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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years

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Lost Time

It was half past eight on a Monday and I was running late. I was known for being late as well as scatter-minded and it was an image I had been trying to combat since I was a young girl.

However, that didn’t change the fact that I had already missed the 8:30 train and the 8:20 one before that. I stood on the platform with the usual suspects of businessmen in charcoal dark suits, middle-aged moms on their way to the market with overly large floral-print tote bags, and a few highschoolers who looked just as late I was with a bruised-eyed emptiness about them.

I bounced on my heels as I waited and checked my watch every few minutes. I had been given several warnings so far about tardiness at my office job and while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about quality control work I was less thrilled about the prospect of being fired.

I texted my workplace friend about covering for me and then I checked my watch again.

For not the first time I missed university and the ideal of sleeping through whatever classes I didn’t care for and sneaking in a few minutes late to any lectures I actually did. My older sister kept insisting I was lucky I had gotten a job right out of college at all, but there was no helping it. It all sort of sucked.

The monotony was almost as bad as the knowledge that monotony was my future: pure predictable, clockwork knowledge of what I might be doing a month from now. And then a year from now. And the year after that.

I bounced on my heels and checked my watch for the third time. It was a leather watch with a round handsome face and a worn strap- my father had given it to me right before the Alzheimer's set in when I was around seventeen.

We hadn’t “lost” him, but we did lose the man I grew up with.

That was how I remembered that morning: thinking about Monday and work and my father’s watch which kept ticking much slower than I would have liked it to.

Maybe things would have been different if my work friend had texted me back faster or if I had woken up earlier or if I hadn’t bothered to wake up and go to work at all that morning.

I bounced in place and just as I was about to look down at my watch again a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Ah,” I jumped and swung around to start shouting at whoever it was or the very least pull away from the stranger manhandling me on a public platform.

I hesitated when an old woman looked back at me. She was small, and had neat grey hair swept back into a tidy bun and a hunched back with wide, heavyset shoulders. She was lined with deep wrinkles and had clear blue eyes that struck me as somehow attractive and open.

She smiled mildly at me and her cool hand was still wrapped around my wrist as I faced her. I wrinkled my nose slightly as the scent of something like chlorine hit me over the head. It was a saturated sharp kind of chemical smell.

“Excuse me,” the old woman spoke in the same tidy manner as her look. “May I borrow some of your time?” I frowned deeply as I suspected she was about to break out a bible and start a pitch for either Jesus Christ or some new age church of cardinals or weed or paying them money or whatever.

I drew back, “I’m sorry.” I tried to glance at my watch but it was still in her grip. “I gotta get to work.” “It won’t take long at all. No trouble for you, I promise.” She said and her voice was similarly friendly, high-pitched, and reminded me somewhat of a cricket.

The chemical smell funneled through my system and I tried to politely hold my breath. “Sorry. The train is about to come and I really can’t miss it.” “We have time.” She said slowly. “It will only be for a bit and won’t cost you a cent.” I sighed heavily and looked around to check if anyone there noticed me being accosted by the elderly, but no one even batted an eye in our direction. “Are you selling something?” “No.” She said suredly. “I know this sounds a little forward, but I’m trying to find someone and I could use some help.” “Huh.” I blinked a couple times and chewed on my bottom lip; I weighed my options carefully for just a moment more and then met her syrupy blue gaze. “Just looking for someone, yeah?” I exhaled slowly. “Alright. Sure.” Her smile grew wide and candied sweet. She released my wrist and I swore a popping sound erupted through the air and sent a shiver down my spine.

“But I really can’t do it right n-” I didn’t finish my sentence as the train whooshed onto the platform and I stumbled backward. When I turned to tell the old lady I would have to help her later, she was gone.

I sniffed loudly and rubbed at my wrist before hurrying aboard my morning train and trying not to get stuck on any of the details. It was Boston, sometimes weird people talked to you.

And you tried to forget them. At least, at the time I hoped to forget her and get to work without being noticed or reprimanded again.

--------------------

It was two months into December and I had a head cold like nobody's business. I hadn’t been able to breath out of my left nostril since the day before and I missed her dearly, as you would a best friend or lover.

Cold sheets of rain had been coming down in slushy torrents for days now and I had spent hours the week before helping move my roommate out. She had finally decided to go all the way with her questionable boyfriend and move in with him despite the old pizza crust smell and missing fire escapes in his neighborhood. But he had both a car and a netflix account.

I was happy for her up until I helped her move a couch in the pouring ice-rain and woke up the next day with the feeling of a balloon inflating in my sinuses.

I went to work all the same in an effort to make management get off my back about the number of days I had missed. The world was a slow motion mess of dayquil and painkillers by the time I was finally able to head home in a daze. I produced kleenex after kleenex out of my purse as I traveled, like a magic trick where no one was impressed.

I was rocking gently back and forth in the train when my head pounded slightly and my nose cleared up for just a moment. I would have hit the air with my fist right then in victory if not for the sharp scent of chlorine that washed over me.

The uncomfortable sterile smell that reminded me of storms and sucking on copper pennies.

My eyes darted left and right to check if anyone had noticed, but the train was filled with pencil-skirt ladies on their phones typing away, school children with ipads out, and a homeless man softly snoring in one of the seats.

I massaged the bridge of my nose and hurried the rest of the way home with more kleenexes produced and thoughts of nyquil on my mind. I was surely too sick to be cogent I figured and becoming slightly delirious.

I slipped into my now one-person apartment, ate canned noodle soup, and tucked myself to sleep in my thickest sweatpants and sweater. It should have been over then, but it wasn’t.

I had dreams, and not the type of dreams I had ever had before. Dark shadows shifted and oozed under me, bright neon colors popped in my vision, stars exploded left and right and nonsense voices babbled in the distance.

It was like the confusing scene in Dumbo with the pink elephants singing except I didn’t even get to be drunk for it. And then the scent of chemicals came wafting through my head space and I exhaled from somewhere deep inside of me and everything went as blank as a canvas.

There was no proper way to describe it except the unclenching of every muscle in my body after a long day or letting go of a kite and watching it sail away with the wind. I let go of thousands of jumbled images and sounds and then I blinked again and I was staring at the night sky.

It was hard to process for a long hard second and harder to come to grips with the cold air against my flushed cheeks and the crevice moon up above. My muscles complained at me dully, but besides that my body was limber and I noticed I could breathe again.

I inhaled through both nostrils and when I sat up I realized I was in some sort of barren field. I gawked at the empty rows and dirt on my hands and the fact I could barely make out any city lights in the distance.

I hadn’t left Boston in months and I didn’t remember getting off my couch that night. Or driving. Or walking. Or bundling myself up in my heavy pink coat and lying down in a field.

I flexed slightly and noticed a tingling in my fingers and dirt on my knees and palms. I had been doing something as well.

I searched my person for a moment and was relieved to find no injuries, but also no clues. My coat pockets were completely empty and my only guiding source of information was that I was in a field and I wasn’t sick anymore.

I even sniffed the air for chlorine, but there was nothing but faint winter chill.

I took a deep breath and stood up after a few minutes and began to walk toward the city lights. It was a long walk and I went back and forth in my head on whether to take myself to the hospital and ask about sleep walking disorders.

On the other hand I remembered my father’s long struggle with in-patient care, his empty gaze as more nurses talked to him in gentle tones, and wheeled him around the blank white halls. I remembered the tears as he seemed to lose my face and then my mom’s face and birthdays and places and names like party balloons being popped. The hospital smell made me nauseous just thinking about and it had only been one night.

Just one night didn’t mean anything.

I ended up finding change in the back pocket of my jeans and taking the 6am bus home from Northampton all the way to my apartment. I didn’t sleep well for days after that.

--------------------- I chalked the first time up to a weird combination of flu medicine, stress at work, and maybe even losing my roommate that week. And for awhile it seemed like a dream that someone else had.

For awhile.

It was February when the feeling crept back in. I couldn’t explain it, but I started checking hallways before I turned the corner and examining strangers faces twice if they sat next to me. I put bowls of water by my door so I might step in them and wake myself if I started sleep walking again.

Or perhaps someone else would step in them on their way in. I tried not to dwell on that last thought- no matter how many times it nagged at me.

There was a sensation of sickness in my gut and I couldn’t get rid of it. It was February and I was sitting on my couch watching some nothing TV show my mom recommended to me and just like before, something unclenched.

The kite was released and I blinked and there was an absolute nothingness so fine that I could have drowned in it. Been eaten by it, been destroyed by it.

And I blinked once and I was standing in the grocery store holding an egg carton and practically gagging on chlorine stench lodged in my mouth. “Ack.” I dropped the eggs to the floor and they splattered like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

I started breathing heavily and clutching at my chest, several concerned shoppers stopped and looked my way as I leaned on my cart for support. The cart was completely filled with cartons of eggs.

I ran outside only to find I was just a few blocks from my apartment building. I sprinted home and when I tripped my way up my stairs, wheezing and eyes streaming, there was a single spilled bowl of water on the floor.

I melted into the carpet and shook slightly as I looked at it. Something had been in my apartment. Or else I had kicked it myself during the weird trance.

But it didn’t matter either way. I couldn’t remember.

---------------------

I finally went to the doctor with a complaint of memory problems and we met with a neurologist with iron-grey hair and a busy tie. He checked my pupil dilation and ability to track objects with my eyes. He tested my reflexes and had me remember colors and numbers in certain orders.

My mom came with me for the appointment and glanced at me every few minutes. She didn’t say anything, but I could read the thoughts on her face: it’s already got her too.

Maybe my mom thought she was cursed. But when all of my tests came back negative for any brain abnormalities she exhaled and I didn’t.

It got worse from there. I would wake up blocks from my house holding an umbrella I didn’t own, wake up with leaves and sticks in my hair, be walking down the street one second and then be in a completely different part of town on a park swing the next.

I started putting more bowls of water around my house and added bells and stacks of books and even a few stray mouse traps around the windows (one of which actually caught a mouse). Most nights there was nothing but gnawing silence and I waited and waited for the smell of ozone.

The smell of storms and pools and airplanes right when you get off.

I blinked up at my dark ceiling and waited. It only happened once; I heard the bell: the chiming silver bell with all of my worst fears and highest anxieties pressed to it. I turned over in bed to grasp for my phone or a baseball bat or anything at all.

But then I unclenched. The world popped and the nothingness took hold with a profound sudden swallowing sensation.

And I blinked again and I was standing on the very top of a hotel building with cars honking down below and a fire exit open behind me. I looked down and I was holding a TV antenna in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Goddammit!” I threw both of the items down on the ground and started pulling on my hair. “You can’t keep doing this to me!” I screamed at nothing, “I have a life! I never agreed to this.”

But somehow, I remembered I had.

---------------

I quit my job. I hated the endless spreadsheets and conference calls and management deadlines, so it wasn’t much of a loss. But everyone I knew asked “what’s next?” with big eager smiles and I stopped returning their calls after a while.

I stopped sleeping. I started prowling the streets like a cramped zoo animal with nowhere to go. It was late spring by then and the city was stinking with hot bodies and burning trash and my own simmering violent questions brewing under the surface.

What’s happening to me? I wanted to scream at someone, but didn’t want to have to return to the hospital. Why me?

There were no answers, only the endless strips of pavement and my red converse slapping against them. Fifth street: two young boys biking with matching helmets and noisily chewing gum that they blew into fat pink bubbles. Washington Street: cop pulling over a teacher with thick glasses and a hard look on her face as she got out of her vehicle.

South End: a busy farmers market with women in overalls selling backyard kimchi and a man with a beard almost down to his waist selling gourmet chocolates and homemade beer. Noisy, busy, yelling, laughing people that streamed past me and barely stopped to look at my blood-shot eyes and trembling hands.

I was well past the farmer’s market and on the seventh day of my trek when I heard it. A high, cricket voice that carried over the buzz of construction work nearby.

“No, no, not like that.” She spoke into a phone briskly. I turned on my heels and everything moved in slow motion and jerky fast images all at once. One second I was staring at an old woman with pleasing blue eyes and then I had her pinned up against the nearest wall with my forearm.

“Police!” She shouted without hesitation or even looking at me. “Police! Someone!”

I hissed through my clenched teeth. “Take it back.” I growled lowly. “Make it normal again.” Her lips peeled into a snarl and she leaned her head against the wall. “That’s not how it works.” And then the smell of chlorine slithered through me and I started to cough.

“No!” I held on with all my might- clenching and gripping and grasping for something I couldn’t name. “Not now! I need-” I gasped, “I need.” The old woman looked blankly at me, but with something that I might have classified as pity. Or despair. “Give it to someone else.” She said in a soft voice. “Pass it off.”

-----------------------

My hair was falling out in thin clumps and I kept wiggling one of my back teeth as it had seemed to have come loose. I had no idea what I had been doing for days by then and no matter how many traps I set it was always the same: crashing bowls and ringing bells and then nothing. Expansive, hungry nothing.

I stood at the train station platform and looked at my watch. I had forgotten to wind it and it had stopped ticking. I looked at it and I bounced on my heels and a young man in his very early twenties stood next to me.

He smelled strongly of aftershave and his suit seemed to swim around him despite being obviously tailored. He had coiffed golden hair and frantic eyes that darted back and forth over the platform.

He looked down at his watch.

I shot my hand out and took his wrist. “Excuse me,” I croaked and tried to get him to look me in the eye. “Can I borrow some of your time?”

#supernatural #original story #supernatural story #horror story #writing #short story #creepy story #my work

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goffilolo · 7 years

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Demise of Midoriya Izuku Part 8

God this was a long chapter. I hope you will enjoy it. you can read the full fanfic on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/776826

I’m currently on a christmas break, however i have a very long essay to write so im not sure if ill be able to write/draw any more demise!au stuff.

Izuku was tired.

It was nothing new per se, as for the last month the teenager has become very well acquainted with the feeling of exhaustion as a side effect of his medication. “It’s normal” said Shin during their last appointment “Your brain is still going through an adjustment period, and insomnia is a rather common side effect of a lot of antidepressants”. So yeah, it was all good.

Except it wasn’t.

Given that no one was willing to rid the boy of his sleepless turmoil, Izuku decided to take the matters into his own hands. Because fuck Shin. In the hindsight, all of this was a very bad idea.

It all started during one of his usual conversations with Mrs. Todoroki, only this time they were joined by her daughter Fuyumi. The first observation Izuku made upon her entrance, was that this young woman was almost a splitting image of Mrs. Todoroki, save for the hot red streaks in her hair, undoubtedly inherited from her asshole father. After talking to her for a bit, Izuku was quite pleased to learn that she has not in fact inherited her father’s god tier assholism. Izuku has never met the man, he doesn’t need to, at least not yet.

After brief introductions they have resumed to their previous conversation.

“So how did meeting with piece of shit go?” asked Mrs. Todoroki, her question quickly followed by Fuyumi’s scandalised expression at hearing her mother use such foul language.

“Meh, it was your typical melodrama bullshit. Some shouting and insults were thrown around, well mostly by me, and crying” replied Izuku in a rather nonchalant fashion, completely disregarding Fuyumi’s shock and confusion.

The word got round quickly in this ward, meaning that most of the patients and staff were in on Izuku’s personal drama and so they all came to a silent agreement to refer to Bakugou as ‘piece of shit’ and never call him by his actual name. And so over time Bakugou became the psychiatric ward’s very own Voldemort. But Fuyumi doesn’t know that yet, bless her soul.

“You actually cried?”

“Oh no, not me, piece of shit did. Honestly you should’ve been there, Shin was there for emotional support and kept staring daggers at him, it was hilarious” sneered the boy upon remembering the Bakugou shitshow with some sort of twisted fondness. His enthusiasm was however quickly disrupted by a long, loud yawn coming the boy’s mouth.

“Didn’t get a good night’s sleep?” asked Fuyumi.

“More like a good month’s sleep” snapped Izuku, rubbing his temples as much as the bandage around his head allowed him to. “And that bitch Shin won’t prescribe me anything cause it would clash with my antidepressants” scoffed the boy.

“You know that Dr. Iyashi cares about your wellbeing and wouldn’t want to give you anything with nasty side-effects” said Mrs. Todoroki as she stroked Izuku’s shoulders in a gentle, matherly manner.

“Wait a minute” chimed in Fuyumi “Prescription won’t do, but what about over the counter stuff? There must be some sleep relief that you could take”.

“Oh, really?” said Izuku, with a hint of amusement and sarcasm “What are gonna do? Smuggle some Quil into the hospital for me?”

The determined smile on Fuyumi’s face told Izuku that indeed, she would. ‘Well then’ thought Izuku ‘This is going to be fun’.

The next day Izuku has found two bottles being dropped onto his lap, while the boy was busy filling up his notebook with sketches of Endeavour being eaten alive by crocodiles. If you looked closely enough you’d also notice that some of them contained an already half eaten Bakugou.

He raised his brow at the bottles, then looked up to see Fuyumi looking very smug.

“I got the Quil” she said, very proud of herself.

“I can see that” replied Izuku, looking back and forth between the two bottles “Why two?” he asked, confusion and curiosity seeping into his voice.

“I forgot whether you needed DayQuil or NyQuil so I got you both!”

Looking at very pleased Fuyumi, Izuku didn’t have it in him to grace the statement with a proper reply that wouldn’t point out the stupidity and irresponsibility of casually getting two substances that are meant to do the exact opposite, which then lead to a train thought of ‘what if you mix them?’.

“Thank you Fuyumi-neesan!”

And thus Izuku was left alone in his hospital room, the notebook long forgotten, staring at the content of the two bottles, as the nerdy part of his brain deciding to wake up and cause drama. ‘If you mix DayQuil and NyQuil, you end up with what, ForeverQuil? Or given that the substances are meant to do the opposite would they cancel each other out and have no effect when consumed simultaneously? No, that doesn’t seem right, it’s more likely that they would disturb a sleeping pattern, but given that mine is already fucked, how would I be able to tell...’

“SHIT, I’m mumbling again!”

So many questions that demand to be answered, a hypothesis that needs a confirmation and a curiosity waiting around the corner, ready to kill the metaphorical cat.

“Ugh, fuck it” said Izuku as he gulped down both substances in one go.

That’s when everything went to shit.

At first he didn’t feel any different. He spent a good portion of time looking out of the window, admiring the weather - it’s almost May so the days were getting brighter, warmer - waiting for something, anything to happen.

Things got a bit blurry after a while. Izuku could feel his BRAIN getting blurry, which he didn’t even know was possible. But apparently losing contact with reality does things to you.

As Izuku slowly regained clarity, the first thing he noticed was the sluggish feeling and the pounding in his head, reminding him of the first time he woke up in this god forsaken loony bin.

The second thing he noticed was the darkness. At first, he thought that one of the nurses has closed the curtains while he was out of it, but no, the curtains were open, and upon closer inspection Izuku came to realisation that it was in fact, night time. Which was strange...to say the least, since it was still sunny just a few seconds ago. ‘Is this some sort of a quirk? Probably not.’ he thought, which meant there was only one option left.

“FUCKIN HELL I TRAVELLED THROUGH TIME!”

His shout was followed by a tired groan, which definitely did not belong to him.

“Dr. Iyashi, he’s at it again!” shouted Mrs. Todoroki.

Wait a minute, Mrs. Todoroki? When did she get here?

Izuku whipped his head to the side, where the woman was sitting in a chair by his bedside, with Shin standing in the doorway, looking down at a clipboard.

“What the-shit did you get in here?” asked Izuku, his brain still sluggish and disoriented about the whole situation.

Shin chooses that moment to walk into the room “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

“No? I was sitting here and it was day and suddenly it’s night, so obviously it was Quil induced time travel” said Izuku, as his lagging brain allowed for all the ridiculous bullshit to spill out of his mouth.

Shin does not look impressed.

“You absolute, fucking idiot!” shouted the doctor “Why in the world would you mix DayQuil and NyQuil together? Are you completely insane? What did you think would happen?!”

“First of all, if I was sane I wouldn’t even be here. Second of all, who told you about my Quil?” asked the boy, his eyes suddenly focused, full of suspicion.

At that moment Fuyumi poked her head through the entrance and waved at Izuku as she made her way through the room and stood by her mother’s side.

“Sorry, I had to tell him since it’s all my fault you went delirious in the first place” she said, her face portraying nothing but guilt.

“It was very irresponsible of you!” said the doctor, his gaze switching between Izuku and Fuyumi “Not only did you take medication against a doctor’s recommendation, you even roped others into smuggling unauthorised substance into the hospital…”

And Shin went into the ‘ranting dad’ mode. It was a perfect time to zone out.

While the doctor was busy lecturing everyone about the dangers of overdosing and mixing medications, Izuku picked up the discarded notebook in hopes of finishing that sketch of Endeavour being devoured by crocodiles. His drawing skills were improving, that’s for sure. Maybe once he’s finished he’d show it to Mrs. Todoroki.

‘I think she would like that’ thought Izuku.

Except when he opened his notebook on the most recent page, instead of Endeavour massacre, Izuku was met with lines upon lines of text, written in what can only be described as very rushed and frenzied handwriting, which undeniably belonged to Izuku. The pages were also adorned with big bold letters at the top stating ‘ENDEAVOUR THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL’.

‘When did I write that?!’ Izuku was rather astonished as he started to skim through his writing and came to a conclusion that what he was reading was in fact a conspiracy theory. A very detailed one at that.

“Izuku, are you listening?” asked the doctor.

“No” he replied absentmindedly.

But the writing in his notebook and the overall situation left Izuku very confused. The moonlight illuminated parts of the room, a reminder of a mysterious time slip, which apparently was not quil induced time travel. Izuku needed the answers, and he needed them NOW.

“Can anyone tell me what happened?”

His question was met with a long, awkward silence, as the other individuals in the room looked at one another, not knowing what to say.

“Alright…” Mrs. Todoroki broke the silence “...where do we start?”

………………………………………………………………………………

Iyashi Shin was finally having his well deserved lunch break. After starting his shift at 6 am, he felt exhausted and he was barely halfway through. And so Shin planned to have a short nap during his break to recharge. ‘What am I, an old man?’ he thought to himself ‘Probably, at least I’m on a good way to becoming one. Not getting any younger either, I’m turning forty next year.’

‘Ugh, this calls for a mid-life crisis nap’ he thought while lying on the couch in his office, being slowly lulled to sleep by the ticking of the clock.

Suddenly Shin was awakened by an obnoxiously loud laugh coming from the corridor. He was annoyed at having his nap interrupted, but the annoyance was outweighed by sheer curiosity, as one does not get a lot of laughing in this part of the hospital.

The doctor soon got up and opened the door he was once again met with the obnoxious laugh, only this time louder as it came from a man who was currently walking out of Izuku’s room.

“Haha...it was nice talking to you Midoriya. I’m glad you’re in a good mood” called out the man “I’ll be back tomorrow to check your homework!”

‘Homework? Ah, it must be Izuku’s teacher’ thought Shin with a bit of suspicion as he remembered his patient talking about his homeroom teacher in a … less than friendly manner.

‘So why would the laugh? I thought Izuku hated the guy.’

As the teacher walked away from Izuku’s room he bumped into Shin, who was standing in the middle of the corridor, lost in thought.

“Ah, Dr. Iyashi didn’t see you there!” exclaimed the teacher. He sure was in a good mood, a stark contrast to his usual visits.

“Good afternoon, how was your visit?” asked Shin, trying to squeeze out some details out of the man.

The teacher laughed again trying to get a hold of himself “Oh it was great, I haven’t laughed so much in ages. Whatever meds you put him on, they’re doing god’s work!”

“Really? What did Izuku say?”

“You know Bakugou-kun, right?”

“Of course, the one responsible for the shitstorm that is Izuku’s depression” stated the doctor as a matter of fact.

The teacher stilled his movement, unprepared for the blatant statement. Trying to dissolved the tension, he continued “Yeah, him. Anyways, Midoriya was asking about him and he seemed stuck on on his name so he said…” he stopped for a bit, trying to mimic his student’s voice and speaking manner “ ‘you know the angry, shouty one, what was his name...Fuckugou?’ and I just lost it right there! Buahaha!” sneered the teacher, waiting for Shin to have a similar reaction.

And boy was he not disappointed.

“Fuckugou!” exclaimed Shin “That’s a good one, gotta tell it to the nurses, it will spread like wildfire!”

………………………………………………………………………………

“Fuckugou?” asked Izuku.

“Fuckugou” confirmed Shin.

“That...is funny as hell, but it doesn’t really sound like me.”

“I know, which is why I was concerned. Mind you I still needed my nap, so I asked Mrs. Todoroki to keep an eye on you in the meanwhile” explained the doctor as both him and Izuku turned their heads in the direction of the white haired woman.

………………………………………………………………………………

Mrs. Todoroki was having a good day. And by good she meant boring. In all honesty there’s only so much a person can do in this place before being driven further into insanity. She was currently sitting in the common room in the company of her daughter who has dropped in earlier to give Izuku the sleeping medication they talked about yesterday.

Which is why she was more than a little surprised when Dr. Iyashi approached her, asking to keep an eye on Izuku, who right now should be sleeping like a baby from the medication.

Nevertheless she agreed, as the doctor seemed deeply concerned about the boy who has managed to settle himself nice and cosy in a particular place in her heart; reserved exclusively for her children. ‘Well then’ thought the woman as she came to a realisation ‘Looks like I now have five children.’

Just as Mrs. Todoroki considered brushing off Dr. Iyashi’s concerns, her train of thought was disrupted by a maniacal laugh that belonged to no other than Izuku himself.

The teenager in question wheeled himself into the common room at a speed that should not be achievable for a wheelchair, his hair wilder than usual, eyes wide open, pupils dilated. The boy’s face was devoid of any sanity.

“HOLY SHIT MRS. TODOROKI!” he screamed.

“Are you high?” she asked, full of disbelief at the state the boy was in.

“I got the answers” announced Izuku, completely disregarding the woman’s question.

“What answers?”

“All the answers! To everything! I CAN FEEL THE UNIVERSE EXPANDING IN MY BONES!” shouted Izuku, further disturbing and scaring other occupants of the room.

‘Oh, is this why Dr. Iyashi was concerned? What do I do with him?’

“Right…” said Mrs. Todoroki, hoping to distract the boy for a bit “...why don’t you sit with me and Fuyumi and tell us all the answers? Just remember to keep your voice down” she added in her motherly tone.

Although Izuku seemed quite out of contact with reality, he did as he was told. After wheeling himself next to Fuyumi he whipped out one of his notebooks seemingly out of nowhere and began to speak.

“From the evolutionary standpoint my existence is a liability to human advancement. Every year the number of people born quirkless decreases as our gener are to be replaced with the superior ones of those with quirks. I’m going extinct! Both my parents have quirks, yet I was born without one, I’m an anomaly I SHOULD CEASE TO EXIST!” screeched Izuku as he seemed to be having an existential crisis that was accompanied by what he thought were diagrams from his notebook, which to everyone besides him looked like a bunch of gibberish and nonsense.

“WHY DO I EXIST?” screamed the boy in agony as once again he began to wheel himself at an impossible speed out of the room.

The Todoroki women were left stunned, looking at one another and then back at the spot previously occupied by the insane teenager.

“What did you give him?” asked the mother.

“The Quil”

“What Quil?”

“All the Quil.”

“Go and get Dr. Iyashi. I’ll stay here in case Izuku comes back” she said while rubbing her temples out of frustration.

………………………………………………………………………………

“Oh, fuck, what happened after that?” asked Izuku, no longer in disbelief, but amusement. While he had no recollection of any of this happening he felt like he was listening to a rundown of an episode from ‘it’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’.

He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself though. The adults in the room on the other hand were very much tired of his shit after having to deal with Quil induced Izuku the whole day.

“You wheeled yourself around the ward while screaming ‘I challenged God to a knife fight’. What actually happened was you stole a scalpel from a surgeon, don’t know how, and started stabbing one of the All Might sketches in your notebook” relayed Mrs. Todoroki in the most flat and no-bullshit tone she could manage.

“Haha, yeah that sounds like me!”

“Now then…” announced Shin as he stood up addressing everyone at once“...it’s been a long day for everyone. Mrs. Todoroki please go back to your room for today. Ms. Fuyumi, thank you for everything. I will see you again. Izuku, you little shit, we’re going to have a talk.”

As the two women got up and left the room, Izuku was left alone with his psychiatrist. While he knew that Shin was only concerned about his well being he didn’t look forward to being nagged by the doctor again.

Instead of talking, Shin just ripped of a piece of paper from his clipboard and handed it to Izuku without any explanation.

“Any what is this?” asked Izuku, eyeing the piece of paper suspiciously.

“ A prescription for Ramelteon” says Shin “It’s most commonly used as antidepressant, but it also works as a sleeping drug. It’s also one of very few that does not lead to a dependence. Take this to the dispensary now, they will sort everything out and you will be getting your dose from tomorrow evening onwards.”

“I know I was very reluctant to give you anything besides antidepressants…” he continues “...but I’d rather do this than have you going batshit crazy with whatever alternatives you’re willing to try. Please be careful in the future Izuku, I mean it” he finishes with a warning tone.

“Can’t promise anything” said Izuku, his voice full of mischief.

“In that case I can’t promise that I won’t smack you on the head next time you pull of shit like this” replied the doctor, as he walked out of his patient’s room, hiding his smile behind the clipboard.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #demise!au #fanfic #demise of midoriya izuku #chapter 8 #midoriya izuku #iyashi shin #mrs. todoroki #todoroki fuyumi

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