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akashigadabi · 1 year

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Premise: It’s just after USJ and you’re going to see Shouta in hospital. Heaven help anyone who stands in your way.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor

Warnings: some swearing

Summary: It’s just after the USJ incident, and for some reason no one but Hizashi remembers to call you and tell you Shouta’s in the hospital. Anyone who tries to keep you from him is getting bitten.

Fuck fuck fuck. Where was Shouta? Your mind can only tumble between equally frantic thoughts while the receptionist takes her sweet time to give you his room number. It’s been agony waiting for them to finish their treatment plan, especially when they should have consulted you anyway. You’ll just have to make do with what’s left, you suppose, even if it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Once you get to his floor, however, a nurse sitting at the station stands and moves to stop you.

“Miss—”

“Let me through!”

You know the nurse is just doing her job, but right now you just want to strangle her. With how frazzled you feel, you just might. Then she just has to push it by touching your arm, and it takes everything in you not to bite her hand. You were a little feral, just like Shouta, but you never had your lover’s hero shtick to help redirect your impulses.

“Forgive me, but we cannot allow—”

“I said let me through. I’m his wife, godsdamnit!”

You don’t succeed in not snapping her head off, but she takes it well enough. Instead of getting offended, she nods and asks for a patient name.

“Aizawa Shouta.”

“Oh, I know that one. That teacher. I helped bandage him earlier. Follow me.”

You’re practically a nervous wreck as you follow her through the ward. The anticipation and anxiety make your heart beat like a scared rabbit, and all you can do is imagine the worst. It bothers you that no one but Hizashi called to let you know Shouta’s status, but then again, perhaps it had only slipped their minds in all the chaos. Perhaps that assumption was generous.

After all, they have to know you’re one of his immediate emergency contacts. They have to know they need to call you if he’s become badly injured because of your Quirk. You aren’t a Pro Hero, but there are other licenses, certificates, and permits that allow someone to use their Quirk. Anything from Certified Work Permits to Investigative Licenses to Limited Competency Certifications exist for those who wish to use applicable Quirks within certain scopes.

Your specific situation involves having a Restriction Level One Compassionate Healing License. It means that you can use your Quirk on others, even in public, regardless of if the situation is as mild as a sprained ankle or as critical as a skull fracture. Unlike Recovery Girl, your Quirk doesn’t use the patient’s stamina, so you don’t need them to be well-rested or a mild case, or to wait for them to recover somewhat first. Being a doctor or a Hero didn’t suit you, so this seems like the next best alternative. Especially since the government and HPSC recognize how difficult it often is to keep healers from assisting someone injured or dying in front of them and how disastrous it would be to punish said healers, especially if the public got wind of it. So they offer an alternative. Those with healing Quirks who don’t wish to become medical professionals or Pro Heroes full or part time can instead choose to obtain a Compassionate Healing License, ranging from Restriction Level Five to Zero. Level Five had the most restrictions, while Zero had none. It basically meant there were no restrictions on how you could use your Quirk to heal, both in consideration of its natural limitations, and in consideration of its legal ones.

By the time you arrive at his room, you’re ready to collapse from stress, but you have just enough presence of mind to thank the nurse as you lurch into the room. Of course, it’s worse than you thought. He’s bandaged from head to toe, doing a remarkable impression of a mummy. He looks almost like a broken doll lying there, and it breaks something inside of you to see him like that. You sink into the chair next to his bed, barely noticing Hizashi’s jacket that he wears when he wants to be lowkey off-duty.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. “What did they do to you?”

You don’t expect your idiot (not really) husband to answer you then, sounding like he’s on death’s doorstep for a casual nap instead of his dire straights.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, so it’s just a flesh wound?”

“It’s—”

“Shut up, you insufferable man. You almost died. Let me fuss over you.”

Your hands shake as you uselessly smooth the blankets on his bed. You want to touch him, to reassure yourself of his continued existence if nothing else, but you don’t want to risk hurting him. You haven’t used your Quirk on him yet to ease his pain or wounds. The way it works was that the more positive emotions you felt, the more you could heal. If you felt positive emotions about the patient, even better. Even neutral emotions worked for adequate healing in a pinch. If you needed to “fake it” to heal someone, you could focus on a positive memory or something with positive emotions attached to it to coax your Quirk into healing the way you wanted it to. It sort of reminded you of how people made a Patronus in that one Pre-Quirk book series. Shame the author was some hateful hag, but at least no one has to see her post Chirps. (Chirper replaced Twitter in the last stages of the Pre-Quirk Era, and she’s been dead for the last three hundred years, so no worries there.)

Shouta grumbles but allows your still-trembling hands to flutter over his form, hovering without touching.

“They said I’ll make a full recovery,” he tries again, attempting to soothe you. “You probably don’t even need to use your Quirk. We could just wait for Recovery Girl to—”

You interrupted with a put-upon little huff.

“Why would I let you suffer when I can fix some of it now?”

“Silly woman.”

“Infuriating man.”

Your fake glaring contest lasts for all of five seconds before he sighs and relents. “Fine. Get it over with, then. But you’re the one comforting Hizashi if this wears you out.”

“It won’t. I worked out that the more I love someone, the less energy it takes. Now hold still.”

You reach for his eyes first, because you know how much he needs them for his Quirk and in your Quirk sense, they’re an angry blood red. You don’t know how they look since they’re bandaged, too, but you gather it’s not pretty. Any damage to his eye socket or orbital floor would be hell for his career. Not because being Quirkless was such a terrible fate, but because without it, he’d be vulnerable. Even as an Underground Hero, people recognize him, and if they know he couldn’t use his Quirk properly—or at all—anymore, they’d take advantage of that. They’d see it as a weakness, and in a way it was if they knew he couldn’t rely on Quirk cancellation in his fights. He might fight mostly Quirkless, but Erasure still gave him an advantage.

Only a fool would insist otherwise.

He sighs in relief the moment your energy enters him, flowing into his eyes first, then into the rest of his head to ease the migraine he has. Whether it’s due to his injury, the medications used for surgery, a general lack of sleep, or some combination you have no idea. In hindsight, after you’ve chased away the majority of the pain and swelling, you readjust your assessment to include a concussion and skull fracture in the list of injuries. How lovely, a sarcastic part of your brain mutters as you berate yourself for losing sight of the forest for the trees in your rush to scrub away his pain. On the other hand, the concussion and skull fracture are irrelevant, gone like a flash of sunlight on a rainy day. Frankly, you don’t care. It all hurts him, so you get rid of it. Every single layer down to the last.

His lip, which had busted before he bit through it, also healed, as did his broken nose and a deep gash under his eye, though they might both scar. His scalp healed too. Someone had yanked on his hair hard enough to rip a chunk of it out, and you could almost feel the echo of it throbbing despite the pain easing. It made you furious to know someone had hurt him so badly. It made you ache, too, as if you’re the one laying in bed beaten to a pulp.

Next you heal his arms. One at a time, of course. You start with the one closest to you. A crease grows on your brow as you register the shade—still an angry red, but a shade lighter. His entire body glows like a red star, flickering in various hues of the color that spells danger for the one enduring the wounds. It’s not until your power flows into his arm that you discover the horrifying truth. Fuck the sprinkling of bruises and the little nicks. His arm is broken in five different places, which explains the glare of red bathing your second sight. You sigh from the depths of exasperation, because of course this absolutely insufferable man with no good sense of self-preservation manages to have his arm broken in five places.

“Why does it feel like you’re glaring at me?”

Of course your bastard sounds like he’s amused and apprehensive in equal measure, you think fondly even as you contemplate tying him up in his own capture scarf so he can’t get himself so damaged again.

“Probably because I am. How did you manage to get your arm broken in five different places, Shou?”

“He what?!”

Hizashi’s alarmed cry comes from the doorway. You turn to glare at him, because really? This is a hospital for fuck’s sake! People are trying to heal!

“Hizashi, you know I love you, but if the next sound out of your mouth is another screech, I’ll toss you out of the window myself.”

“And I’ll help,” Shouta added gruffly.

You flick your finger at his already healed cheek.

“No the fuck you won’t, mister! You shouldn’t even be moving yet, let alone throwing Hizashi’s loud ass through a window.”

“Sorry,” Hizashi apologized as he shuffled into the room and closed the door. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

“That’s like asking a cat not to be an asshole,” you mutter as you turn back around, ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from Hizashi as you set to work again.

Undeterred, the inappropriately energetic man sidles up to your side. Not close enough to get in the way, but definitely close enough to watch you work. It’s a delicate process. Even with all the love you have for Shouta, it takes fierce concentration. Mostly due to all the fine-tuned control you need for the seemingly endless fiddly bits. You sit back once you’re done with his arm and massage your temples. Only Shouta, you think again. Only Shouta.

“Your arm is healed, but your wrist and two of your fingers are broken too.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath at your side, and oh yeah, Hizashi’s here too, isn’t he? You’d nearly forgotten since you’d had to block him out to focus. Funny, that. At least Shouta’s arm isn’t hurting him now, though the fact that the other has also been set doesn’t feel particularly promising.

“In addition to the five breaks on his arm?”

“Yes, and some bruising and small cuts. I’ll fix the wrist and fingers then move to his other side. Once I do, it should be safe to touch his face and this limb. Do not touch anything else unless I say otherwise, got it? We don’t wanna hurt him more by aggravating his injuries.”

“Right. I can do that. I’ll hold his hand once you finish doing your thing.”

Without any further discussion, you dive right back into the healing session. Even though your Quirk isn’t directly tied to your stamina, like an inverse of Recovery Girl’s, you can still get tired. The mental and emotional exhaustion that can lead to a period of brain fog or numbness, like the kind that comes after a good cry—or even a short bought of depression in extreme cases—isn’t a cakewalk just because you can often otherwise function as normal. Still, Shouta’s worth the backlash, and you can always sleep it off. You heal his wrist and his fingers as promised, then pause and frown because while the halo of his arm has cooled to a healthier pink as it repairs itself, his ribs scream at you.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Ribs.”

It comes out as a grunt. You don’t care, just reach out to brush your fingers over them. Some are bruised, and some are cracked. Ribs can be bandaged, but not properly set. You probe around with your power to make sure they haven’t punctured anything, then cut off the flow of energy.

“How many?” Hizashi asks when you stand.

“Enough.”

His hand grips Shouta’s like a lifeline as you round the bed, pausing to correct the damage you see as you go. “Sprained ankles.”

“Shouta,” you hear the blond murmur as you heal a nasty bruise on his leg that feels suspiciously like the outline of a boot. Ouch. Definitely from a kick. The broken blood vessels sing in relief at your touch.

“He’ll live, Zashi.”

He’s got another three breaks on this arm that’s speckled with bruises, another broken finger, and huh. A broken clavicle. You list aloud the injuries as you caress each one, sending warm waves of healing energy through them. You heal the nasty scratch on his neck, too, and the random thigh muscle he somehow pulled. That seems like the worst of it, aside from the hodgepodge of bruised organs that includes his spleen, his liver, and both kidneys, and a bruised abdomen. Thankfully he has no internal bleeding, but he’d have been sore for a while otherwise.

By the time you finish, you feel a little numb, but only just. It seems to have messed with your emotions again in a limited capacity. The closest you can feel to happiness at the moment is bitter relief, though the love you have for him never fades even when you get these spells. They’re temporary, and part of this may be due to stress instead of just being induced by your Quirk backlash.

Mostly you feel tired, like you’ve been crying for a long time and can’t cry anymore but on a low level. It’s a largerly emotionally drained feeling mixed with the barest hint of brain fog. You don’t heal all the time, after all, not like Recovery Girl or some of the Quirked doctors. Even when you do, it’s not often to this extent. You don’t always have to push yourself so much, but now you feel as if you should. Quirk training might just save Shouta’s life one day.

You’d never forgive yourself if he needed you but you were too weak to heal him.

“Is it done, then?”

“It’s done. Give it an hour before you start taking off all his casts and bandaging, though.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

You shrug.

“I’m taking a nap.”

With that, you crawl into bed next to Shouta to sleep off your backlash. Hizashi doesn’t protest. Smart man, that one. Anyone who tries to pry you away from Shouta’s side right now still stands a high chance of getting bitten. Hizashi must like having both of his hands. Good.

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