Irrational Problem Child

Irrational Rivals

You opened your eyes, jolting awake in a normal hospital room, and jerked back so you didn't fall out of the chair. The continuous beep of the heart monitor provided a gentle background noise. Your ears drooped. He still hadn't woken up. Aizawa lay covered in extensive bandages, looking exactly as pale as he had since yesterday.

You'd been at his side ever since you'd gotten back from the USJ yesterday. At night, you shifted to cat form and curled against his side. During the day, you shifted to human form and continued to wait.

You watched Recovery girl carefully. Recovery Girl jotted careful notes in a thick binder as she tended to Aizawa's injuries. She set the binder on the bedside table, and gave your hand an encouraging squeeze.

"He'll be back on his feet in less time than he ought to be, dear. I've seen it from him enough times."

You frowned. Aizawa had never come back from work injured. What was Recovery Girl talking about?

She jotted a few more notes in her binder, then closed it into a drawer. You noted the location. As soon as she shut the door behind her, you retrieved the binder.

As you'd suspected, it was medical record of all her patients. The alphabetical organization put Aizawa near the front. Wait, this wasn't dad's medical history... It was yours. "Aizawa, Eiko" read the header information. Only a single page. The records showed the time you'd gotten punched by that titanium fist dude, and the time you'd had a checkup for your claws, with some small x-ray photos.

You turned the page. "Aizawa, Shota," the info read. You leaned forward intently to read. The first entry was from seventeen years ago... woah, that would be when dad was in high school. Several other entries followed, dating within the next few months. The fifth one had a note reading "Seems to get injured unusually often. Note: talk to instructor. Suspect Sensoji." You frowned. The way you'd pictured dad in highschool was nothing like what this note indicated. 

The training injuries continued down the next page. As soon as Aizawa's graduation year, the entries became less frequent... only once or twice a year. But far more severe. "Broken tail bone, from being thrown into a building" read one. You winced. "Third degree burn along entire right arm, from fire quirk," read another. You kept reading, scanning all the way towards the years since Aizawa had adopted you. The entries continued. "Broken knee cap, overstretched abilities to save a falling person. Broken rib. Reason undisclosed. Patient untalkative today. Poisoned by toxic dart quirk. Required immediate antivenom and resuscitation..." You glanced at the date. That had happened on your fourteenth birthday. Your breath caught.

You remembered that day.

Aizawa had been late to the party with Mic, the Shinsou family, and a few other friends. When you'd asked what had kept him, he'd looked at you silently, then shoved a forkful of cake in his mouth. You were distracted from your question as his face had tinted green and he wobbled in his chair. "Dad are you okay?" He set down his fork and leaned forward tiredly. "I'm fine, problem child." Then, with a ghost of a smile "happy birthday."

You snapped the binder closed, glaring down at Aizawa's bandaged form.

"You didn't want me to worry, so you lied. You've always taught me to think rationally. And yet, you made the most irrational choice possible when you didn't let me know your limits. If I'd known..." you bit your lip, angry at the tears welling up. If you'd known, you could have fought with him. Evened the odds. This all could have been avoided.

He remained peacefully oblivious, surrounded by all the whirring machinery and gently blinking monitors.

You heard footsteps in the hallways from recovery girl coming back, so you hastily replaced the binder and pretended to doze in your seat.