Izuku replied simply, arranging the last of the decorative pillows neatly on the couch. “I wanna be friends with a hero.”
Inko sighed softly and sat down on the couch, motioning for Izuku to join her. “You’ll be one too, sweetheart. There really isn’t anyone else at school you might want to invite over?” she tried.
Izuku took the proffered seat and snuggled against his mother. “Not really. Kacchan has a cool quirk. All the kids at school like him.”
But they don’t like me. The words hung heavily in the air: unspoken and unmoving, like weights upon their shoulders.
“I see. Okay,” Inko stood, holding out a hand for Izuku to take. “How about we make some dinner, hm? And have a bit of an early night? We have your appointment tomorrow morning so you should get some rest.”
Izuku nodded, following Inko far too obediently for her liking.
“Yes, Mama.”
----
“You’re certain?”
The doctor nodded, heartrending pity all too evident in his eyes. “I am. I’m afraid that Izuku appears to be quirkless.”
Inko’s heart constricted in her chest, choking the air out of her lungs. She’d known it was a possibility, but to hear it stated so bluntly from the mouth of a medical professional…
Inko reached over and grabbed Izuku’s hands tightly. She gave them a squeeze, trying to put what she couldn’t bring herself to say. “There’s nothing else you can test? No other explanation?”
“There is not. Truly, I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” The doctor tapped on his keyboard, before turning the screen around for Inko and Izuku to see. “As you can see from the x-ray, Izuku doesn’t have the second joint in his smallest toe that we usually see in quirkless children. Normally this would give us hope, but it’s incredibly rare for a quirk to manifest once a child’s fifth birthday has passed — less than 1% of children manifest one once their fifth birthday has passed. Generally, we tend to see quirks appearing around the fourth birthday, though it can and does vary for each child. Izuku is a little over 5 years old now, yes?”
Inko nodded. “Yes. His, uh, his birthday is July 15th.”
“And it’s now May 12th, meaning he’s nearly 6 already,” the doctor murmured, turning his screen back around and typing once more. “Considering it’s been nearly 2 years from when we’d expect a quirk to manifest, we can assume that Izuku is quirkless, legally. For the paperwork.” He paused. “You haven’t noticed anything to indicate otherwise?” he queried.
“No, we haven’t.” Inko glanced down at Izuku, who stared silently at the doctor. Her heart ached at the look on his face, the resignation clear in his normally bright green eyes. “I can use telekinesis on small objects with my quirk and my ex-hus… Izuku’s father had a fire-breathing one. Neither of our quirks are particularly powerful, so I was wondering if Izuku’s power was just dampened. But… I haven’t seen Izuku show any signs of either,” she admitted quietly.
“I see.” The doctor typed once more, before settling his hands in front of him on the desk. “Well, Midoriya-san, there isn’t really much more we can do here. While there are treatment and therapy options for children whose quirks are out of control, there’s been very minimal research done on anything that would cause a quirkless child to manifest one. Nor has there been much research done on quirkless children in modern society.” He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a small leaflet that looked as though it hadn’t seen the light of day in several years. “This may be a little outdated, but it has some names of organizations and charities that offer counseling for quirkless children. I’m certain if you give them a call, they’ll be able to point you in the right direction.”
Inko accepted the yellowing pamphlet. She bit her lip, before standing and guiding Izuku to do the same. “Thank you. We’ll look into these.”
A sad smile appeared on the doctor’s face, and he opened the door to let the two of them exit. “If you have any questions or worries, do feel free to make another appointment with us. Or to call our emergency number. Again, I’m very sorry, Midoriya-san.”
Inko managed a nod as she led Izuku out of the doctor’s office, only pausing to bow in the doctor’s direction, before quietly walking down the hall. As they walked, Izuku’s hand grasped onto hers, his little fingers holding on tightly. Inko blinked back sudden tears, and fought the urge to cry all the way back to her car.
Izuku was silent on the car ride home. Inko often checked the mirror, though he didn’t once meet her eyes. Once home, Izuku disappeared immediately into his room while Inko started dinner. Inko cooked on autopilot, too absorbed within her own thoughts to pay mind to the fact that the house was silent. It wasn’t until the two were sitting down for dinner, katsudon, that Izuku finally spoke for the first time.
“Mama? I can... I can still be a hero.... right?”
Inko’s eyes filled again, and she quickly stood and wrapped her arms around Izuku.
“I’m sorry, Izu. I’m so sorry,” was all she whispered as she hugged him tightly, tears now flowing down both of their faces.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
----
“Huh? You don’t have a quirk?” Katsuki gaped at Izuku, staring at him through wide, disbelieving eyes.
Izuku shifted nervously from foot to foot, one toe dragging a small path into the dirt. “That’s what the doctor told me. He said I didn’t have the second pinky toe joint but that I probably still didn’t have a quirk,” Izuku shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
In the next moment, a pair of strong hands shoved Izuku down to the floor. He landed heavily, his ankle twisting painfully underneath his body.
“Ow!” Izuku cried out, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. “Kacchan!”
“How can you be my sidekick if you don’t even have a quirk? You’ve ruined everything! You’re not my friend anymore!” Katsuki spat. He turned on his heel and began to stomp away.
“Wait! Kacchan!” Izuku struggled to stand and sprinted forward to grab Katsuki’s hand. With a forceful shove and a small explosion, Izuku fell backwards with another yelp.
“Leave me alone! Useless nerd!”
Izuku watched, eyes brimming with tears as Katsuki’s form grew smaller, then disappeared altogether. The sharp sound of the bell ringing made Izuku start; he scurried to his feet and ran to join his class in going back to their classroom.
“Midoriya-kun,” their teacher stopped Izuku in his tracks with an outstretched arm. She flicked her eyes up and down Izuku’s dirt covered uniform before looking back at his face. “Do take care to not show up looking like a ruffian in the future, yes?”
Izuku bowed his head and blinked away hot tears.
“Yes, Sensei.”
----
That evening, when Izuku returned home, and his mother inquired about his day, Izuku couldn’t bring himself to tell her about what had happened. His mother had enough to deal with, having a quirkless son and a terrible excuse of an ex-husband who’d left her with a sizable pile of debt. She really didn’t need Izuku to add to her burdens with things like his silly school issues.
So when Inko asked him how his day had gone, and whether Katsuki had apologized to him for his behavior the previous Friday, Izuku simply smiled.
“It was fine, Mama.”
----
Katsuki spread the word about Izuku’s quirkless status to the rest of their kindergarten class and the gossip mill ran overtime with the news. When Izuku tried to defend himself and his (ever lingering) dream to become a hero, he only managed to open himself up further as a target. While none of his classmates would outright physically attack him the way Katsuki did, they were more than willing to join in on the name-calling, or at the very least, would look away and snicker as their fellow classmates did so.
“Move, Deku! You’re in my way!”
Izuku stumbled and fell when Katsuki roughly shoved past him. He grimaced, the now familiar pain shooting up his side and ankle. “Please stop,” Izuku whispered, mustering what little remained of his courage to glance up at Katsuki.
Katsuki smirked. “Please stop,” he mimicked in a whiny voice. Katsuki spat on the ground next to Izuku, missing him by mere centimeters. “If you want me to stop, then make me you dumbass!”
Izuku withered under Katsuki’s glare. He hadn’t expected Katsuki to be kind, or even understanding of his fate, but he hadn’t expected quite this much vitriol.
With a shaky breath, Izuku shakily pushed himself up onto his feet. He ducked his head as he hurried away, trying his best to ignore the taunts that followed him through the playground.
“Hey, it’s the quirkless idiot!”
“Look, he’s crying!”
“Bakugou’s right — what a loser.”
Each word stabbed his heart. Izuku felt tears burn at his eyes, but he simply clenched his fists and ignored them, keeping his head tucked in between his shoulders. Unable to stand the mocking expressions of his classmates, Izuku chose to hide behind a tree in a far corner of the playground.
He stayed there, out of sight, until their lunch period was over.
----
“You’re worthless, Deku! Worthless and weak! How could someone like you ever be a hero?”
Izuku ducked his head, though tears no longer filled his eyes. The last few weeks had passed much in the same manner, though Katsuki’s taunting had only grown the more Izuku had tried to ignore him. But it seemed Katsuki had finally had enough of being ignored, Izuku realized as he was confronted by the sneering boy outside of their classroom. Before Izuku could even blink, he flew backwards, explosions flying out of Katsuki’s palms and sending him crashing painfully into the wall behind him.
“You’re crying? A crybaby like you can’t even dream of being a hero!” Katsuki sneered. He spat at the ground, just barely missing Izuku’s face.
“Katsuki, please,” Izuku whispered, shaking in fear as sparks flashed brightly in Katsuki’s hands. “We used to be friends, please.”
“Ha!” Katsuki scoffed. “I’d never be friends with someone like you! Quirkless FREAK!”
Izuku screamed, feeling the skin on his chest burn with more pain than he’d ever felt before. He whimpered, one hand grappling at his chest as he gasped for breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, pained breaths coming in short pants. This time, the glob of spit hit him directly on his cheek, before sliding down into his neck.
“Aw, is Deku crying?”
“Does he want his ‘mommy’?”
“Loser had it coming to him.”
The sounds of his classmates jeering and laughing swirled around Izuku until he could bear it no longer. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the boy’s bathroom, where he collapsed and emptied his stomach onto the tile beneath him.
Worthless.
Quirkless.
Freak.
----
When Izuku returned home that night, Inko could immediately sense that something was wrong. He’d been coming home more and more withdrawn as time had passed, though she’d done her best to respect Izuku’s obvious wishes in not talking about it. Any gentle probes about his school life had always caused her son to shut down, making her reluctant to even bring the subject up.
But tonight, as she knelt by Izuku and pried his arms away from his chest, she cursed herself for not pushing the matter more. She took in the blistered skin and vomit-covered shirt silently, pained, but not shocked, by what she saw.
She knew who it was. She knew what it was.
Inko hated herself for letting it get this far — for not stopping it before it had gotten to this point.
Izuku remained silent as Inko ripped open his shirt to survey the damage. It was far worse than she could handle on her own — these burns had needed immediate medical attention hours ago.
Inko bit her lip, doing her best to keep the tears that threatened to fall from doing just that. She merely reached up to cup Izuku’s cheek, her already broken heart shattering further when Izuku’s face crumpled at her touch.
Broken sobs filled Inko’s ears as she picked up her son and rushed out the door.
----
He was lucky, the doctor told them. It was only a second degree burn, and would heal in a few weeks. He did warn though it was likely to become scarred, considering the sheer surface area of damage, not to mention the prolonged time between injury and treatment. The doctor had inquired about the latter, but when neither mother nor son was forthcoming with information, had reluctantly dropped the matter. A nurse came to clean and dress the wound, before mother and son were sent home with instructions on wound care and prescriptions for both an intensive burn cream and some child-friendly painkillers.
Much to Inko’s frustration, Izuku remained silent when she tried to get him to tell her how he’d been burned. He merely shook his head, and wrapped his arms around his legs, hiding his face from view.
Inko’s eyes welled up as she reached out to hug him tightly. He remained stiff, unyielding and unaccepting of her attempt at comfort. Eventually, she gave up and carried Izuku up to bed. He needed his rest after all, even if he refused to eat anything for dinner.
After applying a new layer of cream and covering the wound with a fresh layer of gauze, Inko kissed Izuku and tucked him in. All the while, Izuku didn’t speak a single word. He refused to meet Inko’s gaze, no matter what she said, instead turning towards the wall and away from his mother.
Heart heavy, Inko bid him goodnight and closed Izuku’s bedroom door behind her. She walked down the stairs, only to collapse onto the bottom stair and finally succumb to her tears. Silent sobs shook her shoulders, though she did her best to keep from making a sound.
Though she had no religion, Inko prayed that night to whatever gods might be listening to please watch over her little boy. She prayed that despite her lack of concrete proof, that they would protect Izuku from the explosive anger of one blond, hot-headed child.
She prayed for his rescue, that she would be able to protect him from further harm.
She prayed that she would never fail him again.
----
The next morning, Inko went up to Izuku’s room to wake him for school. She poked her head around the door and spoke softly to him. “Izuku, honey. It’s time to get up.”
Izuku didn’t respond.
Inko frowned and tapped on the door, calling out to him again. “Izuku? It’s 7:30, dear.”
All remained still on the bed.
Inko’s frown deepened as she walked into the room. “Izuku?” Inko opened the door fully and padded quietly across the room. She reached over his shoulder and gently shook Izuku, being careful not to jostle his wound. This time, Izuku’s eyes opened, and he turned over to meet his mother’s gaze.
“Good morning.” Inko smiled softly at Izuku before turning towards his dresser to lay out his uniform for him.
“It’s going to be chilly today so I want you to take your school sweater, okay? And I spoke to your teacher. She’ll be looking out for you,” Inko said, still turned away from Izuku as she took his uniform shirt and pants from the dresser. Inko laid them out on the bed, along with a pair of socks before finally looking back at Izuku.
“Now...” Inko trailed off as she met Izuku’s shocked gaze. Immediately, she sat down next to him, worried. “Izuku? What’s wrong? What’s wrong, dear?” Inko asked, her eyebrows furrowed.
Izuku just shook his head.
“What’s wrong? Does it hurt? Do we need to go back to the hospital?”
But Izuku just kept shaking his head. Panic crossed his face and his face paled so quickly that Inko worried he might pass out. Slowly, tiny, trembling hands came up to cup his ears as Izuku whispered words that made Inko’s heart stop in her chest.
“Mama, I can’t hear you.”
----
Izuku sat numbly in the plastic hospital chair, his eyes fixed upon the floor in front of him. His hands grasped his mother’s jacket next to him. He felt her body move as she spoke with the doctor. He was afraid. Nervous. Hungry. And really, really tired.
After he’d revealed his lack of ability to hear, Inko had rushed Izuku back to their pediatrician. Unable to determine what exactly was wrong, the pediatrician had then sent them to a large hospital where Izuku and his mother had spent most of the day undergoing tests. Now in the late afternoon, they were seated in a doctor’s office, presumably, Izuku thought, getting those test results.
A light tapping on his shoulder caused Izuku to look up. Inko smiled at him, albeit a thin, wan smile, before she pointed to a notebook on the doctor’s desk. He gave her a questioning look before peering down at the notebook, eyebrows rising as he read the neatly printed hiragana characters.
Hello, Izuku. Are you okay? We are trying our best to find out why you can’t hear. We need to do more tests, and you’ll start taking some medicine. Don’t worry. We will do everything we can to help you.
Izuku stopped reading as his eyes blurred over with tears. He pushed the notebook away, before letting out a small, pained noise and curling up on his chair.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t have a quirk; he couldn’t hear anymore. Was there anything in his life worth living for anymore?
He felt his mother wrap her arms around him tightly. And though Izuku couldn’t hear his mother crying, he felt her arms shaking around his body. And in the silence, Izuku felt his own tears fall, his heart feeling as though it would burst at the seams.
Why?
Why?
Why?
----
They returned to the hospital the following week to see the same doctor. Apparently, while Izuku had been lost in his thoughts during the prior visit, Inko had arranged for him to be fitted with hearing aids. The audiologist said that there wasn’t any significant, visible damage, nor were there any blockages or holes. It was possible, he’d explained, that Izuku could have some sort of sensorineural hearing loss. He had hit his head rather roughly at his last… encounter with the youngest Bakugou after all.
But, the doctor explained, it would have likely caused more visible damage than what was present. There was some damage present, but not anywhere near what they’d expect for extensive bilateral, sensorineural hearing loss. All in all, the doctors were puzzled by his mysterious condition, and had dubbed his case a “medical mystery” of spontaneous bilateral hearing loss.
Not… that Izuku really understood what it all meant.
The doctor, a kindly man in his late 50s, had shifted around his appointments so that Izuku could come in for a fitting. While they’d performed many of the tests needed the week before, he asked them to come back in so that he could speak with them both about both the hearing aids and what Izuku’s future might look like.
With some luck, there was a good chance they could improve Izuku’s hearing enough for him to hear basic, everyday sounds again, the doctor assured them. Unfortunately though, the doctor felt that Izuku probably wouldn’t ever regain his full range of hearing. Considering the fact that Izuku had been started on some corticosteroids the week before, only to have returned with no improvement, the doctor wasn’t very hopeful.
Inko’s expression at the doctor’s assessment had caused him to quickly backtrack. Izuku’s hearing hadn’t worsened in the past week, which was a positive in and of itself, he’d explained. So there was a good chance that Izuku would go through the rest of his life with some degree of hearing with the help of hearing aids or even cochlear implants in the future.
Of course, there was always the chance that what hearing Izuku still had could deteriorate as Izuku grew older — they weren’t certain as to what had caused this, after all. In which both hearing aids and cochlear implants could prove insufficient in restoring Izuku’s hearing. Consequently, the doctor recommended both mother and son learn sign language to communicate, both with each other and possibly even with others as Izuku grew older. He offered a few pamphlets that detailed free classes and tips on learning, as well as a few on specialized schools and tutors that catered towards deaf children. Inko accepted the pamphlets quietly, before thanking the doctor and leading Izuku out of the hospital.
Unsurprisingly, the drive home was silent. Izuku was curled in on himself, his emotions a wild mess as his thoughts repeated an endless cycle in his head.
Worthless.
Quirkless.
Deaf.
Freak.
----
Inko pulled Izuku out of school the next day. It was a move she had been planning for some time now considering the… situation hadn’t improved. It had just come a little sooner than she’d planned. She’d meant for Izuku to finish his last few weeks of the summer term before moving him to a new school after the summer break. A clean break, of sorts. But after the events of the past few days, she was reluctant to let Izuku leave her sight, let alone venture straight back into the lions’ den.
So instead, Inko contacted the organization from the pamphlet the audiologist had given them, and booked their first Japanese sign language lesson for the coming Friday. The two days leading up to the lesson were eerily silent. Despite her best efforts, Izuku refused to engage in any of the books or games she offered him. Even his beloved hero notebooks hardly garnered more than a vacant stare when Inko presented them to Izuku, alongside a newly released hero guidebook.
For most of each day, Izuku spent his time either slumped on the couch in the living room or lying on his bed, gazing off into space. During meals, Inko would encourage him to eat and drink, only to clear plates with more food left than had actually been eaten. Her requests for him to shower and take care of his personal hygiene were met with blank stares, only occasionally followed by half-hearted attempts at compliance.
By Friday, Inko was worried out of her mind. In the five years since Izuku had been born, never once had he been so silent. He’d been a happy, loving child from the start, a little social butterfly who was happy to be held by anyone and everyone. He’d caught the attention of every passerby on walks, making Inko beam with pride over her sunny little boy. But now, the taciturn child, who stared through rather than at her, was no more than a sliver of the child he’d once been.
All Inko could hope was that once Izuku could communicate once more, her son would emerge from the impenetrable cocoon he’d barricaded himself in.
Inko took a deep breath, grabbed the small whiteboard she’d been using to communicate with Izuku, thank god her son had been so eager and quick to grasp reading and writing, and headed up to his room. Once there, she knocked softly, before opening his door and flicking the light off and on to get Izuku’s attention.
Izuku turned and gazed at her silently from his bed. Inko bit her lip and swallowed a sigh as she held up the whiteboard she’d written on.
Your tutor will be here in 10 minutes. Can you come downstairs so we’re ready for her?
Izuku gave a small shrug, though he dutifully stood and began making his way out of his bedroom. Inko watched him plod down the stairs without protest, before following him down with a heavy heart.
Izuku had just sat down in the living room when the doorbell rang. Inko nodded at Izuku before hurrying over to their entryway and pulling the door open.
A petite woman with soft, gray eyes and snow-white hair stood at her front step. She smiled when she spotted Inko, the simple gesture exuding a soothing warmth that Inko hadn’t felt in weeks. “Hi, Midoriya-san, right? My name is Todoroki Rei — you made a request through the Musutafu Deaf Association, right? I’m here to teach you and your son sign-language.”
Inko had to shake herself before she could answer. “Y-yes! Please, come in!” She stepped aside quickly, face flushing as she gestured vaguely. “I apologize for the mess — it’s been a tough couple of weeks.”
“Please don’t worry, Midoriya-san,” Rei reassured. “It’s been a stressful time for you and your son. Speaking of, is he here?”
Inko nodded and pointed at the living room door. “He’s in there. Can I get you something? A drink?”
“I’m alright, thank you,” Rei looked toward the direction Inko had pointed. “I’d like to meet him now, if that’s okay?”
“Oh, of-of course!” Inko hurried into the living room, gesturing for the woman to follow her. She immediately went to Izuku, who was sitting on their couch, and tapped his shoulder. When he didn’t respond, Inko touched his shoulder again, lightly squeezing it in an attempt to have him look up from the ground. But Izuku didn’t move, and Inko was about to reach for her whiteboard when a hand came to rest on her forearm, stopping her in her tracks.
“May I?” Rei asked, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Inko nodded, surprised, and allowed Rei to take the whiteboard from her. Rei wrote a few sentences before she moved to sit down next to Izuku. Inko watched in silence as Rei lightly touched Izuku’s shoulder, and placed the whiteboard on the ground where he could see it. A moment later, much to Inko’s surprise, Izuku’s head rose to gaze up at Rei’s face.
Rei smiled then, and taking the whiteboard up again, wrote another sentence out on the whiteboard. Izuku gave a small, almost imperceptible nod in response, before reaching over to take the marker she proffered.
Inko sat down on an armchair across from them and watched bemusedly as the two began passing the whiteboard back and forth between each other. When she’d offered the whiteboard to Izuku in the past week, he’d refused to take it. Now, Izuku was actively having a conversation with the woman, albeit a bit of a one-sided one, from what little she could see on the whiteboard.
A rush of envy and hurt rose up within her. Inko had tried so hard the past few days to get Izuku to open up to her with no luck. She’d tried everything she could think of to get a response from the silent boy, only to be met with blank, vacant stares each time she’d tried. And here he was, actively conversing with a complete stranger and looking up for the first time in days.
Inko swallowed, firmly pushing away the rush of emotions that swirled in her chest. No, this was a good thing. As much as she wished it were her that Izuku could talk to, it was enough that he was talking to anyone at all. It had to be enough. It had to be.
Inko had no idea what they would do, otherwise.
----
Hi Izuku. My name is Todoroki Rei, but you can call me Auntie Rei. I think I heard you like heroes?
When the woman had sat next to him, Izuku had been ready to leap up and dash back up the stairs to his room. While he hadn’t told his mother, not wanting to disappoint her, Izuku was more than a little terrified at the prospect of having to meet someone new. Not to mention the fact that she was there to teach him sign language, meaning she knew he was deaf, and therefore worthless.
So when the whiteboard his mother had been using suddenly appeared in his view, Izuku was more than a little startled. It took him a moment to focus on the neatly written characters, before he finally realized just what she’d written.
Todoroki?
As in, Todoroki Enji? Otherwise known as the Flame Hero: Endeavor, the eighth best hero in Japan?
Izuku had looked up immediately, rather taken aback by the fact that there was a superhero’s relative sitting next to him. But when he’d looked up, he’d realized that no, his teacher wasn’t a superhero’s relative.
She was his wife.
The woman he’d seen on Endeavor’s arm at various social gatherings, always so poised and elegant, was now sitting beside him in a large, comfy sweater and thick glasses over her bright gray eyes. She’d been introduced by the pro-hero himself as his wife, though the different newspaper articles Izuku had read hadn’t ever mentioned her name.
While he’d looked up at her, eyes wide with shock, Rei had taken the whiteboard and written him a new message.
Yes, he is my husband. Do you like the hero, Endeavor?
Izuku shrugged slightly, unable to do much more besides stare at her incredulously. Endeavor’s wife was sitting next to him? She was here to teach him?
Rei smiled, clearly pleased by his reaction. I know it’s been a hard time for you. I’m here to teach you sign language. It’s a language people can speak using their hands. Do you think you can try learning a few signs with me? I can show you how to sign Endeavor’s name if you’d like.
Izuku nodded and watched Rei as she stood and faced his mother. The two conversed briefly, before Rei turned back towards Izuku.
I’m going to start with a few basic signs, okay? Tell me if I’m going too fast, okay?
She sat down beside Inko and wrote out a few words onto the whiteboard. She placed it on the coffee table between them, angling it so they could all read it, and pointed at the first word on the list.
Mom.
Rei spread her fingers into a five handshape, before she lightly tapped her thumb against her chin twice. Inko immediately copied the gesture, drawing a small smile from Rei. Izuku watched in silence as the two repeated the motion several times, Rei stepping in to correct her finger placement and guide her through the sign step by step. He watched them go through it and the next two words on the list, not once making a move to join them.
Rei glanced over at him periodically, though she didn’t push for him to join. Instead, she focused on his mother, guiding her through each sign: “thank you” then “eat”. Izuku felt a wave of gratitude rush through his chest; she seemed to understand that he needed a little time. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to learn to sign — he did. Even if he wasn’t deaf, Izuku had always enjoyed learning new things after all. He’d always wanted to become fluent in other languages, English especially, being such a big fan of All Might and all. But learning to sign meant accepting his deafness. It meant he’d only be pushed further away from his peers, forever standing out in a crowd.
And Izuku hated being the center of attention.
Izuku bit his lip and stared down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers. He wanted to learn. He wanted to learn so badly to communicate again with his mother. And yet…
Izuku jumped when he felt cool hands envelop his own. He looked up to see Rei squatting down in front of him, a knowing look on her face.
She raised his hands, as though asking for permission, and when Izuku nodded, carefully maneuvered one into the correct shape. Rei demonstrated the sign again for “Mom” with one hand, before moving Izuku’s hand for him in the same motion.
Mom.
Rei pointed at his mother.
Mom.
Rei put his hand down and nodded at him encouragingly. Try it, her expression clearly said.
Izuku glanced briefly at his mother, before he slowly, slowly, made the correct movement.
Mom.
He looked up at Inko, startled to find that tears had pooled in his mother’s eyes. Carefully, he signed the word again, and again, his confidence growing with every sign he made as the tears finally dripped down Inko’s cheeks.
Rei beamed at Izuku, clearly delighted by the way he was engaging. She gave him a thumbs up, before pointing to the next word on the list and demonstrating it. Izuku, after only a brief pause, correctly copied the sign. A light began to shine in his eyes as Rei demonstrated the next sign for both mother and son to copy her.
Which they both did, without hesitation.
----
“Izuku is incredibly bright. You should be proud,” Rei remarked as she stood to leave. She gathered her bag and slung it over her shoulder before glancing back over at Izuku. “He’s a real sweetheart, too.”
Inko flushed, though her expression was proud as she followed Rei’s gaze to see Izuku slowly signing words to himself. “He is,” she agreed. “I’m very proud of my son.”
Rei smiled. “Keep up the practice over the weekend — I’ll leave the booklet and alphabet sheet here with you. And I’ll see you both again next week for our next lesson.” Rei walked over to Izuku before putting her hand on his shoulder. Goodbye. See you later.
Inko watched as Izuku nodded, before also slowly signing a goodbye to Rei. Then, leaving him on the couch, she followed Rei out to the front door. “Thank you again so much, Todoroki-san. I really appreciate you doing this.”
“It was no problem, Midoriya-san,” Rei said. “I’ll come by again next Monday, then Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. We’ll make it four times a week for a few months, and then we can drop to once or twice a week until you both are comfortable with where you’re at?”
Inko nodded her agreement as Rei walked out the door. “That sounds great to me. And please, call me Inko.”
“Only if you call me Rei.” Rei winked at Inko, who flushed. “In any case, I have a son who’s Izuku’s age — his name is Shouto. Would you maybe be interested in a playdate in a few weeks? Shouto’s been learning to sign with me on the weekends, so he’d be able to communicate with Izuku if his hearing aids aren’t ready by then.”
“Oh!” Inko glanced back inside towards the living room before turning back towards Rei. “I’d have to talk to him to make sure, but I think Izuku would love to meet Shouto, especially if he’s anything like you. He seems to really like you.”
The smile on Rei’s face grew larger. “I’m glad.” She paused, before continuing on more softly, “He truly is a sweet boy. I don’t know what he’s been through, but I can tell he’s endured a lot already. And yet, he’s still such a dear… I think Shouto and Izuku would be good for each other.”
Inko raised an eyebrow at Rei’s words, but when she didn’t elaborate, didn’t push any further. “Thank you, Rei. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
Rei nodded. “Of course, Inko. Do feel free to contact me if you have any questions before our next session.” With one final smile, she turned and made her way down the pathway to the street.
Inko let out a soft sigh as she closed the door and went back inside. She glanced quickly into the living room and spotted Izuku looking over a children’s book on sign language that Rei had left on the table. Seeing no reason to bother him, Inko continued onto the kitchen where she made katsudon for the two of them: a treat for doing so well in his first lesson.
Once dinner was ready, Inko walked back to the living room, humming softly, before she stopped in the doorway. The book Izuku had been reading was sitting beside him on the couch, and Izuku was now poring over a sheet listing hand movements for various Japanese characters. Inko felt a smile grow on her face as she watched Izuku repeat signs over and over again, his little hands going through the movements faster each time.
There was a new spark in his eyes, a light that Inko hadn’t seen for quite some time. Inko felt her heart throb with a mixture of relief and pride. She’d been so worried over him, especially when he’d seemingly withdrawn more and more into himself after befriending that Katsuki boy from next door. While still nothing like the boy he’d once been, there was a lightness about him that she’d wondered if she’d ever seen again.
As though he knew she were watching, Izuku suddenly turned and looked towards the door. Much to her surprise, he lifted his gaze to meet Inko’s eyes for the first time in over a week. He didn’t speak, but he gave her a tiny nod that had Inko’s eyes welling up with tears. She cleared her throat and swallowed, before she slowly made a few hand signs.
Come. Eat.
Izuku looked at her for a long moment before he replied.
Yes, Mama.
Inko couldn’t keep her tears from falling as she watched Izuku stand and walk to the kitchen. She joined him at the table, though she paused to wipe her eyes on her apron first.
That evening, Inko gave Izuku an extra hug and kiss that night before she tucked him in. It was a magical feeling when she was able to sign “goodnight” to him, which he returned only half a second later. Izuku’s body relaxed under his All Might comforter, and as he turned over to sleep, he whispered out a tiny “love you” that had Inko’s eyes welling up in tears again for the umpteenth time that day.
Maybe things would be alright after all.
----
“Can you hear me, Izuku?”
Izuku had been fidgeting with the brand new hearing aids on his ears when he looked up, startled to hear a voice again. He gave a small nod and took a deep breath, running his fingers along the devices again. Though the doctor’s voice wasn’t incredibly clear, Izuku could understand him for the most part. And he could hear again.
Considering he’d heard nothing at all for the past four weeks, Izuku considered anything an improvement over the silence.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” The doctor now queried, gently tapping on his desk to gain Izuku’s attention again.
“Three,” Izuku managed, his voice scratchy from disuse.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Midoriya Izuku.”
“And what’s your favorite food?”
“Katsudon.”
“Good. That’s really good, Izuku” The doctor smiled as he scribbled a few more notes onto Izuku’s file. “We may have to make some minor adjustments as time goes on, but I believe we’re good for today.”
“Take care of them, alright? And Midoriya-san,” the doctor said, turning towards Inko, “these aren’t waterproof, so Izuku will need to be careful in the rain. They’re also fairly fragile, so you should avoid dropping them if possible. If Izuku isn’t wearing them, for sleep or some other reason, they should be kept in their case, to avoid any potential damage.”
Inko nodded, before turning to Izuku. “Did you hear all of that?” she asked gently.
Izuku nodded, though he chose to sign with his hands this time.
Yes.
They’d both become much more adept at sign language over the past two weeks, thanks to Rei’s teaching and their constant practice. In fact, Rei had been particularly pleased at Izuku’s ability to quickly pick up on the language. Izuku had learned a lot, and was able to hold his own in conversation with her already.
Izuku was sure his mother had noticed his reluctance to speak, though she hadn’t commented on it. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was that made him prefer using his hands to communicate with her, but when he tried to speak, there was an odd pressure in his chest that made him feel as though he were choking in the air. Signing didn’t produce the same feeling, so he’d kept to signing over the past few weeks, only speaking when absolutely necessary.
“Alright. That’s all then. We’ll make a follow up for you in about four weeks, to check on your ears, and then we’ll go to every six weeks for a year if everything’s okay. Thank you both for coming in, and do let us know if anything happens or you need assistance.” The doctor stood and opened the door to his office. “I hope everything goes well for you, young man.”
Inko thanked the doctor politely, simultaneously prompting Izuku to do the same with a small squeeze of his shoulder. Izuku quietly signed a thank you, to which the doctor smiled fondly, before Inko ushered him out of the office. They walked out of the office to the car, Izuku simultaneously marveling and wincing at the sheer loudness of the busy hospital around them. When they finally walked through the hospital’s entrance doors, Izuku felt a knot loosen in his chest as he listened intently to chirping birds and the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Izuku was so wrapped up in taking in the sounds around him that he jumped when Inko spoke, realizing with a start that they were now at their car.
“What do you want for dinner, honey?” Inko queried as she opened the car door and helped him into his car seat. “I can stop by a restaurant if you want?”
Izuku shrugged. Anything is okay. I don’t mind.
“How’s fish and rice sound? Maybe some miso soup?”
Izuku gave another small shrug. Okay. He didn’t really mind — anything his mom made was tasty and it wasn’t as though he was particularly hungry these days anyways.
He caught Inko’s slight frown, though she didn’t comment on it. The car ride home was quiet, though the heavy, suffocating feeling of weeks prior had finally dissipated. Inko allowed Izuku to have his window open as she drove home, and Izuku took in every sound that passed, from two dogs barking at each other to crows calling to each other from the treetops.
When they arrived home, Inko immediately went to enter their home. Izuku didn’t follow her in though, causing her to look back out to see Izuku standing in the doorway.
“Not coming in?”
Izuku shook his head. Can I stay outside for a while?
Inko nodded, not appearing surprised in the least. “Just until dinner is ready, okay? The sun’s gonna set soon anyways.”
At Izuku’s nod, Inko went indoors, closing the door behind her. Meanwhile, Izuku sat outside on the front step, listening to cars passing by, people talking, the squirrels scampering in the grass and chattering to each other. He closed his eyes and just listened, taking in all of the sounds he’d missed. It was both too loud, and not loud enough at the same time, oddly enough. Izuku shook his head periodically, trying in vain to rid himself of the odd feeling.
When Inko appeared at the window, calling him in for dinner, Izuku took one last look around, before going and sitting at his place at the table.
They ate in comfortable silence, both mother and son exhausted from the doctor visits and lessons that had taken over their lives. After a few minutes, Inko broke the silence and looked at Izuku.
“Are you happy to be able to hear again?” she queried gently.
Izuku nodded. It’s nice. I missed sounds.
Inko smiled, eyes softening as she placed another piece of fish onto Izuku’s plate. “Summer’s nearly over — we should start looking into the school the pamphlet mentioned. Did you have any thoughts about it?”
Izuku shrugged, picking at the fish with his chopsticks. Dunno. Not excited.
“I’m sure it’ll be better than your old school,” Inko tried. “It’s meant for other students like you.”
Izuku didn’t respond, instead lowering his head and focusing on the small pile of rice left in the bowl. The metal chopsticks clinked against the porcelain, causing Izuku to scrunch his nose. He’d forgotten how much he hated the sound they made.
Inko sighed, though she didn’t push the matter. “Can you tell me why you aren’t speaking at least? You can hear me, right?”
Izuku shrugged, not surprised by the question. I can hear. I don’t like talking.
Inko blinked, clearly taken aback. “Is there a reason why?”
Dunno. I don’t like it. Izuku shrugged again. Makes my chest squeeze and hard to breathe.
“Does it hurt?”
Izuku shook his head. Not actually. It’s like… I dunno, it kind of makes me feel worried. Scared?
“Anxious?” Inko offered.
Izuku nodded. Yeah, that. I feel funny when I try to talk.
“Hmmm…” Inko worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Does it bother you that I talk? Do you want me to sign too?”
Izuku shook his head. Don’t mind you talking, Mama. I like hearing you talk.
A small smile finally crossed Inko’s face. “Alright. I’ll keep talking then. And signing, too. Sound okay?”
Izuku returned her smile with a tiny one of his own, and they both returned to their dinner. When they finished, Izuku helped Inko clear the table before starting to head upstairs to get ready for bed. Inko called out to him though, stopping him in his tracks.
“Remember, dear. Rei is bringing her son tomorrow. They’ll be here for lunch.”
Izuku swallowed thickly. Auntie Rei’s son. Endeavor’s son. Someone who definitely wasn’t quirkless and would definitely have a super duper cool quirk. Someone who was probably popular at school, and not a quirkless, worthless freak like him.
Someone who was probably like Kaccha—
“Izu?” Inko appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her expression concerned. “Everything okay? Your hands are shaking.”
Izuku shook himself, before shoving his rising anxiety down and managing to smile at his mother. I’m okay, Mama. His name?
“Shouto, I believe. Todoroki Shouto.”