Deer

Chapter 2

Midoriya Inko sometimes thought that her son was the reincarnation of Atlas, a soul holding the entire weight of the world upon his shoulders.

It was well-established within their neighborhood that Izuku was a peculiar child. From how he spoke, to how he moved. No child under five should be that mature. Or understand an adult when they talked about complex adult subjects.

For a couple of months, Izuku did try to not attract attention. He tried to blend in by smiling a bit wider and appearing cheerfully hyperactive. But he was soon tired out by these efforts and eventually fell flat, leaving those around to feel awkward and off-center. His presence screamed, "Look at me! Look at how different I am!". Even after the diagnosis of his Quirklessness spread around, that aura of uncanniness remained. Worse, it grew larger and more focused, causing those in his vicinity to never look away, as if watching a dangerous predator from the corner of their eyes. In children, however, this unfamiliar air of menace resulted in mocking sneers and attempts to bully Izuku. Fortunately, or unfortunately for those people, Izuku stomped that intent down both figuratively and literally (with martial arts moves that her baby could not possibly have learned; she almost believed that he was born with the knowledge among everything else that he seemed to know and that Izuku was just waiting for his body to adapt to said knowledge), and Inko considered it a relief. Katsuki was there as his friend-slash-self-appointed bodyguard protecting her child from the world, even if he didn't need it.

Izuku did not really need protecting. He was strong, especially for a child his age. He carried various pieces of equipment to guard himself and others if need be and were hidden in every inch of his clothing, instead of stashing them inside of his school backpack. Ranging from a stun gun and pepper spray to a utility knife and a choker that had a hidden camera, which he never took off, except when he took a bath. Izuku claimed it was to record any crime happening near him, be it schoolyard bullying to Hero-Villain fighting. His father, Hisashi, had given it to him for his fifth birthday.

But, you see, it was a mother's job to worry.

Especially when your child's sleep was disturbed by night terrors almost nightly.

Izuku never told her about it. Though as a mother, and as a lawyer who specialized in abused children and domestic violence, Inko recognized the signs of trauma; shivering form, dilated pupils, teeth chattering, sweating buckets, the healthy color of his face paling to a sickly white. Izuku was never a crier. Asleep or awake, his face remained inexpressive. He spoke in an even monotone.

Then it happened.

It was such cruel irony. She prayed for her son to show his emotions, and God granted her wish with this.

"I'm sorry!" Inko held back her own sob as she held Izuku close within her embrace. He broke down and bawled, mumbling incoherent apologies over and over, "I'm sorry I failed. I'm sorry I'm weak. Give me a chance! Give me a chance before you leave me! Give me a chance to grow stronger so I can protect you once more—"

'But you're already strong, my child.' Inko wanted to reassure him, yet the words stuck in her clogged throat. 'You face each day with your head held high, even when others try to drag you down. Even if the world has branded you as nothing but an afterthought, you never falter! What is it that haunts you? What is it that scares you? Please, tell me, so I can shoulder this burden with you.'

Midoriya Inko sometimes thought that her son was the reincarnation of Atlas. She was proud of the man he would one day become. And simultaneously worried that these unknown burdens would crush whatever light and hope he had left.