ANIDIOTROPIA CHAPTER 8: New Guardians
The medicine and practices as depicted in this work are not wholly representative of real procedures and have been adjusted or modified to add to the continued development of a fictional illness. This author is not a cardiologist and takes creative liberties based on self-education through online resources such as: NCBI, WHO, UOI Health Care, as well as others.
Bip-ip-ip-ip –
"Hang in there– . . . –iddo. Almost do–ne…"
"CP bypass–"
"Hook–ng up the–"
Bip-bipb-bip-ip
" –complicated. It– ~~~ –aker recharging– ~~~ –one more–"
A great pressure held Izuku underwater, distorting his perception of each sense. He wasn't sure if what he felt was pain or something else but it didn't really matter to him.
Izuku didn't know where he was at first, but he could hear the sound of waves crashing nearby and imagined himself in the wisteria cove Mom used to take him to. The boy basked in the serenity, the peacefulness of the sounds, and tried to smell the flowers with no success.
Sometimes the waves changed their rhythm suddenly, and other times they pulled him closer to the surface, where a tight, painful cold wrapped around his bones like a cilice. When that happened he could hear voices around him, muffled and strange through the water. If he got even closer he could feel seaweed running through his body, forcefully inserted into him through the soft tissues at the crook of his arm, through the side of his neck, and up into his armpit. They were thick and heavy and every instinct in him demanded he pull them out, out, out– but before he could he would always be dragged back down to the dark and warmth and calm.
He liked it there, liked to rest on the soft sand and listen to the waves go in . . . out . . . in . . . out. . .
But every time he went up again he seemed to get closer and closer to the surface.
Kacchan…? Izuku wondered, looking up through the strange water and shivering. He could smell smoke and. And something. Something sweet.
What was it. He was drifting... . . . .
"ⁱˢ ʰᵉ–ᵢₛ ₕₑ ᵃʷᵃᵏᵉ?"
"no– said he–"
"Deku…?"
"It's cold," Izuku wanted to say, wanted to reach out to the only familiar thing he recognized around him, wanted that person to tell him everything would be ok. Why can't I see your face…?
Dad, are you down here too?
Oh, ok…I'm coming. . . . . . . .
"DEKU!"
"Ah, Mr. Usoro-san! We've been waiting to hear from you. Your foster son is–"
"–zawa-san permission to care f–"
Eraser… . . . . ?
"He'll be fine," the specialist had said.
"He'll be fine," the surgeon had said.
"He'll be fine," the nurses said.
Midoriya's foster parents had at least been relieved to hear that 'their son would be ok,' but not relieved enough to fly back to Japan to see him. But they'd permitted Aizawa to be his temporary guardian.
And to Aizawa, Izuku did not look fine.
"He'll be fine."
Everyone said that like the boy's heart hadn't stopped, like the specialist hadn't been flown in from Central Hospital because Midoriya wouldn't have lived long enough to get there from Hosu. Like that kid hadn't sent out a mass text to his contacts asking for help and been ignored by all but one. Or like Aizawa Shota hadn't been listed in his phone as Dad.
It was a smart move to choose such an innocuous, monosyllabic word for someone when your legal parents weren't on the continent and unlikely to pick up in an emergency. Coming from someone like Midoriya, who doubtless had very little trust left in him, it spoke volumes. All Aizawa had done was give him food and company. Had the boy really been so starved of affection?
The answer to that was written in scar tissue, in the mutilation of Midoriya's arm.
Shota couldn't pinpoint when Midoriya had become one of his kids but there was no denying that he cared about him like he was.
Bip. Bip. Bip.
"Something's wrong with your fucking head, shitnerd."
Strange. The words tasted like blood and chemicals but they weren't his own.
He could feel the invisible weight of someone standing over him, someone he was supposed to fear but instead felt relief, like he'd gotten lost for a long time and found a landmark he recognized. It reminded him of summers spent in the woods, clutching nets and hunting bugs with one person who'd stayed. For better or for worse. Probably for worse.
Bip. Bip. Bip.
"That shitty teacher may have forced my ass into goddamn therapy but you're the one who's fucked up. That's not my–"
Words lost, fizzling out like fire on a detonation wick.
A machine buzzed.
Beep-beep-whrr.
"You ain't my fuck'n responsibility or anything. That dumb old hag and stupid dog-breath don't know shit."
Bip. Bip. Bip.
"Fuck. I hate you so much, ya know. All this dumb heroic garbage comes so fucking easy to you, haah? You're nothing but a goddamn act. Idiot. It's not my fucking fault. Fuck that."
Bip. Bip. Bip.
Pacing. One circuit on a line, back and forth.
"With a shitty message like that how the fuck was I supposed to know you were asking for my help, you shitty-Deku!"
"⸮uʞuƹi"
Bip. Bip. Bip.
Noisy, Izuku thought when he came up again. He wanted to turn away but found his body too heavy to move. He tried to make a sound but nothing came out. Where was he…?
Something tugged at the fabric of Izuku's clothes, exposing his chest to the cold air.
Bi–bip. Bip. Bip.
"Ssh, sweetie," someone said, smoothing down the goosebumps with a small, warm hand, "I'm sorry, I just need to take a little peek. 'see if we need to change it again." A pressure appeared, palpating the edges of a wound he didn't know he had. "Looking good. Let's get this tube out of you."
"Hh–h." His chest shuddered and when he tried to turn his head again something on his face moved. And then something inside of him was being pulled out. It hurt. He was hurting. Where was his mom? Why wasn't she here?
Bip-bip-bip.
"I know it doesn't feel very good, I'm sorry champ." It didn't sound like he was the one being spoken to, or maybe that she – whoever she was – didn't know he was listening. "You're alright." Her voice was soft and calm, like the peaceful depths of Dad's ocean below him and singing his favorite sea shanties to Izuku. But if Dad was below, then Mom must be above. He wanted her.
Izuku felt his eyes open and found it strange that he couldn't see anything.
"Ssshh, it's not time to wake up yet."
He realized his arm was attached to something when it was moved without his say so.
"Let's get you back to sleep, love."
No. I don't. . . . . .
Upon their release from the hospital it had been agreed that Todoroki and Iida should be given counseling through the school until Inui deemed it no longer necessary. A few of their other classmates were also seeing the dog-man for similar, albethey less personal, reasons.
But now there was one more student he was worried about, someone who Aizawa had had to threaten expel before he accepted therapy after his stunt at the Sports Festival. A few days after Midoriya's admittance to the ICU, Shota had walked into the boy's room to find the last person he expected to see.
Bakugou Katsuki, his most emotionally dangerous kid so far, sat huddled on a chair farthest away from the bed. His face read like an angrier version of guilt. Aizawa knew a bit about their childhood together – having met his parents while Midoriya was in surgery.
Deciding not to acknowledge Bakugou's presence with anything more than a quiet sigh, Shota settled into his normal chair and began grading homework. Fifteen minutes passed in silence, save for the rhythmic bips and whooshes from the machines Midoriya's little body was connected to. Aizawa had always known he was small but like this it was impossible to ignore. It wasn't like looking at Mineta, who was already unnaturally small for his age-group.
The pro hero glanced up from his class's papers. Midoriya had been de-intubated and fitted with an oxygen mask but was still sedated, still covered in holes, wires, and catheters. There was one plugged upwards into his radial artery to monitor his blood pressure after weaning him off the bypass that looked especially uncomfortable. Every so often there would be a series of short beeps from one of the machines he was attached to.
Either a nurse had been by recently or Bakugou had been snooping, but someone had pulled Midoriya's gown open to expose the branching leads of all the electrodes on his chest.
Neither student nor teacher said anything, but Bakugou's guilt didn't need words. He was one of the first people to see Midoriya's text and also one of the only ones who'd decided not to do anything about it despite admitting that he thought it was weird.
Shota suspected he had a lot more to sorry for than that.
"So he does have a pacemaker," the underground pro commented with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. As Midoriya's temporary guardian he was entitled to learn all the same information the Usoros had about their foster son's procedure.
Izuku's doctor – a middle aged, bookish-looking man – sat across from Shota. The private consultation room was so clean and organized, even for a doctor, it was almost unnerving.
"Yes – it's American-made. The newest model in their long line of rechargeable pacemakers. We wouldn't have used it on someone with anidiotropia in Japan so his blood parents must have had it implanted there when he was young." Dr. Tetsuya had a distinct hakata ben dialect, black hair, and orange eyes.
"His biological parents took him to the US?" Aizawa asked and tried not to curl his lip at the term 'blood parents.' It was a bit archaic for their time.
"They wouldn't be able to get it anywhere else. My team and I have never seen a case like Midoriya-kun's before. He's lucky we managed to get a hold of a cardiology specialist in America while we had him on the CP bypass– something that takes over the function of the heart and lungs during heart surgery – who was able to identify the model and tell us how to go about charging it. Midoriya-kun's very lucky to have it," Dr. Tetsuya explained, pulling up an image on his computer and turning it around for Shota to see. He spent the next few minutes giving Aizawa a basic run-down of the electrical system in a human heart and how different pacemakers could be used to treat specific problems.
"Midoriya-kun's pulse generator is about the size of a lima bean. That's almost three times smaller than what we would have used on someone with anidiotropia, but the electrical output is the same," he said, turning the screen back, "the Americans are hoping to make something that charges continuously inside the body by tapping into leftover electrical signals. For now, these little machines will need to be recharged from the outside once every five to ten years." The man typed something out on his computer.
"Each case of anidiotropia comes with its own unique hiccups and variants of heart diseases – none of which I've found are very predictable. According to his medical records, Midoriya-kun has what is known as Type 2-Paroxysmal Atrial Fibrillation, abbreviated as 2PAR or 2Afib, which means–"
"–he experiences episodes of arrhythmia that will gradually worsen over time and eventually lead to rapid progressive heart failure," Shota interrupted, cocking an eyebrow. He'd done his research prior to this. The sooner this conversation was done, the sooner he could get back to the trouble-maker's bedside. So far, at least Midoriya's 2PAR and STA – Sinus Tachycardia Arrhythmia – episodes hadn't been found to be symptomatic of anything more prudent.
"Yes, that's correct. In general, the life expectancy for someone like Midoriya-kun is about twenty years but we're always doing our best to lengthen that. These guys–" The doctor handed Shota a pamphlet with a bunch of cicada avatars on the front and a company by the name of 'Happy Cicadas Research Institute' attached to an asterisk somewhere, "–are the only researchers we have left on the frontlines of pharmaceuticals that help us provide treatment for each case, if you want to know more. They'll tailor make some meds for him. It's famously expensive but the results are worth it and I feel hopeful for Midoriya-kun's future if we can convince his foster parent's to give us the go-ahead."
"For the time being, Midoriya-kun is stable and doing well. Now that his heart has finished re-charging we can start getting him ready to go home with you. I've scheduled him to get his reversal later today. As a seasoned pro-hero I'm sure you're already familiar with wound aftercare so I'll make this brief."
"Shh!"
"You, shh!"
"Be quiet or you'll wake him up!"
A door opened.
"I found– Ah."
"Sshhh–!"
"Mh. . .ghn." A pain deep in his throat, worse on an inhale, made Izuku's chest jolt and drew a hushed whimper out of his mouth. Breathing hurt.
"Deku-kun…?"
Something prickly poked against forehead when he furrowed his brow and he wondered why his chest felt so stiff and his head hurt so much.
"Midoriya? What hurts?"
Unable to respond Izuku pushed his head back against his pillow and tightened his grip on the sheets. Someone said something about fetching a nurse.
"I'm going to touch you, Midoriya," something cool brushed the side of his face without giving him time to process the words and he flinched, "it's alright. Your head hurts, doesn't it?"
"Nnh, c'hhnt tsee," Izuku whispered, voice raspy and uncooperative. He remembered there'd been something urgent he'd needed to know, people he had been scared for. What was…? "T'hhrohki? Hhda? 'kahy?" As desperately as a sedated person could, he hoped they'd understand him.
"I'm fine. Iida is too. Just relax."
"prhhmiss?"
"Of course, Midoriya-kun. Aizawa-sensei is… . . . . "
"–residual complications in my left arm." That sounded like. Was it Iida? Was Iida here? Izuku needed to make sure Iida was ok. He needed–
Oh. That's right. He remembered now. Stain was gone.
"–impairment of my brachial plexus. It's not severe or anything, just a little numbness and stiffness in my fingers. My family wants me to get nerve grafting surgery to fix it but…" There was a shuffling nose beside him. A sigh. "He's a bastard and I hate him but the Hero Killer was right about me. You were right, too, Todoroki-kun. I have to be better. If I'm going to be a hero who protects people like Midoriya-kun, then I have to get stronger."
"Hm." Todoroki must have been on his other side. Izuku felt the discomfort of eyes watching him and shifted a little.
"So I've decided; Until I become a hero, I won't get the surgery."
Izuku didn't understand such a sentiment, didn't understand Iida-kun's feelings when he said that. But he wouldn't argue, not even if he'd had the strength to.
"I see."
Silence.
Strangely, Todoroki-kun was the one to break it, "I don't know what kind of personal things you and the rest of the Iida family go through beyond public eye. But I've lived my life surrounded by some of society's favorite heroes and even though I didn't meet All Might until UA, there's something about Midoriya that reminds me of him."
"He is strong and brave. Reliable, too," Iida replied without pause, "there are a lot of elders in my family but, now that I think about it, Midoriya-kun is probably wisest person I know. He inspires me in ways no-one else ever has, not even Tensei. Whatever happens, I want to follow his lead." His voice changed as Izuku's tenuous grip on consciousness slipped, "if he can ever forgive me for what I did… . . . . "
There was something in him and he needed to take it out.
For once, voices didn't wake Izuku.
Instead, it was the rustling of papers and scribbling of a pen, the familiar scent of ink in the air and the occasional sigh.
A warm hand wrapped around Izuku's tightened when he tried to move his arm. He attempted to pull away but he couldn't free himself. He tried a few more times for the same result.
Eventually the analyst groaned crankily. There was an itch inside his elbow!
"Stop trying to pull your IV out," a fond but no less exasperated voice said to him.
Trying to remember where he recognized it from and scrunching his nose, the itch in his arm was joined by a new one in his nose. Izuku sneezed.
When he blinked his eyes open, he found a familiar face looking back at him – one that didn't seem terribly impressed to have been inside the analyst's blast-zone.
"…Aizawa…san?"
Transitioning into a new home was always one of the hardest parts of being in a new home. Atsushi had offered to come and pick him up but Izuku had told him not to, worried the man might get in trouble for neglect if he tried to act as his guardian. Though he still held firmly to that belief, entering the underground hero's home as his charge made Izuku nervous in a way none of his foster families had. He wished he could pinpoint why.
"Your room is down the hall on the left," Eraserhead told him, taking off his shoes and putting them in the caddy by the door.
"Excuse the intrusion," Izuku said politely, bowing at nothing before doing the same.
"Go put your stuff away. Meet me in the kitchen when you're done," Aizawa told him.
His apartment was a simple 2LDK with a rustic sort of décor that reminded Izuku of the sixth foster family's home. The blinds and curtains were drawn but it would otherwise get good lighting. Everything was neat and tidy. He noticed a cat tree by the balcony door when he ventured hesitantly into the living room. Just to the right of the tree was an ugly cat-themed lamp with overly realistic eyes and a long curling tail jutting out of the back. On closer inspection, Izuku noticed the eyes were glow-in-the-dark, and the tail was long enough to snag anything from headphones to beltloops.
"Midoriya."
"Y-yes, sir!"
Izuku's room was small and showed signs of its former life as an office but it was probably the nicest place he'd ever sleep in. There were windows and hanging plants and AC and he had a bed instead of a futon. There was even a bookshelf brimming with books on quirk theory and analysis! And some of them were even textbooks he'd need for future college classes.
He couldn't help be a little excited as he put his clothes away. There wasn't much so he finished quickly and left his backpack by the desk with all his essentials still inside, just in case.
Entering the kitchen he found Aizawa-san pouring some tea for them with a tortoiseshell cat winding around his legs. "If you need anything else in your room let me or Hizashi know so we can get it for you–" he said, missing the way Izuku reacted to the name. He sat down at the table and shooed the cat away.
"–Present Mic lives here too?!" Izuku squeaked. His new guardian treated him to a dry stare and Izuku realized he'd interrupted with an embarrassed jolt. He bowed and sat down with an apology.
"It's fine. I just realized I forgot to tell you Mic and I are married." Aizawa-san looked at the analyst like he was expecting some kind of reaction from him but Izuku couldn't understand why that was relevant to the conversation. Of course they were married, they were heroes. The underground pro sighed deeply and leaned forward with an almost amused expression. "To each other, kid," he explained.
"Oh!" The freckled orphan blushed brightly in embarrassment, and ducked his head. Homosexuality and LGBTQA rights had become widely accepted throughout Japan in the last century or so, and it wasn't uncommon for heroes to marry other heroes regardless of gender. Izuku wasn't sure if he should apologize for being stupid or congratulate his new guardian for something that probably wasn't new.
"Ah, u-uh what should I call you and Mr. M-Mic, sir?" Most families were very particular about that kind of thing.
"Mic will tell you what his preference is. As for me," Aizawa sipped his tea, reminding Izuku he hadn't touched his own yet, "I won't mind it if you call me Aizawa-sensei or Aizawa-san, but do not use my hero name when I'm not in uniform. Got it?" Izuku nodded and said his prayer of thanks before starting to sip quietly at his own tea, accidentally mixing up his cultural table etiquette between Japan and the US. In his defense, there were still drugs in his system. Either Aizawa didn't notice or didn't care because he swiftly moved on to the next thing.
To the analyst's surprise they didn't discuss any house rules, only that Izuku didn't yell inside the apartment and didn't stay out late goofing off. Instead, they went over his medication and how long he'd be staying with Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei.
Izuku would be on antibiotics and pain relief medication for the rubber drainage tubes still stitched into his body. Because his heart had literally needed a slow recharge, his chest would be more prone to painful muscle spasms for a few days too, so his doctor had prescribed him with some as-needed muscle relaxants.
The Usoros made it clear they didn't want Izuku on heart medication yet and so, as his legal guardians, they had the authority to make that decision.
For once, Izuku seemed to be the only one who didn't mind that.
Izuku surprised himself by drifting off on the couch before Mic-san got back, dozing comfortably under the watchful eyes of Aizawa-sensei's cats, and the weird lamp, while the man himself cooked dinner. Sounds echoed strangely around him but his body was still hyperaware of motion. He wasn't really awake. The pain was starting to come back and the day's events were catching up to him quickly.
Distantly, he heard a door open and close, followed by a hushed greeting. The analyst shuddered and stirred.
"Where's the little lis– aww."
"Leave him be, Hizashi. He's had a long day," he heard Aizawa-sensei say, "go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon."
Izuku meant to open his eyes and greet Present Mic but when he did the man was already gone. He'd better help set the table then.
He sat up with a hitch in his breath and a grimace, his whole torso burning. Because of the Winged Nomu's size, some of the holes in his sides were dehisced – meaning the edges of the wounds couldn't meet anymore and therefore couldn't be stitched or stapled shut, hence the rubber tubes. The tubes were short and flexible and prevented his wounds from healing on the outside faster than the inside, thus keeping his body from trapping bacteria in them.
And, according to the technician who put them there, they were quirk made. As his body healed, it would absorb them, using them to facilitate rapid cell growth. In just a week his dehisced punctures would be healed.
The disheveled boy took a few deep breaths before standing up and shuffling into the kitchen. The doctor had said it might take a day or two for him to really reorient himself after spending so much time asleep.
Aizawa-sensei seemed surprised to see him, watching Izuku out of the corner of his eye as he turned off the stove. When he noticed his charge shyly opening cabinets he asked, "what are you looking for?"
But when the boy turned to explain he was trying to set the table, he short-circuited. "I. W-well, I gotta– I'm was. . .do that, uh. The thing– th-thing where. . . Uh. Uhm?" the boy's sleepy mind struggled to translate his intentions to words. He couldn't remember how to say the English ones in Japanese. Abort, abort! You're acting like you're trying to steal, he fretted and looked around for something that might help. In the end he just pointed at the plates he found and went back to the linguistic basics, "set. Table?"
Izuku had been a little unsure when Present Mic offered to help him with his wounds that first night but it wasn't like he could argue. At least the bathroom door wouldn't be difficult to open if he got stuck inside for some reason. The boy frowned at himself when he realized what had just gone through his head. Present Mic would never do anything weird to him! He was one of the top five most inclusive heroes, for one, and for another, he was married to Eraserhead!
Izuku was safe. Safe, safe, safe.
"So I hear you know how to speak English!" the voice hero said brightly as they worked Izuku's shirt off his stiff torso together. Neither acknowledged the state of his body, the thinness, the scars. "That's amazing! Eraserhead knows a little but his accent is totally hopeless. Take a seat on the toilet while I get this stuff ready, yeah?"
"Yessir." The analyst did so, trying not to stare as his second new guardian washed his hands and opened the kit Izuku had been sent h– back with. Not home.
Mic-san looked so different with his hair down, it was no wonder he didn't need a disguise when he was off-duty. His quirk was amazing, too! He had so many questions about its use. Sound had really strange effects on the human body, after all. Mic-san could manipulate peoples hormones, like with music, and calm them down, excite them, and even boost the immune system. On the other end of the scale, he could permanently shatter eardrums. From what Izuku knew the major blast radius for such an effect was within seven miles of Mic-san when he –
"You look like you have some questions for me, little listener," Mic-san said and squatted down in front of Izuku, "go ahead and shoot! Yeah, don't be shy!"
Aizawa-sensei groaned from the other room and called, "volume, Yamada!"
"Ah, right. I got a little too excited. Sorry," the blond called back. Aizawa-sensei appeared in the doorway and looked down at his husband for a moment, obviously exasperated, before disappearing again. When he was gone, Mic-san looked at Izuku owlishly. Realization brightened his eyes. He frowned and rubbed the back of his head, "that was all in English, wasn't it?"
Whether the mistake was intentional or not, Izuku couldn't help but laugh and nod his head.
Originally we had a major panic attack in this chapter but I had to scrap it because I almost gave myself one writing it [finger guns]
X/Os please
Cheers, loves!