Chapter Text
The first thing he registers when he wakes up is that someone is crying. Well, that’s not true. The first thing he registers is that his head really fucking hurts .
He must make some noise, because the crying hitches and suddenly there are voices, too loud, a hand on his shoulder, and an even feminine voice asking “Can you hear me?”
He opens his mouth and suddenly realizes that he needs water, now. He tries to lick his lips to ease the parched feeling, but just ends up squinting at the white ceiling and groaning, “Water.”
A cup of water is pressed into his hand. He sucks greedily on the straw presented to him, closing his eyes against the painful bright lights. He doesn’t get to drink much before the voice instructs him to take it slow and pulls the cup away. Fuck slow, he wants to say.
What he does say is this: “What happened?” Because obviously something happened, you don’t just end up laying in a too-white room with crying people and a headache the size of- hell if he knows, it isn’t time for metaphors. Everything feels kind of muddled. He wonders if he has a concussion.
The even voice answers him with a question. “Hon, can you tell me your name?”
He bristles at the endearment, not really sure why it bothers him so much, just that he wants to snap at her that he’s not anyone’s hon , he’s-
He’s-
Fuck.
“I don’t know,” He mumbles, struck dumb by the realization that where the ‘I am’ should follow easily with a name, he has nothing. He tries to think what it is. It hurts to think.
“That’s okay,” The woman reassures him, but obviously it is not okay. The crying starts again. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and tries to block out the sound. He feels like he might start too.
“I’m tired.” He says, and he feels it, in the full body weakness and worsening pounding in his head. When he tries to move his hands to his head, to block out the sounds or somehow make it stop hurting, he finds his hands bound down to the bed. He jerks, pulling against the bonds and surprising himself at the strange crackling power in his fingers, the smell of burning hitting his nose. Then the sensation stops. He doesn’t know why.
“Sedate him again,” the woman instructs someone, and he wants to tell her no, no, tell me who I am.
But maybe, maybe he will remember when he wakes up.
---
He doesn’t. He tells the crying man, who says he is his father, to fuck off. If he cries too, muffled into his pillows and shaking with pain, only the nurse who changes the sheets knows.
---
Once he can stay awake for longer than an hour or so, who knows how long later, they make him sit up and look that the crying man and the blonde woman who is always with him. His mother and father, apparently, but he would know his mother and father. It isn’t something you are told. He doesn’t look at them, instead looks at the flowers and cards strewn on a table next to him. He read some the last time he was awake. Most were addressed to ‘Nitro,’ though some of them said ‘Bakugou’ or ‘Katsuki.’ One said ‘Kacchan’ and looked like it had been cried all over.
“Is it permanent?” The woman, Mitsuki, asks. He finally looks at her, his own desire to know the answer to the question overwhelming his desire to get away from these people who he doesn’t know. She hasn't cried at all, he thinks, but her mouth is tight and twisted with something he doesn't recognize. He doesn't know this woman.
The doctor shakes her head, “We can’t know yet the extent of the trauma. The good thing is that he’s retaining new memories - Katsuki remembers you and understands his situation. He can read and write and speak. The migraines are expected of his condition and we have medication that can help lower their severity.”
“You’re avoiding the question,” he interrupts. “Am I getting my memory back or not?”
The doctor pauses, staring down at her tablet, then raises her eyes to meet his head on. “It isn’t unheard of to regain some memories or echoes of memories. Our brains process different kinds of memories differently. For example, your body may remember your pro hero training, even if you couldn’t describe to us what you are doing or recall anything about your training. It is too early to tell. But, to get to the core of what you are asking me - no. It is unlikely you will regain all of your lost memories. This doesn’t mean that you have lost them all, but it is important to have realistic expectations. There are things you simply won’t remember.”
The man, Masaru, speaks for the first time, a slight quiver in his voice. “Does this mean he can longer be a hero?”
The sudden swell of anger hits him hard and he grits his teeth, hands balling into fists. This woman just told him that his memories are fucking gone , and all this guy cares about is whether he is going to be a hero? Right now, he doesn’t give two shits about being anyone’s damn hero. Where was his hero when he took a blow to the head?
“Get out,” he says, low. All three of them look at him, cataloguing his tensed form. He feels pressure building his hands, like when he woke up the first time. They’re sweaty and start to crackle and pop, and nothing sounds better than burning this whole place down right now.
The doctor reacts first, on her feet with a pager in her hand. “We have a Code Black in 237B. Repeat, Code Black.”
“Is that necessary?” Mitsuki cuts in, following the doctor to her feet, “He’s not going to hurt anyone.” He wants to retort back, Want to see about that? The crackling in his fists is getting louder and everything else seems secondary to the vicious burn in his veins and pooling energy in his fingers.
The doctor turns on Masaru and Mitsuki, “Out. Now.” She presses the button on the pager again. “We have an untrained explosive type patient in 237B, asking for immediate assistance. Code Black.”
The door opens with a sharp jerk, a tall black-haired woman striding in, heels clacking against the tiled floors. He cocks his head at her in her skintight clothing and sharp nails and wonders if she thinks she can take him down. He bets he’s stronger than her. He jerks the medical apparatus off of him and is pleased when the wailing machine goes silent.
“I don’t think so, kid,” The new woman says and rips her sleeve. It is such an unexpected move that he is struck dumb staring at her before he realizes, too late, that he’s falling back against the bed, losing consciousness fast.