Chapter Text
Day 38
Kaminari’s path to recovery hits a roadblock in the following weeks. Not from a neurological standpoint - he remains alert and oriented, and his brief lapse in memory has now resolved - but from a psychological one.
When his name comes up during morning rounds, the intern’s eyes are creased with worry as she scans over her notes. “I spoke with him a few hours ago while I was pre-rounding. And he asked me if… he said he wants to go back on quirk suppressants?”
Today’s attending physician, Sugimoto-sensei, has an eye for detail and a penchant for training the timidity out of his students. “Are you unsure if he said that, or unsure if that’s a good idea?”
“The latter. But there’s no medical need to resume the suppressant regimen. I know he had an epileptic episode last week that was complicated by his quirk, but… continuing the quirk suppressants long-term could have severe physiological effects. I just think it’s too drastic of an option for him.”
Sugimoto startles Izuku by asking him a direct question. “What are your thoughts, Midoriya-san? Since you were the one most directly affected.”
“I- uh, well-” Izuku stammers as the small crowd of neurologists stares him down. “It’s not really my place to speak on the treatment plan. But I don’t think Kaminari’s quirk has been out of control; it’s more that he’s afraid of it getting out of control. His childhood seizures occasionally had some quirk discharge, but at that age, it wasn’t much worse than a shock of static electricity. Now that his quirk is stronger… I think his concerns are understandable. But I agree that long-term quirk suppressants would be an extreme measure to take.”
“I appreciate your input. So how shall we adjust the treatment plan, Shimada-sensei?”
The chief resident glances at Kaminari’s name on the wall-mounted whiteboard, nestled in the middle of the unit’s current list of patients. The characters have been written and rewritten, in various colors of dry-erase marker, as his inpatient stay has gotten longer and longer.
Shimada eventually decides on the following course of action. “Let’s get another psychiatry consult, plus another consult from quirk medicine. In the meantime, if Kaminari is more comfortable with his visitors wearing rubber gloves, we should respect that preference. But no more quirk suppressants. Let’s discourage the idea that Kaminari is a danger to himself and others, even if he believes that to be true.”
Day 41
Being stuck in the hospital for over a month would take a toll on anyone; even someone as easygoing as Kaminari isn’t immune to that. He puts up a convincing front with his parents and pro hero friends, but once visiting hours are over, Izuku gets a glimpse of the emotional toll. It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the way he sighs to himself, the aimless fidgeting with his hands.
Just before midnight, Izuku reads over the psychiatrist’s consult note one more time:
History of Present Illness: Patient is a 22-year old male who presents with self-reported feelings of hopelessness and anxiety in the setting of a recent TBI and prolonged inpatient hospitalization. Psychiatry was asked to evaluate for patient’s repeated requests for quirk suppressants, despite there being no clinical indication at this time.
Past Psychiatric History: Patient has no previous psychiatric history or history of substance use.
Past Medical History: Patient has a history of childhood epilepsy, and has had multiple seizures following a TBI sustained 3/22. Currently followed by inpatient neurology, no seizures since 4/16, well-controlled with prescribed antiepileptics.
Mental Status Examination: During interview, patient denies any suicidal ideation, homicidal ideation, or visual/auditory hallucinations. He is concerned that his quirk would cause harm to those around him, if he were to have another seizure in a crowded environment. Because the patient was formerly employed as a professional hero, his inability to return to work is also a source of stress. Patient appears to be cognitively intact and able to make sound judgments. Normal affect, alert and oriented.
Assessment and Plan: Patient displays subclinical depression and anxiety in the setting of traumatic life event. The patient does not meet clinical criteria for major depressive disorder or generalized anxiety disorder at this time. Conservative, non-pharmacological management recommended. Should patient’s symptoms persist or worsen following discharge from neurology unit, follow-up with outpatient counseling as needed.
The rest of Izuku’s patients fell asleep hours ago, but Kaminari’s room emits a faint glow from under the door. He slips into his assigned pair of rubber gloves, then knocks before entering.
Kaminari stares at a point near the ceiling, lying flat on the hospital bed. The television plays infomercial reruns on mute, to an audience of no one.
Izuku asks gently, “Having trouble falling asleep?”
Kaminari turns his head just enough to acknowledge the question. “You could say that.” He sits up without adjusting the bed from its reclined position, then leans one arm listlessly over the seizure-padded side rail. “I was just thinking about what’s gonna happen, after I get out of here. And I just- it’s hard. To imagine that.”
Izuku’s hands work through taking Kaminari’s midnight vitals while his brain works through an adequately compassionate response to the comment. “I know it’s going to be a big change, moving forward. But there are other things out there, besides hero work. You could go into teaching, or consulting-”
“That’s just it, though. I don’t want things to change. I still want to be a hero.” Izuku’s fingers slip on the keyboard in his shock. He quickly fixes his typo (no, his patient’s heart rate is not 722 beats per minute), then closes out of the electronic medical record.
Kaminari’s eyes are trained on him now, an intent look that borders on desperation. “I’m fine with getting hurt, and putting my life on the line- I’ve done plenty of that already, and one knock to the head isn’t gonna change that. But if I end up killing someone in the middle of a seizure… there’s no way I could live with that kinda guilt. But at the same time- my quirk’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Knowing that your entire life up to this point is basically over?”
Perhaps the question is meant to be rhetorical, but it pulls at an old hurt in Izuku’s heart. The words spill out before he can stop himself.
“You know, in middle school, my dream was to go to UA. I wanted to be a hero, more than anything. I really had no shot, since I’m, um, quirkless-”
His voice cuts off here. He hasn’t told anyone about this foolish aspiration in nearly a decade, for good reason. But instead of reacting with contempt or cruelty, Kaminari accepts his confession wholeheartedly. “Damn, that takes real guts. So then, what happened? I guess you must’ve flunked the entrance exam- but that’s fine! I bombed so many tests in school, it really doesn’t say anything about you.”
Izuku smiles, in spite of the sore subject matter, at Kaminari’s words of reassurance. “I wish. Actually, I never got a chance to take it. A few months before that, I ran into All Might, and he told me to give up. Said it was impossible for someone without a quirk to become a hero.” He takes a breath, waits for the tightness in his throat to resolve. “It was probably the worst day of my life. ‘Cause, to top it all off, right after getting my hopes crushed by my childhood hero, I… got hit by a car. Ran me right over.”
Kaminari stares at him, stunned silent. Izuku takes a seat beside him- now that he’s gotten this far into the story, he might as well finish it. And he might as well give his right ankle (and both knees, and left hip) a break from standing. “It was a hit and run. I was waiting for a pro hero to come rescue me, but none of them ever showed. I think a mailman found me in the street? Something like that.”
Izuku spares Kaminari the details; he can’t remember most of them, anyway. He doesn’t mention his heart almost giving out on the medevac helicopter, the medically induced coma, the visceral anguish in his mom’s voice when he woke up for the first time in two weeks. He doesn’t mention the months of bedrest in the hospital, wondering if he’d ever be able to walk again.
Above all else, he doesn’t mention that he might have stepped in front of that car on purpose. Or maybe the misstep was an accident, but he didn’t get out of the way on purpose. It’s hard to say- so much time has passed, and his memories of that day are understandably limited.
“While I was in the hospital, the doctors and surgeons were the ones who saved my life. And the nurses were the ones who took care of me, who were there for me when I thought I had nothing else to live for. That’s why I went into nursing, actually. Anyway, I never finished my last year of middle school- I just got into my local high school on a technicality.”
It’s at this moment that Izuku realizes he’s spent over five minutes monologuing to his patient about a tragedy he definitely didn’t ask for. He hides the visible part of his face with a rubber-gloved hand. “Oh gosh, sorry about that. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that onto you- I think I’m just tired, and I started rambling without even thinking about it-”
“Don’t sweat it, Midoriya. It sounds like you went through a lot. And it’s amazing that you made a full recovery.”
“Yeah, for the most part. I’ve got ten pieces of titanium holding my legs together, so there’s some chronic pain that comes with that. But nothing major. Anyway, sorry, I don’t know what the point of me saying all of that was, exactly…”
“No worries, I- I think I get it.”
A clap of thunder cuts through the silence in the room- with the blinds drawn, and the chirping of various alarms from the hallway, neither of them had noticed the rain. A flash of lightning follows.
Kaminari glances at the early portent of the rainy season, before his gaze drifts to the space between his hands.
Day 43
The hospital’s medical device specialists continue to work their magic.
Izuku sets the stainless-steel band on Kaminari’s table, unfastened, while he goes over the device’s basic features. “This is a medical bracelet from the quirk medicine department, which has been customized for your specific needs. It’s waterproof and shockproof, so you can wear it at all times.” He points to the small metal toggles on the outer face. “If you feel like you’re about to have a seizure, flip both of these switches so that they’re pointing towards each other, instead of facing away like they are now. You can flip the switches in either order, but it has to be one at a time. The first switch unlocks the needle mechanism, while the second switch triggers the injection.”
Izuku flips just one of the switches to demonstrate, returns it to the locked position, then flips the bracelet over to the other side. Two small capsules of fluid are imbedded within the inner surface of the thin metal band. “These are the emergency medication capsules that have been specifically prescribed to you. The clear liquid is a fast-acting quirk suppressant, and this orange liquid is a concentrated dose of anti-seizure medication. The seizure won't be fully prevented, but it’ll run its course much faster than without the medication, and your quirk will stay suppressed for the following thirty minutes. Would you like to put it on now?”
Kaminari nods fervently, immediately holding out his arm. Izuku wraps the bracelet snugly around his wrist, then secures it in place with the metal clasp.
“This device is only good for one use; the capsules can’t be swapped out, so the entire bracelet needs to be replaced once it’s been activated. You should also replace the bracelet after one year - you can see the expiration date on this side near the clasp - or if any part of the bracelet gets damaged. The bar code etched into the metal is for the pharmacist to scan- that tells them about the drug formulations in the capsules.”
Izuku hands Kaminari a thin, pocket-sized booklet. “If you have any questions, there’s more information in this manual, or you can call the phone number on the back cover. Do you have any questions for the time being?”
Kaminari stares at the bracelet, looking genuinely hopeful for the first time in weeks. “Does this mean I can still be a pro hero? As long as I wear this?”
For the sake of his patient’s future safety, Izuku wants to say no, more than anything. But it’s not his place to dictate what Kaminari does with his life. “It’s ultimately your decision. Because of your medical history, your brain is more vulnerable to additional seizures and additional damage, compared to the average person. But again, it’s your call. We can also talk about this with the neurology team during tomorrow’s morning rounds.”
Day 44
Kaminari poses the question to the attending neurologist the following morning.
“I certainly wouldn’t recommend it. But I also wouldn’t recommend drinking alcohol, riding motorcycles, or plenty of other activities that my patients - and myself - partake in. If you do choose to return to hero work, it’s gotta be a gradual process. Just desk duty at first, and then you can ease yourself back into the physical parts of the job. Make sure you don’t overdo it. And I would definitely invest in a solid helmet.”
“Done and done.” The more excited Kaminari gets about his future prospects, the more nervous Izuku feels. But he swallows back his apprehension and keeps his eyes downcast.
Yamada concludes his visit by saying, “Whatever you decide, you’re medically ready for discharge- it’s just a matter of getting all the paperwork in order. Hopefully we’ll get you out of here soon, Kaminari-san.”
Even if Kaminari doesn’t return to hero work (which is looking less and less likely, at this point), he still needs to rehabilitate his quirk. Kacchan’s agency isn’t large enough to have an in-house quirk rehab specialist, so Izuku refers Kaminari to an outpatient quirk rehabilitation center that’s affiliated with the hospital and with UA’s alumni network. He’s to attend rehab sessions three days a week for the next 8 weeks, to safely regain his quirk’s strength and stamina.
As usual, bureaucracy makes everyone’s lives harder. Since Izuku’s never had a pro hero as a patient before, he didn’t realize how much more paperwork was involved in getting them out of the hospital. Between juggling phone calls with the case manager and taking care of his other patients, Kaminari’s discharge is yet again delayed.
Day 46 (1 day post-discharge)
When Izuku returns from his day off, room 75 already has a new occupant.
He stares at the unfamiliar name on the whiteboard. For a split second, he wonders if he accidentally came out of the wrong floor on the elevator.
Machiko snaps him out of his daze. “Oh yeah, it’s crazy, right? Kaminari finally got discharged! Nice kid, glad he finally got out of here.”
Izuku shouldn’t be surprised by this- there’s no way discharge paperwork could take over 48 hours to sort out. But it still takes him a while to process Kaminari’s departure.
And how he never got to say goodbye.
Day 300 (255 days post-discharge)
Izuku is back on night shift for the next three weeks. He powers through the severe change in sleep schedule with another cup of break room coffee.
He carefully opens the door to Tanaka’s room, but the retired lawyer is still awake.
“Good evening! I’ve got your evening pain medication and some more cold packs for you.”
The lawyer is still stuck on her left side, propped up by a trio of pillows. The backless hospital gown leaves her surgical incisions exposed- they’re healing well, but the postoperative pain is to be expected. She groans in relief when Izuku nestles the cold packs by her left hip. “Oh, you’re my hero, Midoriya-kun.”
Izuku retrieves and disposes of the lukewarm packs from earlier in the evening, grateful that his blush is hidden out of view. “You flatter me, Tanaka-san. I’m just doing my job.” He slowly increases the incline of the hospital bed, just enough for Tanaka to swallow her pills and a bit of water without aspirating, then returns the bed to its reclined position. He stays a while in the room to catch up on documentation- his computer in the hallway has been acting up. He hears a tinny round of applause from over his shoulder. ”What are you watching?”
“Oh, you know, one of those nightly talk shows. They’ve got a pro hero as the guest tonight. I think his name was Chargebolt?”
Izuku’s neck snaps up to the television. It’s Kaminari, back in his hero costume, but with a new accessory- a black motorcycle helmet rests by the talk show host’s desk. His medical bracelet peeks out from his right sleeve.
“Welcome back, Chargebolt! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Everyone’s been wondering where you’ve been. A secret undercover mission? Training with a group of heroes abroad? An extended tropical vacation?”
Kaminari laughs as the camera pans to him, the perfect balance between rehearsed and genuine. “I wish! Actually, I just got off an extended medical leave. I hit my head pretty bad last March, and I’m finally getting back into the swing of things.”
Izuku stares at the discolored, flickering television screen, absolutely transfixed. The talk show host banters with Kaminari about a medley of topics- the changes to his hero costume, some of the new heroes he’s been mentoring, and whether he can charge his cell phone with his quirk. The host shows the audience a clip of Kaminari in action, taking down a towering villain with arcing rivulets of electricity. As the criminal falls forward, Chargebolt has the audacity to give the news station helicopter a quick salute before sprinting back to his sidekicks. Izuku has to remind himself to breathe.
The host eventually gets the studio audience to settle from their roaring applause. “We’re about to go for commercial break, but I’m gonna try to squeeze in one last question. It sounds like your head injury was pretty serious, and we’re so glad to see you doing so well. Is there anything that helped you bounce back so quickly?”
“Oh, uh-” Kaminari’s laidback charisma falters for a moment. They must not have given this question during the practice taping. “I had an amazing nurse, while I was in the hospital. He took great care of me, way above and beyond what was required of him. I mean, there was a whole team of doctors and nurses and tons of other people who helped me recover. But I gotta give this guy a special shout-out, for getting me to believe in myself again.” Kaminari stares directly into the camera; his smile now radiates unfettered authenticity. “So, Midoriya, if you’re watching this- thanks for being my hero.”
Izuku immediately breaks down. He sinks to a low squat, fat tears soaking into the knees of his scrubs.
“Midoriya-kun? Was he talking about y- are you okay?!” Izuku tries to answer, but he can’t get a word in, with how much he’s sobbing. He hears Tanaka press the call button.
“Did you need something? I thought someone was already with you-” The charge nurse steps into the room. “Oh, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
Izuku sniffles through a few gulping breaths. After a few false starts, he finally gets out, “N-Nothing’s wrong. I’m just- really happy.”
Izuku has a good five minute cry in the break room. When he emerges, puffy-eyed and a little pathetic, all the other nurses are occupied with their patients.
Someone presses the call button. He answers from the landline phone at the front desk. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“Hey, uh… I know I’m not supposed to get out of bed, but I just shit myself, and… yeah. Could someone come in and help?”
And it’s back to business as usual. Izuku takes a second to recover from the emotional whiplash, then answers, “I’ll be right there.”
He enters the room, and- indeed, half of the patient’s bed is covered in liquid, brown-green stool. Behind the privacy curtain, he hears the patient’s roommate gagging under her breath. Izuku closes the door before the smell can drift into the hallway.
The grey-haired woman has her hands lifted away from the mess; her expression can only be described as absolutely mortified. “Sorry, I just woke up and- I don’t know what happened…”
“It’s all right, we’ll get you cleaned up in no time. Let me just gather up everything we’ll need. I’ll be back in two minutes!”
Izuku dashes out of the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. He grabs several packages of bath wipes from the supply closet, a new pair of incontinence briefs, plus some deodorizing spray for the roommate. He spots one of his coworkers by the linen rack. She takes a look at the supplies in his arms, then asks, “Everything all right in there?”
He gives her a sheepish look. “Hey there, Satoko- could you hand me a gown and a set of linens, please?”