Chapter Text
Izuku wakes up for the second day in a row floating.
Thankfully, it’s not literal this time. And this isn’t one of his normal dissociative episodes either. He’s in his body, but everything feels nice. It’s weird.
“It’s the drugs, Problem Child,” a wry voice says next to Izuku. Ah, that makes sense. But - why did he need painkillers? That’s definitely what he’s on, Izuku knows, because the pain that hovers near-constantly just above his bones isn’t there for once.
“Okay,” Izuku slurs out in response. He has to think hard to remember why he’s in a hospital - the stark whiteness of the ceiling and soft beeping of machines give away his location.
Ah, Izuku thinks, as fuzzy memories of his mangled wrist and endless waiting come back to him. He rolls his head sideways to meet his homeroom teacher’s unamused gaze. “Good morning, Aizawa-sensei.”
A raised eyebrow. “It’s 3 in the afternoon.”
That doesn’t make sense. If it’s early afternoon, why is his teacher here and not in class? Izuku’s confusion must be obvious because Aizawa-sensei sighs. “I’m not sure how much you can remember,” his teacher says, “considering you were dissociating pretty badly. I came into the hospital about 2:30AM escorting a civilian casualty of a villain incident.” Aizawa-sensei’s voice becomes incredibly dry. “Imagine my surprise when I see one of my students in the emergency room instead of in bed.”
Izuku winces.
“I asked you why you were here instead of seeing Recovery Girl,” Aizawa-sensei continues, sounding for all the world as if he’s commenting on the weather and not tearing down what few barriers Izuku has left around his rotten core. “And you said - as much as you could speak - that Recovery Girl doesn’t treat self-inflicted injuries.”
Izuku thinks it’s very unfair of Aizawa-sensei to be springing this conversation on him when he’s dosed on painkillers, and tells him so. His teacher huffs at him. “It’s only logical to get my answers when you’re less likely to have a filter.”
That is the sort of thing Aizawa-sensei would find logical. But Izuku knows that he’s also avoiding his teacher’s question. There’s not really any point now though, because the hero was clearly already sniffing out the pieces of the puzzle.
While Izuku mulls this over, he keeps a watch on his teacher out of the corner of his eye. The man looks fairly relaxed, lazily reclining in a chair that looks incredibly uncomfortable. A laptop is placed precariously on another chair, clearly put aside hastily when Izuku woke up.
Izuku has already trusted Aizawa-sensei with so much, he’s confused at himself for his reluctance to tell the truth. He’s hiding out of habit, he realises. Because before, no one cared except his Mum, and Izuku hadn’t wanted to be a burden so he hid everything . Now that Izuku is actually talking about things, there’s a vulnerability and rawness gnawing at his heart.
It’s shame, Izuku thinks, that kept him quiet yesterday instead of telling Aizawa-sensei about how Recovery Girl won’t heal him anymore. Shame that he couldn’t do it on his own, shame that he can’t control One For All, and most of all shame that he’s managed to alienate the hero known for her kindness and indiscriminate healing of friends and foes alike.
But Aizawa-sensei has asked now, well not in so many words, but there’s concern shining in his dark eyes, and his mouth is tight.
Izuku talks. The painkillers in his system are making him hazy, yes, but not enough that he couldn’t decide against it. He can’t blame his teacher for using whatever resources or opportunities he has at his disposal.
“It was after my surgery. All Might was talking to me and Recovery Girl came in. She wasn’t happy that I broke so many bones again,” Izuku admits. “So she told us to find a better way to use One For All, because she wasn’t going to heal injuries caused by it anymore. That’s why I came here yesterday.”
“I see,” Aizawa-sensei says quietly. Izuku sinks back into the calming lull of a drug haze and watches lazily as a series of micro-expressions cross the man’s face. “That’s extremely,” the hero pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose, “worrying that Recovery Girl said that to you.”
“I’m used to it,” Izuku says. “Doctors don’t like me, mostly.” And it’s true. Izuku, when he’s been hurt bad enough to require a hospital visit, has always been treated last, and with the cheapest and oldest medical supplies. He can count on both hands the amount of times he’s been subjected to ‘treatment’ by nervous medical interns instead of professionals.
Aizawa-sensei leans forward. “Have you updated your hospital records since your quirk came in?” Huh. That’s a good question, actually.
Izuku shakes his head. “I was able to see Recovery Girl so I didn’t have to,” he says. He knows where Aizawa-sensei’s thoughts have gone.
“They left you untreated because your files say quirkless,” his teacher says, and there’s an iron anger in his voice. “This is how quirk discrimination kills.”
He doesn’t have to tell Izuku that. “I’m used to it,” he repeats. “It was nice being able to see RG, but I’m not surprised she got sick of me.”
Silence fills the small hospital room after that. It takes a bit of effort to get his body to obey him, but Izuku manages to flop his head away from his teacher so he can look out the window. The bad weather from earlier in the week has finally cleared up, and the afternoon sunlight that streams into the room is nice. It gently warms his skin, and Izuku can really appreciate now why cats always seek out sunny areas to nap.
A muffled gasp breaks the silence, one that Izuku knows very well. He looks back the other way and sees his Mum. He can’t help the tears that fill his eyes. “Mama,” he whispers, almost whimpers, and he’d be embarrassed about this being witnessed by his teacher but... it’s his Mum. Izuku really wants a hug from her right now.
“Of course, Izu,” his Mum says, and he’s immediately enveloped in her warm arms. Now seems like the perfect time to nap. His Mum is here now to make decisions, and Aizawa-sensei is here which means he’s safe. Yes, a nap is an excellent idea.