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The hero from the top tier of rankings was an intimidating sight as he strode through the hospital corridor. More than one nurse gasped and stepped out of the way as he approached.
He was obviously not a villain. He was a hero, a well-known one, often seen in news reports. But being a hero instead of a villain didn’t stop his presence from being frightening to onlookers.
He walked up to a desk and slapped his hand down on the counter. “Hey.”
A young man on duty looked up, startled. “Yes? Can I help you, sir?”
“This is the pediatric trauma department, right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“There was a little girl who was brought in here a few hours ago. Name of Eimi. I want to see her.”
“Ah… I’m sorry, sir, but that’s impossible.”
The hero leaned closer. “Excuse me?”
The young man involuntarily leaned back. “You can’t see her right now, sir.”
He didn’t like playing this card, but… “Do you know who I am?”
“Y-you’re pro hero Dynamight.”
“So why don’t you let me in to see her?”
“Ah, I… I’m not allowed–I could lose my job and…” The young man got up off his chair. “I’ll just ask the attending physician to talk to you.” He got out of his chair and went out of Bakugo’s sight.
In a few moments, a short man with a smiling face approached the desk. “Mr. Bakugo… sorry, you’re in uniform. Pro Hero Dynamight. Why are you visiting this late in the evening?”
Bakugo snorted with impatience. “There was an incident earlier today that I resolved. But a little girl named Eimi was hurt. You’ve got her here, right? I want to see her.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I can’t allow that. It’s after visiting hours, and as of now, she’s only allowed visits from her immediate family.”
“But I’m the pro hero involved with her case!” Bakugo growled.
“And actually, that’s another reason you can’t visit. She may be suffering from post-traumatic stress, and if so, seeing a person who was present when she was injured could be a trigger. Once it’s been determined that it’s safe for my patient for you to do so, you can visit. Out of uniform, of course.”
“Out of uniform?”
“In the pediatric wing, we ask all visiting heroes to dress in civilian clothes. Not just heroes, of course, we have the same requirement for police officers, firefighters and military personnel. In our department, there we have small children who have undergone frightening, traumatic experiences. Many of them are intimidated by large people wearing uniforms which can, as I mentioned earlier, trigger post-traumatic stress in some cases. There are exceptions–like with heroes visiting on behalf of the Make-a-Wish Foundation–but those need to be arranged and approved in advance.”
Bakugo sighed and hunched down on the counter. “I just want to see the girl.”
The doctor looked at him closely and frowned. “Have you had any rest since the incident?”
“No.”
“I’m not your physician, Dynamight, but I know what exhaustion looks like. I really think you ought to go home and go to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep until I see her.”
The doctor thought a minute then beckoned him to come around the desk. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? I think we might be able to come to a compromise.”
“Right. Thanks.”
The doctor led Bakugo down a darkened hall and into a small room. He turned on a light revealing an office with bookshelves on two of the four walls, a desk with a computer and a phone, and across from the desk, a small couch, which the doctor motioned toward. “Why don’t you have a seat there, Dynamight. I’m just going to step out and try and contact a couple of people. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
Bakugo sat down, then almost immediately got up again, too antsy to stay seated. He paced around the room, looking at the diplomas posted on the wall next to the desk. One photograph caught his attention. He leaned in and examined it closely.
When the door opened and the doctor returned, Bakugo turned around and glared at him. “Why the hell exactly do you have my high school graduation picture on your wall?”
“Because it’s my high school graduation picture.”
“What?”
“I also went to UA. Same year as you.”
“But I don’t remember you.”
“I was in the General Education department rather than the Hero department, so our paths wouldn’t cross very often. I do remember seeing you: you were one of the most recognizable kids in the class. But back to the subject of your visit, I messaged Eimi’s parents. Fortunately her mother was still awake, and she gave me permission to let you see her. But only briefly, and you absolutely cannot wake her up.”
Bakugo sighed, relieved. “Thanks. Sorry, I’m not trying on purpose to be difficult. Honestly, I really appreciate this, doc.”
He moved towards the door, but the doctor held an arm out to stop him. “Wait a minute. What I said about hero uniforms still stands. You’ll need to put something else on before I’ll let you see her.”
He snorted. “I don’t really have a change of clothes with me.”
The doctor looked at Bakugo’s broad shoulders. “And I think you’d probably not fit into any of my clothes. Hang on, I’ll see if I can scare something up for you.”
Bakugo sat down heavily on the couch. It seemed like the whole world was stopping him from doing one thing that he wanted to.
Soon, the doctor was back, holding a light blue garment. “It’s not exactly the height of fashion, but it’ll work.”
“Is this a…”
“Yes, a surgical gown. Ties up in the back. While you pop that on, I’ll be just outside, having a look at some charts.” The doctor left the office, the door still open.
Bakugo shut the door, then shucked his hero suit off. “So many damn hoops to jump through.” He put his arms through the sleeves, then twisted around to tie it shut. Almost satisfied that he was mostly covered, he left the office.
The doctor looked up from the tablet he was reading. “Super. Walk this way.” They crossed into another hallway with doors every few feet, a clipboard and patient’s name posted on each door. When they reached the fourth door on the right, the doctor held his finger to his lips in the universal “silence” gesture. He slowly opened the door and looked in. After a moment, he opened the door wider, and gestured for Bakugo to enter.
Impossibly tiny on the bed, Eimi slept. Her left shoulder was covered with surgical dressing. There was an IV tube inserted into her arm.
But the blankets were moving up and down regularly as she inhaled and exhaled.
She was unequivocally, unquestionably alive.
Bakugo let out a breath in a way that could not possibly be mistaken as a choked sob.
After a few moments, the doctor looked at Bakugo and tilted his head as if to ask, ‘Is that enough?’
Bakugo nodded, and the two left the room. The doctor gently closed the door and followed Bakugo walking back to his office.
The doctor cleared his throat “Uh, Bakugo? Why did you take your hero uniform off?”
“Are you kidding me? You told me to.”
“No, I said to put the surgical gown on. I meant for you to put it on top of your uniform. You didn’t have to get undressed first.”
Bakugo felt his face burning. “But you said…” He reran the conversation in his mind. His face fell. “Well, shit.”
The doctor chuckled. “Why don’t I leave you alone for a few minutes to get your uniform back on.”
Once he closed the door, Bakugo growled with frustration. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except the underwear he happened to be wearing that day was a bit on the revealing side..
Once he’d put on his uniform trousers and top, Bakugo opened the door.
“Why did you go to UA, anyway?” he asked as he laced and buckled his boots.
“It’s the most famous high school in the country. It was the best way to get into the top university. But, if I’m honest, I grew up with the dream of becoming a hero. By the time I reached middle school I finally came to grips that that was a dream that would never happen.”
“Why not?”
“My quirk: I call it ‘Sympathy.’ When I touch another person, I feel everything that they are feeling at that moment. I just couldn’t imagine any realistic scenario where a quirk like that would be useful for a hero.”
“So you let your dream just die like that?”
The doctor frowned. “I wouldn’t say I let it die–I just altered it somewhat. While it may not be a great heroic quirk, it’s very helpful in other fields. In medicine, being able to communicate with a patient could be the difference between life and death. If a patient can’t speak–like a little child–how is the doctor supposed to know what kind of pain they are feeling? I might have been able to be a mediocre hero, but I have the chance to be a great doctor.”
“I guess that’s fair. I spend most of my time around other heroes, so not wanting to be one feels kind of weird.” He decided not to bother putting on his headgear or gauntlets. He was just going to take a taxi home after all.
“Sounds like you need to broaden your pool of acquaintances.”
“Maybe, but with what time? Heroes don’t get any more free time than doctors do.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, good to meet my famous classmate at last. And get some sleep, okay?” He reached out a hand.
“Can’t promise anything, doc.” He shook the offered hand.
The doctor’s posture stiffened briefly and his eyes registered surprise. “Sorry, but how long ago did you injure your right shoulder?”
“A couple years, maybe?”
“Did you complete all of the physical therapy you were prescribed?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it didn’t fix the underlying issue. Talk to your doctor about seeing an orthopedic specialist soon. You need to get that rotator cuff repaired or you might suffer permanent loss of mobility.”
“It’s fine.”
“Medical quirk. I know exactly what you’re feeling, and no, it’s not ‘fine’, you’re just used to it. You shouldn’t get used to constant pain, Dynamight.”
“I hardly even notice it anymore.”
“Why do male heroes have to be so macho? I’m scheduling you for a consult with a colleague of mine.”
“I won’t go.”
“I’ll talk to your hero agency. I’ll make sure they force you to go.”
“I own my hero agency. Anything else?”
The doctor thought for a moment and spoke quietly. “If you go to the appointment, then I’ll text you the instant it’s okay for Eimi to see you.”
Bakugo groaned. “You might be a great doctor, but you are such a douche.”
He smiled. “That’s what ‘MD’ stands for, ‘massive douche.’”
At the hospital reception, waiting for his taxi, Bakugo felt a number of things. Fatigue from a very long and trying day. Relief that Eimi survived. Irritation at the nosy, pain-in-the-ass doctor. Anxiety for an appointment with a doctor who was certain to prescribe a new regimen of physical therapy, or even surgery.
‘On the other hand,’ he thought, ‘I might end up spending less money on ibuprofen.’