Inko Midoriya is all heart; there is not a single bad bone resides in her body. However, when it comes to her son, it's clear that her heart hardens and her bones become solid, sharp knives that are ready to dig into anyone who dares harm her baby.
And that's why Nedzu is currently being hounded by her daggers, although full of tears, still plenty dangerous. Shouta shudders still, despite the glare not even being directed towards him.
"Where the hell is my son?" Inko spits out ruthlessly, teeth bared and ready to bite.
"Please Ms. Midoriya, follow me. Izuku was brought into the infirmary," Nedzu walks down the hallway, and Inko follows quickly behind his trail.
It's silent. Eerily so. Inko's footsteps thunder onto the ground, clapping loudly into Shouta's ears. The weight of it makes him flinch.
She still doesn't know.
"Why is he in the infirmary? I know he gets hurt quite a lot, being a hero in training and all... but this... this is different from all the other times, isn't it? Please, tell me, why is it different?" Inko finally asks and Shouta can't stand it.
He can't stand the quiver in her lips and the tremble in her voice; he can't stand the wet, big green eyes that remind him too much of Izuku's— the boy who he had failed.
"You're right, Ms. Midoriya. Mother's always are, aren't they?" Nedzu muses with a hum.
"Earlier today, Izuku... he attempted to commit suicide."
It was the most professional way of saying it, with doctor jargon rather than harsh words like "kill". But it still hit Shouta with a cold, biting air. The freezing temperature fills his lungs, icing over his chest.
Inko Midoriya stops walking.
"He... he what?"
Shouta looks away.
"I know it's... not easy to process. But earlier today, Izuku tried to... jump off the roof. Shouta here was the one who stopped him," Nedzu gestures to Shouta but Inko's gaze doesn't even do much as flicker towards him. She stares blankly, green eyes wide and unblinking.
(Shouta tries to ignore how familiar they are, empty and glassy).
(He fails).
"No no," Inko shook her head, "my baby wouldn't do that."
Shouta clenches his jaw; his teeth dig into his tongue and he bites. Metal. It tastes like metal.
He swallows.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Midoriya," Shouta's voice cracks, and though he's always prided himself on being a composed man, he can't help but let out a sob as the green-haired woman falls into his arms.
"You've got it all wrong. Izuku... my baby wouldn't ever... he... the bullies are gone now, he shouldn't..."
Shouta feels the words on his chest as she cries into his shirt, and they seep through his shirt. He tightens his grip around her shaking frame(or is it him who trembles? he can't tell).
And it's too much, all so much, and it almost feels like losing Oboro, one of his dearest friends, all over again.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," Shouta chokes out, because really, what else can he say? What can he do to mend the broken heart of a mother?
He can't do anything.
(He never can).
Inko pulls away, wipes her tears with shaking hands, and straightens up. "Take me to my son."
-
Izuku can feel his mom's stare on him. He only woke up three minutes ago, and he hasn't even opened his eyes yet, but he knows, without a doubt in his mind, that his mom is right next to him.
He cannot count the amount of times she would pop her head into his room late at night, when she thought she was asleep, and would just stare at him for minutes. There was one time he peeped one eye open just a crack, just to see what she was doing. He still remembers every minute detail on her face: the furrowed eyebrows, the crease between them, the watery, helpless eyes, the trembling lips. Guilt.
Izuku never opened his eyes again after that.
He knows his mom feels guilty. He knows that she bears the weight of his quirklessness. He knows that there are probably nights she lies in bed crying, wishing she had an abortion. He knows, he knows, he knows
(he wishes he didn't).
He knows all of this like it's information he could read from a manual.
That's how he knows his mother is next to him, looking down at him with that same, shameful expression.
He doesn't dare move an inch.
"Izuku, sweetie, I know you're awake."
Her voice is soft, like it's supposed to be gently coaxing him but his whole body stiffens. A minute passes. He had counted every second.
"How?"
"It's just like how I knew you were awake all those nights I checked in on you: I'm your mother."
Izuku startles, his knee jerking and finger twitching. "You knew I was awake back then?"
Inko smiles, a breathy, wet smile. It's sad, and if Izuku didn't look closer, it almost would've looked real. "Of course I did, Zu'. I always knew."
Something within Izuku rises. It climbs up, up, up, and it's bitter and it's full of acid and it makes him want to scream and cry because— "why didn't you ever say anything?"
"Oh, Izuku!" His mom wails, throwing her arms around him(it's gentle, so gentle, although done so haphazardly— always so gentle his mother is. He's glass, isn't he?).
Izuku lets her tighten the embrace, he lets her cry into his ears, he lets her mourn the son whom she never really knew. And he lets himself do just the same. He lets himself curl into her. He lets himself cry and rub snot on her; he lets himself feel the damage he has caused.
The damage of a boy who no longer wants to live.
He doesn't know how long they sit there. His head rests on his mom's chest while she cries and cries and cries. He stares blankly at the white wall. It's a blur to him.
"Izuku, honey, please talk to me," His mom coaxes. His hands clench the sheets beneath him.
"I don't..." He pauses, gathering his breath before the tears could make their way back, "I don't belong here, Mom."
"Of course you do, sweetie. You got into this school fair and square, you did it all on your own. And I couldn't be prouder." She wipes away a stray tear on his cheek with a warm, comforting hand.
But he didn't. He didn't get into this school. Quirked Izuku did. Who he is now is not who is meant to be here. He's quirkless, defenseless Izuku and every second that he's here, he only takes life away from someone gifted, someone meant to exist.
The rage from before had settled and now all that's left is to mourn the person he never could be.
"I didn't, mom. I'm not... I'm not who you really think I am."
His mother frowns and she looks exactly the same as the last time he saw her in his world. Only a little older, vines of wrinkled lines wrap around her skin and gray hairs frame her face; sadder too, Izuku recognizes. "What do you mean?"
He takes a deep breath. And then he spills everything out that he's been holding in for the past week.
-
Inko Midoriya thought she knew pain. She remembers the ache in her chest, a gaping hole that swallowed up her stomach, when her husband left her. She remembers the tears that fell when Izuku had asked her so hopefully(wobbly lips, glazed over eyes), ¨Mommy, I can still be a hero, right?" on his fourth birthday.
(¨I'm so sorry, Izuku")
She remembers how tightly her heart had squeezed, when she realized just how different life would be for her son. Yes, Inko Midoriya thought she knew pain.
She was wrong.
Now she knows that there is nothing that can compare to the pain that comes with learning your child, your very own child, wishes to stop existing– to never even have been born. It twists and twists and twists; her stomach is in knots listening to Izuku speak and they tangle together. It burns, the rubbing ropes burn like no other sensation she's ever felt. And she can't help but to wonder: where did she go wrong?
God, how did she let it get this bad?
She knows her son struggles– that comes with the territory of being quirkless. She never, and would never see him differently or as less than, but others would and she knows that. She recognized that in the pitying eyes of the doctor("you're quirkless", he diagnosed. Inko's world stopped). She became familiar with the bruises and burn marks on Izuku when he returned home from school(and the burning anger that was weaponized towards a school that didn't care). And she had tried. She tried so hard to help her son thrive in a world in which he was bound to fail.
But her attempts were all fruitless because the moment those words, those four, doubting words left her mouth, she had begun all of this. She knows, in the bottom of her heart, that she was the very beginning of Izuku's suicide.
("I'm so sorry, Izuku").
That is where Inko Midoriya went wrong. Her failure to support her son and reassure him when he had so desperately needed it will forever be her biggest regret. She wonders if it's the same for her counterpart.
Izuku had explained how the first time he jumped, he ended up here: in her universe. Or at least, he thinks it's another universe. Inko doesn't know whether this Izuku Midoriya is from a different universe, a different dimension, a different time. To her, it doesn't matter. The truth is: Inko doesn't know a lot of things but she does know that no matter what, Izuku Midoriya has and always will be her son, despite wherever he's from.
"Honey... I'm so sorry..." is all she can choke out before pulling her son into a tight hug.
And it doesn't quite hold the weight as her other apology had("I'm so sorry, Izuku"); it doesn't quite shake Izuku's world; it doesn't quite crumble every hope and dream her son's ever had. But to her, it holds everything. It feels heavy coming off her tongue, the guilt and sorrow that slips between her teeth– and yet she doesn't feel any lighter.
She's crying again, of course she is. But so is Izuku and it's been so long since she's heard him cry. He was always so emotional when he was younger, so quick to shed tears– it's a trait he picked up from her. But once he had entered U.A, it was like he lost that side of him. He was still her boy, but just matured.
And that's just it, isn't it? He's her boy, but not her boy, and it hurts that either one would be hurting. This boy doesn't have that maturity. He doesn't have the support of his mother, he doesn't have All Might as a mentor,
("he... he told me I couldn't be a hero, Mom. All Might himself said it. So how come this Izuku could? It's... It's not fair, it's not, it's not fair at all")
he doesn't have friends, only bullies, and most of all: he doesn't have a quirk.
("I'm so sorry, Izuku").
It's then Inko Midoriya realizes these two Izuku's are more alike than they both think.