Chapter Text
Izuku hurts.
That’s the first thing to come to mind as he starts to wake up. It’s not the pain of a day after an intense workout, or even the pain of a strained muscle or bruised limb. It’s a bone deep ache. His joints feel like there are knives in them. His muscles feel like they were stretched far past their capacity and they tore somewhere along the pull. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton that’s on fire and there’s rocks as well rattling around in there.
He hurts is what he trying to say…and he doesn’t know why. With a lot more energy than the action usually requires, Izuku peels back his eyelids to try and figure out what happened, and frowns up at the white ceiling above him.
He can hear a faint unfamiliar beeping and turns his head on a neck that twinges painfully as he looks around. It takes far too long to realize that he’s in a hospital room. To be fair, he’s only been in a hospital room twice in his life: once when he was six and got really sick, and the other time was after everything that happened in Hosu. So…a big gap in his memories of hospitals and how to recognize them.
But why is he in a hospital? Did he get hurt in training? Why hadn’t Recovery Girl healed him? Was it bad enough that she couldn’t? If so, what happened? “Hey Problem Child,” a familiar gruff voice says softly and Izuku finally focuses on the hunched figure next to his bed.
“Sensei,” Izuku says softly, voice crackling a little from how thirsty he is.
“Yeah, kid,” Aizawa says, holding out a cup with a straw and Izuku drinks from it heavily before he pulls away. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, setting the cup aside.
“Hurts,” he admits with a frown. “Where am I?” he asks.
“Musutafu General Hospital. You got really sick there, Problem Child,” Aizawa explains gruffly.
“Sorry,” Izuku apologizes automatically for causing them problems.
“Not your fault kid,” Aizawa assures him. “I’m going to get a nurse in here,” he says and Izuku nods wearily as the man presses the call button.
Time flows by disjointedly before he finds a new face by his bedside. “Hello, Midoriya-san, I’m Doctor Kaito Sakura,” she says, pale blue hair pulled back in a tail.
“Hi,” Izuku says softly, trying to wake up more. He’s just so tired right now.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Hurts…tired,” he adds.
“I’m sure. What’s the last thing you remember?” she asks.
Izuku frowns, thinking back. “Training, um…dinner…that’s it,” he says softly.
“And how long had you been feeling off?” she asks.
Izuku shrugs, not really sure. He’s always had a low grade ache for as long as he can remember. It made it hard sometimes to realize he’d hurt himself until it started to hurt worse than usual. “That’s alright if you’re not sure,” Kaito assures him.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asks, guessing if he was sick, it was more than just a common cold. He didn’t feel sick, not like it usually presented. This felt more like someone hit him with a truck a few times.
Doctor Kaito frowns and Izuku doesn’t like that expression. She snags the chair next to Aizawa-sensei and sits down. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days now, Midoriya-san. You came in with a high grade fever, seizures and vomiting,” she explains frankly. Izuku frowns, that sounds really serious. “We ran a number of tests to determine what the root of your symptoms was.”
“And?” Izuku asks, hearing his heart rate rise through the monitor clipped on his finger.
Doctor Kaito sighs softly. “After quite a bit of bloodwork, we determined you were going through withdrawals from extended use of Exzenophorial,” she explains. “Exzenophorial is the name of a quirk suppressant used for mutant based quirks,” she says quickly, cutting right to the heart of the matter.
Izuku’s mind goes blank as he tries to comprehend her words. Quirk…suppressant? But he’s quirkless and he’s never taken anything besides over the counter medicine. “I’m quirkless,” Izuku whispers. He went to a doctor and everything; saw the damning x-ray of his foot.
“We did a lot of tests, Midoriya-san, including a quirk factor test. It would seem you were misdiagnosed as a child,” Kaito explains softly, sympathy all over her face, but Izuku doesn’t notice because his thoughts are spinning.
“I saw the x-ray,” Izuku whispers. “I…I’m quirkless. Why would I hide a quirk? That’s…you’re wrong. You’ve got to be wrong. If I have a…a quirk, then why…why am I treated like I’m quirkless?” Izuku demands angrily. His heart monitor is beeping shrilly as his emotions rise. He tries to sit up and winces as pain radiates from his body. “I don’t take anything. I can’t have taken suppressants,” he points out, trying to rationalize their answer.
“Your mother,” Aizawa speaks up and Izuku stills, staring at his teacher, the first teacher he ever had who didn’t care that he’s quirkless. Aizawa looks gutted as he speaks, like he doesn’t want to say anything, but knows he must. “Your mother has been dosing you,” he explains softly in the silence only broken by the monitor. “We tried to contact her after you feel ill. She quit her job and moved out of your apartment within the last week. She knew it would come to light what she’s been doing and she left, Midoriya,” Aizawa informs him.
“What?” Izuku croaks out, throat getting tight. His mom would never…she loves him. She was so sad when he was diagnosed. She kept apologizing after they got back from the doctor. She…she would never do this to him…would she? Condemn him to the horrible life of being quirkless?
“Midoriya…Izuku,” Aizawa calls out and Izuku realizes his teacher is suddenly much closer and his heart is very loud in his ears. “I need you to breathe, Problem Child. In…,” he exaggerates his breathing. “Out,” he continues and Izuku tries to copy, but it’s too much…too much. He’s quirkless. They have to be wrong. They have to be wrong because if they’re right then what is real about him?
He doesn’t hear Doctor Kaito’s words, doesn’t see her grab something from the cart in his room and inject it into his IV. He does notice when the world starts to grow hazy, his thoughts growing sluggish as the constriction around his chest eases. Aizawa is there, easing him back and Izuku swears he sees tears in his eyes, but that must be just a trick of the light. He’s got dry eye. He shouldn’t be crying for him. He needs to save his tears for himself.
Sleep is a siren call and he falls for it with ease. The last thing he sees is Aizawa staring at him, hand pressed to his mouth as he watches Izuku and then darkness takes all. Maybe everything will make sense when he wakes up. This was obviously some strange nightmare.
~*~
Shouta curses softly under his breath as Midoriya finally succumbs to the sedative Kaito injected into his IV line. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forget that utter look of betrayal on the teen’s face after explaining about his mother.
Doctor Kaito lets out a slow breath and Shouta pretends not to see the faint sheen to her eyes that she quickly brushes away. “They never truly prepare you for things like this in school,” she huffs out, slowly pulling herself back together.
“They can’t prepare anyone for this,” Shouta says back and she nods with a wan smile. “How long will he be out?” he asks.
“That was a mild sedative, so only a few hours,” she answers, writing stuff down on Midoriya’s chart. “I’ve got to continue my rounds, but if anything happens, just use the call button. I’m on shift all today and into tomorrow,” she adds.
“Thanks,” Shouta says and she tucks the chart away before leaving. Shouta waits until she’s gone and the door is closed before letting out a heavy sigh. He hates the world sometimes.
~*~
Izuku wakes sluggishly, but as each second goes by, he can feel clarity coming to him. He’d had the strangest dream: of being in a hospital, being told he wasn’t quirkless, that his mother had been dosing him with suppressants and had lied to him all his life. Had apparently abandoned him and run after he went to the dorms.
It had to be a dream…right?
Izuku opens his eyes to the dim lighting in his room and sees Aizawa is gone. Instead, there’s the familiar blonde hair of Present Mic seated in one of his room’s chairs reading a book. “Mic-sensei?” Izuku asks quietly.
Mic looks up with a bright grin and Izuku frowns a little because it looks more forced than usual. “Hey little listener,” Mic says with ease, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Alright,” Izuku says. He does feel better, not in as much pain as before. “Where’s Aizawa-sensei?” he asks.
“I sent him to go take a shower and get something to eat. He’s spent most of the last three days in your room,” he explains softly.
“Oh,” Izuku says softly. “I’m sorry I’m causing such a fuss,” he apologizes.
“It’s no problem, little listener. You’re our student and we just want to see you getting better and thriving,” Mic explains likes it’s the simplest thing for him to say.
“I think you’re the first teachers I’ve ever had to think that,” Izuku admits quietly, not really thinking as he speaks and doesn’t see the pained expression on the blonde’s face. By the time he looks back, Mic has schooled his expression back to his usual smile. “Can…can I asks you something?” Izuku asks softly.
“Of course,” Mic says with ease.
“Was…was earlier a dream?” he asks, hoping Mic says it was. It has to be.
The voice hero’s expression drops and Izuku knows before any words leave his mouth what he’s going to say. “No, it wasn’t a dream, Midoriya,” Mic says softly, expression sympathetic.
“She…she really…,” he can’t finish the thought.
“I’m sorry, Mi-Izuku. She’s did,” Mic says, reaching out to hold his hand and Izuku pulls away, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. Izuku gingerly turns over and away from Mic as he cries, trying to stifle his sobs like he’d learned to do so many years ago.
Mic doesn’t try to touch him again, or even speak with him, but Izuku doesn’t hear him leave either. He doesn’t know how long he cries, but he must eventually fall into an emotionally exhausted sleep, because the next time he wakes, there’s more light in his room coming from his windows.
His eyes feel dried out and a little swollen. Everything is muted in his head: thoughts, emotions, memories. He’s kind of glad for that. He’s not sure what to feel right now. Izuku turns over onto his back and sees Mic is gone and instead it’s Aizawa again.
“Hey Problem Child,” he greets softly.
“Hi,” Izuku croaks out, throat raw from so much crying.
“I’d ask how you’re feeling, but that’s a stupid question,” he says and Izuku smiles wanly. “You hungry kid?” he asks. Izuku shrugs, not really sure. He probably is. He didn’t eat much that night and he’s apparently been in here for a few days unconscious or sleeping mostly. “I’ll call a nurse,” Aizawa says simply and Izuku nods.
The nurse comes and does a quick exam over him. When she finds nothing wrong, she promises to have a light breakfast sent up as well as the doctor. They fall into silence and Izuku lets time flow by without really thinking. It’s kind of nice to not think. Usually, his thoughts are constant and he can’t stop them.
He’s broken from his numbness by the door opening and the doctor from before coming in pushing a cart in front of her. “Breakfast,” she says simply. Izuku glances at the cart to see a bowl of oatmeal with a few flavor packets to mix into it off to the side. There’s a small cup of apple slices and two sealed bottles of what looks apple juice and orange juice. “We weren’t sure what you might like, so we got a little everything,” she explains.
“Thank you,” Izuku whispers.
She doesn’t comment on his lassitude, simply presses the button beside his bed to lift the head up so he can sit without having to move much. She pushes a rolling tray over his lap and sets meal before him and sits back beside Aizawa like before.
“How are we feeling today?” she asks and then amends, “Physically.”
“I’m still tired, but it doesn’t hurt as much,” Izuku says softly, reaching out to grab the spoon beside the oatmeal. He doesn’t stir any of the flavor packets into the oatmeal. It’s not like it will make this meal any better. He shoves a spoonful of the gummy, chewy oatmeal into his mouth and swallows it unchewed.
“Midoriya-san,” Dr. Kaito says softly and Izuku sets his spoon down, but doesn’t look at her. “I know things are hard right now. I can’t imagine the turmoil you are going through nor will I pretend I do. I am sorry though, for what has been done to you and what has been denied to you. If there are any questions you would like to ask, pertaining to what we told you, I will answer as best I can. As well, I would like you to know there are options you can take. If you want to talk now, we can, or we can discuss them later at a time when you are better able to process them. We work at your pace and no one else’s,” she says easily.
“Why?” Izuku asks softly, looking at her.
“Why what?” she asks.
“Why do you care? My entire life, I’ve been to the hospital twice. Do you know why?” he asks, voice rising a little. He answers before she can. “Because no one would see me if I was hurt. It’s pointless to help someone like me, worthless, quirkless. Why waste resources on someone like me when they can go to someone who deserves it. So why? Why do you care? Because I suddenly, magically, have a quirk? Have I somehow gained a use in society now that I’m not scum?” Izuku yells out, the monitor beeping shrilly as his heartrate speeds up.
Kaito takes his words with a straight face, not even flinching at his anger. When Izuku stops to catch his breath, she finally speaks. “My sister was quirkless,” she says quietly and Izuku stills. “I spent much of my time cleaning her up, patching up cuts, sewing torn clothes, soothing her as she cried. I watched this horrible excuse of a medical profession spit on her and deny her treatment, simply because she was born different in a society that supposedly embraces different,” Kaito says calmly. “She’s the reason I went into medicine. I wasn’t able to save her when she killed herself while I was away at medical school. I’m doing this because I actually take my oath seriously, Midoriya-san. Everyone deserves fair treatment. You may not be quirkless, but it doesn’t matter because in your mind, you still are and you have the scars to prove it, don’t you?” she asks softly.
Izuku’s eyes burn as tears well up, but he doesn’t try to hide them. The room is quiet as he cries softly with his head leaned back as he tries to get himself under control. She silently hands him a tissue box a few minutes later and he wipes at his face.
“The suppressants were for mutation quirks, so I’m supposed to have some sort of mutation,” Izuku says huskily, still looking up at the ceiling. “What kind of mutation?” he asks. Quirks he understands, has always been able to understand. He needs to focus on this for now and not the boiling, writhing ball in his chest that is everything else.
Kaito nods. “An avian quirk, from what we can tell,” she admits and holds up a tablet with his images brought up. “You were actually born with fledgling wings that, had they been allowed to develop, would have emerged from your back and then grown along with you,” she says softly.
Izuku’s actually intrigued by the pictures, staring at them thoughtfully. He’s studied a lot on quirks: the science behind them, the theories, their progression across the generations and the ways they have mutated, even the ways they are suppressed. “Am I small naturally?” he asks, trying to recall what he’s heard of the drug Exzenophorial. “Mutant suppressants affect growth hormones. I remember reading something about how heavily regulated they are because of that,” he says softly.
“They do and to be honest, we’re not sure. Your mother is fairly short, so it’s possible you are just naturally short, but we plan to do a full physical scan to check for any abnormalities,” Kaito explains.
Izuku nods, still staring at the scans and she hands over the tablet to let him look closer. “You said I have options?” he asks detachedly.
“You do,” she explains. “It will be a week or two before the last of the suppressant is flushed from your body. Once gone, your body will once again begin to produce a normal level of growth hormones, though you will need to be monitored to make sure it doesn’t over produce and cause problems,” she explains.
“That can cause growth defects and abnormalities like mutated cells,” Izuku says, remembering reading a really interesting paper on cell replication and the many ways it can go wrong.
“Exactly,” Kaito agrees.
“So what are my options?” Izuku asks, setting the tablet aside to look at her.
“Right now, there are three. The first is nothing. You let your body do what it needs to while monitoring to make sure nothing serious occurs,” she explains. “There is a chance that your quirk would continue coming in with the reintroduction of growth hormones.”
“Wouldn’t they have atrophied by now?” Izuku asks, mind pondering the dilemma that is his quirk.
“It…is a possibility, which leads to your second option. You have been raised quirkless, have learned to live without your quirk and there is no guarantee that your wings will grow. If you would like to remain quirkless, we could go in and remove the limbs, ensuring you won’t have to worry about complication from them in the future. I can’t guarantee that other aspects of your quirk won’t come forth now that the suppressant is gone, but that at least would be removed,” she says simply.
“Option three?” Izuku asks without saying anything about that option, expression painfully blank as he tries to keep his emotions under lock and key.
“There is the possibility, that through the introduction of your growth hormones, and a few other drugs, we could reactivate your quirk, so to speak. Encourage growth and hopefully, they would emerge in a few months’ time fully functional,” she explains. “We have a few specialists on staff with quirks that are used in similar situations, helping atrophied or diminished limbs return to functionality,” she explains.
“I would have wings?” Izuku asks in an almost detached voice.
“Yes, though I can’t say for sure if they will be fully functional or that you would be able to fly. Though I can consult with some avian specialists to learn how the wings develop and when true flight might be capable,” she explains.
“So my options are: do nothing and see what happens, removal, or try to get them to grow and emerge?” Izuku asks.
“Yes,” Kaito admits, sharing a glance with Aizawa though Izuku doesn’t notice, too lost in the technical side of his thoughts. “We wouldn’t be able to do anything until the suppressants are out of your system anyway, so you have a few weeks to think on this of course,” Kaito explains.
“Oh,” Izuku says softly, taking another bite of his now cold oatmeal. “What about school?” Izuku asks softly, dreading what Aizawa might say.
“You will still have a place in my class, Midoriya,” Aizawa assures him firmly. “You’ll be given as much time as you need to process and recover from this, and whatever decision you come to, you will have Yuuei’s full support.”
“Oh,” Izuku says softly, not expecting that. It’s strange to think that adults actually want him to succeed. “My…my mom is gone though,” Izuku forces out, keeping a tight grip on the anger and betrayal that wants to emerge from the box he’s shoved it into.
“That is true, but when she signed the paperwork to allow you to stay in the dorms, she signed partial custody of you over to us. You will be brought in under Yuuei’s custody as a ward of the school with Mic and myself acting as your guardians until proper accommodations can be figured out,” Aizawa explains simply.
“What about the Provisional exam?” Izuku asks anxiously. He’s already days behind everyone else. He’d hate to have to miss that because of…everything.
“I don’t know,” Aizawa admits softly. “Right now, we’re more focused on getting you better and figuring out your living situation. Once the doctors feel you’re strong enough to go back to training, we’ll start figuring that out then, okay?” Aizawa asks.
That…sounds reasonable. He does feel pretty bad still despite the lessening of his pain and exhaustion. The thought of going back to training sounds exhausting right now. “Does everyone else know…about me?” Izuku asks, anxiety causing his heart to skip a beat.
“They know you’re sick, but not what caused it. What you decide to tell them is up to you. Though, depending on your choices, it will get out eventually,” he reminds Izuku.
“Oh…yeah,” Izuku murmurs.
Silence settles over them for a few seconds as Izuku stares at his half eaten meal before Kaito finally speaks up. “Do you have any questions for me?” she asks seriously. Izuku thinks, but honestly, he’s got too much going on in his head right now to think up any questions he might want answered so he shakes his head. “Alright, well then, I’ll leave you to finish your meal. If you do have any questions, I’ll be available to answer them. Depending on your exam this afternoon, we’ll determine when you can be discharged, okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Izuku murmurs.
Nodding, she does a quick look over his chart before writing something in it and hanging it back on his bed and leaves the room. Izuku pokes at his food, suddenly not very hungry. “You need to eat, Midoriya,” Aizawa reminds him gently.
Grimacing, but guessing his teacher is right, Izuku stuffs another bite into his mouth and swallows it whole to avoid tasting the bland food. They don’t talk any the rest of the morning and once he’s done eating, Aizawa offers to take it for him. Once the man is out of the room, Izuku turns on his side and tries to go back to sleep, preferring the nothingness of sleep to the chaos of his thoughts right now.