Airwaves Unscripted (PapaMic)

Mic, still pacing like a damn caged animal, suddenly stops. He turns back to Aizawa, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed.

"Okay, okay, fine—did you find out anything new?"

Aizawa watches him, still the picture of calm compared to Mic's barely-contained hurricane. "Tsukauchi is looking over the case."

Mic blinks. "Tsukauchi?"

"Yes. I pulled some strings to make sure it's being handled properly." Aizawa takes a slow sip of his coffee, like he hasn't just dropped another bomb on him. "He'll be keeping me updated, and he knows to contact me the second there's a development."

Mic stares at him. Then at me. Then back at him.

"...You pulled strings."

"Yes."

"You—YOU!" He gestures wildly at Aizawa, looking almost offended. "Mr. 'I Hate Bureaucracy' just casually pulled strings to make sure this case got handled properly?!"

"Yes."

Mic opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again.

"...I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."

Aizawa shrugs. "Both are valid."

Mic lets out a long breath, rubbing his face. "Okay. Alright. Good. Tsukauchi's competent. I can work with this."

Then he turns to me, crossing his arms. "And you? How are you holding up?"

I stare at him.

How am I holding up?

Well, let's see—

1. My mom and Hisashi had a full-on quirk fight that ended with the police getting involved.

2. A cop got hurt.

3. I might not even see my mom today.

4. My dad just found out about all of this in real-time and is one minor inconvenience away from throwing Aizawa out the window.

So yeah. I'm doing great.

I force a grin. "Oh, you know. Thriving."

Mic deadpans. "I'm gonna get you therapy."

I groan. "I don't need therapy, I need a nap."

Aizawa side-eyes me. "That's what people in denial about needing therapy say."

Mic gasps. "OH MY GOD, ARE WE FINALLY AGREEING ON SOMETHING?!"

I drop my head on the table with a thud. "Please just let me suffer in peace."

Before I can respond with another sarcastic quip, there's a low growl from the corner of the room.

"Enough."

I freeze.

Mic freezes.

Aizawa sighs.

Hound Dog, still standing there judging the hell out of us all, steps forward, arms crossed. "Midoriya." His voice is gravelly, rough—like he's already done with my bullshit before I even open my mouth. "You're getting therapy. Non-negotiable."

I groan, sitting up. "I don't need therapy—"

"You were raised by a woman who just got arrested for fighting her boyfriend with her Quirk. You need therapy."