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Maybe Aizawa should have read the paperwork a little more thoroughly before agreeing to take responsibility for 20 teenage heroes-in-training, maybe he underestimated how much work this would be.
All of the students were instructed to have their prescriptions moved to UA’s usual pharmacy, but apparently the specifics of UA’s guardianship paperwork means that any student prescriptions need to be picked up by the specific guardian listed on the paperwork. In 1-A’s case, that’s Aizawa.
Which is how Aizawa has found himself here, standing in line, folder full of paperwork in hand.
“Next in line, please!” the woman behind the counter calls. Aizawa can see the fatigue in her eyes from meters away, even behind her well-practiced customer service smile.
“I need to fill these,” he says, pulling the stack of prescriptions from the folder.
The woman’s eyes widen, but she recovers her composure quickly. “Are these all for you, or are you filling them for someone else?”
“These ones are mine,” Aizawa points to the first few pages, “this one is for my partner,” he points to another, “and these ones are for my students.”
“Your students?”
“Yes, I’m from UA, someone was supposed to call ahead and inform you of the situation.”
The woman nods. “Let me just check with my supervisor, I’ll be right back.”
She turns and heads into a back room for a moment, before returning with another staff member.
“Do you have copies of the guardianship paperwork for each of the students?” the second staff member asks.
Aizawa nods, placing yet another pile of paperwork on the counter.
The staff member nods. “Thank you. This might take a while, I do apologise.”
“No problem,” Aizawa says, stepping away to take one of the nearby seats.
…
He leaves the pharmacy two hours later with several paper carry-bags. One containing his and Hizashi’s medications, and two with his students’. In the taxi on the way back to campus, Aizawa looks back over the list Recovery Girl had handed him that morning.
Aoyama’s medications he’d already known about, having seen him take them before meals. Kaminari’s antiseizure medications he had expected, having been briefed on the student’s epilepsy management plan at the beginning of the school year. A few others were unsurprising, but there were a few that had never occurred to him. The first being Hagakure’s prescription-strength vitamin D supplement. It’s something that shouldn’t have surprised him, considering the specifics of how her Quirk bends light around her. He pauses at the medicated scar cream, once again making a mental note to keep an eye on Todoroki Enji around his son. He is, however, unsurprised by the fact the pharmacy paperwork lists Shouto as “care of Todoroki Fuyumi” rather than either of the boy’s parents.
Obviously the specifics of his students’ medical histories are none of Aizawa’s business, but the fact that so many of these were left off the paperwork when Heights Alliance opened is concerning. If UA is expecting him to take care of his students, he needs to be properly informed of any relevant medical conditions.
The dorms, Aizawa thinks, looking at the bags stacked on the seat next to him, are going to have the most thoroughly stocked medicine cabinet he’s ever seen.