Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bakugou slouches in the loveseat, staring at his knees with his hands shoved into his pockets. He feels his back protest, aching to stretch, with a nagging voice in his head nervously proclaiming the slouch bad for his health. Fucking nerd.

An analog clock grows louder the more attention he gives it. It’s probably the only thing in the room that deserves his attention. He breathes in for five ticks and holds, challenging himself to keep the stale air long past the pain he rightfully deserves.

“How are you?” Hound Dog asks; the growl reminds Bakugou of the sound of distant thunder. With thunder comes lightning, bright and green and gone.

“I don’t know, what do you fucking think?” He exhales too soon, souring at this redundant conversation and refusing to look up at the pro hero. “You ask the same stupid question every time. You should just expect there’s just never anything fucking new.”

“It doesn’t have to be new. Our minds work in unique ways that simply recounting the week can be beneficial. Having someone willing to listen, having someone there for you can be enough. As heroes, that’s what we do. Bakugou, know that we’re in your corner.” Hound Dog leans back in his plush gray armchair, which is starkly different than the Pro Hero appearance.

It sucks. All of this fucking sucks. This fucking counseling room bathed in whites and grays and accented yellows is an interior designer’s dream. It’s a room that pretends to sympathize, empathize, or whatever the fuck it is, but it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t do anything, and it sets Bakugou on edge.

He should be doing something. Hound Dog should be doing something more than sitting in this room doing fuck all nothing. If there’s anything Bakugou wants this damn dog to do, it’s getting off his case or getting lost in the forest in an explosive game of fetch. Bakugou nearly smirks at the thought of Hound Dog chasing a burnt tennis ball into thick trees but keeps his frown firmly in place. He hates giving this hero anything to work with.

Bakugou should be doing something that’s not sitting in this fuck whatever room. He should be looking for the League, looking for something to punch, looking for Deku’s body. Bakugou should be at Exit Island digging through the rubble, searching for any sign of hope.

“Bakugou,” Hound Dog’s voice is sharper, which snaps Bakugou’s gaze up for an instant, red eyes capturing the counselor’s in a burning glare before drifting back to his knees. “How are you?”

“What do you fucking think?” He says again, adding a shrug for emphasis. Bakugou turns his gaze to the wall of windows, and the thick green forest U.A. claims as private property. The rich color and dark shadows remind Bakugou of unkempt curly hair and unfortunate clown freckles. “I’m the one who ended All Might. I’m the one who ended shitty Deku. Some hero I am, ending fucking Symbols of Peace left and right.”

“This is not your fault.”

Bakugou whips his head towards Hound Dog. “Yeah? Then whose is it? Someone has to take the blame for all this shit.” He growls through gritted teeth.

“And that doesn’t have to be you.”

“Clearly, no one else is fucking willing!” Bakugou narrows his eyes, hands ripping from his pockets as he throws his arms wide with miniature explosions igniting on his palms. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see! You can’t possibly know what it’s like!”

Hound dog huffs, which only irritates Bakugou more. “I have some idea. I’ve been a pro for some time.”

“Yeah? And fuck all that’s done for you.” Bakugou snaps back. “I ended Deku. All I’ve done is laid the groundwork for his death, and just when I fucking finally start making up for my dumbass shit, he dies. He’s dead, and it’s because of me. Can you get that through your ugly muzzle?

“We were friends and then we fucking weren’t, but that idiot still said we were. I said and did so much shit to him. Then we’re here,” He gestures around the room, “and it’s everything we dreamed and I,” Bakugou chokes, hunching further into himself as his hands dive into his wild hair pulling spikes to feel some semblance of pain. “All I had to do was take his hand.”

Silence falls between the two, the ticks from the clock grow louder once again, but the sound is no match for Bakugou’s heavy breathing.

Bakugou counts twenty-seven ticks before Hound Dog takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for sharing, Bakugou. I understand this must be difficult –”

“Oh, fuck off.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, glaring at the muzzled hero. He’s disappointed to find that Hound Dog’s hackles don’t rise to his bait, though if Hound Dog did, he’d be just as much of a failure as Bakugou.

Thirteen ticks this time.

“How long has it been?”

“Too fucking long.” Bakugou slumps deeper into the loveseat, folding his arms firmly across his chest. Deku’s last battle was three months, six days, and twelve hours ago during the spring work-study. The fight ended in the middle of the night with a flash so bright, the battlefield was illuminated in day. What remained was rubble, blast shadows, and a distinct lack of bodies.

“Do you miss him?”

“What kind of shit question is that?” Bakugou flicks his gaze to Hound Dog, who remains patient, and if anything, resembles a kicked puppy. Bakugou isn’t sure a pro who wears a muzzle for fun should ever look like a kicked puppy. That’s some next-level evil shit right there, and Bakugou’s the one that caused it. Great.

“These answers,” Hound Dog gestures with one hand, “Your defensiveness around what happened may be blocking your ability to mourn. We’ve gotten far in our past few sessions, but we seem to be back at the beginning whenever we start again each week. Addressing your feelings, sorting them out is the first step –”

“To get out of this shitty hell hole? Yeah, you’ve said a million annoying times. We’ve been over this already; when are you going to say something new?” He pushes against his biceps with his crossed arms, straining his muscles to mimic the tension of a blast kickback in his shoulders. The end result is nothing like the kickback in battle, and Bakugou is left gritting his teeth and more irritated than moments before.

“Do you not want to mourn him?” Hound Dog asks with genuine curiosity in his rumbling voice. While the mangy dog may be calm, Bakugou feels everything in him spike.

“What the fuck did you say?” Bakugou leaps to his feet on top of the loveseat with hands clawed and ready to attack. “Mourn Deku?” As if he hadn’t for the past three months, six days, and twelve hours. “Get your fucking facts straight. This ain’t over until he fucking gets to go home. Got it?”

“Sometimes heroes don’t get to go home.” Hound Dog states so quietly Bakugou almost misses it. The guidance counselor chooses to look at the floor instead of at Bakugou, which is the wrong fucking move, and fuck the hero’s fake sympathy. Fuck all of this!

“Deku does!” Bakugou roars. He’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

He counts thirty-two ticks in the silence that follows. It gets awkward after the first three, Bakugou loses the intense anger within the next twenty, and he flops back down on the couch with muttered grumbles, laying so his head rests on one armrest, and his legs dangle off the other side. Deku used to mumble.

“Could you clarify something for me?” Hound Dog asks. Bakugou groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You claim that you ended Midoriya but also state it isn’t over until he’s home. Which is it?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“That’s fine; I understand it’s a difficult question to answer. We can pick it back up another time.”

Bakugou is so sick of the word ‘difficult.’ Hound Dog knows every synonym for the word difficult. Hard, challenging, confusing, demanding – the damn hero knows them all. It doesn’t mean anything. The more the hero says, the less Bakugou trusts. How could this fur for brains ever understand?

“Bakugou,” Hound Dog’s voice is far from wanted in Bakugou’s homemade darkness. “We’ve still got plenty of time on the clock; let’s try this again. How are you?”

Bakugou seethes.

After a therapy session that results in fuck all nothing, Bakugou trains. Every Thursday – Deku died on a Friday – he misses heroics for dumbass sessions with Hound Dog and less dumbass one on one training with All Might, who clings to Bakugou like he’s a lost son. It’s fucking annoying, but he doesn’t tell the former number one to stop.

Three months, six days, and seventeen hours; the sun is setting with the promise of summer, warm and golden and innocent – like Deku. Bakugou’s lungs burn. How long has he been running? It was lighter outside when he started. Did he lap the school? Did he take a new path? He doesn’t know; maybe the ache means it’s time to stop.

Bakugou slows in front of U.A’s main gates, bending over to rest his hands on his knees, heaving as if air could be a foreign concept. Maybe it is. How can Bakugou breathe when Deku can’t? How can Bakugou keep training when Deku’s probably out there broken, cold, and alone?

He could be alive, the smallest part of Bakugou’s mind whispers. It’s the thought that keeps him up at night imagining shitty fucking Deku underneath tons of rubble calling out for help. It imagines Deku minutes before that blinding light with a wrecked arm, ruined costume, and a head wound painting his face red. He has a stupid fucking smile, and he’s promising Bakugou everything will be all right because I am here. It plays on loop with those three words, each time showing more wounds Bakugou didn’t notice because he’s not a good enough hero to save by winning. There’s no way anyone could survive that crater, even if Deku didn’t look mostly dead.

He could be alive, it whispers again; and what Bakugou wouldn’t give to find Deku on some shitty sunny beach in a god-awful Hawaiian shirt retired from his hero career before it began. Fuck.

Deku would probably be surprised, nervous like the shitty nerd he is. He would lower his sunglasses to reveal green eyes that are definitely alive. He would probably smile so brilliantly Bakugou would want to kick his ass all the way back to U.A.

But Bakugou wouldn’t.

Not just then because there’s only one real way to tell if Deku is out to pull a fast one on him again. Bakugou would wait for that shitty nerd to open his mouth and say –

“Kacchan?”

Bakugou jerks up, stumbling a couple of steps back, eyes wide as he searches wildly for the source of the sound. He’s not going insane, is he? The last thing he fucking needs is for Hound Dog to get the fucking satisfaction that Bakugou is crazy.

His eyes land on an extra who stands inside the gate. The height isn’t familiar, but they have the same shitty humor as Deku because their plain white t-shirt says Aloha Shirt just to mock Bakugou’s innermost thoughts. Fucking hell, they fucking cower like Deku too. Bakugou has the desire to yell at the damn nerd for slouching.

A breeze surges through the trees, ruffling the extra’s green hair, now cut short save for the unruly top that could never be tamed. Scars litter every bit of exposed skin, threatening to make the extra before Bakugou unrecognizable, but those freckles are unmistakable. The perfect diamond shape is great for coloring in when the nerd falls asleep. He winds up looking like a sad clown, and he does end up crying when the freckles are colored in with a permanent marker. Bakugou feels himself tense at the memory.

“Uh, h-hi K-Kacchan,” Deku laughs, “I’m home.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou blows up the entrance. Just a little.

He has learned some control after all. Deku laughs his stupid laugh, a little bit scared, a little bit placating, with just enough condescension to irritate. Bakugou reaches out to blow up Deku’s face.

I’m not looking down on you, Kacchan! I think you’re amazing!

Stupid shitty Deku fucking sidesteps him as if he’s trained for this exact moment for years. This Deku is too fast; that’s strike one. Or is it strike two or three? Because this Deku is too tall, this Deku’s voice is a little too deep.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, waving his hands in his usual nervous gesture, “let’s not fight.” He says like he’s not one of the most dangerous heroes in existence. Typical. The idiot spent a lifetime of being useless, and now he doesn’t even know how lethal he is by breathing.

At least he’s breathing.

Bakugou’s chest tightens, landing a few feet away. He still hasn’t caught his breath, but he’ll be damned if he lets some shitty fucking imposter get into school wearing Deku’s face.

He doesn’t ask where Deku’s been, doesn’t ask how he’s alive, doesn’t know, doesn’t know. “What the fuck?” He asks instead.

Deku laughs again, forcing Bakugou to tackle him. Damn Deku leaves himself too open when he laughs like that with eyes closed to danger. How has this idiot survived this long? Why does Bakugou have to look out for him every minute of the goddamn day? Is this even Deku?

Bakugou was there for the wreckage, barely safe outside the blast zone. He remembers being too injured to move but somehow running to dig Deku out of the rubble. He remembers fighting the extras who tried to pull him away because Deku was under there; he must still be under there, let Bakugou find him. After everything they’ve been through together, Bakugou knew if Deku could be found, it would be by his hands.

He heaves for air again, bare hands gripping the white shirt too tightly, stretching out the word Aloha. The ground is solid beneath his knees; the body beneath him is solid too.

“Ow, Kacchan.” Deku complains. It’s not a cry of real pain; it’s acknowledgment of Bakugou’s brand of worry is heard and felt. Bakugou vaguely recalls tackling Deku during his flashback in a move so frenzied and desperate; the young hero should have easily dodged. But he allowed himself to be tackled to the hard ground, pinned by Bakugou’s sloppy amateur moves. He’s letting Bakugou have this, whatever this is, and it’s infuriating.

“You’re always looking down on me,” Bakugou snarls, lifting his gaze from the shirt to Deku’s face. And fuck, the irony is not lost on him that Bakugou is literally looking down at Deku. “Where were you? While everyone here was losing their goddamn minds, where were you?” He demands. “Is that even you, Shitty Deku? Are those idiotic freckles even real?”

“Kacchan, they’re real!” Deku stutters a laugh. Bakugou’s hands are already moving, loosening from maybe fake-Deku’s shirt to hold the nerd’s face. His thumbs rub furiously at the freckled dots, waiting for one to smear and prove this idiot is a fake, all the while Deku squirms and complains, though something in his dumbass face is relieved. Fucking Deku, worrying about others in a time like this.

Bakugou’s fingers feather out to Deku’s jawline, brushing along for a potential catch in a mask or prosthetic. His heart is pounding in his chest. Is this Deku real? Is he a villain extra? Is Bakugou losing his mind?

“They’re not drawn on, but if you press any harder, you will rub them off!” Deku rests his hands on Bakugou’s wrists. Bakugou stills at the warmth. He can feel Deku breathing beneath him, feel the nerd’s jaw move with every word under his palms, feel the heat of the idiot’s living warmth on his wrist. Alive, Deku is alive. “Are you satisfied?” Bakugou raises his eyes fractionally from the freckles that won’t move to Deku’s bright green eyes. The quirk on the nerd’s brow is challenging, a dare that’s locked Bakugou into this screwed-up friendship for years.

“I will never be satisfied as long as you keep fucking trying to kill yourself by saving me first.” Bakugou seethes. “I told you that I’m going to be number one. I’m going to be the best hero. I’m going to win, which means saving your shitty ass from trouble! You don’t get to do what you did. You don’t get to fucking show me up and prove how worthy you are!”

You don’t get to leave me behind.

For a moment, Bakugou thinks Deku is crying. That nerd always fucking cries; of course his face would be wet. But Deku’s eyes are concerned and dry; it’s just his cheeks that are wet. Bakugou heaves for air, sniffs, and watches as more tears appear on his hands and Deku’s face. Bakugou is the one crying.

“Damn it!” He roars, ripping himself away from Deku to sit back on the ground. He scrubs furiously once at his eyes, turning his red-eyed glare to Deku as the nerd sits up.

The damn idiot has the nerve to laugh again, self-deprecating bullshit. “I missed you too, Kacchan.”

“Bakugou! You okay?” Distant shouting pulls Bakugou’s attention to the path leading towards the dorms. He can see Shitty Hair, Flat Face, and Raccoon Eyes running their way. His scowl deepens at the sight of Flat Face, who’s taken to utilizing his stupid tape to capture Bakugou if he seems ‘more unhinged than usual.’

“You have to learn their names sometime.” Deku chides as if reading Bakugou’s thoughts.

“What the fuck do you know, you damn nerd?” Bakugou snaps, ripping his gaze back to Deku.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” He smiles. “I really worried for a while.”

“You worried?!” Bakugou kicks at Deku’s legs. “You’re the one who fucking left!”

Deku looks offended. “It’s not like I had a choice, Kacchan!”

“So, where the fuck were you?” Sweat pools in Bakugou’s palms, ready to set off more explosions. His gut says this is Deku, the real Deku, because who else puts up with his shit? But another part wonders and suspects with the strikes against the idiot before him. There’s something not right about this Deku. Bakugou isn’t about to toss away suspicion in favor of ‘I’m just glad to have him back.’ He’s not some D-list hero.

The smile he gives Bakugou is something sad. It’s the kind he reserves for shitty-ass children like that water brat and those stupid siblings. It’s the kind the nerd saves for thoughts of Eri, hopeful in the wake of darkness. This fucking nerd is going to lie to spare Bakugou’s feelings.

Fuck everything. 

“Bakugou!” Raccoon Eyes waves her hand for his attention. “We heard explosions and wanted to see if –” She stops abruptly, Shitty Hair barely dodging in time as Flat Face slams into her back, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Woah,” Shitty Hair looks back, “you okay?”

“What the hell, Ashido?” Flat Face groans. “Wait, are you crying. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. I’m sorry, but you can’t just stop in the middle of the road, Bakugou could be in trouble and – ”

“Is that really you, Deku?” Raccoon Eyes cries, voice loud enough to scare birds from the trees. Both Shitty Hair and Flat Face whip their eyes to Bakugou, then to Deku, who rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh, hi guys.”

“Midoriya!” Shitty hair yells and jumps with excitement. Ugh, Bakugou doesn’t want to celebrate a nerd who’s been on vacation.

“I’m not sticking around for this dumbass reunion.” Bakugou stands, glaring down at Deku. “Are you just going to sit there?” He holds out his hand.

Deku stares at it, then at Bakugou, and back at the outstretched hand. He looks hesitant and unsure, as if Bakugou’s hand is a trick that will kick him while he’s down. In his head, Bakugou can hear the ticking from the analog clock telling him Deku is taking too long. Deku doesn’t trust Bakugou. Bakugou is years too late to fix what’s wrong between them.

All he had to do as a brat was take Deku’s hand, and he didn’t. If Deku doesn’t take his hand now, Bakugou will know it’s too late, and Hound Dog will get to gloat in every god damn session here on in.

Deku reaches out his scarred hand and rests it in Bakugou’s; the touch surges hope through his limbs. Real hope, not just conspiracy theories in the middle of the night. Bakugou grips back tight and pulls Deku to his feet. He’s never letting go of this nerd again.

Shitty Hair barrels into Deku, which startles a laugh out of the nerd as his hand is ripped away from Bakugou’s.

Shit.

Bakugou shoves his hands into his pockets. “Oi! Flat Face! Get the teachers!” He looks back to where Raccoon Eyes and Flat Face are brushing themselves off.

“You get them! Is that really Midoriya?” Flat Face snaps back.

“I’m not letting this shitty nerd out of my sight.” Bakugou glares hard enough to make Flat Face flinch.

“We have Aizawa-sensei on speed dial; I’ll do it!” Raccoon Eyes begins jogging towards Bakugou, fiddling with her phone.

Deku’s voice is muffled under Shitty Hair’s unrelenting hug. “Uh, thanks, but I can just meet up with them. I know I’m way behind on school work and –”

“Bro, that is so manly you want to keep up with school.” Shitty Hair pulls back, tears in his eyes. “Welcome back. Where have you been? Those are some manly scars. I never thought I’d see the day you’d cut your hair.” Shitty Hair ruffles the short mop as emphasis.

“He doesn’t need your idiotic chatter.” Bakugou growls.

“It’s not idiotic, Kacchan.” Deku grins, leaning down to pick up a duffle bag Bakugou vaguely remembers the nerd removing in a seamless motion while dodging one of his attacks. “It’s good to be back.” He opens his arms wide, just in time for Raccoon Eyes to wrap him in a hug with a squeal.

“Okay, okay, quick selfie.” Raccoon Eyes loosens one arm to hold up her phone, Shitty Hair appearing over Deku’s shoulder, and the three grin at the camera as it makes a shutter sound. She moves away in time for Flat Face to punch Deku lightly in the arm, her head down as her thumbs type on her phone.

“Dude, where have you been?”  Flat Face grins as Deku rubs at his arms. Bakugou’s irritation ticks higher and higher. They’re not going to just stand here all night, are they?

Bakugou’s phone pings, signaling a message from the class chat. He doesn’t usually respond, but he does keep tabs when Four Eyes has announcements for the following day of class. He swipes the notification open to see a message from Raccoon Eyes with the selfie of her, Deku, and Shitty Hair with a caption that reads, ‘I live, bitches.’

A reply comes in from Dunce Face, followed by another and another before the messages are flooding in faster than Bakugou can read. He growls at the offending screen and shoves it back in his pocket.

“We’re leaving.” Bakugou snaps, grabbing Deku by the bicep, ripping him from whatever conversation he was having with Raccoon Eyes and Flat Face. It’s only fair.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you guys soon!” Deku waves with his free hand. “Uh, Kacchan, where are we going?” He turns his gaze back to Bakugou.

“You wanted to see the teachers. Where the fuck do you think we’re going?”

At this, Deku looks grateful. Bakugou can’t blame the poor fuck; the nerd looked overwhelmed with those three. He can’t imagine the entire class swarming the useless nerd.

From there, a silence settles between them. The sky grows darker, and the bird sounds wane in favor of night insects. Between them, all Bakugou can hear are their footsteps and breathing. He doesn’t remember a time where the silence between them was comfortable. Sure, that was that time on an island when they were mostly passed out from injuries, but Shitty Hair would be the first to point out medication spiked silences count for nothing.

And yet Deku walks beside him in an uncharacteristic quiet, keeping pace enough that Bakugou can stop tugging him along. He expects the nerd to carry on pointless notes about the weather or pretend to care about Bakugou’s daily life. He expects mumbling that he’s sorely missed for months, not that he’d ever admit it.

Bakugou wants more and less of it. More, because it feels like Deku’s finally on the same page; less, because it feels like a rejection of something. Bakugou’s fingers throb at the thought of rejection. He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Two months ago, when the last of the battle injuries healed, Bakugou visited Recovery Girl for the sudden and random pain in his hands. There was nothing to find, no shattered bone fragments, scarred tissues, or unhealed fractures. His hands were the epitome of health; he could be a god damn hand model from their perfection. And yet, there was pain. Hound Dog stepped in where Recovery Girl left off, claiming emotional distress could cause a physical reaction. What a load of bullshit.

“Young Midoriya!” Bakugou looks ahead where a skeleton All Might is leaping down the steps of U.A. with a careless speed that can’t be good for the old man. Bakugou stalls in his tracks, watching as yet another hero tackles Deku for a hug. He doesn’t intrude on their mentor and ward reunion, tuning out the words as he focuses on the heroes at the base of the building.

Present Mic has his hands in his hair, mouth agape, and easily seen from this distance. Nezu has his usual serene smile, which means that rat is probably plotting at least twenty different probabilities. Cementoss is hobbling down the steps, shooting a tired glare in Bakugou’s direction, likely still bitter and injured from his outburst a little over a month ago. Then there’s Aizawa, hands in pockets like he expected this day to happen and doesn’t appreciate the paperwork. Sensei is in a good mood; that’s making the day less shitty for sure.

“Problem Child,” Aizawa calls out from the steps, “I see you made it back in time for summer vacation.”

Deku untangles himself from All Might, rubbing the back of his neck. “S-Sorry! I honestly thought I’d be back sooner!” He says it like missing for three months was a voluntary vacation, like he hadn’t looked like death going into battle, or like nothing was preventing him from getting back while the whole class lost sleep and Bakugou lost his god damn mind.

“Let’s get you inside, and you can tell us where you’ve been.” All Might lays a hand on Deku’s back, pushing him towards the school. The other teachers turn as well, missing the smallest shudder passing through Deku. Bakugou is already a step behind, then several as All Might forces the distance. He’s being left behind, Deku will be gone again, his hands hurt so much and –

“Kacchan?” Bakugou locks eyes with Deku, who’s looking over his shoulder like a frightened little kid. He looks like that moment in their childhood, concerned and offering a hand to help. Damn it; he literally has a hand out towards Bakugou. “You’re coming, right?”

The question is all the permission he needs. “Of course, I am. Who knows where else you’ll fuck off if I’m not here to watch you.” Bakugou stomps forward, brushing the hand as he walks side by side with Deku and All Might. This, at least, feels right.

Chapter Text

Deku doesn’t really tell the pros anything. 

It’s strange because Deku is always too honest with them, always places them on godly pedestals they don’t deserve. He sits for a blood test to confirm his identity, chatting with All Might and Present Mic, who are too well equipped with small talk to pass the time. Bakugou doesn’t see the point in knowing small talk since it wastes time and prevents a hero from fighting more villains. However, he can see how the conversation soothes Deku, as if talking with the pro heroes is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

For all that Deku talks, he doesn’t say where he’s been. At the prod of his memory, he gives a vague answer that doesn’t confirm or deny anything. Fucking Deku can’t lie to save his life, but he sure as hell found a way to be evasive. 

The shitty nerd does make one note of consequence, asking about Aizawa-sensei’s latest date with some D-list hero. While Aizawa doesn’t react, the remaining heroes in the room do, with surprise being the most common emotion. There’s hurt too from someone in the room because the sight makes Bakugou’s knuckles throb. 

Whatever Deku said shifted the entire meeting with the teachers. Nezu’s ever permanent smile seemed tense as he dismissed for a longer debrief at a later date. Aizawa promised to drop by the dorms later to provide enough makeup work to make the nerd cry. 

“You really just showed up out of nowhere and decided, fuck it, I’ll go to school?” Bakugou asks at the front steps, frowning at the lamplight and the night sky above. 

“Ah,” Deku grips the straps of his duffle, twisting it a few times. “Something like that.” He hops down the steps and walks at Bakugou’s pace. “I, uh, did manage to snag you something.” 

“A souvenir from your fuck face of a vacation? Pass.” He snorts but each finger throbs along the knuckles. Fuck. He’s dead – no – missing for over three fucking months, and he brought back a souvenir. Bakugou glances at Deku from the corner of his eye. The nerd disappears and comes back stronger than ever, like he went to some secret training camp instead of healing from near-death injuries. He looks healthy, more self-assured, just all-around more. Deku became this near-stranger without him, and Bakugou feels like he’s taken several steps back. 

“Please, Kacchan.” Bakugou doesn’t know if it’s the please that did it or the childhood nickname, but he finds himself agreeing, holding out his hand. 

Deku rummages around in his duffle briefly and presses a small pair of black and orange gloves into Bakugou’s palm. “They, uh, have this lining that wicks away the nitroglycerin and pad points in case you want to explode something with only your fingers. Oh, and there’s this feature in the wrist guard that creates a compression sleeve to reduce the strain on your elbows.”

“Who the fuck made these for you?” Bakugou glares. The gloves aren’t just some shitty souvenir; it’s a full-on goddamn support item designed specifically for him. 

“Oh, uh,” Deku waves his hands nervously, looking like he’s miming a stupid fucking wall. “I had a lot of, um, downtime while I healed, so I just reanalyzed everyone’s quirks from memory and began writing ideas. I did have someone help me, I don’t have the skillset actually to build a support item, but I designed it. I thought of how much kickback you receive and –”

“I get it.” Bakugou levels his gaze at Deku. Here he goes, fucking mumbling to himself again. “If you designed it, maybe they won’t break apart after the first fucking use.” He tucks the gloves into his pockets and continues walking in an agreeable silence. 

At the turn for the dorms, Bakugou is surprisingly the one who breaks the silence. “Is that what you did while you were gone? Design support items?” 

“I trained too.” Deku perks up. 

“That’s fucking obvious,” Bakugou mutters under his breath, seeing the 2-A dorm grow closer with every passing step. 

“Oi, where are you going?” He stops while Deku continues trekking forward towards the 1-A dorms. The nerd stutters to a stop, mumbling something he can’t hear before pointing to a distant set of dorms. Bakugou nods his head towards the path to the building before him. “We’re second years, dumbass.” 

Deku laughs that stupid fucking self-deprecating laugh, which brushes off honest mistakes as something to self-flagellate on later before running back to him. “I forgot, sorry. We switched dorms during the work-study, didn’t we? I don’t think I finished moving.” 

No, Deku didn’t. Round Face and Four Eyes moved the remaining contents of Deku’s room to the new spot on the second-year dorm’s fourth floor. It’s been locked tight, except for the day Aizawa handed Bakugou a bag of Deku’s belongings, leftover from the fight at Exit Island. Bakugou noticed Deku’s usual damn mutter notebook was missing from the contents. At the time, he could guess the book contained ramblings about the villain Deku fought. But he didn’t guess; Bakugou was too busy counting the days and minutes, and seconds Deku was gone and when he could go back to Exit Island and dig for someone who clearly wasn’t there. 

“Let’s go,” Bakugou tilts his head towards the dorms once more, but Deku doesn’t move. “What?” He growls. 

“Is it okay I don’t go?” He asks hesitantly. “Could I just sneak in through the window? I’ll just,” Deku jumps a few times, “you know?”

Bakugou scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “What are you, scared?” 

“I’m allowed to be,” Deku bites back. “They’re excitable. As volatile as nitroglycerin, but in a good way.” He grins. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bakugou yells, igniting his palms. Deku laughs, sprinting for the door. “Come back here, nerd!” He launches himself over the distance, tackling Deku through the door. “Say that to my face!”

“I already did, Kacchan!” Deku flips Bakugou off of him and sits up, grinning. 

“You’ve got some nerve!”

“Deku!” Pink Cheeks taps Deku into floating up from the floor. As Deku rises, Bakugou watches momentary panic flicker across the damn nerd’s face as pink cheeks hugs him from behind. 

Bakugou drags himself to his feet, seeing every single damn classmate lingering between the common room and the kitchen. They seem to surge towards the entrance all at once, yelling and clambering to see fucking Deku and ask him dumbass questions. 

The sudden bursts of sound are so sharp and powerful, it feels like a kickback from Bakugou’s gauntlet. He grits his teeth, hating that once again, the damn nerd was right. He pushes past the crowd, fixes himself a bowl of whatever awful shit someone cooked, and eats it over the counter. 

He watches as Deku accepts everyone’s hugs, watches as the nerd becomes more distressed with every passing second as Pink Cheeks hangs off of him, and fucking Four Eyes won’t stop demanding questions. 

“All right,” Bakugou shouts over his classmates, “Enough. We’re all glad shitty Deku is back. Give it a rest.”

“Deku,” Transparent Chick calls, “Are you joining us for the training camp in a few days?” 

“Uh, a few days?” Deku glances at his class, then to Bakugou, who remains stone-faced. 

“Hagakure, we should not be overwhelming Midoriya!” Four Eyes chops at the air. “He needs food and rest before he can begin to think about school. The teachers will let Midoriya know what training and work he can participate in; that’s not for us to speculate.” 

Bakugou snorts as if Four Eyes wasn’t just prodding Deku for answers he wouldn’t even give to All Might. He starts washing his bowl in the sink, scrubbing a little too hard; he thinks he hears the shitty thing crack. 

“If, if it’s all right with everyone, it’s been a long day. I think I’m just going to go to bed.” Deku twists his duffle bag strap in his hands. 

“Oh, Deku!” Pink Cheeks cries, and Bakugou winces at the annoying sweetness of it all. “We didn’t set up your room; we didn’t know how you’d like it.”

“I propose we help Midoriya settle in so we can all turn in and receive the necessary hours of sleep to be in top form.” Four Eyes chimes. 

“Yeah! We’ll get you settled in in no time!” Shitty Hair exclaims. 

“I’ll come along!” Ponytail offers. “These dorms are lacking in necessities; I’ll create anything you may need like an infuser or blackout curtains. I’ll make an exception just this once.” 

“Do you still plan on putting up all your All Might decorations, Midoriya?” Dunce Face asks. 

“Leave it, fuck faces!” Bakugou yells. “If any of you think cramming all of us into the nerd’s room will accomplish anything, you’re all bigger morons than I thought. You’re all loud and nosy losers!”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who just called me fuck face.” Purple Bags sighs. 

“Guys,” Deku waves in a panic. “It’s okay. Kacchan’s right. It’s all a lot right now, and I think I just need some to set it up by myself and adjust, you know?” He twists his duffel strap even more. “I’m really glad to see everyone. It’s just a lot.” 

“Oh, we understand Deku, we’re just glad to have you back!” Pink Cheeks grins. 

“Thanks, Uraraka. Everyone. I’ll just, I’ll be going.” He turns towards the elevator bank; Bakugou is already a step ahead when he passes the kitchen. 

“Hey Bakugou, where are you going? He said he wants to do his room alone!” 

“Fuck off, Flat Face! Who said I was ever going to help Shitty Deku?”

Inside the elevator, Bakugou punches the number for Deku’s floor, which Deku eyes the single lit number with some apprehension. “You are going to help me unpack, right?” 

“If you do it, you’ll spend the whole night rearranging your posters and figurines. Let’s get this fucking over with.” Bakugou huffs, stepping off the elevator the moment opens. 

“Kacchan?” Deku asks, one step behind. Bakugou looks over his shoulder to see a small smile on the nerd’s face. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever.”

The clock reads half-past one, and Bakugou is wide awake. He should have been asleep hours ago, but fucking Deku’s room took forever, as expected. While morning marks the first full day of summer vacation, Bakugou can’t help but feel like he’s missing an entire semester’s worth of classes. There’s something he didn’t prepare for, a test he couldn’t study, and it’s infuriating. 

“Fucking Deku,” Bakugou growls into the darkness as another half hour passes. He throws off the covers, snags his phone off the charger, and leaves, taking care not to slam the door and wake his floormates. 

A minute later, Bakugou finds himself at Deku’s door; hand raised to knock. He hesitates because why fuck does he want to see Deku? He contemplates the question, counts to ten, and makes his way to the first floor common room. 

Once there, he flops on the sofa, groaning at its stiffness. If he’s going to be awake, it might as well be here, where he can keep tabs of all the shitty losers in the building. He’ll hear the intruders, see if shitty Deku tries to disappear again. Bakugou will catch that shitty nerd and prevent him from leaving again. 

A moment later, Bakugou startles awake to the sound of the elevator dinging. He takes stock of his surroundings, still alone in darkness, but something about the windows hints at pre-dawn. Shitty Deku works out this early. 

As if on cue, Deku pads into view, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Where are you going?” Bakugou rasps, watching Deku jump several feet without his quirk. 

“Kacchan!” Deku breathes with a fondness that means Bakugou will be called this shitty nickname long into adulthood. Does this idiot have any shame? 

“Where are you going?” He growls, sitting up. 

“I-I’m –”

“Hell, if you’re going to leave me behind again.” He snarls, clambering to his feet. 

“I’m going to train, that’s it! I’ll be back in time for breakfast.” Deku gestures at the door.

“I don’t believe you.” Bakugou shoulders past shitty Deku towards his shoes. 

“Oh, c’mon. What’s not to trust?” Deku throws his arms out wide, leaving himself vulnerable for anything. 

Bakugou glares in response. “You think I’m going to let you wander off on your own? You, who fought the Hero Killer for fun –”

“It definitely wasn’t fun, Kacchan.” 

“Who broke his bones and said he was perfectly fine –”

“I mean, it’s not like my bones were going to go from broken to more broken in the time it takes to find Recovery Girl. I was fine –”

“Fought a D-list villain when he was out to buy some goddamn rope –”

“I couldn’t just let him ruin Eri’s first chance to smile. Do you even know how cute she was that day –”

“And fucking let me believe he DIED? IF YOU THINK I’M LETTING YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING.”

“Kacchan, keep it down! You’ll wake everyone up!” Deku holds his hands out in a quieting motion. “You can come with if you just stop yelling.” 

Deku doesn’t cower or flinch or hide at Bakugou’s yelling; he greets it like an old friend. The gesture is another note of something wrong in the nerd’s reappearance, but it’s still better to stick close than let the nerd go on his merry way. 

The gym is empty when they arrive, stories high of open nothing above and endless possibilities. There’s a rocky terrain Cementoss probably built overnight just waiting to be destroyed. 

“What did you train when you were gone?” Bakugou asks, stretching his arms over his head. 

“A bit of everything.” Deku shrugs, setting his notebook and water bottles to the side. 

Bakugou snorts. “So fuck nothing. Got it.”

“Could fuck nothing do this?” Deku grins, taking a step backwards onto thin air. He takes two more steps and stands triumphantly a few feet off the ground. If Bakugou didn’t know any better, he’d guess Pink Cheeks tagged him on the way over. 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I do a lot of things with this mouth,” Deku smirks. 

Bakugou blinks twice. What? What the fuck did he say? He watches Deku turn an alarming shade of red before he drops to the ground and sprints towards the terrain. Did this idiot accidentally come onto him mere hours after appearing from the grave?

Shaking his head, Bakugou lets sweat pool in the palm of his hand, shouting across the training hall where he can see green lightning flashing. “Get back here, Deku!” Bakugou grins the tiredness away. Finally, an opponent to challenge him after so long. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!” 

Chapter Text

Izuku blocks a direct blast to the face when he’s suddenly aware of the other people in the room. He backflips using Float to kick Kacchan and gain distance to reorient himself. He winces at the stupid mistake, getting so wrapped up in Kacchan, so aware of Kacchan, it became the only thing he could see.

He looks around, holding out a staying hand to Kacchan, who cuts himself off mid-shout. Izuku’s danger sense didn’t flare, so there isn’t a threat nearby, but he doesn’t want people to see him and Kacchan fight. There is danger in how they fight one another, and no one is allowed to know why just yet.

The room seems to expand from Izuku’s vantage point, seeing his classmates scattered near the door and Aizawa-sensei looking apathetic as always, if not a little disappointed. Izuku’s missed the look more than he wants to admit, tearing up at his dry-eyed sensei.

Aizawa-sensei arches a brow at him, and Izuku sniffs in response, bringing up a hand to wipe at the edges of his eyes.

“It took thirty-eight seconds for you to calm down. You’re getting slow, Midoriya.” Time is the only thing his teacher acknowledges.                                                                                            

“S-Sorry, Aizawa-sensei!” Izuku stammers. Kacchan clicks his tongue in response, crossing his arms, and turns his head to growl at the wall.

Izuku glides to his classmates over the terrain, tapping down a few feet away. He hears Kacchan grumble and complain but smiles ahead.

“That fight, Midoriya? So manly!” Kirishima punches the air, hardening his arm up to his elbows.

“Really?” Izuku brightens at the statement.

“Deku!” Uraraka beams. “The zero gravity looks good on you! I’m so glad I could help!”

“Yeah man, where did you learn those moves?” Ojiro leans past Kirishima, looking Izuku up and down. “When did you learn it?”

A few classmates start to pipe up over one another only to be cut off by Kacchan growling, “Enough, you nosy losers.” Kacchan arrives near Kirishima, who immediately places an arm on Kacchan’s shoulder and beams.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Iida clips over the sudden silence. “As this is the first day of summer break, why did you request for us to meet on the training grounds?”

“Excellent question, Iida. Anyone care to make a guess?”

“Oh! I know!” Hagakure jumps up and down in excitement, nearly falling into Ojiro. “It’s because Midoriya is back!”

“Partially, yes.” Aizawa-sensei levels his gaze at Izuku, subtly signaling that it’s the only reason. He’s seen that look from Aizawa-sensei enough times to know everything else will be a logical ruse to cover up the real intention. Knowing Aizawa, he’ll cover it up with actual work because logical ruses need sustainable half-truths.

“We’re likely doing our Assessments now,” Jiro twirls an earphone jack between her fingers. “Last year’s training camp got cut short, so might as well knock out the easiest parts now.”

“Glad to see some of you are paying attention. Midoriya has shown he hasn’t slacked off since his,” Aizawa-sensei hesitates before sighing as he turns his gaze to the rest of the class, “disappearance. Show him you haven’t either. You’ll be fighting him five versus one.”

“But Sensei, Midoriya only just got back.” Tsuyu taps her chin with her pointer finger, turning her gaze to their teacher.

“Oh, come on, Sensei! That won’t even be a fair fight!” Kaminari proclaims.

“You’re right,” Aizawa-sensei turns back to Izuku. “It won’t.” He turns and walks towards one of the gym walls. “We’ll go by seat order. Aoyama, Ashido, Asui, Ida, and Uraraka. You’re up; don’t hold back. There’s no point in assessing where you need to improve if you don’t go Plus Ultra.”

“Right!” Izuku, Ida, and Uraraka reply in unison. Izuku looks at his closest friends, surprised at how in sync they are after all this time. A scattered nervous laugh passes through the class in a wave, ending with an annoyed click of the tongue from Kacchan.

The class separates from the fighters and the observers, with the latter moving near their teacher and the fighters shifting to the gym center. Izuku’s five classmates stand in a scattered arc, nearly a train car’s distance away. He watches Ida take a firm stance, Tsuyu crouch in preparation to jump, and Uraraka taps Aoyama’s belt. At this, Aoyama spins into – what Izuku can only assume – is a ballet pose, while Ashido strikes a dance pose of her own.

“Why does it suddenly feel like last year's finals when we went against the teachers?” Yaoyorozu asks from across the room.

“It seems we’ll find out once the match is over.” Izuku hears Tokoyami say a moment before Aizawa-sensei announces the start.

Aoyama fires his naval laser right out of the gate. That’s good; he’s getting more confident at taking the initiative rather than being all talk. Izuku leaps backward, assessing the movement of his opponents. The laser lasts 1.8 seconds, which is shorter than the four Izuku remembers, which means Aoyama isn’t exposing his weakness at the very beginning. That’s a good improvement, but he still keeps putting his arms behind his head when firing the laser, leaving him wide open to attacks.

Izuku takes advantage of the weakness, shifting his leap in midair, descending to Aoyama with a kick strong enough to knock the blonde out. The blonde looks horrified at the red shoe aimed at his face, only to be yanked away at the last moment by a pink tongue.

Does Tsuyu taste Aoyama when she wraps her tongue around him?  Izuku wonders, touching the ground briefly to leap back into the air. How many taste buds does Tsuyu have, and do they remain the same the longer she extends her tongue, or do they shut off when she’s not eating? Tongues are very tender when burned; he wonders if such an easy injury can put her out of commission. Tsuyu’s always been the most analytical about her quirk; Izuku should ask sometime after the battle.

“Bet you weren’t expecting me from above!” Ashido shouts, floating several feet above him as she extends her arms out. “Acid Shot!” Bullets of gray acid shower down from above.

“No,” Izuku laughs, “Not you, but someone!” Using his left arm to stabilize his right, Izuku extends his right arm. Delaware Smash Air Force!

The wind from his finger flick sends the acid up and forces Ashido to the ceiling. Ashido squeals, hands moving in front of her body. “Ochako! Let me down! I’m out! I’m definitely out! My clothes are NOT acid-proof.”

“Release,” Uraraka says somewhere to the left.

“Sorry, Ashido!” Izuku removes his hoodie, throwing it to the pink hero to catch on her way down. He follows a few feet behind, just in case she needs extra assistance. The last thing Izuku wants is Mineta to see something he shouldn’t.

“Get revenge for me, Ochako!” Ashido hugs the hoodie to her chest as she lands on her feet. She nods once at Izuku before making her way towards the gym doors.

“Revenge is an action unbecoming of a hero!” Iida shouts, appearing from seemingly nowhere. Izuku blocks the kick with one arm just in time. Wow, Iida’s leg is hard. Izuku can’t imagine how much worse this would be if Iida were in his hero costume. The class representative’s steady improvement is reassuring, but the lack of realized potential he has for stealth attacks is concerning. Iida has an extra weakness that comes from his duty as class rep, and that’s helping classmates to a fault. 

“Wow, Iida! You almost surprised me! If you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t even know you were there. How did you silence your engines?” Izuku beams, grabbing Iida’s ankle with his free hand.

“Oh,” The class representative looks surprised. “It’s this new fuel combination I’m trying. Evidently, chamomile tea is –”

Izuku spins, pulling Iida with him. Iida yells as he’s pulled along, Izuku releases the class rep when he has the most momentum. He watches Iida arc through the gym, mentally measuring the distance as Aoyama runs from the rocky terrain with arms outstretched to catch Iida. It’s almost comedic how Aoyama stops too early and misses catching Iida by mere inches, only for Iida to hit the mat with such force; he bounces and unwittingly breaks Aoyama’s belt with his head.

“Iida, Aoyama, you’re out.” Aizawa-sensei calls out before sighing, “Someone get Recovery Girl.”

“Sorry!”

“Midoriya, are you going to apologize to the villains too?” Sensei asks.

“I mean,” Izuku laughs. “Only if they don’t deserve it.” He thinks Aizawa-sensei responds, but he’s too busy dodging a bright pink tongue. “Tsuyu!” He greets. “I see you’ve gotten your tongue to extend past twenty meters. What are you at now?”

The frog heroine doesn’t respond, using her tongue like a bungee cord to rocket towards Izuku feet first. Tsuyu sails over him as he rolls away. Kneeling, Izuku watches as Tsuyu latches onto a wall and climbs.

His last two remaining opponents are Tsuyu and Uraraka. They’ve done work studies together and even created a combined move before they rescued Eri. Both heroes throw their bodies with abandon. Uraraka tends to head towards the skies, and Tsuyu leaps whether or not there’s a safe place to land. With these two, the best places to be are either firmly on the ground or far above a potential trap. Aoyama came from the terrain, which likely means Uraraka’s hiding among it, lifting rocks and boulders while Izuku fights his other classmates. It’s not a bad plan, but it is predictable. He runs towards the terrain, cautious of the impending trap.

There is a limit to the combined move. Tsuyu can only lift as much as another person with her tongue. Unless, of course, she uses her body as a counterweight to slingshot the boulders. Then again, with the rocks at zero gravity, Tsuyu should be able to throw rocks of any size. With Uraraka hiding all this time, she must be at her limit of zero gravity.

“Meteor Fafrotskies!” Tsuyu yells as Uraraka screams, “Release!” The smaller rocks drop first, losing Uraraka’s quirk, followed by the increasingly larger sizes. There’s one, directly above, Izuku suspects is larger than his bedroom. He wonders if Uraraka can put more of her zero-gravity quirk into a smaller object and allow it to suspend long after she releases it. Or could she moderate her quirk, so the objects are timed rather than verbal order?

Izuku jumps into a bicycle kick, breaking apart the bedroom-sized boulder with the first foot and swinging his second to break one the size of a car Tsuyu threw his way mid-fall. Izuku uses Float to gain higher ground. If Uraraka tries to float anything else, he’ll be above to counter and force the female heroes to separate. Tsuyu should be coming with an attack soon to give Uraraka time to recover.

“Gunhead martial arts, Dead Weight!” Izuku turns to see Uraraka diving from the ceiling – good call on knowing the opponent – latching onto Izuku’s arm, twisting it upward in a strange and disorienting zero-gravity judo flip. Izuku yelps, floating upside down as Uraraka clings to his arm with both hands, her face violently ill. She must have practiced this move a lot to do it in the air. While the movements are somewhat the same, the orientation, weight, and momentum are wildly different. Izuku isn’t sure he can swing himself up correctly without removing Uraraka’s weight from his arm first.

“I like your new move, Uraraka!” He grins, swinging his dangling arm. Uraraka looks up at him, brown eyes shining from the praise before her cheeks puff with the urge to vomit.

“Deku, stop! I’m going to throw up!” She whines before burying her face into her arm.

“Sorry, Uraraka. I want to win this and to win this. I have to go Plus Ultra.” He swings with more force. Three probabilities will happen from this action: Uraraka will let go, so she doesn’t vomit; Uraraka will vomit but not let go, or Izuku will create enough momentum to pendulum swing upright.

The first happens, and she drops like a stone to the ground below. Tsuyu leaps to catch her as Izuku orients himself, releasing Float to be on stable ground again. While he’s mostly mastered the quirk, he doesn’t like staying in the air for too long.

Uraraka is vomiting rainbows over a boulder when Izuku lands. He has no doubt she’ll be up and fighting in no time, but Aizawa-sensei strikes her from the fight. While Uraraka’s endurance and zero-gravity nausea have improved since the first day of school, Izuku knows she has a long way to go if she’s going to be a rescue hero. Rescues take more than minutes; they take hours, days, and sometimes never end.

Izuku glances towards Kacchan, who’s leaning against the gym wall, arms crossed as Kirishima talks animatedly.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, ribbit.” Tsuyu says. The voice comes from the right of Izuku, but he doesn’t see anything. Is she using her camouflage?

His danger sense flares, Izuku throws himself out of the way in time to see mucus-covered hands appear. “Sorry, Tsuyu, I don’t really like getting poisoned.”

“Man, I don’t think anyone likes being poisoned,” Sero comments from the wall.

Izuku throws a kick towards the frog heroine, who leaps and attacks with her tongue. It’s Tsuyu’s favorite move, like Kacchan’s left attack. Izuku hopes Tsuyu doesn’t taste his sweat-covered hands as he grabs onto her tongue and swings it like his Blackwhip. She slams into the training wall and falls on top of Tokoyami and Shoji, the three becoming a tangle of limbs.

“Asui is out,” Aizawa-sensei announces. “Next up: Ojiro, Kaminari, Kirishima, Koda, and Sato.”

“Wait, hold on!” Kaminari protests. “You’re not even going to give Midoriya a breather? Or go over what went wrong or lecture us?”

“What are you doing asking for a lecture, you idiot?” Kirishima knocks the back of Kaminari’s head.

“It’s summer vacation. Do you really want me to lecture you?” Aizawa-sensei asks, arching a brow. “Midoriya, do you need a breather?”

Izuku looks from sensei to his classmates. “I-I’m okay, Aizawa-sensei. Maybe before the match after this.”

“Maybe?” Kaminari guffaws. “You’re as bad as that naked dude, Mirio!”

“Maybe if you spent less time complaining, you’d actually get somewhere with your training.” Jiro jabs Kaminari in the forehead with the end of an earphone jack.

“Man, for a summer vacation, this seems a lot like school,” Kaminari complains, shuffling forward.

“Dude, we didn’t fail this time, so I’ll count that as a win.” Kirishima grins as Koda, Ojiro, and Sato follow.

“With how quickly Midoriya beat the first five, we should have come up with a plan,” Sato says, ripping open a packet of sugar to dump in his mouth.

“That’s a mistake the next team hopefully won’t fall for.” Ojiro stretches his arms over his head before dropping into a martial arts stance that Kirishima copies.

Izuku blinks at the near-identical stance. Interesting. Kirishima either observes or copies Ojiro’s movements or has been learning martial arts from the tailed hero. Then again, last summer camp Kirishima and Ojiro were paired together to strengthen the tail and hardening quirks. Did they continue the paring in recent months?

“Go!” Koda shouts, and Izkuku can’t help but beam at the sound. He’s getting better too, extending his range of voice to reach the edges of the gym. He hopes, one day, it’ll be loud enough to stretch a kilometer or two.

Ojiro sprints to an invisible line, kicking up Uraraka’s debris from the previous fight and hitting it with his tail, sending rocks and chunks of boulders Izuku’s way. Izuku mimics the motion, but without a tail, he double kicks the debris to cancel out Ojiro’s attack piece by piece.

“It’s like he’s toying with us.” Kaminari bemoans with what might be a hint of awe.

Izuku doesn’t really remember much else from the fight, mostly taking mental notes from his classmate’s improvements, including a potential team-up between Kaminari and Sato where sugar has an opportunity to create backup batteries if water is introduced into the mix. Koda is the most surprising of the five. He calls in bugs, despite his fear, and freaks out everyone in the room because wow, U.A. desperately needs to fumigate their walls. The creepiest part of the ordeal is when the insects clamber together to form the shape of Koda. Izuku is quick to dispel the form for everyone’s sakes with a Delaware Smash Air Force.

Unfortunately, Kaminari ends up covered in bugs and releases his Indiscriminate Shock in panic, taking out his entire team while Izuku is still in the air.

Aizawa-sensei’s heavy sigh fills the silence that follows.

“That really is… just my bad.” Izuku grimaces as he touches down, dragging Kirishima and Ojiro to the far wall. “I should have seen Kaminari behind insect Koda. I’m so sorry.”

“Midoriya, you don’t have to apologize every time.” Sero sighs.

“It’s just; you’re my classmates, we’re supposed to be there to help each other, not beat one another.” Izuku rubs his arms, staring at the ground.

“Awww, that’s so sweet! Midoriya hasn’t lost his innocence!” Hagakure marvels.

“You admit you’re wailing on these losers?” Kacchan snorts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Kacchan!”

“Shoji, Jiro, Sero, Tokoyami, Todoroki: You’re up.” Sensei cuts through the chatter.

“I won’t go easy on you, Midoriya,” Todoroki announces, stepping up with his row.

“Please take care of me!” Izuku bows.

“Somehow, that seems condescending when you’ve wiped the floor with most of our classmates.” Shoji points out, arms extending to form fists.

Izuku sets his stance in preparation to fight. Todoroki and Tokoyami stand on opposite sides of the group, arcing in a way that implies they’ll attack from the sides. It’s not a bad plan since they’re the heaviest hitters of the group. If only they weren’t opposites of each other. In some way, this group understands Tokoyami is no match for Todoroki’s fire by placing them on the endcaps, but they don’t seem to see the biggest flaw.

“Begin!”

Izuku drops. 

He falls like a marionette whose strings are cut, which elicits cries from around the room. Dark Shadow flies into Izuku’s previous space just as Todoroki’s flames collide with the darkness. Higher still, Sero’s tape goes wide, in the assumption Izuku would leap. Izuku almost laughs. As a class, these heroes have a great flaw: They look up.

Izuku guesses it’s a trait of heroes, since the most famous in fiction is known for ‘up and away.’ Todoroki’s ice and flame climb, Kaminari’s electricity avoids the ground, Aoyama points his laser to the sky to reduce damage, and Uraraka literally floats. The class is so used to opponents coming from above, the thought of coming from below is practically absurd.

Could Shoji’s dupli-arms extend to his feet and counteract this drop? Izuku pushes, sliding under the fire and kicks up, his shoe colliding so hard with Shoji’s chin, the multi-armed hero’s head snaps back in an immediate K.O.

Izuku rolls to his feet, grinning at Jiro. “You know, you should look into amplifying your Counter Balance move towards the soles of your boots. You might be able to mimic earthquakes or sense underground villains. That would have thrown me off my rhythm.”

Jiro sends her jacks to poke Izuku’s eyes. He dodges the prongs as tape careens down to stick where his feet were a split second before. “Should you really be giving advice in the middle of battle?” Jiro demands, leaping back when Izuku comes forward with a punch.

“Why not?” His green eyes sparkle. “It’s good to keep in mind, so you have practical knowledge for improvement.” He abandons the punch, placing his hands on her shoulders to leapfrog above her head as Sero’s tape whips forwards, wrapping the music heroine instead.

“Jiro, out,” Aizawa-sensei says from the wall.

“Yeah, I got that when I couldn’t move.” Jiro gripes, trying to break free of the tape only to lose her balance and fall.

“Sorry, Jiro!” Sero calls.

She sighs, resting her forehead on the ground. “It’s fine. Can someone just like, roll me to the sidelines or something?”

“Midoriya,” Tokoyami rushes Izuku in hand-to-hand combat as Dark Shadow’s form remains small from the intense heat and light. “Where did you train when you were gone?”

“Lots of places, I learned a lot!” He judo flips Tokoyami in a near mimic of Uraraka’s Gunhead Martial Arts. Tokoyami bounces from the impact and remains down, Dark Shadow emerging to check on his host.

“Hello darkness, my old friend.” Tokoyami groans but makes no move to stand.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re holding back?” Todoroki asks, forming an ice wall to separate Tokoyami from Izuku.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Izuku lays a hand over his heart, only for it to be ripped away by Sero, who manages to wrap tape around Izuku’s forearm.

“How come no one told me Midoriya was fun? I don’t remember him ever joking around like this.” Sero asks, tugging at the tape to pull Izuku closer.

“It’s sort of a new development.” Izuku gives a hefty yank back, forcing Sero to lose his footing and skid towards the green hero. Izuku lands a firm kick to Sero’s side, sending the tape hero into an ice wall.

Sero should probably share training with Aizawa-sensei and Shinsou since his tape acts a lot like a capture weapon. He should probably be equipped with a knife to cut the tape at different areas, rather than his elbows.

Izuku rips the tape on a jagged piece of ice, turning back to Todoroki with a smile. “You didn’t hold back at the sports festival. Why are you doing it now?”

“Who said I was holding back?”

“This,” Todoroki frowns, “isn’t Plus Ultra of you.”

“You’d be surprised.” When Izuku laughs this time, he feels a little helpless because there’s so much he can’t say or do just yet. Telling his classmates and teachers everything that happened will overwhelm them. They’ll doubt him. So the bravest thing, the strongest and best thing he can do is hold back and go beyond what he believes his will can handle.

Fighting Todoroki is like fighting two opponents in one. Izuku supposes that comes with the territory of being half hot and half cold. But, as much as Todoroki is a powerhouse of energy, he lacks imagination when fighting. His wild conspiracy theories are his first bit out approved imagination, but it’s something Todoroki clearly associates with others and not himself. The rigidity and rules he places on himself limits his fighting ability. The single best offense for the son of Endeavor is not power; it’s confusion.

Izuku runs and jumps, tapping Todoroki on the shoulder. “Tag! You’re it!”

“What?” The red and white hero spins, frost forming on his arm as he moves.

Izuku sticks out his tongue, using his hands to mimic bunny ears. “Catch me if you can!” He laughs, hopping from foot to foot.

“Midoriya, we’re supposed to be sparring.” Todoroki stands still, waiting for an attack, too stunned to make a move of his own.

“Present Mic-sensei says the best way to adapt in battle is adding an element of play.”

“Present Mic does not count as a responsible adult, Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei calls back. “When did he ever say that?”

“Element of play, Todoroki. You’ve got fire, you’ve got ice, now all you have to do is play.” Izuku pantomimes Todoroki using his ice quirk. “Arino mama no,” He sings, watching Todoroki’s eye twitch.

“I’m not an ice queen.” He lights up his hot side in flames as proof.

“Sugata miseru noyo!” Izuku’s voice cracks at the following line of lyrics.

“Did I hit my head hard, or is Midoriya singing ‘Let It Go’ to Todoroki?” Tokoyami groans somewhere behind the ice wall.

“In all likelihood, it’s both.” Jiro sighs.

“Come on, Todoroki. You’re it. Play. Give chase. Come on, come on, I’ve still got the last group to fight.” Izuku continues to hop, letting Float lift him a few inches off the ground.

“I’m so confused.” The red and white hero admits, face pinching. The flames die off in favor of ice before switching back to fire. He’s unsure what side to use.

“I know!” Izuku cheers, his smile shifting from playful to a dangerous mimic of Aizawa-sensei's. “It’s a logical ruse.”

The next thing Todoroki sees is the ceiling, grabbed and tossed by Izuku’s Blackwhip. Todoroki attempts to free himself, use flames to counteract the momentum or ice to catch him, but he can’t direct the quirk with arms pinned to his side. He's thrown through his wall of ice, bouncing off the mat floor until he rolls to a stop at Tsuyu and Ojiro’s feet.

“Todoroki, out,” Sensei announces.

“I can still fight.”

Aizawa-sensei shakes his head. “There’s no point.” Todoroki frowns at the words. It's clear he doesn't understand Aizawa-sensei's declaration. He’s not injured; he’s capable of fighting. He didn’t even really get to use his quirk. Todoroki is likely questioning why the fight ended so abruptly.

“I trust I don’t need to announce the last of you?” Sensei asks.

“Aizawa-sensei, there’s only four of us.” Yaoyorozu points out, stepping forward with Hagakure, Kacchan, and Shinsou.

“We don’t need a fifth wheel to defeat the damn nerd.” Kacchan pops off a few explosions as emphasis.

“I fail to see your logic when no one could beat Midoriya with a fifth person,” Shinsou says flatly.

“Uh, what happened to Mineta?” Izuku raises his hand as he walks closer to his classmates.

“That’s not really the question you want to ask; is it Problem Child?”

“Uh, no. I guess not.” Izuku looks sheepish and takes a couple steps back, waiting for the new set of heroes to join him.

“I’m going to take you down, shitty nerd,” Bakugou growls.

Izuku smirks, a challenging glint lighting up his green eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Begin!”

Hagakure blinds the room, shouting, “Warp Refraction!”

Izuku flinches, leaping sideways. His habit is to jump backward, but since this team has observed the previous three rounds, they’ll expect that. Kacchan always comes from the left side with his left hook, so the only place to go safely is right.

Yaoyorozu is already there with sunglasses and a mean-looking bo staff. Clever.

As the staff jabs down, Izuku grasps at the metal, pulling it into his momentum and flipping the creative hero across the room.

“Neat.” Izuku twirls the bo staff in his hand, testing it around his body. A sharp cry of pain causes him to flinch, noticing Hagakure curled on the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” He yelps, holding the staff tight. He opens his mouth to say more but stops short, seeing Shinsou out of the corner of his eye. Hagakure’s played bait before; Izuku doesn’t remember if Shinsou’s quirk works in direct replies or a voice he hears. There’s no telling what the brainwashing hero achieved in the time Izuku had been gone.

Izuku takes two steps back and turns to run.

“Oi! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Kacchan roars, his explosions signaling his distance. Four seconds to reach Izuku. What can he do in four seconds?

If Kacchan were the cooperative type, his explosions would be better suited for distraction tactics in this fight, allowing Yaoyorozu enough time to create a capture scarf for Shinsou or a prompt for Shinsou to get a response for brainwashing. But no, Kacchan does not cooperate.

Izuku almost laughs. Classic Kacchan.

The fight ends several minutes later with Yaoyorozu helping Shinsou limp to Recovery Girl and Aizawa-Sensei calling an abrupt end to the battle after Kacchan destroys most of the built terrain and a couple of the windows near the ceiling.

“Bakugou, Cementoss would like me to remind you again that destruction of quirk-made items like the terrain is okay, but destruction of school property is not unless explicitly permitted.” Aizawa-sensei walks towards the middle of the gym, hair lifted and eyes glowing the same shade of red as Kacchan. “Midoriya, I know I said Plus Ultra but keep the damage to property and your classmates to a minimum. Recovery Girl will have my head if this continues.”

“S-Sorry Aizawa-sensei!” Izuku bows twice before the teacher drops his quirk.

Sensei sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Last summer, we focused on building up your strength and ultimate moves. You’ve grown since then, taking strides to increase your strength and stamina now that you know what steps to take. In today’s assessment, you performed as well as your first day of heroics, which is to say, poorly.

“As a pro hero, there will be enemies that know you inside and out. You saw this in the provisional license exam, where examinees noted your weak points to get ahead. Today, you matched against an opponent who knows your weaknesses intimately and failed. Being a hero is not just about powerful moves. It’s about knowing flaws and what to do despite them. Your weaknesses are a strength; they make you trustworthy and reliable to the public.

“At camp, we’ll be weaponizing our flaws. It’s not going to be pretty, and it’s going to get rough, but that’s what it means to go Plus Ultra.” Aizawa-sensei’s gaze drifts to his students, most gathered in Recovery Girl’s impromptu med bay.

“Dismissed. We’ll be leaving on Monday for camp.” Izuku fidgets, torn between his friends, Kacchan, and his notebook waiting to be filled. “Midoriya, stay behind. We need to chat.”

Izuku has faced countless enemies, but nothing terrifies him more than Aizawa-sensei giving him a direct order.

Chapter Text

Bakugou glares at the bags sitting on the floor of his dorm room, then glares at his desk where two phones sit dark, one battered and cracked from miniature explosions. What a waste of time and money.

After the morning assessment, Bakugou was dragged to the mall with the rest of the class for any last-minute items for camp by Shitty Hair and Dunce Face. Any hero worth anything would already be prepared; why should Bakugou waste his time following these idiots from store to store? At the mall, he caught sight of action figure storage cases and a bedspread as green as shitty Deku’s hair. He remembers the hardest part of setting up Deku’s room was the nerd’s sudden reluctance to display all his shitty posters and figurines as if the time spent missing was also spent learning to hate the former number one.

Before Bakugou knew it, he had the most things, spent the most money, and it was all for shitty fucking Deku.

Shit.

He gathers the items and stomps down a floor, ready to throw the bags at shitty Deku’s door, and let the nerd figure it out for himself. Bakugou doesn’t expect to slam open the stairwell to catch Deku mid-step into his room.

“Damn it!” Bakugou snaps.

“What is it, Kacchan?” Deku brightens with an idiotic look on his face.

Bakugou muscles past, throwing the bags onto Deku’s bed, grumbling to himself as he pulls out the pile of clamshell clear containers and sits at the closet door, picking up each shitty figure of All Might and sealing it tight. They’re not shitty Kacchan; they’re limited edition!

He’s boxed up four All Might’s before shitty Deku finally enters. “What’s going on? Is that bedding? What are you doing, Kacchan?”

“I’m not going to listen to you complain how your shitty figures are getting scratched because they’re not stored properly. You’re already months behind; you’re not dragging me down with your dumbass problems too!” Bakugou growls. “Be useful, label the damn things.”

“Uh, right.” Deku sits beside Bakugou, knees irritatingly close. The nerd has an entire room, and here he is practically on top of Bakugou. Deku takes each sealed figure and writes the figure name, type of costume, year of release, and edition number.

“You know that shit off the top of your head?”

“I know a lot about All Might!” Shitty Deku beams. “Like, did you know, on the day of the Vinegar Riverbank Incident –”

“Stop. I’m not listening to your useless mumbling.”

“Oh, right.”

“Grab me those poster tubes.” Snapping the last casing, Bakugou sifts through all the posters, separating and sorting by size. The last thing this nerd needs to be is disorganized. He’s lucky Bakugou is gracing Deku with his superb organizational skills. Bakugou snags the marker and writes on the tubes, noting size and type, before shoving it back into Deku’s hand. “I don’t know why you decided to up and change your weirdo obsession with All Might. I don’t even care. Just don’t fall behind more than you already are because you’re in the sudden mood to redecorate.”

“Yeah, thanks, Kacchan. I really appreciate all of this.” Shitty Deku stacks the protected figures safely inside his closet with the poster tubes. “Well, this is perfect! I’m supposed to bring my notebooks to the school before I settle in for the night. I can put them in this box.”

Deku’s expression changes from something blank to one of irritating false cheerfulness. “Now, where did we put them?” The nerd stands, looking around the room. “Ah!” The exaggerated motions are infuriating as shitty Deku pretends to find his notebooks. Notebooks that take up the entire top shelf of his bookcase; notebooks he spent over an hour thumbing through after being stored out of order. The fucking nerd started reminiscing and reviewing his dumbass analysis books while Bakugou wanted to go to bed!

Strangely, the observant nerd doesn’t seem to care or notice his most recent notebook is still missing.

The nerd stacks his notebooks with care inside the cardboard box, pausing at a warped and burned one. He waves it at Bakugou with a face that found out he was fucking Quirkless again. “The most important one.” He says, placing it inside. The box fills quickly, and the nerd soon finds himself in a dilemma of how to carry so many notebooks to the school.

“Let’s fucking get this over with.” Bakugou stands, taking a few quick strides to grab the remainder of the pile.

“Kacchan, you don’t-”

“I know I fucking don’t!” Bakugou snaps, kicking the door open and stomping towards the elevators. Stupid fucking Deku and his million fucking notebooks that weigh a shit ton. Why the fuck did Bakugou buy him more?

Deku arrives when the elevator doors ping open. “Thanks for waiting, Kacchan.”

“Like hell I did.”

One minute and awkward as fuck Deku explanation to the losers in the common room later, the two trek the path to the school.

“I might be able to attend the summer camp on Monday,” Deku says, looking up at the night sky. “Aizawa-sensei says if I test out of a few subjects and do make up work throughout the summer, he’ll make sure I don’t get held back a year.”

“Thank fuck you’re barely competent.”

“Principal Nezu says I can probably make up the grades by doing quirk analysis as extra credit. He’s letting me do it for everyone for the training camp. I have to analyze and develop training regimens for everyone before Monday.”

“I bet you’re pleased your annoying mumbling is finally being put to use.”

“Well, yeah, it’s exciting, and Principal Nezu thinks I could be the first student to keep up with his quirk, High Specs.” Deku taps his cardboard box with an annoying rhythm. “I’ll be in tests and remedial classes for most of the day over the weekend. I don’t know when I can coordinate with Classes A and B for analysis. But, uh, that’s all to say, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to disappear ever again.”

“Ha?” Bakugou glares at shitty Deku as the steps to U.A. draw closer and closer. “Who the fuck is worried? So fucking full of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Deku laughs hard and sharp that gives Bakugou shivers. His fingers throb suddenly at the sound, and he doesn’t know why. “Sure, I’m the one who’s full of myself.”

“You’ve got some nerve!” Bakugou seethes.

“Midoriya, Bakugou, enough.” Aizawa stands at the steps, hands in his pockets. “We still have questions. Thanks for assisting, but I’ll take it from here.” He holds out a hand, like Deku so many fucking years ago. Bakugou is tempted to hurl the notebooks to the ground. Instead, he drops it on top of Aizawa’s palm. The pro hero heads towards the door, but before Deku can move to follow, Bakugou places the cracked phone on top of shitty Deku’s notebook pile.

“Contacts are inside. I’m sure your shitty analysis will be the highlight of those nosy losers’ lives.” He jabs a finger at Shitty Deku. “And fucking tell me where you are or else I’ll hunt you down, shitty nerd.”

Deku blinks twice, looks at Bakugou, the phone, Aizawa, and back to Bakugou. He bows once and runs up the steps to join the Hobo.

Fucking shitty nerd.

Deku 19:03 In the school.

Deku’s text pings a minute after Bakugou turns away.

Deku 19:06 Nezu’s office.

The ache in Bakugou’s fingers slowly fade.

Deku 19:57 Nezu poured tea. I may be here until I die.

Bakugou checks the text as he brushes his teeth and nearly snaps the handle in frustration. His phone pings again.

Deku 19:57 Sorry, that’s a bad joke.

Deku 19:57 But I think being hunted is better than this.

Bakugou snorts, lips curling into a smirk.

Deku 20:08 Do I sound like Nezu when I mumble?

Bakugou leans against his desk, scrolling through Deku’s shitty one-sided conversation. He spins the phone between his middle finger and thumb twice before deciding, what the hell? 

Bakugou 20:11 What the fuck.

Deku 20:11 Oh! This is Midoriya, hi Kacchan!

Deku’s reply is instant; Bakugou feels like something has slotted into place. It’s almost… normal. Not that he and shitty Deku texted often. Maybe this is making up for the missing three months, six days, and seventeen hours. Bakugou feels his muscles loosen at Deku’s idiocy, feels a warmth bloom in his chest that spreads to his fingertips and toes.

Bakugou 20:11 Do you think cellphones and sim cards grow on trees, idiot?

Deku 20:12 Do you think someone has a quirk that can create sim cards? Do you think Yaoyorozu can?

Bakugou snorts.

Bakugou 20:12 Stop saying stupid things.

Deku 20:12 You’re only stupid if you’re wrong.

Bakugou 20:12 That explains why you’re an idiot.

Bakugou is familiar with heat. He knows fire and flame, explosions and sparks. He’s the top student in sciences, knowing what foods to eat to sweat the perfect nitroglycerin. He knows how his explosions burn his fingertips, warms his thighs and biceps, and the flashes of heat threaten to tan his face. But his explosions are fast and intense, never sustained to keep the warmth thrumming beneath his skin.

Before Kamino Ward, hatred for Deku sustained that warmth. It made him thrive; it kept him going. Hating how useless Deku could be made Bakugou want to be a better hero, to be twice the hero Deku could never be. Then Deku wasn’t so quirkless after all, and every shitty thing Bakugou promised about being a better hero to fucking protect Deku came into question. Deku had a quirk for a week, and Bakugou fucking fell behind at his first chance to impress All Might because Deku fucking lied. Deku mocked Bakugou his whole life, pretending to be quirkless, forcing Bakugou to dream about being a hero that can save a shitty nerd by defeating all the villains. Save by winning, or whatever else bullshit.

Before Kamino Ward, Bakugou despised Deku.

And after?

There was warmth in knowing Bakugou was better – is better – than stupid fucking Deku. There was warmth in knowing Bakugou could continue to win and save Deku from future incompetence by protecting the secret of One for All. There was sustained warmth in training the new symbol of Peace.

Then Exit Island happened, and fuck, shitty Deku made some hell of an exit. And. And what?

What is the aftermath of Exit Island? Cold and hurt and Cementoss with shitty fucking tea and Hound Dog, and how the fuck are you?

“Shit.” Bakugou throws his phone on his bed, hands aching as he shakes with full-body shivers.

Shitty Deku texts, phone pinging with an annoying amount of regularity, but Bakugou can’t touch it, won’t touch it, until his fingers stop hurting. He breathes in for seven counts, holds for fifteen, and releases for twenty. He repeats this four times, despite feeling less injured after the second iteration. There is a reason for the numbers, and he will hold these numbers as tightly as shitty Deku’s held on to their friendship after all this time.

Bakugou pushes off from the desk’s edge and leans over his bed to pick up the phone, reading the top-most message.

Deku 20:31 Sorry if I’m bothering you, it’s really nice to have someone to talk to again. Sorry for keeping you up and thanks for the phone. Night!

Whatever.

Bakugou flops on the bed, holding his phone high above his head as he sets his alarm for the morning. He wakes up every morning on time and without the aid of the shitty device; he doesn’t need some shitty alarm blaring into darkness. It’s a failsafe, Bakugou reminds himself, should anything ever go wrong.

Deku 21:13 At your door.

Bakugou drops his phone on his face with a resounding smack.

He growls at the object, turning his head to get it off his face, and sits up abruptly, stomping to the door.

“What?” He snaps, Deku fucking two steps away, eyes on his phone. Is this fucking nerd texting and ditching him?

“Oh!” If Deku had rabbit ears, Bakugou would have seen them perk as he turns in Bakugou’s direction, drooping one by one. “When I was walking back, I saw your light was on, which is weird because you’re usually asleep by now, but then I thought maybe you were waiting for me, but that was a bit presumptuous, wasn’t it and –”

“Out with it, nerd.” Bakugou gripes.

“I wanted to let you know I was back, and I don’t plan on leaving for the rest of the night.” The nerd looks at Bakugou with the seriousness of a deadly battle where there is no room for misinformation or error.

“Why the fuck are you telling me this?” Bakugou leans against his door frame.

“Because I wanted you to know.” This is important, somehow, Bakugou knows it is. Shitty Deku wouldn’t be making this face, wouldn’t be looking at him like this if it wasn’t. Is there a hidden meaning? Is it a code word? What is Bakugou missing?

“Anyway,” Deku perks, grinning, all brightness and sunshine at night – fucking annoying. “Night, Kacchan! Sorry for keeping you up!” He practically bounds out of view to the stairs.

What the fuck?

Bakugou closes the door to his room and leans against it, surveying his room as if the answer laid out in the open. What the fuck?

He turns off the light and slides under the cover, laying on his side to face the wall. “What the fuck?” He whispers into the dark.

Chapter Text

“And then Lemillion was like POW and BAM and WHAM even though we were just supposed to be having fun at the park.” Eri chatters excitedly, arms making various punching motions. Bakugou hums a response, tying off one braid at the right side of Eri’s head and separates the strands on the left, deftly braiding as she rambles on about that weird Tin Tin of a hero.

“And then we went out for ice cream, and I wanted to be like you, so I tried their spicy ice cream but Kacchan! It was SO spicy!” Eri yells, causing Bakugou to smirk.

“That means you’re not strong enough.” He pauses mid-braid and pats the top of her head. “Next time, try mint. Deku says it’s ‘cold spicy,’ whatever that means.”

“Mint?” Eri tilts her head in question.

“I’m still working on your braid, you damn brat!” Bakugou growls. Eri giggles in response, tilting her head back in place. Ugh, he’s getting soft if this brat thinks she can laugh him off. He ties off the left side and begins weaving the side braids to the largest braid at the top.

He’s in the process of tying off her hair when the front door to the teachers’ dorms open. Present Mic chatters loudly, looking behind him as he enters as Aizawa and fucking Deku of all people trail in after.

Eri begins chanting, “Are you done?” Over and over, practically bouncing on her heels as she sees her favorite people on campus.

“Just hold a damn second!” Bakugou scowls, looping the hair tie once more before fanning the hair out underneath. “Go.” Her silver hair slips through his fingers as she runs towards the teachers, latching on to shitty Deku.

“Deku!” She cries. “I thought you were gone forever!”

“There’s my best girl!” Deku lifts Eri in a sweeping motion before pulling her into a tight hug. “I like your hair; it’s very pretty.”

“Kacchan did it!” Eri beams. Deku’s gaze flickers to Bakugou, who clicks his tongue as he turns away, glaring hard out the window.

“Kacchan is very talented.” Deku agrees.

“He’s the best at everything!” Eri giggles.

“Damn right I am!” Bakugou turns back, smirking.

“Bakugou, how many times do I need to remind you not to swear in front of the children?” Aizawa sighs.

“What, it’s not like I’m calling shitty Deku fuck face.” Bakugou gestures at Deku, whose eyes have grown impossibly wide as Present Mic’s yelling has steadily grown in volume after Bakugou said shitty Deku’s name. “Shit.” He realizes as the heat in his palms fade away while Aizawa’s eyes turn red.

“Shit tea?” Eri looks thoughtful, sounding out the word with care. Deku places a hand over her ear, his panicked yell matching with Present Mic’s.

“No, no, no, Eri! We don’t say that word. It’s not nice!” Deku panics. When Aizawa’s capture scarf wraps Bakugou, he expects to be strangled for the fuck up. Present Mic starts panic rambling at Aizawa.

“But Kacchan said it, and he’s a hero!” Eri pouts as Deku sets her on the ground, kneeling before her, hands on her shoulders.

“Kacchan is a good hero, but he’s not nice. Nice and good aren’t always the same thing.” Deku looks desperate. “Repeat after me; Nice and Good are not always the same,” Eri repeats glumly. “Now, promise me you won’t ever say that word again.” Eri is just as sad to promise something so quickly.

“Promise you’re not mad that I said a bad word, and you’ll still play with me?” Eri sniffs.

“Oh Eri, I can never be mad at you; you’re my best girl.” Shitty Deku wraps Eri in a hug.

“What about Kacchan?” Eri points. “Are you mad at him, too?” Ugh. Leave him out of this.

“Maybe a little disappointed,” Deku lays a hand on top of her braid. Bakugou will break this capture scarf and tear Deku apart if he screws up one strand. “But no. He’s my best boy.” Gross.

Eri brightens at the words, bounding to Bakugou and tugging at the scarf. Aizawa releases his hold with an annoyed sigh before Bakugou is dragged to face Deku. “Since I’m the best girl and he’s the best boy, are you going to hug him too?”

Deku stands, rubbing the back of his neck as Present Mic makes some shitty cooing sound behind Bakugou. “Touch me, and I kill you.” Bakugou glares.

“But if you don’t hug Kacchan, how do I know you’re not mad at him?” Eri asks. Damn, this brat is manipulative as fuck.

“Well, you can’t argue with that logic.” Present Mic laughs.

Bakugou is pulled forward for a heartbeat, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, a face too close, and chest pressed against chest. He stumbles back, surprised, staring wide-eyed at Deku, who looks absolutely embarrassed.

What the fuck.

Deku 20:07 Back at dorms.

The entire class is waiting for Shitty Deku when he drags himself into the common area later in the day, back from day trips to their family and chattering excited nonsense with one another.

“Midoriya!” Four Eyes greets with a too-loud voice. “Aizawa-sensei said you needed assistance preparing for the training camp from each of us. We’d like to help you in any way we can.”

“Just don’t ask me to teach you anything; I’m surprised I passed the written portion this year.” Dunce Face leans over the back of one of the sofas.

“Oh! H-hi everyone, I’m back!” Deku bows briefly. “Uh, did Aizawa-sensei tell you what it was about?”

“No, we’re hoping you can explain.” Ponytail holds her face in her hands, looking concerned.

The nerd brightens and rambles, gleefully retelling his talk with the Rat and begging for help as if it wouldn’t be given. With each word, the exhaustion slowly fades until Shitty Deku is as vibrant as lunchtime, playing with Eri as if she were the only thing to exist. Bakugou grimaces at the thought, fucking domestic germs, disgusting.

Deku sets up an interview spot at one of the dining room tables, nosy losers shouting out their names for order of the nerd’s mumbling questionnaires, each rambling useless information to each other in anticipated excitement. Raccoon Eyes dives into the seat first, babbling about her height and horns.

Bakugou slouches on the couch, listening to Shitty Hair, Dunce Face, and Flat Face’s aimless shouting. Dunce Face gets Ears and Transparent Chick to join in, which pulls in Tail and the damn Emo Bird. The volume rises, and Bakugou leaves.

He returns after hearing Shitty Hair and Arms slam their doors shut on the top floor, a small pile of notebooks and extra led held in hand. Shitty Deku sits alone, scribbling away, one book open while he writes furiously in the other.

“You’re making me lose sleep. I can hear all your creepy ass mumbling from upstairs.”

“S-Sorry, Kacchan! It’s really great information, and I don’t want to lose it while it’s still on my mind.”

Bakugou grunts, tossing down the notebooks and lead on the table, wandering off towards the cramped kitchen.

“I thought Aizawa-sensei was going to strangle you earlier.” The nerd says.

“As if some shitty Hobo could kill me.” Bakugou was prepared to die. “Who the fuck doesn’t do their dishes?” He growls, noticing the large pile in the sink, noting a handful of personal dishes. “Can’t these losers figure out how to take care of themselves?”

“Give them a break; they’re just excited.”

“They won’t learn anything if you coddle them!” He digs around for the sponge; if these losers lost it again, he’s going to kill them. Do they think cleaning supplies magically appear from nowhere? Bakugou nearly snorts at the thought. The only person who can get away with that is Ponytail because she literally creates shit. “And what are you doing, getting distracted with dumbass small talk?”

Deku straightens, a look of dumb surprise pushing away tiredness. “Sorry, guess I’m reminiscing about hanging out at night with Katsuki.”

“Ha?” When the fuck did Deku get a friend named Katsuki? Bakugou sure as hell knows this nerd can’t get over his idiotic self to call Bakugou anything other than ‘Kacchan.’ It’s not as if Katsuki is a fucking popular name like Izumi or Kyoko. Bakugou glares over the distance. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve never hung out with you at night. I’d never hang out with you.”

At this, the nerd has the gall to look hurt, as if he doesn’t remember the last decade of his life. “Katsuki was a friend I met while I was gone.” Deku stares down at his notebook. “He’s the reason I was able to come back.”

This Katsuki is a dude? For some reason, that irritates Bakugou more. His first name has always been a sore spot, prideful at its meaning and hateful of its femininity. The first time someone joked about it being girlish was also the last. Bakugou can feel the miniature explosions in his hand at the memory.

Bakugou scrubs. And scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, breaking two bowls and one cup, slicing his finger on the glass object.

Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

He slams open the kitchen’s first aid kit and cleans the wound before wrapping it tightly. He spares a glare the shitty nerd’s way, who appears to have lost all the will to write. Bakugou’s fingers throb, and he’s no longer sure if it’s random or triggered by the recent injury.

Fucking hell.

He slams himself into the chair across from Deku, folding his arms tight across his chest. “Go on, ask me your shitty questions.”

“What?” The nerd snaps his head up, surprised. When is this fuck face ever not surprised?

“I’m the only one you haven’t asked? Or are you going to use that shitty information from you stalking me in middle school?” Bakugou huffs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve changed.”

“I’ve noticed.” Shitty Deku mumbles, setting aside the book he was writing in, in favor of the notebook he kept referencing. He flips through it, turning to a page as blank as his face. “So,” He heaves a breath, daring to look at Bakugou, “Name?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Fuck,” Deku writes, “Off. Got it.”

“Deku,” Bakugou growls.

“Deku, okay.” The nerd keeps writing. “Wow, I’ve never met someone whose parents named them ‘fuck off useless.’ What’s your quirk?” He lifts his gaze, green eyes meeting Bakugou’s in a boldface dare.

“What the hell are you pissed about?” Bakugou snaps, beating his hand on the table.

“Quirk: Irrational anger. Ability to annoy people into a rage by looking at their face.” Deku writes. “You really must have a face only a mother could love.” He bemoans. “Oh, what’s that? Weaknesses? Oh, that’s very unique. Certainly unusual. I’ll just write down ’a lot.’”

“What the fuck, Deku? I didn’t even say anything!”

“May be telepathic.” He hums as if he’s discovered something interesting. “Could you induce anger without being seen? Probably, I’ll make a note.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“Oh!” Deku perks. “Telepathy only goes one way like Mandalay’s quirk but may not be able to hear a response. Wow, that’s a definite drawback, especially if the other person is trying to get a point across.”

“What’s it going to take to make you listen to me?” Bakugou shouts, slamming both hands on the table as he stands. His chair falls behind him, but he’s too busy glaring at Deku, who looks back with a calm expression, eyes nearly placid. They harden like emeralds at Bakugou’s question.

“Apologize.”

“Fuck no.”

“Be nicer.”

“I’m a god damn ray of sunshine.”

“Make me dinner.” At this, Bakugou watches some of the hardness in Deku’s face soften a fraction. The hell?

Bakugou looks at a clock on the distant wall proclaiming the late hour and the improbability of Bakugou getting caught red-handed doing anything for Deku.

“Fine.” He pushes off the table and stomps towards the kitchen.

“Thanks, Kacchan!” Bakugou doesn’t need to see the idiot is beaming again.

As he cooks, the nerd asks him real questions about his quirk, ultimate moves, and how he balances his diet for effective explosions. He questions everyday details and issues about accidental sweat. The nerd even asks if the reason Bakugou is without scars is the nitroglycerin smoothing skin and reducing the theoretical appearance of scars.

“You’re going to look like a baby forever.” Shitty Deku says in awe.

“You’re just pissed that I won’t have wrinkles by the time you’re old and gray. I’m a goddamn fountain of youth.”

“Baby forever.” The nerd mumbles over the hiss of the pan.

“I could burn this.” Bakugou threatens.

“You wouldn’t,” Deku says so simply as if he has Bakugou all figured out. It’s irritating how those two words loosen the stiffness in Bakugou’s hands.

From there, the questions devolve into meaningless recollections of their childhood, and the first year at U.A. They may have even joked with one another in some errant miracle.

As Bakugou sets out a plate of fried rice for the idiot, he realizes this is the warmest he’s felt in a long time. He feels content. He almost feels happy.

Bakugou shutters at the sensation, earning a strange look from shitty Deku.

If Bakugou is happy, then there’s something out there in the universe that’s out to ruin it. That’s just the way his life works.

When Bakugou was four, he had a best friend. The two of them would be a hero duo that would be the ultimate number one over All Might. They pretended to have all sorts of quirks at the time: water, super strength, or even telepathy. Bakugou got his quirk, as powerful as he’d always dreamed, and he was happy, and any day his best friend would get his too.

But then the best friend turned out to be quirkless.

And Bakugou stopped being happy.

He turns his gaze to the much older Deku, who seems in bliss eating fried rice. Bakugou feels peace bloom in his chest, and a tickle of happiness makes him cough. He can’t feel happy; if Bakugou is happy, then something shitty will happen to Deku. If Bakugou is happy, something terrible is about to begin.

Chapter Text

"Why the hell is he here?" Bakugou snarls at the sight of Hound Dog, four hours after the hobo launched the entire class off a in a ruse almost identical to the year before. Bakugou is getting real sick of the die or survive attitude these teachers have.

"Hound Dog is one of very few Pro Heroes with certified skills dealing with Post Traumatic Stress, mental health, and quirk-based neurological imbalances." Deku cheers, appearing from fuck knows where. He's the only loser in class who doesn't look like they've fought damn dirt monsters for several hours.

"That's right," Aizawa steps away from the group of pro heroes. "At your assessment, I mentioned we'll be working on turning your weaknesses into strengths. A hero's weakness is not only physical but mental. We've recruited the top heroes around the country to guide you through this. It's easy to see progress when we strengthen our muscles or refine our quirks. Mental training is much harder. We will be split with Ketsubutsu Academy High School, as we're borrowing their teacher Ms. Joke during training."

An extra with blue-green hair waves a gloved hand, an idiotic smile as big as Deku's. "Ah," Bakugou notes, putting the name and face to a D-list status from a few short days ago. "The girlfriend."

Aizawa makes an annoyed growl as Deku does his shitty little panic whine. The girlfriend's face blanks for a moment before laughs too loud, face too wide. "Something like that!"

"I would be more excited about this if I wasn't so tired." Raccoon Eyes flops on the ground.

"Is this the whirlwind romance we've always wanted for you, sensei?" Invisible Chick asks, hopping around. "We know you reconnected at the licensing exam. We didn't know if you started dating afterward."

"Definitely a whirlwind," The D-list girlfriend agrees. "Hot or cold, no in-between with us, but it's always lively."

"Stop." Aizawa glares harder as if he would strangle Bakugou for the second time in as many days. What? It's not like he said fuck in front of Eri again. 

D-list laughs, grating on Bakugou's last nerve. "He's so hilarious! I can't even!"

"Ms. Joke," Round Face approaches, looking nervous. "If you don't mind me asking, but why are you here?"

The girlfriend cups her hands under her chin. "Oh, you know, Eraser and I just can't keep our hands off each other –"

"That is not true –"

"And I'm an expert in mitigating trauma. My quirk, Outburst, creates a safe space for people to unlock or sift through trauma through play and laughter." She makes a wide gesture. "Plus! I get U.A. to train my students for free, so you know, win-win." She laughs even louder than before.

"That's highly unprofessional for you to disclose."

"Don't be such a party pooper, Eraser! I know you love it!"

"I really don't."

There's something that doesn't add up in D-list girlfriend and hobo's interaction. It's a hairline fracture, easy to miss, but it is sharp, and Bakugou can see the danger in the space between the two heroes. He doesn't need Deku's shitty danger sense to figure out this camping trip is different than what the teachers claim to be.

"Alright! Let's get you cleaned up, then lunch. Since you finished up early, we'll get you in on more training!" Blue Cat hops away from Hound Dog. "We're sooooo glad to have you back this year. We promise we've taken more precautions for your safety so no nasty villains can sneak in and kidnap you precious kittens!"

"Yay training," Raccoon Eyes, Flat Face, Dunce Face, and Shitty Hair say without enthusiasm.

Damn Deku is speaking with the teachers when Bakugou is fresh from the bath, stomach grumbling from the workout. The idiot continues talking even after Round Face tries to pull him away to eat, just before the class finishes their meals. He makes no move to the remaining food, smiles up with the pros like he's one of them.

How did fucking Deku get so far ahead? How the hell did Bakugou fall so far behind?

Shitty Deku waves as class B trickles in slowly, looking much like they lost the battle with those dirt clod monsters, the losers. Class A cleans up their spots, making way for the newly exhausted, some standing and looking around the mess hall.

"While you recharge, Principal Nezu wanted to introduce an extra component to this year's summer training." The vampire teacher of Class B announces. Both classes groan in unison.

"The extra component is me," Deku steps forward, beaming. "While I was gone, Aizawa-sensei and Principal Nezu learned about my Quirk Analysis notebooks. They're not very good, but Principal Nezu seems to think so. Over the weekend, I had the chance to talk with all of you about your quirks and put together a few analyses for each student. They range from potential ultimate moves, additional questions that may improve the versatility of your quirk, a brief psychological profile, and weaknesses that can prove fatal in the field."

"You expect me to trust anything that comes out of Class A's mouth?" Fuck face declares. He's hit in the back of the head by Big Hands, who motions Deku to continue.

"I mean," He laughs. Fucking Deku and his stupid laugh that makes him seem dumber than he is. "That's a fair point. I've only just gotten back. You don't have to trust me. You're trusting Principal Nezu, Aizawa-sensei, and Sekijiro-sensei. I'll be handing out your analysis, and in a few minutes, you'll be breaking out into small groups where the teachers and I will answer any questions you have."

Shitty nerd disappears for three months, and now he's a teacher? What kind of favoritism bullshit is this?

The Crazy Cat Ladies and Deku each grab a box from the far side of the room, delivering notebooks one by one. Shitty Hair gets his from Brown Cat and starts flipping through for the end.

"It's cover to cover." Shitty Hair marvels.

"Man, it's vacation. The last thing I want to do is a ton of reading." Dunce Face complains.

"It's kind of exciting, right?" Round Face says from the next table, holding her notebook tightly. "We've always seen Deku writing, but this is the first time we get to benefit from it."

"Yeah, it's a chance for us to get out of our heads with our quirks." Purple Bags accepts his notebook from Red Cat with a nod.

"But what if he's wrong?" Skull Face from Class B stares at his notebook as if it were a villain about to attack.

A sudden slap turns the table's attention to Raccoon Eyes, whose pink face is turning florescent. "Nope! It's accurate! It's too accurate. Nobody look at mine!" Both her hands push at the notebook like it will open without her hands pressing it down.

"Ohhhh, Ashido, what's it say?" Shitty Hair grins, leaning forward.

Great. This is going to turn into a fuck face of an event reading each other's diaries.

A notebook appears in Bakugou's view, but it isn't the blue notebook or his written name that catches his attention. It's a burn at the inside of a wrist, resting near the base of the thumb. It's smaller than a single yen coin, maybe even just the size of a fingertip. Bakugou doesn't think he's made an explosion that small even in childhood. But the scarring and blast pattern is definitely that of an explosion quirk. It's in a spot to hide something in plain sight, still inside but close to the wrist curve where an outsider needs to focus but remains prominent in the owner's line of sight.

"Kacchan, your notebook," Deku says from behind. Bakugou turns to look, following the arm to broad shoulders, taller form, different hair. He does everything in his power not to explode in front of both classes. This Deku is a stranger. A liar. Whatever the fuck is in this notebook doesn't matter because of that scar. Could it be that weird blood chick in disguise? How long can Bakugou keep this under wraps so the extras don't freak out? How long until he can catch the shitty nerd red-handed? "Kacchan?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Bakugou growls in the loud mess hall, hands aching. The extras beside him don't seem to hear, but Deku does. Of course, he fucking would.

"So soon?" He laughs. In the sound, Bakugou can hear something breaking. "Here, Kacchan. I'll explain, promise." He presses the notebook into Bakugou's hand and walks away.

What the fuck.

Surely the teachers know. Would they let some imposter analyze the students for weaknesses? They wouldn't just insert an imposter to test the students on their observation skills, would they?

Of course they fucking would.

Bakugou rolls up the notebook and looks for the damn hobo. If anyone cares about fuck anything, it's Aizawa. Aizawa would protest if something is in bad taste. Aizawa would be the first to end something where some fake ass villain is impersonating his missing – dead – student.

Is Deku still fucking buried in Exit Island?

Bakugou feels like Half and Half encased him in ice.

Are the teachers seriously letting some extra pretend to be Deku when the nerd is still trapped, still missing, still gone?

"Bakugou." Aizawa is suddenly hauling him to his feet and dragging him outside. "– ith me? Look at me." Bakugou blinks at the sun, seeing the trees behind Aizawa blur, but he can't look at this face. This face agreed to have someone take Deku's place. This person is just letting the idiot lie in the cold.

Aizawa presses him against the exterior wall, where the fading warmth sears Bakugou through his shirt. It's too much all at once, and he shivers. A ragged exhale escapes as the shaking makes its way to his fingers and toes. Deku is shivering in a place the sun can't touch, and no one wants to say it. "Bakugou, take a deep breath. Focus on my voice. Tell me five things you can see."

"Why the fuck does that matter?" The world is spinning out of control. Deku is still gone, and Bakugou has lost count of the minutes and hours and days. He bought it, like a fool, because he wanted to stop punishing himself for not being enough that day. He got distracted with hope, of all shitty things, and now he's being punished for it. Deku has never been more lost than the moment Bakugou stopped looking.

"Five things. Name them." Aizawa's voice is stern. It is the only thing firm. It's a lifeline, and Bakugou is desperately trying to hold on. His hand clumsily latches onto the hobo's arm, trying to prevent himself from spinning away. 

"Sun," Bakugou heaves for air. Where is the air? Is he even breathing? His chest is moving, but it's not enough. It's never going to be enough. He will never be enough. "Trees, scarf." He stops for another gulping breath because he can't look at Aizawa's face. The more Bakugou doesn't see, the more he fails to breathe, and what else can he do? "Black," He chokes out. "Rock."

"Good, what can you feel? Four things." Aizawa's voice is still as hard as before, demanding Bakugou's attention.

"Your hand," The grip on Bakugou's shoulder hurts. Why hadn't he noticed before? "Warm wall, air in my," He falters for a moment, "hair." There's air. He's breathing air. If it's in his hair, it's going into his lungs, right? "Fingers hurt." He drops his hands from the teacher's arm.

"Tell me three things you can hear." It's firm, but the tone seems to have more give. Or maybe Bakugou is slowly swimming from the deep end of something and into shallow water.

"Bugs," A slower and deeper breath of air filters through. "Idiots in the mess hall, me breathing."

"Two things you can smell?"

"Hot dirt," Bakugou finds himself able to look at Aizawa for a fraction of a second. "Your nasty ass breath."

Aizawa's hand squeezes once before letting let's go. Bakugou thinks he hears Aizawa chuckle.

"Taste?"

There's a metallic aftertaste in Bakugou's mouth. Not the copper of blood but something thin and electric. Aluminum, he thinks but doesn't know why.

"Like I need to brush my teeth." He bares them for emphasis, choosing to look anywhere other than Aizawa.

"Do you know what just happened?" His teacher asks. It's not accusatory in any way. There's a gentle curiosity to it as if Bakugou should be handled with kid gloves. How annoying.

"Why would I?" Bakugou scoffs. Aizawa releases a disappointed sigh.

"Do you want to know?" Bakugou frowns, looks at the tired teacher, manages to maintain eye contact for a breath before looking away again. "I thought not."

Aizawa moves towards the door and something in Bakugou's chest spikes with the warning that if the teacher doesn't stay, he'll spiral again. "Eri will be heading out in a minute; Present Mic undid her hair before camp and she'd like it redone."

"Yeah," Bakugou stares at the ground. "I'll do it even better than before."

Deku 14:23 Rooftop Nine P.M.

The nerd said he'd explain, Bakugou reminds himself as he climbs the steps to the roof. He better, or else there's going to be a body for the teachers to find in the morning. It's past his usual time to sleep, but hell, this is important. If he gets an explanation, maybe his fingers will stop hurting.

Deku is picking lint from a blanket when Bakugou arrives. It's such a stupid thing to do; he knows the nerd is pretending to be calm when they're nervous.

"Give me one reason why this isn't going to be a waste of my time." Bakugou rasps. Some part of him would rather be anywhere else. The nosy losers are downstairs playing some shitty dare to hear some portions of each other's notebooks. Eri is asleep, but hell if Bakugou won't stand watch and make sure no monsters are hiding beneath her bed. Maybe Aizawa needs help making himself look more like a hobo. But Deku is here – even if only in face – and he could be alive. Where would Bakugou be if shitty Deku wasn't chasing him and making sure the fucker didn't lag behind?

Deku looks at him, illuminated pale in the exterior lights. He looks like he has all the weight on his shoulders. If he had remained quirkless, maybe his life would be less of a burden. Or maybe it would have been worse. Take a swan dive off the roof –

"I didn't ever consider that seriously." The nerd says as if reading his thoughts. "I didn't even really have time to think about it. Okay, so it was a bad day. I nearly died from that slime villain, All Might told me I could never be a hero before leaving me on a roof, and then you almost died, and then All Might told me I actually could be a hero. So really, It didn't even make the top list of things that happened to me that day."

"I had that shitty ass villain on the ropes!" Bakugou snaps. "Why the fuck would me almost dying be something that happened to you?" 

Shitty Deku blinks twice as if the question is confusing. "I think you're amazing, Kacchan," He says simply. "For someone so cool to disappear, that's a tragedy."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'm serious!" Deku laughs. Bakugou steps out of the doorway and sits beside Deku, half-turned towards the forest.

"He says, laughing at my face."

"It's the only good thing I can do to it right now." The idiot shrugs.

"You've got some nerve."

"I do," The nerd agrees, nudging Bakugou's shoulder with his own. "I got that from you."

Deku's eyes are bright in the moonlight, cold and untouchable. There's a barrier between them, secrets from the nerd's time away.

"What aren't you telling me?" Bakugou measures out a breath, watching Deku do the same. Shitty nerd always copying his movements.

"A lot," Deku's brows pinch in concern as he smiles. "I'm hoping I can tell you some of it."

"I'm going to figure it out anyway; you're not exactly the most secretive person I've ever met."

"That's true." The agreeableness is irritating. "So what tipped you off?"

"The burn." Bakugou grits his teeth. "There were other things too, but that burn isn't normal, and I didn't give it to you."

"You're always so much more observant than you like to let on." Deku smiles, soft and gentle. Bakugou associates it with protection and Eri. How irritating, as if Bakugou needs to be protected. Yeah, right. "It's an anchor for me. Before I left, I got this mark to remind me it wasn't a dream, and I'm back where I'm supposed to be."

"That's a lot of faith in some shitty mark."

Deku shrugs. "It serves its purpose."

"Where were you? What made you less shitty and more nerd?" Bakugou demands, hands throbbing in time with his quickening pulse. "Why the need for a reminder?"

The nerd is silent for a three count before he rushes out, "So, there's this pro hero in the General Education section of U.A."

"For fuck's sake, Deku."

"I know," Deku's smile is small but encouraging. "But I swear it's important."

"Fine," Bakugou groans. "Boring pro extra. What else?"

"He teaches a lot of support courses too, pretty cool. He's an expert on Futures thinking."

"So he's got a fucking prediction quirk, so what?" Nighteye had that too and look what happened; the nerd defied and changed the future. Deku is shitty and impulsive enough to make a set outcome into a variable.

Deku shakes his head. "Futures, plural. He specializes in path making from the probable to the absurd. His hero name is Probability and his quirk is Variation. His quirk allows him to see into these various futures and make decisions for the best outcome, no matter how wild."

"And?"

"Sometimes he sends people there," Deku explains, pressing his lips into a thin line. His green eyes stare at Bakugou as if trying to will the answer into being. It doesn't; Bakugou refuses to attempt to connect the dots on the bullshit the nerd is spewing from his mouth. 

"That blast at Exit Island?" Deku starts again, gesturing towards the forest. "I survived, but I was hanging by a thread. Probability grabbed me, put me in a hospital, and I was out for a month, maybe more. It took until classmates visited me, I realized something was wrong. It was like moving the entire world five inches to the left.

"Probability dropped by to tell me I wasn't crazy, gave a code phrase and the reason he pulled me."

"The girlfriend." Bakugou realizes, remembering the night of Deku's arrival and the surprise and hurt on one of the teacher's faces. "Hobo doesn't have a girl." Deku shakes his head.

"It was so close to the same; sometimes I'd forget that I wasn't in the right spot. Katsuki would remind me, though."

Bakugou hardens at his name. Alternate reality Bakugou. Fucking hell. Why the fuck is hero life so fucking annoying? Why do people have such shitty quirks to screw him over?

"I graduated sort of, went pro, and was starting an agency when Probability pulled me back."

"What the fuck?" Bakugou glares. What is shitty Deku trying to say? Graduated? Starting his own agency? Most pros don't even consider starting until their mid-twenties, earning name and recognition with larger agencies, until their name is recognizable. Those who excel at the U.A. sports festival or have uniquely public quirks can spin-off earlier. And even if shitty Deku followed in Hawks' footsteps, he would have to be older. How much older? Does that explain the height? The confidence? The skill?

"Katsuki gave me this," Deku holds up his scarred hand where the small explosion scar is still visible, "While I was leaving, so I'd know I made it back."

"The fuck." Bakugou whispers. His throat feels tight and raw, as if he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs for weeks. "And what happened to the nerd on that side?"

"Oh? I-kun?" Deku looks thoughtful. Bakugou's hands ache at the name. Wasn't that one of the names Bakugou thought to call shitty Deku as kids? "I never met him. Probability says he died in the battle. Katsuki had a lot to say about him, though. He knew I wasn't I-kun the moment he saw me."

"What? You blabbed some shit or something?"

"Sort of?" Deku laughs. Not again with this self-deprecating bullshit. "I called him Kacchan, which earned me a blast in the face. Can you believe it? He hated the nickname." Bakugou chuffs a laugh at the thought of letting loose an explosion near Deku's face. He sours at the thought of someone else hurting the nerd. "Apparently, I-kun called him Ka-kun. But it wasn't the words that exposed me. I don't have the same scars as I-kun."

"What idiots didn't notice that?" Bakugou scoffs. "Fucking lazy ass losers if they can't even tell a fake from something real."

"I mean, no one else in Class A noticed. And besides, it wasn't all bad." Bakugou finds himself gritting his teeth at the words.

"And how do I know it's you, really you from this shitty reality?"

"Scars. Memories and the like. It was a reality left of center, so that slime villain was different; our childhoods were different. No memory is exactly the same. So, ask me anything." A secret exclusive to the both of them, what would it be?

Bakugou scans over Deku's form, looking at visible scars he doesn't recognize and even more that he does. There are no scars that are glaringly missing, and he suddenly regrets not being more observant of the nerd growing up.

He searches his memory for something small, easily thrown away, and something he'd rather not see the light of day after being buried deep for so long.

"Not that I got beat up or anything," Bakugou growls, "But when we were kids, just before I got my quirk, I said I didn't want to be a hero anymore. What did I want to be instead?"

"That's easy, Kacchan." Deku smoothes the blanket over his lap. "A makeup artist. You wanted to help with your parent's fashion shows."

"It's creepy you didn't hesitate, nerd." Bakugou narrows his eyes, but he feels something inside begin to relax. He flexes his hands, stretching and checking his finger dexterity.

Deku shrugs. "What can I say? You've always been amazing. Even then, you could think past wanting to be a hero and thought about how you could help others without a costume."

Something nags at Bakugou, but he can't seem to place it. It's clear Deku is done talking about alternate realities, which almost feels like a typical Monday night, if it weren't for a huge desire to scream 'what the fuck’ until the entire camp drags him inside. What presses for his attention? More about the Bakugou double, something is missing in that story for sure. How much time did Deku spend over there? It must be more than the three months and near seven days he was missing. Where did he accumulate the scars? Which ones were from Exit Island? And something else. Something about or near the D-list not-girlfriend.

Fuck, Bakugou doesn't remember, and he's too tired from staying up late over the weekend to care.

Instead, he asks a question about the notebooks, leaning back as Deku brightens, chattering a mile a minute. He's only half-listening, wondering how much more the other Bakugou got to know about the shitty nerd and how much Deku compares them back and forth.

Chapter Text

For the first time in Bakugou’s life, he doesn’t look forward to training. He’s paired with Half and Half, improving the strength and precision of his blasts as the damn bastard tries to do the same with his ice.

Fucking Deku trains with everyone, touching on questions, and moves from his shitty notebooks, looking decidedly in his element. Maybe he is; Bakugou knows almost nothing from Deku’s time away except it was longer for the nerd, and some shitty copy of himself took over Bakugou’s job of pushing the nerd forward.

He hates the mental training too. It’s therapy; there’s no doubt about it, but calling it training mitigates some of the anger he feels. Training makes him a better hero. Therapy is a shitty waste of time. Bakugou is paired with the idiots that call themselves the Bakusquad and Not-Girlfriend. He can’t help but notice Shitty Deku is not part of mental training, and he disappeared with the Cat Ladies to train the D-List hero’s school. 

“Welcome!” Not-Girlfriend cheers when Bakugou joins the group. “This is great, so great. I’m glad to see you here, and I’m sure you’re glad to be here because this is going to be a laughing good time!”

Fuck, this is going to be a shit show. She’s so loud; it makes Bakugou want to explode a few things to shut her up. Knowing these idiots, her cheery demeanor is only going to excite everyone here.

“Now, I’ve only skimmed a bit of the notebooks Midoriya-san put together, and we’ll only dive deeply at our one on ones.” She beams. Slowly the smile shrinks to something small as she eyes each member of the Bakusquad, leaning forward in her seat. “Mental health is something generalized and littered with tons of misconceptions. But it is complicated, and it is something you are entitled to. I can’t stress this enough. You are entitled to mental health care. There is no one right way to address your individual needs, and trying to do a blanket patch on the five of you would be a disservice.

“In our sessions together, we’ll be going through how to recognize signs of trauma, signs of abuse, how to recognize and address panic attacks,” Her eyes drift to Bakugou at the last two words, “and some basic trips to self-soothe. As heroes, we’re just as susceptible to trauma as civilians, if not more. As heroes, fights with villains aren’t just the big flashy ones we see in the streets. Sometimes they’re at home, and sometimes they’re in our heads.” She opens her palms up, much in an identical way Bakugou’s seen Hound Dog do a thousand times. A sign of vulnerability. Usually the motion irritates him, but somehow this D-lister’s near quiet voice seems more genuine than anything Dog Face could ever say.

“I’m going to push you,” Not-Girlfriend says, a determination in her eyes that is second only to shitty Deku. “We might not be out there pushing our quirks to the limit, but we will be extending our minds so far you’ll feel like you’ve gone on a long workout. It’s going to hurt, yes, but it’s also going to feel a lot better too. Are you ready?”

The squad looks at each other before settling their gaze at Bakugou. He leans forward, mimicking Joke Face’s pose in all but open palms. He locks eyes and smirks.

“Ready.”

“Man, I’m so drained, I don’t want to cook.” Shitty Hair stares at the pile of vegetables with apprehension.

“I’m not eating your shitty work. Hand them over.” Bakugou picks up the chef’s knife and begins chopping, barking orders to the losers standing around and doing nothing. Fucking everyone is exhausted from that weird mental trip the heroes put them on. He can see Ears and Ponytail look haunted by whatever their teacher did, Four Eyes and Frog Face look grim, and stupid half and half doesn’t look like his robot self for once.

Bakugou wouldn dare to say it was a good session. Hell, he’d rather run up a mountain and burn off the oppressiveness of it than be here cooking and admit anything, but he needs dinner and so do the rest of his shitty classmates.

He’s still reeling from Joke Face’s walk-through of a panic attack, offering up different methods of grounding someone. If it’s not bad and the person isn’t adverse to touch, touch and a firm voice can bring a person from the edge. The next fastest method is a countdown of numbers and senses, something Bakugou is all too aware the hobo pulled on him the day before.

Bakugou did not have a panic attack. He just didn’t want to be wrong about Deku.

Right?

“Wow! That was quick!” Round Cheeks cheers, scooping up the finished carrots into separate bowls. “I forget how good you are with a knife.” Despite her peppy voice, she seems as exhausted as the rest.

It’s stupid having the students cook after a long day of training. It’s supposed to be a vacation, not working to the death. But Bakugou is more than aware the cooking is just another bit of training; a lesson is giving when there’s nothing left. A lesson in fighting past a dying breath. Most everyone here has had a practical taste in that lesson—some more recent than others.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement from the tree line. It better not be Blue Cat’s fucking dirt monsters out for a surprise attack.

Instead, it’s green lightning hopping into the clearing with a blond girl on his back.

“Come on! You handled it pretty well! You’re almost there!” Deku laughs. Bakugou growls.

“U.A did that as first years?” An extra with long back hair sounds horrified, which makes Bakugou smirk. “What the hell are they teaching you?”

“That was just a warm-up!” Deku says. “Tomorrow is when the real training begins.”

“That’ssss right!” Blue Cat bounces to Deku’s side as Man Cat removes the blond from Deku’s shoulders. “Tonight, you’ll get to relax with food generously made by U.A.” Ha? He's cooking for who, now? “And then tomorrow we have a special surprise to get you into tip-top fighting shape!” She dances around, settling on a group of three students, including the long-haired extra. “I especially enjoyed the fighting of you three! It just makes a cat like me wanna pounce!”

Gross.

“That’s highly inappropriate.” Red Cat grabs Blue Cat by the collar and drags her away, while the latter mewls and complains.

Of course, Deku is on the rooftop that night. It seems like this is the only place in all of camp to get some peace and quiet. Bakugou actually slept for once, and the rooftop wasn’t terrible. When Bakugou opens the door to the roof, Deku’s made some sort of home for himself, blankets and a pillow, plus a stack of notebooks held down by a lantern.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Deku’s face scrunches as he turns it towards Bakugou. “I could ask you the same.”

“Joke Face screwed with everyone’s heads.” Bakugou offers, sitting down a few feet from Deku. “Dunce Face is weeping to Ears. It’s annoying.”

“I needed space to think.” He taps his pencil on the open notebook. “Oh, and I need to wrap up these Quirk Analysis books for Ketsubutsu Academy. Ms. Joke wants to look over them before I hand them out tomorrow.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Bakugou huffs.

That comfortable silence descends again, and Bakugou wonders if silence was one of the many reasons they never got along. Bakugou explodes with too much noise, Deku is mumbles and laughter and so much fucking sound. Did the shitty nerd learn silence from his shitty double? Or did it take the time apart for Deku to learn silence is good? Did it take those three months for Bakugou to learn the sound of Deku isn’t bad?

He stares out at the forest and the stars above, waiting for his brain to settle down. Bakugou isn’t sure how long he stares, but the next time he glances at Deku, the nerd is hugging the pillow to his chest. The pile of notes are closed and moved to a different portion of the roof, and Deku is looking. Not at the trees or the stars or towards the ground where the teachers have gathered near the cook fires, but at Bakugou.

“What do you want to know?” Deku smiles.

“About?”

“I don’t know, any new One for All quirks I’ve unlocked. Secrets from the variant. Secrets from this one. Katsuki knew everything over there. You’re the one who knows most about me here.”

“I don’t know fuck anything.”

“Then what do you want to know?” Deku’s smile curls with a dare.

Bakugou isn’t sure he wants to know anything. With mental and physical training, he feels wrung through. If Deku says any more, will Bakugou have the energy to survive the next day at camp? Or will not knowing make everything worse? It’s a test of wills, Bakugou reminds himself. It’s like cooking from earlier, train the body to go beyond a dying breath. Bakugou must go beyond.

Plus Ultra and all that bullshit.

“How long were you there?” Bakugou measures out the question that’s nagged him all day.

“Close to four years.” Four years. Deku is four years older. Deku is twenty and pretending to be in his second year. What the ever-living fuck?

“Why you?”

“Oh,” Deku laughs. “I can’t answer that just yet. Sorry, Kacchan.”

“What can you tell me?” Bakugou growls.

“Katsuki’s hero name was Ground Zero. Not Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” Deku snorts. “We took a super old song and had Jiro remix it into something new. She opted to keep the guitars. It was very you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Bakugou snaps but feels his lips tug up with Deku’s smile.

“It means your hero debut topped the music charts. And none of us let you live it down.” Deku looks down at his burned wrist mid-laugh, frowns, and shakes his head. “I mean, Katsuki’s debut. Sorry. It’s confusing sometimes.”

“Four fucking years in a different reality, and you’re barely back a week. You’re running on fumes. It’s no wonder you fucked up.” Bakugou pinches his lips into a thin line. Asking was a fucking mistake.

They’re silent for a seven count before Bakugou sighs. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained; isn’t that how that damn saying goes? “Is that why you’re sticking to the teachers and avoiding the loser Classmates?”

“I’m not avoiding them. I train with you all, don’t I?”

“But you don’t hang out. Round Face and Four Eyes look like kicked puppies during downtime.”

“They do?” Deku’s eyes blow wide. “I’m sorry. It’s,” he heaves a breath, staring up at the night sky. “It’s hard. Seeing them isn’t, I mean. You won’t believe how grateful I am to see everyone together and happy. It’s just –”

“You can’t say yet.” Bakugou narrows his eyes. Deku nods. Both their gazes turn to a car speeding down the distant road, headlights facing the camp. “Why was Joke Face a code word for this reality?”

“Oh,” Deku laughs. “That’s easy. Aizawa-sensei is married.”

“What?” Bakugou snaps. The depressing hobo landed an idiot that would marry him? What the fuck?

“Ms. Joke and his husband get along very well.” The nerd nods. Aizawa is married with a husband.

The news is shocking because Aizawa doesn’t seem the type to care about anything illogical. His students are a contractual responsibility; dating and sexual preferences don’t fit the logical profile of a man who dresses like he’s never learned how to wash his clothes. Bakugou can’t recall Aizawa with a ring, though most pros leave the decoration off as a way to keep their civilian lives private. Aizawa is, if nothing else, private. But fuck, whatever, it’s not Bakugou’s business to nose into the hobo’s private life. So long as Bakugou doesn’t cross the husband and receive Aizawa’s wrath again, he couldn’t care less.

“Huh,” He says to emphasize his disinterest. “Never would have guessed. Do you have any new Quirks?” Bakugou expects another stupid classified response. The car below parks in front of the training camp area, casting the pro heroes in shadow. A man in a long coat steps out.

“Yeah, lots of them.” That doesn’t make any sense. He should only have three or four. ‘Lots’ implies more than the remaining handful.

Bakugou is about to clarify when he sees the pro heroes tense, not at a fight because they make no move to attack or reach for weapons, but at the newcomer who seems to be bearing bad news. Did the villains find out where they were again? Only idiots would use the same location twice. Or was that another one of Aizawa’s logical ruses?

“Stay here!” Deku jumps to his feet, lightning arcing as he leaps from the roof.

“Hell if you’re leaving me behind!” Bakugou scrambles, blasting himself into the air. He lands beside Vampire Face while Deku stands by Aizawa, face a mix of concern and determination.

“Say it again.” The nerd’s voice is hard and firm, sure and steady like All Might declaring ‘I am here!’

“There’s been an attack on a former member of Class 1-A. Minoru Mineta is in critical condition after an incident involving a villain.” The detective’s flat gaze turns to Deku. “The student sustained long and deep poisoned lacerations with traces of blood that’s not his own. We’re unclear if he will survive the night.” Deku mumbles something, clenching his hands into fists.

“We believe, as this was an attack on a U.A. student, the villain may attack other U.A. students, specifically those in the hero course. Do you have any insight, Midoriya-san?”

“I do.” Deku flicks his bright green eyes to Bakugou and back to the detective. “The villain’s name is Firefly. I fought them on Exit Island, and they’re bad news. I’m not surprised their info isn’t readily available; Exit Island was very classified.” Bakugou watches Aizawa’s frown deepen. “I don’t know if they’ve joined the League of Villains and if they’re part of their Special Ops, but I do know they’ll be targeting us.”

Deku turns to Aizawa. “It’s starting again. I thought we’d have more time.”

Aizawa’s features harden. “This time, you’ve got your classmates and the pros behind you. We’ll win this Midoriya.”

Bakugou watches Deku shake and turns his gaze to the ground. He lifts his head, eyes red, staring straight at Bakugou, whispering words so strung together it’s a miracle Bakugou can understand, “But what if we lose?”

Chapter Text

The day begins early with faces tired from too little or nonexistent rest. Izuku watches his class shuffle in for breakfast, rubbing sleep from their eyes, too unaware of the impending threat. He knows there is time before things go from bad to worse. He knows he needs time to explain everything to Kacchan before he asks the class, knows there's too much to do, but Izuku doesn’t know if there will ever be enough time.

Probability sent Izuku to learn how to counteract the impossible in a different reality with the restriction of secrecy and knowing at any moment he could leave. His friendships suffered for it, and though he was used to being alone thanks to a lifetime of quirklessness, he craved his found family desperately. He missed the familiarity of Uraraka and Iida, missed team-ups that flowed instead of pushed against one another. He missed so much for a chance to save his friends.

Guilt gnaws at his stomach, turning into flip flops at the sight of Uraraka entering with bed hair. Izuku lifts the tray of breakfast from the kitchens and weaves past the other students to stand before her.

“G-Good morning, Uraraka!” Izuku greets with his largest smile. “We haven’t really gotten the chance to hang out with everything going on, c-can we have breakfast together?”

Uraraka scrunches up her sleepy face, rubs at her eyes, and blinks twice before her expression turns slack with surprise. “Deku! Of course!” She beams. “I’m sorry, I wanted to give you space, but I also just missed you so much! What’s for breakfast? Everything looks yummy.”

“I also brought a pitcher of orange juice if Iida wants to join us.”

“While my engines do run on orange juice, it will be irresponsible of me to drink so much before training. I cannot simply excuse myself for repeated bathroom breaks when it’s everyone’s goal to get stronger.” Iida lays a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “But I wouldn’t mind a glass or two. It’s wonderful to see you again, Midoriya.”

They gather at the edge of one table, already packed by Tsuyu, Shinsou, Tokoyami, and Shoji. Uraraka’s cheer brightens the table, pulling Tsuyu into the conversation, which pulls in Tokoyami and Shoji. Her quirk may be zero gravity, but her personality draws people in. She has an orbit, and anyone she meets can’t help but fall in.

Izuku sips his tea, watching the liveliness of the table bloom. He notices Iida, usually orderly and efficient, slowing whenever Uraraka speaks. Oh.

“What is it, Deku?” His eyes snap to Uraraka, who leans forward over her plate, expression concerned.

“Uh, just observing.” He holds the tea close, feeling too exposed with the table’s eyes on him. He’s not used to so many people focusing on him. Sure, crowds of people thanking him as a hero, but not people who genuinely care about him. It’s nerve-wracking because when he looks, they look back.

“You know Midoriya,” Shinsou rests his chin in his hand, “That analysis was weirdly accurate. You sure you don’t have an intelligence quirk or something?”

“If Midoriya had an intelligence quirk, would he really throw himself headfirst into danger?” Shoji’s tentacle mouth asks.

Shinsou sighs. “I guess not.”

“Midoriya, it is disturbingly amazing how detailed your notes were. Dark Shadow and I conferred details we didn’t know were issues. How could you determine it from a brief conversation?” Tokoyami asks from across the table.

“Oh,” Izuku laughs, waving his hands around, tea sloshing around in his cup and threatening to spill over. “I just looked?” He feels embarrassed by the simple answer. Izuku watched people with quirks all his life trying to understand why they had something, and he didn’t. Why did some powers activate with a flick of a wrist and some mental? How does the body make an exact right motion when they’re toddlers to first use their quirk? He watched people change and grow to welcome their quirk, and others react in retaliation while he ached and ached for one to manifest under his skin.

Izuku knows by looking Tokoyami occasionally sees Dark Shadow as a conjoined twin, unable to leave, but hates when the quirk is hidden away. It’s likely Dark Shadow still talks to Tokoyami as a voice inside the head when hidden. There is a significant chance, as Izuku knows first-hand how cruel children can be, Tokoyami was bullied for speaking to Dark Shadow out loud when the quirk was silent to outsiders. The young hero was probably thought of as creepy, dark, and crazy – three traits Tokoyami embraced because, while the children changed, Dark Shadow remained.

“It must be more than looking,” Tsuyu looks thoughtful, pointer finger tapping her chin.

In truth, Izuku knows the Tokoyami from that alternate life was bullied. There were scars over that hero’s midsection where students burned him out of fear of the quirk. Izuku doesn’t recall this Tokoyami with any such mark.

In his first few days back, every notebook Izuku was an analysis from his interviews and the sparring sessions from his first full day back. It’s confusing enough his classmates look so young; Izuku refuses to mix up their variant lives as well. Writing the notebooks anchored him back to his reality, creating a baseline to move forward. 

“I guess it’s more than looking,” Izuku sets down his mug and scratches his cheek with one finger. “It’s noticing, observing, or something like that. I’ve been doing it so long; I don’t really know what to call it.”

Uraraka hums, glancing around the table. “That’s so cool, Deku! Though, I’m still having a hard time understanding. Can we see it in action?” Her smile widens, and her eyes grow large. “I know! Look at me and analyze something!” She waves her hands excitedly.

“I’ve already written an analysis for you; what more do you want to know?” Izuku laughs to ease the feeling of helplessness growing inside him. His friends expect too much, and he’s going to disappoint them. They don’t know he was quirkless, was useless, was nothing. Kacchan always said his mumbling was pointless and annoying because no one would care to listen. Katsuki claimed saying so was a ruse to keep the kids from doing worse. Izuku still doesn’t know what to believe.

“Oh please, Deku!”

“Midoriya, I don’t want to impose, but you’ve always been great at seeing what we can’t. I would value a lesson in noticing from your demonstration.” Iida offers a gentle smile. Iida has always been one of Izuku’s favorite people. His speech pattern, while overly formal, is as steady as a rock when showing support. Sure, the speed hero is overzealous at times, but Iida reminds Izuku of his mom or Aizawa-sensei in moments like these.

“Go on, Midoriya, what do your elf eyes see?” Shinsou drawls.

“Uh, sure, I guess. It won’t be all that good.” Izuku senses the table inhabitants lean in close as Uraraka straightens in her seat, shoulders scrunching around her ears – signaling a defensive posture. Her lips are pressed tightly, brows furrowing, in her a standard Uraraka gesture of trying to keep a straight face or hide a secret. These are the most obvious answers. Of course she’d be trying to hide in an attempt to challenge Izuku.

Her voluminous hair is more wild than usual, shorter in the back where a nest is forming, and uneven on the left side. Uraraka regularly gives herself haircuts to save money. She keeps it short because hair on her neck is disorienting when she activates her quirk. Usually, Hagakure or Yaoyorozu will even out the haircut after a day or two, so the haircut is fresh. She doesn’t seem bothered by how uneven it is, meaning she’s already worked out a time with one of the heroines. Uraraka’s ears are pink, and the amount she keeps glancing at Shinsou and Tsuyu and actively avoids everyone else hints that Shinsou and Tsuyu are her most trustworthy friends. Strange. Uraraka is always around Iida, always talking with Iida and bouncing off ideas from Iida. It’s rare the two are apart, so why would Uraraka avoid Iida unless –

“Uraraka!” Izuku gasps, feeling his cheeks heat.

“What?” She bursts out in a breath, eyes wide in panic.

“I’m happy for you, really. I’m guessing it’s a new development?” Izuku beams.

Uraraka turns as red as her ears. “I mean, yeah, sort of, maybe? Still trying to figure it out – wait.” Her expression shutters; she looks frozen in a processing error. “Who told you?”

“You did.”

“When?”

“When I was looking.”

“Midoriya, Uraraka didn’t say anything.” Shoji tentacles have formed eyes and ears, with three turned to Izuku and three at Uraraka. “I was watching the whole time.”

Izuku shakes his head. “Not audibly. I saw it.” He relates what he saw except for the blooming crush between his two closest friends at the further puzzled looks from the table. He emphasizes the haircut, noting Shinsou's new friendship, and replaces the crush on Iida with how her hand gesture signals an improvement in her quirk. He'll keep the crush quiet; after all, some things are best to leave alone and run their course.

“I cut it last night!” Uraraka marvels. “Wow, you barely had time to look at me.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get more than a glance. I was trying to keep it simple.” Izuku rubs the back of his neck.

“A glance, he says,” Shinsou grumbles, lifting his mug and downing the contents in one go.

“I’m almost afraid of what you’d see in a full minute, Ribbit.” Tsuyu looks at Uraraka, whose cheeks are starting to burn bright pink again. “I wonder if – ”

“All right, U.A. and Ketsubutsu Academy! Gather up! We’ve got a puuuuuurrrfect challenge for you today that will really get your blood pumping and competitive spirits way way up!” Izuku turns in his seat to see Pixie Bob making excited gestures near the door.

Mandalay joins Pixie Bob, striking a pose rather than keeping up with Pixie Bob’s jazzercise movements. “This morning, you’ll be playing the dangerous game of capture the flag.”

Bakugou scoffs from another table. Someone from class B complains, “That doesn’t sound dangerous at all.”

“Someone clearly doesn’t remember last year’s test of courage,” Tokoyami mutters. Izuku nearly laughs.

“We’ll have three flags in the forest,” Mandalay continues. “Class A, Class B, and Ketsubutsu Academy against one another. The goal of the game is to have the most flags and rescue the most prisoners.”

“Prisoners?” Iida asks.

“That’s right!” Pixie Bob leaps in front of Mandalay, shaking her hips. “We’ve got some sharp listeners!” She holds her cat paws up to her ears. Aizawa-sensei sighs. “Prisoners. Each team is, in essence, a villain to their rivals. In the field, there are situations when heroes must go undercover and play that role while still trying to make the world a better place.”

Tiger walks from the kitchen, slamming down a U.A. civilian robot beside Pixie Bob. Izuku spots two large circles on its left chest, one red and the other yellow. “We’ve scattered a dozen of these prisoners around the forest. Each bot is marked with a combination of red, blue, and yellow. There will only ever be two colors on a bot; these are the teams designated to rescue this bot. Don’t see your color? You have permission to destroy it. Think of it as preventing an informant from blowing your cover.” Tiger pats the bot’s head, which crumples under their strength.

Izuku can practically feel Kacchan’s grin from here. He’s excited to destroy, and maybe that’s not the best trait in a superhero.

“Your plan of attack will be determined by your team leaders, chosen at random.” Mandalay grins.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Tokoyami sighs.

“Oh, don’t be like that. We’ve been through a lot together. I bet you any of us can lead, and we’ll still be triumphant.” Uraraka beams.

“Makabe will lead Ketsubutsu Academy with the yellow flag, Kaminari will lead Class A with red, and Tokage will lead Class B with blue.”

“That’s,” Iida hesitates, “A surprising choice.” From Kacchan’s table, Izuku can see Kaminari panicking.

“It won’t be that bad,” Izuku laughs placatingly, “Kaminari has a lot of potential. He’s literally friends with everyone in class. Sure, he tends to place last in all our exams but -”

“This is not going to end well for us at all.” Shinsou groans, dropping his head to the table with a resounding thud. 

“I swear I won’t mess this up,” Kaminari announces as Class A stands before their red flag. He looks pale and uncertain, clearly overwhelmed by the responsibility thrust upon him. His eyes are blown wide, pupils almost pinpricks.

“Don’t make shitty promises you can’t keep.” Kacchan leans against a tree, scowling at the dirt.

“You’ve got this!” Kirishima encourages, slapping Kaminari across the back.

“You’re not my first choice, but since there’s no other option, I’m here for you. What’s the plan?” Jiro pokes Kaminari’s shoulder with her ear jacks.

“Thanks? I think? I’m pretty sure that was an insult.” Kaminari sours. He turns his gaze around the class, resting on some heroes longer than others. Izuku thinks the electric hero rests on him the longest. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Doubtful.” Kacchan snorts.

“Okay! Half a plan!” He admits in a shout to the sky. “Maybe even a third! But it’s going to work if you just trust me.”

“We’re with you.” Iida states, solid and firm. He takes two steps closer to Kaminari, fronting most of Class A.

Kaminari takes a deep breath and smirks. “Jiro will use her earjacks to listen for locations for bots since they should be giving off some sort of mechanic hum, Koda will ask his animal friends for locations, and I can feel the electrical charges of the bots too. Each of us will lead a rescue team with one other for rescue or destruction. That means we’ll need people who can tag-team us. Bakugou, go with Jiro; Tsu, you’ll be great with Koda; and Ashido, I think we can bust out some moves together.”

Ashido cheers, jumping up and down in place.

“Okay, that’s six. Someone keep track of math for me because this is already so hard. We’ve got three flags for the rest of the class, one team to stay behind and guard this flag, and two to get the others.”

“Fourteen doesn’t divide evenly into three. One team will be short.” Yaoyorozu points out.

“That’s okay!” Kaminari cheers. “Okay, I’m getting pumped about this! I’m going to take a page out of Midoriya’s book with this. We’re going to play, and we’re going to confuse. It’s going to be great!” Todoroki looks baffled as he stares at Kaminari. Izuku catches Shoji’s eye, who shrugs with his six arms in response. “Uraraka, Sato, Shoji, Tokoyami, and Todoroki; you’ll stay here to guard the flag. Uraraka can float anyone who gets close, Shoji can listen for people, and the others can fight close and distantly.

“Iida, Hagakure, Aoyama, Yaoyorozu, and Shinsou are an attack team. I think Yaoyorozu can make glitter cannons to enhance Hagakure and Aoyama’s light attacks to blind anyone nearby while Iida can zoom in and out with a flag.” Kaminari bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. “I’m getting chills. Why am I not in charge of things more often? This is totally going to work.”

“Not going to lie, it does sound like more than half a plan.” Sero stage whispers to Kirishima.

“That’s because I’m intentionally doing the dumb thing!” Kaminari grins, pointing at Sero. “They won’t expect the mostly non-flashy quirks to go in for the attack; who can plan for the idiocy?”

“Uh, Kaminari,” Izuku raises his hand as the blond cackles to the sky, “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting yourself or not.” He winces as Kaminari’s laughing grows maniacal. “I assume Ojiro, Sero, and Kirishima are with me? Do you know what flag you want us to go over?”

The electric hero stops laughing abruptly, tilting his head in confusion. “Why would I care? You decide.” This earns groans from a handful of classmates.

Izuku hears Mandalay in his head, marking a minute before the game begins. One more minute. One minute closer to his classmates, learning the truth of where he went and why he came back. Izuku is running out of time, and here he is playing a game of capture the flag.

He looks around the clearing to his classmates, organizing themselves to stay or leave, with Yaoyorozu claiming the blue flag for her team. This game will likely be the last peace the class feels for a very long time.

He catches Kacchan’s hard and level gaze across the clearing. The red is a warning; the intensity is a monster.

The last word is intrusive on Izuku’s thoughts, flickering with memories of burns and bullies in childhood, for who could ever want to hurt someone who has only ever tried to help? Who else but a monster? Those memories are overlapped with ones from another reality and a teacher obsessed with origins - a monster in their own right.

The English word ‘monster’ is derived from the Latin word ‘to show or reveal,’ and it was later attributed to terrible creatures. It is all at once a word that provides the security of no monsters in the closet while being the very thing hiding under the bed. What kind of monster am I, Izuku? The kind that enlightens or the kind we associate with fear?

Kacchan was the latter before U.A., the look just now is definitely the former.

“ – doriya! Snap out of it! Midoriya, man, let’s go!” Kirishima tugs on Izuku’s wrist. Izuku snaps his head up, looking around to see Uraraka’s group near the flag and most of his team missing.

“Sorry!” He shakes his head. “I’m right behind you.”

The ground leading to Ketsubutsu Academy is unstable.

Izuku is relieved he has teammates like Ojiro, who can use his tail as a secondary balance, and Sero, who can take to the skies for safety. Shindo is likely using his quirk to make the terrain too dangerous to navigate. The hero has finessed his quirk a great deal, disrupting the ground beneath the top layer to form a weight-sensitive trap. Kirishima’s fallen into them twice, and Sero is barely fairing any better.

Izuku is largely more familiar with Class A and B. While he spent the afternoon training Ketsubutsu yesterday with the Wild Wild Pussycats, it’s obvious these third-year students were holding back with a level of distrust and suspicion. The analysis books they received this morning should be a gauge of U.A.’s teaching intentions.

“Midoriya!” Sero calls, landing on a sturdy branch. “Do you know any of Ketsubutsu’s quirks?” Sero is one of a handful of people in Class A Izuku trusts for analysis. His quick thinking with Midnight and Mineta and ability to make his tape offensively defensive amazing. While Sero typically doesn’t score high in academics, he scores high in emotional intelligence; something U.A., unfortunately, doesn’t teach or grade on. Izuku suspects class rankings would be wildly different if the school did.

“Uh, yeah!” Izuku cheers, leaping onto a higher branch. Ojiro jumps, wrapping his tail on a lower section of the tree to get to a branch just under Sero. The tape hero pulls Kirishima from his spot on the ground and flings him onto the same branch as Izuku.

“Ketsubutsu has a ton of opposite quirks. It’s a really unique setup that can further your quirk along when you’re constantly fighting against your weakness. But that also means you limit your ability to adapt. Shindo’s quirk is Vibrate, Tooru’s is Stabilization. They both think in purely earth aspects. But what does stabilization do to an acid like Ashido?

“The great thing about Ketsubutsu is that they go on the direct path and face things head-on. They struggle immensely to adapt. Since we don’t know who’s guarding the flags or what we’re up against, the only advice I can give is that whatever their quirk is, don’t do the opposite, do what’s to the left of it.” Izuku looks at his classmates one by one.

“You mean confuse, like with our sparring?” Kirishima asks.

Izuku nods. “Nakagame is known for pulling into herself like a turtle for protection. How do you counteract that?”

“I’d use my tape to pull her back out to make her vulnerable.” Sero pumps his fist up, showing off his knobby elbows.

“That’s what her opposite classmate already does; what’s something to the left of it?” Izuku encourages.

“Encourage her to pull in so tightly she can’t defend herself,” Ojiro says, looking thoughtful. “If she becomes a ball, I could use my tail to hit her far away.”

“Exactly.” Izuku nods. “But in case you forgot, we’re not just up against Ketsubutsu for the flag; we’re also against Class B.”

As if on cue, mushrooms sprout along the tree trunk, sending the team into a scramble.

Izuku wishes he knew more about plant life to determine if the mushrooms are poisonous or not. He vaguely recalls the mushroom heroine avoiding toxicity thanks to her desire to spread the love of fungi. Izuku also remembers advising her to use mushroom spores like Midnight’s Sleep Fragrance in his notebook. Has Komori had a chance to experiment with poisonous mushrooms? He wishes he knew.

At the sight of lengthening shadows, Izuku yells at his team, “Stay in the sun, Kuroiro’s here!” It’s not a bad team up; Kuroiro thrives in the shade of consistent trees – nowhere is safe – and Komori’s mushrooms thrive in the sun due to their short life of a few hours. Vantablack’s advantage on offense is likely why Kaminari assigned Tokoyami to guard the flag – an abundance of shadows for near unlimited strength and strategy.

Izuku watches as Sero cuts his tape early, maneuvering through an incomplete swing with some difficulty – he’ll need to work on that – as mushrooms rush up the tape towards the hero. Izuku’s team is primarily offensive; in fact, most of Class A has developed their quirks into offensive types. In a class consistently chased by villains and absurd challenges, he supposes that Class A repeatedly chose to stand their ground instead of building a defense. He remembers being at a loss at Nabu Island, laying defense for its inhabitants. Yaoyorozu and Kaminari were the most helpful, creating and charging generators, with Sato second for his incredible cooking. The best way to lay waste to Class A is to make them go on a true defensive.

Class B knows defense. They’re defensive about their public role as second best to Class A, even though that’s never been the case. They’re defensive in their fighting styles, and their class consists of more reactionary or less aggressive quirks. Defensive strategies are second nature to them, which means they’ll be more cautious when enacting a plan. Their leader for the game is Tokage, a recommendation student whose quirk is vital for spying and observation. She is a leader who likely grew up taking minimal chances and playing it safe.

While there are over six hundred ways Tokage can divide up her class, there’s only a handful that makes logical and defensive sense. The one plan with the least risk is similar to Kaminari’s, but with all outgoing teams divided into groups of three. It’s irresponsible to let a team on the offensive go as a duo and hope for success. Which means at least one more person is hiding in Kuroiro’s shadows.

Izuku’s Danger Sense flares, so he dives towards the ground, tucking and rolling back to his feet as his teammates take the lead. “Kirishima! Look out!” Kirishima turns mid-run, hardening in time to deflect an object that resembles a small lightning bolt. The object makes a wide arc, preparing to strike again. As it curves closer, Izuku recognizes it: A horn.

“Tsunotori, Kuroiro, and Komori are our opponents. Komori’s mushrooms thrive in the sun and shade, Kuroiro has control over black – so he’ll stick to the shadows, and Tsunotori will use her horns to drive us off the safest path!” Izuku shouts.

“Or lead us to a Kestubutsu trap!” Sero offers, throwing a piece of tape wide to capture two horns. A very good point.

“Ojiro, can you scout ahead?” Izuku asks. He sees a nod before Ojiro’s tail disappearing behind a boulder. “Kirishima, how sharp does your harden get? We need less shadows. It’s going to make us more of a target for Ketsubutsu, but we need to cut down trees to keep our distance from Kuroiro. Sero, Tsunotori still controls those horns, be careful.”

“On it!”

Mushrooms, usually non-threatening, rush at Izuku’s heels. He remembers Komori growing shrooms in Tokoyami’s throat; Izuku doesn’t want to be close enough to inhale the spores. He needs to keep away from contact with the ground, and he can’t use Blackwhip, or else Kuroiro will use his control over black to force Izuku into a bad spot.

Izuku leaps, kicking hard at a thick tree trunk ahead of Sero and Kirishima. The force knocks down an additional ten, forcing sunlight to stream in as the roaring tear of breaking trunks cracks through the air. He stays airborne using Float, watching Sero tape one horn to a rooted tree. Good call. Tsunotori’s horns lift in exponentials; one has the capacity to lift up to three hundred pounds. If both horns were attached to the tree, not even the roots would stand a chance.

Izuku can see the yellow flag billowing in the distance from his spot in the sky, maybe twenty minutes on foot. Longer or shorter during a fight. Continually cutting down trees on the way to the clearing will exhaust Kirishima before they get close. Izuku needs to reevaluate the plan. He needs a way to incapacitate Kuroiro.

But how?

“Kirishima! Stop with the trees! We’ve got to stand and fight now if we’re ever going to make it to the flag.” Izuku yells, diving back to the forest floor. “Sero!” He calls, noticing a mop of bright brown hair.

“I got it!” Sero casts out a long piece of tape, wrapping around Komori before jerking her out into the clearing. With her hands taped firmly to her sides, the mushroom growth slows to a stop.

Kirishima stands at Sero’s back, arms hardened to fight. Izuku notices Komori stick out a leg, dark shoe touching the shade.

Oh, Class B and their contingencies.

Izuku would be a fool not to notice how every Class B student has taken to wearing some sort of black accessory. It’s great practice for Kuroiro to travel between shadows; it’s also great for class battles. No wonder they chose Kuroiro to capture the flag. He can snag it, and all but shadow travel back to base.

The moment Komori’s shoe begins to turn a darker shade, Izuku leaps, ripping off the heroine’s footwear and throwing it on top of a boulder in full sun.

“Dude, what?” Sero asks, wide-eyed, only to see eyes glaring from the blackened shoe. “That’s so weird.”

“You won’t get enough shade for at least another two hours,” Izuku waves at the boulder. A smirk finds its way to his lips, completely like Kacchan. “More than enough time to win the game and then some.” 

“No!” A high-pitched cry sends a horn flying past, aiming straight for Kuroiro. Izuku runs, grabbing the horn before it can knock the shoe into shadow, and pulls it back towards his team.

Kirishima slams into Tsunotori, who yells as she directs her final free horn at Kirishima’s back. It glances off the hardening hero’s shoulder without a mark.

A few minutes later, Tsunotori and Komori are taped securely to a tree trunk with Kuroiro still in full sun.

“I guess,” Kirishima breathes heavy, hands on his knees, “that wasn’t so bad, was it? I was expecting that to go a lot longer.”

“Has Class B been giving you trouble?”

“Not really?” Sero looks confused. “Not since we last fought them as first years. They were sort of a challenge to fight last time.”

“Oh, yeah!” It takes time to remember the fight Sero’s talking about; because between the variant world, the battle at Exit Island, and the war against Shigaraki, Izuku can barely remember this world’s time at U.A. In his head, it’s filed away under ‘before and after.’ Before Shigaraki put a price on his head and After receiving One for All. A year of his life that was relatively safe. Izuku could legitimately claim he was happy for a year. He wasn’t bullied, he wasn’t quirkless; Izuku suddenly had friends, and he was worthwhile.

“That feels like forever ago!” Izuku laughs away the tears threatening to reach his eyes. Forever for his classmates, it’s been months; for Izuku, it’s been nearly a quarter of his life.

“I found a route,” Izuku tears his eyes from his classmates to Ojiro, who looks a bit scratched up but otherwise unharmed as he gestures over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Kirishima nods and moves to join Ojiro, but Sero leaves his gaze on Izuku a little too long before turning away. Izuku releases a heavy sigh as he brings up the rear.

U.A. really needs to start testing their student’s emotional intelligence.

They run into Kacchan and Jiro on the way to Ketsubutsu’s flag. Jiro looks annoyed, exasperated, and all-around tired; whereas Kacchan seems to be vibrating with energy with a U.A. robot tossed over his shoulder. He looks half heroic with the bot in a fireman’s carry, the other half villainous with an expression that says he’ll blow up the entire forest to succeed.

Well, Kacchan does like mountain climbing. Izuku supposes Capture the Flag in the woods is close enough.

“Let me guess, Kacchan didn’t want to return to base?” Izuku asks, staring flatly at Jiro as Kirishima questions Kacchan’s workout routine. The latter continues to carry the civilian robot as if it weighs no more than a sack of flour.

“Two were marked for the other teams, so we destroyed those, and we could hear you at the last one. I told him we should head back to base, especially since this bot doesn’t have Ketsubutsu’s color on it.” Jiro rolls her eyes as she heaves for breath. She isn’t used to moving as much as Kacchan or most of the heavy hitters; this game must be hard on her. Pairing up with Ojiro on training sessions may help with her stamina. Kacchan likely noticed the same and never gave Jiro the chance to pick up the bot.

“We’d be bringing a civilian into enemy territory.”

“If damn Dunce Face put me on the proper team, I’d have the flag already. What are you idiots doing taking your sweet time to win this?” Kacchan barks. He glares at Izuku, then turns his gaze to the group.

“We were fighting Class B, man, cut us some slack,” Kirishima complains.

“We shouldn’t bring a civilian into Ketsubutsu’s base.” Ojiro joins Izuku and Jiro. “Someone needs to stay behind.”

“Too risky.” Jiro shakes her head. “I can hear the other teams on the search for bots closing in. There’s also something south that’s heading our way very fast.” She flicks her eyes in the direction Izuku and his team just came.

“Kuroiro found shade early,” Izuku mutters, holding his chin in thought. “If all rescue teams are groups of two or three, that means we have at least seven heroes heading our way plus the three from Class B. That’s likely double the amount of Ketsubutsu students holding the base. Could we steal the flag and get back out? Could we take over the base and count it as our own? Would that count as part of the rules?”

Izuku feels his mind spread wide as he runs through scenarios. It’s a map; each concrete thought a station. There’s a bullet train speeding between them, sometimes looping in circles, sometimes extending to a far edge he didn’t realize existed.

“Oi, nerd. You’re making us sitting ducks with your damn muttering.” Kacchan growls. Izuku snaps his head up as his thoughts draw back into the small space of his skull. “You got a plan or what?” Kacchan’s red eyes are steady and firm. The gaze is as much a threat as it is safety. It’s a warning, a monster.

A different monster inside Izuku hungers and aches under Kacchan’s attention.  

Izuku blinks at Kacchan. He feels something in his chest struggling to start, like an engine refusing to turn over. Something clicks, and Izuku heaves a breath that settles his thoughts and anchors him to the present.

“The bot is coming with us, but three of us will need to stay towards the back and defend it. I recommend our heaviest hitters to defend the bot. We’ll make ourselves easy targets by appearing first and act as a distraction for everyone else to steal the flag. Once we have it, we’ll cover the bot with it. The bot is less likely to be destroyed if the flag hides the secondary color.”

“You want me on babysitting duty?” Kacchan scoffs.

“I never said you were the heaviest hitter, Kacchan.” Izuku bites back a smile as he watches Kacchan’s irritation rise. He’s better at helping in high-stress situations if he’s goaded into it. The smile dampens at scolding memory from the alternate timeline.

“Shitty Hair, take lead in getting the flag. We can’t have idiots going in there practically defenseless.” Kacchan barks.

“Sero, go too. You might be able to use your tape to snag the flag from a distance.” Izuku offers. “It’s likely why Kaminari chose you for this team.”

“I don’t know; I think you’re giving Kaminari too much credit.” Sero looks skeptical.

“I don’t think we give him enough credit, honestly.” Izuku beams. “Ojiro, Jiro? How do you want to split up?”

“I’ll be best as a distraction,” Jiro says, staring straight at Ojiro. She looks unsure of the admission, but she’s still panting hard. So, Jiro’s actually admitting a stamina limit. “I can listen better for more incoming if I’m not running around.”

At this, Ojiro looks satisfied.

“Then it’s settled,” Izuku grins, “Kacchan, Jiro, and I will enter the base from the south to attract attention. Ojiro, Kirishima, and Sero will come from the east or west. Once you have the flag, we’ll meet you along the way back to base to secure the bot.”

The plan works.

Kind of.

Not really.

Not at all.

Izuku isn’t expecting the sheer amount of combined moves the academy has under their belt. He can’t even blame the third years for holding back yesterday. The students were dragged to a forest and told to perform for U.A. teachers and Izuku. If he didn’t know better, Izuku would think Ketsubutsu was pulled into the training camp and told to dance for U.A.’s amusement. Of course, these students would hold back.

He’s only a little annoyed that his analysis notebooks for this school are no longer comprehensive but incomplete.

Toteki’s new ultimate move is called Trajectory: Earth Rotation. He uses rocks and broken chunks from Shindo to spin in a large arc, forming a rotating wall of debris. It reminds Izuku of a tornado. Makabe hardens the flying debris till each piece looks positively lethal.

Izuku looks back at Jiro, who kneels over the civilian bot, eyes wide with concern. Even Kacchan, despite his challenging glare, bares his teeth in a grimace. This fight is going to be brutal.

Luckily, or unluckily, they’ve attracted the attention of most of the base defenders. Izuku thinks he sees Ojiro’s tail at the edge of the east clearing. Before anyone from Ketsubutsu can follow his gaze, Kacchan ignites his palm and charges.

Ketsubutsu is bitter. 

They fight like there’s a grudge to settle. They fight like U.A. has robbed them of opportunity and life and hope. They fight like U.A. has a privilege that’s taken for granted and abused, something Ketsubutsu can only dream of touching.

And that might be true.

U.A. is regarded as one of the top two hero academies in the country. The U.A. sports festival is more important than the Olympics and representative of all aspiring heroes, despite U.A. receiving the most exposure. Class A and B earned their provisional licenses earlier than Ketsubutsu. They’ve had more hero opportunities, more connections, and more everything. It’s U.A. that’s in the news, good and bad, not Ketsubutsu. When people talk about the League of Villains, Class A is attached, as if the group of twenty students are the only heroes capable of bringing them down. U.A. gets to shine in the spotlight while an entire country loses hope in heroes. And if U.A. gets to shine, what’s left for the other schools?

Jiro cries out in pain; the sound is a call for Izuku to focus. He still takes a moment to glance back, where Jiro is half fallen, half curled over the bot’s vital parts, her forehead is streaming blood. She’s pelted with debris, which makes her cry out again.

Kacchan roars.

Izuku seethes.

Bitter or not, heroes do not maim.

“You’ve got another thing coming if you think we’re fucking going to let that slide!” Kacchan screams, launching himself straight at Toteki. Izuku moves towards Makabe. If he can take out the hardening quirk, then the debris won’t be so severe. Jiro can recover; Jiro can protect. Jiro will be the best opponent against Shindo.

How can Kacchan remain in control when he’s this angry? Is it the nature of the nitroglycerin keeping his blood pressure low? Is it a lifetime of anger that manages to maintain a level of calm? Is it because he only has one quirk?

Izuku can feel a plethora of quirks beneath his skin begging for release to fight, to defend, and protect. He wants to make this school stop. He wants to end them and force them to beg for mercy and forgiveness and –

Izuku falters mid-kick, giving Makabe plenty of time to dodge.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Izuku wants none of those things. He isn’t like that. Izuku doesn’t want to cause unspeakable harm. He doesn’t. It’s a desire from another life and a lie he was forced to live.

A hardened dirt boulder the size of a backpack catches Izuku in the side. It sends him crashing to the ground at Jiro’s side. He’s breathless, in pain, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness fills him. All these quirks inside him, and he can’t do anything. He’s quirkless all over again. He’s back in that other world, unable to stop what happened because Probability says the timeline must run its course, and Izuku must learn from it instead.

He wants to call for help, but he can’t breathe. There’s a pain in his side and, is that blood? Izuku’s right hand comes back red. He spots the burn on the inside of his wrist, forcing him to remember.

Kacchan is holding the line alone, refusing to look back towards Izuku and Jiro. Sero has the flag and is running in their direction. Ojiro and Kirishima are in the center of the base fighting three people from Ketsubutsu.

Izuku takes a deep breath, pushing past the pain. He is in a world where he can help. He’s no longer quirkless; in fact, he has plenty. He can help. This is just a game, this is just a training exercise, and Class A will win.

Sero wraps tape around Makabe and yanks back, sending the hardening hero flying. He leaps over Toteki, landing just behind Jiro and the bot.

Izuku forces himself to his feet as Shindo moves to attack Kacchan. Izuku yells, launching himself back into the fray.

The battle becomes less of how to maneuver the fight in Class A’s advantage and more towards a Kacchan level beat down. The goal is no longer take the flag and run; it’s incapacitate and annihilate because hell if Izuku is going to stand by and let his classmates suffer for someone else’s stupidity.

“We’ve got – We’ve got incoming!” Jiro shouts as Izuku takes a punch to the face from Shindo. Jiro’s voice is shaky and thin, ready to crack. Does she have a concussion? Did Ketsubutsu give Jiro a concussion? Izuku grips Shindo’s shoulder and arm, throwing them into a nearby tree.

“From where?” Kacchan shouts, blocking a Ketsubutsu hero with a quirk similar to Sero. The hero in training’s fingers extend out like tape, too smooth to be Kacchan’s bully friend from middle school. Izuku still shudders. He takes the moment of air to assess his surroundings. Sero has finished tying the flag around the bot and lifted it onto his shoulder, leaving Jiro free to fight if she can. Ojiro is down, and Kirishima is hobbling their way. Kirishima would never leave Ojiro if he were severely injured. The Ketsubutsu heroes they battled are either on top of Kacchan or ahead of Kirishima, likely trying to reclaim the flag.

“Everywhere!”

“Sero!” Izuku barks the tape hero’s name as an order. He keeps an eye on the approaching opponents as green lightning crackles around him. “Hide until we provide a proper distraction and make a break for the base. I’ll try to send you some support.” If he can send Kirishima, that would be Sero’s best defense.

He hears the sound of a zip line and knows Sero is gone.

“How many?” Izuku takes a step closer to Jiro.

“Fourteen,” Jiro’s voice sounds like pain. Izuku wishes he didn’t have to push the heroine so hard. “I recognize the sound of six of them. That should be Class B.” Straining herself to listen must be hard on her concussion, but Izuku still needs more information.

A Ketsubutsu student with arms longer than their body reaches towards Izuku, large hands aiming for his throat. Izuku meets the hands with his own, pushing back. Damn, this hero is strong. “Do any seem to be more frantic in their pace than others? Do some sound heavier?” He asks through gritted teeth. His body burns from the exertion of keeping the student away from Jiro.

“I don’t,” Jiro hesitates, trying to find clarity in chaos. “I don’t know. It’s too hard. Why?” The last word is broken. She’s in no place to help, but Izuku doesn’t have many options left, and he needs more information. His mind is frantic to clamber together a plan.

Kirishima tackles Shindo before the latter can follow through with an attack on Izuku’s arms.

“Faster footsteps mean desperation. Solid footsteps mean confidence. Triumph. Someone has a flag or bot.” Someone has leverage Izuku can use to get away. He warms with the fighting hope.

Jiro is silent as the fight against Ketsubutsu continues. Kacchan is fighting against three students, Kirishima is against Shindo, and Izuku is back with Makabe and the long-armed student. They’re not doing great, but they’re at least holding the ground.

“One set solid, all others frantic. The solid set is bots. It’s hard to hear but bots.” Jiro is crying. Jiro is far past her limit, and Kirishima is barely fast enough to dodge an attack. Izuku knows Kirishima is nearing his limit too.

“Kirishima, take Jiro and head back to base.” Izuku kicks Makabe into the long-armed student, kicking a second time to send them both flying to the center of the clearing. “She’s in no shape to be fighting.” Izuku catches Shindo’s kick with his hand and sends the black-haired hero sprawling on the ground. He pins Shindo as Kirishima stares on. “We’ve got this.”

“Jiro said there’s more coming!” Kirishima protests.

“I said we’ve got this!” Izuku yells, glaring Shindo into a stunned paralysis. “Take Jiro and go.”

A four count passes before Shindo moves. He glances up, likely towards his classmates keeping a distance, then turns his smile into a smirk. “Wow, it’s super cool how you all still have your hearts set on being heroes. I thought Bakugou had the strongest will, definitely wasn’t expecting it to be you of all people.”

Ah.

A small warning whispers in Izuku’s mind. It’s his Danger Sense, though it’s not warning against physical attacks. There’s something in Shindo’s words. Hadn’t Kacchan pointed that out before the licensing exam? Something about words not matching the eyes. 

Thanks to his time in the other world, Izuku is all too familiar with people like this. He’s all too aware of what harm they cause and the fires they start. People like this often trick lost boys into becoming cruel things on the pretense of good. People like this damage others to the point they believe they are beyond repair.

“Shit! What the fuck?” Shindo’s eyes brighten, wide and white with fear. His eyes dart to his shoulder and back to Izuku. “What the fuck is your quirk?” The smell of burning is too close to be Kacchan. It’s not the sweet scent of nitroglycerin; it is acrid and contains a notion of burning flesh. 

Izuku leaps back, watching Shindo slowly sit up and examine his shoulder where a circle of burned skins stands out red and raw from its surrounding gray t-shirt.

Yeah, Izuku thinks, what the fuck.

Caught off guard by the injury, Izuku doesn’t notice four Ketsubutsu students come from behind. He’s pushed into the center of the base with Kacchan as two sets of two academy students ease out of the tree line, only one set carrying a bot with red and yellow dots.

Sixteen Ketsubutsu students against Kacchan and Izuku. From the looks of it, they’re roughed up from their time in the woods and bitter from whatever they experienced. They’ve got a grudge, and Izuku doesn’t have to hold back as much now that his classmates are out of sight.

“Ready, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, mimicking Kacchan’s feral grin.

“About damn time,” Kacchan growls.

The air crackles around Izuku, green lightning sparking off in waves that make academy students flinch back. The last time Izuku was in this reality, he could only consistently access thirty percent of One for All. The last time Izuku fought Ketsubutsu, he could only use five percent of the quirk. Over the years, he’s struggled with it, seemingly mastered it, and sometimes wound back at square one. He tries not to use One for All at a hundred percent unless strictly necessary because it makes his hold on the other quirks loosen and become wild. Izuku will give Ketsubutsu an opportunity to win. It won’t be much, after what they did to Jiro, but an opportunity nonetheless.

One For All: Full Cowl - 45%

Izuku barely blinks before he’s knocked out four of the sixteen. He trusts Kacchan can handle anything that comes the explosion hero’s way and sticks to the edges, fighting too many students all at once.

Jiro mentioned fourteen people heading towards the base. Eight have arrived, all Ketsubutsu, the remaining six are likely Class B, out to retrieve the flag or destroy the bot. It’s fine if Class B sees him at forty-five percent; they don’t know Izuku as well as his classmates and won’t pick up on the secrets Izuku is keeping.

He grapples with a student with wild hair and a plethora of swords and batons that would make Yaoyorozu proud. Izuku blocks a baton with his forearm while taking an elbow to the sternum. He stumbles back but is quick to rejoin the fight.

Izuku burns from the exertion. He wonders if this is how Todoroki feels when he overuses his fire. Does his heart beat this fast? Do the flames feel like they will consume him? Does he feel like he’ll never be normal again? Or is this sensation more like Iida, whose speed is similar to Izuku’s movement? Does Iida think he’ll lose his footing and spiral out of control if he runs fast enough?

Izuku feels one step away from losing control.

It’s a conscious effort to hold back, to keep Full Cowl at forty-five. He presses conscious thought to keep the other quirks at bay too, which are aching to be released and end the battle.

This fight is still training, Izuku reminds himself. The look in Ketsubutsu’s eyes say this fight is anything but training. Ms. Joke wouldn’t teach students to be this malicious, would she?

Kacchan screams, and Izuku lurches, running blind. He knows Kacchan’s screams. Izuku knows when Kacchan yells to keep people in his life from getting too close, he knows when the scream intends to push Kacchan past his limits, knows when he’s well and truly angry instead of the front he pulls for everyone.

But the sound pushing past Kacchan’s lips is involuntary. It is wrenched out of Kacchan’s hold for all to hear. The scream is of pain and desperation and the frustration of not being good enough. This is the sound of something in Kacchan dying, demanding why am I the one that ended All Might? Izuku can see a memory of him impaled in battle, once at Shigaraki’s hand, another at Exit Island, balancing between life and death. He can see Katsuki, the memory raw and fresh and merely days old, reaching out a hand as orange-red eyes grow dull.

Izuku burns.

The forest does too.

Chapter Text

For the second year in a row, the forest burns blue.

Scars better not fucking be here; there’s enough bullshit going on with this loser academy. Bakugou doesn’t need a shitty League of Villains on his heels too.

As Bakugou collapses, he assesses the game, looking for the moment when everything went wrong. First, Ears was down for the count, then Tail and Shitty Hair looked half a step away from passing out before he left the scene.

Dunce Face pulled his shittiest plan ever, creating teams unprepared for the fight. Ears shouldn’t even be in this mess.

Of course, fucking Deku was holding back. The moment Shitty Hair made his getaway with Ears and the bot, the nerd leaped into a speed matched only by All Might in his Golden Age. Bakugou used to be ahead of Deku in smarts and strength; the sight of the nerd leagues ahead now is infuriating. Deku’s had years to strengthen his quirk; Bakugou has had months of training filled with the despair and guilt of never seeing the idiot’s face again.

Bakugou fought harder, if only to prove he’s just as good – if not better – than Deku, and missed the moment when some ugly chick with lousy hair ran him through. He vaguely remembers screaming and thinking, not this shit again. Then Deku was at his side, and the forest was burning blue.

Now, the flames turn from blue to reds and oranges as Deku pulls Bakugou into his arms, stopping briefly to toss Tail over his shoulder. The idiot makes for a getaway as the shitty academy panics. Deku would normally stop and help thanks to his dumbass bleeding heart but doesn’t. Bakugou is too injured to care.

Deku’s hair blurs with the trees, every jump jostling Bakugou’s open wound. He feels tired and sluggish, not all there. It’s like he’s been hit with some sort of disembodying quirk. Bakugou’s heart beats rapidly, throbbing more than the stab wound, as if searching for something that isn’t there. Most of his blood is inside him where it’s supposed to be, right?

The green lightning from One for All brightens shitty Deku’s eyes, alight with determination and concern. The idiot has some shitty excuse for a smile, wobbly and pitiful, just like the day they fought the slime monster – the day their relationship began to change.

He hears shitty Deku call his name, demand for something – maybe stay awake – before green fades to black.

Ears and Tail are gone when Bakugou wakes in the camp med bay. Their concussions waved away by kisses from Recovery Girl, a granny hag he’s yet to see. Shitty Deku drifts in and out, moving stiffly but otherwise fine. Wasn’t that idiot bleeding from his side earlier? Bakugou wants to force the nerd into a bed to recover. The D-List heroine and Aizawa’s lectures waft up to Bakugou’s window, where it sounds like that shitty academy is getting ripped in two.

It’s dusk before Bakugou is allowed to leave the camp med bay. He’s only allowed to leave with Deku or Shitty Hair by his side, which is infuriating in itself. Bakugou can take care of himself; he doesn’t need shitty extras to help him.

“It’s weird though,” Shitty Hair says, handing Bakugou a plate of food. “I didn’t see Recovery Girl drop by at all. There’s no way any of you could have healed as fast without her.”

Bakugou recalls a hand brushing through his hair, calloused but gentle, and a kiss on his forehead. It’s too hazy to recall details, but he’s sure granny hag must have done something.

“Who cares?” Bakugou scoffs, glaring at Ketsubutsu at the far side of the cooking area. “Who won? We better have for all the shit we went through. What’s going on with those extras, anyway?”

“The game ended early, but yeah, we won. Ketsubutsu got Class B’s flag and a bot. Class B had three bots. We kept our flag, got a couple bots and Ketsubutsu’s flag.” Shitty Hair frowns. “But they’re disqualified for unnecessary roughness and refusal to limit damage. They also set the fire that cut the game short.”

Bakugou snorts. “So no fucking Scar Face?”

“Nah,” Shitty Hair looks relieved, “false alarm. They said they didn’t start the fire, though. Sounds like they’ll be in remedial lessons for the rest of camp since we still need Ms. Joke.”

“Better them than us, yeah?” Dunce Face asks with a grin. The idiot guides Ears to sit, setting down a bowl and a cup of water in front of her before he follows suit. “How are you feeling?” He beams at Bakugou before turning to brush away Ears’ bangs for a better view of her wrapped head.

“For the last time, Kaminari, I’m fine.” Ears grits out.

“Yeah, yeah. So fine you said Sero’s voice sounds like soy sauce?” Dunce Face laughs kindly.

“I get that,” Bakugou raises his cup in a toast to Ears. She gestures emphatically in response.

“See?!”

“Okay, okay. For the record, I was asking Bakugou and not you. You’re not the only one who got injured today.”

“Yeah well, your plan wasn’t complete shit.” Bakugou sips his water, but it’s Dunce Face that does the spit take.

“Was that a compliment? From Bakugou?” The Pikachu knock-off sputters.

“Why the fuck would I ever do that?”

“I’ll take it!” Dunce Face beams.

“You’re an idiot,” Bakugou states flatly.

“Nope, still taking it. Bakugou complimented me, and nothing can ruin my day.”

“Your fly is down.” Ears raises a brow. “How long has it been like that?”

“Nope, not falling for it. We won thanks to my plan. Bakugou said nice words to me, this is the best day ever.”

Bakugou and Ears exchange looks. He’s itching to take Dunce Face down a peg, and Ears seems to be on board.

“No, no, no. Let Kaminari have this.” Shitty Hair waves his hands in front of Ears’ face. “He doesn’t get many wins, so let him have this.”

“Thanks, Kirishima – Hey!” Dunce Face scowls at Shitty Hair. “What kind of back-handed compliment is that?”

Bakugou barks out a laugh, and Ears joins in.

Dinner is a muted affair with groans of tiredness from the game to one-on-one therapy sessions Bakugou was lucky to miss. He’s almost grateful he doesn’t have to sit in front of Hound Dog. If that spiky hair chick didn’t run her sword through him, he’d be forced to suffer an extra session with the muzzled hero. Even now, he can’t decide if therapy or impalement is better. Bakugou is well aware that Hound Dog will have words about that thought.

Bakugou, he’ll say with his shitty muzzled face, what is it about our sessions that create a feeling that stabbing is less painful than therapy? How are you?

Near the end of dinner, Aizawa taps Deku’s shoulder from another table away. Bakugou would have missed it altogether if he hadn’t been eying the Hobo. No words are exchanged between the two, but Deku leaves with some shitty excuse to Four Eyes and Pink Cheeks, taking an indirect path to Aizawa, who’s making his way to the tree line.

Bakugou has seen this type of move before in the days leading up to Exit Island. Some pro heroes are trained in covert operations; they typically rank lower in the polls and do the most leg work. Access to the Covert Operations class is as secretive as the technique. Shitty Deku is a terrible secret keeper, no way he was in it before his fuck off to another dimension. Time and knowledge are becoming larger and larger gaps between Bakugou and shitty Deku.

He rubs his chest over the patch of gauze. From his fingertips to his toes, everything aches. Some part of Bakugou knows it’s the nerd’s fault; not knowing is killing him. When his hands throb, there’s always a distant memory of clawing through rubble, chest tight in desperation because what the fuck is Bakugou supposed to do if he never gets the chance to make it up to the nerd?

And then there are moments like this when Deku is leaving, Deku is turning away, Deku is fucking distant in experience and time and power and –

“You okay, Bakubro?” Shitty Hair claps a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. Bakugou drops his hands onto the table, curling into tight fists.

“Fine.” He grits out. He isn’t, but hell if he’s going to admit that to Shitty Hair. “Leave it.”

Dinner wraps up some minutes later with Four Eyes directing the class to an early bedtime and earlier bath. “Aizawa-sensei has an important day planned for us tomorrow and wants us well rested for the training!” The speed nerd chops at the air with one hand, his other clenching a cell phone. His shouting draws the attention of the extras of Class B and Ketsubutsu, the former looks concerned, and the latter looks sour with jealousy. Be jealous, Bakugou glares back. Class A paid for tomorrow’s shit training in blood.

“I hear they have to go to extra therapy sessions tomorrow, so we have to give up our time.” Raccoon Eyes looks at Ketsubutsu as she gathers up the plates and bowls to wash. “How bad was it at their base to make that happen?”

“Bad,” Flat Face says, groaning as he lifts himself from the table. He rolls his shoulder with a grimace.

“It was super unmanly.” Shitty Hair agrees.

Raccoon Eyes turns her eyes on Bakugou; he feels her gaze drift to his chest and back up to his face. “It fucking sucked.”

Deku 20:12 On way back. See you there.

Bakugou stares out at the stars, ignoring the pain as he stretches to pillow his arms beneath his head. The night before feels like days ago, Bakugou can barely remember the detective’s face telling bad news about the creepy grape. He couldn’t ask for an explanation last night, not when the teachers and detective were pulling Deku into a more informed discussion.

Deku had a look on his face that said he wanted to explain but couldn’t. His text implies he will. Bakugou just needs to be patient and fuck if that’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to be.

He counts the stars, trying to pick out the old heroes of myths in them, and then decides the Greeks were full of shit playing connect the dots to make stick figures in a sea of lights.

The rooftop door creaks open, and soft padding footsteps approach. Deku sits in Bakugou’s peripheral in pajamas and a green haori, holding tightly to a thermos.

“You going to finally tell me?” He chuffs, refusing to look at the nerd.

“I still can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you more.”

“Like what?” How many nights are they going to spend on this rooftop with damn Deku rationing out secrets like he’s scared of running out?

“Why I was sent there, my quirks, stuff like that.”

“Then say it already.” Bakugou flicks his gaze to Deku.

Deku hums, gesturing for Bakugou to sit up as he pours hot liquid into two short cups. He presses one cup into Bakugou’s hand, which sends shivers down the explosive hero’s arm. The tightness in Bakugou’s chest loosens, and when he grips the cup with both hands, letting the heat seep into his fingertips, the ache in his bones ease.

“If I could give you fire, would you want it?” Deku asks, curling his knees to his chest, caged by the arms that hold his mug.

“For fuck’s sake, Deku, do you ever answer things directly?”

“Yes.” Deku beams.

“You’re a smug bastard, you know that?” Bakugou takes a swig of tea, appreciating the soft spice of cinnamon on his tongue. He gestures with one hand for the nerd to continue.

Deku repeats the question, and Bakugou contemplates an answer. Of course, he doesn’t want some fake ass fire quirk like his shitty Dad’s fire breathing or Half and Half’s wide bursts. The question is steeped in hypotheticals, some sort of ‘build your own One for All’ or some bullshit.

He says as much, staring out into the darkened forest.

“When I was gone, I learned quirks are a bit like blood types.” Deku says quietly, staring at his tea. “The reason Nomu are so modified is that they’re forced to accept incompatible quirks. Incompatible quirks mean either super short life spans or terrible body modifications. Fire goes well with explosions; I think you’d thrive with it.”

“So what, you’re telling me there’s a type of person who is compatible with all the quirks?” Bakugou snorts in disbelief. His shoulders tighten in preparation for a kickback, because of course, of course.

“Yeah.”

“And they are?” Deku needs to say it, confirm Bakugou’s suspicions. Confirm that shitty fucking Deku would be the prodigal child, all because he’s –

“Quirkless. Yeah. You guessed it.” Deku’s smile is tired and gentle. It’s the look of carrying a burden he cannot share. He stretches out his legs, kicking off his slippers to wiggle his toes. “The extra toe joint in the quirkless is a safeguard, Kacchan. As quirks evolved and we lost the joint, society’s DNA has become more and more unstable and varied. We’re evolving into stronger heroes, sure, but it’s kind of like how horses have 400,000 blood groups and are hard to help when sick. Humans only have twenty-nine total blood groups because we’ve essentially weeded out the weaker blood strains and – ”

“Get to the point with your muttering, nerd.”

Deku looks exasperated. “We’re evolving out again and becoming more and more unstable. The extra joint, Kacchan, means the DNA is stable and has the capacity for adaption.”

“Capacity for adaption, what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means the quirkless are more receptive to any type of quirk. Under the influence or maintaining and using.” Deku runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not – I’m not explaining this right.”

“Then fucking do better.” He watches Deku set aside his cup of tea and mimics the motion.

“Thanks, Kacchan.” Deku gives Bakugou a flat look, and Bakugou can’t help but grin. Taking a deep breath, Deku tries again. “Quirkless people are natural Nomus.”

“What the fuck.” It isn’t a question; it’s a statement because what the fuck? The dying percent – the fucking quirkless – can be strong because they’re so weak?

Shit, why is Bakugou surprised? Deku’s proved time and time again that a quirk isn’t necessary to be a great hero. Maybe it was the lack of one that made him this strong.

“I know, right?” Deku lets out a noise of frustration. “What I’m trying to say is that the Quirkless are stable hosts for more than one type of quirk. Where All for One and the doctor had to rebuild people into Nomus to host multiple quirks at once, those with an extra joint can do it without all the inhumane experiments.”

“And you know this how, shitty Deku?”

“Because I have multiple quirks, and I’m fine!” Deku waves his hands wildly.

“In case you forgot, you have One for All, a stockpiling quirk that lets you have your multiple shitty quirks.”

“I told you, Kacchan, I don’t just have One for All; I have my Dad’s quirk too.”

“Which, apparently, isn’t fire breathing and not something you had a birth.” Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“Right.”

“So what the fuck is it?”

Deku opens the palm of his hand, and a blue flame appears in the center, illuminating the dimly lit rooftop. The hand multiplies like fucking Arms before returning to its singular form. The fire disappears, and Deku takes Bakugou’s hand, faces it palm up, forcing the explosion quirk to activate in a series of miniature explosions.

Bakugou scrambles back. “What the fuck? What the hell?” He’s only seen these quirks within the League of Villains. Scar Face and All for One. “Where did you get the fire, Deku?”

Deku tilts his head, his green eyes illuminated in darkness. The look is almost sinister. “Where do you think, Kacchan?”

“What the fuck?”

“I haven’t taken any quirks if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not like,” Deku hesitates, features turning sour, “him.” He stares at his hands, watching a blue flame burn on his palm. “Every quirk I have has been voluntarily given. I didn’t take it.”

“Why the fuck would All for One give you his quirk?” Bakugou demands.

“Fathers always want to create something their children will inherit.”

Bakugou stares.

Deku smiles.

An eight count of silence passes between them before Deku speaks, “Really, I wouldn’t even call that the most important part of my time there. I mean, yeah, it was the reason why only I could go. But it’s a footnote, an important one, but still a footnote.”

“You’re telling me that finding out your deadbeat Dad didn’t fuck off overseas and is actually All for One, the direct enemy of the quirk you inherited from All Might, isn’t a big deal?” Bakugou gapes. “What fucked up life are you living?”

Deku laughs, bright and cheerful, unlike the malicious undertones Bakugou would expect from a hell offspring of All for One. Holy shit, Deku – fucking sunshine and rainbows – is related to All for One, the symbol of destruction and chaos. “I’ve been wondering about that myself.”

Chapter Text

It’s a long night.

Bakugou stays up for hours as Deku tells more of his story in the variant. There is such pain and horror and helplessness, Bakugou’s fingers ache when Deku cries. The story is so jumbled and out of order, words pour out like a poorly bandaged wound, making it hard to determine the source of the injury.

Deku cries a lot; Bakugou's known this all his life. It’s why he bullied the nerd in hopes of the green idiot forming tougher skin and learning the limits others are allowed to push. Bakugou doesn’t tease Deku for it now; he simply sits and listens, pouring a freshly filled cup of tea the nerd’s way.

For the past few months, Bakugou has had his share of sleepless nights and night terrors. They pale compared to Deku’s traumas, which are as vast and deep as the Mariana Trench. Bakugou knows he shouldn’t compare traumas; Hound Dog’s repeated that bullshit like a mantra in every session, but how would he react if he’d been put through the same? He sure as hell wouldn’t be smiling as much as Deku, but maybe Bakugou would be just as relieved at the sight of his friends smiling and laughing.

The nerd seems to run out of words when he runs out of tears, the dark sky threatening pre-dawn.

They sneak into the kitchen for water and soon start rummaging around to make meals for their classmates.

“Can you even cook?” Bakugou demands as shitty Deku takes an obnoxiously long time to cut a single tomato.

“We’re making sandwich bentos. Do I need cooking skills to make sandwiches, Kacchan?” Deku asks, looking frustrated.

“I’m not going to glorify that with an answer.”

“I appreciate that a lot, actually.” Deku puffs with pride.

But minutes later, after Deku cuts open yet another fucking finger with a kitchen knife, Bakugou kicks him out from food preparation and orders the nerd to make the boxes look edible.

“Someone’s going to get a really huge chunk of tomato today,” Deku observes, packing another bento.

“Gee,” Bakugou snaps sarcastically. “I wonder whose fault is that.”

“I’m so glad we’re friends. Where else will I get this level of scintillating commentary about my life?” Deku glares through the open service window to Bakugou. Idiot’s finally gaining a backbone.

Fucking finally.

At least he doesn’t look so fucking depressed.

“Fuck off.” Bakugou grins, and Deku matches it with his own.

“Aww, Kacchan, you always know what to say.”

The class begins their hike through the woods at dawn, losers struggling to put one foot in front of the other as Aizawa nurses a large thermos of coffee. Some hold tightly to hot drinks as well, while a protein bar hangs out of Shitty Hair’s mouth like chewing takes too much effort. Fucking eat it or put it away, don’t be disgusting and let it dangle. Bakugou crams the bar down Shitty Hair’s throat, causing the red-haired teen to sputter and cough.

“This is why jelly pouches are better.” The hobo notes with a sigh. “I’m enjoying the silence.”

“I was,” Bakugou agrees with a pointed glare. Aizawa huffs and trudges ahead.  

An hour later, the class is spread out on a large plateaued edge of a mountain, some staring out at nothing, others curling into themselves for more sleep. Purple Bags is sprawled across Frog Face and Pink Cheeks, snoozing away, while Ears is leaning heavily against a zoned out Dunce Face.

“Why are we doing this so early?” Raccoon Eyes moans, flopping on her back.

“I have an answer for that,” Deku smiles, looking just as tired as the class, if not more. Bakugou wouldn’t be surprised if the nerd steals Aizawa’s thermos and downs the remaining coffee in one go.

“It’s time to tell you where I’ve been,” He fidgets, glancing from the Hobo to Bakugou. Aizawa gestures for Deku to continue. “And how it affects today’s training.”

The class gathers closer, sensing the gravity of Deku’s words. Even Purple Bags moves, sitting up but slouching against Sugar Brains.

“There’s a villain named Firefly who’s out to destroy our class.” Again the nerd looks from Aizawa to Bakugou, who raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘get on with it.’ “They will be or already are associated with the League of Villains.”

“Hold up,” Flat Face raises his hand for attention, standing at the back of the group, “Isn’t Firefly the dude you fought at Exit Island?” Of course, that would be the one thing the idiot remembers.

“The very same,” Aizawa confirms.

“If they beat the hell out of Midoriya, what are they going to do to us?” Dunce Face asks like the coward he is.

“That’s true,” Deku paces, “I barely got away with my life.” The admission turns shivers into aches in Bakugou’s bones. “And Firefly is getting stronger. I was rescued by Pro Hero Probability, sent into a variant timeline to heal and figure out what the League is planning.”

The losers make an outburst of noise, surprise, shock, and a few outraged. The explanation is as absurd as fictional heroes with multiverses and infinite earths. But with quirks that can ignite explosions from the hand, how absurd is too absurd?

Aizawa steps forward briefly to settle the class, confirm Deku’s identity and ease the sense of panic washing through. It’s not much, but at least Half and Half doesn’t look half a step away from encasing shitty Deku in a sheet of ice.

The nerd explains more at Aizawa’s encouragement. There’s still plenty omitted, with shitty explanations glossing over the worst bits. The hobo seems to know more than Bakugou, based on the teacher’s lack of reaction. It bothers Bakugou that he’s still lagging behind, despite knowing more than shitty Deku’s best friends.

“Long story short,” Deku centers himself in front of the class. “I have your quirks from the variant timeline, and if I’m right, they’ll enhance your abilities to stand a fighting chance against Firefly.”

“What the fuck,” Shitty Hair mumbles.

“Midoriya,” Four Eyes stands, causing eyes to fall on him. “You never said why you have our quirks.” For the ‘smart’ class rep, he fails to ask how shitty Deku has a quirk that can hold other quirks. Bakugou suddenly understands how the nerd could get away in an alternate timeline with only his double noticing.

“I - I can’t go into details,” The nerd flinches, shaking from nerves or, possibly, the quirks of Class A beneath his skin. “But each quirk was willingly given to me. I don’t and will never take a quirk. Each of you from the variant gave me your quirk for the express purposes of handing it back to you here. The thing about quirks is, whether they belong to you or not, they retain memories of the user. So even if I don’t tell you, you may find out more information.”

“So why not tell us now?” Purple Bags asks.

“Because sometimes knowledge can prevent us from doing what’s right.” Deku turns to look at Aizawa, face tense. Bakugou remembers the night before, Deku crying his eyes out as he described the terrible ways he received each quirk. He can't imagine witnessing the moments firsthand, it's enough to make a person fear sleep for the rest of their life.

Deku turns his gaze on Shitty Hair, Frog Face, and Pink Cheeks. “If I didn’t recognize the leader of the Shie Hassaikai, I would have saved Eri sooner, prevented the death of Nighteye.

“So,” Deku rocks back on his heels, “what’s it going to be?”

“When you say enhance our abilities,” Ponytail furrows her brow at Deku. “What do you mean?”

“The you from the variation have nearly four years more of training and quirk knowledge. Variant Class A has grown up slightly different than you and has developed different abilities. On top of that, you’re practically doubling your quirk’s power, so you may develop new ultimate moves that you might developed later in your career. I don’t know. It entirely depends how well your body is prepared to accept more power.” Deku laughs. “I know, when I first got my quirk, it was all or nothing. My body wasn’t used to such a huge amount of power.” Fucking nasty broken bones everywhere.

“I don’t want to end up with broken bones, thanks.” Invisible Chick whines.

“You’re not going to,” Aizawa replies. “I’m here to erase any quirks that go out of control and the Wild Wild Pussycats have approved use of this section of the forest for quirk development and disaster area.”

“There is so much faith in us right now.” Emo Bird states flatly.

“I’m also here on standby,” Deku smiles and waves. “I know your quirks from the variant, and I can guess potential outcomes from combining quirks. Variant Aizawa and Recovery Girl also gave me their quirks, so I can stop you before things go bad. And if not, I can heal you if you get injured.”

No big deal, Damn Deku just has the ability to heal with a kiss and make anyone quirkless. Bakugou imagines dozens of heroes lining up just to hand over their power to a nerd for safekeeping. Except, Bakugou sobers at the memory of the night before, Deku said he accepted quirks only as a last resort.

“Are you-” Ears shrieks, “Did you kiss me?” Her hands fly up to her head, which is no longer wrapped but maintains a large bandage on the left side of her forehead. Deku’s face turns an alarming shade of red and gives a slight curt nod. Bakugou nearly laughs at the stupidity of Deku fucking going around the med bay and kissing everyone that got injured.

He stiffens and feels himself warm. Bakugou was in the med bay and remembers the hand running through his hair and the kiss at his temple. Fucking hell, was that Deku? The shitty nerd kissed him?

Bakugou locks eyes with Deku, watching the nerd turn an even deeper shade of red. He did. Deku fucking kissed Bakugou, and he wasn’t even awake to enjoy it.

Wait.

What the fuck?

“In admission to school, you agree to be healed by Recovery Girl’s quirk if deemed necessary. This is no different.” Once again, Aizawa captures the attention of the class before it can spiral out of control. “Now, this is completely voluntary, but I advise you to take this opportunity to take your quirk to new heights. We’re seeing organized villain crime at an all-new level, and the pro heroes are wildly unprepared for the challenges. So far, this class has shown the most potential of leading society into a better tomorrow. Why not take the opportunity to prove it?”

“Please,” Deku says, voice small and palms open – not unlike Joke or Hound Dog and their damn displays of vulnerability, “it’s yours. I don’t want to keep this from you.”

The damn nerd is keeping too many secrets already.

“I’ll go.” Pink Cheeks stands, crossing the distance in several quick steps. Her face is concerned – of fucking course it is – the gravity girl is Deku’s fucking best friend and crush. Is she still Deku’s crush after years in the variant? Did Deku date anyone? Was he happy there? Could he ever be happy in a place he wasn’t allowed to stay? How could Deku build a life when he was just going to leave?

She says something quiet to Deku before gently laying her hands in his open palms. For a moment, nothing happens before delicate gossamer-thin strands of pink lightning arc up her arms, lifting her hair into zero gravity. She settles just as quickly.

“That’s,” Pink Cheeks hesitates, looking disappointed, “it? I don’t feel any different.”

“Quirks take about three hours to settle into a new host, so you won’t feel different until later,” Deku promises. “Once you all choose whether or not you want the variant quirk, we’ll have three hours of downtime before we start training for the day.”

“I’m already a year behind in heroics. I’ll do anything to get ahead.” Purple Bags stands achingly slow, moving towards Deku at a languid pace.

From there, a line forms with everyone in class as Bakugou watches from the sidelines. “It looks like a fucking cult, and Deku’s the leader.” He grumbles beside Aizawa.

“That is not an image I want in my mind.” The hobo frowns. “You got yours from Midoriya already?” Aizawa seems to know shitty Deku is confiding in him.

“Yeah,” Bakugou lies, watching as Deku and Dunce Face jump apart at a bright flash of light between them. Both idiots laugh as Deku reaches out for Flat Face.

In truth, Deku didn’t mention the whole getting variant quirks the night before, but Bakugou refuses to have power he didn’t earn under his own merit. Screw variant Katsuki and his quirk memories. Screw that life where Deku was fucking closer to a fake Bakugou for years while he suffered here. Fuck holding hands with Deku. Bakugou doesn’t need it, doesn’t want it. He’ll be stronger than Deku without the help of his variant life.

Emo Bird is the first to activate his compounded quirk while the losers relax into lunchtime. Two Dark Shadows emerge, panicking like fucking groundhogs at the sight of one another, and then begin to fight with the Emo Bird along for the ride.

Aizawa releases a heavy sigh and activates his quirk. It’s the first of many disasters.

The least destructive but most startling is Invisibility Chick’s quirk as she flickers into view, causing a few of the losers to scream in surprise. She’s as mousy as her voice, looking like Aizawa and Joke Face had a kid with dark green eyes and long black hair shining seafoam green. The hobo and Half and Half’s eyes widen a fraction. Fuck knows what’s going on in that conspiracy theorist’s brain. All shitty Deku does is laugh, extending a hand towards her. “It’s good to see you again, Hagakure. Let’s work on a new ultimate move together, okay?”

Bakugou is fortunate enough the class is filled with helpless idiots because he has no time to fake new quirk usage as each classmate loses control one after the other. It’s almost like a game of chase, from one fire to the next, passing between Aizawa and shitty Deku as the day grows long.

Tail manages a move that makes him look like a nine-tailed fox and fucking hits like it, too; Shitty Hair developed dragon scales Deku called Coquina, claiming it was some sort of loose hardness that allowed the scales to shift on impact and absorb objects for rebound. Even Rock Face gets some weird-ass mutation that lets him take the attributes of whatever animal he talks to. When the hell did this class of losers become such a handful?

Bakugou flops to the ground, heaving for air after an hour training Pink Cheeks to get a handle on her variation, which apparently includes mass manipulation and recoil immunity. She isn’t great at the latter, activating it only half the time, but damn, it’s unsatisfying to hit her with a blast and she stays unmoved.  

“Thanks for all your hard work!” Deku bends over Bakugou, the water bottles and snacks in his arms threatening to spill. The damn nerd beams so brightly, Bakugou is all but convinced that it’s only noon and not close to sunset.

“You’re the fucking worst.” Bakugou bites out tiredly, glaring when Deku places the snacks on Bakugou’s stomach and the water bottle neatly balanced on his forehead.

Bakugou watches Deku pad away, the water bottle falling to the ground as he turns his head. Deku circles around his classmates, thanking each of them for training before moving to the next. He’s like some nurse comforting soldiers in the middle of the night. Who’s that chick who did that? Nightingale, that’s the name. Historians liked to theorize she had some mental healing quirk, back when quirks were unheard of. Bakugou thinks Recovery Girl might have a poster of her somewhere. He recalls a hastily written note on it claiming the woman to be the original symbol of hope and peace.

He snorts, yeah right, as if anyone could be better than All Might.

“Yo, Bakubro!” Shitty Hair sits next to Bakugou. “Today was pretty cool, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Thanks for helping us out. I know we gave Aizawa-sensei and Midoriya a run for their money.” Shitty Hair continues as Flat Face and Dunce Face join to form a loose circle.

“Whatever.” Bakugou gravels out.

“Yeah, hey, didn’t get to see your new flashy quirk today. What is it?” Dunce Face leans forward.

“Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.” He lies. No way in hell is he admitting he refuses to take shitty variant Bakugou’s quirk. No way is he admitting to setting himself behind on purpose.

The trek back is just as silent as the way over, though it isn’t as peaceful this time. Shitty Deku leads the way with Invisible Chick – now invisible again – draped across his back. Apparently, her new quirk takes a lot of stamina to bend light to change her appearance, and she’s sleeping off the overexertion.

Bakugou keeps to the rear of the class, making sure exhausted idiots don’t accidentally trip themselves off a cliff. He watches the dark green curls at the front, frowning at all the layered secrets shitty Deku keeps under that mop. Bakugou knows about an alternate reality, knows about the nerd’s age, and even knows about All for One – which Deku kept a secret from the class and no one asked. For nosy losers, they don’t seem to notice the big red flag of ‘how is Deku able to hold onto over twenty quirks?’ Bakugou keeps learning Deku’s secrets, but Aizawa still knows more. The less Bakugou knows, the more the nerd tries to keep away, and he's had enough of the idiot at a distance.

He’s done waiting on Deku; next time, Bakugou will go to him.  

Chapter Text

“Bakugou, I’m hoping you can help me understand something.” Hound Dog motions in that stupid fucking gesture of peace, baring the insides of wrists and open palms. It’s fucking textbook behavior in rescues to convince civilian extras to trust the hero.

“You sure want a lot of explaining. For a shrink, you don’t seem to know anything.” Bakugou sneers at the pro hero. “But fuck, whatever. We’ve got time. What can I spoon feed you now?”

Fucking Hound Dog is all about his consistency. Even on summer vacation and a training camp, Bakugou is stuck indoors while his classmates train their new quirks outside. They sit in the building’s main office between two sofas.

“The day Midoriya appeared, you told me that it’s not over until Midoriya comes home.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“And today, you’re talking about how he’s settled back into class and even leading some training sessions.”

“So?” Bakugou huffs.

“What is ‘home?’” Hound Dog clasps his hands back together. “To me, it doesn’t seem like you’re happy he’s back.”

“Why would I? It’s fucking Deku we’re talking about here.” Why would he, when Deku keeps looking into the distance like he expects different extras to suddenly appear?

Four years, Bakugou reminds himself. That’s four years of learning, friendships, inside jokes, and holidays. That’s four years to drift closer or fall apart. Four years of secrets and misalignment. How many casual gestures and inside jokes is Deku holding back? How many people were Deku’s friends there but don’t even know him here? Did he have someone willing to take his hand and hold it for as long as they both shall live?

Bakugou shudders. Fuck alternate realities and futures and every nonsensical thing in-between.

“And yet you seem to be taking the extra effort to help Midoriya settle in. What is ‘home’ to you, Bakugou? Why are you so watchful over your classmate when he appears to be thriving well?” How much does Hound Dog know? Of all the teachers, it seems to be Aizawa who knows more than Bakugou. How tight-lipped is the damn nerd’s secret?

“Well, he’s not.” Bakugou snaps. “And he’s not home.”

Deku’s been back for a week, and he hasn’t smiled like he’s honestly happy. Sure, the damn nerd has smiled, but Bakugou knows the difference in Deku’s varying levels of happiness. The nerd hasn’t reached unbearable levels the entire time he’s been back. He always seems prepared to fight something, or like he isn’t allowed to be happy. What utter bullshit. It’s not like he was the one who bullied a quirkless kid for a decade.

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious, duh.”

“Where is ‘home?’”

The question startles Bakugou out of his souring mood.

“What the fuck do you mean, where is home? Home is home.”  What kind of fuck shrink is this? What is home? The fuck. Everyone learns that shit in daycare. Bakugou isn’t some damn remedial idiot like Dunce Face.

“That’s what I’m trying to understand, but it seems like this will be something we both think about between our sessions.” Hound Dog leans back. “In English, there are dozens of phrases about the word ‘home.’ ‘Home is where the heart rests’ or ‘there is no place like home.’ Here in Japan, we have no such idioms because we don’t typically acknowledge home as a space. We know it as the people who welcome us.

“Bakugou,” Hound Dog loses the growl that’s been part of every dumbass session. His voice is smooth and reminiscent of Bakugou’s old man, the gentle idiot. “Where is home for you? And where do you believe home is for Midoriya?”

It takes a moment for the words to settle and sink beneath his skin. When they do, Bakugou’s hands hurt.

The pain is so sharp and sudden; he gasps for air. He stares at them in his lap as they twitch, curling ever so slightly, prepared to set off explosions. They want to hold on to something like Aizawa held his shoulder. Bakugou needs something grounding, and yet the room starts to spin.

“What the fuck?” Bakugou heaves, and Hound Dog is guiding the teen to lay on his side.

“You’re safe here, Bakugou.” Hound Dog’s voice is muffled behind the roar of blood in Bakugou’s ears. “I apologize for asking a question that causes such distress. Stay there. We’ll move on to something simple.”

“No,” Bakugou gasps. “What the fuck did you say? What the fuck did you do? Why – ”

Tears prick at his eyes, and his body feels like it’s seizing in a series of stops and starts. Home, where is home? He doesn’t know and doesn’t know why that’s such a terrifying thought.

No, no, no. Put those emotions away. They’re too much and all at once.

Is Shitty Deku’s home back in that variant? Or is it here? Is it at Bakugou’s side?

No, Bakugou pushes the thought away. Only an idiot would return to their abuser time and time again.

Deku must be an idiot, confiding in Bakugou when the nerd has friends who genuinely care about him.

Again, Bakugou pushes away the notion that Deku could and would stay. Hasn’t he been pushing away the damn nerd all his life?

Bakugou sobs, drowning under an immeasurable sense of ache and loss filling his lungs and etching into his bones. Why is there so much pain?

Some distant part of him tries to regain control staring at the point of failure in an otherwise perfect dam of emotions. What Hound Dog said shouldn’t have caused that crack, but the damage hit just the right spot. There’s no way to tape it up and go on his way; there’s no easy mend to this without releasing some pressure first.

Bakugou cries.

At your leisure, look for your spaces of peace. We’ll talk about them in our next session.

Fuck if Bakugou’s going to do useless shitty ass homework during summer vacation. Hell no.

“Bakubro! Did you hear?” Shitty Hair runs towards Bakugou from the clearing edge, scuffed up and grinning, likely practicing his newly compounded quirk. “Class A was invited for a special summer school session with Shiketsu High!”

Bakugou breathes out a long and slow breath, searching the crowd of losers for a familiar face. He spots Deku talking with Aizawa yet again. “Is that so?” He growls. Those two idiots probably plotted this.

“Yeah! Apparently, we’re going to learn more about rescues and intel networks.”

“We’re going to be spies!” Raccoon Eyes bounds forward, grinning.

“Uh-huh.” Bakugou is too exhausted to fight, too tired to muster the energy to pretend interest in the latest developments. “And what about Joke Face and her ‘lessons?’” Does Bakugou even care? He’s tired of therapy and mental health, and fuck whatever. After today’s session with Hound Dog, he doesn’t want to touch it ever again. How the hell does damn Deku cry all the time and not feel the need to sleep for a thousand years?

“You can’t spoil my mood. We’re going to be spies!” Raccoon Eyes squeals, breezing past.

Bakugou clenches and unclenches his fist, glaring at Deku until he looks. What kind of danger is Deku putting them in, and what the hell isn’t the nerd saying?

Bakugou 05:34: Rooftop Tonight

“Why Shiketsu High?” Bakugou demands when Deku appears on the rooftop. He texted for another night on the rooftop early this morning, prepared with questions to ask the nerd. But then there was therapy, and Bakugou is doing everything in his willpower not to hear Hound Dog at the back of his mind.

“I don’t know, maybe Camie missed you.” Deku bristles, sitting a distance away.

“Why the hell would she have a part in any of this? You’re the one revealing secrets left and right. How is this not another one?” He growls.

“Believe it or not, not everything is about me, Kacchan.” The nerd glares. “I don’t even like Shiketsu High.”

Bakugou barks out a laugh. “You like everyone. That’s the shittiest thing about you!” Deku likes everything and everyone. He finds the good in it too. He’d probably thank the damn slime villain for choking him because he got to meet All Might. He might even thank Overhaul for making it possible to meet Eri. Deku loves everything like it’s effortless, and Bakugou hates how much the nerd feels.

If Deku loves everything, what does that mean? How does the nerd tell if he likes something over the other? How does Bakugou identify where Deku finds comfort? Where does Deku call home?

Bakugou’s eyes prick again, so he clenches his teeth in response, wrapping himself in anger to threaten the tears away.

“Yeah,” Deku breathes, long and slow, tucking his head into his knees, “I know.”

For a long while, Bakugou says nothing, staring at the dark forest so similar to Deku’s hair. Four years is a long time to be anywhere, especially as a hero. His decade-long friendship feels like a blink of an eye compared to how excruciatingly long this first year at U.A. has been. If ten years of friendship is nothing compared to a year of heroics, what’s four in a variant world?

Was Deku happy there? Would he want to go back? What did he give up to keep his sanity? Bakugou almost went insane before the mandated therapy, so how did damn Deku cope? Or maybe he didn’t, and that’s the purpose for that shitty burn on the nerd’s wrist.

“Were you,” Bakugou croaks, swallowing his pride as he tries to close the distance between them. Has he ever asked about shitty Deku’s well-being? Once, twice, maybe. He’s not sure. Probably fewer times than he has fingers. “Were you happy there?” Deku rests his chin on his knees, green eyes bright as they reflect moonlight. There is wonder in them and curious contemplation. “Would you want to go back and stay there?”

Bakugou counts to ten, the pain from his session with Hound Dog creeping in with every agonizing second.  

“I mean, probably?” Deku huffs a soft laugh. “I couldn’t have lived there as long as I did if I didn’t allow myself to be happy once in a while. Aizawa-sensei always said the best thing about us, more than heroes or quirks, is that we’re human. To be human is to be adaptable and resilient, so, even though the variant wasn’t mine, I had to adapt.”

Deku’s brows pinch, the corners of his lips tugging in the softest frown. It’s a familiar look Bakugou hasn’t seen in a very long time: regret, dissatisfaction, and frustration rolled all into one. It’s an expression that comes when there are no solutions – good or bad – and the only answer is acceptance. This look, coming from someone who defied Nighteye’s quirk, sets Bakugou on edge.

Adapted happiness isn’t very happy, is it?

“But I don’t want to go back; I couldn’t. That place wasn’t mine. I couldn’t make a life there.”

“Why not?” The question rips out of Bakugou before he can stop himself. He doesn’t want to know because Deku is here now, and that’s all that matters.

Another soft laugh. “Okay, wow. Didn’t realize you wanted to be rid of me so bad.” Deku slides to his feet, brushing off his legs.

Bakugou startles, reaching out and fastening a hand around Deku’s ankle, nearly tripping the idiot. “Damn nerd, that’s not what I meant. Sit the fuck down.” He holds tightly, refusing to let go, refusing to relive the memory of the shitty nerd leaving again.

He counts to three in his head, and Deku nudges Bakugou with his foot. “Move over.”

“There’s a whole damn rooftop. Why do I need to move?” Bakugou growls, shifting a fraction of an inch as Deku slides beside him.

The next time Bakugou dares to break the fragile silence, Deku is near sleep. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong with you or what?” He stares at the horizon line where the moon disappeared some time ago.

“Or what.” Shitty Deku mumbles.

Bakugou growls, shoving Deku in the shoulder. The nerd falls, laughing and sprawling out over the roof.

“Cheeky fucking bastard.” Bakugou hisses under his breath. He counts to four before the nerd finally speaks.

“I’m,” Deku takes a deep breath, croaking out the words as he stares at the stars above. “I’m still trying to find my footing here, okay? A lot I can’t say, a lot I can’t do because I’m suddenly sixteen in everyone’s eyes. Levels of trust are different; real things feel like facsimiles after having fakes for so long.” He hums a tune briefly, slow and unfamiliar. “And there are things that happened there I don’t want to happen here.”

“Like Grape Face,” Bakugou nearly forgot about the purple pervert. Unclear if he will survive the night. Shit. Will Deku shoulder that too?

Deku lolls his head to look at Bakugou, eyes shining with unshed tears. “He’s going to survive, but he’s going to have trouble even picking up a spoon for a long time.”

“I know you’re not crying over a pervert getting what he deserves.”

“No one deserves to be maimed or killed, Kacchan.” The nerd protests quietly, expression firm and tired. “Everyone deserves to live a life filled with happiness.”

Bakugou clenches and unclenches his fingers, trying to wave away the sudden pulse of hurt. Deku isn’t talking about the grape idiot anymore; he knows. But who?

Deku deserves a life filled with happiness.

Does Bakugou?

The early morning brings red skies, bags packed, and sleepy faces hastily stuffed into their hero costumes. Bakugou feels exhaustion at his eyes and in his shoulders, regretting the lack of sleep but not the late nights with Deku. He’s tempted to steal the hobo’s coffee, but the teacher looks worse off than usual.

“We’ll jump into rescue training upon arrival,” Aizawa announces as a charter bus arrives. “It is a unique active disaster area Shiketsu is managing thanks to their proximity and have agreed to plant rescue modules in and around the area.

“Disaster areas like these can prevent heroes from providing help in a timely manner. Traveling on foot in the aftermath of an avalanche is ill-advised; using a helicopter to search a sunken ship is illogical. This place merges so we can practice land, air, and sea arrivals.”

Bakugou shivers; something isn’t right about the hobo’s description. It’s dredging up bad feelings and filling him with a hopeless sensation in his gut. He looks around the class, counting the heads and gritting his teeth. Familiar green is missing.

“You’ll be split up into three teams to practice these arrival tactics. Some of you may not be compatible with a method – for example, Cementoss is useless on a boat –  and we’re going to find out where you thrive. Understand?”

The class releases a chorus of agreement. Bakugou is half-turned back to the camp building, ready to run inside and track down shitty Deku when the nerd emerges, tugging at the straps of his yellow backpack.

The uniform is different. Bakugou doesn’t know why he’s surprised. The shitty nerd made absurd changes in one year; why wouldn’t it be radically different after four?

Green seems to be an accent now instead of the main body. The chest remains a verdant green as the black design blends into a black back. His cream gloves are now black with green and red accents in a slim fit over his fingers and arms. They almost overemphasize how muscular Deku’s become. The only place the cream color remains is the short cape fastened at his shoulder, underside as golden as All Might’s hair. Deku’s red belt looks largely unchanged, but his bottom half looks entirely different. Solid black with green and gold accents and – for fuck’s sake – those ugly-ass red shoes are back with a vengeance, looking ready to bash in some skulls.

Bakugou has known Deku for ten years, and the nerd has yet to gain a sense of fashion. He huffs a laugh, but it comes out more of a chuff. At least some things never change.

A bus, plane, and train ride later, Bakugou stares at a stretch of familiar land while the boat rocks beneath his feet. He sits on a jutted boat piece the size of a stool, glaring as the land looms closer.

Shitty Hair moves to stand beside him, with Deku at his back. Frog is chatting with the seal pro hero behind the helm while Round Face attempts to pull a conversation out of the Half and Half bastard. He listens to none of it.

Bakugou doesn’t pay attention to anything but what’s ahead. He doesn’t hear the boat cutting through water or feel the wind trying to restyle his hair. He doesn’t smell the salty brine of seawater, doesn’t taste the remnants of a late lunch.

All Bakugou can hear is Deku in a death cry, smell wet steel, and broken concrete, and taste blood at the back of his throat. He feels cold - like that night - shattered fingers growing stiff from the lack of blood flowing through his veins, wondering if help will come.

And ahead, all Bakugou can see are the broken remains of Exit Island.

Chapter Text

Three Years & Seven Months Ago

“We’re sorry to drop this on you so soon,” Present Mic is not nearly as charismatic as he usually is. His blond updo is wrapped in a loose bun, reminiscent of Aizawa-sensei. “It was Midnight’s last job, and we don’t,” He pauses, takes a deep shuddering breath, “have enough heroes.”

The classroom is silent, staring at the usually cheerful teacher. In the wake of the battle with Shigaraki, too many heroes are deemed untrustworthy, and too many heroes are quitting under pressure. They wanted the glory and respect that comes with being a hero and none of the bad.

Izuku scratches at his bandaged arms, thinking of the Hero Killer Stain. He was trying to rid the world of fairweather heroes who make the sacrifices of heroes like Midnight seem unimportant.

Aizawa-sensei is the first to weed out the fairweather types, he expelled the previous Class 1-A, and he threatened to expel Midoriya almost a year ago. Even the Hero Commission began taking strides to select heroes with care, reducing the provisional licensing exam to a less than ten percent passing rate.

Somehow, with the rate of Pro Heroes quitting left and right, the efforts feel far too late.

“I thought, I thought you would like to join in because you’re Eraserhead’s class, and she, uh, she loved all of you so much.” The blond pro hero bunches his shoulders around his ears before dropping them in a long shaking breath. “I’m not supposed to solicit you, as you suffered the most injuries of all the hero course students, and Eraser isn’t here to offer his opinion, but I know you are the most dedicated heroes I’ve seen in all the years I’ve been teaching.”

“Present Mic,” Izuku stands, his arms aching as he presses his hands firmly on the desk while his chair scrapes back, earning the gazes of everyone in the classroom. “If I can be of any help, I want to. I’m sure all of us feel the same way.”

Kacchan scoffs, holding a hand to his side, glaring ahead. “Kind of stupid you thought you had to ask. Some teacher you are.”

At Kacchan’s words, the classroom startles to life, adding their support in a mess of voices that makes Present Mic’s brows furrow as his lips tremble into a smile. He bows at the class, still shaking with tears dripping onto the desk, thanking Class 1-A.

Benched from the day’s heroic training, Izuku returns to the dorm, spreading out the copied case files on the common room coffee table and sofas. He feels his mind expand outward, thoughts touching on each piece of paper and become stars in a vast sky. There are a few obvious constellations of information, most listed in a lengthy investigation based on Midnight’s notes, but there are fading stars of information not yet touched.

Based on Midnight’s file, there’s a solo villain named Firefly picking up Stain’s mission with a terrible success rate. They seem to want to form or join an organized villain gang. Features are unclear because of the blinding light they emit when active, but witnesses claim a lanky form abnormally tall for a standard Japanese citizen. Known for deep lacerations and – strangely – leaving blood purposely on the scene. If any Firefly blood is near the victim, the victim typically doesn’t survive. Also strange. Blood usually determines injuries and loss, meaning Firefly should be on the losing side of things by the sheer amount of blood at every scene. But half the time, the victims don’t show signs of defense. Those who survive usually have seizures or wild hallucinations, spouting historical myths and facts.

There’s a lot of information on the case, and so much of it is unconnected.

Izuku steps back from the mess of papers, walking around the backs of the couches a few times, searching for a few notes to form a new constellation. What is the north star in all this information? What will guide Izuku into the best analysis?

Firefly.

Grave of the fireflies. World War two, Japanese versus Americans. Americans are tall and have an abnormal number of solo villains – something about dedicated arch enemies. Americans have a lot of weird rules for heroics, which would make sense as to why someone would move overseas. Americans also have fireflies that are uniquely poisonous to the states. Izuku read something about it when a bunch of lizard mutation quirk citizens began dying. American fireflies –

Izuku stalls, scrambling through the papers and organizing them into new piles. If he needs to know the original order, he can always ask Present Mic for help. He sorts the documents based on the fact that American fireflies bleed poisonous blood.

Could Firefly be American, their quirk mutated from environmental factors? It wouldn’t be the first ecological quirk mutation. Ice quirks are more common in the north; water quirks are more common on small islands. Why wouldn’t a firefly quirk adapt to the local environment?

Firefly blood type: O negative

Okay, sure, that doesn’t mean much past a universal donor.

Wait.

That does mean something. Izuku prods at the far reaches of his memories to a glimpse of a doctor’s office in childhood. O negative is rarer than the quirkless in Japan. For every hundred quirkless, there is one O negative. The blood type is heavily monitored by the government courtesy of hero blood loss in villain attacks, and Izuku was the magical unicorn on both lists. If the type is heavily monitored, why did Midnight only have a villain name listed?

Unless the Firefly really isn’t from Japan.

“Dejima.” Izuku slams a new analysis notebook on Nezu’s desk as Present Mic stands beside the Principal. “Firefly intends to reclaim the island.”

“That’s an interesting conclusion Midoriya, what brought you to this?” Nezu steeples his fingers, smiling up at the young hero.

It took Izuku three days to comb through the papers, find new connections,s and conduct interviews with the too few survivors. While his classmates are making some use of the school break before the new year in April, Izuku’s opted to stay on campus to help the pros. While he wishes he could spend a day at home in his mom’s arms, the longer Firefly remains at large, the higher chance another worthy hero won’t go home again.

Izuku takes a deep breath and explains, gesturing at the blue notebook frequently. Firefly is a foreigner where blood types aren’t as heavily monitored. They’re likely from an area of America where poisonous blood letting fireflies exist. Testing Firefly’s blood has revealed a near-identical poison, which can be associated with foxglove and lead to hallucinations, nausea, and cardiac arrest. If the heroes are comfortable making a few psychological leaps, it can be assumed the villain chose the name Firefly as it hinges closely with their identity. The villain is likely making assumptions based on their identity due to their quirk usage and fighting style.

“It’s easily mistaken as Japanese kickboxing,” Izuku explains aloud, “but there are some uniquely western aspects of it. Firefly is probably using Dutch kickboxing, a style developed in the Netherlands after a visit to Japan. This isn’t the only involvement the Dutch have with Japan, and it seems like Firefly wants everyone to know.”

Izuku flips open the notebook to a page filled with interviews with survivors and partial transcripts from moments of hallucinations during rescue. “They weren’t completely hallucinations. The heroes were fed information, poisoned, and conditioned to believe. Everything they’re saying is this belief that the Dutch should have taken control of Japan when we traded with them in the 1600’s – ”

“The Dutch had exclusive trading with Japan after the Portuguese for hundreds of years but never had the power to take over the nation.” Nezu reaches out a white paw, turning the notebook to suit his vantage point.

“Tell that to a villain fixed in their ways.” Present Mic huffs, crossing his arms as he leans over the desk to examine the notebook.

“From what I can tell, most people aren’t aware the Dutch had any impact on us.” Izuku shrugs. “Globally, the Japonisme art movement in the late 1800s is attributed to French and English influence, which we primarily see in the streets. I guess Firefly isn’t happy the Dutch are being erased from the history books.”

“But you said they’re American.” Present Mic frowns.

“Americans hyper fixate on their origins,” Nezu flips through the pages. “It’s no surprise they’ll go searching for blood nationality.”

“Dejima was the port of trade for the Dutch,” Izuku continues. “The area was a major trading port – ”

“Until it was bombed during the second world war.” Nezu finishes. “Yet another perceived slight on the Dutch.”

Present Mic rubs his forehead, brows furrowing into a tight crease. “Are you telling me this Villain is killing heroes left and right to reclaim Japan for the Dutch – which they never had in the first place?”

“Villains have done more for less.” Nezu hums. “Sometimes, it’s merely being in the way.”

Izuku stares at his scuffed red shoes. Aizawa-sensei is on the long road to recovery for being in the way and preventing Shigaraki from using his quirk.

Present Mic releases a shuddering breath, and when Izuku looks, it seems like the pro had the same train of thought. “Then Dejima it is.”

“Izuku, can’t someone else do this?” Izuku all but collapses in his mom’s warm embrace. “You know I want the world for you, but you’re a student, and you keep getting hurt, and all I want is my baby to be safe.” She cries.

Izuku hugs back tightly, guilt-ridden that the visit is only for the day. Now that he, Kacchan, and Todoroki have fully healed thanks to near-daily visits with Recovery Girl, the plan to capture Firefly is moving fast.

“I’ll do my best,” Izuku doesn’t know how to respond. Every battle he fights gets worse and worse. He wonders, at this rate, if he’ll live to see graduation. “But they need me specifically. I’m sort of the lead analyst on the case.”

His mom squeezes tight, “Analyst? That’s a desk job, right sweetie? They’ll let you stay behind if you ask, right? You’re just now getting better; just tell them you’re still injured.”

“I’ll,” Izuku falters, burying his face into his mom’s hair as he prepares to lie, “I’ll ask. I’ll make sure to stay behind.” When she loosens her hold to start preparing lunch, he wonders if she’ll forgive him when he comes back home.

“I know we don’t have a lot of stuff, but it’s just so hard to pack,” Izuku sits on his bed, kicking out his legs as Uraraka floats a box into the hallway. He starts fitting his analysis notebooks scattered on his bed into a new box.

“We’ve had a lot of memories in this dorm,” Iida says, slowly peeling tape and glue from Izuku’s All Might posters and cleaning them with a cotton glove and a square piece of rubber. Iida has a process for gently removing the glue to maintain the integrity of the posters, and Izuku appreciates the oddly specific help. “For many of us, it was our first chance of agency and provided us an opportunity to grow as students and pros.”

“It also doesn’t help that Aizawa-sensei kicked out last year’s 1-A, so the 2-A dorm has been sitting empty all year. Present Mic said we could move as slow as we want over the break.” Uraraka reenters the room. “Half the time, I don’t know if my stuff is here or over there!” She laughs.

“I’ve been so distracted with Firefly. This just doesn’t seem as important.” He stacks the burned notebook on top. Iida leans over Izuku’s desk, nose nearly touching the poster laid flat as he rubs with the small rubber square, examining the large paper for glue residue.

“Then don’t!” Uraraka cheers, pumping her fists. “I think most of us are packing out of nerves, but Deku, you’ve been super involved with the pros. You might just need to relax. We’ll still have a few days of break when we get back. All of us will be more than happy to help you move.”

“Yeah!” Izuku copies Uraraka’s cheers and movements. “Maybe we all need to relax! Let’s see if we can gather the rest of the class for a game or movie night!”

Izuku reaches for his number eighteen briefcase, a new uniform straight from the production line. Kacchan snatches it first, shoving it into Izuku’s chest while holding number seventeen in his other hand.

“Don’t die this time,” Kacchan growls as Izuku wraps his arms around the case protectively.

“You too!” He laughs nervously. Could Izuku be even more of an idiot? You too? Why would he bring up Kacchan’s near-death injuries? But then again, why would Kacchan bring up his? And it’s not like Izuku was on the verge of dying. So why –

Ah.

Izuku flushes, rushing out of the room to catch up with the rest of his class; Kacchan is worried. Specifically, Kacchan is worried about him.

Dejima is small and quaint, a curved island filled with buildings in a strange mix of Dutch and Japanese architecture, rebuilt as a historical tourist spot with plaques near every building describing this or that. It’s no longer the detached artificial island Izuku recalls from photographs and etchings, but attached by highways and connected to Nagasaki parks mainland.

If Firefly wants to reclaim the Dutch trading post, they’ll likely want to stick to the original Edo boundaries. Most Pro Heroes are in the original boundaries, while most of the class are in extended Dejima and surrounding areas. Ectoplasm and Present Mic picked Izuku, Kacchan, Ojiro, Tokoyami, and Hagakure to help search the Edo buildings.

Izuku’s Danger Sense hums low at the base of his skull. Firefly is here doing something or biding his time? Avoiding capture? It’s not an immediate danger, but it is looming. He sends a warning to his classmates closest to highly vulnerable areas, the island train station and hospital.

“Captain’s quarters clear.” Izuku breathes, moving through the pink dining room, wincing as the floor creaks as he drifts in the shadowed night. Firefly doesn’t operate in the day thanks to his quirk; Izuku can’t decide if it’s a good thing Tokoyami has come along. On the one hand, Dark Shadow is stronger in darkness, especially in a barely lit reconstructed town. On the other, Firefly becomes a ball of light when fighting.

If they run into Firefly, the outcome will tilt in either direction.

Snipe and Tokoyami announce the gift shop is clear, which is followed by something clattering and Snipe cursing about souvenir umbrellas. If Izuku’s nerves weren’t so tight, he’d laugh.

He tries to soothe the mounting pressure from Danger Sense as he makes his way to the other side of the room to leave. “Fun fact about Dejima – ”

“No,” Kacchan bites out. “I’m not listening to some shitty ‘fun facts’ when a hero killer wannabe is trying to make himself at home in some equally shitty not-island.” Aside from the cursing, Izuku does feel a little better.

Jiro’s voice crackles over the earpiece. “I hear something!”

“The little listener is right.” Present Mic appears in the doorway, hand on his silver headphones.

“Up, down, or around?” Kacchan’s voice gravels in Izuku’s ear. Before either hero can answer, the ground beneath Izuku’s feet shakes. “So, the bastard is below.”

“Do we even have any literal underground heroes to check it out?” Hagakure chimes in.

Izuku gasps, a pain sharp and webbing out at the back of his head. He stumbles into a long table and grips at the fine table runner, tearing at the threads. The Danger Sense is screaming. “Hold on to something!” He yells, throwing himself to the nearest doorframe for something sturdy.

Present Mic throws his hands up to his ears, gripping his headphones, yelling about civilian screams a split second before an explosion drowns him out. The chandeliers on the ceilings swing violently as the floor threatens to give way. The doorframe splinters under Izuku’s grip as another explosion sets off, closer than before, leaving his ears ringing. One chandelier snaps from its chain, hurtling towards the ground. Izuku dives in the opposite direction just as the windows implode.

“All hands,” Izuku croaks, lifting himself slowly from the ground. His face stings, and his shoulder throbs, but he’s otherwise okay.

“Present Mic here,” Izuku hears the voice nearby as well as in his earpiece. The room creaks and moans – is the ground still moving?

“Beta team accounted for,” Yaoyorozu crackles in brief static. Izuku sits back on his heels, bumping into a fallen beam as he checks over his body. Nothing seems broken. He has the appropriate amount of fingers, no labored breathing to strike him from the fight.

“I’m fine! So’s Ojiro and Bakugou!” Hagakure announces next as he picks out glass from his uniform.

“Gamma here, but we won’t be able to help,” Iida announces. “We’re not injured, but one of the explosions has affected the power and structural integrity of the hospital. We’re evacuating.”

“Understood,” Kacchan growls.

“Delta still on the lookout, all souls accounted for,” Shoji says.

“What do you see?” Tokoyami asks. “Snipe and I are here.”

“Carefully placed explosions. Don’t know how but the island is drifting again. It appears the explosions were placed on the far west of the Edo boundaries and curved to meet the highway at the corner of the hospital. The parks are drifting with the city.” Shoji adds. “I’m on the wrong side of the break.”

“Then continue to be our eyes and ears.” Ectoplasm replies.

Izuku stands slowly, taking steps around the debris in search of Mic. He finds the pro hero a moment later back in the dining room examining his headphones. Izuku thinks he sees blood dribbling from the blond’s ears.

“Deku!” Mic scrambles Izuku’s way, fastening the headphones around his neck before fluttering around the young teen’s form. “Eraser is going to kill me.”

“I’m fine, what about you? You’re bleeding.” He gestures at his own ears as emphasis. Besides, everyone signed up for this mission knowing they could get hurt. That’s not going to stop Class A.

“I’m bleeding? You’re bleeding!” Present Mic grabs a silver platter from the disarrayed table, reflecting Izuku’s face and oh. Oh wow. Izuku looks like a murder victim with freely bleeding cuts all over his face and shattered glass embedded on his brow and hairline. The left side of his face is painted red with blood in an odd facsimile of Todoroki.

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s a head wound; they bleed a lot.” He leans forward, using the reflection to pick out the glass shards with some wincing before reaching into one of his belt pouches for gauze. “I can still fight.” Present Mic sets down the platter and makes quick work wrapping the gauze around the most worrisome wound at his hairline.

“You better.” Kacchan bites over the line.

“Any eyes on Firefly?” Snipe asks.

“No,” Shoji announces.

“I do hear something, though,” Jiro adds. The tone is confused, as if hearing an impossible sound. “It sounds like, no, that’s crazy.” Present Mic knots the bandage. “It sounds like plane landing gear, except underground.”

“A boat engine, ribbit?” Asui offers. “I can check. I recently upgraded my goggles for night swimming.

“No, the engine sounds different. I can tell there is one now that the island’s lost all power, but this sounds different.”

“That just means the damn lightning bug is making their next move.” Kacchan snarls. Izuku can imagine his feral grin.

“What I’m hearing is we need a distraction to drag him out and prevent him from finishing his next move.”

“Oui,” Aoyama hums. “I will assist. The villain won’t be able to look away.”

Izuku catches Present Mic’s eye and nods.

“Do it,” The older blond hero orders.

“You know,” Izuku huffs, dodging a bright yellow pulse of light as he’s forced from the Edo boundaries. “It makes sense to stay in the original Edo buildings to capture Firefly, but now that we know they’re making a new island with what they broke off, we’ll have to go with a new strategy.”

“Plan J?” Someone asks as Izuku slips on a rooftop and twists to regain his footing. Pride swells in his chest; someone read his briefing plans? Someone values his opinions?

“Yeah,” Izuku beams, glaring up at the glowing figure standing on the rooftop. He kicks off the side of a building, powering his jumps to leap between floors. “Beta, Gamma, and any Delta on this side of the break. Focus on extraction and rescue. Alpha, let’s contain and bide them some time.”

Ojiro leaps across the roof, kicking at Firefly’s head, knocking the villain back. By the time Izuku makes it to the rooftop, Ojiro seems to have the upper hand, his martial art skill exceeding Firefly. One kick flickers out the golden light revealing a teen lankier than Aizawa-sensei and taller than Sato. Their blonde hair is brighter than Aoyama, eyes cold and black in the dark, wearing a mix of browns and golds in a white leather jacket. The teen almost looks like Present Mic, if not for the lack of audio equipment and hatred in their eyes.

Izuku’s Danger Sense trickles ice water down his spine with a sudden realization. Firefly is holding back. Everything Izuku analyzed and planned, and promised his class is for nothing because Izuku didn’t realize the villain was toying with the heroes in the past.

How strong is Firefly? Are they as bad as Shigaraki? How much should Izuku hold back to reserve his power, or should he go all in now to end the battle quickly?

Izuku spends too much time in thought because Firefly ignites themselves in an explosive light that blasts the young heroes away.

Firefly’s explosions are as strong as Kacchan’s. That’s a good sign, Izuku thinks. What’s not a good sign is that explosions aren’t the villain’s strength. If he didn’t know any better, Izuku would guess Firefly was some type of nomu.

Explosions, blood poisoning, blinding light, kickboxing, and knife skills.

This villain seems to have no end in talents, especially if they figured out how to untether the island into open bay. Asui confirms an underwater tugboat and a series of stilts lowering to the bay bottom. In an attempt to stop one of the stilts from touching the sandy bottom, she manages to get covered in some sort of cement that hardens in seawater, forcing Uraraka to dive in and save her before Asui sunk to the bottom.

Izuku chases the villain who seems dedicated to reducing any non-Edo buildings to rubble. “We’ll have to come at him all at once,” Izuku says. “Snipe on standby for an opening, Ojiro can keep up with the kickboxing for a little bit, which means I can use Blackwhip and Kacchan – ”

Kacchan leaps into his vision, using explosions to keep pace with Izuku. “Can beat his ass!” Kacchan roars, rushing ahead. Izuku sighs, Classic Kacchan.

Izuku does not expect the air conditioning unit hurtled his way. Kacchan dodges in time, but it clips his shoulder with enough force for Izuku to associate it with broken bones. As if broken bones could stop Izuku from anything.

They tag team as Snipe gets into position. It feels like a game of keep-away, Kacchan blasting Firefly away from standing buildings as Izuku attempts to aggravate the villain into losing control. The team-up is familiar and strange, a warped reflection of their primary and middle school days. Izuku is keenly aware Kacchan’s moves are similar to bullying, like he used to push the green teen further and further away from his dream. Izuku used to irritate Kacchan on purpose. After all, if he’s going to be bullied, he might as well deserve it. Izuku thinks the aggravating and the bullying were excuses to hate one another. Excuses that were thrown away – replaced with forgiveness – time and time again when Izuku would cheer Kacchan or Kacchan would beat the other bullies that tried to hurt him. It’s a messed-up relationship, but it’s still theirs.

Even when Firefly gets too close and burns Izuku’s glove into his skin, Kacchan hurls an explosion to the villain’s face. When Kacchan can’t shield his weak side fast enough, Izuku is there to distract. The two are there to protect one another in whatever way they know how. 

Izuku hears the crack of a pistol shot before Firefly stumbles. Pain sparks up Izuku’s thigh, which forces him to look down at a bloody golden bullet embedded mid-thigh, partially caught by his black boots. Firefly grips at their collarbone, stumbling as they place hands on the front and back and burn. The acrid smell of burning flesh makes Izuku gag. He leaps away before Firefly can finish cauterizing their wounds.

What are the chances Snipe’s bullet would go through Firefly and into Izuku? What are the odds the villain functions like a real American firefly where the poison must be purposely secreted? What if the blood is lethal regardless? What if –

Kacchan explodes from who knows where, slamming into Firefly in a mad dash. The next thing Izuku knows, he’s thrown over the blond’s broad shoulder, bouncing with every leaping step.

Present Mic’s voice shatters windows, and Bakugou carries him to safety.

Izuku’s vision swims a little, though it feels better than the hour before. Gamma has succeeded in evacuating the most dangerous parts of Dejima on the mainland. Beta has pulled most civilians on the drifting Dejima to the large grocery store at the park.

Izuku can see from his vantage point that Mic and Tokoyami are attempting the same game of tag Kacchan, and Izuku started with Firefly with no success. The modern buildings surrounding the Edo boundaries quickly crumble, releasing the scent of dry dirt and copper water.

“You done fainting?” Kacchan growls. “We need to get back out there. Who the fuck knows where Tail and Invisible Chick are.” Kacchan places his hands on his hips, pivoting like a lighthouse, casting light out to ships in the night.

“I didn’t faint.” Izuku bites out. Pretty, he thinks idly, standing on shaky legs. Barring the gravity of the situation, Kacchan’s never looked more handsome. Izuku guesses Kacchan really was made to be a hero, looking at home in the midst of battle. “Where is Snipe anyway?”

“Hell if I know. The annoying lightning bug is demolishing any good vantage points for attack.”

“There’s a vantage point here,” Izuku points to the freeway above their heads, “no, but we’re using this as a dividing line for rescue and regroup efforts. I don’t want to lead Firefly this way.”

“You still got some mess of a brain. Good to know.”

Izuku calls the lightning as he activates one for all. At the sight, Kacchan’s grin turns feral as he holds his arms out behind him and gravels out, “Let’s go.”

Izuku shoves Kacchan out of the way when Firefly’s knife comes down. He catches the blade on his ribs, feeling it glance along the bone and follow its curve. Distantly he hears Hagakure in his earpiece calling for help – Ojiro is down and seizing – but the louder sound is Kacchan roaring as his fist collides with Firefly’s face.

“What the fuck, Deku? I’m tired of saving your shitty ass!” Kacchan hauls Izuku to his shaky feet, and they dash for the Edo Boundaries. If there’s one thing Firefly will protect, it’s the original Dejima, which rests on the opposite end of the island and away from the civilians in Nagasaki park.

“It’s fine; it’s a scratch.” Izuku breathes, holding his side as Kacchan supports the other. They leap across buildings and rubble in sync, knowing each other’s strength limits and guessing the safest places to land. The mobile carry is a miracle in its own right if Izuku thinks back to their first heroics lesson. Kacchan is aware of his power and his ever-present danger to others. He spends little time thinking of other’s well-being outside of direct injury, spending more on improving himself. Izuku analyzed that, knowing Kacchan’s history, his left hook, and adapting to win. But this mobile carry, leaping with the right amount of power in sync with one another? Kacchan is finally looking at Izuku like they’re equals.

They wind up in the Captain’s dining room, contents as scattered as before. Izuku stares at the blood on the mats, recognizing it as his own from the earlier head wound.

Kacchan shoves Izuku into a wooden chair, lifting the torn edge of Izuku’s suit to examine the wound. He clicks his tongue and growls, clearly not pleased with the sight.

“You need stitches.” He says, reaching into his belt pocket.

“They’ll tear when I go back out. Can’t you just, I don’t know, spot weld it with some explosions?” Izuku asks, gaze drifting to a large clock behind Kacchan that’s miraculously stayed mounted to the wall. Near two in the morning. Team Alpha has been fighting for nearly six hours, tagging in and out for breathers. Who’s fighting Firefly now?

“Oi!” Izuku snaps his gaze to Kacchan. “My explosions don’t work that small, idiot. You should know that with how much you watch me like the damn creep you are. What do you want me to do, blow an even bigger hole in you?” Kacchan rips at the fine dining cloth, using it to wipe up the blood and grime around the wound. Izuku yelps in response. “You’re a fucking demanding idiot; you know that?”

Anger simmers in Kacchan’s gaze as he sets the cloth aside, removing his gloves with his teeth and wiping his sweaty palms on a clean edge of the bloody fabric. He rips open a small stack of white packets, removing a mostly clear object, and tugs gently until they’re clear lines.

Oh, the sight surprises Izuku. Medical grade plastic suture tape. Kacchan is very prepared.

Izuku tries not to hold his breath, tries not to laugh as Kacchan’s fingers flutter against his side. Sometimes the blond forces hisses of pain from Izuku’s lips as Kacchan pulls the wound close before applying the tape.

“You’re a fucking mess, Deku,” Kacchan says as he works, but there’s no bite.

“On the plus side, I don’t have any broken bones.” Izuku beams.

Kacchan snorts, “Yet.”

Kacchan is standing and pulling on his gloves a moment later, flexing his fingers until the fabric is snug. “You should be good until we defeat this bastard. Don’t do anything stupid.” Another order, like when Kacchan forced Izuku’s hero case into his chest. Kacchan is worried. Kacchan is trying to tell Izuku to be careful.

“Have you met me?” Izuku laughs, pushing up from the chair to stand. His side feels stiff and too tight, though he can tell by how it tugs, Kacchan made sure to keep Izuku’s range of motion. Snipe’s voice comes through on the earpiece, declaring he’s been forced into one-on-one combat with Firefly and needs backup.

Kacchan flicks his gaze to Izuku, red eyes hard with determination. “Don’t die,” He growls before moving from the room.

“I’ll do my best!” Izuku follows with near breathless laughter, silently wishing his childhood friend could be more honest.

It happens in an explosion.

Izuku really shouldn’t be surprised.

One moment Kacchan is throwing a gauntlet at Firefly while in freefall; the next, the pitch-black island burns white.

And after, Izuku sees is blood red metal jutting from Kacchan’s side in a placement so familiar, it takes a moment for him to remember they’re not still fighting Shigaraki. The metal isn’t an attack; it’s an act of fatigue or uncharacteristic carelessness.

Kacchan is careful, Kacchan is aware, Kacchan avoids injures from debris like he avoids calling people by their real names. Kacchan should have easily dodged the metal spike from the broken building. He is the most cautious person Izuku has ever met when it comes to his own well-being. The only time he loses sight is when –

Izuku’s heart stumbles in uncoordinated beats as Kacchan screams in pain, ripping himself from the metal to bleed freely and into Izuku’s arms.

Kacchan abandons everything when Izuku is involved.

No, no, no, no, no.

Kacchan is bleeding and dying from impalement for the second time in as many months. Izuku is frazzled. His hands won’t stop shaking. Does he press on Kacchan’s wounds? Does he get help from people that can help him better? Does he drop everything and honor Kacchan’s wishes to destroy that bastard?

How will Izuku survive if Kacchan doesn’t live through the battle? How can Izuku win by saving if Kacchan isn’t there to pick up the slack and save by winning?

And that’s when Izuku knows.

From the hands that hold Kacchan too tightly, to the hiccupping heartbeats in his chest and the tears in his eyes, Izuku knows: He’s in love with Kacchan.

With a grunt, Izuku lifts Kacchan into his arms, activating One for All to streak across the island, Tokoyami passing in the opposite direction to engage with Firefly once more.

Izuku’s nerves spark with lightning, his breath feels too distant, and Kacchan is too still in his arms. Izuku is in love with Kacchan; how the hell did that happen? His eyes prick with tears, Izuku can’t just realize he’s in love – has been in love for who knows how long – and let Kacchan die.

“Don’t get your nasty ass crybaby tears all over me, Deku,” Kacchan growls weakly. Kacchan is not weak. He’s amazing. He’ll survive this and –

And what if he doesn’t? Izuku spurs One for All faster, shooting over the crumbling bridge and to the park where his classmates form a defense line.

He cries for help as he shoots past the line, stopping just in front of the grocery store but close enough to receive aid. Izuku lays Kacchan gently on the grassy knoll as Yaoyorozu breaks the line to run, gauze forming on her arms as she moves. He presses his hand against the worst of the wound, the other brushing away the damp spikes from Kacchan’s forehead as the injured teen moans.

Izuku’s heart swells. Now isn’t the time to recognize or confess feelings. It isn’t the time to wonder how and when and why love bloomed.

If they live through this, Izuku will tell Kacchan, regardless of rejection or acceptance.

“D-Deku,” Kacchan groans weakly, reaching for Izuku as he steps away to let Yaoyorozu dress the wounds. Reaching, finally reaching for Izuku like the green hero has wanted for years. Years? Why does it take the edge of death to mend lifelong wounds?

Izuku beams and laughs wetly. Did he puncture a lung, or is he crying? The question is morbidly familiar. “I’m here, Kacchan.” He breathes full and deep. Definitely crying. In those three words, Izuku tries to imbue his intense realization of not merely caring for Kacchan but in love with the blond. He tries to press love into every letter form, tries to say that even if either of them don’t make it through, Izuku will love Kacchan past life and death. That being the number one hero doesn’t matter so long as Kacchan lives.

Kacchan’s red eyes are hazy and slightly out of focus. The beautiful color disappears as he shuts his eyes tight when Yaoyorozu pulls his arm down to prevent his wounds from stretching and splitting open. “Take care of him, okay?” Izuku nods at Yaoyorozu, who doesn’t respond as her hands turn slick with blood, working to stabilize Kacchan’s body.

The abundance of love, Izuku thinks as he surges back into battle, or the lack of it, is what makes the greatest villains and heroes of all time. One for All would not exist without the love All for One had for his brother. One for All would not have been passed down if the original holder held the same emotion.

They don’t teach that in school, Izuku notes as he uses Blackwhip to throw Firefly into an Edo building. No one teaches how love is the very thing that makes heroes into heroes, and at the same time, there is no bigger source of destruction. Love for people, for friends, family. Love for life and liberty, of choice and nature. Love with unconditional forgiveness, love that burns, love strong enough to change reality.

Firefly appears in the rubble, glowing brighter than ever, features ablaze with an intent to murder. Their entire left side is burned purple and black from Kacchan’s earlier explosion. Izuku shudders and breathes what might be his last.

Love for Kacchan.

It’s okay if Izuku dies here. If he can take down Firefly with him, if he can save the world so everything Kacchan loves can thrive, Izuku is more than happy to lay his life as forfeit. He can almost hear Kacchan yelling at him about such a shitty train of thought.

Firefly grabs Izuku, forcing the green-haired hero to the ground. Izuku rolls on his back from his hips to his shoulders, tucking his legs to his chest, and kicks Firefly up into the sky. He flips into standing before chasing after the distant figure using Float.

Love is the only gift he can give Kacchan, and what if – Izuku takes a solid punch to the face, losing momentum in the sky – he can never deliver it?

Izuku grapples with Firefly in the air, screaming when the villain melts Izuku’s gloves further into his skin. Izuku hiccups a breath, a tendril of Blackwhip yanking Firefly’s arms away in terrible angles.

Realizing he’s in love couldn’t have come at a worse time. He wants hours and days and years to say I love you, Kacchan on repeat. Izuku isn’t sure he has minutes. He wants to say those words in the time he has left, but he wants to see Kacchan’s face react, not this other blond.

Izuku roars, rotating his leg for a full cowling smash that feels more than twenty percent.  He feels the bones and sinew fracture.

Firefly takes it to their side, hands gripping Izuku tightly at the back of his neck, thumbs digging in just above his ears as if to crush Izuku’s skull between their fingers. The villain’s face flashes with pain and fear before settling on a smirk.

With a breath, they burst into light.

Waking is hard.

Izuku drifts in and out, recognizing wakefulness with pain. Pain in his limbs, around his throat, and the leaden sensation in his chest. Why does living hurt so much?

His thoughts are slow and syrupy in those drifting moments, attempting to gain some control of his eyes, his breath, and the pain. He tries to glean if he’s safe, tries to feel his fingers and toes, or a hint of a cast. Is the pain from training? Or something else? How long has he been drifting? How many times has the darkness of his eyelids felt absolute only to brighten with day?

The longer Izuku spends in the space beneath waking, the more he’s aware of small things. There’s a steady hiss of air, the faintest beep from… somewhere. He feels his toes and how they catch on a crocheted blanket. He feels pain in every breath as his chest expands and an itch that follows like a smile on his ribs. Ribs don’t smile; it’s one of many thoughts that confuse Izuku.

His mouth feels sewn shut, throat sealed, despite the air in his nostrils forcing his chest to move. There’s something locked behind his teeth, a sound of some sort. A scream – why a scream? His jaw aches with the desire to drop at the back to moan out a word that begins with ‘ai.’

Aikiba? Ai – the color of violets? Ai as in together? Ainiku – sorry?

Izuku is always sorry to wind up somewhere hurt.

Ai…

The letterform sits as an aftertaste on Izuku’s tongue. Or maybe that’s bad breath.

He heaves a lung full of air, mentally sending the word out when his mouth refuses to move.

Ai… love you. Aishiteru.

Kacchan.

Izuku blinks his eyes open, closing firmly against the bright sun filtering through the window. His eyes water, and he feels a few tears escape and down the hollow of his neck. His lips part just enough to suck in a sharp breath through his locked teeth.

Izuku loves Kacchan. Where is Kacchan? Is he okay?

He shifts his head achingly slow to around the room. His eyes stare at a pair of empty visitor’s chairs at the foot of his bed, a small side table filled with open cup noodles, and a messy stack of cups. A school blazer is draped across one chair, a backpack partially open with paper spilling out.

Next, Izuku catches sight of a door at the far end of the room, no windows to give insight to the type of hospital he’s in or insight for others that he’s awake.

He drops his gaze, eyes aching and wishing for sleep, and focuses on pale hair pillowed in the arms of a sleeping form. The hair spiky and short, no longer a hint to how explosive the owner’s quirk is. Kacchan wouldn’t style his hair differently unless his hand was forced. Did Kacchan burn his hair? What happened to make him cut it?

What happened to Izuku?

He remembers fighting Firefly, and he remembers realizing he’s in love. He doesn’t remember much past brushing away Kacchan’s hair and Yaoyorozu making the blond hero safe.

Izuku lifts his hand to touch the shortened hair, eyes drifting to the individually bandaged fingers that likely won’t be able to feel the blond strands. His arm screams at the strain, body demanding rest so fiercely, Izuku falls asleep mid-touch.

A stranger is standing at the foot of Izuku’s bed, examining his medical chart.

They wear a long brown trench coat, red velvet vest, and top hat with oversized goggles. A thick leather strap crosses their shoulder, looped through the spine of an oversized hand-bound book with a keyed lock. Izuku is reminded, in his sleepy haze, of a cross between Hastume and Gentle Criminal. This person has the same silver hair and holds himself like Gentle but seems to have the same steampunk look and the same color eyes as the support student.

Izuku’s Danger Sense seeps into his limbs, preparing to fight or flight. How far will adrenaline get him? The way it spreads, Izuku knows this person isn’t an immediate danger, but they have the potential to be.

He wracks his drug-addled mind for an identity that would allow such a stranger to be alone in a hospital with a patient. The figure rests a hand against the railing on the foot of the bed. “Looks like I got you out of there just in time, Midoriya.” The stranger’s voice is deep and sweet. No, not sweet like the candied nitroglycerin of Kacchan. Not sweet at all. Umami would probably be more accurate. “You barely survived that explosion.”

Cracking open his lips feels like deadlifting a building to check for survivors. “What?” Izuku croaks, sounding worse than Shigaraki.

“The explosion on Exit Island.” The stranger looks up from the chart. “You remember, don’t you?”

“I,” He hesitates. “No? Not really?”

The stranger hums, tapping the medical chart against his chin. “That’s okay. It was a very traumatic experience. I’ll visit again when you have your wits about you.”

With that, the stranger strides to the door, carefully placing the chart in its dedicated spot and leaves.

What just happened?

“Midoriya!” Kirishima beams as he leans against Ashido. “So glad to see you awake! We were so worried.”

“Thank you,” Izuku beams at his classmates, all crammed into the small room. He watches Uraraka take a seat in one of the spare chairs, and Asui sits on the armrest with such familiarity he knows those are dedicated spots. Tokoyami surprisingly takes the other seat. Dark Shadow hovering over his shoulder. “How is everyone after everything?”

“I mean, most of us came out unscathed,” Sero shrugs. “It’s your team that things went bad to worse. We have a new island now, so that’s cool – I think.”

“I hear they’re thinking of turning it into some sort of international cultural center – ”

Izuku has half a mind to ask Yaoyorozu who is ‘they,’ but his mind is preoccupied with the sight in front of him.

There’s something not exactly right about everyone in the room. Kacchan avoids the large crowd, as usual, but the differences are so slight, Izuku thinks he’s imagining things. Maybe it’s the painkillers; maybe his brain is addled from sleeping for so long. Asui leans too close to Uraraka, Kaminari is chatting with Ojiro and Sato, Iida looks vaguely timid, looking to Yaoyorozu for answers. Hagakure is the most surprising, flickering in and out of visibility at every wide gesture.

The way they interact is different, and it’s strange. Even their appearance is slightly different than what he remembers. Kirishima’s scar is on the other eye, Izuku thinks. Asui’s hair is cut into a bob, nearly identical to Uraraka’s, but it’s not unusual to cut hair. What is unusual is to grow it. Uraraka’s bob is long and braided neatly to the small of her back. Iida has a scar from his hairline to his brow, one of Ashido’s horns is bent strangely, and Aoyama’s eyes are a different shade of blue.

Izuku doesn’t understand. He feels caught in a lie, but no Danger Sense blooms as it did with the stranger.

It’s the medicine; it has to be.

“You okay, Midoriya?” Jiro asks, one of her earjacks extending to tap Izuku’s covered foot.

“Oh!” Izuku perks, trying for a smile. Aren’t Jiro’s bangs cut in the other direction? “Uh, yeah! Tired, I think. Sorry.”

“Yes,” Yaoyorozu steps up, taking the role Iida typically takes as class representative. “We should let Midoriya rest. I know it’s been a trying time for all of us, and I’m sure he’s glad to see us, but he has a long way to go in healing. Let’s all say our goodbyes.”

“Oh, um, that’s okay. If you want to stay, please do.” He yawns, rubbing sleep from his eye.

“I must insist.” Yaoyorozu presses. One by one, Izuku’s classmates say their goodbyes and disappear into the hallway.

“You look like you’re facing a puzzle you can’t solve.” The stranger enters Izuku’s hospital room, crossing the distance from the door to his bed in four long strides. They sit on the edge of the hospital bed, humming, “You also look like you remember.”

“Maybe I am,” Izuku eyes the stranger warily, Danger Sense humming. “Maybe I do.”

The stranger hums again, yellow eyes apologetic. “So you know something is wrong.” Izuku sits up straighter, his side screaming in protest. “Please, calm down. I apologize. Nothing is wrong technically. It’s simply,” they pause to grimace as if to emphasize distaste for the word, “different.

“Midoriya Izuku, I am the Pro Hero Probability. I’m a teacher at U.A.,” They pull their hero license and teacher card from the inside coat pocket and pass them over. Izuku takes them with shaky hands, scrutinizing them for the barest flaw. “My quirk is called Variation, where I can see into and alter paths of various futures.”

“Nighteye had a prediction quirk too,” Izuku stares at the teacher I.D., frowning. The more he stares, the more familiar the teacher seems. Maybe he’s seen them around Shinsou? He can’t remember.

“Nighteye believed the future couldn’t be changed. He called me a hack and discredited the idea of variable futures,” Probability huffs, bitterness lining every word. “But you, Midoriya Izuku, proved me right. Thanks to you defying Nighteye’s prediction, I now have permission to explore variant realities and find the best way to succeed against Shigaraki.”

“You know this sounds insane, right? A-An-And I’ve seen a lot of insane.” Izuku stammers, handing back the cards.

“And I’ve seen dozens of absurd variants and hundreds more probable.” Probability states seriously. “In every reality I’ve observed, you are the key to failure or success. Every variant I’ve observed, you need more experience and harder training. I think I’ve found the best solution for the reality we’re both from.”

At this, Probability squirms. “This variant’s Midoriya is no longer here. As a result, this reality will fail regardless of what happens.” They reach out, latching a hand to Izuku’s leg, and gives it a hard squeeze. The hero’s yellow eyes look almost teary. “From what I can tell, this Firefly villain will eventually become a major enemy in every reality. I brought you here to gain experience to be better equipped to defeat them. I will drop by from time to time to guide you towards the best variant of success and will bring you back when you’ve gained all you should know.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Izuku furrows their brow at the hero. “And if I go back, how will anyone believe I’ve been here?”

Probability pulls the book slung across their shoulder into their lap, pressing the lock with the metal design on the back of their palm. It opens with a click, and the hero thumbs through the pages until they reach a page with a familiar Pro Hero’s name. “Then let me assure you with Eraserhead’s contingency plan.”

Izuku flexes his fingers, newly unwrapped by a nurse just minutes ago. He doesn’t see many new scars off-hand. Then again, he hasn’t really looked in the mirror and has been bed-bound. The nurse said she’d help move him in an hour when the IV’s are approved for removal.

Three hard knocks on the door make Izuku look up, unsure when the room door opened because Kacchan is there, leaning against the doorframe. Kacchan’s hairstyle makes him look so much older than fifteen. Izuku isn’t sure Probability also jettisoned him into the future.

Love in Izuku’s chest swells, bursting a relieved laugh from his lips, “Hi Kacchan! I’m home.”

Danger Sense explodes behind Izuku’s eyes, temporarily whiting out his vision. One moment Kacchan is in the doorway, and the next, Izuku is taking an explosion to the face smelling like caramel while his face gains the sensation of a sunburn. Kacchan’s hand moves, pinning Izuku against the wall while Izuku’s arms sting from the removed IV’s.

Izuku’s gaze follows Kacchan’s strong arms to bare shoulders and neatly styled hair. His eyes land last on Kacchan’s eyes that burn with a rage he saves for the League of Villains. Izuku feels himself freeze, internally chastising himself for such a rookie mistake, not even a day after Probability visited.

Where his Kacchan held eyes the color of storm warnings and rubies, this Kacchan reminds Izuku of persimmons and campfires. This isn’t the Kacchan Izuku loves. This one might not even know the nickname. The thought hurts Izuku more than it should.

“Who the fuck are you, and why the hell are you here?” Variant Kacchan growls, and damn if that isn’t a hell of a good question. Izuku can only laugh helplessly in response.

Chapter Text

Bakugou holds back a shudder when the boat docks at the Dejima island park. He blames it on a dampness that’s crept in from the sea all around him and an hour of appropriate methods of boat battle engagement. Everyone’s been dunked in the bay half a dozen times by the creepy Seal that tries to be as cutesy as Round Face. It’s disturbing, and Bakugou’s seen Scar Face up close.

It’s irritating that Bakugou and Shitty Hair are the only two in the group that don’t thrive particularly well on open sea. Even Half and Half can make some shitty ice raft to stay afloat. The moment Bakugou submerges with water, his explosions are impossible, and Shitty Hair sinks when his quirk is activated. Shitty Deku spends most of the training floating above the ship, using Blackwhip to keep others from falling in. When they do, Frog Face is underwater to prevent others from drowning.

At least the Seal was able to dry Bakugou’s clothes; otherwise, he’d be shit out of luck with explosions for the day.

Bakugou scans the park, where vague memories press on a dark night where the grass smelled like spring bloom, there was pain in his side and fingers, and shitty tears from everyone – including Deku and Ponytail. He shakes the memory from taking hold and breathes deeply. It’s daytime, and the park is brown and yellow from the organized rubble piles taking up space.

The wind shifts, and Bakugou stiffens, clenching his hands into fists. There’s a difference, he knows, from natural and controlled wind, and this definitely belongs to that irritating bald bastard. Great.

“Todoroki Shouto and Bakugou Katsuki! It is an honor and pleasure to meet you again!” Baldy booms, appearing from behind a pile of broken concrete. Bakugou grits his teeth, growling. Even the bald bastard’s voice is irritating. Is it good sportsmanship to set off an explosion in someone’s face?

He feels a nudge on his shoulder and looks to see damn Deku beside him, sending a look his way as if to chastise and say ‘behave.’ Fuck whatever.

“Yoarashi, is it? I’ve heard so much about you! I don’t think we had a chance to interact during the exam!” Deku cheers, crossing the gap between schools as a peacemaker. Shit. No wonder he’s going to be the next symbol of peace. The fucker makes friends wherever he goes. How does someone trust that easily? How can someone put faith in others so recklessly?

“We’re excited to work with you,” Deku continues, gesturing back to Bakugou and the group. The nerd introduces everyone before pausing to frown. “Wouldn’t it make sense for you to be with the air arrivals with your quirk? It would be a challenge for them if you mimicked weather conditions like hurricanes or extreme wind.”

“Far be it from Yoarashi to listen to sense.” A second annoying Shiketsu student rounds the corner—that shitty-ass blob failure from the exams.

“Shishikura, big fan.” Deku beams, moving to shake the blob failure’s hand. The idiot looks at Deku’s hand disdainfully. This fucker. If Deku reaches out a hand, you take it. No exceptions.

What the fuck irony is this?

“I’m told you’re Shikestu’s top student analyst.” Deku continues. “I’ve read through your analysis of Yoarashi’s and Todoroki’s quirks. They’re really good! Almost pro quality.” Bakugou finds himself smirking. He hears it, doesn’t know if anyone hears it, and doesn’t care. There’s a sharpness to Deku’s cheerful and bright voice. The nerd is determined about something and will wipe the floor with anyone who goes against his beliefs. “But it really is such a shame that they miss such giant holes for potential growth. I mean, that type of oversight is just so unlike all the pro work I’ve seen.”

Bakugou watches as Deku talks with Blob Loser animatedly, all the while the purple-haired idiot looks like he’s getting sucker-punched left and right – the arrogance wiped almost immediately. It’s thrilling to watch Deku fight with words instead of fists since the nerd does it so rarely.

Though, Bakugou notes idly as his smirk dips into a frown, the words are sharper than he remembers, and the aim is more accurate and deadly.

It takes a breath for all of the nerd’s ridiculous variant history to catch up. The next second, Bakugou is moving across the park, yanking Deku back mid-word. Deku isn’t just standing up for his beliefs; Deku is manipulating, gaslighting, verbally hurting with the intent to kill.

Like All for One.

What the fuck did Deku do over there? Four years is too long of a distance to cross. Does Bakugou even know the nerd at all?

“S-Sorry,” Deku rests a hand over Bakugou’s tight grip on his forearm. Is the touch as grounding to the idiot as it is to Bakugou? “I just got really excited. I’m an analysis fan myself, you know?” He laughs, and the self-depreciation is back in full force.

“Excitement in the mundane is a mark of a dedicated hero!” Baldy proclaims as the rest of the boat losers catch up. “But uh,” He gigantic teen glances at the purple-haired loser, “you might have broken him a little bit.”

The way Deku’s muscles stiffen beneath Bakugou’s hand is a silent signal of regret.

“Midoriya has gained experience during his time away that we have yet to understand.” Half and Half offers. What kind of cryptic shit is that?

“Oh yeah?” Baldy grins. “How was it? Intense training? Unlocking ultimate power moves? I am immensely impressed by your quirk’s ability to adapt to wildly new functions. It’s almost like they’re not related at all!”

Bakugou releases Deku, feeling the green-haired hero relax. “Oh, Yoarashi, that’s really flattering. I did train a lot while I was gone; the different skills are really just hard work. Maybe we can spar when there’s free time.” Deku beams with none of the sharpness of earlier. Bakugou feels like a sunflower reaching for the warmth now that it’s gone as the nerd steps away. 

Half and Half warns, “do not take him up on that offer – ”

“I would be honored to fight against the hero that took down the yakuza!” Baldy shouts before turning his gaze to the sky. “U.A.’s air team is attempting to land. Let’s gather for instructions before we begin our rescue assignments.”

Raccoon Eyes looks gray from her time on the helicopter, clutching Flat Face’s hand tightly as she appears one step away from blowing chunks all over Emo Bird’s shoes. So, she’s not good in the air. Bakugou doubts she’d be good in the sea; how many heroes thrive only on land? His gaze lands on Shitty Hair, who’s chatting with Dunce Face.

“Oh Mah Gah!” Bakugou growls at the annoying voice, seeing the Shiketsu Chick slink into the crowd, leading the way for those who arrived by land. “Look at you, I never got to meet you, but you’re so cute!” The brunette wraps her arms around Round Face, squishing their faces together. “I’m told we have met, but I don’t remember, so let’s give this a fresh start. I’m Camie!”

“U-Uraraka Ochako.” Round Face stammers, looking bewildered.

“Oh, and look at that, you’ve got a little frog friend that would look so much cuter with shorter hair, don’t you think?” Shiketsu Chick steps to Frog Face, lifting and dropping the frog heroine’s dark hair repeatedly. “So soft too. How does it not dry out with all the time you spend in and out of water? Look at that; no split ends. I’m sooo jealous. You’ll have to let me braid it while you’re here.”

“Call me Tsu.”

“Attention U.A. and Shiketsu.” Aizawa brings up the rear of the land students. The teacher lectures – he always lectures – and Bakugou vaguely listens. He understands the drill and how it’s a skills assessment, but his mind is elsewhere.

Exit Island is messing up Bakugou’s insides. He feels trapped in a fight, on the verge of death, and perfectly fine. Phantom sensations course up his fingertips, digging through rubble, chest tight because he can’t breathe until Deku breathes. There is an emptiness here, the remains of something shattered and cleaned away.

Bakugou can’t see this island in daytime, no matter how many times he’s returned to help with cleanup efforts. Everything remains in shadow, hiding the villain and Deku, despite the sun high in the sky.

Shitty Hair moves while the hobo speaks, leaning an arm on Bakugou’s shoulder. The gesture isn’t much, but it is grounding, and he finds himself taking slightly deeper breaths.

“You know,” Shiketsu Chick coos, backflipping onto a pile of rubble. “We’ve never actually worked together on things like rescue. How do I know if you’re any good?”

“How the fuck are you good at anything other than making shitty copies of others?”

“They’re not copies! That’s insulting to my imaginative D.I.Y. skills.” She throws her arms out wide. “They’re illusions and help plenty.” At this, she exhales, mist drifting down to create a hero form All Might. “Studies show injured civilians will call out for help if they see a hero they trust.”

“And how is that helpful when the whole damn world hates us?” Bakugou growls, tempted to blast her off her high horse.

“They don’t hate All Might. He went out in a blaze of glory.” She hums. “The last good hero. You got a front-row seat to that, didn’t you?” She tilts her head, finger tapping her cheek. Why was I the one who ended All Might? 

Bakugou throws an explosion at the base of the Shiketsu Chick’s pile as illusion All Might declares, “I am here!”

Fuck this, fuck her, fuck everything.

Bakugou stomps, glaring at the piles for a possible training victim. “Ow! Hey! Be nice!” Shiketsu Chick complains. “I worry about you! I’m just trying to help.”

“Victim bots don’t fall for organic quirks. All you’re doing is drawing attention to the fake ass training villains that haven’t cleared the area.”

“Oh, like your loud and proud explosions are any better!” She huffs, jumping down from her pile, through the All Might illusion to walk beside Bakugou.

“Shut up!” Bakugou bites, throwing his arm out to stop the Shiketsu chick. He hears faint whirring mimicking the cry of a child. “Here.” He points to a less organized pile. It looks like it’s collapsed into itself, and Bakugou is unclear when the collapse happened and if the structure is safe to dig through.

“Oh wow, you can totes hear super well.” Shiketsu Chick looks thoughtful with a finger on her chin. “That hole is too small for even me. Can’t you just, I don’t know,” She extends her arms out in a gesture of Bakugou’s explosions, “boom boom an opening?”

“Ha?” Bakugou glares. “Listen here, shit for brains: there is no fucking ‘boom boom.’ Explosions cause collapse, so unless you know how to cut my explosions by at least seventy-five percent, we ain’t getting the kid out with my quirk.”

Bakugou sours at his words. Cutting his power has never been an issue before; it’s always been an ask to give and give and give until his bones threaten to break. Deku’s gloves from the first night would probably be helpful since they provide an ability for small and more controlled explosions, ideal for rescue and espionage. His frown deepens, thinking of the small mark on shitty Deku’s wrist. Gloves that probably belonged to Variant Bakugou.

“Wow, that was kind of hot,” Shiketsu Chick waves a hand in front of her face, “And also like, vaguely intelligent. I’m impressed. Maybe you can be handsome with your mouth open too.” She hums, dropping to her knees to examine the small opening. “There’s like, a jutted piece of metal on the pile behind me, can you explode it off? I think I can use it here to stabilize the structure.”

Bakugou stomps to the pile, ripping the metal pole from the structure without his quirk. The metal is rusted and stained dark, sending a phantom pain twinging on his side. Surely, any blood would have washed off after all this time in the elements, right? This can’t be his blood. It can’t be.

Shiketsu Chick takes the pole, fitting the object inside, and widens the opening enough to slip her shoulders past. A moment later, she retreats, sitting back on her heels with a bot the size of a toddler held securely in her arms. “Rescue complete.” She grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Bakugou’s eyes remain on stained metal.

“I cannot stress enough how excited I am to finally have fellow hero sisters!” Shiketsu Chick cheers that evening in the second-floor common room of Shiketsu High’s dorms. They’re structured differently than U.A.’s, sorted by class type rather than by each individual class. The dorm room size seems to be the same, but somehow, it feels very cramped. “There are so few girls at Shiketsu, and everyone is so serious that no one is ever willing to share in my interests!”

“I, for one, think there’s just too much testosterone around,” Raccoon Eyes abandons washing dishes to approach Shiketsu Chick by the couches, already surrounded by a handful of U.A. students. “Lay it on me.”

“So, of course, I HAVE to stay on top of all the latest trends,” Bakugou tunes out Shiketsu Chick. He picks up where Raccoon Eyes leaves off, scrubbing dishes as the slow-eating losers leave their plates and bowls near the sink and join the commotion in the common room.

As much as he complains about the damn losers needing to take care of themselves, Bakugou prefers keeping busy to prevent his nerves from escalating. Revisiting Exit Island will always be shitty and stressful. Knowing Baldy will be a dormmate for a few weeks this summer is a spectacular shit show. Maybe something dramatic will happen where they’ll have to cut the training short, just like the camp.

Shitty Deku sidles next to him, taking each dish and scraping any remaining food into a compost bag before setting them beneath the suds of one side of the sink. Once the counter is clear, the nerd moves to Bakugou’s other side, grabbing a cloth to dry and put away the dishes in quiet, methodical care. It’s an action that Bakugou equates with habit, as if Deku’s done this dozens of times before. He fits into Bakugou’s brand of ‘me time’ effortlessly. It’s next-level communication bullshit he knows comes from time in the Variant. They would have gotten here eventually; this affordance of respecting Bakugou’s space is unearned. Bakugou hates it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees shitty Deku tense, features pinching as he laughs. A laugh the nerd doesn’t mean, that’s rare. Bakugou tunes back into whatever noisy chatter is going on. “Oh yeah, I’ve watched a ton of English Rom Coms growing up. Is that really a trend on RipTok?”

“It’s totes a trend, and I’m trying to be the hero that starts the next challenge.” Shiketsu Chick stands on top of a coffee table, looking annoyingly serious. “Everyone’s done the While You Were Sleeping challenge and the Runaway Bride challenge. I just like, don’t know enough about super old English romantic comedies to start my research.”

“Oh!” Deku’s face is still pinched as he brightens. “I know a great one, and it should be easy to stream. It’s pretty popular – ”

“Not that crybaby movie.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, shoving a wet bowl into the nerd’s fumbling hands. The movie in question is one of many the old hag and Deku’s mother watched on far too many ‘girl’s nights’ when Bakugou was younger. Those nights would double as sleepovers with Deku, forcing a friendship that he kept pushing away. Sometimes they’d watch the American movies sent by Deku’s dad overseas, trying to copy the sounds of words. Deku tended to cry at the love bits.

Bakugou finds himself frowning at the memory. Deku’s dad sent the movies from overseas, but if All for One is Deku’s father, then the villain sent movies to keep up a lie. 

Deku gasps, drawing Bakugou out of his darkening thought. The nerd's green eyes are almost teary. “But Kacchan! All she said was ‘Hello!’”

“Dry or get the fuck out of here.”

“Kacchan?” Shiketsu Chick hums the name, leaping from the coffee table and crossing the distance to the kitchen to lean against the counter. “Do you watch Rom Coms too, Kacchan? That’s a super cute name for you. Never would have pegged you for anything cute.” Her gaze flickers to Deku, smile growing wide. “But I totally get that cute follows cute.”

Bakugou growls. Two energetic people should not be able to work together. If Bakugou has to suffer a single night of them conspiring, he’ll set off enough explosions to make himself go deaf.

At your leisure, look for your spaces of peace.

Hound Dog’s session feels like a lifetime ago, but it whispers to the surface as the movie plays in the darkened common room. A good portion of the losers are already asleep, snoring from the early morning and exhausting day of training at Exit Island. Even Shiketsu Chick is passed out, sprawled over Racoon Eyes and Invisible Chick. So much for research on a new trend.

Bakugou sees Deku on the opposite sofa in the glow of the television screen, leaning against the dozing Half and Half, watching the movie with rapt attention while Pink Cheeks threatens to fall over on his other side. Bakugou can think of shittier ways to pass a Friday night.

“You think he’s just going to walk out the door and never know why – ” The chick on the T.V. sobs, turning in her seat to prop up her legs. Damn Deku does the same, moving in sync to lay his legs across Pink Cheeks’ lap, hands pinching to spread out an invisible blanket.

“That’s a chick’s movie.” Deku looks back, grinning as Bakugou gestures throwing grenades as the losers on screen talk about some action movie with explosions like a dumbass weepy chick flick. Bakugou finds himself grinning too, mouthing in time to the extra proclaiming, “Oh god, I love that movie.”

Deku laughs silently, his body shaking so violently that Half and Half moves in his sleep, causing Deku to fall backward in the sudden loss of support. He lands with a thump, startling Pink Cheeks awake when she gets a foot to the face.

Bakugou bursts out in hard laughter as shitty Deku lets out a groan from the floor, both noises rousing the Class A losers from sleep. This may not be peace, but it’s damn well close.

Chapter Text

The morning brings a new location behind the dorms. Bakugou stares out at the large lake bordered by wildly different snapshots of cities. Four or five sliver cities clearly belong to Japan, with iconic landmarks and even a scale Mount Fuji in the distance. Others are from different countries. The skyscrapers and Statue of Liberty are hard to miss, so is the Eiffel Tower sitting among blue rooftops and pale brickwork. Bakugou counts twenty total sliver cities annoyed he can only recognize half.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Berlin,” Ponytail marvels from a few feet away, hands clasped in excitement. “Oh, and look, that almost looks like the Champ-Elysees. Of course, it’s not to scale – is that London? And Dubai? Rio? Nice?” She fans her face, clearly one push away from exploding. “I suppose this makes up for missing my usual family excursions.”

“Oh gosh, I def forget that we’re the only school that has EPCOT.” Shiketsu Chick sidles up, intermingling with the group of U.A. girls.

“EPCOT?” Emo Bird asks. Bakugou feels a headache coming on. Why are pro heroes so lazy when it comes to naming things? First USJ, now EPCOT? What fuck awful acronym did they force this time?

“Espionage, Pursuit, and Covert Operations Training area!” Baldy announces with airy gusto. Of course the fuck it is. Really trying to make that shit fit, huh? “I am terrible here!”

“Yoarashi! Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Shiketsu Chick waves dismissively. “I mean, you are horrible at it, but you’ll get the hang of it. Shiketsu doesn’t start teaching this to second years until after summer break.”

“Um,” Pink Cheeks yawns loudly, appearing with damn Deku and a few straggling extras. “So, I know we’re being taught this, but what exactly is espionage? Haven’t we already done stuff like this in class?”

“You know!” Dunce Face jumps forward, making finger guns. “Bond, James Bond. Bam Bam!”

“Less Bond, more stealth.” Shiketsu Chick chastises.

“So like, a modern-day ninja?” Shitty Hair asks, resting an arm on Bakugou’s shoulder. He’s half tempted to dip away and make the idiot lose balance.

“Except less exciting,” Deku interjects, smile tight as his gaze moves around the group, moving far too quickly from Shiketsu Chick. What the hell is going on there? “It’s mostly a lot of watching and paperwork. On the plus side, you get to say you’re a spy and get to meet all your underground hero idols.”

“Who the fuck has underground hero idols?”

“I do!” Invisible Chick cheers. “They’re why I want to be a stealth hero!”

“Eraserhead is a legend among the underground. Who wouldn’t have him as an idol?” Purple Hair leans against shitty Deku.

“EPCOT is the top clandestine services training facility in Japan. Shiketsu High has a high percentage of graduates that pursue underground hero work.” Aizawa walks into the crowd of students, commanding attention with a few simple words. “Any hero worthy of their license should be able to pass EPCOT’s intelligence-gathering exam. Normally, U.A. waits to introduce covert operations until the third year, but, as you know, circumstances,” The hobo’s gaze drifts to Deku, “and the League of Villain’s advances have forced an accelerated schedule.

“Today, a few students will be demonstrating the exam before we split into teams to go over Covert Ops basics.” Aizawa sighs. “Utsushimi, Midoriya, and Hagakure will be running the course. Utsushimi is Shiketsu high’s top-scoring espionage expert. Midoriya has some experience from his time away, and Hagakure has a natural advantage.”

“But Aizawa-sensei, I don’t even know what all happens in an intelligence-gathering exam.” Invisible Chick stutters, waving her arms and flickering in and out of existence. The movement is disorienting.

“Hagakure, you’re a natural.” Deku smiles, the tightness in his features relaxing a fraction. “You’re going to blow us all out of the water.”

Bakugou watches Shiketsu Chick, Deku, and Invisible Chick take their places in three different Japanese city slivers. Each sliver has half a dozen screens flipping through camera angles, one trained on a student at any given moment. A bunch of extras fill the city mockups, acting out a facsimile of an average day. Are these extras students from Shiketsu high? Volunteers? Teachers? Paid Actors? Exactly what kind of upkeep does this training facility need if it must keep a stock of people?

Shiketsu Chick is flipping through her phone, Deku’s purchasing a pencil bag and notebook at some stationery store, and Invisible Chick is pacing at the front of the fake city. Bakugou watches Deku laugh at something the cashier says, gratefully taking the receipt as he moves to exit the store.

“Each student must complete a set of tasks to pass the exam,” Aizawa says, staring up at the screens. “Complete a dead drop, lose a tail, gather three information tokens, take out a minimum of three cameras, follow someone for at least thirty minutes, and make it back here without getting caught.” Bakugou counts the tasks. Most people have a hard time following three tasks under duress, and this is double.

“In covert operations, often a hero will be without contact or assistance for extended periods. Sometimes it’s a few hours; sometimes it’s a few years. They need to be able to function and pursue dozens of unrecorded tasks as an effective asset. Six things to do is nothing in comparison to the pro world.” Aizawa answers the class’s unasked question.

After a breath, the hobo announces the start, and nothing happens. Well, Invisibility Chick scrambles for the sliver city, but the crowds remain in motion, living ordinary days. Deku and Shiketsu Chick are already part of the crowd.

“Aizawa-sensei’s announcement is a misnomer,” Blob loser comments from a distance, eying Bakugou with disdain. “In espionage, you blend in before receiving the order to begin. If you start at the announcement, you’re already lagging behind. This level of skill is already apparent between Utsushimi and Midoriya.”

Bakugou searches the screen, picking out Invisible Chick almost instantly, despite being mostly invisible. She bumps into the crowd, drawing attention with a distinct impression that she doesn’t belong. Shiketsu Chick is harder, though she blends in by sticking out, taking selfies at different angles, and texting – is she texting?

“Utsushimi has gathered two of the three tokens,” Blob Loser notes as Shiketsu Chick laughs on screen.

“Midoriya just completed the dead drop,” Aizawa announces, forcing Bakugou to look at a different set of screens. He looks for green eyes, green hair, and obnoxious red shoes. He expects the yellow backpack to complete the traffic light fashion statement the nerd dares to pull every day.

“Aw man, and I missed it?” Shitty Hair moans.

Bakugou finds the red shoes before the green hair as the nerd leans into a plant display, hair blending in seamlessly with the leaves. “Hagakure gathered one token.”

Bakugou feels the tension in the air but, there’s not a whole lot to watch. There’s a lot of wandering, lots of leaning and looking and waiting. At one point, Shiketsu Chick buys a crepe from a street vendor. At another, shitty Deku falls in step with a group of three, chatting about a supposed hero that dropped in the area the sliver replicates. Before Bakugou knows it, most of the tasks are complete.

“Following is the hardest part,” Aizawa lectures as Bakugou drifts his gaze from screen to screen. “You need to keep an appropriate distance to not draw attention to yourself. The thing is, appropriate distance is different in every case. The tail might be paranoid, so you’ll need to loosen your distance and risk losing them. Others might watch the tail, and getting too close may set off a chain reaction. Or the tail may be utterly oblivious, which is often the most dangerous of all. Follow Utsushimi.”

Bakugou looks at three screens, all with Shiketsu Chick at different angles. She looks at a window display on the way to a street corner, pauses to buy a drink at a vending machine, takes a picture, and texts. It’s irritating because she looks like a typical girl doing dumb girl things. She’s wasting time, not taking the test seriously, and –

Blending in.

Who would expect a dumbass chick having a day on the town to tail some nobody?

The hobo says as much, lecturing how tailing someone requires a heightened sense of self-awareness. “It’s difficult, but not impossible, to work on covert missions like these when you’ve debuted in the spotlight.” Bakugou watches as Shiketsu Chick marks the completion of her task.

“I’ll ask this once,” Aizawa says, “Where is Midoriya?”

Bakugou blinks, scanning Shiketsu Chick’s screens to see her on two of the six. He skims through Deku’s and sees nothing but crowds. One screen has the blurred silhouette of a bunny with barely discernable information around the edges. He doesn’t see green hair or red shoes, just crowds and crowds of people that seem to be thickening by the minute.

Deku is missing. Deku is gone.

Bakugou’s fingers stiffen, throbbing at the knuckles as he looks to the third set of screens where Invisible Chick’s been slapped with a large sticker on her back that says ‘failed’ in big red letters. The crowd in her city sliver is dispersing, some into Deku’s city and others off-camera.

Where the fuck is Deku?

He searches the screens for what seems like hours. Shiketsu Chick winks at every camera she dismantles, one step closer to completing her test.

“That was so hard!” Invisible Chick cries out, arriving back on the observation platform and throwing her arms around Frog Face and Pink Cheeks while a Shiketsu High extra follows quietly. “I think I did okay, but I really have a lot to learn.”

“I’m glad you’re alright, ribbit.” Frog Face agrees. “You didn’t happen to see Midoriya, did you? He’s not on camera. Did he get caught?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. I was escorted back by a Shiketsu High student, so I didn’t really see.”

“Escorted?” Blob Loser perks up at the words, but his tone carries disbelief. “We don’t have classmates to spare to escort a potential hero to the starting line.” He sneers.

“These hats are really comfortable, you know?” Bakugou turns abruptly to see shitty ass Deku remove the Shiketsu High hat. “I’m surprised it fit my head.” He flips the hat upside down, examining the inside. “Give my regards to Ishikawa, Shishikura.” He tosses the hat at Blob Loser, who is too stunned to catch it.

Bakugou’s hackles rise because Deku doesn’t look like Deku.

He does in the sense that he’s made minimal changes. Dark green hair is powdered black, smudged freckles taking up even more of his dumbass face with a big black dot on the edge of his lips. But he looks like a different person. Maybe it’s something with the eyes. Shitty Deku seems to be looking at the past and not who stands before him. He must have learned all his tricks over there. Who did he learn from? Where is he looking?

“Where are your shoes, Midoriya?” Aizawa asks with a sigh.

“Right! Um,” Deku startles, looking at the hobo and then at his socked feet. “Well, to disappear, you need to hide your most distinguishing features. And uh, for me, it’s green hair, freckles, and red shoes. I got a bag during my dead drop, and I put the shoes inside. My tail would be looking for red shoes, not socks, so it was pretty easy to get away after that.”

The nerd leans forward, running his fingers through his mess of curls, patting out the black powder. “How do I look?” He asks when he straightens, face smudged with powder and whatever he drew on his face. He looks like the aftermath of an explosion, down to the helpless smile Bakugou wants to punch.

“Today’s course was mad easy. You get me?” Shiketsu Chick plucks the hat off the ground and stacks it on top of the one she’s already wearing. “I doubled back so many times to make sure there wasn’t someone stalking me.” She turns to face Insivisible Chick and Deku. “Oh Ma Gah! How come no one told me you’d look like a total hottie with darker hair?” The chick practically leaps into Deku’s arms.

Shitty Deku laughs, face pinching once more, and is quick to put an arm’s length of distance. “So, be honest, how’d everyone do on the course?” Shiketsu Chick leans over Invisible Chick before skipping to the screens, watching the playback. “Hagakure! You were sooooo close! Maybe smash the cameras in a less predictive pattern next time. Deku! You’re a natural! I’ve never seen someone be this good right out of the gate.”

“Oh! No,” Damn Deku waves his hands dismissively. “I had a lot of training I had to learn in a short time.” Bakugou feels the mood of the observation area shift as the class collectively remembers this Deku is four years older. There is still so much Bakugou doesn’t know about the nerd’s time away.

“I’m like, way jealous. We don’t learn effective disguise techniques until the fall.” Shiketsu Chick pouts. “But, you know, Stickers on cameras are so old school. I’m impressed.”

Aizawa commands attention once more. “Our remaining time here will be split between rescue and covert operations. I expect each of you to pass the intelligence-gathering exam by the time we leave.”

Hours later, Bakugou finds himself wandering the streets of New York with Deku. The hobo had taught the basics of covert operations alongside a Shiketsu teacher before splitting the class into groups of two, rotating them between partners and city slivers.

“How many hats?” Deku asks, staring straight ahead as some extra bumps the nerd’s shoulder. Bakugou thinks he sees something slip into the nerd’s grip. A brush pass. What kind of game are these people running?

“Who cares?” Bakugou growls. What does it matter if people wear hats or not? Knowing if there’s a threat or ally in the crowd is what counts.

The nerd trudges ahead, looking once at his phone as if to confirm directions. “It’s important.” Damn Deku says instead. “If you notice the hats, you count the heads. If you count the heads, you determine how many civilians are close by. If you determine the proximity of danger, you can – at a glance – tell what can become a defense or offensive weapon at any given moment.”

Bakugou mulls over the words, refusing to look around to count the damn hats. The hobo said to first and foremost notice everything. Notice how New York is painfully free of plant life. Notice how the smell of wet concrete overrides every other smell, how light reflects off low windows this time of day. Notice the way Deku’s hair waves in greeting when they pass a wind tunnel or how the smattering of freckles is stark against pale skin under the summer sun. Notice, Bakugou’s mind presses, how Deku’s smile is on him with green eyes alight, alive, and full of wonder.

Deku, the wonder boy.

“How many hats, Kacchan?” The tease in Deku’s voice is like cider in the winter, smooth and hot with a slight kick as it warms Bakugou’s bones.

“Twenty-three,” Bakugou answers, unthinking. “Twenty-four.” He watches as Deku pulls on another fucking Shiketsu hat. Where the hell does he keep getting them? “How many,” Bakugou wracks his brain for some mundane and obscure object. For an American street, it lacks cars, and the bags slung around the shoulders of men and women are inordinately large. Someone passes wearing earbuds with one tucked into the collar of their shirt. “Dumbass headphones?”

“Seventeen,” Deku brushes past a woman who looks strangely like Shiketsu Chick but with darker hair. “Nine were the in-ear variety.” Bakugou frowns. He has no idea if Deku’s telling the truth or not. “How many wedding rings?”

Bakugou feels himself tense as a hollow sensation settles in his chest.

Chapter Text

Homework for the night is practicing the Brush Pass technique, which is the biggest pain in the ass. Brush passing requires using the palm of the hand to hide things, if only for a moment. It’s near impossible when Bakugou’s hands sweat a little and make the object volatile with every attempt. While Bakugou can sweat on command, he can’t keep the action entirely at bay.

“Kacchan,” Deku calls after the losers are forced to burn the fifth object and prepare a sixth. “The gloves I gave you should help.”

Those shitty souvenirs. Dumbass gloves Bakugou packed for camp and immediately shoved to the bottom of his bag after learning about Variant Bakugou. No way in hell is Bakugou using Katsuki’s things.

Deku moves across the room to stand beside him. “They’re not,” The nerd waves for the losers to start practicing without him. Those damn green eyes look at Bakugou like they know what he’s thinking. “Those were designed for you and only you.”

Bakugou watches five complete passes, though both Shiketsu Chick and Deku call out three for being too obvious. Why does shitty nitroglycerin have to get in the way?

He stomps down the hall to his room, slamming the door open and rummaging through his nearly empty pack. Tucked in the bottom corner are the gloves, small and unassuming.

“It’s not like they’ll fit.” He grumbles, pulling on one and then the other. Except they do, and they fit exceedingly well. Air still passes through the back of the glove, cooling hands, so he doesn’t sweat excessively. The pad beneath his palms is on the thick side, but he can sense small storage pockets for the sweat. Curiously, Bakugou lays a finger on a strip of texture that sits on the back of the glove. He swipes forward, and the fingers of his gloves disappear, fabric stopping just before his first knuckle. Frowning, he brushes the strip backward, watching the fingers of the glove reform. He pulls it back even more, and the wrist guard unravels and wraps around his arms in a black and orange compression sleeve. They feel better than his hero costume. “What the hell?”

Bakugou swipes at his glove until they’re fingerless once more and returns to the second-year common room with a slam. “Pass,” He demands, glaring as the losers are called out again by Shiketsu Chick. “Now.”

“That’s hardly discrete, you know?” Shiketsu Chick leans over the back of the couch with a pout.

“Dude, are you sure?” Dunce Face asks. “You kind of ruined the last few.”

“What makes you think I’ll do it now, idiot?” Bakugou shakes a fist at the blond. The Pikachu yelps and hides behind Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes.

“It’s fine, everyone!” Deku laughs, pulling the tension from the room. “Ashido ruined a couple too. We all have to learn. Let’s give it a go.”

The room sets itself in motion again. Deku calls out Pink Cheeks when she fails to properly pass to Emo Bird in another group. Shiketsu Chick chides Racoon Eyes’ pass to Shitty Hair. Words of encouragement filter through the air when a small piece of paper makes its way into Bakugou’s hand.

“Kirishima, that was so bad.” Shiketsu Chick complains. “You were doing so well. What happened?”

By the time she finishes, the paper is in Dunce Face’s possession, nitroglycerin-free. Bakugou is half tempted to crow in triumph.

“Kacchan, you didn’t do so great either.” Shiketsu Chick coos.

“Don’t call me that shitty name!” He snaps.

“Why? It’s cute.”

“Fuck off.”

When everyone can brush pass successfully three times, Shiketsu Chick and Deku decide to up the difficulty.

“Who passes with their left hand?” Deku asks, moving around the room with the class. It’s a distraction tactic, and everyone knows he’s gotten good at those in his time away.

“Uh, um,” Pink Cheeks starts, missing her pass entirely. A hundred yen coin drops to the ground.

“Aoyama,” Glasses is quick to respond, picking up the coin and handing it to Pink Cheeks. If they’re going to make out, leave already.

“Does anyone have a crush on anyone here?” Shiketsu Chick asks, bringing the entire class of losers to a halt to stare at her wide-eyed. “What are you doing? Shoo, keep passing. Even if it is shocking, you gotta, like, be in control of the sitch, you know?”

“We should totally make a game out of this!” Raccoon Eyes jumps up and down. “Truth or Dare: Brush Pass Style! If you have the paper, you have to answer a truth or dare, and when you do, you get to ask a truth or dare to whoever you brush pass to! If you can’t pass successfully, the person you tried to pass it to gets to ask you another truth or dare. It’ll be fun! Come on! Let’s spice it up!”

Bakugou would rather host a book club with Baldy than play the shitty game, but when most of the class agrees, Bakugou has little choice. He needs to surpass Deku’s covert skills, and if playing a shitty game will get him there, so be it.

“Truth or Dare,” Invisible Chick asks, her yellow slip of paper still visible when she slides it into Deku’s hand.

“Truth,” Deku answers quickly. The game has petered out some, from purposely distracting with demanding shocking truths or outrageous dares to lame easy questions the others can answer mid pass.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Camie said, crushes and stuff. So, have you ever been in love? Like real love, not like a crush or anything.”

Some losers slow as their gazes turn to the nerd. Deku beams, brilliant and warm, a confident confirmation without words. When? Who? Why? Who could elicit such a look from the freckled hero when the next closest expression is the nerd’s blind admiration of Bakugou?

“Yes,” The smile grows wider.

Deku passes off the paper, asking a question Bakugou doesn’t hear or the question after that. The next thing he knows, the paper is back in Deku’s hand.

“Is it someone in this room?” Frog Face asks; her face drifts to Purple Hair, then Pink Cheeks. Bakugou feels his shoulders tense as he waits for a response.

“Also yes,” Deku doesn’t look at anything in particular when he answers. No clues to the mystery person in a class of extras and one Shiketsu Chick. Could Deku’s weird reactions to her mean that he’s in love?

Bakugou isn’t surprised the paper winds back in Deku’s grasp.

“What is love to you?” Half and Half asks, features blank like the damn robot he is. Raccoon Eyes lets out a frustrated sigh, mumbling something about a wasted question.

“Kacchan’s mom says that love is having someone who annoys you, and you’re not mad about it.” Deku offers with a shrug.

“That explains a lot of Bakugou’s personality, actually.” Shitty Hair mumbles to Bakugou’s right. Bakugou punches the redhead in the arm with a growl.

“Don’t pass this off to me,” Pink Cheeks chides, blatantly pushing the paper back into Deku’s grasp. “You didn’t answer the question. That’s what Bakugou’s mom says. What do you say, Deku?”

Deku’s face pinches as he stands still, frowning at the paper in his hand, the pretense of homework forgotten. “Love is,” He huffs, closing his hand into a fist. “Love is,” He lifts his gaze, pleading. “I mean, I’m not going to make a lot of sense. It’s going to sound weird.”

Round Face encourages him to continue. Deku sighs, running a hand through his green curls.

“Love is what makes heroes into heroes, you know? And it’s also what makes villains into villains. When you’re in love with someone, they’re your symbol of everything. Peace, victory, life, whatever, and you’d do anything to make sure that symbol stays strong. Anything.” Deku stares at his shoes, opening his palm to drop the crumpled piece of paper to the ground.

“I think,” The nerd hesitates, flicking his gaze for a split second to Bakugou. In that one brief moment, Deku’s eyes look as pale as mint, bright with pain and fear and – Bakugou understands only upon reflection – love. “I’m going to call it a night.”

“Covert Operations is one of the hardest things hero must learn.” Aizawa’s voice chimes through the earpieces as Bakugou, Deku, Half and Half, and Flat Face walk through some European-styled city. “Heroes are inclined to help and defend, and it’s often we’re forced to go against our instincts and ignore for the sake of the greater good. More than any other pro, underground heroes must have strong morals to ground them when a mission requires them to turn a blind eye. Because sometimes turning a blind eye provides an opportunity to end a greater evil, not turning a blind eye might create unnecessary casualties.

“This, of course, in no way mitigates guilt.” Aizawa continues. Bakugou watches Deku stiffen slightly, though his smile remains wide and greeting as extras pass them through the streets. “If we look back on recent missions, if Midoriya had rescued Eri on the day he met her, there was a chance he would have been killed in cold blood, along with any civilian in the street as a witness. Sometimes, we have no choice but to let bad things happen. It does not make us any less of the hero we aim to be.”

The hobo mentions damn Deku dying like it’s nothing, as if a life can be easily thrown away. Though, with the amount of death and destruction Bakugou’s seen in the past year, it’s a miracle heroes stay alive this long. Bakugou has seen heroes thrown through multiple buildings and get up like it was nothing one day and another day, get hit in the right wrong way, and get paralyzed for life. Staying alive is a gamble of chance, and all the training in the world can stack the cards in a hero’s favor for so long.

“Espionage is taking advantage of chance and circumstances, then making some of your own. There is no room for hesitation, no room for ‘off days,’ no room for doubt.” Aizawa says. “This isn’t new information; if you haven’t learned this by now, I would have expelled you a long time ago.”

Deku barks a laugh.

“This is no laughing matter. How many striped shirts, Midoriya?”

“Three, four including Sero.” Damn Deku answers easily.

“Where’s your target?”

“Todoroki is following closely. Kacchan and I are following as backup. We’re drifting back should the target change direction or notice his tail.”

Bakugou hears Aizawa change channels, probably to quiz the other losers around EPCOT. He bites back the urge to track down the target and beat the shit out of them. He understands the need to be covert, but Bakugou has never been interested in fighting villains that act like monsters in the closet or criminals smuggling quirk enhancers in teddy bears. Sure, get the bad guys off the street, but when they’re secretive as fuck, how does anyone know they’ve got the right guy? How does anyone know a case is on endgame if there’s not some huge explosive battle?

“Covert operations are nice,” Deku says, pausing at a street corner to take a photo of a sculpture embedded into the side of a building. “Especially when you don’t want to be in the limelight. They’re also a great compromise if you’re injured and don’t want to be put on desk duty.”

“I’m going to be number one.” Bakugou glares.

Deku nods in agreement, plastered smile as irritating as ever. The damn nerd opens his mouth to say something when Aizawa clicks back into Bakugou’s earpiece. His tone implies he’s on all channels teaching again.

“When you’re a pro, whether you’re in the spotlight or underground, you will need to learn these techniques defensively or offensively. If you think this training does not matter, you are naively mistaken.” There’s a bite to the hobo’s voice, irritated like he just finished a lengthy argument. “If you choose to be underground, this training will be in your everyday work life. If you choose to be in the spotlight, especially if you’re anywhere in the top one hundred heroes, these techniques will be your every waking moment in your private life. Friends and paparazzi will monitor every move you make. Going undetected to run to the store will be a blessing. Your training applies to more than your hero persona; it should apply to all aspects of your life.”

“We’re up,” Sero says through the earpiece as the hobo continues to lecture. Deku crosses the street, opening a nondescript door as if it were his home. He holds it open long enough for Bakugou to bristle through.

“What’re we looking at?” Bakugou grumbles, trading out his usual civilian stomps in favor of the confident, controlled strides he uses in hero costume. His footsteps make the faint taps as he walks up the stairs.

“Fourth floor unoccupied. Can confirm target and Todoroki are heading away.”

“Fun,” Deku hums from behind. When Bakugou looks back, the nerd is fidgeting with his hands. For someone annoyingly cool under pressure during his test the day before, the nerd’s been strangely off his usual quality of work.

“Most of you are attempting your first break-in; remember: If you’re going to do this, always look for a way to leave no trace. Some people keep windows open or stay in places with old locks. Sometimes you can con your way in, and sometimes, you’ll need to force it. When you do, leave a trace that can’t be connected to you.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Don’t explode the building, Bakugou.” Half and Half replies flatly.

“Don’t encase the target in ice, Todoroki.” Damn Deku teases.

“Don’t break any bones, Midoriya.” Sero laughs. Bakugou groans; how the hell did he get stuck with a group of idiots?

Bakugou reaches the third floor when Aizawa begins lecturing on door anatomy for break-ins, what to look for in terms of age, what can leave trace evidence, signs of forced entry, quality of door, and type of locks. Ears describes her door, followed by Glasses and Ponytail. It might be the dumbest thing he’s ever learned at U.A.. And that’s saying something since he once sat through a lecture where All Might insisted that Iron Man was the best quirkless hero to ever live. He had to be corrected by both students and teachers that Iron Man is and always will be fictional.

When Bakugou sees the door, he catalogs the anatomy. The door looks slathered in paint, a sign of an older building whose landlord does the cheapest amount of upkeep on high-quality wood, which means a high probability of minimal security. The hinges do not face the outside, which means he can’t tap the bolts and call it a day. The gap between the door and the frame molding hints the doorknob is the only lock. Bakugou could break the door, but it would create noise, and he doesn’t know if the apartment neighbors are home.

Damn Deku slips past, kneeling before the door and messing with the black objects in his hand. He slips them both into the keyhole of the door, wiggling his wrist as he taps inside. Fucking lockpicking.

“One,” He puffs quietly at the door, face serious like he’s in the middle of synthesizing one of his creepy analyses.

“How do I know you’re not just creeping into people’s rooms at night?” Bakugou glares.

“You don’t learn a lot about people when they’re sleeping.” That is the creepiest non-answer Bakugou’s ever received. What the fuck, Deku? “Two,” The nerd mumbles, “three.”

“So, is that a no or – ” Flat Face asks. “Target has paused. Hold back, Todoroki.”

“Four is set, five.” Bakugou hears an audible click as Deku stands, opening the door like he had the key from the very beginning. “If they’re paused, there’s a chance they’ll turn around. Let’s hurry.”

“Midoriya, that doesn’t answer the question, do you creep into people’s rooms at night?” Flat Face presses.

“I’ve never done it for non-mission purposes.”

“But you have done it.” Bakugou narrows his eyes, picking his way through the mostly bare apartment. Deku flaps a dismissive hand at him.

“Clandestine services and all that. I bet you Aizawa-sensei has done the same a million times.”

“Focus,” The hobo chides. “By now, your key follower has been noticed. This is nothing on your skills as an operative but a test of what to do in counter-surveillance. What steps do you take to maintain the lead on your target while losing the lead someone has on you?”

“Abort?” Sugar Man questions.

“Double down,” Raccoon Eyes’ voice is daring.

“Continue as planned,” Emo Bird states flatly. “The easiest way to draw attention to darkness is to move it. We maintain our lead and assess our areas for escapes, should our cover be blown.”

“Correct.”

Bakugou steps into a new room where a solitary safe stands grand and imposing in the center. He waves in Deku as Flat Face announces the target is turning around. They’ll have three minutes, at the most, to get the item and go without a trace. Deku furrows his brows at the sight, his slight smile frozen.

“Well?” Bakugou growls. “What the hell are you waiting for? Get your picks, and let’s go.”

“Kacchan, that’s a Miyamoto safe,” The nerd says as if it means anything. “You’ve got to be, I don’t know, Camie or Eraserhead to break that in the time we have. I’d need days to figure it out.”

“So that’s a no,” Bakugou glares. “Good to know you’re still useless. We have to leave a trace then.” He looks around the empty room, stomps towards the door, and looks back into the sparse living room. Annoyingly, there aren’t any tools lying around, which means these criminals aren’t complete idiots.

Bakugou curls his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching as he tries to figure out what to do. Could they take the safe with them? No, that’d be conspicuous. What about dropping the safe to the ground floor? Even a shitty Miyamoto can’t withstand gravity, right?  Deku could kick it open, but his distinctive kicks may leave a trace or destroy whatever’s inside.

Fuck all of this; why can’t he just blow it all to hell?

Sweat pools in his clenching palms differently than usual, causing Bakugou to stare down at his hands. He’s still wearing those dumbass slim fit gloves for brush passes. What is it the nerd said he could do with this? Mini explosions? Bakugou sure as hell isn’t known for anything small.

He stomps back into the room, swiping at the gloves till they cover his fingers. He presses a hand around the dial, willing his fingertips to heat and spark, tremors of miniature explosions wracking up his arm.

Flatface calls out the target is a couple of blocks away, not enough time to get down the stairs unrecognized. Bakugou pushes the fingertip-sized explosions through the lock and yanks the door open, glaring at the contents inside. A manila folder and a colorful drawing by Eri with the words ‘you did it’ surrounded by crudely drawn cats and rainbows.

“Oh, that’s so cute; we’ll have to thank her,” Deku says, picking up the contents, flipping through them at a glance. He stops on one page, picks out a small black device with his knuckles, and tosses it to the floor. He tucks the drawing inside the folder, then the folder into the waistband of his jeans, dropping his shirt to cover the item. The nerd takes two strides to the balcony door, kicks it open with the barest bit of green lightning arcing up his leg, and leans against the railing as he waits for Bakugou to follow.

“One minute,” Sero announces. “They’re closing in on Todoroki. I’ll go extract.”

“We should probably go help with that,” Deku says with a sheepish grin, “ready?”

“Someone’s gotta get those fuckers out of trouble.”

After the annoying morning training at EPCOT, Aizawa directs the class of losers through Shiketsu’s halls to a spare classroom near the top floor. He lectures at length about hero ethics, something they all learned as first years.

Even though the class seems remedial, the shit feels brand new with Deku in the classroom. The seat behind Bakugou has been empty and silent for months. Now it’s full of noise once again, from the fidgeting to the scratching of pencil on paper. Every word the hobo says can be compared to all the battles Bakugou has faced. They’re painted fresh, in overly saturated colors, as Bakugou compares them against the shortened training camp and this summer session starting with Shiketsu.

The sound of writing stops behind Bakugou, Deku’s sigh nearly masking it completely. There’s a gentle tap of setting the pencil aside, a creak of a chair to signal a body moving forward, and a slight tickle of hair brushing against Bakugou’s back. A shiver races up his spine.

Bakugou reviews his notes, looking for what would make the damn nerd stop and deem the information too unimportant to copy. Or maybe too crucial that it doesn’t need to be rewritten.

Individual ethics are not laws. When acting as a hero, an individual is perceived as law, regardless of whether they act upon it.

Bakugou frowns at the words. He understands what it means since he had to beat the terminology into Shitty Hair’s head last year.  But every time he returns to the statements, it gets less black and white and instead, more gray. Because, what happens when a hero doesn’t act with the law? What if the law goes against the hero’s ethic? What does a person do when they must be a villain to be a hero? Where do ethics fit into that?

How do ethics fit into reality jumping and time differences? How does it justify Deku being gone – Deku being punished in alternate realities, unable to be happy for four years?

How the fuck does greater good, and all that bullshit fit into that?

Bakugou thinks back to the night the shitty nerd admitted to being the hell offspring of All for One. That shit smile he’ll never forget.

How, Bakugou mulls the question, setting aside his pencil and leaning until his back barely touches the nerd’s head.

Again, he thinks to that shitty smile, but this time it comes with Deku’s answer: I’ve been wondering about that myself.

Chapter Text

Bakugou dives for the ground, rolling to his feet and using the momentum to swing his leg out to catch against Shitty Hair. The idiot tumbles back, slamming into Pink Cheeks, who acts as an immovable force for others to test their quirks against.

“Dark wings!” Emo Bird shouts, the two Dark Shadows wrapping around the short teen to form large clawed wings. Emo Bird launches into the air, dodging Frog Face’s tongue, then shitty Half and Half’s jutted iceberg. Sugar Man roars as he barrels through the iceberg with Flat Face whipping out several strands of tape at once to catch the pieces in a net.

It’s chaos, but it’s the kind Bakugou can get behind.

He ducks, just in time to miss Dunce Face’s new ultimate move Zeus’ Bolt, where the idiot can harness his electricity like a javelin and throw it. At least he’s not making himself stupid every five seconds. Ears knocks into Dunce Face as she dodges a kick from Tail, a pairing probably formed from that disaster of a training camp game.

“Time! Gather up!” Aizawa’s voice carries over the gym, slowing everyone to a stop. They’ve been at shitty Shiketsu for about a week, a new schedule forming from the chaos. Mornings are filled with training enhanced quirks, while afternoons alternate between EPCOT and Exit Island. Bakugou can barely keep up switching between espionage protocol and rescue protocol; he doubts the rest of the losers are fairing half as well.

It takes a few minutes to gather all the heroes in training in front of the hobo. Deku and Purple Hair are last, coming from the far side of the gym, both looking a little worse for wear.

“You’ve worked hard,” The hobo says by way of greeting, “Things are only going to get harder from here on in. This week, you’ve been given the luxury of exploring your enhanced quirk at your own pace.

“After lunch, we’ll be heading back to EPCOT for a mock intelligence-gathering exam. Those who fail will stay behind and train your cover skills with third-year Shiketsu High students. Those who pass will be heading to Exit Island for five nights of rescue training and rebuilding efforts.”

Bakugou is torn. On the one hand, he’s not a failure, so he better damn well pass that exam. On the other hand, he’d do almost anything not to be back at that shitty island.

Fail or revisit nightmare island? It doesn’t seem to be much of a choice.

“Before you break, get your task list and memorize it. You won’t have it once the exam begins.”

“Oh, I hope I do better this time,” Invisible Chick moans.

The fucking task list comes with aliases.

Alias: Mori Kosuke

What kind of sick joke of a name is this? The characters practically spell out a “Rising Sun in the Forest.” Bakugou sees blue flames on tree trunks when he closes his eyes. What a shitty fucking name.

Allies:

Yaoyorozu Momo | Alias: Sato Hikari

Ashido Mina | Alias: Takahashi Ryouko

Tokoyami Fumikage | Alias: Tonoma Hayo

Enemies:

Iida Tenya

Todoroki Shouto

Kaminari Denki

Task List:

• Complete a Brush Pass with Takahashi
• Lose an enemy tail
• Gather three information tokens
• Tail Tsuyu Asui

Deku isn’t on his allies list. Strange. Deku is back for two weeks, and he’s slowly being taken from Bakugou’s grasp. First, it was the rescue exercise with Sugar Man, then it was constantly pairing up with Shiketsu losers for covert ops, and again – with this mock exam – Bakugou is Deku-less. It’s irritating.

He memorizes the sheet. It’s not much to remember, but he has a feeling the hobo will quiz for details.

He’s placed in the city sliver that’s supposed to be in the middle of the Harajuku district. Bakugou would recognize these brands anywhere. He glares at the clothes displayed in store windows, already old by a few seasons. Bakugou thought the school would keep up with real-time trends in the city.

He shuffles into the city, looking for a shop that at least seems vaguely interesting. Meat Blob said the actual start of a covert ops test is a misnomer; it begins in the setup. The hobo didn’t say anything against the surprisingly helpful advice.

Bakugou eyes a shop filled with mostly black clothes and steps inside, browsing through the racks. He’s unclear if he’s allowed to buy anything, but it’s worth a shot. Maybe he can do something to disguise his iconic hair.

“Start,” Aizawa says over comms. Bakugou replays the list in his head. Brush pass with Raccoon Eyes, three information tokens, follow Frog, and ditch Glasses, Dunce Face, or Half and Half when the time comes. Easy.

Bakugou purchases a couple of items, a strange experience because the cashier passes him a credit card with a U.A. sticker slapped on top to use. Once the items are ‘paid’ for, he leaves, pretending he’s on the search for food.

Or, at least, that’s Shikestu Chick’s advice for looking inconspicuous in the field.

“Like, that’s Modeling 101. When people ask you to look like you’re in love or look sultry or sexy or whatever, think about your favorite food and how you can’t wait to take your first big bite!” Shiketsu Chick said over dinner after half the class failed at blending into a crowd.

“Helps too, because people get suuuuuuper focused when it comes to eating, and if you get caught, you have an excuse. They’ll be like, ‘what are you doing here?’ and you can totes get away with like, ‘Oh, I just saw this RipTok trend that a café around here has ombré waffles with glittered strawberries’ and they’ll let you go. And by the way, if you do find that café, tell me, it’s like RipTok’s best-kept secret, and it’s killing my vibe for not knowing.”

Bakugou’s head hurts from remembering the asinine words, but he can’t discredit it completely. The class dramatically improved the next day. So, food; he must pretend he wants food.

His gaze travels over shop signs, mostly expensive brand names whose quality is shit, then to the bustling crowd. He plucks a bright blue information token from a passing stranger, then another sitting on top of a trash can.

Next, Bakugou passes through a busy intersection, Racoon Eyes moving the opposite way, and a small square object winds up in his hand. He pauses once to look at his phone near a café, feigning to look at the menu as he swipes another information token off a lamppost.

Glasses is hot on Bakugou’s heels. He hasn’t exactly been subtle for the past few minutes, out of sync from the crowd around him and not remotely any level of fashionable. The old hag would declare Glasses a tragedy or nuclear off-limits, though Bakugou thinks that’s giving nuclear disasters too much credit to the class president’s wardrobe nightmare. He doesn’t even allow his brain to process the outfit and quickly moves away.

Bakugou weaves through the crowd, annoyed by the sheer volume of people in such a small city sliver and situating himself in-between a tight cluster of tourists. He pulls on a headband to brush back the hair from his forehead, followed by a black hooded vest to hide the spikes. He wanders with the tourists for a few minutes before circling back to ensure Glasses isn’t still following.

A blond bumps his shoulder, and Bakugou nearly shouts out a protest but finds himself stopping short on a teen with curly green hair.

Deku, he thinks, but everything in him protests. The teen may have the same hair, but his eyes are more blue than green. He’s missing freckles and has a Glasgow smile stretching up one side of his face. The height and build are familiar; it’s the same frame Bakugou has searched for these past few months, right until Deku showed up at the gates. If Deku were still missing, he might grab this person and shake them for answers.

And, like that, the teen disappears into the crowd.

“Shit,” Bakugou whispers, the sudden pain in his hands stretching up to his shoulders. Fuck. No. What was he doing?

Green hair.

Frog Face.

Right. Shit. Lose Four Eyes, now tail Frog Face. 

Shit.

Half of the class does not pass, made apparent by shitty Four Eyes failing and proclaiming he’s never failed anything of this magnitude in his life. Fuck this.

“You okay, bro?” Shitty Hair lays a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder as they stare at the scores.

“Fuck if I know.”

“So,” Shitty Hair draws out, “Is that a yes?”

Bakugou catches sight of Deku with his taller form and shorter hair. It wouldn’t be hard to hide freckles, right? This Deku has made it clear that he’s good at covert operations, which means he could be a spy for the League of Villains. But didn’t Bakugou check that day when Deku appeared out of bumfuck nowhere for masks and disguises? If it were that weird Blood Chick, she’d need a continuous supply to keep up appearances.

And besides, didn’t that extra with the weird smile scar not recognize him? Maybe that was Blood Chick trying to rile him up.

Fuck, and it’s working too.

Deku seems to have a ‘Bakugou radar’ because the nerd is by his side when Shitty Hair steps away. “You saw something during the test, too, didn’t you?” The freckled idiot brushes his shoulder. “I thought I saw Variant Firefly out there. What did you see?” The nerd’s green gaze is focused on Bakugou. A villain could attack right now, and that gaze wouldn’t move.

Bakugou heaves for air but what comes out is barely a trickle when his voice breaks as he breathes, “You.”

Chapter Text

“Now that Dejima is no longer considered a recovery operation,” Aizawa says as the ten passing classmates climb off the bus, “We have new operating procedures in restoring this island to its former glory. While we’ll be running a few rescue drills, we’ll also be working on disaster procedures. Sometimes hero work isn’t about saving a person; it’s about rescuing the history of a community. Having a group of heroes to provide hope is important. We can inspire a city to rebuild, which can sometimes save thousands of lives, as well as the precious few we save in the wake of a disaster. That’s what makes spotlight heroes like Present Mic or All Might so important. Their hero work is as much their persona as anything else they do.”

“They take the credit while you do the grunt work.” Purple Bags drawls.

“It’s not that simple.” Aizawa shakes his head. “I may work from the shadows, but that is my choice. For me, it’s about the work, not the recognition or money. It’s why I’m teaching students like you to make sure your potential to be great heroes remains in the right direction.

“I spend a lot of my time telling you what it takes to be a hero. I tell you a lot of things I believe a hero should and shouldn’t do. But what I need you to understand as you continue to grow is that there are decisions you need to make for yourself. Do you want to be a hero in the spotlight? Do you want to forge your own path? Sometimes the heroes we need are not the ones we expect. Sometimes, they’re something never seen before.

“I am here to prepare you for success wherever you choose to go and whatever path you decide to follow. Whether it’s winning to save,” Aizawa looks at Bakugou, then shifts his gaze to Deku, “or saving to win.” The hobo’s gaze shifts to the other losers. “Or some amalgamation of something between.”

Aizawa turns to the destroyed city. “Reflect on that as we make our way to base camp.”

Base camp is the original Dejima.

Shit, he should have failed. No, fuck, he’s Bakugou Katsuki; failure is not an option.

It’s just a fucking fake ass tourist town. It’s just… it’s just…

Bakugou sours when they pass a tea shop with the outdated Dutch East India Trading Company logo on it. It is a reminder his whole reason for therapy is because of that shitty ass logo. Well, Hound Dog would say the reason was several things, and the logo was merely a trigger.

Whatever. Cementoss shouldn’t have carted a tin around U.A. like a fucking billboard for all to see. It was like an idiot was proclaiming, ‘I went to Dejima to find a lost student, but all I got was this shitty tea!’ Bakugou could hardly be blamed for the fight that happened afterward or the limp the pro hero still seems to be sporting. But Nedzu gave an ultimatum, expulsion or therapy, not that it was much of a choice. Deku wanted to be number one, and Bakugou had to be that for the both of them, so he started therapy.

Fuck, he hasn’t had a session with the damn dog since training camp. That damn extra is probably foaming at the mouth, excited to prod at the wounds this shitty place is opening. Bakugou’s eyes flicker to a second-story building whose blown-out window frames are painted the color of a robin’s egg. Bakugou stitched Deku back together up there.

He forces his eyes forward, catching sight of a heavily sloped kawara styled roof. Bakugou climbed that to search for that Firefly bastard on the rooftops. He remembers tiles threatening to shift loose beneath his feet. Several tiles are missing now, likely from the separation from land or explosion.

Bakugou hasn’t stepped foot inside Edo Dejima lines since that night. It’s a place Firefly wanted to protect, which means it’s something Bakugou wants to destroy.

Deku falls into step with Bakugou, looking around at the sights, likely noting how different everything looks in day. Though, everything is still dark in Bakugou’s eyes. To him, moonlight still washes out the city, tinting the road in cold colors.

Deku looks at him as if this is some cutesy fucking field trip to a historical town. Bakugou wants to shake the nerd within every inch of his life. Doesn’t the idiot get it? This island is the last place they saw eye to eye. This is the last place Bakugou saw Deku alive before a three and a half month dip into crazy town. This is the last place Bakugou thought they could be something.

Equals. Partners. Friends, maybe –

Nope. Bakugou doesn’t encourage wherever that thought is going.

But something nudges at his memory, and through the gap of a partially destroyed structure, Bakugou can see a bit of the collapsed city beyond. He remembers the motion more than the sight, how the pain in his middle was sharper than details of Deku’s face. Bakugou remembers reaching out for the hand he never took, calling out for someone he was finally beginning to understand.

There’s something in that memory, Bakugou can almost taste it, but it escapes when Flat Face calls for him to catch up.

Top scores get the first patrol. What kind of bullshit rule is that?

Bakugou can’t decide if the rule is a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, he doesn’t have to sleep in fucking haunted Edo Dejima tonight. On the other, he has to patrol the entire horror show of an island. Both will be hellscape trips down memory lane.

“How are you fucking fine with this?” Bakugou growls as they start patrol on the rooftop of the time bell. His fingers twitch with the impulse to yank the cord repeatedly, so no one falls asleep in such a terrible place.

“Fine with what?” Deku scans the area, clearly plotting a viable patrol path.

"This place,” He snaps. “You fucking died here.”

The nerd straightens, blinks several times, and frowns as if he’s some sort of robot, and Bakugou just pressed reset. “But Kacchan, I didn’t. I’m here.”

“But you did!” Bakugou shoves Deku, who loses his balance, and grasps the bell rope to prevent himself from falling further. The bell chimes twice as the nerd gets his footing back. Bakugou throws a punch, only for it to be captured by one of Deku’s hands.

The nerd’s expression is hard and serious, almost as deadly as Aizawa’s. “Did you see me die? Did you watch it happen? Did you find a body? No? I don’t think so. Because I didn’t, I almost can’t say the same for you.” Deku cups Bakugou’s hand with both of his, his eyes on the verge of tears. “Kacchan, your blood was on my hands. I thought, I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I was going to fight Firefly, come back, and you wouldn’t be there. And I spent close to four years not knowing if you recovered enough to still chase your dream.

“This place,” Deku drops Bakugou’s hand and gestures at the island. “It doesn’t mean shit to me because we both survived. You got that? Do you understand? This place isn’t an ending; it’s just a point of change.”

“Change can be fucking terrifying.”

“Being a hero course student is fucking terrifying,” Deku laughs bitterly. The nerd cursed twice; he must really mean his shit.

Bakugou groans, running a hand through his hair. “Why the fuck did we want to become heroes again?”

“Fame and glory?” Deku offers tentatively.

“Nah,”

“Helping others with a smile on our face?”

“Maybe,”

“Being the best?”

Bakugou snaps his fingers, “That’s it. Nothing else. Who knew being great meant so much shit?”

Deku shrugs, wistfully sighing, “All Might is the epitome of false advertising.”

“The hobo would probably tap dance in excitement if you say that to his face.” Bakugou grins. Deku laughs.

They’re on the third patrol of the night, starting from the long and newly built bridge that connects to the mainland when Bakugou’s thoughts outweigh his ability to pay attention to the task at hand.

“What is it, Kacchan?” Deku asks when Bakugou nearly trips on nothing.

Not nothing; he’s still hung up on Hound Dog’s words. Where is home? Bakugou sure as hell doesn’t know. It’s not at U.A. or with those losers who can’t keep up. He hasn’t missed the old hag, barely remembers the idiots that followed him around in elementary and middle school. Bakugou has wracked his brain over consistencies in his life because that’s what home is, right? Consistency? If so, it’s always been All Might. And with All Might, comes Deku.

What sort of bullshit is that?

When you’re in love, they’re your symbol of everything.

Does that count for homes too?

“You said you were happy there.” The wrong words spill from Bakugou’s mouth, immediately going in for the attack.

Deku blinks rapidly under the accusation. “Uh, yeah, Kacchan. I had to adapt.”

“You said you were in love.”

“I agreed to being in love, yes.” The nerd measures his words slowly, kicking off into a leap, leaving Bakugou no choice but to follow. Why is he always following? “What’s this about, Kacchan? You don’t ask these types of questions.”

“You said it was one of those losers,” Bakugou barrels on. What the hell is wrong with him.

“Okay, I did not use those words,” Damn Deku gives Bakugou a pointed look, leaping towards a familiar overpass. It is a stark reminder of that night. Both Bakugou and Deku sat on this bridge, waiting for Firefly’s poison to dilute. It was Snipe’s vantage point and was the perimeter line between the battle and civilians.

“Why haven’t you seen your mom?” Bakugou demands as Deku sits on the overpass edge, expression carefully blank. “The first fucking thing you did was come to U.A.!” The nerd loves his mother. Deku would call that woman home; Bakugou’s sure of it.

The nerd purses his lips, gaze growing distant. “We both know why.”

“Where is home to you, nerd? Because I’m sure as hell tired of all the cryptic bullshit.” Bakugou seethes.

Deku laughs, a hollow sound that sends shivers up Bakugou’s spine and pain to his fingers. “Like asking what’s home isn’t cryptic for you. What are you really asking, Kacchan?”

Bakugou stubbornly looks away at the distant Nagasaki lights.

“Are you jealous?” The question is curious but sounds as acidic as Raccoon Eyes’ quirk.

“Who the fuck is jealous?” He whips around with a glare, only to see Deku beaming ear to ear in utter delight. What the fuck is wrong with him? Who gets kicks out of other people’s jealousy?

“I dated,” Deku admits, smile quieting into something fond. “I couldn’t have the person I love here, so I tried making something work there. Turns out, you can’t just survive in an alternate reality. You have to live in it too.”

“So you got hitched and started popping out babies – ”

“Kacchan!” Deku sounds scandalized. “I was gone for four years, not forty.”

“Four years I know fuck nothing about!” Bakugou snaps. That’s not entirely fair. During the training camp, Deku told him a lot that one night. Out of order and too much to comprehend in one sitting. Bakugou knows there is so much more he doesn’t know because Deku glossed over the worst bits, crying before he can say too much as if tears could fill in the terrible events.

Bakugou knows the big things, the major plot points that shape Deku as the person before him. But he doesn’t know the quieter things the nerd doesn’t tell anyone. Because Deku, the damn nerd with all his shitty ass flaws, takes after Bakugou in this way too. The nerd compresses all the delicate emotions he refuses to touch until they explode. It’s why Bakugou fought the nerd and got suspension and why he attends therapy after attacking Cementoss.

Hound Dog would be so proud of this sudden progress, Bakugou is half tempted to give himself a concussion and set himself back.

“Ask, and I’ll tell you anything.” Deku dares with a smirk.

“How the fuck am I supposed to ask when I don’t even know what I should question?” Bakugou glares.

Deku throws his hands up in surrender. “Fair. And, to answer that other question: I don’t have a home. Not yet, maybe never. Time in the Variant ruined my chances. I’m too old for them now.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou growls.

“No, nooooooo,” Deku is somewhere between a laugh and a moan as he falls back to lay on the freeway. “That’s precisely why I’m too old, Kacchan. This class is only beginning to turn sixteen. I’m twenty. I don’t know about you, but that sounds gross.”

“The hell, we were all born in the same year.”

The nerd’s face is almost pitying as he stares up at the overcast sky. “It’s four years, Kacchan. There’s so much left to learn, and I’m not,” The nerd huffs out a breath, “I’m not going to hurt their chances at finding real love because of it.”

And what if that person already knows they want the nerd? Bakugou wonders but doesn’t say aloud. What the hell? What is he? A person who has feelings? Yeah right.

“They-they’re always going to doubt when I look at them, Kacchan.” When Deku lolls his head to look at Bakugou, the green eyes seem distant. “Am I seeing them or their variant?” Deku turns his gaze back to the sky.

Bakugou scoffs, crossing his arms. “It’s not like you married the extra or something.” He waits for the nerd to respond, looks for a reaction, anything, but only silence passes.

“I thought about it all the time,” Deku eventually breathes out. It sounds like a confession of sorts. “I thought I was going to die at least seven times a week, so why not get married ‘for as long as you both shall live’ when you’re on death's door every other day? At least there’s physical proof that we were loved, that someone believed in what we fought for. But more than marrying over there,” Deku holds up his gloved left hand as if seeing a ring on one of the fingers. Bakugou can’t remember a ring; did he miss it? “I dreamt about coming back here. The first thing I’d do is find them and tell them and just confirm what I felt wasn’t all in my head.”

Deku sits up abruptly, staring at his hands, now resting in his lap. “But then I came back, and I didn’t know everyone would be this young, and I-I missed my chance. I spent all that time in the Variant to save the people I care about, and all I’ve done is put distance between us.”

“We’re not shitty ass kids, Deku.” Bakugou glares, the nerd shrugs in response.

“Maybe. Our class is definitely far more mature after all we’ve been through. But it’s been four years; there’s so much you don’t know.”

Bakugou flops beside Deku, leaning back to prop himself on his hands and stare up at the sky.

“Then fucking tell me. Tell me everything, and I’ll damn well decide what bullshit matters.”

“That’s not going to change my mind about missing my chance, Kacchan.”

“That’s not only your decision,” Bakugou snaps, gaining the nerd’s attention.

“Oh,” Deku blinks, startled out of the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He laughs a little thickly as he says, “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

"Hypothetically," Deku says as he helps carry a boulder of taped rubble to the side of the island where Ponytail and Round Face float in scuba gear. "If you asked a question and didn't hear the response, could you control someone?"

Purple Bags looks up from where he's ensuring Flat Face's tape is secure around the next pile to toss overboard. "I mean, maybe? It's a sort of call and response. I direct my quirk to someone in mind, and the response touches back."

"Have you ever managed to take control of someone you didn't have in mind?" Ponytail and Round Face dive below.

"It's call and response," Purple Bags snaps, crossing his arms. "Why wouldn't I have someone in mind?"

"In general, dumbass!" Bakugou growls, unloading the latest truck of debris. "The nerd's asking if you can use it for general rescue."

"Yeah! Like in disasters like the Titanic –"

"I highly doubt I'll be helpful out at sea, Midoriya –"

"'Is anybody out there?'" Deku mimics a cry from that super old movie, cupping his mouth with his hands. "And then people tend to call out for help, but what happens if you don't hear them? Does it not touch your quirk after all?"

"Don't you already know the answer to that?" Purple Bags rolls the boulder Deku's way. "You know, you told us about spending time in a weird alternate universe with older versions of us. Doesn't older me figure it out?"

Deku hoists the boulder over his shoulder. "I don't know. I had to leave U.A. for a bit, but he didn't really like rescue. He didn't like showing his face. Big fan of EPCOT, though."

"That's great because I was terrible in the mock exam."

"Dude," Dunce Face walks past Bakugou with the lightest piece of debris he's ever seen. It might as well be fucking tissue paper. "I passed the mock exam – me, last place everything – passed an intelligence exam, and the class rep didn't. You're far from terrible."

Emo Bird takes the boulder from Deku and dives back underwater.

"That's because, believe it or not; you are very smart, Kaminari." Deku beams, walking back from the island's edge. "You're one of very few people that's genuinely friends with everyone in class. That takes a certain level of emotional intelligence and adaptability a lot of people don't have. You consider people strengths, weaknesses, wants, and needs without really trying."

"That just means you're a shitty pushover." Bakugou scoffs.

Dunce Face gestures wildly to Bakugou. "Then how the hell did he pass? Bakugou's got the emotional intelligence of a brick!"

"Say that to my face, you glorified power bank!" Bakugou roars.

"Oh, that's a good one," Purple Bags comments.

"I already did!"

"That's enough!" Deku cries, stepping between Bakugou and Dunce Face. "We're all here because we passed the mock exam. We've only had a week of training, which means that most of the skills we used to succeed are not learned but more instinctual habits. Do you know why a majority of the girls passed and so few of the boys did? It's because girls are taught to fade into the background, and we're taught to overlook them. Just like boys are taught to be loud and stand out, and we're taught to pay attention. To pass this mock exam, the girls had to be themselves. The boys had to rely on different skills they learned over time.

"Kaminari, you've seen how wholeheartedly Kacchan throws himself into everything he does. You know how fiercely he protects his friends. Do you really believe he has the emotional range of a teaspoon?"

"That's not what he said, damn nerd!" Bakugou snaps.

"No," Dunce Face looks glum, kicking a stray rock. "I just, it was cool to feel smart about something for once, and all Bakugou does is call me an idiot."

"Yeah, well, Kacchan is learning to treat the people he cares about better." Deku stares straight at Bakugou.

"Fuck off," Bakugou glares.

"Try again."

"Eat shit." Bakugou bites out.

"One more time," Deku raises a brow.

"Die."

"With feeling," The nerd teases.

"No one here's a real idiot, got it? Even the dumbest of the dumb at U.A. is still better than the idiots of Shiketsu High!"

"It's so sweet, and somehow," Purple Bags says, "it still comes out as a backhanded compliment."

"You wanna fucking go, knock-off hobo?"

"Heyyyyy!" A hand waves from the water. "What's with all the standing around?" The losers on land move to the park's edge to see Round Face and Raccoon Eyes in the water. "I've fused all the debris we've gathered so far to the supports Cementoss reinforced a couple of months ago. But we're not getting anywhere fast." Raccoon Eyes moans.

"Hmm," Flat Face looks from the piles of debris to the mostly demolished city. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe we should devise a new way of transporting the rubble."

The time bell in Edo Dejima sounds, catching everyone's attention.

"But first," Purple Bags says, "lunch."

Bakugou feels like he's been warped into some fucking twilight zone version of The Lion King. He stands on top of the overpass with Deku and the hobo overseeing the losers as they disappear beneath rubble and pop out again within moments for rescue exercises. He's half tempted to lift Deku from under his arms and see if anyone bows. Though Bakugou knows he should be doing those exercises to – rescue is what made him fail the provisional exams last year – but this is the first time he's been invited to participate in a Variant conversation.

"To confirm," Aizawa gravels out, his gaze cast out to the expansive island. "Midoriya, you saw a version of Firefly and Bakugou, you saw a version of Midoriya?"

"Yes, sensei," Deku paces. "They looked like the Variant I fought a few weeks ago."

The words war in Bakugou's mind. The nerd has been back for two and a half weeks after presumed dead for months. Which turned out to be years in a Variant timeline, and does that mean Deku was fighting fucking Firefly up until the moment he came back?

"The nerd looked my age," Bakugou crosses his arms, pushing them together to create tension. "Looked like him too in all but the freckles and eyes and smile. He had a scar," He uncrosses his arms to trail one finger from one corner of his lips partly to his ear. "Didn't recognize me, though."

"Shiketsu has a security problem," Aizawa sighs. "That's not anything new, as the League of Villains was able to infiltrate and replace a student last year for the provisional licensing exam. But they maintain a lower security threshold due to the needs of EPCOT."

"What's concerning is that it appears to be the Variant Firefly," Deku says. "I've seen Firefly grow up and change over the years, this isn't the one Kacchan, and I fought as first years. This is the one that kills for fun."

"You can confirm that from your glance?"

"Yes," Deku sounds desperate. "Believe it or not, Firefly's murders beforehand were what they considered a justified cause. By the time they were killing in third year, it was just because they could."

"Bakugou," Aizawa calls, snapping the blond's gaze away from Deku, who appears to be falling apart at the seams. "What questions do you ask when variant timelines are starting to cross paths?"

"What's making it happen?" Bakugou's mouth feels dry. He knows this is a teaching moment, but it feels like it has far more gravity than it should. Aizawa nods for him to continue. "Who's switching? Is it only the Variant or this timeline too? How can others access the Variant? Does – does the League of Villains have their own variation quirk user? Or is it Probability?"

Is it Probability? Bakugou looks back at Deku, who stands as rigid as a statue, green eyes florescent with panic and – is that despair? If it's the pro hero Probability, why send Deku to the Variant to get stronger? Why promise for the greater good? Why drive Bakugou insane? If Probability is assisting the League of Villains, does that mean everything Deku has done and everything he's seen all been for nothing? That can't be. Bakugou didn't suffer for months for nothing. Shitty Deku didn't suffer for years for nothing.

"You're missing the biggest questions," Aizawa says. "I think you know it, judging by the look on your face."

"Why?" Bakugou croaks. His throat feels raw as if asking Deku yet again, why am I the one who ended All Might?

"Why now? Why at all? Why, if not to question our sanity and credibility?" The hobo offers. "Why, if not to make us question, what if they're wrong? Heroes, unlike villains, hold on to hope and trust. If I can't trust another hero, who can I trust? And if I doubt your credibility, I may be too late when something genuinely happens. Footage from EPCOT shows the moments in question, so there is some merit to your stories, but the details aren't good enough to confirm.

"I trust you, both of you, but I also need to trust Probability too until we can determine what's going on." Aizawa continues, turning to flick Deku in the forehead. "So don't go spiraling into your thoughts. We've still got work to do."

"Believe it or not, I'm walking on aiiirrrrrr," Shitty Deku and Round Face sing horribly off-key the next day as they both float a few feet from the ground, dragging a large net woven by Flat Face's tape filled with debris. Both wear ugly as hell Shiketsu themed scuba gear. They continue singing even as they reach the end of the island and slowly submerge themselves underwater.

Bakugou can feel a headache coming on. He doesn't know if he can stand much more of Deku's whiplash. One moment, he's fucking brilliant and bright and happy. The next, he a stiff breeze from breaking apart like he's been touched by that damn Hand Villain. And sometimes, he's both.

Sometimes Deku is wonder and determination, self-assured from experiences Bakugou has yet to comprehend or learn. Sometimes the nerd is hot tea, bitter but soothing to Bakugou's aching limbs. Sometimes, he is all hard edges, and it's Bakugou's turn to learn how to surrender.

Surrender isn't easy. It's fucking shitty and uncomfortable. It's why he hates meeting with Hound Dog and why curses are shitty nicknames are easier to grasp. Because if he knows a person's name, it means Bakugou cares. And if Bakugou cares, then he has something to lose.

There's enough evidence in that shitty train of thinking from getting his hopes up as a kid and shitty Deku winding up with nothing.

At your leisure, look for your spaces of peace.

Why is it, that when that shitty train of thought invades, Deku is involved?

Is it because the rare few moments of happiness were tied to moments he and Deku were still friends? Or is it that the nerd has already succeeded in becoming a symbol of fucking wonder and peace that there isn't anywhere else to look?  Or is it that –

When you're in love, they're your symbol of everything.

The wind shifts, and Bakugou can smell the nearby forest. He knows natural and quirk made wind, so he searches for shitty Baldy in the sky only to see Deku removing his scuba helmet with a laugh, using Float to hover in the air.

Oh.

Oh no.

Deku, the wonder boy. The useless. The pain in Bakugou's ass. The testament to his failures and successes. The idiot that won't stop chasing. The fucking holder of Bakugou's sanity. Keeper of everything he ever wanted.

Deku is – Bakugou's mind stalls at the impossible thought.

The nerd is Bakugou's symbol of peace – of everything.

He glares at the nerd, who's landed safely on the ground is chatting away with fucking Flat Face, Ears, and Emo Bird.

How long? Bakugou wants to stomp over, grab the nerd and shake him for answers. It's all damn Deku's fault, and yet the nerd wouldn't know the answer. How long has it been this way? How long has Deku been the holder of Bakugou's peace and hope, and dreams?

How long has Bakugou been in love?

Chapter Text

Bakugou is going to punch something.

Or someone.

Too bad Shitty Hair and Half and Half failed the exam; what he wouldn’t give for a good fight.

Maybe Pink Cheeks will pose a challenge. No, wait, fuck. Doesn’t she have some sort of shitty crush on Deku? It would be a duel of rivals and –

Fuck that. Fuck everything.

Bakugou isn’t some dumbass lovesick idiot. He’s going to be the number one hero, whether or not someone is standing beside him.

Except…

Bakugou’s gaze drifts around the room. It’s ugly as fuck, filled with clashing wallpaper patterns and colors. He remembers it in pieces, blood and glass on the floor, the dining cloth torn from where he needed to mop up Deku’s side wound and his nitroglycerin. Bakugou thinks he can see the specific chair Deku sat in for stitches, a familiar nick in the chair backing.

The large dining table has been cleared in favor of a map of the drastically different island, hand-drawn and tea-stained. Class A losers circle around it, marking areas of cleared rubble with colored pencils.

Deku contrasts with the pink pattern walls and bright glow of the chandeliers; his emerald green hair and eyes are the only correct shade of green. Bakugou has compared every green he’s ever seen to Deku’s. Too light, too dark, too blue or yellow. There are so many shades of the color, but few are the shade he loves.

Bakugou scoffs at nothing. Love. Fucking hell. He’s known for a few short hours, and it’s consuming his every thought. No wonder there are so many damsels in distress if all they can think about is being in the arms of the people they care about, of holding on and never letting go.

What is this existence? Hell? He’s been controlled by Purple Bags a few times, unable to choose what to do and forced to go on the orders of idiocy. Yeah, this feels sort of like that.

There’s an abundance of it too, Bakugou notes as he glances at Deku. The nerd’s pointing at a section of the map while Round Face shakes her head with a frown. Bakugou feels something inside him swell. He has the desire to push the zero-gravity heroine out of the way and prevent anyone from taking an interest in the nerd.

It’s like the decade of underlying love has compounded in his realization. Bakugou’s heart wants to break out of his chest and leap into Deku’s arms. And the nerd would greet Bakugou’s shitty heart with laughter and a smile because it’s fucking Deku. This idiot is the good in the world, so Bakugou doesn’t have to be.

His throat is tight, clamping down on the words of love, because like hell is he ever going to admit such a shitty thing. Bakugou is all hard edges and impenetrable. Love is a weakness, love will get the old hag and the old man killed. Love is.

Well, love is every fucked up thing Bakugou has ever done to Deku. Bakugou showed cared the only way he understood: bullying to jumpstart a quirk in duress and becoming Deku’s main abuser so that others wouldn’t touch him. Be what hurts the most, so they will be prepared for all the cruel things in the world. That’s how his mom raised him and how he tried to care for Deku.

And shit, it took the ache in his hands and sessions with Hound Dog to really see how fucked up that was.

Even now, as Deku laughs with the other losers of Class A, Bakugou has the desire to hurt the nerd. Knock him down a peg so he’ll stay away from trouble, keep him safe and prevent him from fucking off to another alternate timeline. It’s not right, but it’s the only thing Bakugou knows.

What else is he supposed to do to show love? Hold Deku’s hand? Kiss him? Hug him until the rest of the world disappears?

In case anyone forgot, Bakugou doesn’t do affection.

Though, a part of him considers, maybe it’s time to start.

Deku’s voice pulls Bakugou’s gaze. “We’ve pulled rubble from the south and west side of the island.” The nerd gestures at the map spread out over a large flat table. “And that makes up roughly twenty percent of what’s currently stabilizing the island.”

“But that’s expected, isn’t it?” Ponytail leans over the map. “We’ve been tackling the outer edges of the damage. Even most of our rubble comes from the stacked rescue operations of the previous month. We’ll need to head closer to the crater if we want to make progress on the underwater project.” The class vice president holds a closed hand to her chest as she glances towards Bakugou. “If that’s okay with you.”

Bakugou scoffs and looks away. The crater is where the battle ended. It’s where an island practically collapsed in on itself, buildings falling over each other to the disaster that fucking Firefly made. Bakugou was barely conscious when the blast turned night into day. The sound of the impact that followed made him believe the world was ending. In a way, Bakugou concedes, it did. His mangled hands dug through rubble to find a person who was already spirited away to an alternate reality.

What was Bakugou doing when he dug to find Deku? What was he doing even when his hands bled and pros fought to take him away? Did he dig because the next symbol of peace couldn’t have fallen under such a shitty villain’s power? Did Bakugou search because he was finally making it up to the nerd and still hadn’t apologized? Or was it love attempting to claw its way to the surface under the threat of death?

Or all of the above?

Damn Deku smiles at Ponytail. “We have to tackle it sometime. We should probably utilize it for experimental rescue operations while we have the chance, though. It’s not often we have a chance to explore a unique area.”

“Unique is one word for it,” Bakugou grumbles, glaring at the nerd.

Raccoon Eyes drops her water bottle onto the table. It clatters, echoing metal as it bounces around, and she yelps apologies to anyone willing to listen. “I’m sorry!” Her pink face is turning steadily red. “Just slipped out of my hand, I guess!”

Suspicious. Bakugou narrows his eyes at the acid heroine. Raccoon Eyes isn’t the clumsy type. Her dancing skills make her one of the most maneuverable losers in the class. Even when she’s skating around on her acid, she’s in complete control, which is another reason for suspicion. Raccoon Eyes would sooner accidentally acid burn something in her grip than let it slip away.

The other losers look away, believing her shitty excuse. Racoon Eyes meets his stare, flicking her eyes once to Deku before staring back at Bakugou. She mouths, we need to talk, and Bakugou knows this gossipmonger will end him.

Bakugou takes one look around the room where multiple figures sit and lounge on crates when he makes an immediate decision.

“Fuck this shit. I’m out.” Bakugou crumples the note in his hand, drops it to the floor, and stomps on it for good measure. He uses the ball of his foot to pivot back to the doorway.

“No! Wait! Please!” Raccoon Eyes begs, leaping off a crate to jump on Bakugou’s back.

“What the fuck?” He yells, attempting to dump her, but Raccoon Eyes holds fast.

“No one here is going to tell! We just want to talk!” She cries.

“I’m not telling you shit!” He roars, latching on to one of her arms and flipping Raccoon Eyes off his back and to the floor.

“Please, Bakugou! There’s no need for violence!” Ponytail says from her seated spot on a crate.

“Fucking posse of gossips, the lot of you.” He glares. “What the fuck are you doing here, Tape Face?”

Flat Face shrugs, stepping closer to help Raccoon Eyes to her feet. “They’re good at painting nails, and we talk room decorations sometimes. So why are you here, Bakugou?”

Bakugou glares at the dirty note crushed to the floor.

“You knew it was my handwriting, so I totally didn’t trick you. You knew what you were getting into,” Raccoon Eyes declares, rubbing her backside when she’s fully standing. “Why’re you backing out now?”

“You brought a posse,” Bakugou growls.

“Who will totally keep your secret,” She emphasizes, gesturing at Ponytail and Ears. “So spill, we can’t help you until you say something.”

“I’m not saying shit with all of you here.”

“Okay, so maybe not help, but commiseration. Everyone’s got something we can relate to, so tell us.” Raccoon Eyes grasps Bakugou’s wrist, dragging him towards the crates. He eyes the pile of snacks in the center of the room with some annoyance. Where the fuck did they get that from? Did they raid a convenience store on the island? Did they use up their valuable packing space for junk food?

“I can go first if it makes it easier,” Round Face raises her hand. “You’ve always fought me head-on and treated me like a hero instead of a girl, so I’ll do the same.” Her brown eyes are steady and sure. Steady and calm and good, everything Deku would want out of a person.

Bakugou doesn’t stand a chance.

He grits his teeth, ripping his arm from Raccoon Eyes’ grasp. “Fine.”

Rip the band-aid off. Prove to Bakugou that Round Face is worthy of Deku. Show him that Pink Cheeks can give all the love and affection the nerd needs and deserves. Bakugou wants proof she can be everything he can’t.

“Lately,” Round Face glances at Bakugou, then to Ponytail, “I’ve had feelings for Iida.”

“I KNEW IT.” Raccoon Eyes squeals, hopping up and down. She leaps across the room to wrap Round Face in a hug.

What?

What the fuck happened?

Anyone with fucking eyes could tell Round Face has had a crush on Deku since their first team-up. When and why did it switch to Four Eyes when Deku is at the front, looking her way?

“When did that change?” Ponytail doesn’t look surprised, but she does look curious at the revelation.

“Well,” The brunette chokes out from Raccoon Eyes’ crushing embrace, “I think it started last summer – ”

“LAST SUMMER?” Raccoon Eyes jerks apart, holding Round Face at arm's length. “But you were so clearly crushing on Midoriya in February during the skirmish against Class B.”

Yeah, what she said. How could Round Face fall out of liking Deku and not realize it? Then again, how did Bakugou not know he’s been in love with Deku for over a decade?

“It started during the licensing exam last year,” Round Face laughs pitifully. “I was second-guessing myself and tripping to be near Deku. And it wasn’t fair to either of us. Deku’s dream is to be the greatest hero he could be, and he wasn’t going to look my way while he’s trying to earn that spot. And I wanted to be someone who could stand by his side as an equal like Bakugou does.” She looks to the teen in question. “I didn’t want to be known as the love interest and didn’t want whatever hero I become be tied down to being in a relationship. So I put my feelings away,”

Yeah, right. Like it’s that easy. Love is flooding Bakugou’s being. If he lets his guard down for even a moment, it will come pouring out – a dam burst open. Shit, and he just repaired it too after his session with Hound Dog the other week.

“Then, I forgot.”

Ha?

How does someone simply forget about Deku? No, really; Bakugou wants to know. He’s spent a decade with the nerd, trying to make him less than nothing in Bakugou’s life with no success. He plotted ways to avoid the nerd, made sure to study harder so he’ll always be one step ahead and remain a person Deku had to chase – even when Bakugou wanted to stop the nerd from chasing him blindly into danger.

How does someone forget about Deku?

“And then,” Round Face laughs again, but this time it’s bright with happiness. Where Deku’s happy laughter feels like sparkling lemon water fizzing around his mouth, the zero gravity’s laughter is like a giant breath to blow a bubble from sugary sweet gum. “Then there was Iida. Suddenly, it wasn’t becoming a hero worthy of standing beside; it became growing to be fantastic heroes together. When I see Iida, stiffness and rules and all that stupid absurdity, I feel like I’m floating even though my quirk’s not activated.”

“That’s adorable,” Raccoon Eyes wraps Round Face in another tight hug.

“Nah, I get it. If Kaminari hadn’t pushed for the song during the school festival, I don’t know if I would have noticed.” Ears stretches over a crate, looking bored as she twirls a jack around her finger. “He’s really dumb – ”

“So dumb,” Raccoon Eyes and Flat Face agree solemnly.

“He sees so much, and what even is that? Like, I can listen to a song and tell you how many harmonies there are, what key it’s in, and all the layered instruments. And that idiot looks at our class and knows exactly what to do and say to be friends with everyone and holds us together.” Ears’ hands move to cover her face, hiding the increasingly red flush as she groans loudly. “And it’s just like, if Kaminari likes everyone, how do I know if he likes me back? As you know what I mean…”

What sort of hellscape did Bakugou walk into? Dunce Face is being sung praises. Losers are talking about their feelings, and he’s expected to join in? Gossip like it’s tea time? What’s next, asking if that idiot from Class B is only harassing members of Class A because he has a crush?

“We ALL know Kaminari is crushing on you,” Flat Face moves away from Bakugou to approach the crates.

Ears makes a face like she just ate a lemon whole. “You didn’t see the way he threw himself all over Shinsou.”

“Dunno, he threw himself over everyone like that in the beginning,” Pink Cheeks says, finally disentangling herself from Raccoon Eyes. “Maybe it’s his way of making sure Shinsou feels included in the class.”

“Besides, if we go on that logic, then he’s crushing on Ojiro. That tail obsession is very strange.” Ponytail admits.

Bakugou is in hell. This must be literal hell. There are people in this room acting as if Dunce Face of all people is a celebrity or remotely attractive.

Come to think of it, has Bakugou ever found anyone attractive? Were there ever traits he saw and liked?

His mind drifts to Deku’s smile and his stupid clown face freckles. Does Bakugou even know someone else who has freckles? He doesn’t think so. He doesn’t typically spare extras a second glance. If Bakugou does look, it’s somehow related to the path of becoming the number one hero.

Bakugou looks at all the faces around the room, trying to determine what constitutes as attraction. Their faces are all different, beautiful by magazine standards in some shape or form. Ponytail’s eyeliner is always on point, giving a perception of strength to her perpetually worried face. Ears’ haircut is a solid choice, emphasizing thin eyebrows and expressive eyes. The heroine is only a little less stoic than Bakugou, so when an expression does pass over her face, her haircut frames it like a picture. Raccoon Eyes is pink, full stop. It gives her an air of mystery and lends emphasis to her dynamic and wild motions. It’s no wonder why Shitty Hair keeps looking. Flat Face, despite the nickname, carries the features of a foreigner, though that’s mostly the sharp nose and broad smile.

If Bakugou is honest, Round Face is probably the closest to being attractive. Replace those pink cheeks for freckles and brown for green and –

Well, shit.

That’s it, isn’t it?

Bakugou has never been interested in anyone because it’s always been Deku. No one else matters, so long as Deku is around.

No wonder Bakugou was losing his mind a few weeks ago.

“Earth to Bakugou!” Someone calls though he’s not sure who. The gossip posse is here in this room, but they’re out of focus. Why? Because Bakugou’s in love, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

There’s no option for forgetting like Round Face. There’s no option to find another person to project this nonsense onto because Deku is it. Deku is the only person Bakugou has and will ever want.

Bakugou squats to the floor, balancing on the balls of his feet while he covers his face with his hands, every knuckle throbbing in pain. He lets out a groan far worse than Ears.

This is the fucking worst.

The shitty nerd even confessed to dating in that variant alternate whatever. He never denied being married or having a kid. And now the nerd thinks he’s too old for whoever he wants to date here. Even if, by some fucked up miracle, Bakugou is the one Deku likes, it won’t happen.

Shit.

Bakugou hates being in love. How the hell does anyone make it stop?

He flops to the ground, spreading out on the concrete floor like a starfish to stare up at the white ceiling, bathed in a soft white from wood and paper lanterns.

“Bakugou,” Raccoon Eyes appears above him with Flat Face and Ears. “You okay?”

Bakugou fixes the pink teen with a glare. “I have feelings.”

“Good ones, I hope,” Flat Face mutters before he’s punched in the shoulder by Round Face. Good for her.

“For Deku,” The admission fills his mouth with the imaginary fizz of lemon water. Like Deku’s laughter.

“That really doesn’t clarify anything,” Flat Face continues.

“Want to punch him as much as I want to kiss him.”

“Those are two extremes, but I’m totally on board,” Raccoon Eyes lays beside him. “Tell us more.”

“I think,” Bakugou stares blankly ahead, hearing the crack in his voice as the others join him on the ground. “I’ve wanted to become the number one hero since I was a kid so I could be strong enough for the both of us.”

“Midoriya is one of the strongest heroes in our class,” Ponytail says. It’s not an accusation, more of an observation because, yeah, no shit. The nerd got control of an entirely new quirk to rival Bakugou in less than a year. The change is startling. Bakugou has never felt so proud or sick. Finally, the nerd gets to achieve his dreams, but now Bakugou can’t sleep at night wondering when that quirk will destroy Deku from the inside out.

“He wasn’t always like that,” Instead of a white ceiling, all Bakugou can see is the day the nerd found out he was quirkless. His hands ache, the pain radiating up his forearms. “He was a late bloomer, quirkless even in middle school. Helpless. Useless. And still determined to be a hero when that was the absolute one thing he couldn’t be.”

“Bakugou,” Round Face shifts in her prone position. “But he is a hero. He’s one of the best heroes I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou doesn’t know what else to say. The dam inside of him is showing cracks all over again. Will it burst here on the floor with a bunch of gossips?

Bakugou takes a deep shuddering breath. “I think I’ve always had these feelings for him, but I only noticed this afternoon. What a fucking gut punch that was,” He laughs mirthlessly. “I treated him like shit for the better part of a decade, and now there’s feelings? What kind of bullshit is this?” How dare it sneak up like a D-list villain trying to get the drop.

“This afternoon?” Raccoon Eyes stage whispers. “I thought, I mean, I saw the way you were looking at him a couple of hours ago, so I knew the feelings bit. But this afternoon? How do you just know this has been an all your life thing only this afternoon?” She rolls on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows to look down at Bakugou. “What the hell did he say or do to make you come to this realization? Because I remember today, and nothing special happened.”

How the hell is he supposed to explain that? How does one say, ‘the realization came with the change of the weather,’ without sounding like an idiot that’s lost their mind? How does Bakugou say he knew it when Deku laughed without sounding like a shitty romance movie? And why the hell would he share that information with these gossips?

Instead, Bakugou shrugs. His voice is surprisingly gentle when he says, “I just knew.”

Bakugou wakes in the middle of the night, seeing Deku curled up at a low window, inspecting the stars for who knows what. He’s wrapped loosely in a blanket, cupping a mug between his hands. Bakugou stares, reminiscent of the night at the training camp where the nerd spoke until dawn.

What could Deku possibly be considering so late? Or is this a moment of calm in the dumb nerd’s chaotic life? Could Bakugou slide into that moment? Sit beside him? Hold him?

Small clatters echo through the long room, coming from the heroine’s side, separated by a floor-to-ceiling opaque screen. Deku leans forward, searching for those on rounds before dragging himself to his feet. The blanket falls with a quiet thump as the nerd sets the mug on the window sill.

He drifts to the far side of the room, making no sound of the tatami mats. Bakugou props himself on his elbows to see Deku’s shoulder’s sag with a heavy breath as he disappears behind the screen at the sound of a whimper cutting through the soft clatter. 

Bakugou strains his ears, listening to the slide of cloth on tatami mats and the rustle of blankets. Another whimper and a sharp gasp cuts off the clattering.

“It’s okay,” Deku says, his quiet voice carrying over the sudden silence. “You’re not in the Variant. We’re on Exit Island, remember? We’re doing clean-up. It sounds a little confusing, I know. But I’m here. Take your time.”

“Midoriya,” Ponytail rasps. “My heart, it hurts.” Bakugou feels like he’s suddenly intruding on something.

“I know, Momo-san.” Deku’s voice is just as pained. “I’m here.”

Slowly Bakugou lowers himself back into a sleeping position, timing his shifts with the sound of blankets moving. He turns his head and positions his blanket so no one should be able to see him wide awake while they move about the room.

Ponytail exits the heroine’s side of the roof first, shuffling as she holds her shoulder with one hand and wipes at her tears with the other. The nerd hovers behind, offering his assistance whenever Ponytail starts to falter.

They leave through one of the main doors.

What the hell was that? Bakugou wracks his brain for a plausible answer, settling on one fairly quickly. Deku mentioned quirks retain the memory of the original user. Could it be Ponytail was dreaming of her Variant life? Is that what they stepped out to talk about?

Bakugou pulls himself from bed, taking post where the nerd abandoned his blanket, gaze drifting from the stars to the rooftops. Finally, his eyes rest on the street, watching the two pace up and down, each gesturing to emphasize words Bakugou can’t hear.

What would it be like to have Variant Bakugou’s memories, good and bad? If he had gotten the variant quirk with everyone else, would that be Bakugou talking with Deku instead?

“I just heard from Kirishima, Class B wrapped up their training camp yesterday no problem with Ketsubutsu Academy, and now they’re headed our way!” Raccoon Eyes cheers in the early morning light. “Sounds like Vlad King is very jealous of our spy training.”

“Can they come here and suffer through reclamation training too?” Dunce Face groans, perched on jutted rebar. The idiot scrambles to the top of a large piece of rubble, striking a pose like a ship’s captain. Ears likes this? She could clearly do better. “It’s supposed to be summer vacation, and all we’ve done is work and school and work and school.”

“Yeah, but we’re U.A.,” Ears says, unclipping the water bottle from her belt. “We chose this school because we wanted to be the best, and I really think all this training is getting us there.” She takes a long drink, giving a pointed look to Flat Face.

Flat Face opens his mouth to add something when Deku hops into view, smiling as if he hadn’t been up most of the night with Ponytail.

“Alright, the rest of Class A will be on Exit Island starting this afternoon for a few days.” Deku claps excitedly. “Shiketsu determined their skills sufficient enough to spend the remainder of the week here so Class B can settle into their campus. Yaoyorozu is staying behind to help Aizawa-san accommodate new arrivals, and we’ll have some extra pros coming to continue where we left off during our training camp.”

“Hey, I got a question,” Flat Face crosses his arms, unimpressed while Raccoon Eyes jumps up and down in excitement. “Why does this summer feel very fly by the seat of our pants? I mean, if Class B was coming to Shiketsu anyway, why didn’t we just complete the training camp together and whatever?”

“Yeah,” Deku laughs in self-depreciation. Bakugou has the urge to punch the nerd. “That’s a bit my fault. The summer’s curriculum is adaptable, and while all of this was on U.A.’s schedule, I wasn’t a variable the teachers anticipated.” The nerd shrugs. “What’s happening is adjustments to accommodate for everything I brought back.”

“Then, what does the rest of Class A joining us have to do with it? I thought this was supposed to be a reward for passing a covert ops exam?” Ears asks.

“Is it really a reward when you work?” Dunce Face mutters.

“Midoriya,” Emo Bird slowly gets up from his seat on the ground. He looks exhausted from his night of patrols with Round Face. “Does it have anything to do with why you were speaking with Yaoyorozu during rounds last night?”

Deku snaps a finger towards Emo Bird. “It does, and I’ll tell everyone once we’re all in one central location. But, for now, let’s continue the plan we started last night. We said we’d test our search and rescue at the very center and move our way out.”

Bakugou nearly misses Deku’s words when the nerd meets his gaze, a deep green filled with such warmth and confidence. “Kacchan, you’re in charge of this rescue mission. Delegate us.”

“And at least try to use our names, please.” Purple Bags adds, crossing his arms.

It’s hot.

So fucking hot that Bakugou regrets leaving his gauntlets back at base camp. He needs something to capture all this excess nitroglycerin.

Fucking hell, it’s hot. How did summer heat slam into place without him knowing?

“Patrol unit, how are we looking?” Bakugou calls over comms, surveying the Class A losers around him.

“The only real vantage point of the area is still the freeway,” Emo Bird’s voice crackles through the earpiece. Bakugou catches sight of the dark figure jumping across rooftops of medium-sized buildings in the process.

“No sight of villains to hinder rescue operations,” Dunce Face adds. “Good to go, get cracking!”

Bakugou scoffs while Ears groans. He raises a brow at the music heroine, and she glares back in response. They hold glares in a silent staring contest before her eyes snap away, blowing wide.

“Midoriya, what even?” She asks in a breathless voice.

Bakugou turns to see Deku’s back as he ties the top half of his suit around his waist. The nerd wears a green tank, already dark with sweat, showing off his scarred arms, freckled shoulders, and lower neckline. Bakugou’s eyes fixate on the scar marring a space where the neck meets the shoulders. The scar is jagged, angry, and sunken into the skin.

“What?” Deku turns, holding a hand up over his face to block out the intense sun.

“Where did all those scars come from?” Flat Face asks.

“I mean, I got this within the first few months at U.A.,” Deku raises his right hand to show off large sunken scars, an aftermath of fighting Half and Half. That’s the hand that reached out to Bakugou when they were kids, damaged by someone else’s doing. “If we go by that track record, what do you think happened while I was gone?”

“Are there any,” Round Face looks concerned. “Are there any that were really bad?”

Deku’s gaze falls on Bakugou like he’s supposed to know. “No,” The nerd says finally with a reassuring smile, “nothing physical.”

Well fuck, that’s not reassuring at all.

“Radio Wave, jam you ears into a stable piece of concrete. See if you can detect any victims trapped beneath the rubble.” Bakugou orders, flexing his hands as nitroglycerin pools. He’s popped off over a dozen explosions to reduce the excess sweat, but it’s not enough. He needs to get to work instead of running through all this shitty rescue drill protocol.

“My hero name is Earphone Jack,” Ears corrects but kneels to the ground and complies.

“That’s not better.” Bakugou scoffs.

“Sounds like plenty of debris pockets first ten feet. I can hear air pushing through. No integrity issue sounds. No victims.” Ears raises a hand to press her headphones closer to her ear. “Hold on.”

Bakugou watches as Ears’ face pinches. Her free hand taps out a rhythm, which he recognizes as one of her frequency codes. The blond doesn’t know what the rhythms mean, but he does notice they’re different enough to warrant attention.

“Five meters north of me, seven meters east. On the safe side, three-meter radius, there’s a sound thirteen meters down.” Raccoon Eyes, Flat Face, and Pink Cheeks move towards the coordinates, Racoon Eyes burning the perimeter with her acid.

“What is it?” Bakugou demands, turning his eyes to the group and coordinates. That’s the dead center of the crater. He looks at Deku, who’s rubbing the back of his neck with a pained expression.

‘Dead’ is probably the worst word to use.

“Could someone survive down there that long?” Purple Bags asks, fiddling with his capture scarf.

“Not possible,” Deku says. Pink Cheeks and Flat Face wrap and lift debris into piles outside the perimeter. That’s the objective of clean-up for today, but they’re still conducting the rescue drill.

“Bones have a frequency,” Ears answers, gaze distant as she plugs in another jack to the debris below. “I started expanding my quirk to include sensitive frequencies. I got the idea from that blind astrophysicist who made discoveries of the universe through sound. And like the universe, everything has its own frequency. You can use the bones' frequency to promote bone growth, and it creates a sort of dense sound in the living. But this, it echoes.”

“Hollow bones?” Purple Bags asks.

“More like skeletonization.” Deku corrects. “Depending on the conditions, skeletonization can occur are early as one and a half months or as long as seven years.”

Could that be Deku still under there, confirming Bakugou’s worst dreams? And what if the person before him is a clone of some sort?

But hadn’t rescue teams searched the crater already? Hadn’t Bakugou visited this place a handful of times with the pros in search of Deku? There was nothing, no sign of life, no sign of anything. No civilians trapped, no villains, or green-haired idiots.

Bakugou hasn’t been in this crater since he started therapy, his time with Hound Dog cuts into heroics, and he can’t afford for others to surpass him.

Pink Cheeks and Raccoon Eyes float another pile out of the way.

Bakugou helped dig through this crater, methodically searching its entirety four meters deep, in case Deku escaped in the aftermath of falling buildings. He had dug four meters with the heroes, and his loser classmates are going deeper still.

“Hey!” Deku calls, green lightning arcing up his legs. He preps for a jump but stops, glancing back at Bakugou with a confused expression. “What is it, Kacchan?”

Bakugou realizes he latched onto the nerd right before the jump. When did that happen? Deku is in the crater, and it’s the most nauseating feeling the blond has ever felt. Bakugou never found Deku in this mess because Deku wasn’t here. But what if he is? What if Bakugou has been hallucinating the past few weeks? What if this is all a dream? Or he got bashed in the head, and this is a coma speaking?

He releases his gloved hand around Deku’s bicep as if burned. Bakugou doesn’t want the nerd to disappear again. He doesn’t want Deku to leave his sight.

“Just go,” Bakugou takes a step back. “And take the Cheshire Cat with you.”

“I know you mean it as a joke, but I’d like to remind you that my hero name is Vulcan.” Purple Bags sighs.

“You’re a purple manipulative asshole who likes cats. Cheshire is better suited for your brand of idiocy.”  Bakugou glares. “I’ll keep watch over Ears while she continues listening to the debris.”

“No need,” Ears stands, unplugging her jacks from the ground. “It’s all just manmade materials except for the bones.”

“Right, which reminds me, and I can’t believe I have to say this, but,” Deku steps forward, cupping a hand around his mouth, “Do not touch the dead body. You have not been taught proper care and management of the deceased. If you see anything remotely close to a body, stop removing debris.”

“Call Aizawa,” Bakugou orders Ears, joining the nerd’s stride. “Do you know proper protocol?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Deku exhales. “There are a few ways of doing it, depending on how long the person has been deceased. Some people find the process easier when they phrase things certain ways. Some people, like Variant Katsuki – ” Bakugou feels pain lance up his arms from wrist to shoulder at his name. “Prefer to reference them as cadavers because names and personalities belong only to the living. I prefer to reference them as people I still need to rescue because they deserve respect and honor of the life they didn’t get to live. I tend to drag out the process and get too attached. Katsuki had a way of making the process easy for everyone involved.”

“You see a lot there?” Purple Bags asks, trailing behind.

“Yeah, I have plenty of experience.” Deku’s face pulls into a thin line before he stops over the jagged circle the three heroes cut out. It’s deep, only partially in shadow thanks to the sun high in the sky. Bakugou thinks he sees something cream beneath several pieces of rubble.

“Alright,” Deku says, lowering himself to the edge of the hole. “Uraraka and Kacchan, you’re with me. Sero and Shinsou, be ready to receive debris. Ashido, I need you to keep a distance as to not compromise the remains.”

He jumps down, and Bakugou follows, with Pink Cheeks floating down with her adapted gravity quirk.

“Uraraka, only cancel gravity on the objects I say are safe. Kacchan and I will be making sure none of it is entangled or will compromise the person beneath.” Deku crouches beside the center of the hole, testing the stability of this object or that in the world’s most dangerous game of Jenga.

The work is slow. More time is spent removing objects to delicately uncover bone than the time it took to remove twelve meters of debris. Bakugou is so focused on the methodical removal, he only distantly hears Ears proclaim the hobo is on his way and something about the other losers from Class A arriving.

The first clear bone Bakugou sees has an orange tinge to it. It’s split in several places, fractures he’s only ever seen in x-rays. This person was probably in a lot of pain when they died.

“That’s strange,” Deku mutters. “It shouldn’t be that color. Kacchan, I need a finger-sized explosion here to release this rebar from the ground beneath.” He points to an area near Round Face. Bakugou moves, placing a finger on the rebar with his new gloves and a barely suppressed shudder. Deku orders Round Face to remove the largest chunk off the body below.

As the debris lifts away, Bakugou stares at familiar once white clothes, ripped and stained in yellows and browns. The pelvis is crushed, an entire leg is missing from the knee down, and what little bone he can see is broken or cracked.

It’s Firefly; Bakugou can’t deny that. This stupidly strong Villain died and was reduced to something fragile.

Except, the blonde’s mind races. Except, how can Firefly be here? How could they be in the crater all this time? Didn’t Grape Face get attacked with the same M.O. as this villain not too long ago? How can Firefly be dead and alive and at the same time?

Unless that Scar Face Deku wasn’t Bakugou’s imagination. Unless Probability did more than take the nerd away. Unless that hero wannabe is the U.A. traitor and helping the Villains. Which means Deku might have been spirited away to the variant for fuck nothing. Four years for nothing.

“Huh,” Deku says, voice lilting towards surprise. Bakugou snaps his gaze up to the nerd, whose face is carefully blank, likely going through the same revelation as Bakugou. Deku rubs the back of his neck, right along the scar, as he stares down on the remains. Bakugou follows the gaze to an outstretched arm, bony fingers curled around a familiar metal mask that’s snapped in the back, crusted brown along the fastening band. Bakugou hasn’t seen the nerd wear any sort of mask with his newer uniform.

Bakugou looks back at Deku, to the scar he rubs, right where the mask would rest and would dig in if someone tried to break it off like a necklace. The blond expects Deku to say something about Firefly or something about the Variant or a plan of action. Instead, the nerd continues to stare at the broken mask as he says, “so that’s where that went.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou is hauled from the hole.

The texture of the hobo’s binding cloth is familiar as it wraps around his bare arms. Distantly, Bakugou finds himself comforted by the touch. Deku is lifted next, hauled up by Round Face.

“Bakugou! You with me?” Aizawa is right there, and at the same time, he isn’t. Because down in the hole is Firefly, the Villain he fought a few months ago. That damn mask means this is the place Deku would have died, and no amount of digging would save him. Down in that hole is proof of betrayal, and Deku was gone for nothing.

Bakugou went crazy for nothing.

Deku spent four years in a fucking variant timeline drifting farther and farther away for nothing. All the nerd got there was pain, and that body in the crater is proof there’s more to come.

“Five things you can see,” Aizawa orders, though it sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

Bakugou can’t name a single thing.

He’s trapped in the memory of that night. His arms throb with the sensation of overextending himself, hurling himself through the sky to get to the center of the crater where buildings are still toppling from the aftermath of the impact. His chest screams in pain from the shitty first aid Ponytail did. He soared past collapsing buildings, the image of Deku smiling fresh on his mind. That can’t be the last thing Bakugou saw of the nerd. A lying smile, a fucking fake ass promise, because Deku isn’t here. He’s trapped and injured or worse. His broken fingers claw through rubble barely illuminated at night. It has to be the right spot; Bakugou would know where that idiot is even a thousand miles away. And yet, he doesn’t feel anything. Deku is an empty spot in his body, so he digs harder, slicing his glove and hand on broken glass.

“Kacchan!”

Deku’s voice, solid and firm breaks through the memory, pulling the world into day. Bakugou stares up at blue skies and Deku. Why is he lying on the ground? Why is Deku above in some fucked up facsimile of meeting the nerd at the front gates of U.A. a few weeks ago?

“Look at me,” Deku says. No shit. Bakugou doesn’t want to lose sight of the nerd ever again. “I’m here; breathe with me.”

Green. The perfect shade of green is above him. The green of forest trees and mountain tops. The green on Bakugou’s uniform and the color that paints his heart.

How come no one told Bakugou love would hurt this much?

“You’re crying, nerd.” Bakugou croaks in a hoarse whisper. The green of Deku’s eyes tints blue as the nerd ugly cries, fat drops of water splashing on Bakugou below.

Bakugou reaches up, wrapping his arms around Deku’s back, and pulls him down into a hug. He holds tight, afraid to let go, staring at the pure blue sky above as Deku cries into his neck. Bakugou finds comfort in the nerd’s heaving breaths and racing heartbeat; they are an undeniable proof of life.

Bakugou breathes in for seven counts, holds for fifteen, and releases for twenty. Finally, on his third iteration, several footsteps approach with Raccoon Eyes and the hobo entering his field of vision.

He repeats the breathing exercise a fourth time before Bakugou pats the nerd’s back. “Come on,” Bakugou mutters, easing himself into a seated position as Deku still clings tight. “We’ve still got work to do.”

When the group returns to Edo Dejima, Hound Dog whisks Bakugou away before he can take stock of the new arrivals. They move past the building with the heavily slanted roof, now used as the map room, and stop at a building just before the white structure painted shitty Dutch East India Trading Company logo. Bakugou stares at the building, similar to the one down the road where he spent the evening with a bunch of gossips.

Ugh.

Hound Dog leads the way inside, past a museum of items traded between the Japanese and Dutch during the Edo period. Bakugou pauses once to the window filled with plants cast in resin, showcasing plants used for clothing dye, food, and medicine. There’s a weird cactus plant made of ovals with prickly points that’s nearly the right shade of green. Still too bright to be perfect.

The second floor resembles the other warehouse, with stacks of crates organized into cubby-like seating areas. Hound Dog takes a seat within one of the stacks, patting the bench across from him.

“It’s been some time,” The mutt offers as a way of greeting. “How are you?”

Fuck all of this.

Bakugou removes his gloves and compression bands, folding his arms firmly across his chest. He looks right to the wall of crates trapping him in on one side, then looks the other way to a plain white wall. There’s not a single fucking thing to blow up.

Hound Dog tries again, “Bakugou – ”

“Did you know?” Bakugou snaps, glaring at the wall – at anything not therapist-like.

“Know? Could you clarify what you mean by that?”

“Did you know about the feelings?” Bakugou hisses.

“About – ”

“Deku!” He snaps.

Hound Dog sits straight and tilts his head in consideration. Bakugou has the impression the mutt is cooing like Bakugou is a puppy that just learned to howl for the first time.

“Bakugou, you attacked a pro hero in grief for Midoriya. Why else would you do such a thing if not for ‘feelings?’”

“But did you know they were this,” Bakugou stares at his hands, looking back and forth as he throws them wide, sparks on his palms. “They were this wide? Because I sure as fuck didn’t.” He brings his arms back in, elbows resting on knees before burying his head in his hands.

“Define ‘feelings’ for me,” Hound Dog leans back against the crates, as relaxed as he’s going to get in this weird space.

“You’re getting some sick pleasure out of this, aren’t you?” Bakugou groans. Every session with the mutt has been a battle, teasing apart the figurative locks to Bakugou’s emotions. Usually, it takes most of the time to get to this point in a session. Instead, Bakugou is here and exposed, and it’s all because he’s in fucking love with Deku. “Love, or some shit.”

“Well,” Hound Dog growls, “The ancient Greeks had a belief that love comes in many forms. This is merely something for your consideration. There is self-love, longstanding love, love of a deep friendship, obsessive love, love for everyone, and a handful more. When you describe Midoriya, I get the impression he has a love for everyone and that you are more guarded with such an emotion. By referring to it as ‘feelings,’ are you trying to keep love at an arm’s length? Are you worried that if Midoriya loves everyone, there’s no room for you?”

Hadn’t Ears said the same thing about Dunce Face? Is that gossip posse actually good for something?

“I wasn’t,” Bakugou lies. Deku has always followed him. No matter how many times he pushed the nerd down, he’d follow. It’s a consistency in his life that Bakugou has always been afraid to lose. When will Deku look down on him and think him unworthy of attention? When will Deku finally learn Bakugou isn’t worthy of his admiration? And what if it’s all an act? What if Deku loves everyone except Bakugou, and this falsehood of admiration is his way of disguising it? “So, fuck you for that.”

“Bakugou,” The mutt chastises. “How did you come to this conclusion? How did you realize you had ‘feelings’ for Midoriya?”

The blond sighs, sitting up and thumping his head against the crate wall. “You see shit a million and fuck whatever times, you know? There’s only so many ‘you’re amazing, Kacchan’s’ you can take, right?” Hound Dog nods in agreement, waving a hand for Bakugou to continue.

“Just means nothing after a while. And then you fucking told me to look for spaces of peace,” Bakugou glares, “and it was like damn Deku pissed all over it. Every single space, he’s there.” Bakugou runs a hand through his hair as he heaves a breath. “And then the nerd laughed, and I knew. That nerd laughs all the time, he laughs more than he cries, and there’s a smile for fucking everyone. But he laughed, and I knew. I knew it wasn’t sudden either. This shit has been going on all our lives, and I’ve only just noticed.”

Bakugou thinks he sees the mutt smile through his muzzle, pleased like he’s just got a treat. Hound Dog leans forward, voice gentle when he says, “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Bakugou wants to scream.

The map room is crowded with pros and students alike when Bakugou arrives after his session. He sees the D-list heroine chatting with Present Mic, who matches her enthusiasm. Didn’t Deku say the heroine got along great with the hobo’s husband? Could it be?

Bakugou catches sight of Cementoss next, which quickly becomes a staring contest until someone shoves his shoulder.

“Bakubro! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Shitty Hair leans against him.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou is too exhausted to put any real bite behind it. First the fuck fest of a morning, then a shitty session with Hound Dog, and now this meeting. He feels like he can sleep for a million years. The world could end for all he cares.

“Aww, so you missed me?” Shitty Hair beams.

Bakugou gifts a scoff in response, gaze traveling across the room. He catches sight of green eyes that tinge black the moment he focuses on them. Bakugou knows that look well. There’s a battle plan in Deku’s eyes, and he needs someone he can trust. It’s practically a billboard that says, ‘come here.’

And, like a lovesick idiot, Bakugou abandons Shitty Hair to move towards the nerd.

“Young Bakugou, I’m glad to see you are well,” All Might greets when he’s close enough. The taller blond lays a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder as he turns to face Deku. “Midoriya and I were just catching up. It seems like there’s never enough time these days.”

Time.

Bakugou is sick of it. Time is distance. Time is absurd. Time pushes Deku further and further out of reach.

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Bakugou shrugs off the retired hero’s hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “So what now? Why are there so many pros here?”

“We’re hoping it’s nothing,” All Might says, gesturing out at the pros. Bakugou counts nearly as many heroes as there are students in Class A. Even Tin Tin’s friends are here, though it seems that blond is absent. He better be watching over Eri. “But there’s been chatter, and we’re not chancing a repeat of what happened four months ago.”

“They’ll be here for a bit,” Deku offers next. “When they arrived, I spoke with Aizawa-sensei, and now Nedzu is ordering a full sweep of campus for Probability and anything Probability related. Anyone he taught, anyone he put in his book, is under investigation. They’ll be searching for bugs, so it’s probably best the teachers are here.”

“What’s the chatter?”

As if on cue, Present Mic calls the room to attention.

“Good afternoon, Listeners!” The hero stands at the head of the table. “I’m sure everyone is glad to be reunited again,” He winks in the direction of the hobo, “even though we hoped it would happen under better circumstances.

“Since the start of summer vacation, U.A. has doubled our efforts to uncover the traitor feeding information to the League of Villains.” Bakugou watches as pros and students alike look at one another with suspicion. “If you are standing in this room, we’ve done the necessary investigations to determine you’re not the traitor.” The room lets out a collective sigh. “We managed to uncover our biggest clue thanks to Midoriya’s return.” Present Mic gestures to Deku, who waves awkwardly to everyone.

When the blond hero draws the room's attention back to him, and Deku moves closer, brushing his shoulder against Bakugou’s. Bakugou is distracted by the touch, unable to concentrate on Present Mic’s debrief. He catches that Probability has been on U.A.’s radar since Deku showed up and announced his passphrase. That the variation hero was vague and failed to retroactively file the necessary paperwork for taking the nerd without communication. The chatter is about some timeline villain, training others in places out of the typical flow of time, creating the recent rise in high-level villain activity.

There’s more information, so much that both All Might and the hobo take over at some point, but Bakugou can only focus on the heat of Deku beside him. Their hands are nearly touching. Bakugou can feel his body heat reaching out for comfort and familiarity. What would it take to hold the nerd? What would that look like to the others? The number of people who know about these newly realized feelings can be counted on the fingers of one hand, which the people in the room drastically outnumber. Never mind the fact that the person in question would probably freak the fuck out.

Bakugou would probably blow up the room with a few explosions if the nerd reached for him right now. Because why would Deku want to hold his hand? Why would Deku ever want Bakugou after years of abuse and bullying? Why would Bakugou ever be worthy of the personification of wonder and trust and all that is just? 

He catches sight of Raccoon Eyes, holding tight to Ears, whose eyes widen when she looks back. The pink heroine clings to others when she’s afraid, but those eyes – with the lack of twinkling like the night before – means she is afraid for him.

Shit, why isn’t he paying attention?

Well, fuck, he knows the ending anyway. All Might gave away that much. The pros are here because the chatter implies there’s going to be an attack on this island. The other pros are likely trying to obtain the upper hand on whatever might happen.

Deku steps away when most of the pros start to leave, gesturing for the Class A losers to take a seat. Bakugou remains standing, watching as most faces turn to confusion, though Ponytail seems to know what’s going on.

“Um,” The nerd fiddles with his hands, fingers twitching nervously when the doors to the room finally close. “How many of you are experiencing nightmares the past few nights?” The loser classmates look at one another with only Ponytail, Invisible Chick, and Tail, tentatively raising their hands.

Shitty Hair stage whispers, “So manly,” into the silence.

Bakugou dreams of losing the nerd every night, but he suspects that isn’t the type of nightmare Deku is talking about.

“Be honest,” Aizawa says from behind Deku, with All Might, Present Mic, Joke Face, and Hound Dog beside him. “There is no shame in it.”

A half dozen more hands join the previous three, including Purple Bags.

“I can’t assume to know what all your nightmares are about, but I get the feeling that you’re glimpsing into your variant lives.” Deku’s gaze rests on Ponytail. “If you recall, when you receive a quirk, you’ll get the memories of the previous owner, though that’s not wholly true. Quirks are so intrinsically tied to consciousness that you will always maintain a part of the previous owner, which is – well – you.”

The nerd looks back to All Might for support. “You’ve all worked hard to unlock your enhanced moves and increase your strength, which means you’re getting closer and closer to touching the consciousness of your variant. Unfortunately, the more you work, the higher the chance of nightmares.

“And um, all of us standing here?” Deku gestures to the pro teachers, himself, and Bakugou. “We’re here to help you through it. Those dreams are not something to fear.”

All Might takes a step forward. “Yes! Fear not, because we are here!”

Bakugou scoffs while a couple of the losers let out small groans.

“If you’re currently experiencing those dreams or nightmares, we’ll be up to speak with you.” Deku offers a tentative smile. “I am sorry that the memories aren’t always kind.”

“Do you,” Emo Bird slumps in his seat, staring at his hands. “Do you experience this too?”

“All the time,” The nerd looks teary. “I try not to use some of the quirks given to me, so I don’t get their memories or consciousness. The moment your variants started giving me their quirks, I vowed not to touch them to respect your privacy.

“If, if you don’t want the nightmares or don’t want them to continue, I can take them back, but I hope you keep them. You heard the debrief. The villains are harder hitting, and this Firefly is a lot stronger than the one from a few months ago. I want you to have all the resources you can possibly have to come out of this without a scratch.

Silence falls around the map room as the losers look at one another, making a collective decision.

“What’s a few nightmares if it means we get to protect everyone?” Dunce Face laughs, despite the uncertainty on his face. “Just part of the job, right?”

But it shouldn’t be part of it while they’re all still provisional heroes.

Bakugou wonders, at this rate of battles and trauma, if everyone will make it to graduation.

Chapter Text

Izuku helps set up sleeping areas for the pros in a dark brown building on the other side of the white Number 14 warehouse. It claims to be Edo Dejima’s Japanese Officials’ Office, where country officials controlled the comings and goings of people entering and exiting the artificial island. Though, with the pros setting up patrols to secure the city, this designated sleeping area is aptly named.

His classmates reorganize the top floor of the Dutch Clerk’s Quarters to accommodate the rest of Class A. Izuku thinks he heard Aizawa-sensei suggest moving the heroines to be free of the boy-stink and to the western Dutch Clerk’s Quarters across the street. It’s smaller and gives a better view of the Nagasaki harbor. Maybe the move is strategic to anticipate attacks.

Hound Dog pulls Izuku aside when the sleeping quarters are complete for a talk that lasts well over an hour. Izuku appreciates the school counselor’s attempt to address his time in the Variant, but there’s so much to unpack that Izuku doubts he’ll be able to touch on it anytime soon.

For the most part, Hound Dog and Izuku discuss guilt. The green-haired hero still feels guilty for leaving this reality behind; he feels guilty for not doing enough to save everyone in the Variant and leaving them behind too. But, most of all, Izuku feels guilt for forcing his classmates to take another version of their quirks, as well as the memories and traumas that come with them.

“I just want to give everyone their best chance,” Izuku explains, grateful to patrol the Meiji period buildings on the island. Having something to analyze makes it easier to talk about the feelings Hound Dog wants to address. The buildings from the Meiji period are more Dutch than Japanese, likely a result of the Japonisme movement in Europe during the late 1800s. Framed facsimiles of French impressionist paintings of Japanese art hang on the walls, emphasizing Europe’s obsession.

Izuku doesn’t know exactly how obsessed Europe was with Japanese art and culture. However, he does remember his research on Dejima revealed Europeans are why chonmage fell out of fashion. He remembers reading the fact in a couple of throwaway lines in an out of print history book. Something about two Japanese men went to the theater in Europe, and the crowd made fun of their samurai top knots to the point that the men returned home without them. Izuku is all too familiar with that type of bullying.

“Does everyone have their Variant quirk?” Hound Dog asks as they drift into the billiards room where a few pros have gathered. Ectoplasm is playing on one table against Snipe, while more Ectoplasm copies can be seen in the commissary kitchen cooking or loading boxes of food onto surfaces. Izuku supposes meals will be made here from now on. A temporary kitchen had been set up in the original sleeping area to disturb as few buildings as possible, but there’s little choice but to use the restaurant gauge kitchen with the number of people on the island.

Izuku is a little relieved Class B didn’t join; it’s already starting to feel cramped. But, then again, if the pros are here to give Class A the upper hand in case of an attack, Class B would secure a victory. Besides, they could do with rescue and restoration training too.

“Not everyone,” Izuku admits, leading the way out of the building and into the Protestant Seminary painted in a strange haint blue. This place should be empty unless someone decided they wanted to go gift shopping. He peers into the gift shop first, noting its disarray, clearly untouched since the battle. “Recovery Girl and Aizawa-sensei insisted I keep their quirks. Aizawa-sensei says it’s logical to have two people with erasure quirks for ruses and tactical advantages, and Recovery Girl admitted to more or less the same thing.”

“Anyone else?” Hound Dog prods.

“Not Kacchan either,” Izuku shrugs. “He didn’t ask for it, and I think he wants to make up the distance between us before he even thinks about adding the Variant. Kacchan wants to be number one on his own, and I’m not going to take that from him.”

That night, Izuku is in the makeshift kitchen, cooking on the stove. He’s not cooking anything of consequence, just a comfort food he remembers from the Variant. He’s not entirely sure if it’s a food or drink, though it may be a matter of how a person makes it.

He stares at the boiling rice inside the stockpot, adding more water when it starts to get too low. It’s stupid and simple but quiets the racing thoughts that keep him up.

“You know, a watched pot never boils.” Izuku whirls at the sound of Aizawa-sensei’s voice. The teacher enters the makeshift kitchen, holding a mug and looking entirely unsurprised to see Izuku at the stove.

The green-haired hero wordlessly slides the electric kettle in Aizawa-sensei’s direction before checking the clock. Half-past one, the teacher’s usual mid-night tea break.

“It needs supervision,” Izuku offers when the erasure hero steps forward to wash out his mug. Izuku turns back to the pot of boiling rice with a strainer and ladle. He scoops out the over-saturated rice into the strainer, using the bottom of the ladle to grind the starch through, repeating the process several times.

“What are you doing?” Aizawa-sensei finally asks as he starts the electric kettle.

“Champorado or Champurrado. That sounded the same, didn’t it?” Izuku rambles. “It’s a rice porridge or a drink, depending on how you make it – uh. Hot chocolate! Technically, it’s hot chocolate.”

“With rice?”

“Uh, yeah!” Izuku feels a little helpless at the explanation. “It was – um – like comfort food or drink when I was undercover for a couple of years with All for One. They were very inclusive in the League and had people from all over the world. So, when there were bad battles, and the heroes would thankfully win, we’d come back to the hideouts, and someone would make this.” He gestures at the stockpot. “And things wouldn’t feel so bad. And I thought – maybe – this could be a comfort for everyone’s nightmares.”

Aizawa-sensei stares and stares. Izuku isn’t sure the erasure hero merely fell asleep with his eyes open – which would definitely explain the dry eye – when the hero finally speaks.

“I know,” Aizawa-sensei stops and heaves a heavy sigh. “I know you mentioned a good portion of your time in the Variant was undercover with the League; I just,” He sighs again, “it’s hard to fathom.”

The erasure hero leans against the counter, dark eyes roving over Izuku’s face. “Midoriya, your time in the Variant isn’t something you have to bear alone. Especially with the news of Probability’s betrayal, I’m sure it’s casting everything in a new light.” Aizawa-sensei approaches Izuku, lightly pressing his fist into Izuku’s stomach in a mirror of his conversation preparing for the Shie Hassaikai raid. “You’re going to be a great hero here, just as you were a great hero in the Variant. I’m here to make sure you succeed, just like how you’re looking out for your friends.”

“Thank you, Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku whispers, cradling the teacher’s fist with both hands before gently pushing it away. He forces a quiet laugh and a smile to the erasure hero as he says, “What brought this on?”

At this, Aizawa-sensei’s features pinch before he sighs, pulling his messy dark hair into a partial bun. “I know, with everything you’ve seen and done, you don’t believe there’s any good left in the world,” Sensei rumbles, his eyes hard with firm determination. “I know because I was the same way around your age in my hero career. And I also know, Problem Child, that even though you don’t see the good, I do. It’s all in you.”

“You don’t know that,” Izuku feels his eyes prick with tears. He turns back to the stockpot, stirring the contents inside. Aizawa doesn’t know everything Izuku’s done in the Variant. Everything he didn’t do, as well as the decisions and promises he wasn’t able to keep. Sometimes, all Izuku can see is blood.

“I do,” The erasure hero’s voice is so strong, Izuku can’t help but believe. He focuses on adding cocoa powder to the pot, stirring until it dissolves. “You encouraged Todoroki to use his fire as near strangers; you helped Iida relearn the path of a hero against Stain; you brought Kota back to Mandalay and Eri to me. Time and time again, you inspire the class and are one of two lynchpins that keep this troublesome group going.”

“But that was then,” Izuku protests, wiping at his tears as he adds sugar and cinnamon to the pot.

“And now. They’d follow you anywhere,” If Izuku didn’t know any better, he’d guess Aizawa-sensei is smiling. “This class trusts you because they believe in you and see the good in you and know you will always choose what’s right, even if you’re not sure yourself.

“I must be your biggest problem child in existence,” The green-haired hero tries not to cry into the champorado.

“You wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t keep defying my expectations, which is a good thing, I promise.” Aizawa-sensei lays a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, which prompts the younger hero to turn around and wrap the teacher in a tight hug. “Ah,” The erasure hero hums, “here you go again, defying my expectations.”

Kacchan enters the makeshift kitchen shortly after Aizawa-sensei leaves. He looks irritable in a sleepy sort of way; hair pushed up by a black headband to expose his broad forehead.

“Can’t sleep?” Izuku asks, focused on Kacchan’s forehead. Someone might as well write ‘kiss me’ on it. The blond usually sleeps for a solid eight hours, waking in the early morning for training and ready to go by the time the rest of the class wakes. Izuku checks the clock; had he really been talking with Aizawa-sensei for so long? It’s two hours less than Kacchan’s usual sleep schedule, but the green-haired hero knows Kacchan’s schedule has been all over the place since his return.

“The hobo just pulled that glitter weirdo from one of those shitty nightmares,” Kacchan slumps into a stool at the counter, glaring at the stockpot. “You better not be burning shit.”

Izuku pours a fresh mug and refills his own, adding a dash of cayenne to Kacchan’s before sliding it the blond's way. He holds his mug tightly between both hands, savoring the warmth spreading through his palm and fingertips, before glancing out the darkened doorway. Aizawa-sensei took a cup with him at the soft cry of someone in the other room. So that was Aoyama.

Kacchan stares down at the mug with a frown before taking it with both hands. He sniffs once, red eyes a bit wary as he skips his gaze from the brown contents to Izuku.

“Give it a try,” Izuku encourages as something flutters inside his chest. Yes, Izuku can’t cook worth a damn, but how hard is it to make hot chocolate? He wants Kacchan to like it – like him.

Good heavens, Izuku hopes Kacchan doesn’t notice how much he stares. He’s been back for less than a month, and all Izuku can do is catalog and re-catalog Kacchan’s face. This is the Kacchan he fell in love with. Whose face, angry even in rest, is somehow ethereal. Whose eyes are the color of peppers, not persimmons, and wears the slightest bit of eyeliner. Honestly, Izuku never would have noticed the makeup if not for Katsuki, who beat disguise makeup techniques into Izuku like his life depended on it.

His life has yet to depend on the techniques, but he’ll still keep the skills close. Any Bakugou he has ever met has the habit of being right.

Kacchan takes a long sip, brows raising slightly. His pleasantly surprised look. How much more would those eyebrows raise if Izuku confessed?

Wait. No.

Izuku can’t do that to Kacchan. There’s an age difference now and, despite loving Kacchan all his life, Izuku has honed in on that love during his time in the Variant. He knows exactly what he wants and how he wants to go about it, and that’s too much for someone who only wants to be the number one hero. Besides, Izuku knows who Katsuki marries, and he’s not about to take that chance of love away.

It’s not like the Variant, where Katsuki and I-kun had dated for a few months by the time Izuku arrived. It’s not like Izuku was even aware he felt that kind of love towards Kacchan until it was too late. And if it took until the battle of Exit Island to realize his feelings, how long until Kacchan knows? Or what if Kacchan doesn’t have those types of feelings for Izuku? Just because the Variants got together doesn’t mean it will happen in this timeline.

But then again, Kacchan has been saying some strange things lately. That first night on patrol was especially jarring because it gave Izuku hope that maybe Kacchan might love him too. Maybe it’s because Izuku isn’t exactly playing fair by turning to the blond as a confidant for his time in the Variant. Izuku is creating a dependency on Kacchan, and while the green hero has always been dependent, this is the first time Kacchan is willing to listen. And wow, what a thrill that is to have Kacchan look at him without anger or desire to harm.

Kacchan is looking, and Izuku never wants him to look away.

Hold on, stop.

Izuku can’t be selfish. Kacchan has to find love on his own terms, whether or not that’s Izuku. He needs to keep the blond an arm’s length away, regardless of wanting to hold him close and never let go.

“Well, it’s not shit,” Kacchan says, snapping Izuku from his thoughts.

“That’s practically a compliment from you.” Izuku beams, and Kacchan grunts in response.

They lapse into silence, drinking the slightly grainy hot chocolate.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Kacchan glares when his mug is finally empty. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

How could Kacchan tell? Recovery Girl’s quirk naturally smooths the eye bags away. Then again, all those late-night rendezvous at training camp were probably a dead giveaway.

“One of the quirks All for One gave me is called Alert,” Izuku says, pulling another clean mug from the counter. “It’s always on and different than Danger Sense. Danger Sense is sort of for immediate danger, but Alert is for something impending. So if something important is going to happen, I remain alert in anticipation. Which means I don’t sleep, I can’t sleep, if I think there’s something coming.”

Kacchan’s face pinches, showing off the furrow on his brow and a slight wrinkle on his forehead. “When did you last sleep?”

Izuku thinks, running through his memories of the island, Shiketsu Academy, and the training camp. He tries to remember the last time he felt safe enough to relax.

“The night you made me dinner.” He admits, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Deku,” Kacchan says slowly, “That was two fucking weeks ago.”

“Oh, time flies when you’re having fun. Or, um,” Izuku wracks his brain for a less pitiful response, “revealing you’ve been in an alternate universe for several years.” Yeah, no, did not nail that.

Kacchan slides off the stool, moving around the counter to wash his cup in the sink. Izuku slides his cup the blond’s way before filling the clean mug he just pulled.

“What do you think is coming?” Kacchan asks when both mugs are drying by the sink, crossing his arms against his chest.

Izuku purses his lips in thought, leaning against the counter. He isn’t much taller than sixteen-year-old Kacchan when he leans against the counter. It puts Izuku at nearly eye height – or the perfect height to blatantly ogle Kacchan’s forehead. “I don’t always know, believe it or not. Like,” He lifts the mug he just filled between them before setting it down. “I made this, don’t know why, just knew I should. Weird, right?”

“Weird,” The blond agrees, glancing towards the open doorway. “Can’t imagine two weeks alone with your shitty ass thoughts. I can’t even manage the past two days with mine.”

Two days? Now that perks Izuku’s interest. Sure, Kacchan has looked a bit distracted lately, and he was dragged away to a girl’s night with Sero yesterday. Though, that might be just an eventuality. Katsuki was the one in charge of most girl’s nights in the Variant. With his knowledge from the fashion industry, he always gave hair, clothes, and makeup suggestions.

“Oh,” Izuku tries to be disinterested. Or at least as disinterested as Kacchan. “What about?” He hopes the blond answers; he really wants to know. Could Izuku solve Kacchan’s problems? Does he have the solution in his back pocket? Could he gift wrap it or present it on a silver platter? Is Kacchan debating receiving his Variant quirk? Izuku can give it gladly.

Kacchan looks thoughtful. Well, he’s glaring, but it’s his brand of thoughtful as he takes a few steps closer to Izuku, dropping his arms by his sides. “You want to know?”

Izuku reminds himself to keep the blond an arm’s length away. Keep Kacchan out of reach, so he doesn’t learn how corrupted Izuku has become.

Of course, Izuku wants to know. Is it about training to become a better hero? Is Kacchan finally admitting he likes Camie or Kirishima? They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Kacchan hasn’t been paired with Kirishima for most trainings. With the past few days cut off from half of the class, well, Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if Kacchan realized his feelings. Kirishima and Kacchan two have the strongest bond in this reality and the Variant. Then again, Katsuki made it clear Camie was an unexpected contender for the blond’s heart.

“Always,” Izuku feels breathless because Kacchan is even closer now. All he can see are those ruby red eyes. “You’ve listened to every insane and inane thing I’ve had to say. You’ve been there for me through everything, even when you could have walked away. How could I not want to know and – ”

Izuku doesn’t finish. He’s silenced by sudden pressure and heat on his lips, spreading a tingling sensation to the corners of his mouth. Cayenne is the only word floating around in the blank space Izuku used to call his mind. It’s been wiped clean at the touch and is struggling to make sense of the word. The burning sensation on his lips is cayenne. The same cayenne he put into Kacchan’s drink because he likes spicy things. The drink Kacchan consumed in its entirety because he washed a drained mug. So, the only residual evidence is on Kacchan and can only be transferred by touch. And there is definitely touching.

His eyes close as his hands reach out to pull Kacchan close, only for his fingers to find empty air. Izuku suddenly feels cold despite the lingering tingle.

His entire body mourns the loss of too short contact. More. Izuku wants more.

He opens his eyes to see Kacchan an arm’s length away with the mug of champorado in hand; head turned towards the open door. Next, Izuku hears a distinctive sniffling cry drifting through the doorway, likely from the nearby sleeping area.

Kirishima.

Kacchan’s eyes are wide with his red irises at near pinpricks on a blank canvas. Izuku has seen expression a handful of times. Desperation and panic. Kacchan doesn’t know what or who to choose.

“Go,” Izuku says, surprised he can find his voice, as he turns his gaze to the floor. He won’t stand in the way of Kacchan figuring out what to feel. Kirishima has always had a stronger hold on Kacchan than Izuku. So it makes sense why the blond would lean in favor of the redhead. “You’re a hero, aren’t you? Go save him.”

And with that, he hears Kacchan turn on his heel and disappears out the door.

In the silence that follows, Izuku presses two fingers to his lips, mimicking the momentary pressure. That was a kiss, wasn’t it? Kacchan kissed him? Does it mean the blond likes him over Kirishima? Or is this a by-product of Izuku’s eagerness to love him that tricked Kacchan into liking him?

Izuku slides to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as he buries his hands in his hair. Kacchan kissed him, and it’s everything he ever wanted. So why can’t Izuku feel happy about it?

“Thought I’d find you here,” All Might wanders into the map room, taking in the pink wallpaper contrasted with tatami mats. Izuku stares at the new map of the island Class B’s Comicman drew for Present Mic. The tall and lanky blond looks a little rested and carries a tray filled with two breakfasts.

“Yeah, um, couldn’t sleep.” Izuku sighs.

“That Alert quirk getting stronger?” All Might sets the tray between them, picking out orange juice and sipping from the plastic glass.

On Izuku’s first few days back in this timeline, he didn’t test out of subjects like he told Kacchan. Instead, he spent them locked in Nedzu’s office with Aizawa-sensei and All Might pouring over everything he did in the Variant with an emphasis on why he’s back and what society could lose. They adjusted the summer training curriculum, Aizawa-sensei and All Might tested his accessible quirks – barring All for One – and they brought Hound Dog in at a need-to-know basis.

“Yeah,” Izuku picks at the toast, tearing it to pieces between his fingers, landing crumbs all over the map and table. He eats a couple pieces before placing the remainder back on the tray. “It’s almost Danger Sense level. Something is about to happen, and it’s almost on top of us. I’m just trying to figure out where.” He tears his gaze away from All Might and back to the map.

“What are your instincts telling you?”

Izuku hums, tugging on his fight or flight instincts, as well as the part of him that analyzes quirks.

“Look up.”

All Might looks to see a dark brown wooden ceiling and bright unlit chandeliers. Izuku looks too, with a vague sensation of pain at the back of his neck while falling through blinding light. It’s been some time since Izuku’s thought of his last grapple with Firefly in detail before the Variant. The battle of Exit Island left Izuku paranoid around fireworks.

The sky is falling, Katsuki! How do you expect me to react?

Izuku stares at the burn on the inside of his wrist, confirming he’s in the right reality. He coughs, gaining All Might’s bright blue attention. “How fast can we get Yoarashi here? I get the feeling we’re going to need all the air support we can get.”

The day is almost normal, barring the cloud of impending doom looming over everyone’s heads and a sudden lack of direction for the day. After a long breakfast and a light rescue simulation, the class is split into a handful of teams. The Bakusquad surrounds Kacchan with Kirishima sticking close to the blond as they meet with Ms. Joke in one of the white warehouses, while Hound Dog takes the group of five with Yaoyorozu. The rest of Class A is set to patrol quadrants of the island, divided among the rest of the pro heroes.

Iida stays behind with All Might, setting up a central base of operations in the copper warehouse, complete with security monitors that resemble Epcot’s setup. Izuku hooks three cameras onto his belt before following Ectoplasm on patrol.

Firefly is on screen at the Sea Gate camera waving their white jacket as they lean over the side of a pocket cruiser sailboat, sail taller than the ship is long. The villain’s lean makes the boat look half a degree away from capsizing into the water.

Izuku stares at the blond on screen in the darkness of the warehouse from behind All Might.

“They want to talk,” Izuku frowns, crossing his arms as Firefly shrugs on their jacket.

“How do you know?” All Might asks, adjusting the screens to get a few views of the villain’s approach.

“Benjamin Hashimoto has two moods, ‘I want to be your new BFF’ psychopath or ‘Burns with a thousand suns’ murder spree. Two guesses where they’re at.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” All Might leans back in his chair, “How do we keep Firefly on the psychopath mood instead of the murder spree?”

“Better question,” Aizawa lifts a mug of something hot and steamy to his lips. “Why are they taking a boat when they can fly?”

“Dramatic flair, unfortunately.” Izuku sighs. “All for One got,” he pinches his nose, closing his eyes tightly against the terrible thought. “A little too attached to Benji.” He remembers his time with the League of Villains, Shigaraki squirreled away from the rest of the League as part of one of his father’s plans. Firefly was All for One’s latest protégé by the time Izuku joined. His father groomed them together, and they played off one another so much, Izuku knows what it feels like to emulate Firefly’s moods.

Izuku runs his hands through his hair in three quick successions, trying to shake out the dread he feels. His head is pounding with a headache of Alert practically screaming and Danger Sense sending spikes of adrenaline that’s thrown him off all day. “But to keep them on the friendly side, we’ve got to give them a friend.”

“I don’t like this,” Aizawa’s voice rumbles through the comms as Izuku sits at the jagged concrete edge of the Sea Gate, where the freeway ends abruptly, torn away when Exit Island was moved. He swings his legs, bouncing his heels against the side, convincing himself to relax. It’s a rooftop meeting with Kacchan and not one with a villain with more murders under their belt than the people on this island.

Aizawa doesn’t have to like this meet-up, because ultimately, it’s not his decision. Izuku is best equipped to handle Firefly out of everyone. He knows the Japanese-American like a brother.

Like Dabi.

Well, maybe that’s not the best example, with Variant Dabi’s redemption in the end.

“Hi Izuku,” Firefly sings in English when he’s in hearing range.

“Hi Benji,” Izuku sings the response back, earning a wild grin in return. English feels a little strange on his tongue. He hasn’t used it in nearly a year, but Firefly was adamant Izuku should be fluent. He can hear Aizawa-sensei calling for Present Mic over the comms. All Might, Present Mic, and Shinsou are most likely to understand the conversation with only marginal difficulties out of everyone on the island.

“Fancy meeting you here.” They call over the lapping water of the bay.

“What?” Izuku laughs, reminded of the times they joked around each other in the League. He told Kacchan a couple times that it wasn’t enough to survive in the Variant; he had to live in it too. One of the stipulations was becoming friends and genuinely caring for members of the League while undercover. “On your island that you painstakingly removed from the mainland?”

“It is my island, isn’t it?” Firefly brightens, glowing enough to illuminate the Sea Gate. “Parley?”

“I would expect nothing less. Need a hand?” Izuku shifts to stand, offering a hand out to the boat.

“I’d prefer your hand if you joined us again,” Firely looks distracted for a moment, a distant look overtaking their features as they look to the sky. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

Izuku sends out Blackwhip to pull the pocket cruiser closer, helping tie the boat on exposed rebar. Firefly hops from the sailboat to the island, taking a seat in front of the gate. The green hero settles beside them, rapping his knuckles on the concrete four times.

“So, I know what you’re thinking,” Firefly gestures widely, manic grin on their face. Not for the first time, Izuku thinks they resemble a villainous Present Mic. “But how am I here? Why aren’t I still murdering all your loved ones in that other timeline? When did I get so cute?”

Izuku snorts a laugh. “Something along those lines.”

“You ever get together with your precious soulmate, or are you still open season?” They glance back at the gate before turning back to Izuku.

“I’m not painting targets for your next spree, Benji.” He arches a brow in disapproval.

“You know, I bet All for One’s look of disappointment looks just like that, except without all the freckles. You know, if he had eyes.” Firefly reaches out, pinching Izuku’s cheek. “Good God, I’ve missed those.”

Izuku slaps the hand away. “You said something about parley?”

The blond sighs. “You were always more task-oriented out of the two of us. Dear old Dad loved your mumbling and the contingency plans on top of contingency on top of contingency – who thinks that much?”

“Parley, Benji.”

“Parley is for pirates, for people who steal and take. I took this island. Probability took you. What makes you a pirate to honor the code?” Firefly’s dark eyes waver between their two moods.

“If you recall,” Izuku leans back on the palms of his hands, “I stole the League of Villains.”

“Ah yes, the prodigal son,” Firefly huffs out a laugh. “Not even a several century-old man saw that coming.”

“How does one steal the League of Villains?” All Might asks over the comms, Izuku steadfastly ignores the question.

“Fine, fine, negotiations. I want my island back,” Firefly beams. “The League needs a home base.”

“You’d be placing a bunch of wanted convicts on an island that heroes can raid the moment one of them places it as a home address or orders an Anizon package.”

“Aww, you do still care.” Firefly bats their lashes. “Technically, this island is in international waters – ”

“ – We’re not twelve nautical miles from Japan – ”

“ – So I’m going to claim it as a new country. It’s not like Japan ever knew how to treat Dejima correctly. And, you’ll find that there are looser water laws around major trade cities.”

Izuku scoffs. “What, you looked into it?”

“No, get this,” Firefly holds their hands ups, wiggling their fingers as if to mimic magic or fireworks. “I-kun did.” Izuku sucks in a sharp breath. He wasn’t sure if Kacchan saw Variant Izuku. Probability said he died, even though no one found a body. But Probability is a liar, and Firefly just confirmed him to be working for the League. Why wouldn’t Probability lie about I-kun too? What would Katsuki do if he knew I-kun is alive?

Firefly drops one hand abruptly, using the other to flap dismissively. “Don’t worry; I’m not trying to replace you. He’s younger than you when you joined the League. Very bitter. I didn’t know you could stuff so much hate in such a small piece of broccoli.”

“I imagine he takes after dear old Dad, then.”

“He’s everything you should have been.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Izuku shrugs. “And speaking about disappointing, I can’t give you the island. I don’t have that authority, and I’m pretty sure the government will not approve of one of their landmasses being converted into the Legion of Doom’s newest hideout.”

“Maybe we want to retire and convert this place to a monastery where we take vows against murder and pillaging.” The blond mimics Izuku’s shrug. They used to mimic each other’s movements and speech patterns in the Variant. Firefly’s ‘I want to be your new BFF’ mood is a by-product of Izuku’s friendly nature. Izuku’s thousand sun hatred is something he tries to keep under lock and key, but it simmers beneath the surface.

“Seeing as you’re the most hedonistic person I know, I sincerely doubt you could refrain from causing harm.”

“I learned how to knit,” Firefly offers, “part of I-kun’s physical therapy. Is your doubt insincere now?”

When the villain receives no reply, they sigh and run fingers through their long and greasy blond hair. “Fine. Parley is negotiations; what are your terms?”

“Stop trying to kill people?”

“I don’t try to kill people, Izuku,” Firefly chastises, “everyone else is just bad at staying alive.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Izuku snorts. “What on earth goes on in that head of yours?”

“Okay, fine,” Firefly pushes themselves to their feet, “we knew this was never going to get anywhere.”

“Then why parley in the first place?” Izuku follows suit, watching the blond make their way to the pocket cruiser.

“I had to see if you’re still you,” They flash Izuku a smile while untethering their boat. “Or if my spree in the other place broke you enough.”

“It’ll take more than that.” Izuku glares, forcing a brave face at Firefly’s careless response.

“So I’m learning,” The villain frowns. “No wonder Probability chose you, I-kun pales in comparison. How much more will it take?” They lean against the sail before snapping their fingers as if suddenly inspired. “How about I just repeat my spree?”

“How about not?” Izuku crosses his arms over his chest.

“Or what if the League of Villains did that for me in one fell swoop?” Firefly grins. They push the cruiser from the Sea Gate with their foot, drifting as the wind changes directions to sail the villain away. “Or maybe this was a distraction, and I’m breaking a promise. You’re familiar with that, aren’t you, Izuku?”

The sky flashes with lightning, illuminating dozens of figures falling from the sky.

Chapter Text

Everyone is mobilized.

All Might caught Izuku’s signal for an incoming invasion, the four knuckle raps against concrete.

Ectoplasm is first on the field, scattering copies around the island in a matter of seconds while the villains are still in freefall.

Yoarashi’s voice cuts through the comms as Izuku makes his way through the island to his class. “Hey! They’re not all villains! There’s civilians up there!”

Izuku jerks his gaze up to another flash of lightning where figures continue to fall. Some dive towards the island, while others are flailing in a pure plummet. He compares the height of the fall to the nearby geography, a little over 500 meters. Taking in acceleration and gravity, Izuku has fewer seconds than he has fingers to rescue the civilians from hitting the pavement-like water.  

“Gale Force! Can you use your wind to slow their descent? Uravity! Tsukuyomi! Get the civilians! Snipe, and Aoyama, you’re on offense!” Izuku leaps into the sky towards the falling figure closest to the water. He throws Blackwhip, pulling the civilian close while the other tendrils slam into villains, casting them off course and into the water below.

Izuku feels Yoarashi’s wind push up, a pressure buffering the ocean below. The quirk made weather churns the water into high waves, capsizing the pocket cruiser. He has no doubt Firefly is already gone.

Tokoyami soars past, his two dark shadows latching onto four civilians before heading back to the island. Uraraka is in the sky, touching every innocent she can reach and prevent them from falling further. She touches the occasional villain to plummet towards the water. Tsu has commandeered a boat, navigating it through the high seas, out to rescue fallen civilians and villains alike from the dark waves while shots of light and bullets from Exit Island keep the villains from attacking the heroes midair.

Izuku passes his rescue to Tsu before using Float to join Uraraka in the skies, using Blackwhip to wrap around the floating individuals she’s touched. Usually, Izuku needs to compensate for her quirk, casting his aim higher as objects float into the atmosphere, but these civilians maintain their altitude. This change must be part of her enhanced quirk.

He turns, pulling the civilians close to reduce gravitational pull in his rotation, before extending the tendrils out again to set them down at the Sea Gate. Izuku counts eight civilians at the gate, four on Tsu’s boat, and another four rescued by Tokoyami.

Well, that was a hell of a lot more than nine seconds. Yoarashi’s efforts must have buffered them in the sky and bought a significant amount of time.

“Hey, uh,” Hagakure’s voice grunts through the comms. “A little help!” As if on cue, the sky breaks open, pouring rain. Izuku turns his face up to the freezing water soaking his skin. He’s distantly reminded of the day he met All Might, where the hero changed the weather with a single punch. Is that what this battle is going to become?  

“Stay and help Froppy,” Izuku tells Tokoyami, “Uravity, let’s go.”

A villain with the face of a rabbit takes nine consecutive tail hits to their chest. Izuku isn’t precisely sure how Ojiro can form eight extra tails when fighting, but he doesn’t spare it more than a cursory thought because the hero appears to be holding his own, and that rabbit is knocked out cold.

“Where are we going?” Uraraka asks, soaring above as Izuku leaps rubble to rubble.

“Wherever needs help. Firefly said the League of Villains will do what they did in the Variant.” Izuku’s heart is in his throat. He doesn’t want a repeat of Firefly’s spree. That was the whole point of giving his classmates their variant quirks.

“Deku,” Uraraka cuts off his path, floating before him with so little room to catch himself, Izuku nearly collides with the heroine. Her brown eyes are shiny with tears, small brows pinching with concern. Her hands are held out to stop Izuku from moving forward, and yet they’re somehow open as if asking for a hug.

“I died over there,” Uraraka whispers, nearly drowned out by the scattered battles.

“I know,” Izuku meets her gaze, much like he met Variant Uraraka’s in the end.

“You held me.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You made me feel so loved,” Tears spill down her cheeks as she reaches out a hand, fingers touching Izuku’s cheek, thumb brushing his freckles. “This is how I gave you my quirk.”

Izuku ducks away, “We’ve got to get moving; our class is in danger.”

“Izuku,” Uraraka’s voice is gentle and firm. There is gravity in her voice, anchoring him to the spot. “How many were you there for?”

He stomps his foot against the ground, rubble audibly cracking. “This is not the time, Uraraka,” Izuku glares, “I’m not letting it happen again. Not with you, not with anyone. Knowing won’t defeat the villains on the island, so I need you to keep your priorities straight. Can you do that?”

“Deku, I – ”

“Uravity!” Izuku snaps, startling the tears out of the brunette. He refuses to go down the rabbit hole of loss when there are people he can save. He can’t drown in grief if there’s something he can do. Izuku won’t be held down by ghosts when he needs to save to win. “Can you do that?”

Uraraka wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. They form fists as they come back down, her dark brown irises sharp with determination. She looks strong and confident like the hero she is but her voice wavers when she says, “Y-Yes.”

Izuku catches an impossible sight near the art museum, literally. He catches Yaoyorozu as she’s thrown from the fight with three villains wearing red armbands. League of Villains Red Army didn’t form in Variant until after Izuku joined, so why do they exist now? As soon as he catches one Yaoyorozu, Izuku is forced to grab hold of another, both dazed and with drastically different injuries.

He double takes the fight, setting the two Yaoyorozu’s safely on the ground where an additional three creative heroines are in one-on-one combat with three members of the Red Army. Izuku assumed this evolution of her creation quirk would happen later in life, when she felt confident enough to trust her mind and body like she trusts the book on her belt. Yaoyorozu must know an object intimately before she can create it; of course, she would know her body inside and out enough to create doubles like Ectoplasm.

The two Yaoyorozu’s rejoin the fight, one forming a shield as she barrels into one villain, sending them both crashing through a glass wall of the art museum. Izuku assesses the situation; the duplicate heroines seem to be holding their own, but five creative heroes must take a toll, and the food on the island is rationed. She probably hasn’t had the necessary diet to prepare for this battle. His gaze latches onto the Yaoyorozu who looks worse off, swaying before she dives back into the fight. Her features are strained and thin, like a string ready to snap. That’s the original Yaoyorozu, and she’s pushed herself past her limit.

Izuku separates the original from the hand-to-hand combat, taking over the battle with a villain in blue as three Yaoyorozu’s fight the another who seems to have a quirk Izuku associates with splinters. Any contact with the other villain seems to embed spikes and barbs of various lengths into the Yaoyorozu’s, splitting their skin like fractures.

He focuses on his Red Army soldier, a villain with blue features, a strange facsimile of Makabe from Ketsubutsu Academy, though his quirk is more like Kirishima. A blue fist collides solidly with Izuku’s side while he’s distracted, knocking the air out of the green hero’s chest. As Izuku topples backward, he latches onto the arm, taking the attacker’s momentum with him as he throws the villain to the ground to roll out of the way.

By the time he’s standing, all three villains are handcuffed to one Yaoyorozu each. The remaining heroines are nearby on a bench just inside the art museum. The original Yaoyorozu sits, arms holding her shredded hero uniform together as it threatens to fall apart, while the other kneels on the ground, laying a hand in the original’s.

“It’s okay,” the copy assures as Izuku approaches. “We’re not afraid to go.”

And with that, he witnesses the next impossible thing: The copy melts, reabsorbed at the point of connection with the original. As the copy is reabsorbed, Yaoyorozu loses some of her fragile tiredness. Is she able to reabsorb lipids now? Can she absorb lipids without eating? Or does reabsorption only work if she’s produced the object first? Izuku needs to write new analysis notebooks for his classmates for all predicted and impossible evolutions of their enhanced quirks. Yaoyorozu proved Izuku’s assumptions wrong; he gets the feeling his classmates will do the same.

Izuku unlatches the short cape from his shoulder, draping it over the heroine like her winter outfit. “That was amazing,” Izuku offers, fastening the cape carefully as he kneels before her. “You’re getting as quick on your feet as you are with your mind.”

Yaoyorozu reaches up a hand to hold the crème and gold-colored cape closed. “Thank you,” Her gaze drifts to her three replicas outside the museum. “I didn’t know I had this in me.”

“But you did,” He beams. “You knew your body could handle it, even if subconsciously, and you trusted yourself enough to try.” Izuku stands, looking out past the trio where fights are raging in the distance. “Think you can set up a makeshift jail here? We’ll send captured villains your way, and those three can guard the place while you get some rest.”

Yaoyorozu’s brows furrow as her gaze travel to the destroyed atrium. “I don’t know, but you trust me enough to try.”

Kaminari is doing a mixture of fight and flight with Kirishima, Jiro, Sato, and Shoji at the island's center. He’s hesitant in his moves, hits without full force, and shies away the moment he can use his quirk. Izuku can barely see the fight through the downpour as he races to join the fray.

The electric hero is trying to help but is afraid to use his quirk during a storm. The blond doesn’t know what to do.

“Uh, a little help!” Kaminari cries when two of the villains tackle him to the ground. The blond tucks his legs beneath him and kicks up, effectively flipping one villain over his head. It’s a move taught primarily to the heroines or those with leg strength. Izuku has used that move on Firefly on this island. He makes a mental note to pair Kaminari up with himself or Sero and Ida for future training.

“A little busy at the moment!” Jiro shouts, using her earphone jacks to distract one enemy in bright green tactical gear long enough for Sato to land a clean uppercut before slamming down the villain into the debris below. The villain in green utilizes Sato’s momentum to pull the sugar hero down, until the villain phases Sato into the island debris like quicksand.

“I’ve got you!” Shoji abandons his fight alongside Kirishima to pull Sato from the ground with six hands but only succeeds at pulling the hero in yellow out to mid-thigh before the ground solidifies again.

“How can I help?” Izuku asks, feeling breathless as Shoji and Jiro take positions to project Sato. The sugar hero fumbles to consume a bag of sugar before pounding at the concrete to free himself.

“Me!” Kaminari waves a hand in the rain. At least he’s one on one now, but where did his other attacker go?

Izuku ducks out of the way of a green fist, taking a running jump at Kaminari’s opponent. The blond forces the villain into Izuku’s path with a series of small crackles of lightning on his palms before the green-haired hero side kicks the villain farther than Izuku can see in the rain.

Kaminari flips back his blond bangs, plastering them to his head as the rain keeps coming. “Thanks,” He heaves for breath, “why does this get more and more terrifying the more and more we train?”

“Why are you afraid to use your quirk?” Izuku asks instead, reaching out to pull Kaminari along. The blond jerks back, sharp eyes terrified.

“Uh, hello!” Kaminari gestures wide. “It’s raining! In a thunderstorm!”

“And you’re a hero with friends that need help. Come on.”

“No.”

“Kaminari, come on!” Izuku holds his hand out.

“I can’t!”

“Why not? Kirishima, Shoji, and Jiro could be in danger. Sato’s working himself out of trouble. We’ve got to keep them safe.” Izuku flicks his gaze in the direction of Kirishima. He can’t see through the downpour very well, but Kirishima’s shouts are worrisome.

“I’m going to hurt them!” Kaminari glares. “Literally a lightning rod here! So unless you want me to fry the ENTIRE island, I can’t get too close.”

Izuku huffs. He’s only checked off the safety of a quarter of his class; he doesn’t have time to have a shouting match with Kaminari about element quirk types – even though he knows it’ll be fun. He could assure Kaminari has more control over his quirk than he realizes. Izuku could comfort the blonde, ensure safety, and talk about ways to keep their classmates safe while Kaminari uses his Indiscriminate Shock or attracts lightning.

Or.

Or Izuku could force the issue.

“Sorry about this!” Izuku yells, latching onto the blond’s arm and hurling him away. Kaminari screams as he disappears into the opaque downpour, though Izuku can still hear the loud thud in Kirishima’s direction, followed by a bright burst of light with two yelps of surprise.

Izuku rejoins Jiro and Shoji, taking over the fight with a villain that’s freezing raindrops and turning them into bullets, so Jiro can use her quirk to vibrate the debris and free Sato.

When Izuku takes three ice bullets in the arm, he wants to trade back. Jiro used that same vibration technique with her boots to shatter the ice before it got too close. He’s taken to taking a piece of rebar to use as a staff, spinning it between his hands to form a shield against the bullets and using it as a lance in the brief pauses the villain needs to freeze more water. The pauses are never long enough for Izuku to shift to offense.

“How are we looking?” Izuku looks behind him at Jiro, who’s making some headway on freeing Sato. The sugar hero’s knees are visible, so that’s a plus.

“Surprisingly good, actually,” Kaminari’s voice comes from the front. Izuku turns his head just in time to see the blond place a hand on the villain’s shoulder, electricity surging at the point of connection for a split second before the villain collapses. “Can’t say the same for Jiro, though. Looks like she’s having a bad hair day.”

“Why are you like this?” Jiro growls as Izuku slows his staff to a stop, looking for Shoji and his fight. It seems to be two on one; Kirishima’s spiky hair is visible assisting the several armed hero. That’s good. Izuku can breathe a little easier.

“I’ve said this on comms, but I’ll say it again: Creati is at the art museum near the park establishing a holding cell for all captured villains,” Izuku says, “She’ll need some help keeping them secure.”

“We’re on it,” Jiro nods as Sato is now free at the calf. He manages to fracture the ground and wiggle his legs free. “We’ll wrap up here. I think I heard Ashido and Hagakure need help.” She taps her headphones with a frown.

“Then, I guess I’m on my way.”

It’s been hours of fighting.

Thankfully the rain has let up, but everyone is soaked to the bone. Even Izuku can’t help but shiver through his thick suit, which weighs a ton from the water. His legs feel leaden, but he has to keep moving, helping, and saving.

Izuku treks uphill on a paved street, looking for potential threats. He feels it in his Alert Quirk, growing like an electrical charge. Like the rest of the Pros and Class A, he's exhausted, but they’ve muscled through the second air wave, and the makeshift jail needs more guards from all the captured villains.

His gaze keeps flicking to the dark sea, forming a need to be high up for a better vantage point. Izuku’s made the gesture enough times to comm Tsu to be alert on her boat and for Tokoyami to be on the alert. If a third wave is coming by water, the last thing Izuku wants is for Tokoyami to lose control of Dark Shadow in the middle of the night.

As he climbs a path sandwiched between stone and brick, Izuku hears rubble clatter on the stone side. He shifts into a fighting stance, raising his hands for defense and balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to move or kick at a possible assailant. The last time Izuku did roll call, all thirty-seven heroes and heroes in training were accounted for. Twelve are in the makeshift infirmary at the church, and no one should be at this far end of the island.

“Oh, how they rally around the both of you.” Izuku whirls in the opposite direction to see Firefly standing on top of the short brick wall, arms stretched out wide as if trying to keep balance. “I’ve never seen such trust in anyone, let alone two people.” The blonde laughs, waving Izuku along to follow. “I can see how Nighteye’s quirk could be superseded and why Probability is nervous. Who could ever expect the pure willpower of Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki?”

“Come to surrender?” Izuku asks, resuming his trek. He’s better off playing along than going for the attack.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting for this island. It doesn’t mean anything to any of you.” Firefly’s words rumble with anger. It won’t be long until the blond’s mood shifts and the remaining heroes are in for their toughest battle yet.

“It’s not about the island,” The hero chides. “It’s about the people you’re attacking. We’re just trying to keep one another safe.”

“No to the surrender thing,” Firefly replies. “Just keeping conversation during the lull.” No answers as to the hyperfocus on harming the students of Class A. It seems that they still keep some things close to the vest. Maybe it’s time for Izuku to rewrite a Firefly notebook and see if there’s a clue or path he missed to make Benji this insane.

“So there is more coming. Thanks for confirming.”

“You’re always so smart.” Firefly pauses midstep, looking down at Izuku before taking an abrupt seat on the brick wall in front of the hero.

“I’ve seen you in variation. Many variations,” The blond states flatly, their golden eyes almost a dull brown. “And they have never been anything like you. Same with the Bakugou’s. You know, Probability warned this reality would be the hardest. This is the only one that tripped up Nighteye. This is the only one where one could thrive without the other.” Firefly sighs. “And what a shame that would be. I like the variations when either of you turn into villains out of grief or revenge.”

Izuku blinks and frowns. He feels like he’s pulling a Kacchan, buffering at the confusing sequence of words and glaring in the face of conflicting information. Many Variations. How many realities has this Firefly visited? How long were they there? How old are they now? Why did they go? Were they the ones who tested the outcome of the realities? Or is that something Probability did?

One could thrive without the other. What does that mean? They mentioned Kacchan. Does that mean Kacchan would be fine without Izuku? Is this proof that the kiss meant nothing? Or is it that Izuku could survive and move on if something happens to Kacchan?

“This is a threat,” Izuku blurts before his brain can catch up.

“It’s a fact,” Firefly hops off the brick wall to stand before Izuku. “And, well, yeah, maybe a warning.” They flash a tight smile, eyes murderous. “I’m getting real sick of your posse capturing my people. Back off, or else your precious soulmate is going to get hurt.”

Firefly unleashes a burst of light, blinding Izuku for a split second. He blinks away the afterimage to see nothing but empty space.

Panic comes through the comms on the onset of the third wave of villains by sea.

“There was a villain with a shark quirk!”

“Froppy just – ”

“She’s so cold – I can’t even get a heartbeat – ”

“Todoroki, we need you at the Sea Gate!”

“Define cold.” Aizawa-sensei’s voice cuts through the mess of words as Izuku struggles to pull on his leg braces. The teacher’s low rumble is soothing on high and bright noise at Izuku’s ears, though it’s twice as comforting knowing the erasure hero asks standing beside Izuku before it repeats on comms. The green hero barely had enough time to dry his clothes before the call came in. He’s still shivering, the warmth of the tea locked in his chest, refusing to spread to his extremities. Izuku is cold too.

“Frozen, like Todoroki froze her from the inside out,” Tokoyami says. Aizawa-sensei flicks his gaze towards Izuku, who’s in the process of lacing up a boot.

“Tsukuyomi, how injured does Froppy look?” Izuku asks, lacing up the other boot. He listens to Tokoyami's reply, a large shark bite to her middle, along with a couple of other significant injuries. There’s something lacking in the description. “Todoroki, hold your position. We’ll have more incoming soon. Tsukuyomi, get Froppy to the infirmary. I’ll meet you there.”

“Right here, right here,” Izuku directs Tokoyami to a med table where an Ectoplasm clone is waiting. The hero starts cutting the suit away as Izuku removes the more manageable parts of the costume.

“Is she going to be alright?” Tokoyami asks, Dark Shadow hovering over his shoulder with a worried expression.

“Yes, is the easy answer,” Izuku passes off her headgear. “The other Tsu had different Frog abilities. She could freeze herself – that’s a wood frog ability if you want to know – when she was injured. It stops her heart and breathing and slows down blood flow.” Izuku removes the one remaining glove.

“We need to evac her from the battle,” Ectoplasm says, cleaning the shark bite on her left side. “This goes beyond my knowledge.”

Izuku removes a glove, resting his fingers on her frozen cheek. Recovery Girl walked him through her quirk during his second day back. The experienced heroine can assess how much of her quirk to use or if the person has enough strength to heal through sight. But in the beginning, she had to touch the person, which provides a complete health assessment upon contact.

“Two small punctures to her large intestine, a shattered kneecap on the right and broken fibula on the left make up the internal injuries.” Izuku mutters, “Twenty-eight exterior teeth punctures and the, uh, the arm.”

Tokoyami looks away while Ectoplasm keeps working. Izuku grabs the necessary supplies to create a tourniquet. “The moment that goes on, we have two hours before it starts causing damage.” Ectoplasm offers. “Another reason for evac.”

“How long can she feasibly have it on?” Tokoyami asks, looking towards another room where a handful of pros lay injured.

“Six hours before it’s permanent, and Tsu will lose even more of the arm.” Izuku secures the tourniquet, glancing at the clock to mark the time. Evac is near impossible, with the storm still rampant with lightning and spraying the occasional downpour. Firefly made it clear the next villain attack is coming by sea. All that’s left is the newly built bridge connecting Dejima to the shore. Thirteen long and unobstructed kilometers of bridge over villain-infested waters on a storm-filled night.

If Tsu is going to be evacuated to the nearest hospital, she’ll need something light and fast, able to adapt should villains break the bridge and send her towards the sea. Flying is out of the question with the current weather; Pro Hero Radar expects another crippling wave within the hour.

Light. Fast. Land and sea.

Izuku switches channels on his comms. “Iida, before the Variant, your average speed was 52 kilometers per hour. What is it now?” He helps Ectoplasm shift Tsu on her side to address the smaller number of wounds on her back. Dark Shadow finds a blanket and drapes it over the frog heroine’s shoulders for modesty.

“Midoriya?” Iida crackles through. “What does that have to do with anything? We’re anticipating our next raid. We should be focusing on the immediate problem.”

“I am focusing on the immediate problem.” Izuku bites out. He feels Tsu beginning to thaw, which means she’s going to be aware of a lot of pain very soon. “What is your average speed now? Can you get up to 130 an hour for any amount of time?”

“87, though if I use Recipro Turbo, I can more than double that speed for up to ten minutes.” The glasses hero sounds confused, if not a little unsure.

“Good enough for me,” Izuku glances at Ectoplasm, who’s bandaging her side. “We need an evac, and you stand the best chance of success. Med bay, two minutes.” He lays two fingers against Tsu’s neck, picking up a weak pulse before activating Recovery Girl’s quirk as he places a kiss on her cheek. “Tokoyami, help Ectoplasm prepare for Tsu to be carried by Iida. He’ll be going over the bridge, but if the villains break the bridge to prevent the evac, he’ll need to use Recipro Turbo to run on water. I’ll take Iida’s post in the meantime.”

Radar is correct in his weather predictions; no wonder he’s the number one weatherman in all of Japan. Iida is barely on the mainland before the rain begins, and with it comes the third wave.

Izuku heaves for breath, limbs aching from fighting the third wave of villains. He spent most of his time over the water, keeping heroes from being dragged under or fighting Villains attempting to climb onto the island. He swears he can see his breath from how cold he feels, but that’s the hypothermia talking. Izuku needs to keep pushing forward. Whatever the League of Villains has planning has to be nearly done and over with, right?

“All clear at Hollander,” Todoroki calls over comms.

“All villains at Tokiwamachi have been captured,” Hagakure says without her usual cheer.

“We’re holding ninety-four for processing.” Yaoyorozu sounds exhausted.

“Edo is clear,” Aizawa-sensei adds.

“Crater is clear,” Uraraka says. The heroes scattered around the island call in with their status. Each voice soothes the Alert quirk, proving the danger has just about passed.

“Hi Izuku,” Firefly sings over the comms, earning sharp cries of surprise from Izuku’s classmates. He races through every voice he heard. Who could possibly be unaccounted for?

Five people. Two pros and three members of Class A. Yaoyorozu should account for three more heroes guarding the villains. Izuku hasn’t heard from a pro since the third wave began, and the only remaining member of Class A who hasn’t responded is Kacchan.

“Benji,” Izuku growls, looking towards the haggard skyline. “You’re not painting targets, are you?”

“I warned you.” Firefly states, their words cold and hard. They’re going to kill someone if they haven’t already. “I told you to back off.”

“When have I ever done that?” The green hero asks, gaze latching onto a building standing tall and illuminating with the start of dawn. The only area of land not accounted for. Izuku almost laughs. The hospital. Firefly must be hiding in the hospital.

“You’re very good at following directions, especially when lives are at stake.”

Izuku lets green lightning wash over him as he leaps towards the hospital. He needs to keep Firefly talking. The more Firefly talks, the less they do. Izuku can buy time to find Kacchan if he keeps Firefly distracted.

“I’m the opposite, actually.” Izuku goads. “Just ask Overhaul.” Time, he thinks. He needs to bide time. Why is this island always a place where there isn’t enough? First, in realizing how much he loves Kacchan and now, not knowing if Kacchan likes him back.

He jumps over the glass rooftop and to the highest section of the hospital, where a helicopter pad is painted in red. Izuku can see Kacchan tied to the roof railing, struggling against the bindings as Firefly pulls an object from their ear and stomps on it with a smile.

“Yours too, don’t want anyone hearing us,” Firefly points at their ear. Izuku pulls out his comms in a show of faith, throwing it over the side of the building. “Parley?”

“Do I even honor that when you didn’t last time?” The green-haired hero crosses his arms.

“I’m willing to negotiate. There are things we both want.” Firefly turns on their heel to stand beside Kacchan, running a hand through the spiky blond hair. Kacchan growls, jerking his head out from under the touch. “For example, you want your precious Kacchan to live, and I want you back on the side of the League of Villains.”

“I’m not joining. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.”

“How about for Kacchan? I’m sure you’ll do anything.” Firefly squats beside Kacchan, grabbing hold of the explosive teen’s chin and jerking it in their direction.

“You know,” Firefly smiles, but their gaze is cold. “I’ve always hated you so much. No matter what I do, Izuku’s best friend is you. Izuku is looking for you, waiting for you. It’s always Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. It’s always everything I want is taken away, and everything I deserve is stolen by idiots like you who think you’re owed the world.”

“Benji,” Izuku warns, slowly moving closer. Firefly’s grip is too tight; the last thing Kacchan needs is a broken jaw.  

“Izuku tried to keep you a secret, you know,” The villain holds Kacchan firm. “But how could he when you are what makes him the best hero and the cruelest villain? Bully and inspiration, what a lucky role you play. You took everything from him, every single day. Beat the shit out of him, told him to give up on his dreams so you could thrive. Told him to swan dive off the roof for the sake of your glory. You must be so proud to have him still wrapped around your finger.”

“Benji, stop!”

“You’re just like the rest of them, too stupid to understand and thinking you can crush gods like us underfoot!” Firefly spits in Kacchan’s face, long fingers shifting to wrap around the explosive hero’s throat.

Kacchan roars, breaking the bindings around his arm, swinging to collide an explosion to Firefly’s face. The moment the light villain is blown away, Izuku is by Kacchan’s side, removing the bindings.

“Why the hell are you standing around talking with this dumbass villain, Deku?” Kacchan barks, tearing off the gag in his mouth.

“Would you believe me if I said he was a friend?” Izuku tries for a laugh as he shifts to his feet, taking a fighting stance.

“You’ve got some shitty friends,” Kacchan glares, shifting one foot back as he prepares for an attack.

“You’d know that from experience, wouldn’t you?” Firefly snarls, using the railing of the opposite edge of the roof to stand. They wipe the blast mark off their face with the back of their hand, glaring at Kacchan. “You know, we’ve been in this exact fight dozens of times, and you always lose.”

“I’m not listening to your bullshit!” Kacchan yells.

“You’re going to lose again, and you’re going to keep losing as long as I’m around.”

“You lost to us before,” Kacchan snaps, “which means you can lose again. Or did you forget who’s lying at the bottom of that fucking crater?”

“Oh, believe me,” Firefly shakes out their arms, light forming in their palms, “there’s not going to be a repeat performance.”

“Think of it as a sequel.” Kacchan leaps, setting off an explosion.  

Izuku isn’t quite sure what happened.

All he knows is that he’s lying in a pile of broken tables and chairs, sharp pain in his right shoulder, staring up at a broken glass ceiling pouring a river of rain onto his face.

In Kacchan’s words, what the fuck?

He groans, sitting up and turning his face away from the downpour. Sitting up confirms he still has mobility; his wiggling toes touching the tops and bottoms of his boots imply there’s no spinal damage to his legs. Izuku’s left hand clenches and unclenches just fine, but his right seems to be giving him some trouble. Maybe it has something to do with the pain in his shoulder.

Izuku glances to the spot where a bloody tip of glass protrudes, blood flowing freely down his side. Yeah. That’ll do it.

Alert makes his head throb, screaming of danger, though he’s not sure what. Danger Sense is oddly quiet, which means whatever is happening doesn’t include Izuku, which is terrifying. Firefly is out for the blood of everyone Izuku knows and cares about, and Kacchan is out there fighting. Danger Sense should be screaming.

Izuku pulls himself to his feet, straining his ears to listen for the sound of fighting over the roar of the rain. He pulls the shard of glass out from his back, tearing a piece of table cloth to clumsily wrap around his shoulder. He can feel Recovery Girl’s quirk seeking out the injury to heal, but he’ll give the healing quirk its best chance by staunching the flow.

His mind drifts to the last time he fought Firefly as he gives himself a more thorough once over. Not the last time he fought on this island, but in the Variant. Back then, it had been a race against time, with Izuku half a country away while Firefly attempted to level all of Tokyo fighting Katsuki. Was that only a month ago? It feels like a lifetime.

Despite the near four years in the Variant, Izuku never quite synced with Katsuki in teamwork, compared to Kacchan. Maybe that was the downfall. Izuku’s and Kacchan’s are only made to complement one another in any variant. Mixing and matching is not allowed.

An explosion lights up the glass-domed ceiling. How is Kacchan able to make explosions in this weather?

Izuku jumps on instinct, leaping out of the broken hole in the roof and onto solid ground. He scans for signs of a fight in the light of another day, searching for Firefly’s familiar glow or Kacchan’s bright orange on his hero clothes.

As the rain lightens, he latches onto the grocery store beside a park, just west of the hospital and south of the art museum. While Alert and Danger Sense say nothing, a louder part of him screams that Kacchan is there and fighting and may need help.

Izuku is about to leap from the roof when the grocery store explodes in fire and light, sending debris into the ocean. He stumbles back, knocking away a few errant flying pieces of rubble.

“Deku!” Izuku whirls at the name, bringing up a hand for a Delaware Smash Air Force, only to see Uraraka, Kirishima, Tokoyami, Sato, and Aoyama on the rooftop. Each look like they’ve taken a beating, with their uniforms in tatters. Aoyama has an eye swollen shut, and Kirishima is full of cracks despite his inactive quirk.

“What’s going on? We heard Firefly, and then the comms went dead.” Uraraka looks concerned.

“Yeah, we tried getting in touch with Bakugou, but he’s not answering either,” Kirishima adds.

“I’m trying to catch up myself,” Izuku holds a hand to his bandaged shoulder. “I think I got knocked from the fight and – ”

Danger Sense flares, forcing Izuku to turn towards the pain mid-sentence. There. Izuku can see over the distance and drizzling rain to see Firefly and Kacchan fighting midair. Except it’s not really a fight when someone has hands around the other’s throat.

The air in Izuku’s chest stalls at the sight, even as his feet move, green lightning crackling around his limbs as he takes off into the sky. No thoughts, head empty, and body moving.

It’s that day all over again. No, not that night on the island that Kacchan is obsessed with. Not even the day Kacchan was kidnapped or the fight after provisional licensing exams.

That day.

The day that started Izuku’s hero journey, where a slime villain threatened to take Izuku’s life and then Kacchan’s. He thinks he sees the same look in Kacchan’s eyes as he moves closer. Crimson eyes are pleading for help.

“Firefly!” Izuku roars, pulling Firefly into a headlock.

“De – ku,” Kacchan chokes out, soaked gloved hands grab uselessly at Firefly’s smooth white jacket. His red eyes are turning hazy, the whites of his eyes are even turning red. How long has Firefly been choking Kacchan? How long until Kacchan loses consciousness?

“I don’t need both hands to end him,” Firefly snarls through a sharp breath, readjusting their grip to free a hand to blast at Izuku.

Izuku takes the grip shift opening to free Kacchan from Firefly’s hold. Kacchan drops like a stone, wet hands struggling to make the slightest spark. Izuku dives for him, only to be yanked back by his hair by Firefly.

“I told you I don’t need both hands to end him!” Firefly snaps, igniting their palms. Izuku hears the hiss of water steaming, followed by the acrid smell of burning hair. “I saw how his water exercises went. That tormentor is as good as gone.”

Izuku reaches up, grasping both hands around one arm, and swings himself back and forth with a move he learned from Uraraka the day after he returned. “Gunhead martial arts, Dead Weight!”

He flips the villain over his shoulder in the air, and the momentum loosens Firefly’s grip enough to tear away.

Firefly glares at Izuku, hands igniting with bright light as they fly to close the distance in another grapple.

A beam of sparkling light separates Izuku from the villain. Izuku looks back to the hospital where Aoyama holds the beam steady while Uraraka and Tokoyami fly towards him, the former carrying Sato while Tokoyami holds Kirishima.

“Go!” Uraraka yells, throwing Sato through the air. The sugar hero roars as he punches Firefly.

“Get Bakugou!” Kirishima punches his fists together, activating his quirk.

Izuku doesn’t need to be told twice. He deactivates his quirk and plummets into the ocean.

As soon as the cold water hits him, Izuku wishes Tsuyu hadn’t gotten so severely injured in battle. She’d be ideal in this situation, especially against such deep water below. The morning light can only reach so far down. Izuku activates One for All, hoping the lightning might provide more light as he searches.

It takes longer than Izuku would like to find Kacchan in the depths, nearly invisible against the dark ocean below if not for the bright orange on his uniform. Even his blond hair takes on the blue tinge of the deeper depth, drifting further down with the grenade gauntlets tugging him deeper.

Izuku’s lungs burn by the time he reaches Kacchan, removing the gauntlets first before holding the blond close as he swims towards the light at the surface. If Izuku is struggling for air searching for Kacchan, how is the blond after being strangled and drowning underwater? Izuku can’t feel for a heartbeat with all his movement and the current around him, but he has to hope Kacchan will pull through.

A loud and low motor noise draws Izuku’s attention back to the surface. The bottom seems to resemble Tsuyu’s commandeered boat as it speeds closer to Izuku’s location. Well, that’s a risk he’s willing to take. He sends out a Blackwhip tendril, feels it latch onto some sort of railing on the surface, and tugs, reeling himself into the fast-approaching vessel.

He rockets out of the water with Kacchan, landing clumsily on the bow, coughing and sputtering for precious air, while the blond simply falls out of his grip from the force.

Something that Kacchan doesn’t do.

Kacchan isn’t moving. He’s not breathing. He’s just lying there.

“Kacchan,” Izuku croaks, scrambling to the blond’s side, ripping off a glove to press shaken fingers to frozen skin. Recovery Girl’s quirk delivers an assessment, and it’s not good. “Kacchan, please.”

Both hands position themselves over Kacchan’s chest, where – ironically – ‘X’ does not mark the spot. Izuku presses down repeatedly, trying to keep the recommended pace. There are songs to sing to keep time, but his mind is blanking because it’s Kacchan below him. It’s Kacchan who isn’t breathing, whose heart isn’t beating.

“Come on, Kacchan, don’t give up.” Izuku pleads.

Stomping footsteps approach, but Izuku can’t spare a moment to tear his gaze away from Kacchan.

“Midoriya, we have a defibrillator to help, step away.” All Might says.

Izuku gives another push, feels how something shifts, and hears a painful gurgle that must be an inhale. He grabs Kacchan’s shoulder and pulls the blond onto his side as the teen shudders and hacks their way back into the world of the living.

Izuku doesn’t dare take a breath of his own until he hears Kacchan take two full breaths that sound mostly free of water. The blond flops onto his back, bleary red eyes staring up at Izuku. Kacchan blinks twice, whispers something too quiet for Izuku to hear before closing his eyes.

If not for the steady rise and fall of Kacchan’s chest, Izuku would have started CPR all over again.

Instead, he gathers Kacchan into his arms, shielding the teen as much as he can from the ocean breeze. He places a kiss on the blond’s forehead with Recovery Girl’s quirk surging through him. Izuku rocks back and forth, all the while thanking the stars above for Kacchan’s life and All Might directing the ship to head towards the nearest hospital.

Chapter Text

Bakugou is real sick and fucking tired of people touching his neck. Does the shoulder guard on his uniform mean nothing to these assholes?

Fucking hell.

The sludge villain tried to suffocate him, fucking Scars held him by the neck, that Blob loser from Shiketsu High, and now this?

Bakugou glares at the bathroom door from his hospital bed. He supposes knowing he woke up in a hospital is a plus. It means the heroes didn’t lose, and he wasn’t left to die on that damn shitty island. But being confined to a bed when there’s nothing wrong with him is fucking ridiculous.

So what if he was hypothermic, nearly drowned, and they’re monitoring his chest for pneumonia and brain for damage? He’s fine. Annoyed, but fine.

What’s not fine, and why he needs to get out of this damn hospital, is that Deku didn’t kiss him back. The nerd just stood there doing nothing, so still, Bakugou would be better off kissing a wall. What a disaster. The blond didn’t know what to expect from the action, but it wasn’t that.

What’s worse, is that Deku even had hands out to push Bakugou away. The blond is grateful he stepped away before the nerd had a chance to try. Should he thank Shitty Hair for his nightmares? Should he thank the redhead for being backup to a shitty kiss he didn’t know about? Bakugou spent the rest of the night comforting Shitty Hair while trying to stretch out the aches in his fingers and arms.

And why would the nerd kiss him? That damn light bug villain was right in a way; Bakugou tried crushing Deku all his life. He was the worst friend, and yet the nerd kept coming back for more. Who would want to kiss the villain in their life? Who could ever love their tormentor?

Only someone who’s extremely fucked up, and it would be Bakugou’s fault for that too.

Bakugou is transferred to the Shiketsu High infirmaries with the rest of the hospitalized students. There aren’t many, just Frog and Rock Face, with everyone else suffering walkable injuries. The class is owing it all to their Variant quirks, which helped keep them one step ahead of the villains. It also means Bakugou was one step behind the entire time.

Fuck, he’s got to train harder.

A knock on the door catches his attention to see Deku walking in after a doctor. “Hello, Bakugou-san,” The doctor cheers in their patronizing ‘get well soon’ voice. They lift a chart from the foot of his bed and flip through the pages. “It says here you’re almost good to go.”

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou glares at his feet.

“Of course,” The doctor adds, “I advise you to take it easy for the next few days. You’re going to be feeling up and down the next couple of weeks as your body tries to readjust. Don’t fight feeling tired, and stay warm. I know it’s summertime, so that might not be a problem outdoors, but the warmth is going to keep you from backsliding.”

Sure, fuck whatever. Are they going to get to the point where Bakugou can leave?

“Midoriya-san is going to do a quick check-up on you, see if we need to prescribe any antibiotics or if you need to stay a bit longer. If he gives the all-clear, you’ll be set to return to the dorms.” The doctor smiles.

“Fine, get it over with.” Bakugou turns his glare on Deku, who smiles as he steps beside the blond’s bed.

“It’s really good to see you awake, Kacchan.” Deku beams, sending something fluttering into Bakugou’s chest. Is that pneumonia? “I’m sorry Firefly turned your hair into a rat’s nest, though.”

“They fucking what?” Bakugou snaps just as Deku lays a hand over the inside of his wrist.

Ah.

Now, this is the touch Bakugou wanted returned. The heat, the promise of presence felt only through touch. This is I am here as told through action instead of meaningless words. Bakugou reaches back, fingers touching the inside of Deku’s wrist in a silent ask to stay.

Fuck, Bakugou is a goner.

Deku’s head tilts in curiosity, eyes crinkling as his smile stiffens. Is this touch the check-up? Does Deku know how much the blond’s heart is racing? Does he know how pitifully in love Bakugou is?

Shit.

Deku pulls his hand away, tearing his gaze from Bakugou to look at the doctor. “I’d recommend an inhaler to go alongside the antibiotics. There’s something in the beginning stages, but I’m not too sure what it is.”

“Then, once the prescription is sent, I’ll get the all-clear from the infirmary head, and you’ll be on your way Bakugou-san.” The doctor nods, replacing the clipboard on the bed and walking from the door.

Deku turns back to Bakugou, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ve got to go, Kacchan. I’ve got to help Class B with some training, but your friends will be by soon to pick you up.” He smiles. “And, uh, let’s make sure you don’t get an infection, okay?”

The nerd leans forward, smoothing back the spikes on Bakugou’s forehead to place a kiss on the blond’s temple. He feels a wave of tiredness wash through him but feels Deku linger an extra moment.

“I’ll see you later, Kacchan,” Deku whispers before Bakugou watches the nerd leave.

He flops back into his pillow, groaning. Why did it have to be Deku?

After dinner, Class A commandeers a lab classroom, piling sheets of paper on shared tables in a cacophony of noise. Some write lists or notes; others create crudely drawn sketches on blank sheets. Everyone is reaching over one another in some shape or form, adding their input or reaching for a marker or colored pencil.

“I mean, it sucked, but man, did that battle give me suit ideas,” Dunce Face says, reaching for a yellow colored pencil. “Not even a suit upgrade, like a complete redesign of me. Chargebolt 2.0!”

“Where’s one of those body templates for heroines?” Raccoon Eyes reaches for the far end of the table for a sheet of paper with an outline of a female figure’s front and back. It’s just out of reach, her pink fingers a few inches short.

“Here,” Shitty Hair beams, picking out a couple sheets before setting them in her outstretched hand. “You know, I don’t know if my uniform has to change all that much. Maybe it’s just an upgrade for me.” He shrugs. “What about you, Bakubro?”

Bakugou stares at his sheet; an orange X is the only mark across the hero outline. His throat still aches; the bruises on his neck have made at least a dozen people look away. Suffocating once is a coincidence and twice is a pattern, so why hasn’t Bakugou addressed this glaring weakness sooner?

“Like hell am I going to sit around and play arts and crafts like this is some dumbass summer camp.” Bakugou crumbles his paper and ignites it on fire.

“Okay, geez, touchy. Calm down,” Flat Face says, making a list on a blank sheet. “I think I need a new helmet. Maybe a better way to guide tape to my hands because it’s pulling on my shoulders weirdly with the variant quirk.”

“Put in a guide following your radial nerve,” Bakugou taps a pen against the table. “That should get you better aim and less strain.”

“Radial nerve?” Flat Face draws out the words slowly. “What and where is that?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bakugou growls, pinching his nose. “From your shoulders to your middle finger is your radial nerve. It’s probably connected to your shitty tape. Do any of you losers know what parts of your body your quirk affects?”

“I mean, sort of?” Raccoon Eyes shrugs. “Acid comes from my hands, so I’ve just got to make sure I don’t touch anything strange.”

“And how does the acid get to your hands?” Bakugou demands. The acid heroine’s expression blanks before turning into confusion. “And you,” the blond turns to Dunce Face, “the faulty breaker box, do you even know what your electricity does to your muscles? Clearly, it fries your brain; what else does it ruin?”

“Well, I’ve been losing my sense of taste all year – ”

“What the fuck? How was that not a fucking concern?”

“Is it really something to worry about when I still eat?”

Bakugou pushes from the table to stand. He snatches the table’s drawings. “Before you design any new shit for your pathetic costumes, at least use the one brain cell you share to learn what parts of your body are going to get damaged during quirk usage. Protect those first. The design will follow.”

“It’s like he cares in his own way or something,” Flat Face mutters while Bakugou stomps out the door.

Bakugou stares at the multiple sheets of hero outlines with redesigns for his costume. They all stay within the “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight” brand with oranges, blacks, greens, and the silver of steel. But they feel too exposed. In most, his shoulders are bare for the sake of maneuverability necessities, but he’s gotten enough road rashes from skidding across asphalt with his explosions to warrant better protection.

In some of the redesigns, Bakugou has a reinforced chest area. But, while the nitroglycerin has erased any outward sign of wounds, his body still twinges with phantom pains every now and then from far too many impalements. In others, there’s an almost paranoid caution around his neck.

Deku enters the common area in a shitty shirt and shorts, towel wrapped around the back of his neck as he pads his way into the kitchen. Bakugou watches from his seat at one of the dining tables. The nerd’s hair is damp and freshly cut, all signs of Firefly’s singeing removed.

“Who fucked with your hair?” Bakugou rasps, refusing to touch the area on his own head that Firefly burned.

“Ashido,” Deku fills an electric kettle with water. “She knows how to cut our type of curly hair. You should ask Camie to fix yours; I know for a fact she cuts hair very well.” He sets the kettle to boil, pulling down a mug and opening the tea cupboard. “Why are you still up? Doctor’s orders say you should be getting plenty of rest.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou grumbles. How can he sleep so soon after nearly dying? How can he sleep knowing Deku was friends with the fucker that almost killed the both of them? How can he even think about closing his eyes when Bakugou kissed Deku and received nothing in return? “I’ll sleep when you sleep.”

Deku’s gaze drifts towards Bakugou, green eyes resting lower than the blond’s face. He’s staring at the bruises around Bakugou’s throat or the bandages around his arms. “We both know that’s not happening.”

The kettle whistles, cutting off Bakugou’s retort, so he waits as Deku busies himself in the kitchen. The nerd joins him at the dining table a couple of minutes later, setting down a full mug in front of Bakugou as he sips from another. Deku turns a few sketches his way, humming occasionally.

“Why were you friends with that villain?” Bakugou asks after several long minutes, scratching through yet another design that’s far too bulky. He can hear the old hag berating that the design is too function over form and that he should know how to balance the two.

Bakugou can also hear that lightning bug villain echoing in his mind. They said Bakugou is Deku’s bully and inspiration. Anything the explosive hero did could make the nerd into the great hero or cruelest villain. How does that fit with the green-haired hero before him? Bakugou didn’t force him into the Variant. He didn’t force the nerd to befriend Firefly.

You must be so proud to have him still wrapped around your finger.

Bakugou isn’t sure of much anymore. It makes him want to fight someone, anyone. He’s confident of his strength and power, but mind games and emotions? Fuck that.

Deku thumbs the lip of his mug, taking a new hero sheet to sketch a few lines. “There was,” He heaves a heavy sigh, “this belief during the beginning of the fall semester when I was a second year.” At this, the nerd looks up to meet Bakugou’s eyes, clearly analyzing how well the blond is processing the words. He’s right to do so because fuck alternate realities. Class A is in the summer of their second year; the fall semester is weeks away. Deku completed U.A. without Bakugou. The nerd has a gulf of knowledge and experience, and Bakugou is falling further and further behind.

“There was this belief,” Deku tries again, “since we found out All for One is my father over the summer, that if I could defect to the League of Villains, I could destroy it from the inside out. So Aizawa-sensei gave me a crash course in covert operations, and I left. Except, by then, All for One was having trouble controlling Shigaraki and set his eyes on Benjamin Hashimoto, better known as Firefly.

“I had to become someone All for One saw as better than Shigaraki and Firefly combined, and it helped that I’m his last surviving kin who brought One for All back into the family.” Deku offers Bakugou a rueful smile. “I became someone terrible and frightening with the League. I caused so much pain under the belief that I could one day save the future from worse suffering. I became someone the heroes believed a lost cause and someone even Firefly looked up to.

“I became friends with Benji for a few reasons. I was lonely and in need of a friend, for one; for two, I thought I could change their mind about being a villain. And finally, I thought – if nothing else – they’d help me end All for One. And they,” Deku frowns, an expression Bakugou absently notes as a hated sight, “didn’t like how I ended things.”

“So the fucking idiot tried to end you?”

The nerd shakes his head. “They wanted to destroy everything I was fighting for. Because what is the point of having opposite sides when there’s nothing left to protect?”

Bakugou huffs, “Well, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” Deku hums.

Bakugou may not be the nicest person in the world, but his morals and ethics are ironclad. The thought of turning into a villain is unthinkable. He outright rejected it without a second thought last summer. Though, in the aftermath, with All Might gone, he wonders if villainy is where he belongs. He has the job experience for all that he bullied Deku. His quirk and personality fit the whole ‘evil’ qualifications. Hell, even his hero name contains ‘Murder’ in it somewhere.

That’s usually as far as his thoughts get before he ends the idea of becoming a villain. A part of him knows if he dwells on the ‘what if’ too much, he may turn to like the fantasy, and it’s the one dream Bakugou refuses to indulge.

But villainy has never been Deku’s dream.

I became someone terrible and frightening with the League.

“How did you survive becoming a villain?” Would Bakugou survive a month, a week, or day to the temptation to use his quirk without rules and consequences?

“Mind over matter, Kacchan.” Deku smiles thinly. “Where your strength has always been physical, mine’s always been up here.” The nerd ruffles his curls. “Quirk analysis, battle of wills, whatever. If I think what I’m doing is for the best, I can’t be swayed. I may suck at lying, but if it’s to protect others, I’ll do it.”

If the nerd thinks he’s too old for the person he likes, does that mean he won’t act on his feelings? Does that mean, even if Bakugou is the one Deku likes, the nerd’s stupid brain will always prevent him from kissing back?

I’m not going to hurt their chances at finding real love…

Fuck, this sucks. It’s bad enough Bakugou has to fight his feelings; now he has to fight whatever bullshit the nerd believes?

Bakugou watches Deku continue to sketch a new uniform, warmth spreading through him. Some part of Bakugou acknowledges the sensation as fondness.

It would seem that loving Deku is an uphill battle, and Bakugou wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

“I would say that villain did you dirty, but for real and for true, I think they did you a solid.” Shiketsu Chick combs through Bakugou’s spiky hair. “You won’t be able to hide your massive big and beautiful forehead from the masses any longer.”

Bakugou groans; he should have known better than to ask the most annoying person on campus to cut his hair. He should have asked Ponytail to cut it; why the hell did he listen to Deku about this?

He stares at himself in the mirror, noting the burned and singed edges, cropping his hair short. His bangs are an uneven mess. Some strands burned close to the scalp, and others remain their original length. Shiketsu Chick isn’t wrong about Bakugou’s forehead; he won’t be able to hide it for another month at least, which isn’t great. His bare forehead goes against the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight brand. The old hag liked to point out the feature did two things: it softened his eyes and made him more vulnerable. Less aggressive and more thoughtful. It’s a trait fashion experts look for in models. Males with big foreheads and the confidence to have them are perceived as kind, thoughtful, and attractive. Those are traits of everything Bakugou isn’t, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want to look considerate when he’s beating the shit out of a villain.

“How is your hair this fluff when you look like you can poke an eye out? What’s your routine? I’m totes Jello green with envy right now.” Shiketsu Chick lifts strands and cuts them in a pattern Bakugou can’t quite recognize. She doesn’t yank his hair back or bemoan his untamable spikes like the stylists at the old hag’s workplace; what a welcome fucking change.

“Cream conditioner and kombucha scalp spray.” Bakugou glares at the mirror as Shiketsu Chick perks up at the words.

“You know,” The blond brunette shakes the comb at the mirror in his direction, eyes widening in what Bakugou can only guess is surprise. “I’ve heard that lately. Scalp spray is better for the hair and the environment than dry shampoo.”

“Of course it fucking is,” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Why put shitty aerosol powder in your hair to reduce the appearance of oil when you can clean your oil-producing scalp between wash days?”

The heroine hums, resuming the haircut. “Got any other beauty tips for me?”

Bakugou enters a smoke-filled room to the sound of a series of crashes and explosions. He abruptly turns on his heel to leave, only to be pushed back inside by Shitty Hair.

“Open a window!” Pink Cheeks cries in the smoke.

“Do you see a window?” Dunce Face demands.

“Not this again,” Glasses groans.

“I thought you said nothing was going to explode this time,” Aizawa says as the smoke begins to clear. Bakugou sees the teacher standing next to another pro with some sort of bulldozer for a face.

“Eh, what can I say? Mei’s inventions have a mind of their own.” The shorter pro laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.  

As Bakugou sees more of the classroom, he notes Ponytail using an obnoxiously large hand fan to wave the smoke through a window, various Class A losers completely covered in smoke and ash. There is a noticeable lack of green, correct color, or otherwise. Frog is still in the infirmary, which crosses her from the list, and means Deku is missing yet again.

Bakugou needs to put a tracking device on that fucker.

“All that data to test against my babies! You are really after my own heart!” An irritating voice yells from the front of the classroom. There’s a girl in a gray and green jumpsuit with pink dreadlocks and target-shaped hawk eyes bending down with a dirty glove hand extended to someone on the ground.

“I would like one time!” Deku’s voice comes from the same direction. Bakugou thinks he can see the tops of green curls over the desk tops. “One time, you don’t try to kill me when you see me!”

That’s new.

Bakugou doesn’t know if he’s ever heard Deku irritated. Sure, who wasn’t fuck all annoyed at Grape Face when he was around, but genuinely irritated? Bakugou doesn’t know if it’s possible. Even when the nerd is around these losers or All Might gives shitty advice, the green-haired hero takes it with reluctant acceptance.

Deku scrambles to his feet, ignoring the outstretched hand, and glares at the chick with pink hair, lips pursing, and nose scrunching as if to shift into a sneer.

Huh, irritated Deku is kinda hot.

Bakugou swivels his gaze to Racoon Eyes and Pink Cheeks with a glare. It’s bad enough to realize he has feelings, but did he have to perceive attraction too? Liking someone based on personality and familiarity, fine – fuck whatever. That’s an inevitability Bakugou can rationalize. But a realization that’s ‘oh no, he’s hot?’

No thanks.

Fuck that.

Pink Medusa cackles, her pink hair lifting like snakes, “Silly! I’d never purposely kill anyone – ”

“Does this imply her inventions have killed someone?” Glasses asks in a stage whisper. “She did nearly break Midoriya’s back this time last year – ”

“Which means I have a year’s worth of babies to torture – I mean – test on all you heroes!” Pink Medusa hops up and down, dust and ash shaking free with every jump.

“I’m scared,” Dunce Face yelps, taking two steps back and falling into a set of tables. “Why am I this terrified of her versus what we just went through?”

“Please calm down,” A new figure steps to the front of the classroom with the pros. They have dark hair and glasses and wear a utility belt filled with a mix of home improvement and sewing supplies. Fashion Glasses. “I’m Koto Betten, Hatsume’s mentor this summer and designer for some of this class’ costumes. Uraraka, Bakugou, I see you’ve put my designs through the wringer.” They laugh, waving around their delicate hands gloved in red.

“Which is fine, totally fine. It means I can design you something better. After all, better to make the improvements in training than from a pro battle!” They laugh again, striking a power pose with their fists on either side of the small of their waist.

Bakugou nearly scoffs. What the fuck would this costume designer call that shit show of a fight with the League?

“And, of course,” Pink Medusa leaps into the middle of the classroom, “since your quirks are going crazy, I get to make a bunch more babies!” The crazy yellow-eyed inventor throws her arms wide and spins around the room. She smacks Deku in the face as she whirls, only in the nerd’s reach for a fraction of a second.

The nerd looks momentarily stunned by the touch before that irritated expression forms anew.

Definitely hot.

Fuck.

Damn it.

“Hatsume, Powerloader, and I will be improving your suits or designing new ones altogether. With your input, of course.” Fashion Glasses grins. “Now, who’s first?”

“Ah yes! Form meeting function in new and inventive ways!” Fashion Glasses exclaims on his one on one with Bakugou. The blond can hear clattering coming from the other room and pro hero Powerloader trying to calm crazy Pink Medusa. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s a complete overhaul to your costume.”

Bakugou stares at his sketches for a solid minute, taking in the new design and the notes written in the margins. There are three sheets of paper in front of him, one for an active mode, another for standby, while the third contains general ideas for the new outfit, defining the new intention and needs of the uniform.

“I’m damn sure.”

“Even this?” Glasses points to an object on his sketch’s shoulders.

“Especially that.”

Fashion Glasses sighs, leaning back in their chair. “You’re going to get a lot of strange looks.”

“I don’t care about the gossip posse. I care about making sure this doesn’t happen again.” Bakugou gestures to his bruised neck, hating how his voice still rasps more than usual and how swallowing even something as soothing as Deku’s tea felt like a thousand knives in his throat.

“Of course,” the costume designer nods, making a note on Bakugou’s papers. “We’ll keep it.”

“This is fucking disgusting,” Bakugou glares out at his loser classmates in Shiketsu gym uniforms. They wear form-fitting tops with red stripes racing up the three-quarter sleeves to red collars and loose black pants with a Shiketsu logo bright and gold sitting on the hip. Each student wears a computerized gauntlet on their left wrist, milling around the gym, some stretching on the mats.

Deku speaks with Pink Medusa and Fashion Glasses in the same Shiketsu uniform, occasionally gesturing at a classmate or two. The professional designer takes dutiful notes while the Pink Medusa chick keeps trying to force some device onto Deku’s head. The nerd is looking more irritated with every passing second.

Aizawa calls for attention when he finally enters the gym. “This afternoon, alongside Koto-san and the Shiketsu support course, we’ll be running your quirks through their paces. These Shiketsu gym uniforms contain various sensors and gauges to convert your body’s exertion into data. The support course will analyze the data and help determine additional needs for your costume enhancements. You’ll be divided into two-person teams and have rotating skirmishes with other members of the class. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sensei!” Glasses shouts just before the hobo starts listing out teams.

Bakugou is a little relieved to be paired with Shitty Hair. The redhead adapts to Bakugou’s fighting style better than anyone, second only to Deku. Together, Shitty Hair and Bakugou will crush the class in these sparring matches.

Deku and Raccoon Eyes don’t stand a chance.

Except they do.

They stand a chance, and Bakugou learns what flirting looks like in the middle of battle based on Shitty Hair’s interactions with Raccoon Eyes. It’s annoying because Shitty Hair can multitask in a way he’s never shown before, and Raccoon Eyes’ dance moves find a new use under Deku’s sparring plans. The pink and green duo move in surprisingly well-coordinated tandem, like tweedle dumb and tweedle dumbass.

Bakugou nearly loses the skirmish but manages to pin Deku just before the hobo calls time. The blond bares his teeth in triumph, and the nerd beams up at him, bright laughter filling Bakugou like fizzy water. He pulls away before the sensation transforms into a confession of feelings pouring from his chest.

The next few days are spent in rotation with Class B. They have EPCOT in the mornings, while Class A has it in the afternoon. Joke Face and Hound Dog take up a good portion in the mornings, pulling aside the losers for one-on-one sessions while Aizawa and All Might lead training for new ultimate moves. Everyone is waiting in anticipation for their new costumes.

From what Bakugou has gathered, at least half of the students have opted for entirely new costumes. Though, he can think of a handful that needed the new design before the variant quirks. Ponytail keeps ripping her outfit because of the sheer amount of surface area she needs exposed. Glasses’ idiotic family costume weighs down his running speed, and fucking Half and Half still hasn’t gained a sense of fashion.

But new costumes mean more time to produce them. More time means Class A is completely exposed and unprepared for an attack if the League comes crashing through. They’ve already proven they can break into Shiketsu whenever they damn well feel like it; Bakugou refuses to be caught unaware.

On the third night back at Shiketsu, Raccoon Eyes hosts another Girl’s night on the third floor common area, sandwiched between the floors Class A and Class B are claiming for leisure space.

“How’s Asui?” Racoon Eyes asks Pink Cheeks as the participants start to wander in.

“Oh, um,” Pink Cheeks looks distracted, features pinching with worry. “Okay, all things considered. Support course students are actually prioritizing her recovery over our costumes. Asui’s adapting, which she says is a frog trait.”

“We should drop by and check in with her tomorrow,” Ponytail offers, brewing tea in the kitchen. “I think she might like to see some friendly faces.” The creation heroine pointedly looks away from Bakugou.

Che. Whatever. He’s not one for niceties anyway.

“Does anyone know what happened, exactly?” Ears asks, settling on a couch.

“Not really,” Round Face frowns. “Tokoyami, Snipe, and Yoarashi-san witnessed everything. Deku and Ectoplasm got her stable, but for the most part, it’s all with Asui. I just – you know – it’s hard to imagine we’d go through something like that so soon.”

It’s not fucking hard to imagine. This entire class of losers had to suffer through losing Deku, and Bakugou knows for a fact Pink Cheeks cried for days. There was a memorial service, and Shitty Hair didn’t speak for a week.

Class A is exactly that: a class.

They’re students, heroes in training, licensed to fight with stipulations. The three years of training shouldn’t include the death of a green-haired ray of sunshine or hero work disabilities.

Fuck, they’re not even halfway through their high school education, and there’s two class-wide traumas under everyone’s belts. What a shit show. There’s not anyone to blame for it either.

Bakugou could reach for his default of accusing Deku. It’s comfortable to blame his usual scapegoat, and Bakugou wouldn’t be entirely wrong about it. Deku is the one who fucked off to a variant universe and induced the first trauma. But, of course, that wouldn’t have been necessary if he wasn’t All for One’s hell offspring or didn’t inherit All Might’s quirk.

Or maybe, Bakugou should blame All Might for this mess, the blonde’s recklessness that caused the debilitating injury and pushed the need for a successor. It didn’t have to be Deku if the pro hero was careful.

Bakugou could blame All for One for causing All Might’s injury. If he didn’t exist, none of this would have happened, but then Deku wouldn’t exist either.

And, like always, everything leads back to Deku.

“Bakugou?” Bakugou snaps his gaze in the direction of the voice. It’s Flat Face, not even half a meter away, waving his hand slowly back and forth to draw attention. “We were asking you something.”

“What?” Bakugou growls, flopping into an armchair.

“Midoriya has told the class some of what happened with his time in the Variant,” Ponytail says, approaching with a tray of tea. “I think he’s confided more with you, but I understand if you feel like you have no obligation to share – ”

“ – That’s because I fucking don’t – ”

“But, with enough of us dreaming of our Variant lives,” Ponytail passes a mug of tea to Pink Cheeks, who nearly drops it at the black-haired heroine’s words, “I think it’s time we put together the pieces.

“Midoriya is having a hard time adjusting to us,” she continues, handing a cup to Flat Face.

“Yeah, he treats us like we’re his students and friends at the same time! It’s super weird.” Raccoon Eyes flails her arms, nearly knocking a cup over.

“And I believe,” Ponytail places the last cup on the coffee table in front of Bakugou before hugging the tray to her chest, “that if we form our own timelines, we’ll have a better idea of what Midoriya has been through to help him. Then, maybe, we’ll find a way to stop him from keeping one foot out the door.”

“That’s not a question,” Bakugou points out. He doesn’t acknowledge Ponytail’s plan as a good idea. It could end badly for all the losers in the class, reminiscing on traumas from another life. It could end badly for Deku because the nerd might withdraw further into himself. Or it might be a good idea, and Deku will stop pushing everyone away. And maybe, just maybe, the nerd will reach out to pull the blond closer.

“Will you help us?” Ears asks, leaning forward in her seat.

“Yeah, Bakugou, you probably know your Variant like the back of your hand.” Flat Face offers a smile before taking a long drink of tea.

Bakugou frowns and looks down. He picks up the mug, warm and soothing to his hands, making him realize his knuckles have been low-grade aching all day.

They’re asking for an admission of weakness, and Bakugou doesn’t do weakness, just like he doesn’t do affection or lying.

But if Bakugou can get Deku to look at him instead of some distant other life, wouldn’t the weakness be worth it? Could a kiss last longer than a moment? Could Deku’s battered and scarred hands touch with the intention to hold rather than push away?

Fuck, there’s no choice, is there? Love is such a fucking nuisance tearing up his insides.

“I can do what I can,” Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his short spikes, “but I don’t know shit about my Variant.”

“Uh, what?” Raccoon Eyes leans forward, blinking rapidly. She reaches out, gesturing a stopping motion, and knocks over her tea on the coffee table. Ponytail creates a rag from her forearm and quickly lays it over the table. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re Bakugou Katsuki! You got into U.A. with record-breaking hero points! You fought the League of Villains and survived! You got kids – who are somehow more annoying than you – to get along! You’re one of the smartest kids in school! You literally do anything you put your mind to, and You. Don’t. Know? Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Bakugou?”

“Fuck off!” Bakugou snaps, glaring at Raccoon Eyes. “I don’t know because I don’t have the Variant quirk. I don’t want the shitty ass thing.”

“It’s your quirk!” Racoon Eyes screeches, leaping to her feet and hopping onto the couch cushions.

“I didn’t take it, and the damn nerd didn’t ask! I don’t want the fucking quirk!”

“Of all the stupid – ” Raccoon Eyes cuts herself off, thrusting her hands into her hair as she screams at the ceiling. “I know stupid, and you, Bakugou, are the biggest dumbass I have ever met! I can’t believe you!”

“I’m not changing my mind. Sit the fuck down.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Flat Face groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight with annoyance.

“Oh,” Round Face’s gentle voice cuts through Raccoon Eyes’ frustrated cry. The brunette tilts her head in thought, a very Deku-like motion. Something in her eyes tells the blond she’s come to a realization. “Bakugou,” She starts, pausing as if to gather words, “are you worried your Variant had a life with him?”

Bakugou stares at Round Face. The audacity of that accusation.

Bakugou is going to become the number one hero under his own power and strength. That’s been his dream for as long as he’s had a quirk. No fucked up villains, no shitty alternate timelines, and absurd quirk transfers are ever going to take that away from him. Bakugou needs to be enough on his own. He needs to be strong enough to weather the world without help from extras or his variant self.

He hears Hound Dog asking why Bakugou needs to be enough and promptly shuts down that thinking.

“Fuck this,” He stands, mug in hand, and breezes past the couch inhabitants and into the kitchen. He washes the drained cup carefully, using the last of his patience and control to keep the pottery in one piece. He’s sure Ponytail can replace it in a blink of an eye, but Bakugou needs the peaceful nature of cleaning, no matter how short.

He sets the mug to the side of the sink to dry, wipes his hands clean on a dishrag, and approaches the group. Bakugou stops beside Pink Cheeks while glaring at Ponytail, arms crossing over his chest.

“I don’t need a Variant quirk to piece that fucking timeline together. Do you want my help or not?”

Chapter Text

The following morning, Ponytail creates a collapsible pinboard. It would be impressive, if Bakugou gave those sort of compliments. The board folds out to something the size of a wall, collapsing into something that can fit inside a backpack.

Sticky notes, markers, pens, and tape are handed to each loser from Class A while Ponytail gives instructions; she pointedly breezes past Bakugou, which is fine by him.

“How do I know where to begin?” Invisible Chick asks, completely invisible this time around. She’s been flickering between states of complete transparency and full view for about a week now instead of partial parts visible with no discernable control. “Like, what if my timeline doesn’t match with anyone else’s? What if I don’t know as much as everyone?”

Uncertainty passes through the class’ features.

Bakugou takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He feels Hound Dog nagging to be patient, hears the growl turn soft and open. If that disaster of a mutt can become a guidance counselor, can’t Bakugou do the same?

Bakugou leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and stares down at his upturned palms. “What is your first memory?” He asks, feeling the gaze of at least a dozen eyes. “The first memory that sparks a red flag and tells you, ‘this isn’t mine?’”

After losing Deku to the island months ago, Bakugou relived every conversation he had with the nerd. The green-haired idiot talked about how some of the previous holders of One for All spoke to him. Sometimes he glimpsed their memories. Sometimes they were of mundane moments, like of Nana smiling at All Might. Other times there were deaths, either at the hands of All for One or by the users themselves.

Deku never slept the nights he dreamt of being a murderer. Did the nerd kill during his time with the League on the belief of a better tomorrow?

“I,” Half and Half draws out slowly, “I mean, my parents celebrated my sixteenth birthday. They were together, and I knew it wasn’t out of obligation. And I remember thinking, maybe this could have been mine if the world was slightly different.”

“For moi,” Glitter Idiot places a hand on their chest, using the other to brush away their shiny blond bangs, “It was my navel laser’s support item. My counterpart had a truly tragic design!”

Ugh.

“I rescued Overhaul,” Shitty Hair furrows his brows in confusion. “The dude wasn’t the bad guy. He was just as much the victim as Eri.”

“That must have been strange,” Round Face’s eyes widen.

“I dreamt I was falling,” Flat Face stares at the floor. “There wasn’t any tape left, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re looking for.” Bakugou nods, glancing at Ponytail as she writes each of the memories on separate sticky note pads. “Take those memories and try to date them. Half and Half had a birthday, so we know where that fits on the timeline. Shitty Hair and the yakuza, we’ve got a general point in time for that too. Let’s keep going.”

“I remember arranging a song for some hero named Ground Zero,” Ears says, hands mimicking to play the piano. She lifts her gaze to Bakugou, a smirk forming on her features. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Bakugou?”

“I wanted to ask during last night’s get-together,” Raccoon Eyes sidles up to Bakugou on the way to morning training, keeping her voice low to avoid attention from the other losers. “Did you and Midoriya do something? You’ve been kind of avoiding each other.”

Bakugou keeps his gaze ahead at Deku’s back. The nerd is talking animatedly with Sugar Man and Glasses, laughing at something that can’t possibly be funny.

“Dunno,” Bakugou admits, “he was going to push me away.”

“Away? Away from what?” The pink heroine demands, her dark eyes blowing wide. She skips a few steps ahead to walk backward, meeting Bakugou’s gaze. Her face scrunches in a few weird ways before she makes a familiar expression. It’s her fucking ‘aha’ moment that she’s figured it all out. Had she been carrying a water bottle, Bakugou would expect her to drop it in surprise.

“You didn’t!” She yelps, leaping forward to latch onto his arm. She earns looks from a handful of losers; even Deku spares a glance over his shoulder, green eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Get off, you alien octopus!” Bakugou growls, trying in vain to free his arm. The nerd turns back to the front, talking towards Sugar Man.

“Tell meeeee, or I’m never letting go!” Raccoon Eyes cries out, earning laughter from some losers when Bakugou tries to swing her off of him.

“Oh? Are we sharing secrets?” Dunce Face jogs up with a lopsided grin.

“Fuck off.”

“What’s that? Hold on?” Dunce Face leaps onto Bakugou’s back, wrapping his legs firmly around the angry blond’s waist, hands resting on broad shoulders.

“This looks like fun,” Shitty Hair laughs, appearing at Bakugou’s free arm.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Bakugou snaps. Too late, Shitty Hair grasps the blond’s free arm, using his hardening quirk to keep the grip firm. “Get the fuck off of me!” He roars, forced to a standstill with three idiots weighing him down.

“Tell me!” Raccoon Eyes demands.

“Yeah!” Dunce Face adds. “Confess!”

Bakugou would rather drop out of U.A. than do anything remotely close to the lines of ‘confessing.’

“I’m not telling you idiots anything!” Bakugou struggles to stomp two steps forward.

He hears a laugh, and lemon fizzy water bubbles in his mouth and throat. Bakugou thinks he tastes mint, cooling the fire and anger on his tongue.

The rest of class is several steps ahead, but Deku has lagged back with a wide and blinding smile, taking in the sight of three idiots hanging off of Bakugou. The way the nerd lights up gives Bakugou the impression that Deku is witnessing something precious and adorable, like two kids stacked on top of each other in a trench coat or Eri in a Deku costume dress.

“Finding friends that care this much is hard, Kacchan,” Deku says, words laced with laughter that fills Bakugou’s chest with fizz and love. “You should definitely hold onto them tight.”

Then, Deku runs away from the blond’s reaction, his laughter carried back to Bakugou’s ears. The explosive hero yells obscenities, stomping his way to training with three teens clinging with laughs of their own.

Bakugou sees green on the way to lunch. He stomps off, waving away Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes; both look ready to pounce on him for this morning’s idiocy. Bakugou will take a hard pass.

He switches his usual stomps to padding footsteps as he draws closer, observing the person sitting on steps, staring out a window that overlooks EPCOT. The teen doesn’t move, though there’s a deeper hunch to her shoulders that implies doubt.

“If you’re gonna hide, at least use your quirk.”

Frog startles, something that shouldn’t be possible. Her frog quirk gives her some strange sixth sense, an ability to sense and predict movements. However, the green-haired teen clearly isn’t able to concentrate on her quirk.

“I’m not cut out to be a hero anymore,” Frog shakes her head, voice congested like she’s about to cry. But then again, she always sounds that way. Maybe that’s the amphibian in her.

“There’s lots of shit heroes out there,” Bakugou sits a couple steps below her. “You aren’t one of them.”

“My Variant didn’t go through this,” Frog’s lip trembles. Definitely about to cry. “I’m supposed to be better now that I have her quirk.”

“All the training and power in the fucking world can’t account for bad luck.” Bakugou turns his gaze from Frog to the window. If he didn’t have the bad luck of being impaled by that rebar, maybe he could have prevented everything that happened at that stupid island. Or maybe, he could have gone to that Variant with the nerd.

He spent months in extra training to make up the space the nerd left behind. Bakugou would have given an arm, a leg, or even his own life to have Deku with him.

But Frog is alive. Frog didn’t die. She still has something to live for. She still has an opportunity to make choices, to survive, and grow. She has something Bakugou thought Deku lost.

Bakugou watches figures in EPCOT wander around the sliver cities, frowning at the too-bright sun, making the lake in the center into a mirror. “You’re alive. You can fight. It means you can try again.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You still have both your hands to use your quirk.”

He scoffs, “You don’t need your hands for your quirk. That disgusting tongue of yours? Your most terrifying feature, second only to the poison. You don’t use your hands for camouflage, and you fucking hop around with your legs. Sure, they help you stick to walls, but if you think being a little less sticky is a reason to stop being a hero, you’re not the person I thought you were.”

Bakugou takes a deep breath; how the fuck does Hound Dog have patience for all this shit? How can Deku comfort others so easily? Why did Bakugou decide to sit with Frog anyway?

My legs moved on their own…Your eyes were pleading for help!

Bakugou closes his eyes against the sun and memory, reaching up with calloused fingers to rest against his throat where Firefly’s hand-shaped bruises are painted green and yellow beneath his skin.

That event with the sludge villain was proof that quirks weren’t necessary to be a hero. Shitty Deku showed Bakugou that strength was not enough, and maybe the blond would never be enough, even if he became the number one hero.

Bakugou’s legs moved on their own to help Frog with no thought on how to comfort or if he was even capable of such a sappy notion. He didn’t see her eyes, but he knows dejected mops of green hair when he sees them. He has nearly a decade of experience creating the look.

“You’re really terrible at comforting people, you know.” Frog croaks.

“It might just be the only thing I’m shit at.” Bakugou scoffs, opening his eyes to look up at the green heroine, extending a hand out towards her. “So let’s have it. Show me what makes you think you can’t be everything you’re meant to be.”

Frog tilts her head at Bakugou, clearly thinking. A hand comes up to her face to do her signature thought gesture, pressing one finger to her bottom lip. The appendage is sleek, metallic, and iridescent green, with blue and purple flecks shifting underneath the light. She startles again at the touch, surprised to feel metal where she expected skin.

Frog leans forward to lay her prosthetic hand in Bakugou’s. He traces every groove of the appendage, including the circular pads that resemble tree frog suction cups and woven fabric palms. It feels sturdy and a little heavy for its size, though nothing too difficult to compensate for.

“I take it back,” Frog says, as Bakugou takes his time checking the quality of the prosthetic. He doesn’t know much about support items, but he knows a thing or two about quality builds based on secondhand fashion knowledge. Bakugou looks up at the heroine’s words to see her offer a nervous smile. She looks a little relieved by the contact. Did Frog think people would reject her for an injury sustained in battle?

“Take what back?” Bakugou presses two fingers down on the palm, watching for fingers to curl like a real hand’s muscle and nerve reaction. It does, which implies a proper prosthetic sync with its user.

Frog removes her hand from Bakugou’s grasp and stands, offering her non-prosthetic hand to help him up. Bakugou climbs to his feet, blatantly ignoring the offer. “Maybe,” Frog nods towards the cafeteria, “you’re not so bad at comfort after all.”

Frog sticks close to Bakugou at EPCOT in the afternoon, earning a couple strange glances from that damn Dekusquad and the Emo Bird. The blond stares across the massive lake, counting the sliver cities like he does every time they arrive at the training area. Bakugou knows they don’t change overnight, but counting and confirming landmarks are where they’re supposed to be is a level of stability that assures all is right with the world.

Everything is okay, despite the fact he’s dealing with alternate realities, a Frog who’s surprisingly clingy, and a fucking Deku who’s avoiding him like the plague.

Everything is fine.

Bakugou looks for Deku in the milling class. He briefly catches Raccoon Eyes’ gaze, which demands another girl’s night before moving on. Deku is smiling at him with pride. Bakugou half expects a, “You’re amazing, Kacchan,” to call out through the crowd.

The blond suppresses the urge to wipe that idiotic smile off the nerd’s face. He can’t decide if it should be done by punching or kissing. Bakugou wonders if that’s his new normal. He wonders if that’s been his normal all along, and kissing just uncovered itself from the layers of choosing punch over the years.

“Midoriya, huh?” Frog notes. Bakugou immediately shoves her away, earning a ribbit of a laugh. “It’s fine. It makes sense, really.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Bakugou growls.

Frog shrugs, casting her gaze out to the lake. “I saw some articles about hero life when I decided I wanted to go to U.A.. Basically, the only healthy relationship they tend to have are with the people that went through the same stuff. Everyone else becomes outsiders. Civilians won’t understand, maybe not even Class B. But this class will, Tokoyami will.”

“Emo Bird, ha?” Bakugou notes with a smirk. Frog blushes, keeping her gaze firmly ahead.

“Not an outsider,” Frog offers. “Though, I think for you, everyone is an outsider compared to Midoriya.”

Bakugou turns back to Deku, who’s waving over the approaching Pink Medusa. The inventor hops up and down, running to greet the nerd and pulling an object out of her coveralls. It explodes the moment she’s close enough to the nerd, but Deku’s face isn’t as irritated as before. Instead, he simply brushes off the grime and smiles at Pink Medusa. Maybe, like with everything Deku does, that irritated look was a way to help the inventor be better. With every interaction with the nerd, she’s definitely shifted from mad scientist with no morals to, well, a mad scientist with morals. The distinction is minor, but it’s a hell of a lot more manageable.

Bakugou wonders if it’s Deku who makes the blond more manageable to his classmates. He wonders if it’s always been that way, even with the false friends of middle school.

“There’s nothing to compare.”

Shitty Hair and Dunce Face carry their new uniform cases with pride as they make their way through a sliver city that resembles a Greek city where modern buildings push upon ancient ruins. They cut through back alleys and main roads as Bakugou navigates his way back to the sliver of Harajuku district.

“Alright, all that’s left is to find your case, Bakubro!” Shitty Hair grins, patting his case.

“I’d have it already if I didn’t have to babysit you idiots through your clues,” Bakugou growls. Aizawa and Fashion Glasses announced Class A would receive their new uniforms through a covert operations assignment. After an initial lead, students would be tasked with going through EPCOT, picking up clues to their new costume’s location.

One fucking big and overly complicated scavenger hunt.

Most of the losers formed teams to figure out the clues faster. Deku paired with Frog proclaiming something stupid along the lines of green heroes need to stick together, or some shit. Bakugou attempted to go off on his own, but Shitty Hair and Dunce Face tagged along.

Luckily, spoon-feeding answers to the two wasn’t completely necessary. Shitty Hair and Dunce Face could figure out clues that dealt with people. They could make the leaps and bounds in flawed human thinking but were fucking hopeless in things like codes and coordinates. They’d probably still be wandering around the Sapporo look-alike an hour ago if it weren’t for Bakugou.

“Well, maybe ours were just easier than yours because I have no idea what ‘eidolon’ means.” Dunce Face says.

It’s a miracle Bakugou knows the word. Deku babbled about the name when they were in middle school. Eidolon is an underground hero specializing in interrogation. She can take the form of anyone living or dead and haunts her targets. Her name was chosen after the Greek spirits of the same name. Bakugou had tuned the rest out. Her passive quirk would easily lose to his; what was the point of hearing more?

But, if Bakugou is looking for a ghost of someone questionably alive or dead, there’s only one place to go.

He retraces his steps from their Covert Ops test a week or so ago, pausing once at the corner of an intersection to look around. Bakugou recalls a blond bumping his shoulder and a short green teen with the Glasgow smile. He remembers eyes bluer than green, frigid like the ocean. An apparition of Bakugou’s failure, a ghost of a timeline he’s never seen or lived. Variant Deku. I-kun.

A book lies on a nearby café table, near where Bakugou saw the eidolon, and he swipes it as discreetly as possible with Shitty Hair and Dunce Face chattering behind him. Inside is another clue, followed by another in a German sliver and another leading to New York. Finally, he winds up at a faux library, browsing the stacks based on the number of the last clue.

The number is in the 700’s; its point system is near identical to a section of library he visited most with the old hag. 700’s is Arts and Recreation. She’d wander to the high end of the 740’s for textile arts and patterned clothing, and Bakugou would stay on the low end, immersed in countless All Might comic books.

BK 741.56

Bakugou browses the tight shelves, too short for anything resembling a costume case. He frowns, searching for an oversized book section. There’s plenty of those in the 700’s. Bakugou recalls the old hag checking out books larger than her torso filled with patterned illustrations.

The more covert the training, the more Bakugou finds himself diving into the recesses of his memory. Hadn’t the hobo said to notice everything? Is the recall of childhood events evidence of his ability to notice? Or are eidolons and decimal systems coincidental dumb luck? Or is the hobo trying to teach the class how memory and personal experiences are vital to covert operations?

Hadn’t Deku said something along those lines on the island? The heroines passed because they were raised to be discreet as part of their gender. What aspects of Bakugou’s life could make him better at covert operations?

Bakugou finds the aisle filled with oversized books, noting the varied sizes and colorful spines. Then, he spots the costume case standing on its short side, too thick to be a book, and takes it from its shelved spot.

“Fucking finally,” Bakugou grumbles, hefting the case through the library and outdoors to the idiots in red and yellow standing between two lions.

“You found it!” Shitty Hair grins.

“Let’s see! Let’s see!” Dunce Face cheers.

“Calm the fuck down,” Bakugou sets the case on top of a stone railing, flipping open the latches. He looks around the area once, checking for cameras or some extra challenge that might take the suit away before lifting the lid.

“Whoah,” Shitty Hair says from over Bakugou’s shoulder. “So you got a new look? That’s so cool.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou stares down at the new uniform. The costume looks innocent compared to his old uniform, free of dents, scratches, and proof of hero work. It still consists of the three main colors, black, orange, and green, and still retains general components. But the look has some obvious changes and additions.

Bakugou frowns at the costume and closes the lid, latching it tight. Field testing is necessary; he doesn’t know if this new design is durable enough for battle. Will it be enough for the fights ahead?

Chapter Text

How about for Kacchan? I’m sure you’ll do anything?

Bakugou stares up at the ceiling late at night. The past few nights have been a struggle. Truthfully, every night has been a struggle, no matter how late or early he pulls the covers over bare shoulders. Every night is filled with the same: Damn Firefly’s words rattling around in his head.

This villain knows Deku during the nerd’s time in the Variant and likes that version, despite whatever good or bad happened. That lightning bug loser seems to think Class A is why Deku is on the side of the heroes, but anyone with half a brain would know Deku is on this side because of his inherent goodness. Then again, Bakugou has never seen the nerd’s villainous side in action to know if that goodness is a learned behavior.

No matter what I do, Izuku’s best friend is you. Izuku is looking for you, waiting for you.

Best friend, huh? What kind of one-sided bullshit is that? Bakugou did nothing but torment Deku for years, and he’s the nerd’s best friend?

Looking… Waiting…

Bakugou knows from experience how lonely life is without the nerd’s gaze. He finds himself reminiscing on the past few days, watching Deku turn his way from time to time and waiting for an opening to corner the nerd once more. Is it Bakugou who’s looking and waiting?

What does it mean if they’re doing the same actions to one another when Bakugou has a dam full of love threatening to burst?

You must be so proud to have him still wrapped around your finger.

Ever since U.A., the nerd has done nothing but fight Bakugou. He fights to one-up the blond, fights for a chance to stand as an equal. What fucking part of fighting has ever meant wrapping around a finger?

If anyone is that type of goner, it’s Bakugou. He moved to Deku’s side at a look, faithfully waited on the camp rooftop from the nerd’s promise, and hung on to every word. If he can make the nerd laugh, Bakugou is filled with the addicting sensation of bubbles in his chest.

How long has he been this level of in love? Is there a way to start again if something happened to Deku? Or when the nerd rejects him?

Or, instead of ‘when,’ the question is ‘if?’

Bakugou rolls on his side, mulling over the villain’s shitty ramblings once Deku was thrown from the fight. His body aches with phantom pains at the memory of being blasted through convenience store aisles.

Why would he care for you?

Bakugou doesn’t have an answer.

You’re going to ruin him. He’s only ever looked at you.

Bakugou ruins a lot of things, not that he’d admit it. Deku has burns scars courtesy of the blond, a cruel reminder of nothing and uselessness. Bakugou has already ruined the nerd; he should stay away before making the idiot worse.

He huffs at the wall. Staying away is not an option, not with these feelings and especially not when the nerd turned out to be alive.

What if, Bakugou turns on his back once more, he promises not to ruin Deku? It’s an impossible promise, he knows; but at this point, Bakugou would do anything to have the right to hold the nerd. He’d give up his quirk, his hero license (no wait, the nerd would be heartbroken if he gave up his license), all the money in the world, and even become a villain.

Bakugou pulls the blankets tight around his shoulder and shudders. He couldn’t imagine becoming a villain under the threat of death with the League, but it almost sounds appealing to his sleep-deprived mind for the promise of affection.

Love, Bakugou notes, is a very dangerous thing.

Bakugou latches the last piece of his uniform together before looking in the mirror. Gone are the obnoxious black and orange spikes protruding like mind-blowing explosions from his head. His black domino mask remains secure on his face, his freshly cut blond hair showing off a broad forehead. Bakugou’s costume is closer to his winter outfit, covering his shoulders and biceps to cushion against explosive recoils. Each shoulder is marked with an orange ‘X,’ leaving his chest area a blank slate of black. Metal squares protect the space around Bakugou’s collarbone; he’s been stabbed there twice and doesn’t want a chance for a third. Strips of Deku green race down the inner arms and sides of Bakugou’s costume, complimenting the black, silver, and orange. His gauntlets remain the same, though his gloves are smaller – similar to the support item gloves Deku gifted.

The area of the slightest change is Bakugou’s lower half. While his boots received an overhaul, the pants remain black with metal kneecaps, and a new green belt latches at his hips and mid-thigh with holsters for his small fillable grenades.

Well, and there’s the biggest change of all. It’s going to earn so many fucking stares and will all but admit his not-so-subtle crush. Instead of the metal guard around Bakugou’s shoulders, a version of Deku’s mask hangs around his neck, easy to pull up against air pollutants and an unbreakable guard against anyone trying to grasp his neck.

Raccoon Eyes’ gossip group may see this fucking addition as a call to Deku, and that’s only sort of true. But more than anything, the change is a matter of safety, and Bakugou would be remiss as a hero to let such an obvious weakness remain vulnerable.

“Gather up!” Aizawa calls for Class A’s attention outside of the hero dorms. “Shiketsu High second years are back on campus, preparing for their provisional licensing exam. Class B and Class A will be testing their new costumes. We’ll be splitting into teams of three, testing your enhancements against foreign and familiar quirks.

“Each team will have ten minutes to subdue the other. The team with the most heroes standing by the end wins.”

“That’s a really cool enhancement, Kaminari.” Deku beams at Dunce Face as they enter a training city far behind EPCOT.

Dunce Face looks down at his clothes with a broad smile. “You think so? I was doing this whole redesign, and then Bakugou said some surprisingly smart things, and Hatsume sorted it out after, uh, trying to get me into some of her freakier inventions.”

“Ha? What do you fucking mean by ‘surprisingly smart,’ Dunce Face?” Bakugou growls at the idiot while Dunce Face twists from side to side to show off his costume at all angles.

His costume is much the same in many ways, retaining its simple black and white color scheme. The jacket style has changed to a three-quarter sleeve motorcycle jacket, and the collar extends over his shoulder into a semblance of a sailor’s scarf at the back. Bakugou can see the zipper on the back, imagining it as a hood once zipped. The idiot wears a silver belt lazily angled on his hips, shining against his white shirt. His pants and shoes look the same, though the white bracelets and black shortie gloves are new. His weird disc device is gone; maybe the Variant quirk negated that necessity.

The outfit still lacks protection in many ways, but that’s an issue for another day. Bakugou isn’t going to handhold the idiot into a costume that is as functional as it is fashionable. Though, Dunce Face should do something about losing his sense of taste. If his quirk is frying his tongue, who knows what the fuck else it's doing.

“I’ve got this zip-up hood now that acts as a furoya, uh, furuya – no, that’s not it. Um, Fujiyama cage, so I don’t, you know, go all stupid with indiscriminate shock.”

“Hard to believe a hood could save your diminishing brain cells,” Bakugou grumbles.

“I think you mean Faraday cage, Kaminari, and that’s great!” Deku cheers, pumping a fist in excitement.

The nerd’s new costume somehow looks simultaneously different and the same. He retained the same color scheme, even kept those stupid useless designs around his waist, and still has a fucking short cape similar to his variant costume. The nerd’s costume is primarily green once more, the black stripes down his sides, past the red belt, shifting into new areas at his legs, centering at the red knee braces and black boots. Deku’s arms have a split color design; his right arm is cream from his fingers to where his shoulder meets his neck with a blue support brace on the elbow. The short cape hangs off the singular shoulder with a cream string crossing down over his chest. His left arm almost looks like one of his original costumes, the sleeve green with black markings and a black glove reaching up to brace the elbow, inverting the suit’s contour lines into green.

For the nerd, the biggest change is his headgear. Bakugou suddenly understands the need for Deku’s undercut. A brace latches onto Deku’s head, a black band – like a crown for royalty – circles his head, extending down the sides of his face to frame his jaw and protect his chin. The color shifts to the green of the nerd’s hair as it wraps around the back of his head, where three translucent green panels hook, looking like they’re supposed to move. It’s nothing like the mask around Bakugou’s neck; if anything, it’s similar to Shitty Hair’s muzzle.

The nerd looks leaner in the new costume, someone Bakugou can easily take in a fight, and he wonders if that’s the point. Could he look weak and harmless for deception? Is that one of the logical ruses the hobo taught?

“Is that –? No way! It is!” Dunce Face jumps up and down in excitement. “Do you see her? Look!” He waves enthusiastically to the Shiketsu High extras entering the field. “That’s Akemi Minori! She’s part of a super popular idol group! I had no idea she’s in training to be a hero. I think I’m in love.” The idiot sighs.

How the fuck is Ears in love with such an idiot?

“Thank you for the introduction,” A heroine dressed in black and silver wearing a high low pleated skirt and thigh-high boots places a hand over her chest before flipping her long straight black hair over her shoulder. “It’s an honor to meet a fan.” This chick is as emotionless as Half and Half; how the hell is she a popular idol? “You can call me by my hero name: Lightmare.”

“Lightmare’s a riot!” The heroine beside Idol Chick laughs loudly despite her short and dense stature. She reminds Bakugou of Shitty Hair with her spiky hair, red hood and cape, and energetic face. She looks exhausting. “You can call me Red Hood!” She cheers. “You know, like red riding hood? And like the Crimson Riot? I love that dude!” So does Shitty Hair. Ugh. There’s fucking two of them.

At least her heroine name matches the name Bakugou would give her. Red Hood has a mutation quirk, features a mix of wolf and human, her fur shifting from light brown to the color of rust, spiky brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. She wears a red cape the color of Shitty Hair’s – well – hair, which has an oversize hood hanging about the collar. Gray high-waisted shorts compliment the mustard yellow tunic with sleeves rolled up to her forearms. Her right leg is wrapped from mid-thigh to mid-shin in bandages, and red leather boots picking up where the bandages left off. Strapped to her left leg is a red holster that must hold supplies of some sort.

Red Hood gasps as if startled. “Oh! And this is - ”

“The Observationist. Obi for short,” Deku nods in greeting but takes a couple steps back. What the hell? The nerd doesn’t shy away from just anything anymore.

Bakugou narrows his eyes at the final hero. He has his dark hair tied in a loose low bun, wears a vest over a form-fitting short sleeve with simple pants and sturdy boots. The clothes are so casual, Bakugou would mistake him as an extra on the street if not for the gauntlets on his forearms, the eskrima sticks holstered to his thigh, and the strap across his chest that holds an oversized book.

“Midoriya,” The Shiketsu Extra lays a hand over his chest in exact mimicry of Idol Chick. “I want to assure you I am in no way like my father. I am as horrified by these turn of events as you are, and I apologize for any undue burden he may have caused.”

“That’s kind of you, Obi, really,” Deku’s voice is sweet, but there’s a sickness to it. It’s getting sharper with every passing word, pointed and deadly like his verbal attack against the Blob Loser. The Shiketsu Extra’s head tilts; something in his face reminds Bakugou of Deku contemplating an analysis. The blond can hear the sharp syllables cutting through his skin, though he’s not paying enough attention to convert the syllables into words and sentences. All he knows is that Shiketsu Extra isn’t bothered by the lashing.

“You played a hand too early, Midoriya,” Shiketsu Extra says when Deku finally heaves a breath.

“Oh,” Deku smiles, teeth-baring in a near-feral smile. Like Firefly. “This is only the beginning.”

What the fuck?

“You gonna explain whatever that shit was or something?” Bakugou demands, racing the rooftops with Deku and Dunce Face to the starting position.

“Or something,” Deku bites out, the sharpness – surprisingly – directed at Bakugou. He’s going to throw the battle and fight the nerd instead if this keeps up.

“Guys,” Dunce Face cuts through the mounting tension as he reaches back to zip up his hood. Deku turns something around his ear, and the green translucent panels slide over his head to cover his face in a seamless sealed visor. “Not the time and place. I really need you all on my side right now because if Akemi Minori so much as touches me. I might faint from being in the presence of idol glory.”

Dunce Face isn’t giving himself enough credit. Based on his strategizing against Ketsubutsu Academy, the idiot has more brain and willpower than Bakugou previously thought. This cry of incompetence must be his way of diffusing the situation at hand. Bakugou is less inclined to deck Shitty Deku and more willing to fight these Shiketsu heroes in training to prove U.A. is better once and for all.

A Shiketsu teacher signals the start of the match, and immediately Deku unleashes a mess of words.

“Akemi Minori, hero name Lightmare, has an electricity quirk with unusual effects. She utilizes electricity at a low level to send signals to promote healing, trigger muscle spasms, and primarily trigger emotions. Part of Lightmare’s idol success is owed to the performance use permit of her quirk. She utilizes stage equipment and the audience's natural electricity to turn their emotions towards love and affection. Lightmare practices using her quirk at a low level but can reach up to 650,000 volts, a little less than half of Kaminari’s first year Indiscriminate Shock. After using her high level of electricity, she does lose control of her arms, and she becomes very susceptible to mood swings.”

“This is going to be a fun battle,” Dunce Face grins as they move towards the center of the city for the presumed battleground.

“Akano Okami, hero name Red Hood, has a Wolf mutation quirk. Just like how Tsu can do anything a frog can do, Red Hood can do anything a wolf can do. She’s a natural-born leader, has a surprising good thumb, and has a super move called Pack Dominance. It does take a lot out of her, so she rarely uses it. Her howl can break glass and shatter eardrums. She has wild maneuverability, and her claws are insanely sharp.” Deku continues, expression hardening with each step forward.

“Unemi Mamoru, hero name Observationist, has an analysis quirk so strong, he can run through multiple fight probabilities before they even begin. He can copy any fighting style on sight. He’s probably doing the same thing I’m doing now.” The nerd says.

“So we stay one step ahead,” Bakugou scans the buildings for an ambush.

“Or we confuse,” Dunce Face adds.

“Or you stand around like sitting ducks!” Red Hood leaps from an alley, claws extended with a sharp smile.

“Volt Burst!” Dunce Face shouts, clapping his hands together in the direction of Red Hood. A ball of electricity shoots from the pressed palms, hitting the heroine in the chest and knocking her off trajectory.

“You were right, Midoriya,” Bakugou hears everywhere and nowhere. It’s that shitty Shiketsu Extra. “This is only the beginning.”

Lightmare gets too close. Way too fucking close, and Deku takes the hit, shielding Bakugou from those dainty idol fingers. Dunce Face even bemoans missing the star’s touch as he scrambles away from Shiketsu Extra.

Idol Chick apparently packs a punch because Deku crashes to the ground and curls into the fetal position. Bakugou narrows his eyes at the motion, blasting Lightmare away. He hasn’t curled up that way since middle school, since the day of the Sludge Villain. What the fuck does the nerd think he’s doing backsliding now?

“Get up, you idiot!” Bakugou snaps, reaching out to yank Deku up by the arm. The nerd cries out, curling tighter into himself, one hand covering the back of his neck like Bakugou is about to kick it in, the other wrapping around his middle. The action sends a surge of pain down the blond’s arms, stiffening his fingers and making them throb at the knuckles.

“What the fuck did you do?” Bakugou whirls on Idol Chick, who’s effortlessly leaping over debris for another attack.

Her expressionless face shifts slightly, the corner of her lips ticking up into a smirk of victory. Ha. Fat chance. “Why don’t you find out?” She leapfrogs over him, bare hands pushing off the top of his head.

Bakugou turns, catching her arm and throwing her back the way she came – away from a trembling Deku. “What the fuck was that supposed to do?” He growls at the darkly dressed heroine who’s stuck in a pile of debris. Her eyes are now sharp and narrow, lips parted in a sneer as if to berate Bakugou for impertinence.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” She snaps, struggling to free herself from the pile. “You were supposed to cower like the weakling you are!” She screams. “You’re supposed to be afraid like that useless idiot who took the initial hit!”

“That is so not attractive,” Dunce Face says from a distance.

“L-L-Light-Lightmare’s q-quirk can – can backfire,” Deku whimpers to his knees, curled up on the ground. “If-If the person she’s trying to alter the-the e-emotions of is-is s-stronger than her e-electrical c-cur-current. S-Sh-She takes on their emotions. K-kacchan, she feels l-like you.”

“Great, I just called Bakugou unattractive, can’t wait for that to bite me in the ass – Hey! I’m monologuing here!” Dunce Face cries out. “Can you hurry this up? I’m not the two on one type!”

Idol Chick leaps with a scream, hands extended to claw at Bakugou’s face. He raises his own, a gloved hand holding her at an arm’s distance. Her bare hands scratch uselessly at his protected biceps. Bakugou wraps a hand around her shoulder, willing an explosion to warm up in his palm.

“You,” Bakugou growls lowly, “don’t have the right to call anyone useless.” She cries out, both hands shifting to remove Bakugou’s burning grip. He takes the distraction to bash their heads together. Lightmare crumples to the ground, unconscious.

Bakugou moves to the nerd’s side, watching the green-haired hero curl impossibly tighter. “Deku, can you stay here while I handle the other Shiketsu extras with Dunce Face?” The blond asks, taking a step back.

For the first time since being struck, the nerd unravels just enough to see his eyes. They are bright green – not with power – but with tears and fear. Fear of Bakugou. Fear of all the shit the blond has put the nerd through—fear of what he could do.

“Don’t leave me,” Deku begs, “B-but don’t c-come any closer.” Pain races back up Bakugou’s arms, settling into a tightness in his biceps.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What the fuck? What the fuck?

“Do you hear that?” Bakugou asks, watching Deku uncurl a bit more. The nerd is about mind over matter. If Bakugou can get him to focus more on Dunce Face in trouble, maybe he can override whatever’s going through the nerd’s head. “Dunce Face is in trouble, and he needs us. I have to go, we’re going to win this battle, but I can’t leave you on your own.”

“Kaminari,” Deku mumbles. The fear is still present in the nerd’s eyes, but Bakugou can see a priority to save taking hold.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, nerd.” Bakugou squats down, watching the nerd flinch and curl at the motion. “I’m never going to do that again.” That’s a promise Bakugou knows he can’t keep. He’ll hurt Deku on accident or out of spite or out of love, just like Deku’s fear is breaking him now. The nerd curling away from the blond is proof Bakugou will never be enough, will never make it up to the nerd, will never be worthy of Deku’s smiles and love.

But now is not the time for shitty teenage angst. They’re heroes, which means defeating villains, and Deku knows that better than anyone.

“I won’t come closer but let’s stay together. Kick that Shiketsu Extra’s ass and rescue Dunce Face from certain doom.”

“J-just stay there,” Deku holds a hand out in a stopping motion as he uncurls, wiping at the tears in his eyes. Bakugou isn’t going anywhere. While he’s desperate to win and prove himself victorious, Deku is more important. He’d build cities and raze entire nations for this nerd. Unfortunately, the blond has a sinking feeling that’s as large of a flaw as an exposed neck.

You are what makes him the best hero and cruelest villain.

Is Bakugou the same?

“O-Okay,” Deku stands on shaky legs, face determined. “Let’s go.”

When the Shiketsu teacher calls the end of the match, Red Hood is tased and captured while Shiketsu Extra is in the middle of throwing a hefty book at Deku’s head. The nerd yelps, flinching away like in middle school days as the book sails past. Shiketsu Extra frowns. Evidently, middle school Deku is a statistical error to his analysis.

Bakugou’s team claims the victory, and Deku all but clings to Dunce Face as they make their way from the training ground.

“How long is Akemi Minori’s quirk supposed to last?” Dunce Face asks, wincing as Deku tightens his grip on the blond’s arm.

“Li-Lightmare’s-s quirk c-can last any-anywhere be-between a f-few minutes to-to sev-several hours,” Deku stammers, hunching to bury his face into Dunce Face’s back. “It-it depends on h-how easily a per-person can suppress an e-emotion or-or h-how deeply engrained the-the emotion is.”

“She does it through electricity, right? Can’t I just shock you back to normal?”

The nerd shakes his head into Dunce Face’s back. “You-you’re too high voltage to-to get to the-the delicate w-wiring f-for emotions.”

“So what?” Dunce Face glances over to Bakugou. “Midoriya is nervous?”

“The nerd ain’t nervous,” Bakugou snaps, pausing in his stride to remove his gauntlets and snap them around his boots, another costume enhancement. He’s tired of guessing if a situation may need his grenade gauntlets or not and tired of being caught unaware. The gauntlet enhancements now latch on and off, one of a few features on his costume that imply a standby mode. “He’s afraid. He’s been afraid most of his life.”

“Afraid of what?” Dunce Face prods.

Of me, Bakugou doesn’t say as he begins walking once more. He doesn’t say anything in response to the question as he pushes open the gates.

The hobo is standing outside the gates of the training area, arms crossed firmly against his chest, as his gaze flickers from Bakugou to Deku and then Dunce Face.

“Bakugou,” The hobo sighs, “take Midoriya back to the dorms until the quirk wears off.”

Deku lets out a whimper, and Dunce Face yelps, reach to pry the nerd’s fingers.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I did it, sensei?” Dunce Face gasps. “He’s already holding on SO tight.”

“It would be easier,” The hobo agrees, “but it’s not in Midoriya’s best interest to be coddled. The more he interacts with that emotion, the faster the quirk effects will fade.”

“Ha? You saying I’m scary or something?” Bakugou glares at the hobo, who arches a brow in response. It’s a weak defense, but the blond still feels enough tension in his arms to fight.

“Dude,” Dunce Face winces, finally freeing one hand, only for the other to tighten around his wrist. “you’re straight-up terrifying.”

“You’re straight up annoying as fuck,” Bakugou bites back.

“Bakugou,” The hobo warns before turning towards Dunce Face. “Midoriya, release Kaminari.”

“No,” Deku sounds almost petulant, if not for the shaky breath.

“Release Kaminari,” The hobo orders again. “Bakugou is going to take care of you.”

For a moment, the nerd’s head lifts to laugh sarcastically at the hobo. “Yeah, right. Only in my dreams.” He drops his head back down.

What the fuck? What’s that supposed to mean?

“It’s really no problem, sensei.” Dunce Face looks almost pleading.

“It really is a problem. Pro heroes don’t get coddled under the effects of a quirk. Heroes don’t get a reprieve because emotions are high in the middle of battle, and Midoriya, of all people, should know that. He knew that when he went to aid you. You can’t possibly believe he forgot that in the time it took to walk here, do you?” Aizawa glares, and Dunce Face flinches under the dark stare.

“Deku,” Bakugou says, trying to make his tone as smooth and understanding as Hound Dog in therapy mode. He watches the nerd stiffen. “I’m gonna protect you. No one’s gonna hurt you, not even me.”

There’s more he wants to say, though it’s still a long time coming before anything resembling a ‘sorry’ escapes his lips.

Bakugou’s words must be enough because the nerd unravels, takes a few stumbling steps, and all but collapses into the blond’s arms. At the touch, the ache in his limbs all but disappears as his heart leaps to his throat before abruptly sinking into his belly, knowing this level of fear is his fault.

The trek back to the dorms isn’t complicated, but it’s definitely annoying. Bakugou must dictate every change, assure the nerd he isn’t about to explode or throw a punch with every step. He has to be gentle, and Bakugou doesn’t do gentle. Just like he doesn’t do affection, weakness, compliments, and apologies – apparently.

He’s a shit person, isn’t he?

Bakugou leads the nerd to the blond’s room, setting the nerd on the bed before heading to the closet for fresh clothes.

“I’m gonna go change,” Bakugou tries for gentle once again, though it startles a reaction out of Deku.

“No!” The nerd cries.

“The hell? You want me to change here?”

Deku shakes his head. “no! I don’t, I want, but I can’t – ”

Tears stream down the nerd’s face, threatening to fill his sealed visor.  Bakugou drops his clothes and kneels in front of the nerd. “Fuck, calm down. I’m gonna remove your helmet. I’m going to lift my hands, it’s gonna freak you out for a sec because they’ll be at your face, but I ain’t doing nothing but removing the helmet.”

Slowly, Bakugou reaches up to press a button on either side of Deku’s face near the jaw. The helmet opens, half falling behind the nerd, the other falling into Deku’s lap as tears stream freely.

“Y-you can’t stay, b-because I-I don’t know what y-you’re going to do to me,” At this, Deku brings his arms up, turning his face to shield his head with his forearms. “B-but you-you can’t go! You can’t! I-I’m s-so scared you’re going to leave when I just got you back! I can’t lose you again. I can’t; I can’t, I can’t. Kacchan, I can’t.”

Deku’s sobbing fills the air.

Bakugou sits back on his heels, watching the nerd wipe his face with his forearms repeatedly. But it’s not doing shit. Deku’s waterworks are soaking his suit, soaking the floor. The nerd has a fear Bakugou can’t quite understand. It’s strange and surreal in a way, trying to connect to Bakugou’s wants and fearful desires. Or it could mean something else entirely.

“Okay,” Bakugou breathes, looking up at the nerd from his kneeled position. “You have me.”

Deku inhales sharply, a hiccup cutting through the wet sound. “What?”

Bakugou looks towards Deku’s face, despite the fact the nerd is still wiping furiously. He kissed the nerd on the island and was nearly pushed away. He’s been in love with Deku his entire life, despite the realization coming a little over a week ago. Whatever the nerd wants of Bakugou, he’ll take it. Something more or strangers in the hall, anything for Deku to be happy. Bakugou will gladly suffer the consequences of his idiotic bullying actions for Deku to receive happiness.

“You have me,” He repeats, hands on his knees. “For as much and as long as you want me. Even after this stupid fucking quirk runs its course, I won’t go anywhere unless you ask me.”

Bakugou catches green brows furrowing in confusion as Deku slowly lowers his arms. Next, he sees dark green with pupils blown wide, then a smattering of freckles on heated cheeks.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” The blond continues, “And you can’t go and fuck off to another reality again. You’re not allowed unless I’m right there beside you. You can’t lose me? I thought you were dead for months!

“You have me,” Bakugou frowns, shaking his head at the admission of weakness before meeting Deku’s gaze once more. “You and your snotty tears and your shitty freckles, and your damn mumbling, and your high and mighty morals. That all has me. You have me, Deku. You don’t need to be scared of that.”

The nerd sniffles and chokes out a fragile laugh. “Somehow, that’s even more terrifying.”

Chapter Text

Izuku wakes slowly.

He feels himself going through a standard systems check, which is robot sounding and absolutely necessary after spending years with the League of Villains. He’s not in pain, though his arms and legs feel a little tight. Izuku likely forgot to stretch before falling asleep. He feels warm and comforted, without Danger Sense flaring at the back of his mind, so he must be safe. Izuku breathes in slowly, trying to keep pace with a sleeping rhythm, smelling sweat and sweetness. It’s not an unusual scent; Kacchan’s nitroglycerin sweat makes its way to everyone’s costume one way or another.

But why is Izuku still in costume? What’s the last thing he remembers?

And why is his front warm while his backside is nearly bare to the air conditioning he hears blowing in the background?

Focus, Izuku.

He runs through the check again. Not injured, safe space, Danger Sense is quiet, and Alert finally let him rest. All systems go, which means he can turn his attention to the less dire questions.

Izuku remembers the training exercise with the Observationist, Lightmare, and Red Hood. He remembers thinking Shiketsu’s strategy was strong, impressive compared to others with analytic quirks, but still childish with the lack of real-world experience.

But then Lightmare got in a lucky hit, and Izuku was drowning in every fear he had ever felt. Fear for bullies, fear of pain, and starburst scars. Fear of losing Kacchan to the sludge villain, fear of failing All Might. Fear of never being enough.

It was as if someone had opened a black hole under his feet, and Izuku was slowly being sucked into the darkness, stretched out, and pulled apart.

Izuku relived the daily fear of being found out by the League, the high tension paranoia of being killed as a message to the heroes. He felt the neverending terror of always chasing Firefly and always being just too late to save. There was a bright terror in a burning blue forest of never seeing Kacchan again, never having the chance to well and truly love someone.

Then Kacchan was there, and the fear became worse and better simultaneously, cycling through in a way that made Izuku want to pull the blond close as much as he wanted to push him away.

The next thing Izuku remembers is crying and gentle hands at his face removing his helmet. He remembers Kacchan below looking up at him with imploring red eyes that promised warmth and safety, his posture open with apologies unsaid.

Kacchan so vulnerable made Izuku breathless. It soothed the fear clawing up his throat because Kacchan had laid himself bare with a promise he couldn’t imagine the blond would make. It was far too mature for someone so young, but then again, Izuku and Kacchan have always been neck and neck when it comes to everything.

All that distance, all that pushing away, only to have Kacchan find love in the right places, and what does Izuku get?

You have me.

Izuku gets Kacchan.

He got Kacchan, didn’t he? Izuku’s memories end after those words. Did he reply? Did he pass out? Does that explain waking?

Izuku feels a soothing back and forth motion on his back and the sensation of phantom touches in his curls. He opens his eyes slowly, taking stock of the standard Shiketsu dorm room and noting the lack of notebooks on the desk. Not his room.

Kacchan’s grenades and boots are discarded at the foot of the desk. His hero and Variant gloves rest on the flat top. This is Kacchan’s room.

And like that, Izuku is aware of the heartbeat that’s not his own and the breathing that’s out of sync below him. He’s all too aware that his ear is pressed to a solid chest.

“Fucking finally,” Kacchan exhales, “You were dead to the world for hours.”

Izuku glances toward the window; there’s still light coming from a direction that implies sunset instead of sunrise. He hadn’t slept the night away.

“You’re not still scared shitless, are you?” The motions on his back cease.

“How is that different than always?” The green hero mumbles.

“Oi, watch the smart mouth, or I’ll change my mind.”

Izuku shifts, looking up at Kacchan, who’s propped up against the headboard. His red eyes are narrow, but the blond isn’t scowling, and his expression seems gentle, though the green hero can’t quite identify why.

“You don’t mean that.”

A flicker of annoyance passes through Kacchan’s features. “Of course I don’t fucking mean it. Who the hell do you think I am? Like I’d ever go back on my word.”

You have me.

Izuku bolts to a seated position, Kacchan’s arms fall uselessly into his lap, no longer holding on to Izuku. The blond scowls at the sudden motion.

“We have to talk.” Izuku stammers, running a hand through his curls, noting only one hand is glove-free.

“No shit. It’s you we’re talking about here. It’s not like I’m going to get a straight answer from you, especially when you’re emotionally fucked by a quirk.” Kacchan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his arms over his head. That roughly translates to, ‘I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re not yourself,’ in Kacchan speak.

“Uh, yeah,” Izuku nods vigorously. “Thanks for all that.” He gestures at nothing, and Kacchan scoffs. Good to know he was gone for nearly four years and can still be as awkward as a teenager. “And uh,” He catches a whiff of sweat again, and this time it’s all him and not nitroglycerin sweet. “Good heavens, I reek.”

“You said it, not me,” Kacchan raises his hands as if to prove himself innocent.

Izuku scrambles off the bed. “Rooftop tonight? That’ll give us time to shower, change, maybe show my face, so everyone knows I’m okay?”

Kacchan scoffs, “Sure, nerd.”

“I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Deku 20:18 Meet me outside.

Izuku stares at his cracked phone; every piece of damage is evidence of Kacchan’s existence. Good heavens, he’s a sap. He hasn’t contacted many people with this gift. Mostly Aizawa-sensei, Present Mic, and All Might. Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic are responsible for sending him pictures of Eri from time to time. She’s growing beautifully in this timeline.

He flips back to his messages with Kacchan, which have grown far and few between since their arrival at Shiketsu. Kacchan is growing beautifully too. Ugh. Why is this so hard?

Izuku is too old. He can’t be with Kacchan, even if that’s his only selfish desire.

But Izuku has Kacchan, and the blond made it clear to his fear-addled mind.

They’re technically the same age. They were born in the same year, born in the same timeline. Can Izuku really hold Probability’s transgressions against Kacchan? Can Izuku hold anything against Kacchan?

No, not when Izuku wants to give Kacchan the world. If Kacchan told him to fuck off, Izuku would go out of his way to disappear. If Kacchan confessed to liking Kirishima or Camie, he’d do everything he could to ensure Kacchan is happy.

Because Kacchan has had Izuku for years, and now, Izuku has Kacchan. It’s dizzying information to grasp.

“Oi, stop with the mumbling.”

Izuku jerks his head up to see Kacchan walking down the dormitory steps; hands shoved in his pockets. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over Izuku. For a brief moment, his mind drifts to their fight after the licensing exam.

“Hi Kacchan,” Izuku beams. Kacchan’s face pinches and his shoulders hunch.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Izuku tries to quiet the smile, but it seems to grow and grow.

“Knock it off,” The blond shoves a hand into Izuku’s face, which makes the freckled hero burst into laughter as Kacchan’s cheeks and ears burn red.

When Izuku can finally calm the laughter, they walk side by side with Izuku nudging them in the direction of EPCOT.

Izuku is a champion of filling silences. He learned idle chatter from Toga, Present Mic, and Lemillion, talking about anything with friendly and calm gusto. He’s rescued and kept many children safe that way.

He spent his childhood mumbling to fill the silence without friends or readily ignored by those around him. But when he speaks now, mumbling or otherwise, people listen. Now that the table has turned, talking is exhausting.

But Kacchan already knew that about words. He’s the master of silences and anger. Well, master of a lot of things.

Izuku liked Kacchan’s silences growing up because it meant he wasn’t being bullied. He likes them now because the quiet softens Kacchan. It gives the blond a chance to sort and think through things no matter how idle. Silence is Kacchan preparing for battle with a socially energetic world, and Izuku doesn’t like to intrude.

“Any robots going to snitch and turn us into the hobo?” Kacchan asks, shoving his hands in his pockets when he catches sight of the large lake surrounded by sliver cities.

“No. Turns out when an alternate reality makes you older, you get to bypass curfew rules. So, that’s a perk, I guess.” Izuku shrugs.

Kacchan offers a grunt in response, staring out at the moonlight reflecting off the rippling lake. Izuku shivers at the breeze, cool despite the brutal summer heat earlier today. The blond doesn’t even seem to notice.

“What does it mean?” Izuku finally asks when they reach the first city, a Canadian town obsessed with maple everything. When Kacchan only raises an eyebrow, the green hero lets out an exasperated sigh. “What does it mean that I have you?”

“Fuck Deku, you get your head beaten in one too many times?” Everything about Kacchan pinches, shoulders hunching around his ears. “It’s exactly what it sounds like.”

“I have you?” Izuku repeats. “So I could just pack you up, and I’d take you to,” he squints at the name of the city, “Quebec, Canada where we live the rest of our days as syrup farmers.”

Kacchan looks like he just swallowed a lemon whole. “That would be shit awful, but yeah. I’d go.”

“What if I wanted to see if I could sail the world in eighty days? Would you be my first mate?” Izuku knows Kacchan has had an increasing hatred for water and rain the past couple of weeks. If the blond hates Exit Island, he probably hates what it’s surrounded by too.

“I’m the captain. You’re first mate, nerd.” The explosive hero sneers.

Two for two. And yet, Izuku still isn’t sure. He holds back the desire to take Kacchan’s hand in his and confess years of pining love. The green hero doesn’t want to bare everything only for Kacchan to walk away. He doesn’t want to overwhelm the blond, especially when Kacchan has a talent for being honest and ridiculously vague at the same time. For all Izuku knows, ‘You have me,’ is Kacchan saying he’ll be Izuku’s greatest ally and nothing more.

So Izuku asks, feeling the desperation and frustration of not knowing to the surface. “How do you know? How do you know I have you and it’s not just brought on by the ‘hey, Deku isn’t crushed to death by rubble’ mentality?”

“What the fuck?” They wander into a middle eastern sandy city sliver.

Then, the green hero rambles, “And I know technically we’re the same age, but in actuality we aren’t, we’re not even close. And there’s so much you don’t know and this, whatever this is, could hurt your chances with people you really want to be with.”

Kacchan stares at Izuku. It’s a look he doesn’t see often and especially not at him. Kacchan thinks he’s a skyscraper level of an idiot, and it’s kind of endearing to see. The blond sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Maybe Izuku is a skyscraper level of an idiot, but he needs clear statements, especially for the dream that kept him pushing forward in the Variant.

“Fuck it, fine. Who else is there? I can’t think of a single loser or extra worth my time.” The blond stops in front of darkened windows, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting until all his weight is on one leg.

“Kirishima.” Izuku offers.

“Exhausting, loud. Pain in my ass and pining for Raccoon Eyes, who would notice if she wasn’t such a damn gossipmonger. Next?”

“Uraraka.”

Kacchan guffaws and doubles over with laughter.  “Round face? Disgusting sweet tooth, overkill on the cute but tough persona. Hard pass.”

“Camie.”

At this, Kacchan pauses, rich red eyes take on a darker shade. “I only understand about half of what she says. She makes up words, and no one questions it. Fucking insane. Not terrible at haircuts, but terrible at a fuck ton of everything else. That it?”

Izuku wracks his brain for anyone else Kacchan seems to respect more than himself and comes up short. “That’s it. I just don’t want you to miss out on changes with them.”

The explosive hero stomps forward, kicking up sand into the next sliver. “In case you weren’t listening, I couldn’t care less about those losers.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku finds himself whining as he closes the distance. “I’m trying to give you your best chance at happiness.”

“Why?” The blond bites out. “Why should you ever give a shit about my happiness when all I’ve done is take yours over and over?” Kacchan shoves at the green hero’s shoulder.  “Why do you think it’s some dumbass extra? Is it that fucking Variant? I don’t care how much he screwed himself over; I’m not doing that.”

“When have you ever been happy with me, Kacchan?” Izuku glances the explosive teen’s way as they turn down familiar Japanese streets. “Be honest.”

Kacchan frowns, growls, and leaps towards a fire escape. Izuku follows close behind, hand over hand. “Up until I found out you were quirkless.”

“Great,” The green hero can’t help but be bitter. For Kacchan, it’s been over a decade. For Izuku, it’s been nearly fifteen years since Kacchan was happy. ‘You have me’ ticks more towards friendship than anything else.

“I got a fucking fantastic quirk. We were going to be hero partners. I had the world then, and I just had to wait until yours came in.” The blond huffs, pulling higher and higher.

“But I didn’t.” Izuku focuses on the task at hand. No matter how old Izuku gets, he usually winds up missing a rung or two.

“No,” Kacchan bites out, “you didn’t, and I was left standing on my own. Being happy always leads to bad things, Deku. You should know that better than anyone.” He leaps from the last rung, swinging his legs over the rooftop ledge.

“So what?” Izuku clambers after the teen, who’s already a distance away when Izuku manages to stand on the roof. “We stop here? The end? If we don’t move forward, we don’t get hurt, is that it?”

“Don’t put crap in my mouth!” Kacchan shouts, hands sparking. “I already told you what I meant. Do whatever you want with that!”

“That I have you?” Izuku arches a brow.

“Can’t be any more clear.” The blond stomps to the other edges.

“It definitely could, Kacchan.” Izuku huffs. “Okay, so I have you. What if I’m not supposed to?”

Kacchan stares at him blankly before jumping to another rooftop.

“Maybe I’m too old for you for a reason; maybe it meant there’d never be a time for us to see eye to eye.” Izuku lands on the new rooftop a moment later, an arm’s length from the teen.

Kacchan whirls, grabbing Izuku by the front of his shirt. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?” He bites out, “Telling me all your secrets when your fucking Dekusquad was chomping at the bit to adore you again. You’re always there even when I don’t need the help. Always showing off. Always being reckless and stupid and always somewhere out of reach.” The teen shakes, shifting his grip until he has fistfuls of shirt in both hands. Kacchan’s eyes are glossy and red-rimmed, threatening an action so intense, Izuku has only seen it a handful of times. And – ah – there it is. “You’re the worst, but if you think you can go somewhere without me standing beside you, you have another thing coming.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku reaches out, brushing the blond’s cheek with his thumb, wiping at a stray tear. “I just – I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I-I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret. I don’t want to be one of your biggest regrets.”

“It’s a little late for that, ha? I thought you died, and I never got to make up for all the shit I did to you.” Kacchan says through gritted teeth, shaking Izuku by the shirt.

“But I didn’t die.” The blond’s angry tears won’t stop falling.

“I thought you did,” Kacchan leans until his head rests on Izuku’s shoulder, hot tears soaking through the green hero’s shirt.

“But I didn’t.” Izuku lays a hand on Kacchan’s back.

“You did.” He insists, sniffling.

“Okay, so I did.” The green hero concedes. He can only imagine what the past several months were like for Kacchan. While Izuku was in another reality, he had the comfort of knowing Yaoyorozu was making sure the blond survived. He had love bolstering his faith to see Kacchan again. And while there were days he doubted, Izuku had evidence towards hope. Meanwhile, Kacchan had crippling injuries, evidence for presumable death, and emotional trauma terrible enough to attack a pro hero in duress. 

Izuku leans his cheek against the top of Kacchan’s head, “How lucky am I that death was only temporary?”

“Don’t.” Kacchan shoves away. His eyes are still wet, but Izuku can see a dry fury erasing the traces while sharpening every edge of the blond.

Izuku nudges the explosive teen into motion before taking the lead. They move past familiar Japanese slivers to Paris, where he clambers over the footholds for the scaled Eiffel Tower. The forced perspective from the ground seems like it’s the full length, but it’s barely twice the height of Izuku.

“How do I know, Kacchan?” He finds himself repeating the question from earlier.

“How do I know you don’t think I’m a mistake?” Kacchan demands instead, swinging around the top of the tower. “Who the fuck knows what’s coming down the line? I’m going to be the number one hero. I’m going to make that happen. But tomorrow? And the next day and the day after that? No fucking clue. We’re heroes, Deku. I don’t know if some villain is going to get lucky tomorrow. I don’t know what’s going to happen even five fucking minutes from now.” He jumps down and throws his arms out wide as if to gesture at something grand. “All I know is that You have me, whatever way you want.”

“You may be older than me technically, Kacchan, but I’m the actual adult here. So I have to lay boundaries.” Izuku reminds the blond, sliding down a corner of the tower, the edge digging into the arches of his shoes.

“So lay them, and I’ll break them.” Kacchan jumps from a rooftop to the slivers of New York. Izuku jumps down beside him, quickly catching up with the explosive hero’s stomping stride.

“I have to be responsible.” The green hero insists.

“You’re making your shitty excuses, like always,” Kacchan growls. “I’m following you on this. You don’t want this? Fine, I’ll go. But if you do, why the hell are you fighting me?”

Izuku stills, watching Kacchan take a few steps forward before turning around to level his red eyes at the green hero.

“Kacchan, of course I want this,” Izuku hears his voice distantly. It rasps with desperation and is weak, squeaking through words with too little air. “But, it’s-it’s like you said, happiness brings about bad things for you. For me, though, it’s wanting.

“I can’t afford you to get hurt. I can’t lose you. And if this is just for a little while, I can’t justify putting you in danger for fleeting happiness.”

“I,” Kacchan clears his throat, sighs, and runs a hand through his blond spikes before shoving both hands into his pockets, looking relaxed despite the tense conversation. “You don’t get it, Izuku. You’re it for me.”

Oh.

Oh.

Izuku takes in the sight of Kacchan, the tousled hair, the frown that isn’t quite anything, and red eyes burning with intensity. The green hero wouldn’t say they sparkled, not like when Kacchan is angry, upset, or the wild-eyed look he dons to prove himself. It is rich in color and full of meaning, like a velvet curtain before a movie premiere. Maybe even a red sun, which does not reflect light because it produces its own. They hold the soft and mournful purpose of red poppies, promising relief in every sense of the word.

The green hero is reminded, childishly, of the first sports festival when Kacchan promised to win. His eyes were just as calm and sure then as they are now. Izuku feels the weight of the blond’s confession, though the teen likely has no idea what that weight means. His mind flashes back to a Variant All Might, promising a gentle farewell that was anything but. He thinks of Variant Katsuki’s heavy admission, orange eyes dark with futures lost. He sees Kacchan bleeding out at Exit Island so many years ago, promising the teen survival even if Izuku wouldn’t.

You’re it for me.

Kacchan won’t look anywhere else. Not like Variant Katsuki. Kacchan is firm with his decisions, and he determined Izuku to be it, no matter how much the green hero will protest.

The matter isn’t about age or variants or endangering loved ones. Though, Izuku suspects that has never been part of Kacchan’s consideration.

The blond chases what he wants, looking forward without doubt or regret, in a systematically reckless way. It’s something that Izuku has always admired about him.

Kacchan is chasing him now, and Izuku is so tired of running.

And yet, he resists the urge to envelop the blond in his arms – promising forever – because that isn’t fair. Izuku has spent nearly four years in love, imagining what it would be like to finally be together. Kacchan has had a week, if that. Every sensation must be new; the green hero has never seen the blond interested in someone, much less want to be with them.

If Izuku agrees to this, how does he handle Kacchan with the love and care he deserves without overwhelming him? For all that he’s imagined being with Kacchan, Izuku always skipped the beginning where everything about being together is messy.

Together.

Can they finally be together?

“Izuku?” Kacchan gravels out.

Oh.

Is Izuku breathing? Is his heart beating? Is his brain even working? It must be if he’s asking these questions. Why is Kacchan so good at making Izuku stall out?

Kacchan called him Izuku. Kacchan hasn’t called him that in over a decade. Variant Katsuki did, but never sounded anything like this.

There’s really only one option left, isn’t there?

“Then,” Izuku takes a slow deep breath, as he levels his gaze with crimson eyes. “what do you want out of this relationship?”

“For fuck’s sake, Deku! How many times do you need to bash in the same points?” The blond roars, and the green hero resists a laugh. If Kacchan is tired of hearing the same points, can he imagine how long Izuku has thought and rethought the same exact issues?

“I’m not saying no,” Izuku holds out a staying hand. “I’m trying to get us on a level of understanding for us to move forward as an ‘us.’”

“Fucking finally,” The blond mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets as he follows Izuku to walk through the city streets.

“So,” The green hero’s hands shake as he takes another slow breath. “I’ll ask again: What is it that you want out of this relationship?” Their footsteps echoing off an empty city is reminiscent of the night of the licensing exam, though the tension is of a different beast.

“I want,” Bakugou huffs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I want you. I want us. Whatever that means.”

“That’s what I’m trying to get at,” Izuku says, nudging the blonde on the shoulder. “Do you want dates?” He pulls out a chair at the cafe they pass, gesturing for Bakugou to take a seat. When the blonde walks past, Izuku returns the chair to its original position.

“Do you want to hold hands? What’s your comfort level? Or do you not want anything to change? Is knowing enough?”

The blond looks contemplative with low simmering frustration of Izuku beating a conversation to death. Without his spiky bangs, Kacchan’s eyes shine. He looks beautiful in the moonlight.

“I don’t know how the fuck to answer that.” Bakugou stops at a street corner. “In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t exactly been fucking around with other people. There’s no shitty book to read, nothing to fight. Just you and me in whatever way we screw things up since we’re not capable of doing shit neatly.

“I don’t want to just know. Knowing is fucking awful. Knowing is not enough. But I don’t know about that either.” Kacchan gestures to a different café. “All I know is that it’s you, and I’m not looking anywhere else.”

Izuku pauses at a vending machine and purchases drinks for the both of them, trying to parse through Kacchan’s answer. He takes a sip of mint tea before closing it tight. Kacchan drinks the black tea in one go, tossing the empty container into a recycling bin.

“Yeah,” The green hero agrees. “Just knowing sucks.” He flips the bottle in the air and catches it mindlessly, repeating the motion as they resume walking.

They pass by two Japanese sliver cities, one that looks vaguely like Amsterdam, another of Rome, then some South American city. Izuku is impressed by how real each sliver seems compared to the pictures he’s seen from Yaoyorozu’s vacation albums.  

“Let’s take it slow,” Izuku decides when they’re near the other side of Epcot. “It’ll take a while for me to get comfortable with the age difference, and I know you’re not exactly the touchy-feely type.”

“Fine.” Kacchan doesn’t look fine with the decision at all. Izuku is barely okay with the decision, truth be told, but as much as he wants Kacchan now, he wants the relationship to survive more. The green hero doesn’t want them to burn too hot and bright. He’s seen what that does to people and the devastation left from a sudden collapse.

“We’ll be honest with each other, too. I’m mostly going to let you lead, but I might try some things too. We’ll tell each other if we’re uncomfortable with something. We can always come back to it later, but there’s no coming back from pushing through something we’re not prepared for.”

At this, the blond rolls his eyes, “Duh.”

“Then,” Izuku beams as they reach the end of Epcot. He’s terrified of moving too slow or too fast. This, at least, seems a reasonable place to start. “May I hold your hand?”

Kacchan snorts, but instead of a scowl, his lips turn into a smirk as he slips a warm hand into Izuku’s and squeezes.

“Like I said: you have me, whatever way you want.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou wakes in the morning thinking last night was probably the best and worst night of his life.

It was as if he had negotiated with a terrorist with his heart as a hostage. Fuck, Deku is the worst. And yet, the smile the nerd gave before they went back to the dorms was so fucking worth it. Terrorist neutralized. All hostages were saved with minor injuries.

Or something along those lines.

Bakugou isn’t entirely sure anything is different or will be different. There’s not exactly a manual to check for How To Date The Kid You Used To Bully That Disappeared For Months That Were Actually Years And Came Back Just In Time To Realize You’ve Loved Them All Your Life, You Pathetic Piece Of Shit.  

If there was a manual, Bakugou would have burned it on sight from its absurdity.

Bakugou’s phone pings, and he groans, rolling on his side to read the text. Fuck, talk about another level of absurdity.

He enters the third-floor common room to arguing and Half and Half defending Ponytail’s pinboard as if it proves every conspiracy the Zuko wannabe has ever thought.

“Bakubro, you made it!” Shitty Hair greets, holding back Raccoon Eyes, who seems ready to throw a punch at Dunce Face, and Purple Hair, who are in turn held back by Glasses. Why the hell does he keep walking into chaotic rooms he’d rather not be a part of?

“Yeah, you never sleep in. What happened?” Flat Face perks from his spot on the couch, a wide grin on his face.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou growls.

“How is Deku?” Pink Cheeks asks, tapping her fingers on Dunce Face and Purple Hair, who float to the ceiling, still shouting at Raccoon Eyes. “He still looked really spooked when we saw him last night. Thanks for looking after him during training.”

“Nerd has no lasting effects if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I’m telling you that super move came AFTER the sports festival!” Raccoon Eyes yells.

“And I’m saying your brain’s haywire because Shinsou and I made that super move to impress people AT the sports festival!” Dunce Face shouts from the ceiling.

“Do I want to know?” Bakugou gives Ponytail a flat stare. She places a hand on her cheek, looking a little helpless at the shouting match before her.

“It turns out it’s actually incredibly difficult to put together a timeline with eighteen varied memories.”  She sighs.

Bakugou shoves his hands into his pockets as he snorts, “No shit.”

“The newer memories aren’t hard to sort; it’s just the older memories that are giving us trouble. We dismiss anything just before our second year, but we can’t seem to agree on timelines up until graduation.” Ponytail continues.

“Why the fuck does that matter?” Bakugou looks away from the argument to the pinboard Half, and Half is tidying. “He wasn’t there.”

“What?” Raccoon Eyes snaps, cutting herself off mid-sentence.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Half and Half lays a hand on the board, glaring at Bakugou like the blond is about to attack the timeline.

“What do you mean Midoriya wasn’t there?” Glasses asks with a frown.

“Are you saying we’re on the ceiling for nothing?” Purple Hair drones, staring blatantly at Pink Cheeks.

“Release.”

Dunce Face yelps as he flails to the ground.

Bakugou looks over the class spread out around the common room. Most are on the armchairs and sofas, though the remaining stand nearby or at the board, attempting to add something.

“He told you when you got your fucking quirks that he was in the Variant figuring out what the League was planning.” The blond arches a brow. Granted, Deku glossed over his involvement with the League of Villains at training camp. It makes sense why these losers didn’t put two and two together. Bakugou refused to believe it until a few nights ago.

“Yeah, but that’s like, hanging out with Aizawa-sensei and learning covert ops. Did you see how manly he is when we’re at EPCOT?” Shitty Hair asks with a grin.

Bakugou steps towards the pinboard, snatching a marker from Half and Half. He draws a line straight down from the fall semester of second year. “Here,” He says as Half and Half makes a noise of protest, “to here,” he draws another line a week before U.A. graduation, “Deku was undercover with the League and destroyed them from the inside out. So, unless one of your shitty memories had you working in the League of Villains with that idiot, no one’s gonna know fuck anything about what happened during that time.” Bakugou jabs a thumb at the board.

Silence descends on the common room as each loser looks from one line to the next, though it’s Emo Bird who speaks. “That’s a long time in darkness.”

“Maybe that’s what we need to understand,” Glasses offers, hand gesturing to the board.

“What if he’s one foot out the door because he’s afraid of going psycho evil like the League?” Ears asks.

“What if he’s scared we won’t trust him after knowing?” Frog counters.

“What if we call today’s session to a close?” Ponytail adds. “We clearly have some memories and information to think through, and it’s nearly time for breakfast in the cafeteria.”

Pink Cheeks and Glasses tackle Deku into a hug when they see him in the cafeteria, knocking the tray from his hands and creating a mess on the floor. The three are promptly reprimanded by a Shiketsu teacher before the rest of the Dekusquad drag him back into the food line.

“Did anything happen?” Raccoon Eyes appears next to him, eyes wide and sparkling. “It must have been epically romantic yesterday,” She sighs like a love-sick idiot. “Midoriya, vulnerable and crying. You there to dry his tears and profess undying love!”

“Get a grip,” Bakugou grimaces. “He was fucked out of his mind terrified.”

“Terrified of losing you?” The pink heroine bounces on her toes. Fuck.

“Why are you so fucking annoying?”

“C’mon, Bakugou! Gimme something to work with!”

Bakugou raises a brow at her. “Fuck off.”

“Please?”

“Go find your love life instead of invading mine.”

Raccoon Eyes huffs, stomping her feet, and places her hands on her hips as she glares up at Bakugou. “I’m living vicariously through yours. Thanks for reminding me I don’t have a love life.”

Bakugou snorts, “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, Mister I-Know-Everything. Where is it?” She gestures around the cafeteria to the milling Class A losers, The Class B extras filtering in, and Shiketsu extras already prepared for the day. “Is it over there?” She points at the Shiketsu extras. “No? How about over there?” She gestures towards Class B. “Believe me, I’ve looked everywhere!”

“Hey, Ashido!” Shitty Hair jogs up to the pink heroine, tray laden with food. “They were down to the last red bean pancake; I got it for you!”

“No way!” Raccoon Eyes jumps in excitement as Shitty Hair hands her the sandwiched pastry in a wrapped napkin. “I LOVE these. They’re like, my second favorite breakfast food, hands down. Do they still have natto in line?”

The redhead lifts a bowl on his tray. “Already got that for you too! See you at the table!”

The pink heroine bites into the pancake, smiling with pure delight. “If you want some, you’re not getting any since you refuse to tell me.”

“Right in front of you,” Bakugou says. Then, at Racoon Eyes’ confused expression, he lets out a sigh and tilts his head to the pancake. “You said you looked everywhere, but you fucking didn’t look right in front of you.”

She looks down at her pancake, then at Bakugou, then to the table where Shitty Hair is already chatting with Dunce Face and Flat Face. Finally, she turns her gaze back to the pastry where red bean paste oozes from the center.

“You think so?” Raccoon Eyes stares up at Bakugou, eyes wide, desperate, and hopeful. Her expression is a strange mirror of Deku’s face from the night before when the nerd said he wanted Bakugou and was terrified of wanting.

The blond flicks her forehead, which nearly makes the pink heroine drop her pastry in surprise. “Go be a lovesick idiot somewhere else. I don’t want it to rub off on me.”

“Are you ready to go home?” Hound Dog asks in their latest session. The mutt is still annoying, just not as aggravating as before.

“Been ready. If I have to think about Baldy or that Shiketsu Blob again, it’ll be too soon.” Bakugou huffs. At breakfast, the vampire teacher of Class B announced U.A. would be returning at the end of the week after the Covert Operations Exam. Once back, the students will have a week to visit their families before the new school year begins.

Fuck, summer has gone by so fast, and it started with Deku at the gate. Shit, Deku’s return feels so long ago. Has it only been a month and a half?

“Is there anything you’re looking forward to in the new school year? Any goals academically or personally?”

Bakugou mulls over the words. “I,” He hesitates. “You know how you pried at that shit from me in the beginning, back when I had to see your ugly mug every day?”

Hound Dog huffs, leaning back in his armchair. “I remember,”

“And I told you all that shit I did to Deku growing up, and I told you to expel me for being such a shit person and all but prepped the nerd to die on the island?”

“Yes?”

“I want to be better than that asshole,” Bakugou turns his head to the large window. Where Hound Dog’s U.A. office has the view of forest green perfection, this office frames Nagasaki in the distance. “I want to try to be better.”

“I would say you’re already better for recognizing the need for change.”

“Oh, fuck off – ”

“That’s fair,” Hound Dog offers a weird laugh. Heroes in muzzles should not laugh. “And how would you like to be better?”

“Fuck if I know. Isn’t that your job?”

“Sure,” The mutt sounds almost amused. Maybe Bakugou should be more obstinate; it’s getting a little chummy in here. “I’ll get to work on that. In the meantime, let’s talk about Midoriya.”

“What about him?” Bakugou glares.

“Are you any closer to telling him how you feel?” The hero offers.

“No.” Technically true. Can’t be any closer to telling the nerd than he said the night before.

“Do you believe he’s finding his footing now that summer is ending?”

“Debatable, he causes trouble for the hell of it.”

“Do you think he’ll be home when we head back to U.A.?”

Bakugou imagines Deku’s hand in his, remembers how soundly the nerd slept beside him, thinks of freckled smiles that leaves Bakugou’s heart in shambles. He thinks about how his arms and hands haven’t hurt since the nerd drooled on him, sleeping off Shiketsu idol’s quirk.

“Yeah, probably.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

Bakugou shrugs, “Like the world finally fucking makes sense.”

Deku offers to run after-hours study sessions at EPCOT with Class A and B. He recruits anyone who passed the initial Covert Operations test to help guide through exercises. Bakugou spends most of his night behind the wall of screens, calling out losers who stand out like sore thumbs. He’d rather be at the screens than deal with that Class B idiot who automatically fails each try by shouting his intentions and antagonizing Class A every chance he gets.

Dunce Face is a surprisingly good teacher – Bakugou can’t believe that thought just crossed his mind – helping those with flashier appearances find ways to blend in. Ponytail, Ears, and Round Face take most of the girls while Raccoon Eyes, Flat Face, and Purple Hair run through brush passes and dead drops. Emo Bird works one on one with Frog, relearning basics as she adjusts to her new hand.

“Don’t fucking wink at every camera you’re about to destroy!” Bakugou growls into the microphone to the French idiot who checks his face in every mirror and camera he passes. Does he even stand a chance at passing? Deku seems to think so, but Bakugou just watched a brush pass contact circle around four times in a dead giveaway, but the blond Frenchman kept staring at his reflection.

The classes trek back to the dorms an hour later, breaking off into sets of three or four. Each loser has a renewed sense of energy towards leaving Shiketsu in favor of the familiarity of Musutafu, and Bakugou can’t blame them. He’s so sick of this side of Japan.

“Hey,” Deku sidles up to Bakugou, nudging his shoulder. “Just shut down the computers. You ready?”

“Guess so. I’m already here later than I wanna be.”

“Sorry about that. Kacchan, there’s just so much to learn.”

The class losers are easily a few blocks ahead, leaving Bakugou and Deku are practically alone. The blond slips his hand into Deku’s and leads the way back to the dorms. Bakugou opts for entering the dorms through the back, if only to keep the gossip posse off his back and a little more time with the nerd. Deku follows the blond dutifully up the stairs, holding tight when it seems like their grip gets a little too loose. 

They arrive at Deku’s door first, near-identical to the rest of the doors. Bakugou doesn’t really know what to do. Last night Deku saw him off to his door, and tonight Bakugou’s doing the same. But aren’t there supposed to be dates? Isn’t there supposed to be time dedicated to one another, like late nights in the common room or rooftop meetings? And since they’ve already done that, is being together just more of the same?

“Well,” Deku laughs awkwardly, “this is me.”

Bakugou knows that, and so what? He doesn’t want to leave. Before last night, Bakugou would claim distance and hold Deku out of reach as a way to prevent himself from spontaneously confessing. The blond has no such restrictions now.

Deku must see the hesitation in Bakugou’s eyes because he keys open the door with his free hand and leans back as if to tug the blond in with him. Everything about the nerd is gentle when he says, “stay.”

Chapter Text

There was a time in Bakugou’s life when he always wanted to wake up alone. He purposely sprawled out on class trips to enforce space; he chose corners, so people couldn’t sleep next to him. It’s a strategic and purposeful move. If Bakugou wakes up alone, then everything is normal. If he wakes up and there’s other people nearby, he might be in Villain clutches, in the hospital, or even kidnapped by the losers who call themselves friends. It’s a matter of safety, nothing else.

But that all changed holding Deku.

A couple of afternoons ago, it was strange holding the nerd for the first time. Deku slept off the quirk while Bakugou remained wide awake, wired from all but declaring love. Not even Deku’s stupid Alert quirk could keep him up, which felt like a win. The nerd had been passed out for hours, long enough for a comfortable weight to become annoying, and made Bakugou rethink his costume yet again. If it’s not comfortable to hold on to Deku, what’s the point? (Being a hero is the point, but that’s hardly on his priority list when it comes to this experience)

Deku sleeping is erasing every terrible thing Bakugou did to the nerd. It’s all hope and innocence and possibilities. It’s a soothing calm that makes the blond feel protected and creates a desire to protect. If the League came for Deku the other day, Bakugou wouldn’t lose.

So, when Bakugou wakes in the morning, his brain flip flops between the idea that his safety is compromised and that it’s the safest he’s ever been. He wakes held instead of as the one holding. He recalls the night before, the desire to stay, followed by the ask, and a new flustered confession from Deku.

The nerd hadn’t slept in weeks, but he took a nap in Bakugou’s arms. Deku thought it was a fluke, thought his quirk decided the danger ended and he could sleep once more, but he was left awake while Bakugou overslept.

Deku wanted to test a theory; could Bakugou quiet the Alert Quirk? The nerd had rambled for what felt like hours, apologizing for moving too fast, saying the blond could back out if he felt uncomfortable, and on and on he went. Eventually, Bakugou pushed Deku into bed and flopped down beside him, demanding the nerd to rest.

Judging by the steady breathing at Bakugou’s neck, Deku followed his orders.

The blond rolls onto his stomach, glancing at the sleeping nerd. The bags beneath the green hero’s eyes look a little less intense, though they’re still nowhere near as bad as the hobo’s.

“Using me as a fucking glorified teddy bear,” Bakugou grumbles without heat, “How dare you.” He reaches up, pinching a freckle. The nerd flinches but doesn’t wake, rolling towards the wall, an arm falling away from Bakugou’s waist.

The blond checks the time, still hours before the rest of the class gets up for the day, but perfect for an early morning run. He rolls out of bed, shifting the blankets to cover Deku once more, resists the urge to kiss the nerd, and leaves.

“Fucking hell,” Bakugou groans, slowing his run at the sight of absurdity blocking his path. “Aren’t you idiots supposed to be sleeping?”

A large picnic blanket covers the wide jogging path, large enough for the five heroes to sprawl out with room to spare. But they’re not sprawled out; they’re sitting on cushions, wrapped in hoodies and blankets with picnic baskets bursting like cornucopias of breakfast items. Raccoon Eyes sits closest to Bakugou, patting at an empty orange cushion with a wild grin on her face.

“We woke up especially for you,” Flat Face rubs at his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to drag Ochako out of bed?” Raccoon Eyes demands. Bakugou couldn’t care less about Pink Cheeks wanting an intimate relationship with her pillow.

“I’ve been ambushed by gossip mongers.” Bakugou glares, though the group is unphased. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation; he knows most of these idiots aren’t morning people and have the tendency to stay up too late.

“Bakugou,” Ponytail sits a little straighter in her spot furthest from Raccoon Eyes. Furthest from a potential blast zone, clever as always Vice President. “We wanted to thank you. Taking charge of the class’ Variant meetings has really helped us push through some breakthroughs we might have overlooked while caught up in memories.” She fiddles with her hands, those damn Russian dolls popping out rapidly and creating a pile large enough to rival a picnic basket. “That, and we haven’t had a chance to talk since the island or what happened there. We’ve been so caught up in improving our quirks and trying to figure out what happened in that Variant; we haven’t had time for one another.”

Gossip mongers, the lot of them.

“Please, Bakugou, come sit.” Pink Cheeks yawns, leaning on Flat Face for support. “We’re heading back to U.A. soon, and we won’t see each other for a week. I know that’s not a lot of time, but with how this summer’s gone, a week could change a lot.”

“Girl’s night in the morning. Come on.” Racoon Eyes smiles.

“Fine,” Bakugou stomps to the blanket’s edge and flops onto the orange cushion without his shoes. “But we’re not starting with me. Pass the fruit.”

Surprisingly, it’s Raccoon Eyes who goes first in between nibbles of a red bean pancake. “So, I think Bakugou might be right that Kirishima likes me.”

Flat Face chokes on a rolled omelet, rousing Pink Cheeks from her sleepy haze enough to slap his back a few times. “What?” He rasps, grabbing a bottle of juice and chugging half its contents. “Did I just hear you say Bakugou gave relationship advice and was right?”

“Yes?” Raccoon Eyes looks unsure at her answer.

“Bakugou. We’re talking ‘bout the same Bakugou here?” Flat Face gestures at the blond, looking incredulous. “Bakugou, the person who only just realized his feelings for Midoriya lie on the wide spectrum of punching and kissing?”

“It’s really not that wide of a spectrum,” Ears offers, “I want to kick Kaminari every day.”

“But that’s different,” Flat Face whines, “that’s Kaminari!” Which, actually, is a fair statement.

“Um, hello! We’re talking about me here!” Raccoon Eyes waves her hands in the center of the loose circle for attention. “I said I think he’s right, which is why, when we have our week off, I’m going to ask him on a date.”

“That’s very forward of you, Mina.” Ponytail blushes.

Round Face squeals, finally awake enough to sit on her own. “Do you think he’ll say yes? Of course he’ll say yes!”

“Yeah, but he might think it’s hanging out between friends,” Ears points out. “I’ll try to keep Kaminari away, so he doesn’t tag along.”

“I’ll help,” Flat Face sighs.

As the sun begins to peek out over the horizon to christen a new day, the group rotates around with aspirations for the fall semester and progress on their crushes, if they have any. Flat Face doesn’t talk about anyone specifically, but Bakugou notices the idiot’s smile stiffen when Ponytail and Raccoon Eyes mention anything close to resembling a crush. Ears confesses she’s waiting for the right moment; Round Cheeks admits she wants to focus on Frog getting back on her feet before thinking about romance. Ponytail mentions the source of her affections needs more time to find themselves before she inserts herself into the picture.

Funny how it seems like this entire class of losers is trying to date one another. Then again, if what Frog says is true, maybe this class is the only option.

“Okay, we all had our turns,” Raccoon Eyes claps while Bakugou is sipping on pineapple juice. He likes the sensation of the acidity biting back. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I don’t have shit to say.” He doesn’t, at least, nothing he’s willing to admit. He doesn’t want this posse finding out he cuddled with Deku all night. Ugh, even the concept of cuddling sounds so off-putting and not Bakugou that it’s hard to think about. What does he even say? That they’re sort of dating, and despite Bakugou kissing first, they haven’t done much more than hold hands? What is this, preschool?

“You told me you were almost pushed away; what does that mean, hmm?” Raccoon Eyes scoots in close, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

Fuck, he did say that, didn’t he?

“Fine,” Bakugou grits out. “On the island, the night before the League came, I kissed the nerd.”

“No!” Ponytail gasps, both hands covering her mouth. Raccoon Eyes screams while Ears’ jacks stand ramrod straight.

“Way to go, Bakugou!” Flat Face grins, pumping his fist in approval, and Pink Cheeks stares open-mouthed at the blond.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get yourselves in a fucking twist. It wasn’t anything.” The explosive hero grumbles, remembering how much he ached in the hours after, fingers stiff and refusing to bend with their usual dexterity. He remembers feeling miserable and deserving of that misery when he drifted through the day and therapy without seeing Deku once. Then, when he finally sees the nerd again, Deku is chatting and bargaining with an insane homicidal lightning bug.

Fuck, anything that happens on that island is a mess.

“I kissed him, and he didn’t do anything,” Bakugou hears a chorus of disappointed sounds. “I pulled away, and his hands were right in front of him like he was gonna shove me or some shit.” The blond still isn’t sure of the intention of those hands. The nerd likes him, so it would make sense to have outstretched hands to pull Bakugou closer. Then again, Deku is still hyper-fixated on the age difference; it would also make sense to push Bakugou away for the sake of morals.

“Then Shitty Hair had an equally shitty nightmare, and I left.” Bakugou stares at his empty glass.

“Kirishima!” Raccoon Eyes hisses, “Why’d you have to ruin a perfectly good opportunity for a make-out session?”

“Stop passing your love life idiocy my way.” Bakugou glares.

“Bakugou,” Ponytail asks slowly. “Did you even give him time to respond?”

“Felt fucking forever. What part of pushing me away don’t you get?”

“It’s just that,” Pink Cheeks pipes up, leaning forward, “He’s not the type to push away.”

Bakugou levels the antigravity heroine with a flat stare. “There’s an entire Variant pinboard and secret meetings that say otherwise.” Pink Cheeks squirms and looks away.

“That’s really a bummer,” Raccoon Eyes moans, “maybe invite him to your place for break when we get back. Does he have anywhere to go?”

“You can always try again when we’re not on the verge of a villain attack.” Ears offers.

Bakugou rolls his eyes. They’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t they? “Don’t blow a fucking gasket trying to make something happen.”

“We just want to see the both of you happy,” Flat Face adds. “It’s been a hard year for all of us, and you two definitely deserve it.”

Bakugou isn’t sure he deserves happiness, not when he has so much to atone for with the person he loves. It’s baffling enough there’s a group of friends that like him as he is, gruffness and all, frightened by him and challenging his notions all the same. It’s even more bizarre there’s this gossip posse out to see him succeed. They care with a gentleness Bakugou hasn’t even afforded himself. It leaves him restless and waiting for another shoe to drop.

At least that’s one thing Bakugou knows about feelings. They are a luxury of the safe and content. But, how is it possible to feel that way when Bakugou sees enemies everywhere, including himself? How is happiness a concept when there will always be villains lording over his head?

He found love despite danger because the risk of being without it outweighed the need for survival. Or is it that love is necessary for survival?

He’s spent a lifetime purposefully keeping happiness at bay; he pushed Deku and let anger keep the distance from possible companions.

Now, he's let in this gossip posse and Deku is someone Bakugou can pull close. Bakugou has happiness right before him, skittish and fragile.

How the hell does he keep it in reach?

Chapter Text

After months of not knowing where Deku could be and far too many sleepless nights spent imagining the best and worst, Bakugou has answers in the form of sharing a bed. He doesn’t worry about where the nerd can fuck off to, doesn’t wonder if the idiot is overthinking from night into morning because Deku is here.

Deku is in his arms, and it is the most peace Bakugou has ever felt.

The nerd feels safe around Bakugou, enough to quiet that damn Alert quirk to rest. It’s so fucking contradictory, too, because how the hell does a person trust their bully of a decade to keep them safe over dozens of others?

How is Bakugou enough to hold Deku? It seems far-fetched to be in this situation, waking up to the reassuring presence of the nerd by his side. A warm body breathing under the blond’s touch is a tangible contrast to nightmares of lifting Deku cold from an island pit.

Bakugou pulls the nerd closer, bringing his other hand to play with Deku’s soft curls. A few days ago, the explosive teen could only dream of being this close. He pined for fuck’s sake, gossiped with the heroines and Flat Face on that damn island, and wanted more than he could ever deserve.

He knows Deku still tries to keep a distance; that’s the whole moving slow bullshit and keeping things quiet. The nerd is still fighting some war about experience and age and fairness, but then he does shit like this – drooling away on Bakugou’s chest. What a fucking hypocrite.

Then again, the blond is pulling away too. Granted, Bakugou has an excuse. He literally has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He wasn’t even aware a relationship was something he wanted until that sudden realization. It doesn’t help that Bakugou thrives on being self-sufficient. He’s not sure how to comprehend ‘being together.’

Bakugou shouldn’t need anyone. He could be a one-man show and get to the top. All Might worked alone for decades, his sidekick and allies mere footnotes in history. The number one hero had no attachments that could be used against him, didn’t need anyone to keep winning.

For the longest time, Bakugou thought he could be the same. People aren’t interesting, he’s said it once, and he’ll say it a million times more. It’s a miracle Bakugou remembers as many names – however wrong – as he does. They dress up in too many or too few colors and come in all shapes and sizes, which means nothing to him. They might as well be the bland, faceless mannequins the old hag keeps in her home studio.

It stood to reason he could be like All Might, without attachments and the determination to win.

But reason didn’t explain how Bakugou felt when he lost Deku on Exit Island. The world had tilted; everything was off balance and wrong. No matter where he looked or how hard he trained, Bakugou knew everything was wrong.

Then Deku was back, and things might finally fucking be normal – and fuck – it’s Deku, and things will never be normal. Then Bakugou had his shitty realization of love, coupled with Deku’s admission of dating in that fucking Variant meant everything was wrong again. Because, while the explosive hero could survive on his own, Bakugou wants Deku in ways he doesn’t completely understand.

Does Deku understand what Bakugou can’t quite comprehend?

What is it that you want out of this relationship? Do you want dates? Do you want to hold hands? What’s your comfort level? Or do you not want anything to change? Is knowing enough?

Knowing will never be enough. Bakugou is already greedy for this current arrangement, looking forward to this closeness, warmth, and soft scents. This cuddling, this trust, is far more than Bakugou can fathom that asking for more seems like too much.

The blond leans into Deku, breathing in the nerd’s scent. Despite showering, he still smells of forest and EPCOT’s lake. What would it be like to kiss him? Just lay one carefully, to keep the nerd from waking, at his hairline? What would it be like to kiss without the fear of being rejected?

“I remember,” Purple Hair announces in the middle of another timeline meeting. It’s a sleepy meet-up as the losers add things to the board with no discernable anchor point in time. The hobo wannabe sits straighter, eyes blowing wide as if whatever he abruptly remembered is still playing in his head. He swivels his head sharply from Ponytail to the board and Bakugou. “We were going to extract Midoriya during the summer of our third year.

“He was, he was,” The manipulation hero tugs at his hair, now staring at nothing as he rambles, “He was getting in too deep. Snipe thought he was a goner, Thirteen had doubts, Endeavor had condemned him, and when the number one hero denounces a hero – even privately – a lot more are quick to follow.

“Midoriya,” Purple Hair says the nerd’s name as a gasp. “You should have seen him – or maybe don’t. Don’t remember this; you don’t want to remember this. Everywhere he went, Midoriya was Greek fire. He destroyed everything in his path and couldn’t be stopped and did it all with a smile.”

The teen shudders, accepting a mug of tea from Ponytail. “We were, we were going to pull him, but Dabi heard a rumor that made everything go south, and I-I – I had to join the League and lied to keep the rest of you safe.”

“And?” Pink Cheeks demands, leaning forward.

“I don’t know. The memories, they just sort of end there.” Purple Hair drifts off to a whisper.

“So now we have it,” Bakugou gestures at the board, “We have an inside look of Deku’s time in the League.

Ponytail looks apologetic when she says, “I’m sorry, Shinsou, but we’ll be relying on you for those memories.”

“It’s - it’s fine. I’ll do my best.” The hobo wannabe shrugs, looking down at his mug. It fucking isn’t fine. All of these losers have had memories that woke them screaming or in tears; what the hell is time with the League going to do to Purple Hair?

“I think that’s enough for today,” Glasses moves to stand from his spot sandwiched between Pink Cheeks and Frog, “We’ve got our final Covert Operations exam starting after breakfast, and we must be prepared.”

The entire class passes the exam, leaving Class B in the dust.

Deku and some U.A. teachers talk with Shiketsu extras after the test while Shiketsu Chick bounds to each heroine from Class A, hugging them tightly.

“I’m just, like, gonna miss you fierce. I know we tapback online, but it’s just totes not enough. No one here is even remotely close to being the sisters I’ve always wanted.

“And you,” Shiketsu Chick stops before Bakugou, pouting as she flicks his forehead. The blond growls at her serious gaze. “You keep in touch. I sun-sure expect you to send me hair and makeup tips. You can be the brother I never wanted.”

“Switch to a less crusty ass lip gloss, and maybe we’ll talk.” Bakugou glares.

“Oh,” The brunette beams, “we’re going to get along great.” She pulls the blond into a tight hug, in which he protests the entire process. “And some advice for you, bro: you showed me a supes beautiful face when you were making fun of Todoroki last year, maybe show that to your crush and see what happens.”

“Which one of the gossip mongers told you?” Bakugou growls, shoving away.

“Uh, hello,” Shiketsu Chick tips her idiotic hat, “top of my year in Covert Ops. I freakishly know everything about everyone here. Including your crush, which is under so much pressure you could make a diamond to propose with.”

“Get the fuck out of my face,” The blond snaps as Shiketsu Chick bursts into laughter.

“Gimme deets when you do, kay fam?”

It’s strange to leave without something ‘next.’

The last time he left Shiketsu, it was to train and fight on fucking Exit island. Before that, it was leaving the forest for the damn high school; and before that, U.A. in favor of the woods.

Bakugou has a week between leaving Shiketsu and starting U.A. for the fall semester. There’s no provisional licensing exam to take, no evil to fight, no access to Deku’s Variant mutterings with the pros.

A week being aimless, the blond hates the thought of something so cruel.

It’s strange to have the reality of ‘leaving’ right in front of Bakugou. Some ridiculous part of him thinks Deku could disappear. The blond has spent more time with the nerd at training camps, islands, and rival schools than time in U.A.. What if Bakugou suffered a mental break these past several weeks, and this was all some sort of hallucinated dream? Variants and Deku and fucking infinite futures. What if that’s all a lie?

What if, the next time Bakugou reaches out, the nerd disappears like smoke between his fingers? What if those late nights and smiles are a fiction, and his greatest supporter – his biggest – weakness is still missing?

What if –

“You okay, Bakubro?” Shitty Hair pulls Bakugou from his spiraling thoughts with a sharp-toothed smile.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” He growls, noting the slight furrow on the red head’s brow. What kind of dumbass dyes his eyebrows? Bakugou sees the roots of the idiot’s hair and coming in black. It needs to be bleached and dyed once more. If his eyebrows are any evidence, Shitty Hair is going to need help to make his hair look halfway decent.

“I don’t know, man,” Shitty Hair laughs, “just feels like there’s something you’re not saying, which is totally manly, by the way, if you don’t want to share. I know losing Midoriya was hard, especially for you since you’ve been friends for so long. I don’t know how you can be so cool with him being back like this.”

“I’m not cool,” weakness slips from his lips as his eyes latch on to Deku across the crowd of students piling their luggage in front of shuttle busses. For the past couple of weeks, he’s been closer to Raccoon Eyes and Flat Face than Shitty Hair, the first person to befriend Bakugou in shitty Class A. It isn’t fair to admit emotions to the other idiots while the redhead is out in the cold. Shitty Hair can handle whatever Bakugou throws at him, but he’s got a soft heart like Deku, too, if Kamino Ward is any proof.

There’s so much you don’t know and this, whatever this is, could hurt your chances with people you really want to be with.

Fuck it, fine. Who else is there?

Kirishima.

Bakugou sees the nerd’s stupid train of thought now. The blond likes Deku’s soft heart, the kind that finds goodness in the impossible - like Bakugou. He likes how much the nerd cares and how those happy smiles come from stupid things like sunrises or a flower growing from the sidewalk.

But unlike Shitty Hair’s bleeding heart, Deku’s has always held a layer of resilience beneath the surface. While both are strong fighters, the nerd is unwavering. It’s the best and shittiest thing about the nerd, and Shitty Hair can’t compare.

Maybe the old hag is right, though Bakugou would never admit it out loud, love is having someone who annoys you, and you’re not mad about it.

“You must be really glad to have him back, huh?” Shitty Hair follows Bakugou’s gaze. “I mean, for sure everyone is, but you two have always been different. Good different, I mean.”

The blond thinks about holding the nerd close and keeping both their demons at bay. “There isn’t anyone else,” Bakugou admits so quietly, Shitty Hair almost misses it. It takes a second or two for those terribly dyed eyebrows to shoot high.

“That’s super manly, Bakubro,” Shitty Hair grins, “things look to be going good between you two, if summer is any proof. Midoriya trusts you so much.” The nerd shouldn’t trust him so liberally; Bakugou can think of thousands of reasons why. “I bet it’s just going to get better and better.”

The blond resists staring at his friend with pride while his chest balloons with hope. He feels his mouth twitch, threatening a smile at the quiet admission of having a ‘friend.’

Bakugou forces a frown, abruptly shoving the redhead, and earns bright laughter in response. The explosive hero feels dread seeping in, stiffening his shoulders and bringing back an ache to his fingers – a sensation he hasn’t felt in a week.

That was happiness, a trickle of it just a moment ago. There was hope in being happy, the thought of ‘better,’ teasing something soft out of him.

Bakugou clamps down on the emotion, shoving away the promise of ‘better.’ Shitty Hair may have said it as something hopeful, but Bakugou hears it as a threat.

A week away from U.A., away from pro hero protection, divided towards their family homes, unable to aid each other with the League of Villains looming over their heads. Danger bells are ringing.

Shitty Hair practically signed a death warrant with those words; Bakugou can feel it.

Something bad is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon.

Chapter Text

Bakugou slows from the ten-mile run; his calves feel tight while his thighs feel too loose. He feels out of shape and needs to stretch out his muscles before continuing with his day. That damn Covert Operations training has weakened his stamina a bit, but it’s enough to make a difference. Ten miles is not enough; the thought has echoed in his head since mile seven. All Might wanted him to run fifteen miles in the morning by the end of summer to keep up with Deku’s growth from first year, and Bakugou is failing the former number one.

He slows to a walk at the sight of a figure at the Bakugou family gate. They’re somewhat cast in shadow, despite the late sunrise, carrying a bouquet of flowers, as well as two small bags. Bakugou recognizes the droop of the shoulders before curly hair.

 “The fuck are you doing here?” Bakugou snaps at Deku, shifting back into a jog when the nerd turns his way.

“Kacchan! Hey! Good morning!” The nerd laughs, reinvigorating the blond’s tired muscles with bubbles and fizz. “I missed you,” He says, wrapping his hand in Bakugou’s once they’re close enough. Deku squeezes his hand twice before letting go.

“I saw you yesterday,” Bakugou raises a brow. Had it only been yesterday when they left Shiketsu, flying from west Japan to central? He barely remembers the travel time, dragged into sitting with the Bakusquad while Glasses and Pink Cheeks surrounded Deku. The blond remembers pro heroes escorting Class A to their family households, with the hobo escorting most students native to Musutafu. Deku stayed behind, favoring a quiet night at the dorms.

“I know,” The nerd offers that stupid patronizing sad smile meant to placate little kids like Eri. He follows Bakugou through the gate and to the front door. “I just need a friendly face.”

“My brat? Friendly?” Bakugou whirls, glaring at the open front door, the old hag already dressed for the day. “You hit your head or something Izuku?”

“A lot, actually,” Deku flashes a cheerful smile, “but nothing of concern. It’s nice to see you again, Oba-san.”

“Izuku,” The old hag clicks her tongue, shoving Bakugou inside while laying a gentle hand on Deku’s cheek. “I’m just relieved to know you made it back to us.”

“It’s good to be back,” The nerd admits, closing his eyes to the soft touch. “I brought you a gift, Oba-san.”

“You didn’t have to bring me an omiyage. You coming home is the greatest gift I can ask for.” The old hag pulls Deku into a tight hug. “My short-tempered son, on the other hand,” She trails off, sending a glare Bakugou’s way.

“I was training, not having a fucking vacation,” Bakugou glares back.

“And yet Izuku brought me a gift from his adventures, and you returned empty-handed you ungrateful brat!” She snaps.

“Fucking have him as your son, then!” The explosive hero stomps up the stairs to wash off the sweat and stink of his run.

“Planning on it!” The old hag yells while Deku laughs nervously before Bakugou slams the bathroom door closed.

“Do you think she’ll like these?” Deku asks the old hag as they walk through the city streets. Bakugou follows beside his old man, hands in his pockets, watching his mother interact with his somewhat boyfriend.

Fuck, that’s a weird thing to think.

The group is dressed nicely for a day off, especially since Bakugou knows his parents should be at work but are instead doing whatever this is. Even Deku is shockingly presentable with his streetwear dark green haori, a patterned black button-up shirt, rolled khakis, and a different style of his awful red shoes. What on earth could they be doing that would require the nerd to have some sense of fashion?

Then Bakugou sees a familiar landmark and nondescript sign.

Oh.

“I think she’ll love them.”

It takes a few minutes to gather supplies and make their way through the aisles before reaching their destination. It’s a small plot of gray stone, some weeds have grown between bricks, and there’s a name in red to signify a lie.

Bakugou remembers visiting this plot when it first came to be. He remembers how much the unshakeable force of his mother cried and how the events felt like his doing. If he hadn’t caused Deku a lifetime of grief, if the nerd hadn’t saved him on that damn island, this would not have been the outcome.

The blond helps pull weeds as Deku and the old hag scrub, the old man offering help by handing over cleaning tools or bagging the weeds to be taken away. The nerd places flowers while the old hag lights incense. Bakugou takes a step back as the old man passes the green-haired hero a packaged slice of cake.

Deku sets it beside the flowers before ladling water over the stone. He places his hands together as if in prayer and says, “H-hi Mom, happy belated birthday. I-I’m back, and I’ve missed you so much.”

The old hag stands, wrapping Bakugou into a hug, even though it’s Deku bursting into tears. It’s Deku who’s sobbing with a broken heart and missing the woman who championed him through everything. Bakugou may call his mother an old hag, may curse and fight her within every bit of his power, but he cares about her and his old man. Bakugou’s are people of action, not words, and they show it in what they do. His parents design clothes because they want people to feel beautiful and confident the way they are. Bakugou aims to be a hero to defeat villains, so the world feels safer for all the extras out there. They care in so many unspoken ways, unlike the Midoriya household.

Midoriya’s change the world with words.

And it was words that took Midoriya oba-san away.

Bakugou hadn’t known all those months ago that there would be an extra casualty to losing Deku. He was injured, drifting in and out of consciousness in the days leading to the new semester. At that time, someone broke the news of Exit Island to Midoriya oba-san. They told her about the explosion and collapse and how hard Deku had fought with the finality of never fighting again.

So she stopped too.

The old hag said it was Takotsubo syndrome, a fancy term for dying of a broken heart. Deku was all Midoriya oba-san had left, and someone told her she didn’t even have that.

Deku lost his mother in the name of justice and heroics. He lost his mother, the one person to love and support him, to a lie set by Probability. Could Bakugou dare to make up the difference?

“Your dad and I need to head in,” The old hag sniffles as she stands from her kneeled spot before the Midoriya family grave. “I swear those idiots at the studio can’t keep their heads on without one of us showing them where to go. Stay as long as you want; we don’t want to cut this visit short.” She accepts her purse from the old man. “Izuku, thanks for letting us tag along. Remember, you’re welcome at our home any time.”

“Thank you for coming with me,” Deku bows to Bakugou’s parents before turning to the blond. “Do you want to say hello to my mom?”

Bakugou glances at his parent’s retreating form, the grave, the nerd, and back again. “Not with you around. This is a private conversation.”

Deku snorts, and Bakugou earns a fragile smile he wants to tug, so it grows into something full of joy. “Okay, whatever you want, Kacchan. I’ll go visit someone else, make sure her neighbors are well taken care of.”

With that, the nerd goes in search of a new pail and ladle.

Bakugou sits before Midoriya oba-san’s grave, ladling water over the top and pressing his hands together as he shuts his eyes tight. “Hey, Oba-san, it’s your least favorite pain in the ass,” he opens his eyes, tracing over the characters of her name. “I want to tell you things have changed, a lot, ways never fucking saw coming. Your husband is – well – a piece of shit, but he must’ve been some kind of nice if you had someone like Deku. He must have shit rainbows if you married that asshole.

“And I know, I’m not supposed to curse Oba-san, not here and especially not in front of you, but I can’t help it. You’re supposed to be here,” Bakugou lifts his gaze to see Deku cleaning a neglected grave overrun with weeds, “you should see him and see how fucking good he is. How he doesn’t get hurt as often or as badly – fucking finally, I know – and how much he misses you.

“The nerd had to do some shit things while he was gone, even I don’t know the full extent. But I know he held on to you the entire time. He probably missed you like breathing, missed you like I missed him, which, I guess is the other set of news.” Bakugou sighs, hanging his head as he drops his hands into his lap. “I know I don’t deserve this. I know after all the shit I put him through, all the second-hand shit you received that made this whole situation my fault, that I don’t deserve to so much as look at Deku.” He looks up, tracing her name once more. “But I’m going to be his family. I’m not going to ‘try,’ I will be his family. I’ll protect him. I’ll – I’ll love him. Fuck, I already do. We’re together, though I sure as hell don’t know what all that means. All I know is that I want to be there for him in whatever way he’ll have me. You and I both know he deserves to be happy. If I don’t fuck it up, I’m gonna give that to him.

“So don’t,” Bakugou hears himself choke as his eyes burn. He scrubs furiously at his face. “So don’t fucking worry, Oba-san. I’m gonna love him. I’m gonna care for him, and I’m gonna look out for the idiot before and when he does something reckless. You know he’s gonna be reckless. I’ll make sure he achieves his dream; it just fucking sucks you can’t be along for the ride.”

Bakugou runs his fingers over oba-san’s name, resisting the urge to explode out the red characters of Deku’s father on the tombstone. Instead, he snuffs out the incense and sweeps up the ash, keeping the plot nice and tidy for the kind-hearted woman.

“Hey,” Deku returns a minute or so later. The nerd’s voice is gentle and soft, likely noticing the blond’s swollen eyes. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou gravels out, standing with a small bag of trash looped around his wrist. With his free hand, Bakugou reaches out, threading his fingers through Deku’s and giving one long squeeze. As opposed to this morning, neither party lets go.

Bakugou is getting suspicious.

It’s day four since their return to Musutafu. The class chat has been mostly silent, except to offer confirmations of getting home safe if they leave for an extended period. Deku has been stuck on campus, texting Bakugou periodically about fuck nothing or complaining about the length of meetings. Once, the nerd sent a photo of Eri, proudly proclaiming his attempt at styling the kid’s hair. Bakugou called, demanded Eri be put on the line, and immediately told the kid to sue. It doesn’t matter Deku saved her from the mafia; that hair-do is a crime against humanity.

Four days of mundane fuck nothing. It’s suspicious.

Bakugou is even more suspicious when Deku texts to hang out in the afternoon. Something about time off for good behavior.

Hang out? Does he mean a date? Fuck, Bakugou is wildly unprepared for that next step.

Fine, he texts because that seems to be the only answer to give. Fine doesn’t stop the suspicion settling in his stomach. Fine doesn’t stop the dread trickling down his spine or the tension causing his shoulders to rise. Fine doesn’t stop him from texting Raccoon Eyes that everything is all her fault, which results in a reply of question marks instead of groveling for forgiveness.

Fine doesn’t stop Bakugou from changing outfits three times before going back to the first. The nerd is going to think whatever Bakugou does is amazing; why the fuck does the explosive teen have to work hard to impress him?

Fine is an understatement of Deku’s looks when the blond meets him by the station. The nerd wears a three-quarter black shirt beneath a short-sleeve button-up with thick vertical stripes of black, white, and brown, paired with jeans rolled at the ankles and black combat boots. Simple, fashionable, and somehow still retains a painfully dorky personality. It’s frustratingly endearing that Bakugou can’t find an immediate insult for it.

“You made it,” The nerd beams, holding out his scarred hand for Bakugou. The blond takes it, feeling the familiar double squeeze of reassurance.

“I fucking said fine, didn’t I?”

“I know,” Deku lets out a small laugh, “I just wanted to be respectful of your time. You schedule your days, even when you don’t necessarily have something planned. I didn’t know if this was a ‘no people’ day.”

Fucking what? How the hell did Deku know that? Shitty Hair doesn’t even know; that’s why the idiot tried so hard to drag Bakugou to the pool during their first year. But those days have been far, and few between since Bakugou moved into the dorms. There’s no escaping those losers, no escaping the noise and chaos of people. How do people like to be around others all the time? Who the fuck gets energy from that shit? Monsters, probably. They probably enjoy sucking the life out of others.

We’ll be honest with each other, too.

Bakugou heaves a breath, turning his gaze to the crowd, finding himself counting the hats and purses like the training at Shiketsu. “It is a no people day,” He begrudgingly admits, “but you’re not people. You’re Deku.”

The nerd laughs once more, tripping Bakugou’s heart. “You’re not people, either. You’re Kacchan.”

Deku leads Bakugou out of busy streets, past a temple, and to an overgrown footpath partially hidden by trees. “Now, I know I didn’t say how we’d hang out, but I thought you’d like to go on a hike.”

Fuck yes.

Everything is too perfect.

The thick forest trees shield Bakugou from summer's heat and sun, making the path cool with a breeze filtering through. The trail disappears now and again, forcing the two to separate in a race to find it again. Bakugou almost always wins.

They hardly talk on the climb, despite the questions Bakugou resists asking and the thoughts Deku is trying to keep at bay. The questions and intrusive thoughts sit in the background with dread slowly building as a pain between the explosive hero’s shoulder blades.

Bakugou pauses at a clearing overlooking a steep drop. He stares out at the long mountain range nestling a few small towns. Bakugou has climbed three of the seven peaks and makes a note to climb all of them as a reward for graduating U.A..

“What are you plotting?” Bakugou asks, surveying the ground below. The sight before him is part of what inspired him to become a hero. The world, formed of forests and mountains and cities and people, should be protected. If not Bakugou, who else would pick up that mantel?

Seeing the world impossibly small always settles something in the blond, bringing a sense of clarity to something unknowingly obscured.

Why would Deku bring him on a hike? Why would he choose the one thing that could distract Bakugou for hours? What could warrant Deku calling Bakugou out if he knew the blond didn’t want to be around people?

“I’m not planning anything,” Deku protests, holding up his hands in surrender. What a fucking lie. The nerd always has a plan and constantly mutters about this or that.

“You said we’d be honest,” Bakugou levels the green hero with an unimpressed glare.

“Fine,” The nerd crosses his arms before leaning forward with a tilt of his head. “Would you believe me if I said this is a multi-pronged date?”

So, it is supposed to be a date? Is this how dates are supposed to go?

“With ulterior motives apparently,” Bakugou huffs.

“Nothing crazy, promise.” Deku offers a tentative smile. “I did wrap up my meetings early, so I did want to see you. Everything else is just a coincidence. Alert has been going haywire since yesterday, and I needed it to quiet down, and I knew seeing you was a way to make it manageable. But, then, there’s been some chatter in the underground. Nedzu sent out a request for pro heroes to watch over Class A and B the next few days. I know you’re planning on returning to the dorms early, but I wanted to see you before I let someone else manage your safety.

“So, with everything ramping up, I wanted to take you on a date while I still could.” Deku straightens, offering his hand to Bakugou. “I figured I’d take you to dinner after this, and I could walk you home.”

Bakugou stares at the hand, Deku, the mountain range, and back again. “You’re a dork and a dumbass; you know that?”

“That’s why I have you,” The nerd laughs pitifully.

“And why you’re going to tell me what the chatter is,” Bakugou grabs Deku’s hand and drags him back the way they came.

The idiotic chatter is an impending attack of some sort by the League of Villains. Though, it’s unclear if the attack will come from that Lightning Bug or damn Hand Villain. The rumor hints at reaching for the hero course before students are safe behind school walls once more.

“I’m heading back tomorrow; the old hag wants to throw a big morning farewell or some shit before I go.” Bakugou stabs his bowl of spicy ramen.

“Yeah, but you know they won’t just go after the hero course, especially not Firefly.” Deku pushes around his noodles.

“Fuck them,” The blond growls.

“Just be careful tonight, okay? Keep an eye out for your family? I get the feeling Firefly isn’t happy about the aftermath of Dejima.”

“They lost there, and they’ll lose again.” Bakugou stares at his bowl. He doesn’t remember the aftermath of fighting Firefly. He remembers grappling for air, that stupid fucking pale face, and thinking it’s only fair he goes this round.

He remembers finally gasping for air in freefall, barely wrapping his head around oxygen when the very thing is slammed out of him upon impact with the water. Cold and darkness and a burning sky dimming as Bakugou sank into the sea.

The next thing he knows, Deku looked half-drowned and terrified while Bakugou felt pulled apart and crudely stitched back together. He had looked at Deku with a tired realization that he had lost. He lost the fight with Firefly, almost lost his life, and – in the process – almost lost Deku.

None of those memories tell Bakugou what happened to Firefly. Where did the fucker go? How the hell did they get away? Why won’t that damn Villain stop terrorizing Deku and the rest of Class A?

“Be careful, Kacchan.” Deku taps his chopsticks against Bakugou’s bowl.

“Trust me,” The blond looks up, meeting those deep green eyes with certainty. “I will make sure nothing fucking happens. And if that fucker decides to show their damn face, I’ll protect the old hag and man. Trust me.”

Bakugou watches Deku shift expressions. It’s a kaleidoscope of emotions, flashing between too many things to define shapes and meaning. He sees a sadness that darkens forest green, a near black, to the bright fear that turns the nerd’s eyes electric. He notes a defiant protest on his brows, lips trembling as if to cry. Then it settles into a smile and a steady gaze.

“I trust you, Kacchan.”

The evening shifts abruptly on the way to the Bakugou household. Bakugou’s phone chimes, followed by Deku’s. The blond pulls out his phone, locking his eyes with the nerd. He’s on high alert. Chatter said an attack in the coming days, and the class chat doesn’t usually message around this time of night.

Shared Location

Shit.

“Navigate,” Deku orders, leaving no room for argument. The next thing Bakugou knows, he’s on the nerd’s back, supported beneath his thighs with electric green arcing in his vision as the scenery abruptly changes from street level to rooftops.

Fuck.

The explosive hero clicks the link, an action that feels like hours, loading a location too far to reach without some sort of speed quirk. He orders an abrupt left.

When Bakugou sees the iceberg emerging from a city street, he launches himself off Deku’s back with a one-handed explosion. He skids down a larger chunk, pocketing his phone, prepared to leap once more in case of danger.

What he sees, instead of danger, is a disorienting sight.

There are three Ponytail’s before him. One is in her new hero costume directing civilians away; the other two wear simple sundresses, though the one cradled in the other’s arms is far more injured. They look like that renaissance sculpture by Michelangelo, a mother holding her damned child.

Half and half is encasing Dunce Face in an ice cocoon, his fire half frozen over. That’s a look Bakugou does not miss in the slightest. Ears has one headphone jack across Dunce Face’s cheek; the other is plugged into the destroyed street.

What the hell is happening?

Deku lands beside Bakugou, earning a relieved cry from the costumed Ponytail.

“That’s good, Todoroki; you've slowed his heartbeat enough.” Ears says, removing her jack from Dunce Face. Half and half leans back, landing squarely on his ass, breathing out frozen mist.

“Endeavor, Sero, and Present Mic are still in pursuit of Firefly and his companion.” Ears continues, plugging in her other jack into the street.

“What happened?” Deku asks, kneeling before ears to touch her cheek.

“I’m fine,” Ears’ voice shakes, “Kaminari took the attack.”

“We were all poisoned, except for Jiro,” the conscious Ponytail in the sundress says, brushing her fingers on her injured copy.  “They have weapons dipped in it. Kaminari was hit first and started having a bad reaction by the time Todoroki got hurt.”

“I made two copies of myself,” Costumed Ponytail continues, waving civilians away as Deku rests two fingers on the barest bit of Kaminari’s exposed skin. “I pulled a logical ruse like Aizawa keeps teaching us. My original hid, I prepared a version of me to fight, and another as a decoy. It’s the original that sent the message to the class and reached out to the pros and emergency services.”

“Decoy Momo was applying a tourniquet to Todoroki when Firefly’s companion came at me,” Ears flicks her gaze to Bakugou, then to Deku. The blond watches her expression tighten when the nerd presses a kiss against frozen skin. “Kaminari took that too.”

“I let the accomplice slip away; they caught me by surprise,” Costumed Ponytail turns to the group and bows. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sero took after him, but that’s when Firefly started in on Yaoyorozu-san.” Half and Half heaves. “I did my best,” he gestured to the glacier before Deku lays a hand on Half and Half’s arm, “but I had to freeze my hot side to slow the poison, and I couldn’t- I wasn’t fast enough.”

“And that’s what you’re doing for Kaminari, freezing him until we get him proper help.” Deku places a kiss at IcyHot’s hairline. He moves to unconscious Ponytail next, laying a hand on her bare ankle, clearly missing a shoe.

“Oh,” the nerd breathes out.

“I know,” Ponytail sobs, holding her double closer.

“We’ve told you before,” Costumed Ponytail conjures a cape to rest over sitting Ponytail’s shoulder, “We are not afraid to go.”

“I never thought this is how it would happen,” She cries, curling over injured Ponytail.

“How close?” Deku asks.

“Another minute.” Ears whispers.

“We’ll need to head straight to U.A. Kaminari needs a transfusion, but Todoroki may be fine without.”

A tense minute follows, listening to emergency sirens grow louder and louder. Bakugou looks from hero to hero, trying to decipher the missing information. Finally, the ambulance comes into view; Bakugou helps Deku lift iced Dunce Face as Ears helps IcyHot to his feet.

The doors to the emergency vehicle throw open, a medic scrambling out to get the stretcher. Deku orders them to stop, climbing into the vehicle and lifting Dunce Face inside. “Todoroki, you first. You’ll need to keep Kaminari frozen.” The nerd orders, sliding back out. “Jiro, I’ll need you to watch over them,” He says, gesturing for the two heroes to slide onto the ambulance bench while the medic attempts to hook up a device to Dunce Face. “We’ll meet you at the school.”

Then, in a breath, the ambulance is squealing away.

“What now?” Costumed Ponytail asks, looking between Deku and her casual self on the ground.

“Pros are headed this way to escort you to the school,” The nerd says, kneeling before sitting Ponytail. “Can you and Kacchan keep Yaoyorozu safe until then?”

“What do you take me for?” Bakugou demands. Where the hell is Deku going?

The nerd takes the injured Ponytail into his arms. “I have to get to U.A. to help Kaminari,” He stands, bowing slightly at the original Ponytail, “and I will make sure this Yaoyorozu is loved until the end.”

The nerd looks Bakugou’s way as green lightning arcs up his legs. Bakugou can see the remorse in Deku’s eyes and recalls a different night on a rooftop – instead of an alleyway – where the nerd talked about losing his Variant classmates. The explosive hero was spared the details, though judging by the nerd’s expression now, he wants the whole story.

Deku leaps away, racing down the street, jumping on top of cars to awnings and rooftops.

“You can reabsorb me when there’s a pro here,” Costumed Ponytail helps Original Ponytail to her feet. The latter leans into the former’s arms with another wracking sob.

Something shifts, and Bakugou suddenly has clarity.

Deku gave Dunce Face and IcyHot healing kisses because they were injured and in danger. He offered none to the injured Ponytail he took away.

Bakugou recalls Deku’s original debrief of Firefly months ago, poison blood to compliment a dozen other strange things about the Villain’s quirk. Even though the Ponytail Deku took away didn’t look terrible, she could have been poisoned.

Now Ponytail is crying and – what had the nerd said?

I will make sure this Yaoyorozu is loved until the end.

That Ponytail is dying.

Why not reabsorb the lipids so death won’t happen?

The look in Costumed Ponytail’s eyes says everything. The poison will transfer to the Original Ponytail, and she won’t survive the poison either.

“Fuck,” Bakugou hisses, setting off an explosion in his palm in frustration. So that shitty Lightning Bug is on the attack again.

Four days of fuck nothing, and now this?

What a great fucking reminder Bakugou’s feelings are never wrong.

Chapter Text

All of Class A is rounded up and back at the dorms within a few hours. That’s a little surprising, given that one loser is as far as Hokkaido.

Most are confused, Bakugou can see it in Purple Hair’s tired eyes, but some are on alert with the knowledge of what a shared location means.

Deku: Bring Kirishima, Aoyama, Ojiro, and Sato to the infirmary.

The nerd’s face is grim when Bakugou makes it into the infirmary. The blond doesn’t like this look for the nerd, dredging up a memory from winter on a different island and the sensation of briefly having more power than All Might.

“Recovery Girl needs you,” He tells Shitty Hair and the other three, gesturing to a different room. Bakugou watches them leave, only turning back to face the nerd when the door closes.

Deku is standing there with his arms open wide. Bakugou sees the bandage around the nerd’s elbow, a badge of honor for giving blood. Is that what the others are here for? Giving blood?

“Kacchan, please,” Deku whispers, fingers gesturing for the blond to come closer. Bakugou nods in agreement but finds his feet stuck to the floor. He can’t move, not when Dunce Face and Icy Hot are in the other room. Not when there’s some copy Ponytail around here dying or dead. Not when Firefly will do all he can to take and take and take.

The hug comes anyway, and it is everything Bakugou needs. Deku is pulling him out of a tough spot, warm arms enveloping with a promise of safety, despite the green hero needing comfort. The nerd rests his cheek against the top of the blond’s spiky head.

A shudder wracks through the nerd’s body, shaking Bakugou to his core. Then another and another, and Deku is crying.

“I don’t want this to happen again; I can stop it this time. It can’t happen again,” Deku chokes out the words. Bakugou leans into the embrace, wrapping his arms around the nerd’s solid form.

The explosive hero takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He’s the only thing standing in the way of the nerd falling to pieces, so he’ll do what he can to be a pillar of support. Bakugou breathes in again, finding Deku’s familiar scent beneath antiseptic and blood.

“It’s not going to fucking happen again,” Bakugou holds tight, imagining himself absorbing Deku’s fear and sadness as a way to feel like he’s doing something. “You have me this time around. We’ll catch that shitty ass Lightning Bug, beat All for One and that damn Hand Villain.”

“You don’t know how terrifying it is,” Deku sobs.

Maybe Bakugou doesn’t, but he knows what it’s like to lose Deku in reality and in dreams over and over. There’s always a desire to hold tight and refuse to let the nerd leave his sight ever again. Because Bakugou is certain he’ll lose Deku again. The blond knows he’ll lose the nerd, and he can’t help looking over his shoulder for an impending attack.

“We are not going to lose,” The explosive hero growls, pushing all his conviction and willpower into the words, “do you fucking hear me, Deku?” At this, Bakugou pulls away enough to reach up and hold Deku’s head in his hands. “Look at me, nerd.”

The blond guides that freckled snot-filled face to look at him, green eyes dark and blurred with the onslaught of tears. “I don’t give a shit about the Variant or how fucking awful it was there. This is our future we’re fighting for. And as much as I hate it, those Class A losers are our family, and we aren’t going to lose them now, not ever. Learn from the Variant, but don’t let it fucking drag you down. Fight for the now, fight for the future,” Bakugou wipes at Deku’s cheeks, watching the tears stop slowly as brightness returns to the nerd’s eyes. “You have me this time around, got it? No shitty ass villain is going to take that away.”

Bakugou levels his eyes at Deku’s, watching them steady as the nerd’s breaths and trembles even.

“This,” Bakugou whirls at the sound of a tear-filled shaky voice from behind, hand sparking as he moves to shield the nerd. He sees Shitty Hair with a bandage at his elbow, wiping at his tears. “This is just so manly!”

Deku releases a congested laugh. Bakugou rushes the distance, throwing an explosion to Shitty Hair’s face.

“Bakubro, it’s okay!” The redhead smiles, looking a little scratched but no worse for wear. He lowers his voice, glancing at Deku at the other side of the room before locking eyes with Bakugou. “You don’t have to tell me, but are you going where you want to go?”

Bakugou frowns, glancing towards Deku, who’s scrounging around for tissues. “Something like that.” He looks down at Shitty Hair’s bandage. “What’s that about?”

“Hm?” Shitty Hair looks down before letting out a short laugh, offering a closed-lip smile with tired eyes. “We’re donating blood. There were some complications or something with Kaminari’s blood transfusion. There wasn’t much stock left at the school, and apparently, some of the donated blood caused a weird reaction.” Bakugou resists the urge to look at the same bandage on Deku’s arm.

“So, I gave some of mine; I’ve got plenty,” He laughs again. “I don’t know if it’s just restocking what Recovery Girl used or if Kaminari still needs some, but I got to see him while Recovery Girl was hooking up Ojiro. He’s not great, but he’s stable, probably on the mend.”

Relief trickles down Bakugou’s spine, loosening something in his chest. Dunce Face is stable and healing. It’s the complete opposite of that ice coffin Half and Half made for the idiot.

“We’re all going to be okay, Bakubro,” Shitty Hair offers, laying a hand on the blond’s shoulder. “It’s not just you and Midoriya against the world. We’re all going to protect you as much as you protect us. We’re in this together.”

Deku and Recovery Girl hold a quiet funeral for the copy Ponytail. IcyHot leans against Ears, while Ponytail sobs, holding tight to Hound Dog’s arm with Flat Face looking oddly blank as he takes in the sight of the small crowded room.

The nerd says a few words, talking about how Ponytail’s quirk gives as much as it takes and that though the copy lost her life, she saved nearly a dozen heroes and who knows how many bystanders.

Though Bakugou notices, Deku’s words are strange. They are strong and assured, even in grief. The blond hears specific sentences that stand out as a practiced cadence. Each word is genuine and sincere, each word is as inspiring and poetic as the last, but they are delivered with disturbingly comfortable ease.

How many funerals has Deku presided over? How many tragedies has the nerd had to face alone?

The service ends without pomp or circumstance, merely a quiet promise from Recovery Girl to give Ponytail options after the cremation process. Ponytail collapses into the mutt’s arms, and Ears staggers towards her hand outstretched in comfort while IcyHot is shoved into Flat Face’s arms.

It takes some time to convince the group of heroes to return to the dorms with Hound Dog leading the way.

Bakugou lags behind, observing the weight on his loser classmate’s shoulders. He had missed all of that battle, had done nothing to stop it, had done nothing even when the pros returned. A pang of guilt gnaws at the blond, reminiscent of the pain of ending All Might. Bakugou can feel a dangerous thought settling at the back of his mind, sending the signal for his arms and hands to ache.

Bakugou is useless.

He’s worse than Deku before his quirk. Bakugou can’t save anyone, can’t do anything to protect the people he’d dare to care about. Members of the so-called Bakusquad nearly died, and a version of Ponytail did. How can Bakugou aspire to be anything when he can’t do anything?

Fuck.

Deku takes Bakugou’s hand in his, giving two tight squeezes to pull the blond from his spiraling thoughts. “We’re going to win,” The nerd promises in a whisper, “we have each other this time around.”

The nerd stays with Ponytail in the common room long after the rest of the Class A losers go to bed. Bakugou lingers for some time, watching Deku bring Ponytail tea and regale the heroine with idiotic adventures in the Variant. He watches, noting the returned dark circles beneath the nerd’s eyes, knowing the nerd can’t sleep with Alert screaming danger left and right.

Deku settles Ponytail into watching an American chick flick before offering Bakugou a strained smile.

Ah.

Go on ahead.

When did he understand Deku’s expressions as clearly as words?

There’s a fucking pillow fort in the common room.

Bakugou blinks twice at the enormous structure that touches nearly three walls on the way to his morning jog. It is a fort, isn’t it? It could be an apartment, or a castle, or something based on its sheer size. But it’s made of blankets, and there’s Flat Face’s tape on the ceiling tenting the structure with turrets.

He stares at the fort, then the front door, and back to the fort. Bakugou stares at the front door once more, imagining his run. He thinks of the blankets likely lining the floor beneath and Ponytail still mourning the death of her copy.

Fuck it.

Bakugou searches for the entrance, finding slippers in a pile facing the kitchen. Seven pairs of shoes, that’s a hell of a lot more people than Deku and Ponytail watching a chick flick. He slides inside, noticing the dim string lights pinned with bedsheet edges.

There’s a pile in the far corner wrapped in blankets that resembles Flat Face. A greener figure leans against the sofa holding up one blanket. It’s Frog, judging by the length of the hair.

“Not yet,” Deku’s voice is quiet and low, almost muffled by the number of blankets inside. “Let’s have Yaoyorozu sleep for a bit longer.”

“But you’re awake, and I’m awake,” Eri has a whisper tone, but it sounds like she’s speaking normally. She rasps as much as she squeaks.

“That’s true,” The nerd concedes, just as quiet. “But Present Mic has been working super hard so Aizawa-sensei can get some rest. And if we wake everyone up right now, Aizawa-sensei won’t be able to sleep.”

Bakugou searches the mounds of pillows and blankets, settling his gaze on Deku leaning against the base of a couch, Eri in his lap, her red eyes looking up imploringly at the nerd. He drifts a little past to see Present Mic out of uniform, hair loose from its bun, with the hobo using the voice hero’s stomach as a pillow. Ponytail rests at Deku’s feet, hugging an oversized Russian doll plush in her sleep.

“Kacchan’s awake too!”

Bakugou snaps his gaze back to Deku and Eri, seeing green and red eyes meet his own. Something in Deku’s face is relieved and apologetic; the silver-haired kid looks ready to vibrate out of her seat.

“Chill, okay?” He murmurs, crawling deep into the fort to sit beside Deku. Bakugou lifts Eri from Deku’s lap and settles her between his legs, finger-combing through her long hair. “I’ll make you pancakes if you let Ponytail sleep for another hour.”

“Why?” The silver-haired brat lowers her voice to match his own.

“Because she’s hurting,” Deku takes Eri’s hand in his. “Do you remember the day we came for you and how scared you were? Yaoyorozu is scared now.”

“You helped me be brave,” She mumbles.

“That’s what we’re doing here,” The nerd assures her. “Let’s help Yaoyorozu by helping her sleep off a scary day, so she can brave a happy tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Eri looks at Deku’s scarred hand enveloping hers before leaning into Bakugou’s touch, tilting towards the light scratch of fingernails on her scalp. The blond begins separating chunks of hair for a complicated braid, guiding the kid to hold on to some strands as he takes loose thread from the blankets to tie off others.

Focusing on braiding, Bakugou loses track of time. Eri is patient before him; the pillow fort is filled with sounds of breathing and soft snores, only the dispersed light starting to illuminate two sides of the fort hint at the passage of time.

Bakugou is weaving a set of braids through Eri’s hair to form a crown when he sees Deku out of the corner of his eye. The nerd looks weepy and full of starry-eyed wonder. There’s that stupid fucking smile on his face Bakugou knows is unintentional. It’s that idiotic gentleness that sees goodness and hope when the rest of the world is falling apart. When Deku’s like this, he usually says that dumbass catchphrase –

“You’re amazing, Kacchan,” The nerd hums, saying exactly what Bakugou expects. “I always forget, because you use your hands to fight and make explosions to destroy, that you create beautiful and amazing things.”

The blond freezes in his movements, watching all that sparkling wonder dim slightly as something in the nerd’s face pinches. Deku is thinking about Variant Katsuki.

Bakugou resumes the hairstyle, eager to leave the suddenly suffocating pillow fort. Everything feels like it’s closing in, despite being structurally sound. Does air even circulate in here?

“Of course he is!” Eri giggles, “He’s the best boy!”

“You’re right,” Deku concedes, a gentle smile washing away the traces of the Variant. “Kacchan is the greatest person I know.”

As promised, Bakugou leads Eri into the kitchen to make pancakes. He sets Deku and the brat with the task of making the mix as he peels and dices the apples, tossing them into a skillet with butter, cinnamon, and sugar. The blond peels his gaze away from the stove once at the words, ‘maybe Kacchan won’t notice,’ to see Deku pulling an eggshell from the pancake mixture.

Fucking hell. It’s not that hard to crack an egg. If Bakugou finds a shell in his pancakes, he’s cramming it down the nerd’s throat.

Ponytail emerges from the fort at the wafting smell of pancakes and apples. She still looks weak, but she looks a hell of a lot stronger than the night before. There’s at least hope in her eyes, or maybe that’s hunger, judging by how her gaze latches onto the pancake Bakugou is lifting from the pan and onto a plate.

“Thank you,” She says, accepting the first stack of three, laden with apple topping.

“Why don’t you wake Yamada-san?” Deku encourages Eri with a smile, pushing the silver-haired brat in the direction of the fort.

“Thank you,” Ponytail says again, this time with more heart. “Both of you. Really.” She rests her gaze on Deku, then Bakugou in a gesture he doesn’t quite understand.

Present Mic yelps in the distance, followed by Eri’s giggles and starts an avalanche of noise. Flat Face groans awake, Frog releases a yawning ribbit, which brings a mess of losers downstairs, rubbing sleepy eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou glares at Pink Cheeks as she begs for the latest set, “get in line with fucking rest of them.”

“Pleassseeee Bakugou!”

Emo Bird steps into the kitchen, head-turning between the apple topping, Eri, and Frog. He stares at the chunk of Class A losers spread out and in some state of excited consumption. “Are those,” He pauses at Eri’s laughter, “are those my apples?”

Shit.

Chapter Text

The first day back at classes ends with danger.

All Might looks gravely serious when Class A and B join him for hero training at one of the practice cities. The look is emphasized by the darkness of his eyes and gaunt cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Pink Cheeks asks, dressed in a new costume that makes her look equal parts medieval princess and astronaut. How the hell Pink Medusa pulled that off with her habit of making everything steampunk is beyond him. Round Face appears ready to lead an army or be a beacon of hope in rescue at a moment’s notice. The look suits her annoying ‘cute but tough’ persona’ surprisingly, maybe she more thought to her costume this time around.

“A villain has infiltrated U.A.,” All Might says without preamble, earning a gasp from the losers around Bakugou.

“We must alert the teachers!” Glasses says, stepping forward in a slimmer version of his dumbass knight in shining armor look. Ha. A knight with his pink-cheeked princess. Pink Cheeks must be thrilled.

“They have been alerted,” The former number one states. “They’re behind these walls containing the villain as we speak. We’re going to watch and observe since we have ample cameras stationed inside. Watch the villain, analyze their moves. Should they get past the heroes, we’ll be the last line of defense.”

The first thing Bakugou notes about the villain is that they’re covered from head to toe, making it fucking impossible to identify any features. That’s not unusual, but the look is usually attributed to villains with weaker quirks or other bizarre issues. Those with stronger quirks like showing their face to be as iconic as the heroes they’re out to destroy.

But this villain is holding their own against the heroes, which means their quirk and skill is nothing to scoff at. They’re clearly on a mission for something.

Or someone.

Bakugou scans the combined class of losers with a frown.

“Where’s Deku?” He demands.

“Helping Principal Nedzu,” All Might is far too quick to respond. It’s a red flag in this situation, though the blond is not entirely sure what’s wrong.

Bakugou stares at the villain anew. Their quirk seems connected to super strength and agility; they move faster than Snipe can track with his bullets. There also appears to be some sort of metal warping quirk the villain uses to force buildings to collapse or steel beams to burst out of structures and attack a hero. Bakugou hasn’t seen this type of power before.

There’s something strange in the way they fight. Bakugou can see fluidity in their movements, followed by the barest hint of hesitation and restraint that deliver glancing blows to the teachers. After each teacher the villain defeats, they take on the previous hero’s fighting style, regardless if their quirk fits.

Red flags everywhere.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Shitty Hair yells as the hobo is thrown through a building window on the widescreen. “We’ve got to go!”

“Now, hold on,” All Might begins, holding his hands up to stop the losers from lurching forward, “they’re still fighting, have a little faith.”

“That’s our teacher out there, All Might,” Shitty Hair glares at the former number one. “We wouldn’t be the heroes we are without him, and you’re not going to stop us.”

The classes surge, pushing past All Might and into a run for the city's inner walls. As Bakugou keeps pace with Shitty Hair, his mind is on overdrive, trying to sort the red flags and the attack on the school.

It’s too neat, too tidy. Everything feels like one of the hobo’s logical ruses, but the threat on screen is as real as the fights on Exit Island. The teachers don’t go this hard teaching with someone playing merely the role of a villain.

But the super-strength, the flying, the adaptable fighting style…

The classes push into the city, running through main street to the last known location of the fight. The hobo cries out, causing most losers from Class A to leap forward and round a corner where the villain is pinning the hobo down. One foot is squarely between the erasure hero’s shoulder blades, hand pulling back the hero’s arm, one slight motion away from breaking.

“Let him go!” Glasses shouts.

“Ah,” The villain says, voice distorted. “I told you they’d come. You breed your students exceedingly loyal.”

“Shut up!” Shitty Hair yells.  

The villain’s head tilts slightly, their helmeted face blank of emotion. The motion is reminiscent of Shiketsu Chick, pouting in disappointment – despite no features to give way to the expression.

“How original.” In a sweeping gesture, they drop the hobo’s arm, rip the capture scarf from around the erasure hero’s neck, and kicks the hero out of the way.

“Why are you here?” Ponytail takes to the front of the group, holding an arm out as if it could keep the idiots from charging forward. Is that a copy, or is that actually her?

“Why else? I’m a monster,” They hum, laughing in a way that sends chills down Bakugou’s spine. “Or, at least, that’s what you think I am. You wouldn’t exist without people like me. I’m here to make you into heroes or martyrs. That’s what you decided to become when you chose to put on those costumes and play pretend, isn’t it?”

“Stop it,” Bakugou glares. The helmeted head pointedly refuses to look in his direction.

“I am everything you’re training to fight against, isn’t that it?” The lilt in their voice causes a few losers to shiver. Tail charges, only for the villain to lash out the scarf. It wraps around Tail, and the villain hurls the teen into the distance. “Or supposed to be training. I see you’re failing at that too.”

“Shut up,” The blond bites out. He listens to the sounds of the villain’s words, which take a familiar rhythm that screams danger.

“Did you know there are two types of monsters in the world? I’d advise you to train for the other kind and not just the ones like me.” There’s a smile to those words, biting and sharp. Bakugou remembers Kamino Ward, All for One smiling with his scathing comments. This figure is far too small to be that escaped villain.

“We’ll stop you!” Pink Cheeks shouts, shifting into a fighting stance.

The villain does the same, swinging one end of the capture scarf in their hand as they let out a mirthless laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

Shitty Hair, Raccoon Eyes, and Flat Face charge as one. The scarf immediately wraps around Raccoon Eyes; Shitty Hair cuts through the scarf with a hardened hand. Flat Face launches tape to immobilize one hand, but the villain merely steps out of the way.

Rebar rockets towards Flat Face like deadly lances from a nearby construction site. The idiot releases a spiral of tape to catch the bars while Raccoon Eyes burns through the capture scarf and launches volleys of acid at the remaining flying metal. She misses the last one, which impales Flat Face in the shoulder, pinning him against a concrete skyscraper.

Flat Face screams.

Fuck.

Bakugou knows firsthand how that feels.

Ponytail takes off, creating a tool to cut through the thick metal bar. Raccoon Eyes screams in turn, bursting into a run for Flat Face, leaving Shitty Hair to battle the villain alone.

Except, it’s not much of a battle.

The villain has done something to negate Shitty Hair’s quirk, leaving him without protection. The hardening hero struggles as the villain lifts him off the ground by his neck.

Bakugou has had enough.

“We get it! Fucking stop already, Deku!” Bakugou snarls. He feels both classes freeze around him.

For a moment, the only sound on the street is Shitty Hair gasping for breath.

The villain immediately releases his hold around Shitty Hair’s neck. The redhead collapses on the ground, wheezing. Bakugou stomps forward, hauling Shitty Hair to his feet and thrusting the idiot back towards the classes.

The villain tilts his head at Bakugou, posture relaxing. They lift their hands to their helmet, removing the headpiece to reveal freckles and green curly hair.

“How’d you guess?” The nerd asks, brows pinching. Bakugou sees darkness in Deku’s eyes, turning forest green nearly black. The villain the teachers faced, the person Deku was until moments ago, was that who the nerd had to become in the Variant?

The blond resists the urge to do something to bring back the color in Deku’s eyes. What would that involve, anyway?

“You copy fighting styles like you don’t have an original bone in your body,” Bakugou glares. “You speak like that fucker when you want to hurt others,” Deku spoke like this to that Blob Loser and that Shiketsu Extra. He sounded like All for One: deadly words served with a smile.

“But,” Invisible Chick pipes up from the crowd with whimpering fear, “why?”

“I can answer that!”

Bakugou jerks in the direction of the new voice. Ugh, it’s that damn rat – bear – thing with all the teachers Bakugou saw defeated on the screens minutes ago.

“We, here at U.A., aim to be the future of heroics and lead through innovation and looking back at our foundations,” Rat Bear clambers over rubble with a smile on his face. “You may have noticed the past year or so has offered challenges we have not seen in decades. We would be remiss as teachers to ignore this issue. You children are going to lead this world into a better tomorrow, which means we must provide you the curriculum to succeed.”

Rat Bear moves to stand beside Deku as Granny Hag makes her way to Flat Face. Present Mic helps the hobo stand from a pile of rubble.

“Can anyone tell me: what is a villain?” The principal asks, smiling at the crowd of losers.

“By definition,” The heroine from Class B with a green and purple costume pipes up, “it is a person or thing that has the intent to cause damage or harm.”

“Wait. Hold on,” Shitty Hair winces, rubbing at his throat from his seated spot on the ground. “But isn’t that something we sort of do too? We fight with the purpose of hurting those committing crimes. Sometimes that injures the person, or it damages a building, and we go in knowing that.”

“That’s different!” The idiot blond from Class B protests. “We’re heroes! We have the license and everything!”

“Dude, that’s kind of worse,” Shitty Hair glares into the crowd, “that just means we’re just as bad as licensed thugs.”

“Very good,” Rat Bear’s smile widens. “Now answer me this, who is a villain?”

“Someone who commits crimes?” Sugar Man asks tentatively.

“Dabi, my brother,” Half and Half states flatly.

“People who don’t know right from wrong,” Pony Chick edges her way to the front of the group.

“Or,” Bakugou rasps, staring at Deku in his villain clothes. He thinks of that fucker Probability, hiding beneath U.A.’s nose the entire time. “We could be villains.”

“Precisely!” The Principal claps proudly. “This semester, we’ll be pushing you to redefine what it means to have the labels of hero and villain. We’ll challenge you to become beacons of reform and mold the world into a better place.

“That is why we’re pushing back the Cultural Festival and hosting the first-ever Justice Expo!” Rat Bear throws his arms out wide.

“What does that even mean?” Someone asks from the crowd.

“It is an event focused on the future of heroism through reform.” The hobo steps up beside Deku, taking his scarf back with a nod. “Each course type will play vital roles in showing their skills. In addition, hero course students will have the opportunity to be ‘sponsored’ by a pro hero and will receive work-study credit.

“I will be co-teaching a Villany basics course in preparation for the festival,” the hobo continues, “with Midoriya as he has experience undercover in his time away.”

Deku’s going to teach? What the fuck?

“It’s not what you think,” The nerd laughs, waving his hands dismissively. That smile is the complete opposite of his villain persona minutes ago. “I’ll still attend most classes like normal, but this is all part of my work-study with Principal Nedzu and Aizawa-sensei. I’m not really teaching; I’m just helping out. Please take care of me.” Deku bows deeply to the crowd of losers.

“We’ll keep you updated on details as they become available,” Rat Bear says with a smile. “Class dismissed.”

Bakugou resists the urge to stomp over to Deku and shake some sense into the nerd. Instead, he whirls on Shitty Hair, helping the redhead to his feet before checking for bruises.

“You’ll be fine. You won’t die,” Bakugou says, checking for finger indentions. Shitty Hair will barely bruise. It won’t be anything like the ugly ass souvenir Bakugou received from Exit Island for the better part of a week. “Sleep it off,” The blond makes eye contact with the hero, “I’ll go check on Flat Face.”

That night, the nerd knocks at Bakugou’s door, eyes red-rimmed and baby face aged enough to show his time in the Variant. The blond has seen this expression before; he associates it with late nights and fear. What does Bakugou do in the face of Deku’s glassy eyes?

“Get in here,” Bakugou opens his arms, a mirror of Deku’s request a few nights ago.  The idiot surges, slamming the door shut as he barrels into the blond. Bakugou briefly loses his breath from the collision, wrapping his arms around the nerd’s shaking body. “What are you crying about now?”

“I hurt Sero,” Deku hiccups, “And Ashido and Kirishima.”

“Those idiots knew what they were getting into,” Bakugou gravels out, slowly tugging the green-haired hero backward and towards the bed.

“I was so evil,” The nerd blubbers; Bakugou tightens his hold.

“You were testing us,” The blond growls without heat.

“I’ve been evil for so long; I don’t know if I can ever be good again.” The idiot sobs.

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Bakugou leans back, falling into bed and earning a squeak of surprise from Deku. He shifts, leaning up against the headboard, and remembers the nerd so fucked out of his mind with fear, Deku slept for hours in a similar position.

Bakugou moves a hand away from Deku’s middle to run through green curls, stiff fingers playing through the chaotic strands. “You came back to save these losers. You didn’t let me drown on that damn island.”

“I’m going to hurt you,” Deku buries his face into Bakugou’s chest. “I’m going to hurt everyone.”

“No, you won’t,” The blond bites out. “It won’t fucking happen.”

“How do you know?” The green-haired hero lifts his head abruptly, locking his eyes with Bakugou. The blond is reminded of a different night with Deku asking the same question for entirely different reasons. How does Bakugou know Deku won’t turn evil? Fuck, it’s probably the same park of Bakugou that knows he loves the nerd. It’s unexplainable because it’s over a decade of little things that added up to this moment. The blond doesn’t know how to explain it, can’t possibly put it into words, which may be the worst thing for reassuring the nerd. “How do you know I won’t just join Firefly again? How do you know I won’t just destroy everything? How do you know I won’t decide that villainy is easier and more fun?”

Bakugou heaves a breath, loosening the tightness settling behind his sternum. “I don’t,” he rumbles, “But I’ll stop you. I don’t know how many times I have to get it through your thick skull, but you have me. That means I’m with you until the end. Fuck, maybe even longer. I fucking know you, so I’ll know if you go bad and if you mean it. I’ll know, and I’ll stop you.”

Deku’s eyes darken, lips pressing into a firm line as his brows furrow. “Promise?”

“When have I ever gone back on my word, nerd?”

“Okay,” The nerd’s face relaxes, and he lays his head down. “Okay. You’ll stop me. You’ll stop me if things go wrong. You’ll protect everyone when I can’t. Okay. Okay.”

Bakugou wraps both arms around the nerd once more, holding him close. Sure, Bakugou will stop the nerd if worse comes to worst, but he sure as hell hopes the ‘worst’ never comes.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Villainy 101!” Izuku smiles broadly at the class bouncing to the balls of his feet before settling back on his heels. Aizawa-sensei lets out a heavy sigh before crawling into his yellow sleeping bag in the corner. 

His classmates stare up at him, young, impressionable, and still so very innocent. Some look at him with apprehension, others with a level of sadness, though many still look baffled that one of their own is teaching. 

Izuku laughs nervously, tapping the teacher’s desk with his fingers. “It’s not your usual curriculum, I had to learn it organically over time, but Aizawa-sensei, Principal Nedzu, and I managed to condense it into a short supplemental course.” He glances at Uraraka, who offers an encouraging smile. 

“Right, so, objectives of this course. You all are training to become amazing heroes. It’s amazing to see and know the hardships you faced to get this far. It may not seem like it, but you’ve stood up time and time again. You were given support, or external factors helped you to sit where you sit today.” The green hero leans against the desk, propping himself up by his elbows. “But some people aren’t that lucky. Over the course of these lessons, Aizawa-sensei and I will be teaching you about the Villain mindset. What creates them, and what we can do to mitigate their creation.

“Before I lecture about anything, you’ll split into teams of five – sorry, two teams will be one short – and I’ll give each team the same profiles to identify within ten minutes. After that, we’ll talk about the results, got it?” He waits for a single nod. “Alright, split.” 

“So manly,” Kirishima says, shifting to face Kacchan. “Who knew Midoriya could be a super cool teacher.” 

The class sorts itself into the four corners of the classroom, with Kacchan and Ojiro’s groups a man short. Izuku passes one folder to Ojiro, a new folder to Iida, another to Yaoyorozu, and Kacchan. 

The groups tear into the files, voices rising into pure noise; it’s hard to pick out a single classmate in the chatter. Izuku watches them make notes, start a list, and occasionally look at other groups for their progress. There’s a near franticness in every team. 

Izuku calls time, noting only one team looks sure of their answer. 

“Team one,” The green-haired hero says, looking down at his notes. “Ojiro, Hagakure, Shoji, Tokoyami. One of the profiles was of an individual with a strained relationship with their parental figure, has issues controlling their quirk, especially when emotional regulation is tied to their strength. Who is it?” 

“Oh! I know!” Hagakure flickers into visibility. “It’s Dabi! Like, we all know he isn’t exactly the most stable person we know.”

“I could be Shigaraki,” Tokoyami insists, “He doesn’t seem to respect any type of authority figure and likely disintegrates as much on purpose as he does on accident.” 

Izuku smiles, feeling a split gaze on him from the other side of the room. “Very good guesses, and so close in many ways. Todoroki, you seem to have an idea on who it is. Want to hazard a guess?” 

“It’s me,” The white and red-haired teen offers flatly. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” Izuku feels guilty putting Todoroki on the spot. He tapes a photo of Todoroki on the chalkboard and stares at the following picture. 

“Group two, can you guess the individual who is full of sharp edges?” The green-haired hero continues, describing someone new. He talks about a person full of doubt who feels overlooked and weak, and unable to spark change. Izuku doesn’t give the group time to respond before he posts a picture of Kirishima on the board, earning gasps from the class. 

He watches the class tense when he describes a third person who is mistrusted by the nature of their quirk, told they were a villain from the very start, with little support until the past year or so. This time, Izuku posts two pictures; one of Shinsou and the other of Toga. 

“This last one, I’ll let everyone guess,” Izuku paces the front of the classroom. “The last profile is of someone with a deceased parent, known childhood abuse, grooming by a mentor with questionable outcomes. They are eager to prove themselves worthy of praise and company but often find themselves alone and bitter at the world. They are constantly looking to be saved but are unclear if rescue is even an option after all they’ve become.”

“That’s Shigaraki,” Hagakure says with certainty.

“Gotta be All Might,” Someone says, “His devotion to his mentor is something else.” 

“It’s been one of us so far, so it has to be one of us again,” Tsyu presses one prosthetic finger to her chin. 

“Deku,” Izuku feels Kacchan’s glare and decides to pointedly not look in the direction of his boyfriend. Sort of boyfriend? Sort of dating? Childhood friend with cuddling benefits?

“That’s correct,” Izuku pins a picture of himself to the chalkboard. “Me. Now, today’s lesson isn’t on profiling, though you all did a pretty good job. You guessed villains with similar backgrounds to your friends, and that’s what I’ll be teaching you. All of us have reasons that we are the way we are. Maybe the only support we can find is with villains, maybe our own insecurities get the better of us, maybe we’ve done nothing wrong, and doors keep slamming in our faces. Maybe they’re asking for help, and we get blinded because of the term ‘villain.’ Maybe it’s time to examine how we, as heroes, treat people.

“You chose villains, only looked at villains, when I gave you these profiles because this class is Villainy 101. That was a logical ruse,” Izuku feels himself fill with pride at Aizawa’s proposal for the first lesson. “Because the villains are like us. They could be us with the proper motivation.” The green-haired hero looks at Shinsou, who’s trying to hide behind Uraraka. “The very things that motivate us to be heroes are the things that can make us villains. Villainy 101 is not about learning how to think like one. It’s about learning the world isn’t black or white or heroes and villains. It’s challenging how we treat and should treat one another in society. It’s about enacting positive change that will outlive us.

“The Justice Expo we’ll be hosting in about a month is to prove to the hero commission, to the pros, and the world around us that we can be better citizens, better heroes, better people.” 

Izuku heaves a breath, smiling at his classmates, who sit straighter as if prepared to hold up the sky. “Let’s begin.” 

Izuku stares at the map before him with a frown, noting the excessive amount of red and green dots scattered about the Musutafu and Tokyo area. Shiketsu’s Observationist is helpful in identifying these dots, but Izuku has his doubts. For all he knows, Obi is making a series of misdirections away from his father’s actions. He ignored Danger Sense about Obi in the Variant and doesn’t want to repeat the same mistake. Except, only this time, Danger Sense was quiet at the sight of this Obi. Should Izuku trust, much like he did in the Variant? 

The green-haired hero leans back in his seat, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the bright lights above him. Didn’t Izuku pose this question to Aizawa-sensei over the week-long break? 

“Midoriya, I understand your trust has been drained dry from your time in the Variant and the revelations about Probability. You are warranted in your hesitation,” Aizawa-sensei offered Izuku a cup of coffee. “But feeling like you need to control everything because the world isn’t trustworthy is a slippery slope. I struck out on my own and struggled for footing for years as a pro. I pushed everyone I knew and loved away. And I don’t want that for you.” 

The pro hero’s sad and open expression struck Izuku strangely. He felt seen with a sudden desire to hide. He felt as if Aizawa-sensei held another quirk in his eyes, the ability to pull secrets and emotions from a person. Izuku could feel hurt and distrust pouring out of him into a figurative pile on the ground and was desperate to scoop messy handfuls of emotions back inside. 

“I’m, I’m not allowed to mistrust,” Izuku admitted to the steaming mug, breaking his teacher’s gaze. “I can’t not trust someone,” He felt his lips tremble, jerking to a frown no matter how hard he tried to pull them into a smile. The bottom edges of his eyes burned, and his chest ached with all the hurt and betrayal he gave and received. “If I – If I don’t trust, if I demand control, how am I – Aizawa-sensei, how would I be any different than All for One?” 

“Midoriya – ”

Izuku sniffled, “Trust? Mistrust? Sensei, those are luxuries I just don’t have.”

“Deku?”

Izuku flails, eyes snapping open, transporting him from memory and into the present, where crimson red eyes stare down at him. Good heavens, he’s missed those eyes so much. The green-haired hero tips his chair too much and crashes to the floor, air solidly knocked out of him. 

“What the fuck?” Kacchan growls from above. Another moment later, the blond is lifting the chair into an upright position. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Kacchan demands, placing a hand on each armrest. 

“Uh,” Izuku’s brain stalls. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Kacchan, not again in such a short amount of time. He doesn’t want to burden Kacchan with all these mixed-up emotions courtesy of the Variant. He doesn’t want Kacchan to see how blackened his heart is and ultimately leave. Just because the blond thinks Izuku is ‘it’ doesn’t mean they’ll stay together. “Alphabetical or chronologically?” He winces. 

“What’s with that smart mouth, ha?” Kacchan flicks Izuku on the forehead. 

I love you, Izuku thinks, rubbing his forehead at the sudden stinging pain. If he hadn’t been taken to that Variant, could he have had this Kacchan sooner if he had survived Exit Island? Could he have had Kacchan disguising his worry under rough words years ago?

“What if I’m evil?” Izuku blurts instead, earning another flick to his forehead the moment he moves his hand away. “Ow! Hey! I’m serious, Kacchan!” 

The blond grabs Izuku by the front of his shirt, headbutting the green-haired hero. “If you think for a second I’d be with anyone out to destroy the world, you have another thing coming,” Kacchan growls. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku can’t help but fight a flush. Sure, he’s dated in the Variant, and sure there was someone he could commit to for longer than a handful of dates, but this is Kacchan. It’s like being a teen again. It’s like starting all over because who could ever be prepared to date someone like Kacchan? 

“Deku, you aren’t. And even if you were, I told you I’d stop you.” Kacchan backs away, leaning against the common room table filled with Izuku’s maps. “You don’t have to fucking worry.” 

“Then what else would I do?” Izuku fights a relieved laugh. Trust and mistrust are luxuries and yet, somehow, believing in Kacchan is a necessity. 

Without Kacchan, would Izuku even exist? 

If not for Kacchan as his anchor – inspiration and despair – where would Izuku stand? Would he be lost in the bullies shadowed by the blond’s presence? Would he still be on that rooftop All Might abandoned him on? Would Izuku be far more broken without those red eyes to call home? 

Izuku reaches out, taking Kacchan’s hand in his. He traces the palm lines with his fingers. Izuku curls Kacchan’s fingers into a loose fist and his forehead against the teen’s knuckles, hearing a sharp intake of breath above him. 

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers, “I don’t know where I’d be without you.” 

“These,” Izuku gestures at the table and to the papers in disarray, “are all the Probability Portals opened in the past five months.”

“Deku,” Kacchan lifts one sheet of paper entirely covered in red dots, “You might as well be fucking asking where hasn’t that traitor struck?” 

To Izuku’s relief, Kacchan appears unfazed by his earlier outburst and actions. With the blond nearly exploding a map on accident, it took time to calm down to pull Izuku’s focus to his original train of thought. 

Izuku can’t help but laugh helplessly. “I know, and that’s something Aizawa-sensei is looking into, but right now, I’m just trying to connect the dots, literally.” The green-haired hero lays out a green dotted map. “Each dot has a frequency, we think each frequency relates to a different Variant, but no one dot matches exactly.”

“You ask Ears?” The blond asks, lifting a few more papers, frowning at the numbers. 

“What do you mean?” 

Kacchan taps a rhythm on the table. “You heard her on that damn island. She can hear sensitive frequencies now. Fuck, she probably knows how to read them too. Probably music to her fucking ears.” 

Izuku stares at Kacchan. Blinks and feels his brain reboot. How had he forgotten? Jiro, this one, and the Variant are very adept at noises and vibrations. She could probably confirm Obi’s data points faster than Izuku. 

“That’s right!” Izuku beams. “Thanks, Kacchan!” He glances at the clock and frowns. “Oh, but it’s late. I’ll ask her in the morning.” 

“So, how’d you like my beautiful baby, the Magnetic Gauntlet?” Hatsume leaps at Izuku the moment he opens the support course door. He catches her with one hand, using her wild momentum to spin her back into the lab. 

“A bit too powerful, okay? Someone really got hurt.” Izuku rubs the back of his neck as the pink-haired inventor dances off to a table piled with gears and half-assembled machine parts.

“That just means it’s working!” She laughs, shaking a wrench at him. 

Does it?

Over the years in the Variant, Izuku has learned Hatsume’s endearing qualities. She was one of the few people on the other side he could dare to befriend. The inventor was so wrapped up in her inventions and random daily hyperfocuses that Izuku could slip up and she wouldn’t care or notice. All Hatsume cared about was having a friend who could test her inventions, an assistant for when she needed four hands instead of two, and someone who didn’t see her as chaos incarnate. She is chaos incarnate, an admission that is politely ignored when they’re together. 

This Hatsume is more or less the same. It’s a relief – a kindness – to have something familiar of the other side. Seeing the inventor as energetic as ever makes the guilt aching his bones hurt a little less. Hound Dog was the one to suggest reconnecting with the younger Hatsume on Exit Island for the purpose of consistency and finding areas of respite away from heroes, variants, and villains. 

Izuku is glad for the suggestion, seeing the pink-haired teen abruptly examine her arm, which is now striped with oil from who knows where. She shrugs, wiping her arm against her already dirty jumpsuit, and continues rummaging through a pile of machinery. 

When Variant Hatsume lost her quirk, she did much the same, shrugging before digging around for an invention that improved her eyesight. She was the champion to others, proof of success in the face of quirklessness. She was Izuku’s champion, too. 

Maybe he could have been friends with Hatsume sooner if he’d gone the support route. Maybe, if he was a little more like the inventor, Izuku could have ignored receiving All Might’s quirk. Maybe none of this would have happened, and Kacchan would be top of the hero course, and Izuku could be top of support, together for passing periods and lunches. 

Maybe. 

But that life is just another variant, a life Izuku can’t lead. 

“If you’re here to tell me I have a grease stain on my face, I hate to tell you, friend, but that’s just my daily makeup.” Hatsume pauses in her digging to look up at Izuku. “What brings you to my inventor’s den of inspiration?”

“More like Hatsume’s Hell Hole of Horrors!” Someone calls out from the other side of the room. Hatsume waves her hand dismissively, and Izuku laughs. 

“I’m recruiting for the Justice Expo,” Izuku shrugs, “I’ll be talking with a bunch of support course students this afternoon about it, but I wanted to recruit you first – ”

The inventor nods, “Naturally, we have such great chemistry – ”

“And I wanted to see if you had the goods.” 

“The goods?” Hatsume blinks her golden eyes rapidly, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, what we talked about at Shiketsu.”

“THE GOODS!” She shouts, throwing her hands up and spinning to the other side of her workstation with a laugh. “I completely forgot! Well, I didn’t forget. I did it, got bored, and I had SO many good ideas that this well, it’s not my invention so who really cares?” 

“Hatsume, it’s not even an invention,” Izuku can’t help but laugh, stepping closer to her workspace and nearly knocking over something that resembles a metal corset. “They’re just gifts.”

“I know that. You know that. Do they have to know that?”

“They’ll be using it, so I’d wager a yes,” Izuku hums. “But if it works out, you’ll get a couple new friends.” 

“Test subjects?” The pink-haired inventor lights up with excitement. 

“Friends,” He insists, accepting the two toolboxes promptly dropped into his arms. One is adorably small, no larger than a laptop, though twice as thick. The other is as hefty as his costume case, if not more. 

“I guess they’ll be fun too,” Hatsume does nothing to hide her dejected sigh. A moment later, she perks up, scrambling to a metal box that towers over her and nearly three times her width. 

“Look! Look! Look! Look at this precious baby I made. It’s a quirk impact absorption generator! You know how you were talking about how your quirk is really useless for rescue and disaster situations? - I mean, it is, and that’s honestly on you for having such a flawed quirk – but anyway, if you hit this baby, it’ll absorb the force exerted on it and convert and store it into energy. Of course,” The sharp-eyed inventor pouts, “I haven’t had someone to test it out.”

“Alright, alright,” Izuku chuckles, setting aside the toolboxes, “but don’t cry if they break.”

“Even if it breaks, it’s great feedback,” she grins. 

“If it survives, I have some ideas about bringing it to the next level,” The green-haired hero stands before the large object, planting his feet and feeling One for All wash over his body in a crackle of green lightning. 

“Fire away!”

“ – of course,” Izuku rambles to the second class he’s visited this afternoon, every third year from General Education is crammed into one classroom. Sixty students in a twenty-person classroom is anything but comfortable. “You’ll have an opportunity to show off everything from your department. You’ll receive combat training if you wish to participate physically, but there’s plenty of other areas of interest that can get your foot in the door with universities or job placements post-graduation. Who’s in?”

“ – And I know what you’re thinking, ‘but I’m a business course student!’” The green-haired hero throws his arms out wide to a class of first years. “Well, this is a rare business opportunity. What better way than to dive headfirst into this Expo? We’ll need all the help we can get making sure we abide by zoning laws, getting sponsorships from other hero agencies, funding, advertising, creating proposals that could interest other schools into hosting in future years.”

“If we find one mega sponsor, maybe we can convince work studies for business course students too!” A short kid with an absurd spiral haircut marvels aloud. 

“While I’d love to give all of you an option to participate in the Expo, support course students will be split evenly between teams to ensure each of you have a chance to shine.” Izuku beams in Hatsume’s direction, where she’s tinkering away on a handheld object. “Hero and General Education course students will rely on you for whatever support you can give. Your contributions will not go unnoticed; I’m working with business course students to ensure we have plenty of support and analyst agencies attending the Expo.”

“Sorry, I’m late!” Izuku stumbles into the small meeting room, files sliding out from his arms as he tries to slide the door shut. His curly hair is tugged wild, his yellow backpack sagged and threatening to tear off his shoulders. 

“No need to apologize,” All Might offers with a smile, hurrying from his seat on the couch to help pick up file folders. Izuku sets the contents of his arms onto a counter before joining the former number one. “You aren’t spreading yourself too thin, are you?”

“Maybe,” The green-haired hero offers a small laugh in return. “There’s just too much to do and too little time.” 

“You sound like me,” All Might chastises with no bite, pressing the folders into Izuku’s hands, “which is worrisome.”

“I’m breathing, so that’s always a plus.”

“Young Midoriya,” The reprimand bleeds through this time. 

“It’s,” Izuku hesitates, sitting on the floor and laying the files on his lap. All Might settles, too, making himself comfortable on the cold tile. “It’s just hard, you know? I want everything to succeed. I want everyone to be safe. I want the world to see that it can’t continue the way it is. Otherwise, we’ll make more All for One’s and Shigaraki’s and Fireflies.”

The green-haired hero stares at his hands, eying the burn mark inside of his wrist. “And I see everyone, and I know. You know? I know who turns to the League with the proper motivation. I know who dies and who lives and who becomes afraid of me. I know I don’t have enough time to change that, and I’m terrified, All Might. So I’ve got to work harder. I have to.”

“Young Midoriya,” All Might says with the softness of a sigh. “This doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders,” The blond winces at Izuku’s sudden glare. “Yes, I know I’m not one to talk. But despite what you were forced through, what you experienced, it doesn’t mean this is your fight alone. We can change fate together. We’re doing it now with the Justice Expo. We’re doing it now because whatever similarities we share in the Variant, we are all still so very different. Do not, Young Midoriya, burn yourself out before the fight has begun.”

Izuku’s lips pinch at the words as he lifts his gaze to his mentor. “Variant All Might told me that once,” He offers quietly, feeling his limbs chill as his face heats. His eyes ache, threatening tears. His chest fills with a choking pressure as his fingers remember a motion quick and succinct. 

“Oh?” All Might leans back, curious, a twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. “And what happened?”

I killed him. 

The words lodge themselves in Izuku’s throat. The green-haired hero didn’t have a choice. Not with the League of Villains questioning his loyalty, not when all the secret safeguards he put in place were steadfastly ignored by the Variant former number one. Variant All Might refused to believe Izuku’s heritage; he couldn’t believe Izuku has a single terrible bone in his body. Then, when the One for All user was given the choice of All Might’s life versus all he would save by destroying the League from the inside out, there was no choice to make. 

Izuku had the namesake of his quirk: One for All. One death for all of humanity. One broken hero for the sake of saving the world. 

“You know,” Izuku croaks out instead, brushing away the tears welling in his eyes, “I’m really glad to see you so healthy. I’m glad to know Nighteye’s prediction of you turned out to be wrong.” 

“I owe that to you,” All Might offers a thin smile. “I think I would be still careening down that reckless path if not for you. It sounds like you defied Nighteye’s prediction too. Hold that close, Young Midoriya. Remember that you do defy the odds.”

The green-haired hero releases a choked laugh, “I thought you said everything doesn’t rest on my shoulders?” 

“They’re all oddly motivated,” Aizawa-sensei notes as he stands beside Izuku, watching over General Education combat training. “Not just General Education. Everyone.”

“Well, everyone has different motivations,” Izuku shrugs before calling on one student to firm up a stance. “And you’ve got to play up what they want. You know this.”

The erasure hero rolls his eyes. “Of course I know this; that’s standard Covert Operations information. But no matter how much you cater a speech to an audience, there’s always at least ten percent of individuals to who it’s impossible to appeal to. And somehow, Problem Child, you’ve managed to win over the entire school.”

Izuku snorts, “If I can win over the entire League of Villains, taking over U.A. is practically nothing.” 

Aizawa-sensei hums in response. “You’ll have to tell us everything you did over there sometime. It doesn’t have to be me, doesn’t even have to be Hound Dog or All Might – good heavens knows he can’t keep a secret. But tell someone, alright, Problem Child? It’s going to eat you alive if you can’t share it with anyone. Do you have someone?”

“Yeah,” Izuku nods, looking ahead for blond hair and red eyes he knows aren’t there. 

“Consider this,” Izuku groans into his notebook as Iida lectures on Ectoplasm’s latest lesson. “Maybe I’m just bad at math.” 

A part of Izuku is glad to be back in the U.A. curriculum. In a way, it’s the nostalgia taking root in his mind, begging for a simpler time. In another, these courses are making up for all the education he missed while with the League. Izuku spent the better part of a year and a half learning how to manipulate others while his Variant classmates learned complex algebra. At the end of the three years, U.A. still gave him a diploma, deemed as hero-in-service based credit, but it left him feeling behind. 

Granted, Izuku isn’t wholly behind. He learned English from Firefly and how to speak without an accent. One of the League of Villains members liked issuing death threats in iambic pentameter or haiku’s and often held poetry nights in damp crumbling basements. Some of Izuku’s favorite books came from their recommendations. He wonders if the stories are the same in this reality. 

Another member of the League insisted on destroying art that came from Eurocentric or sexist views, insisting on other members to learn and destroy works if she couldn’t be there. Izuku may have eagerly set fire to a Gauguin for that very purpose. One of Izuku’s favorite members of the League was like Ashido, Sato, and Yaoyorozu rolled into one. They loved baking, mixing ingredients and chemicals. They were notorious for especially hazardous bombs. They could create any chemical at will, though their favorite was acid that could corrode any material. Izuku learned his fair share of Chemistry from them. 

“Midoriya, I have seen you calculate how fast I can run on a whim. You did it at Dejima over comms. You have a great aptitude for mathematics!” Iida insists, hands chopping at his textbook. “You can do this!”

“I’d rather break a bone,” The green-haired hero grumbles. 

“Midoriya!”

“Fine, one of my bones.” 

“MIDORIYA.” Izuku lifts his head, resting his chin on his notebook to stare at Iida, who looks horrified. 

“I mean, there’s not many options. It’s either my bones or someone else’s.”

“What happened to doing the math problem?” Iida demands, slamming both hands on the table.

“That’s a good question,” Izuku says and nothing else. Huh, he’s never seen Iida’s eye twitch like that before.

“Maybe,” Yaoyorozu steps up to the common room table, laying a hand on Iida’s shoulders. “Maybe we call it a night on mathematics today, alright?” Yaoyorozu, ever the peacekeeper. Where would heroes be without people like her? “We’ve all had a trying few days. Let’s do our best to give each other grace.” She gives Iida a meaningful look. To Izuku, she says, “get some rest, Midoriya.” 

Izuku knocks on Kacchan’s door tiredly. He’s later than he’d like, losing track of time sending messages to support and business course students left and right. Kacchan might be asleep, leaving Izuku with no choice but to stay up through the night, Alert whispering that something is wrong – something is always wrong – and that it’s getting worse. 

“You’re late,” Kacchan growls as he throws the door open, grabbing Izuku by the front of his shirt and pulling him inside. 

Izuku looks around, neat piles of homework on the desk and Kacchan’s gauntlets in a partial state of disassembly. The bed is unmade, which means the blond must have been sleeping until moments ago. 

So, instead of apologizing, commenting about the room, or asking Kacchan about his day, Izuku kicks off his slippers and flops into bed, leaning up against the headboard. “C’mon, bedtime.” Izuku holds out his arms to the blond, who stands resolutely by his closet, hands in his pockets and frowning. 

“You’re thinking ‘bout something shitty, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Izuku motions for the blond to come closer, but Kacchan stays distant. 

“You gonna tell me or what?”

“Or what.” Izuku can’t help but smile as Kacchan’s brow arches higher. The single motion declares, ‘you’ve got some nerve.’ Amazing. Beautiful. Alert is soothed by the sight, knowing the explosive hero can watch while Izuku finally rests.

“Not tonight, Kacchan,” He continues. Izuku has spent enough time today ruminating on the horrors of his past. He wants the thoughts and dangers to quiet, at least for a little while. 

“You have me,” Kacchan reminds him, taking a step closer, “I don’t care what the fuck happened. You have me.” 

At this, the blond climbs into bed, wrapping his arms around Izuku. The green-haired hero reciprocates the motion, holding tight. 

“Yeah,” Izuku hums, “I’ve got you.” 

Chapter Text

“What the fuck is this?” Bakugou glares, resisting the urge to slam his door shut. He grips the edge of the door tightly, feeling his palm heat, and smells the scent of burning wood.

Deku stands in his hero uniform with an unfamiliar box that’s larger than a costume case.

“Humor me,” The nerd smiles, and it takes everything in Bakugou’s being to not react. Fucking hell, that’s the smile that made him realize he was fucked over in love with the nerd. That’s the dumbass smile that followed Deku’s laugh – the smile that speaks of hope and peace and all the good in the world in one simple gesture.

Shit, Bakugou is such a goner.

The blond steps aside, letting the nerd walk in and set the box on the desk. He leans against the hard edge of the table, his foot playing with chair legs.

“I don’t have a lot of time, so please let me talk,” Deku says as Bakugou closes the door and stands at the foot of his bed. “I promised Aizawa-sensei I’d run a couple nighttime patrols during the week, so you might not see me every now and again. But, I wanted to give you this before I took off.”

“And the shitty thing is?” Bakugou crosses his arms, frown deepening.

“I remember when you wanted to be a makeup artist,” The nerd rambles, staring down at his feet. “I remember when you got your quirk and how you were so excited to spend time with your parents because they helped you design and make nitroglycerin-proof clothes and gear. I know that creative spark is still well and alive in you because I see it when you do Eri’s hair or cook or spend time maintaining your gauntlets. And I think, I think you could do so much more.”

This time, the nerd’s smile trembles.

“Katsuki had a split course study in U.A.,” Deku continues. “He was hero and support course, working on inventions that gave him opportunities to intern at I-Island.

“I’m not telling you to follow in his footsteps, Kacchan,” The nerd looks up, eyes steady, “I’m not comparing you two either. It’s just – I would be remiss as your childhood friend and partner if I let such an important part of you remain buried.”

The green-haired hero clears his throat, laying a hand on top of the box. “This,” Deku says, “is an inventor’s kit. It may not look like much, but Hatsume put it together, and it’s a bit over the top. You don’t have to do anything with it, but I wanted to provide you a choice.”

The nerd straightens suddenly, placing a hand to his ear as he shoots Bakugou an apologetic look. “I’ve got to go, Kacchan.” And in two short strides, he throws open Bakugou’s balcony door and leaps outside.

Raccoon Eyes is waiting outside the dorms when Bakugou steps out for his run the following morning.

“No,” Bakugou glares, breaking into a jog. The pink heroine is quick to follow.

He tries to lose her at first, knowing her dance skills provide endurance, not sprints. The only drawback to the attempt is that Bakugou is built for endurance, too. Heroes that operate on sprints have obvious weaknesses. It’s why that French Glitter idiot is barely passable as a hero. Five seconds of lasers means fifty-five seconds or more of flawed incompetence.

The blond is forced to slow to a pace Raccoon Eyes can follow. She might not have Bakugou’s same endurance, but she sure as fuck is trying. And hell, who is he to deny that determination?

“Alright, fuck. What is it?” Bakugou growls, slowing their jog a couple miles out from the dorms.

“Maybe,” Racoon Eyes heaves for breath as she drops into a walk abruptly, shaking her arms out. “Maybe I just wanted to go out running with you.”

“Maybe you’re full of shit, just like Deku.” The explosive hero throws an arm over his head, holding onto the elbow and appreciating the stretch.

The pink heroine copies the motion silently, which is unusual for her. Raccoon Eyes is always talkative and full of energy; it’s not possible for something as simple as a run could alter her personality. The idiot even has comments after a hard training session when she’s dead on her feet, so why the silence now?

“Is there something wrong with me?” She asks, switching to stretch her other arm.

“There’s something wrong with everyone, don’t think yourself special.” Bakugou snorts.

“What do you think is wrong with me?” She demands, hurrying her pace to cut Bakugou off. Her expression is stern, but something in her form shakes. Raccoon Eyes is scared of something and attempting to be strong. When she admits to being scared, she latches on to someone, which – Bakugou guesses – is why she’s out jogging with him this morning.

He looks the heroine over from head to toe: Deku-like curly hair, a well-proportioned figure made to model curvy dresses, hands uncalloused by acid, and legs made for dancing.

Raccoon Eyes is built like she is proud of what she does and is comfortable in her own – however pink – skin. That’s not an easy feat when nitroglycerin and acid threaten to destroy a person’s wardrobe on any given day.

The idiot is loud as fuck, nosy as fuck, and friendly as fuck. It’s her worst and best qualities since she glues the whole class together with her annoyingly friendly demeanor. It’s a fucking wonder why she bothers hanging around Bakugou when the sight of her excitement leaves him physically exhausted.

And while Bakugou hates how energetic she is, there isn’t anything inherently wrong with Raccoon Eyes, even when she’s butting her nose where it doesn’t belong.

No. Wait. Bakugou did think of something.

“Your cleaning skills are the fucking worst.” The explosive hero pushes past, resuming his arm stretches. Raccoon Eyes is notorious for leaving her dishes in the sink; she’s melted windows while cleaning them and has broken four washing machines since they’ve moved into the dorms. Bakugou hates the thought of her being remotely close to cleaning supplies.

The pink heroine releases a choked laugh as she jogs to catch up. “That’s not what I meant, but thanks.” She tugs on her horns, expression turning thoughtful. “But, I guess, if you have a crush on a dude who’s making you rethink the whole villain and hero definitions, then you have more leeway on what’s wrong or right.”

“Is this you trying to butt in on my fucking love life again?” Bakugou growls.

“No!” She protests, throwing her arms up high. “Yes! Maybe! I don’t know!”

Fuck, this is going to be a long morning.

“Kirishima said yes, in case you were wondering,” Raccoon Eyes blurts. “You should have seen him, beet red, adorable, tripping over himself. It was like those English Rom Coms Camie put on over summer. And, I don’t know, I was just there.”

There? What the fuck did that mean?

“I wanted to be in love. If I could be a fraction of what Kiri looked like or even just a sliver of what you look like when you talk about Midoriya, I’d be so happy!” The pink heroine cries out, kicking a stone on the path. “And I could see myself in love too. Kirishima and I going on dates, both of us rising to the top twenty-five, him proposing by carving my face in the side of a mountain – ”

Bakugou snorts.

“ and me blissfully in love. Messing up sometimes, because hello, it’s me we’re talking about, but being able to give what Kirishima deserves. And I was just there. I was blank.”

The blond has no idea how to respond to that statement. He can’t imagine talking to Deku in EPCOT and not feeling anything. He can’t imagine looking at the nerd without wanting to impose some sort of emotion on him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Raccoon Eyes continues, “I still wanted to do stuff with him. Have you seen that body? I could jump that any day of the week. I could do that with practically anyone – why are people so hot? But there’s a difference, you know, liking someone for their body and liking someone because they’re someone. You get that, right?”

Unfortunately, Bakugou does.

He’s aware of the difference because he doesn’t know what it’s like to like someone for their body. Sure, Deku’s eyes and hair are the only correct shade of green; and those freckles may be constellations, but those are features and not an entire person. His desire to hold Deku is in knowing the nerd’s body is the only way to touch all of who Deku is and will become. How else can Bakugou protect Deku’s mind and soul but hold the body close?

Maybe there’s something wrong with Bakugou too.

“Fuck, we’re wrecks,” The explosive hero groans.

“That is so not comforting.” The pink heroine grimaces.

“You fucking started this mess.” Bakugou glares.

“I was hoping you’d tell me what to do, Love Guru – ”

“No – ”

“Cupid Baku – ”

“Fuck off – ”

“Patron Saint of Relationships – ”

“You’re asking to be murdered, Raccoon Eyes.”

“I just,” The heroine huffs, “I just want to be in love. Is that so wrong?”

Maybe. After all, how much of the shit Bakugou pulled on Deku was the equivalent of pulling pigtails?

The pink heroine tugs on her horns once more, dark eyes welling with tears. “Midoriya said that the person you love becomes your symbol of everything. I want that. I can see it with Kiri; I can almost taste it, so why can’t I have it? Or is that even true, and I’m chasing after something impossible?”

“It’s true,” Bakugou interrupts. “But it might be different for you. No training regimen is perfect for everyone, so this shit might be different for you. What makes Shitty Hair different from everyone else? Doesn’t have to be love, just matters that the idiot is different.”

Raccoon Eyes stares at the blond with wide eyes, an expression of awe filling her features. “You really are a love guru.”

“Fuck it; I’m leaving,” If Bakugou breaks into a run now, he’ll be back at the dorms in a few minutes.

“No! No, no!” The heroine breaks out into laughter as she latches her arms around Bakugou’s bicep. “I’m kidding! Just, you know, thank you.” She releases her hold. “For all of this. Listening to me and, uh, making me feel like I’m not alone.”

“Instead of the typical work-study,” the hobo stands at the front of the classroom, long after Deku takes off for most afternoons. “We’ve asked a selection of pro hero agencies to sponsor students. If they’re pleased with your performance during the justice expo, you’ll receive work-study credit. If they aren’t, you’ll receive remedial lessons.”

The erasure hero lectures and lectures, talking about what U.A. hopes to achieve from the expo, the type of hero reform the school wants to pitch, and the ample opportunity for all course students.

“Society has placed a great burden and disparity with heroes versus those we work alongside and who we serve. Heroes are merely one piece of a greater whole. We would be largely unprotected without our support gear; we would be advised to stand back and watch everything go wrong, if not for businesses pitching heroics as a necessity that can afford to make damages within reason.” The hobo paces the front of the room.

“A flashy quirk doesn’t make you a hero. It’s the training, support, and knowing the importance of everyone around you that will help you go far.” He leans over the lecture desk, casting a tired gaze around the room. “I want you to think about a time you ignored or hurt someone under the pretense of ‘I’m going to be a hero.’ You were kids then, much like you’re kids now. Only now, you know better. There shouldn’t be a single one of you that is an exception to this. We’ve all hurt someone, intentionally or not.

“When you find that person,” The hobo continues, “Ask yourself why you ignored them; what could you have done better, even if you had done your best at the time. Ask yourself how you could have been a hero in that moment. And when you have those answers, consider why that wasn’t available to you then and what needs to change to make that happen in our current society. I expect your answers due on Friday. We’ll be working with business course students as they write reformation bills leading up to the expo.”

A silence washes through the class as they all think about who they could have possibly hurt. Bakugou doesn’t need to think about it. He’s probably hurt dozens of extras growing up, but no one worse than Deku. The blond used to make up rules to games the nerd could never hope to compete. He purposely pushed Deku away literally and figuratively, seeing the nerd as a threat whenever he had the gall to stand up again.

“In a way,” The erasure hero sighs, straightening only to cross his arms, “we are all victims of the society created for us. Civilians, heroes, villains. All of us pay the price, and it’s up to us to change for the better. How will you rise above what you were made to be?”

Bakugou thinks of Deku, All for One’s offspring, terror and evil coded into his DNA. He thinks of bubbly laughs and happy smiles, concern darkening green eyes to black at the thought of turning out like his old man. He remembers a rooftop in a forest with Deku’s dismissive words; I’ve been wondering about that myself.

Chapter Text

“Kaminari!” Ears is quick to leap up from her seat when the hobo slides open the classroom door. Dunce Face trails behind, looking exhausted and a little worse for wear. Though, he’s a hell of a lot better than what Bakugou saw in the alley.

The electric blond is tackled, yelping at Ears’ sudden embrace, his arms shaking as he tries to hold her.

“Take it easy,” The hobo tugs on the collar of the music heroine’s blazer. “Kaminari may have been released from Recovery Girl’s care, but he’s still on the mend.”

“Yeah, Jiro,” Dunce Face laughs, using a shaking finger to poke at Ears’ cheek. “Be nice to me.”

Ears huffs, moving to free herself from the blond and hobo simultaneously. She crosses her arms with a glare. “I’m always nice.”

“Nice enough to copy my notes?” Dunce Face grins, moving slowly to his seat.

“You’ve got two hands, don’t see anything wrong with them.” The heroine raises a brow.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” The hobo takes the front of the room with a frown. Ears takes her seat as Dunce Face sits stiffly. “As we all know, Kaminari was exposed to Firefly’s poison. The aftermath has left some complications for the time being, though Recovery Girl is confident he’ll make a full recovery. Jiro, I believe you were just chosen to assist.”

“Y-yeah,” Ears sits a little straighter, guilt flashing through her face. “I can do that.”

Analysis quirks suck.

Bakugou frowns. That’s not quite right. It’s these support course extras that fucking suck and have no idea how to improve hero course quirks.

Deku ran circles around these extras when he was a quirkless ankle-biter; there’s no fucking way idiots whose special ability is analyzing things can be worse than a mumbling seven-year-old.

And yet, here they are being shitty.

“Have you considered a support item that wicks and stores the sweat from other places on your body and not just your arms?” A support course extra asks tentatively from behind a clipboard, wearing a U.A. jumpsuit. Their light brown hair is long and shaggy, and they tremble as if Bakugou just threw Deku’s notebook out the window.

What kind of idiotic question is that? Every extra in the support course should have hero data on their physiology and costumes. This idiot should know the perfect chemical combination of nitroglycerin comes from Bakugou’s arms and legs. He should know that torso sweat is more corrosive, while the sweat on Bakugou’s face leans more towards glycerin. This information isn’t news; it came from an offhand comment from Deku when they were six. It came again from a quirk counselor when Bakugou was seven. It’s why Bakugou’s gauntlets are designed the way they are.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear a dumbass question. You better not be the best U.A. has to offer with that shitty observation.” Bakugou growls. The support course extra whimpers, holding the clipboard a little higher.

“Sato! You’re up!” The hobo announces as Bakugou heads to the far wall of the gym.

“Is it just me,” Shitty Hair says when Bakugou is close enough, “Or are their analyses not all that good?” The redhead winces at the other classmates against the far wall.

“I think they’re good,” Pink Cheeks offers a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “It’s just that Deku told me first and in better detail. I’m sure if he hadn’t told me, it’d be news for sure!” She laughs, rubbing the back of her neck – a near-identical mimicry of the nerd.

“That’s what it is!” Flat Face snaps his fingers. “I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, but the stuff they said was stuff Aizawa-sensei or Midoriya has pointed out. So, I don’t know, I kind of expected more.”

“That’s not a reasonable expectation,” Ponytail flips through her book of composition. “Aizawa-sensei is a pro with years of experience, and Midoriya has years on us. Maybe this is just how analysis quirks work in high school.”

Bakugou snorts, earning looks from the class of losers. “The nerd would have run circles around these extras before middle school. They’re just shitty.”

“Bakugou! They’re trying their best!” Raccoon Eyes chastises.

“Their best is going to get us killed.” Bakugou glares back at the acid heroine. “This fucking Justice Expo? We know Gen Ed is going Plus Ultra to defeat us. We gotta do the same, even if that means dragging those extras kicking and screaming.”

At this, Bakugou stomps back to the clipboard extra and grabs them by the collar before dragging him to the far wall with his classmates. “You’re going to learn how to be less shitty with your quirk. So fucking listen up.”

“I heard you made a support course student cry,” Deku says, laying out his maps on the dining room table that evening.

“They fucking deserved it.”

“Did they?” There is laughter in the nerd’s voice, but it sounds like a reprimand.

“They suck at their quirk.” Bakugou glares, rearranging a pile of notes.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Deku hums, handing over a thin folder. Bakugou thumbs through the new coordinates with a frown. “They’ve probably been told they’re clever all their lives for being slightly smarter than average thanks to their quirk. Analysis is actually the least recognized section of the support course, so their skills are hardly ever utilized. This is, most likely, their first chance at analyzing heroes.”

“But you did that; you didn’t need any of this bullshit!” Bakugou turns a page so roughly, it tears in the corner.

“Kacchan,” Deku says gently, forcing the blond’s gaze up from the paper and to the nerd. The green-haired hero smiles thinly, brows pinching and a resignation written in his eyes. “Kacchan, I didn’t have anything else. It was just me and my notebooks for the longest time. And even then, I wasn’t trying to improve; I was just – I was just trying to have different conversations so I wouldn’t be so alone.”

Fuck.

This, Bakugou knows, is something he must apologize for as well.

The explosive hero forced Deku to be alone for so long; how the hell is the nerd happy to date Bakugou?

And hell, didn’t Deku feel alone in that fucking Variant?

“Don’t beat yourself over it, Kacchan,” Bakugou jerks his gaze back to the nerd, seeing everything about Deku has softened. “I’m proud of the person I turned into. I managed to get an opportunity to grow, so give them the same chance.”

Bakugou is weak. There’s no way in hell he can deny the nerd such a request, so instead of announcing the weakness, the blond turns back to the papers, reading coordinates aloud for the nerd to mark on the maps.

“Something is wrong, just right here,” Deku says, waving a hand over a small section of map. It looks practically identical to the other areas, with green dots and numbers signaling time codes and frequencies.

“And how the fuck do you know that?” Bakugou demands, watching green brows furrow and the nerd’s lips turn into an abrupt pout.

“I feel it,” The pout deepens into a frown. “It’s like the hero Water Dancer, you remember, right?” Green eyes flicker to red before they gain a distant quality to them. “They could feel when there was excessive water in the air, and they could pluck water from thin air. He was great with water-based magic tricks. And I,” Deku motions plucking something out of the air and rubbing it between his fingers before trying again. “I feel it, but I can’t grab it.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Bakugou raises a brow, only to earn a frustrated whine in return. “Not, I see.”

“Kacchan!” Deku whines once more as the blond types on his phone before shuffling through papers.

“Read all the dots, nerd.”

He does. Deku rattles off the numbers, and Bakugou notes they come in pairs, two people leaving? The numbers range from four hundred to a thousand, bouncing between the two ends.

“Are these the frequencies you’re talking about?”

Deku startles at the sudden appearance of Ears in the dining area. She tucks hair behind her ear, cocking her hip to the side as she seems to mull over the numbers. Bakugou glances at his phone, noting she replied to his text a couple of minutes ago.

“Rewind like ten numbers and say them again.” The heroine gestures as if turning a volume dial. The nerd obliges, watching her with surprise as Ears’ frown deepens. “From the top,” She sighs, crossing her arms. Deku stammers from the beginning.

“There’s your problem,” Ears taps her fingers, a pattern Bakugou recognizes as the music heroine sorting through sounds.

“W-what’s the problem?” Deku asks, and Bakugou isn’t entirely sure what it is either.

“Everything is silent.” Ears gestures at the map. Deku and the blond exchange glances before the heroine sighs. “A standard sound barrier is at 500 hertz. A mach one speaker is 1000 hertz. Anything between those frequencies can be silent or barely registered by human ears. While our hearing range goes all the way up to 20,000, it doesn’t mean we ever really put that to the test. Most instruments are below 400 – ”

“Get on with it. You’re just spouting numbers now.”

Ears glares at Bakugou before huffing, “Almost every single one of these is between 500 and 1000. Noises that we typically don’t hear, and if we do, it’s at a delay. Except one: 432. It’s like the rumored cosmic healing of the universe. Many musicians believe that 432 is the frequency for perfection, but that’s what our universe generally operates at. Which means if someone is using it in contrast to their other frequencies – ”

“Someone’s taking an extended jump through realities.” Deku gasps.

“Or, staying in sync with this universe is more important than anything else.”

“Staying in sync? You mean like some idiot dimension-hopping villain extra is just camped out there?”

“I don’t know,” Ears shrugs, “I can tell you what the frequencies mean. I have no idea how someone else’s quirk works with them.”

“But I do,” Deku bends over the map once more.

There are pros in the practice city. It’s not news, the hobo has hinted at it for days, but the sight makes Bakugou shudder. The sheer number is reminiscent of the fight against Shigaraki, storming the Paranormal Liberation front. Exit island had a handful of pro heroes, while this resembles a sea. With as many as he sees, Bakugou wonders what and when something is going to go wrong.

The hobo introduces the heroes one by one. Some are up and coming, others established and in the top fifty. Bakugou sees Best Jeanist touring over the crowd, his blond hair neatly styled.

Ever since the battle with Shigaraki, Bakugou has been in sporadic contact with the hero. It’s a retaliative move from the months of radio silence after the events of Kamino Ward. Endeavor may have taught Bakugou’s reflexes to be faster and sharper, but no hero has taught the blond more than Best Jeanist.

Though, Bakugou would never admit it. Who the fuck would believe the explosive hero chose a fashion hero as a mentor and worthy of respect? And besides, Best Jeanist is the fucking worst with his rules and systems and fuck whatever puns.

And yet…

And yet.

There is no pro, not even All Might, Bakugou wants assurances and praise from more than Best Jeanist. He held back his new name until he saw the blond hero again and now pesters the pro with texts every few days to check if Best Jeanist is still kicking. Bakugou doesn’t even talk to his parents this often.

Best Jeanist gives the most aggravating advice. His rules brush Bakugou all the wrong ways, and the worst part is that he’s right. The explosive hero failed the licensing exam because he openly rejected the fiber hero’s teachings. He’s seen how to be a top hero despite being physically weaker with the aftermath of Kamino Ward.

Bakugou sees Deku in Best Jeanist’s suggestions, kindness, and care rolled into a person. He sees his parents in the pro hero’s meticulously crafted image.

The fucker may be annoying, but he’s the exact mentor Bakugou needs. And fuck, is it good to see the hero alive and well.

The pro heroes line up, choosing who they wish to mentor. Some take a single student, and some take a handful. That dragon pro hero takes Pink Cheeks and Frog, while Fat Gum takes Ponytail, Sugar Man, and Shitty Hair.

Finally, Best Jeanist steps to the front of the line, announcing names as if declaring ranks in a competition. “Bakugou Katsuki,” The explosive hero smirks at his name, “Monoma Neito,” The fuck – that asshole? “Aoyama Yuga.”

Bakugou resists the urge to yell. Why the fuck is he stuck with the weakest losers? He wants to demand answers, but Best Jeanist is quick to silence him with a look.

The explosive hero takes a deep breath and clicks his tongue in an exhale. Fuck, this sucks. Best Jeanist has a reason for all of this shit; Bakugou just needs to be patient.

Patient. Ha.

Bakugou can practically hear Deku laughing his ass off.

Chapter Text

There’s a kid in the classroom.

It’s not some annoying U.A. extra but a literal fucking kid curled underneath the chalkboard crying. Bakugou wasn’t expecting a brat to be here in the middle of the day and sure as fuck isn’t expecting to be one of the first people to deal with the mess.

Pink Cheeks pushes past Bakugou, setting her empty bento on the teacher’s desk before kneeling before the kid who sobs with balled fists pressed to his weeping eyes.

“Hey there, I’m Uraraka; what’s your name?” The zero gravity heroine soothes as Bakugou moves through the classroom to lean on his desk, analyzing the situation. Deku may be better at analysis than the blond, but it’s by a hair, and the explosive teen knows his worth.

The curled brat is small, maybe six or seven, with skinned knees and arms littered with bandaids. He’s wearing black outdoor shoes, not uncommon for adult buildings, but they look pristine compared to scrapes. The brat looks like a stoplight in red shorts and a yellow tee with his messy mop of Deku green hair. If Bakugou didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s staring at a childhood memory of the nerd with different shoes. That can’t be possible, right?

Then again, Deku was in an alternate timeline for more than a few years; how is kid Deku any different?

“No, wait!” Pink Cheeks cries out as the kid unfurls, making a mad dash for the door. The door slides open once more to reveal Arms and Shitty Hair, earning a startled cry before the kid ducks and weaves beneath the desks.

The brat screams and cries when someone enters the room or gets too close. He shoves chairs, throws notebooks, leaving destruction in his wake as Pink Cheeks chases.

Fuck it. Fine.

Bakugou settles on the floor, back against a desk leg, and stares blankly ahead. He’s no stranger to a kid in meltdown mode. The blond dealt with a fair share with Eri when Deku first disappeared. He’s seen familiar traits in those annoying brats from his supplementary training.

When kids like these are in meltdown mode, two things need to happen: contain and extinguish. They’re like forest fires in that way, plain and simple. Contain the fire to prevent damage from spreading, cool down, and extinguish the fire to stop it completely.

All of Class A has focused on containing with shitty results on extinguishing, which means Bakugou must throw his hat into this fucking circus.

The explosive teen watches the green-haired kid scurry under a desk from the corner of his eye, then scramble when Tail nearly latches onto him and slides on the tile floor behind Bakugou.

“Way to go, Bakubro!” Shitty Hair exclaims from the other side of the room. The blond feels small hands latch onto the back of his blazer. “Let’s get this kiddo where he needs to go.”

“No,” Bakugou says, still staring ahead, barely registering his loser classmates straighten the room.

“What do you mean, no?” Ears sounds equally incredulous as she is judgmental.

“I said no,” The blond tries to keep his tone calm and even, like all the times Eri needed him. “Go rescue a cat or something. I’m staying here.”

“Dude, can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but class is about to start.” Dunce Face steps to the nearest row of desks, towering above. The kid whimpers and tightens his grip.

“I can listen fucking fine from the floor.” He glares, which startles the electric teen back.

Ears replaces Dunce Face, taking a seat at her desk. Bakugou watches Purple Hair leave and enter the classroom to take his seat from the back. When he does, the blond feels the kid at his back press his head to Bakugou’s arm while the other Class A losers start taking their seat.

Then Invisible Chick pulls out her chair slowly, and the kid cries out, forcing a gap between Bakugou’s arm and side and clambering into the teen’s lap. The green-haired kid buries his face in the explosive teen’s button-up, but Bakugou doesn’t dare move. If he tries to cradle the kid, it may trigger another meltdown. As is, the kid isn’t crying anymore, so it’s only a matter of time before he’ll finally get answers.

Silence stretches in the classroom, even after the sharp bell of class rings. Bakugou counts the time in his head, listening to soft sniffles and feeling the kid slowly relax in his lap. He sees Ears and Flat Face toss concerned looks now and then, but the blond stares resolutely ahead.

“U-um, h-hero-san?” The kid’s voice warbles before Bakugou dares to look down and immediately loses his breath.

It’s kid Deku, minus the freckles, staring up with sea-green eyes. The cheeks are the same level of chubby; they’re big and wide, with a tentative smile still full of wonder. Bakugou is practically thrown back in time to a log bridge and soaked in a river. Bakugou is offering a hand to this kid, but it’s a decade too late for Deku.

The sliding door to the classroom rattles open, immediately jerking the kid’s attention away as small hands grip the front of Bakugou’s blazer. The blond can’t see the new entrant from his spot on the floor, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Oh! Everything’s still in order. You haven’t happened to see a kid around here, have you?” Deku asks, but he sounds surprised.

The kid leaps from Bakugou’s lap and runs, nearly tripping over his untied shoelace, to the front of the classroom.

“I’m here!” The kid cries as the blond lifts himself into his desk chair.

“So you are,” The nerd beams proudly, “How’d everyone do?” Deku lifts the kid to sit on the teacher’s desk. The green-haired brat frowns, looking thoughtful and comfortable. Fuck, was that meltdown a ruse?

“Lots of ‘em panicked. Some only know how to talk to kids the same way. One did good. I’m surprised.” Kid Deku beams nearly identical to his older counterpart.

Bakugou is a handful of words away from exploding in his seat.

“Hi, yeah, excuse me,” Shitty Hair raises his hand, “but, uh, what the fuck?”

Bakugou has never been more grateful to have that loser around.

Kid Deku giggles while Deku beams. “This was a test,” The nerd admits, tugging at the cuffs of his school uniform. “Meet first year Tsuneo Fukashi, hero name: Chamele-man.”

As if on cue, the green-haired kid grows lanky, curly hair shifting from green to blue, then blond, and settles on silver waves. His sea-green eyes turn the color of rainbows, facial features shifting to some semblance of Flat Face, including the manic grin. They wear a gold pin in their red tie, signaling a female uniform but paired with the male uniform’s pants.

“My quirk is called Morph!” The first year says with a manic smile, kicking out their feet as if still playing the role of Kid Deku. “I can literally transform into any person or animal and blend into every environment. Really, I wanted to become an actor, but my brother said I’d have an easier chance of becoming a hero, so I thought: why not both?”

Bakugou watches how the nerd’s smile stiffens a little. Well, at least that never changes. Deku isn’t fond of people aiming to be heroes for selfish reasons. He thinks everyone has the potential to be heroes; whether they’re good at it or not is another thing entirely.

“Explodo-boy handled me like a champ.” Flat Face Jr. continues, and Deku’s smile widens once more. Bakugou can resist the urge to blast the loser on the desk because the nerd is smiling with such pride, Bakugou wants to smile too.

“I must ask,” Glasses raises his hand, “what was the point of this test? We’ve done rescue operations like this before in our licensing exam. Aizawa-sensei has given us many lessons on how to talk with civilians.”

“That’s true,” The nerd nods, “but people aren’t textbook. You learn basic generalized ways to handle civilians, but when you generalize, you wind up overlooking people who need your care the most.

“What Tsuneo demonstrated was a neurodivergent meltdown,” Deku continues, “It could happen to anyone at any age. This meltdown could have been spurred by anxiety, trauma, or any multitude of things, which we all see in the field during times of duress. The only difference is that neurodivergent types process any change or information wildly different than others. Which means their answers and reactions to duress will be equally as different. So, when we handle neurodivergent individuals the same as a neurotypical, we wind up dismissing their needs and unintentionally creating enemies.”

Deku steps up to the chalkboard and starts writing percentages. “Sixty-seven percent of villains fall into the category of neurodivergent. They could be autistic, have ADHD, acquire the divergency over time, or any number of syndromes or disabilities, and we are wildly unequipped to help.

“In a study, psychologists found that ninety percent of neurodivergent villains became villains because of how heroes treated them. This is strange because many heroes fall under this category as well. But honestly, it’s not as strange as you think,” Deku sets down the chalk and leans against the teacher’s desk, “Because I’ve been on the receiving end of dismissal from heroes too.”

A few losers gasp and inhale sharply. Bakugou remembers the day of the sludge villain all too well. He thinks of Deku curling in on himself as pro heroes berated him while the blond received all the praise.

“So how do we as heroes mitigate this? How do we talk with civilians and not contribute to creating more villains? How do we interact with people who struggle with things we can’t see?

“Kacchan knows,” Deku says, staring out at the class. “What was so different about how you interacted versus how Kacchan interacted with Tsuneo? Can anyone tell me?”

“Well,” Pink Cheeks draws out the word slowly, brows pinching. “I introduced myself and asked for his name.”

“You were overwhelming an overstimulated kid,” Flat Face Jr. sings.

“I tried to prevent him from running away.” Arms adds.

“Person preventing me from getting to safety.”

“We tried approaching the kid,” Tail leans back, “we just wanted to help.”

“Stranger danger,” Flat Face Jr. corrects.

“How is that fair?” Dunce Face protests. “Bakugou just sat there!”

“Consistent,” The first year says. “Steady. Safe. I can process on my own time, and he didn’t interrupt.”

Deku beams proudly, sending Bakugou’s stomach flip-flopping. “Precisely. Sometimes individuals don’t need to be saved. Sometimes they don’t feel safe enough to allow someone else to help. Kacchan, how did you know that was what Tsuneo needed?”

Bakugou glances at the first year, then Deku. He thinks back on his first glance of the kid, someone who needed attention and care, things he’s not capable of. Bakugou isn’t gentle, not like Pink Cheeks or Deku. He can only calm a kid by staying away or waiting for them to come to him after making their own judgments about him.

The blond thinks of Eri and her meltdowns, her sharp fear of losing safety and being tortured once again. She’s always so scared of losing control and hurting others that the kid would rather push everyone away.

That’s not so different than Bakugou.

“If I was a brat lost in this fucking huge school and a bunch of random extras tried talking to me and grabbing at me, I’d explode all of you to hell.” Bakugou glares at the chalkboard. “I’d go to the fucker that didn’t try anything because they sure as hell won’t make things worse.”

“Why?” The nerd presses. The explosive teen bristles at the words. Why? Well, why the fuck is the nerd asking? Why does anyone need to know Bakugou’s inner workings? Why can’t Bakugou keep that information to himself?

“Because it fucking makes sense.”

“Does it?” Deku asks, but the question is clearly directed towards the class. Silence answers, and Deku clears his throat. “Today, Tsuneo and I will be running practice scenarios with you on a variety of neurodivergent types. It will feel taxing, and sometimes you’ll feel like you’re not doing enough, or maybe there won’t be a correct answer.

“We have to try,” The nerd says firmly, “Because most villains are created by how heroes treat civilians.”

Bakugou stares at the timeline with a frown.

Thanks to Justice Expo meetings with the teachers when Deku is away from the dorms, the early morning timeline sessions have turned to late-night meetings. As a result, the losers have started hiding the board in one of the empty girl’s dorm rooms on the second floor, which is such a pain in the ass to cram everyone inside.

“What do you mean I’m alive?” Round Face demands, holding Half and Half by the shirt front. “I died over there; I know it!” She looks one word away from socking the candy cane idiot in the face. Bakugou wonders if she’ll ‘let her hand slip’ into giving the fucker a black eye. He’s not asking for any early Christmas presents, but if Pink Cheeks goes through with it, the blond will have to pass on a thank you somehow.

“You were quirkless but alive,” IcyHot says blandly, letting himself dangle in the heroine’s hold. “Severely injured, but alive.”

“I’m getting my mind blown here,” Racoon Eyes announces. “Are you telling me some of us survive Firefly’s attacks? Do we all survive?”

Half and Half furrows his brows, lazing his heterochromatic gaze around the room. “I can’t speak to all of you because I don’t have all the Variant’s memories, but I don’t think so. I can kind of remember some funerals, but I don’t remember who.”

Round Face releases IcyHot, who falls to the floor with an audible thud. “So what I’m hearing is we only have memories up until we hand over our quirks to Deku.”

“Still blowing my mind, everyone!”

“Then,” Ponytail says from the only legitimate chair in the room, “it stands to reason that our Variant counterparts have memories after it too. Perhaps we can reduce this distance between Midoriya by letting him know that some of us survived and don’t resent him for leaving.”

Pink Cheeks whirls on Half and Half, eyes wide with concern. “I don’t resent Deku, do I?”

“You smiled at him. Do you smile when you hate someone?” Half and Half asks as he sits up.

“No?”

“Then, what all have we learned? We’ve been at this for about a month; how far have we come?” Glasses chops through the air, turning everyone’s gaze to the timeline.

“We know he joined the League after the summer of our second year,” Invisible Chick says from her seated spot on the desk.

“We know I joined sometime in our third year,” Purple Hair adds lazily.

“He dismantled the League before graduation,” Ponytail recalls.

“We found out he was from an alternate reality a couple of months after graduation,” Frog says, holding a finger to her chin in thought. She’s looking more comfortable with her prosthetic, good.

“Which made us band together and try and find a way to send him home.” Raccoon Eyes continues.

“Then Firefly started picking us off, and when we figured out their M.O.,” Sugar Man crosses his arms, glancing at Emo Bird for help.

“We agreed to give Midoriya our quirks, so our counterparts – us – could have a better chance of survival. We didn’t,” Emo Bird coughs, “we didn’t – ”

“We didn’t want him to suffer through this again,” Raccoon Eyes stares at her hands. “It’s bad enough he had to go through it with us once; could you imagine a second time?”

Raccoon Eyes, Round Face, Ponytail, Ears, and Flat Face turn their gazes to Bakugou. He refuses to look back, knowing what it means. Each of these fuckers are telling him to ask Deku for Variant Katsuki’s quirk, if only to prevent the nerd’s suffering.

Becoming the number one hero under Bakugou’s own power is going to have to take a back seat if it means the explosive hero can keep Deku’s fears and shitty tears at bay.

“Bakugou!” Best Jeanist chastises in the middle of training. The explosive blond grits his teeth, twisting mid-air as he dodges a glittery laser beam to look at the pro hero. “Unnecessary roughness! Don’t be the wool of your companions! You must be a blend to knit the sweater of justice!”

Bakugou lands, resisting the urge to blow up the rocks at his feet. Blended knits. Fuck no. What bullshit is Best Jeanist trying to get at now? Sweaters can be knit from pure wool. They’re not the most comfortable things in the world, but they’re necessary in unforgiving environments. Blends may be softer, but they tend to do more harm than good.

The explosive teen would take the brash honesty of wool any day.

“You think an extra is going to care if I’m nice or not when they’re trying to beat my ass?” Bakugou growls as Best Jeanist gestures for his chosen students to come closer.

“We, as heroes, will always be more vulnerable than others,” Best Jeanist crosses his arms. “We design our costumes as a way to draw attention. Not because we want to stand at the top of the hero charts, but because we intentionally weave targets onto ourselves.” The pro gestures at Bakugou, as if the large orange X still encompasses his chest. “Attack me, not the civilians.

“We trust in our costumes, put faith that every stitch will protect us from all the wrong in the world, because, at the end of the day, we must trust in the people we interact with – be they villains, civilians, or even fellow heroes.

“The reason I’ve chosen you three is because you’re all knots in this woven blanket of heroes. For you, your trust has been frayed, which will in turn fray others, unraveling what all we can accomplish.”

“I can assure you, Best Jeanist, if anyone in this group is destroying the blanket of justice, it’s Class A and their high and mighty attitudes,” Copy Bastard says with a smirk, laying a hand over his chest as he juts out his chin.

“You may have points for style, Monoma, but this rivalry with Class A? It needs to be snipped.” Best Jeanist strikes a pose, which makes Glitter Face hum with appreciation.

“Oui! I trust everyone!” The French idiot smiles, puffing out his chest – which does absolutely fuck nothing in his obnoxious knight armor.

“But you don’t trust yourself,” The pro blond taps the teen on the nose. “You feel as if your quirk is poorly tailored to your body, which is hindering your ability as a hero.”

Best Jeanist paces back and forth, glancing from the students to the rest of the training room. “Trust me that I can lead you to greatness. I understand you aren’t each other’s closest friends, but this is part of the process. Trust in your companions. Trust you can become heroes together.”

Bakugou turns on his heel to head to the start of the training course. Trust isn’t easy. Deku trusted in that Probability fucker and lost four years of his life to a Variant that screwed him over. Trust means there is no guarantee of safety; it’s an ask to turn the other cheek at potential danger.

Trust is allowing the bad things to happen. Fuck that, fuck no. Bakugou has seen enough of the world that trust is the worst thing ever given to mankind, second only to hope.

And damn does Bakugou hope.

Chapter Text

Izuku is nervous.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s excited, but the green-haired hero hasn’t been in charge of coordinating so many heroes since his Variant days. He wonders if the resistance is still using the rules he set up. How long has it been, anyway? Two months since his return, does that mean two years in that reality? Izuku wonders how much his friends have grown or if he’s lost more in such a short amount of time.

He meanders battle city Sigma, noting every camera and possible blind spot. In a few days, this will be a battlefield. It’s hard to imagine the past few weeks preparing for the Justice Expo has flown by. Everyone has trained so hard in such a short amount of time. Izuku imagines General Education students battling the Hero Course and winning, then once more at a loss.

Will the outcome for the expo be what he hopes?

What if all this work is for nothing? What if no one learns anything and all this training and teaching is completely useless? What if this change doesn’t alter the future? What if Izuku still loses?

The green-haired hero shakes his head. No, Izuku refuses to believe he will lose it all again. Besides, the Justice Expo is designed as a trap for a few villains to infiltrate; it’s only a matter of falling for the bait.

Tickets sold out weeks ago with required verified identities, wayfinding signage is up with the schedule, lectures and workshop rooms are already squared away, and guest heroes are on the docket to arrive. Izuku pits every safeguard against every purposeful flaw in the planning process.

It’s part of the reason why Izuku is nervous. Whatever he tells the Gen Ed students is different than what he tells the Hero Course, which is different than what he tells Support or Business. The only people in the know are the teachers. They know Gen Ed’s takeover plan, they know Hero Course’s possible moves and they know of the traps intended for three villains, all disguised and choreographed by Nedzu and Izuku.

Should everything go right, no one should notice the three villains. Should everything go wrong, well, Izuku won’t even humor the millions of what if’s whispering in the back of his mind.

“There is a high chance,” Aizawa-sensei says in the meeting room dedicated to the Justice Expo, “that Probability and Firefly will strike. We’re purposely promoting ourselves as bait and showing that we’re not afraid of whatever All for One has planned.”

Izuku looks over at Kacchan and Jiro, who still seem to be taking in the crowded room. Every pro-teacher and a handful of mentors take up the space. The green-haired hero doesn’t miss how Kacchan keeps glancing at Best Jeanist.

“Kacchan, Jiro, I’ll be relying on you to keep an eye out from the hero’s side,” Izuku says before turning to face another friend sitting at the table. “Hatsume, I’m going to need you too.”

“You can count on me!” The pink-haired inventor grins, fiddling with small mechanical boxes.

“On behalf of U.A., I would like to extend my gratitude to all of you.” Principal Nedzu clambers up the main meeting table, neatly polished shoes barely touching a frequency map. The principal bows deeply to the room. “You have all fought against the terms heroes and villains and seen a discrepancy – a need – and have chosen to make a change. We are honored to have your support and will support you the best we can.”

Jiro and Hatsume strike up a conversation about measuring frequencies as they file out the door with a handful of heroes when the meeting ends. Izuku lingers, cleaning up maps and double-checking a few conference materials. He’s so wrapped up in the task; he doesn’t notice Kacchan until the blond is abruptly dragging him out the door.

“Wha – K-Kacchan!” Izuku stammers, struggling to right himself and not drop the rolled maps in his arms. “What’s – What’s going on?”

Kacchan growls in response, grip tightening on the hero’s wrist.

“Please,” Izuku says, hearing the word sound somewhere between a whine and a plea. He breaks the blond’s grip, shifting his hand to intertwine with the other’s fingers. “Let me in.”

Kacchan continues a few more steps, just long enough to exit the school’s front doors before slowing to a stop and releasing a frustrated yell.

“You want to punch something?” Izuku presses. “You want to punch me?”

Red eyes flash towards the green-haired hero, and Izuku sees a glossy-eyed hurt as sharp and delicate as sugar glass.

Oh.

Izuku doesn’t notice that he drops the maps to the ground. All he knows is that the blond needs reassurance. Kacchan doesn’t need words, doesn’t want words. In that way, he’s similar to Tsuneo’s exercises a couple of weeks ago. Kacchan needs Izuku on his own terms because the explosive teen feels out of control.

What happened in that short time Izuku wasn’t looking?

Izuku intertwines his hands with Kacchan, watching the blond turn his gaze down towards them, grip tightening. The green-haired hero waits, and waits, and waits. He would wait an entire lifetime for Kacchan to find the right words. It may take time, but Kacchan always finds the right path forward.

“When,” Kacchan finally gravels out, lifting his head to stare at Izuku with red eyes welled with tears, “are you going to regret me?”

“Kacchan?” Izuku doesn’t understand. Where is this coming from? Regret? “When – Why would I ever?”

“I’m not enough,” The blond barrels on, “I ended All Might; I thought I ended you. I fucking tortured you for years, and you’re acting like it’s fucking okay and it isn’t! Best Jeanist could see I’m not strong or good or what fucking ever to be a hero. He told me to take a back seat during the expo. He said I wasn’t prepared and could tangle it into a bigger fucking mess. He sees I’m the fucking worst after knowing me this long; when are you going to see the same?”

“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes out slowly, lifting his hands free to smooth down blond spikes and cradle the teen’s head in his hands. “I want you to listen very closely. You’re listening? Okay, I am never, ever going to regret you. Ah, no, I’ve got you,” Kacchan tries to move away, eyes suddenly looking anywhere but Izuku. “I have traveled across a Variant. I have lived a life with and without you, flaws and all. I’ve had all the time to romanticize and demonize you. I’ve built you up and torn you down in my head, and I see you as you are, and the result is amazing.

“You have the potential to be great, so long as you choose it. You’re the type of person who proves people wrong. You proved to the League you’re not a villain. You proved to Aizawa that you could grow. You proved to me I could have you when I’m still so terrified I can’t. What makes Best Jeanist so special that you can’t prove him wrong?”

Kacchan grits his teeth, baring a grimace as he wipes furiously at his eyes. “You don’t fucking get it!”

“Maybe not,” Izuku admits, “I can’t possibly know what he means to you, but I know what you mean to me, and I don’t want you to forget that. I want you so very much.”

“I’m not enough,” Kacchan mumbles, moving forward to wrap his arms around Izuku’s frame.

“You’re enough for me.” The green-haired hero leans his cheek against the blond’s soft spikes, moving to hug the teen’s shoulders.

Izuku can’t sleep.

Even the warmth and comfort of holding Kacchan isn’t enough. Not tonight, not when Firefly’s presence is looming closer than Dejima. Not when the ask to be a villain is only a couple of days away.

Izuku is careful not to wake Kacchan as he rolls out of bed, running a hand through the blond’s spikes before padding from the room. He wanders, closing the door with a soft click, down to the common room and out the door.

He walks the path to the school, shivering at the early fall air as he frowns out at the stars above. Before, the lights were just bright dots in the sky, but Variant Melissa Shield taught him the altered universe's constellations, wildly different from the ones mentioned in passing. There is no Cassiopeia, no Cancer or Capricorn. The myths painted in space were so different; he’s not sure he could tell which is which now.

Izuku stares up at a lightning bolt constellation in the sky, marking the northern star. Melissa called it ‘the Rift,’ where ancient sailors followed the star in hopes of sailing home rather than the underworld. Is there such a myth here? The green-haired hero doesn’t know.

He makes his way into the school, waving once to a security camera, before walking through the empty halls to the Support Course. Keying open the door, Izuku rakes his gaze over the workshop, completely buried with inventions, support items, and costumes. There’s one table in the far corner that is in some semblance of order, tools neatly organized, save for a pile of scrap material sitting at the center. Strange, that workspace should be empty. Or, at least, it was empty a few weeks ago. Then again, most of these support items didn’t exist a few weeks ago; maybe that’s just a designated clean space for the Support Course.

Hatsume’s workspace is in worse shape than usual. Izuku is hesitant to touch anything, especially the wrench that seems to be soaking in some sort of green jello. Knowing Hatsume, it’s either an acid experiment or an electricity-boosting gel. His eyes land on a costume case sitting on a stool with a sticky note smudged with motor oil.

Try this baby on for size!

Izuku does, changing from his sleep shorts to the black stirrup pants with green stripes down the sides, then pulls on the weighted black boots that are a cross between Uraraka’s oversized boots and Izuku’s leg braces from first year. Next, he pulls on the black collared sleeveless top, running a hand over the subtle woven detail imitating a vest with silver and green stitching. He shrugs on the coat next, the front ending at his hips while it gradually extends to his knees at the back. He clips the jacket together, feeling it compress over his body, easing the stiffness in his arms. Izuku pulls on the weighted gauntlets next, adjusting the settings to limit his strength on each. He eyes the metal respirator and domino mask still in the case before turning his gaze to the full-length mirror in the middle of the workshop.

The green-haired hero nearly laughs. How wrong is it to say he missed this outfit like an old friend? In the semi-darkness of the Support Course workshop, Izuku is face to face with his villain self once more. He stands a little straighter, taking deep breaths against the pressured clothing, and feels a little more in control compared to Alert screaming impending doom.

In this costume, Izuku is contained. He’s weighed down – literally – by the limiters in his gauntlets and boots, a precaution he implemented back in the Variant. In this costume, Izuku can’t lose control, can’t break, and is always faintly reminded of the hero he can be despite every terrible thing committed.

This costume is as much a part of Izuku as his hero costume. Being without it the past year or so has been difficult. The green-haired hero tried erasing the bad for the sake of his debilitated Variant hero career. But the hero costume feels like a falsehood, a truth to something Izuku once was but isn’t anymore. How can he be the hero who saves everyone with a smile on his face when the villain in the mirror is aching to be seen?

“Deku?”

Izuku tears his gaze from the mirror to see Kacchan in the doorway. The blond frowns, arching a brow as if waiting for an answer.

“W-what are you doing here?” The green-haired hero asks instead, arms flailing as if the action could hide his villainous outfit from view.

“You left,” Kacchan’s frown deepens, “I’m working on shit for Motormouth.” The explosive teen crosses the threshold, making his way to the organized desk, picking through the scrap pile.

“You’re working with Powerloader? That’s so cool!” Izuku beams. How long has Kacchan been working with the pro? It’s been weeks since he dropped off that inventor’s kit, and while he’s seen Kacchan fiddle here and there, nothing has warranted a worktable in the Support Course.

“What’s with the getup?” The blond gravels out, glancing up from the scrap pile. Izuku smooths out the mostly black outfit, tugging nervously at the gauntlets.

“It’s my – it’s my villain costume. I wore something like this in the Variant.” Red eyes rove Izuku once more, taking in the details, likely analyzing the costume for new information. “It’s sort of meant to look like a suit because my father – All for One – had this thing about presentation. He had all the quirks, so he could afford to look as harmless as possible, but, um, he wanted Benji and I to look like the leaders he wanted us to be.”

Izuku doesn’t know why he rambles; maybe it’s Kacchan’s gaze or the late night or approaching expo. Maybe it’s all the Variant happenings he can’t quite remember are important to mention, or if the secrets of that time he can’t hope to admit just yet.

“I – I forget how comfortable it is, then again, I practically lived in this thing for a year. Um, what do you think?” The hero opens his arms wide, turning from side to side, so his coat swishes.

Kacchan is silent for a three count, dropping his gaze from Izuku and back to his scraps. “It’s less idiotic than your recent costumes. If it’s comfortable, why the fuck don’t you use it for hero work?”

“Kacchan, it’s my villain uniform!” Izuku protests.

“And who the fuck knows that here?” The blond lifts his gaze once more. “You, me, and Pink Medusa. No one else gives a shit. The fuck are you doing trying to hide, Deku? You’re shit at secrets, shit at denying what you want, so why fight it? You’re still a hero.”

“Because if I don’t, I could become him again!” Izuku gestures at his mirrored self. For a moment, he sees his ungloved hands covered in blood.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes!” Izuku yells, stomping his foot hard enough to crack concrete. “You have no idea what I’ve done while wearing this! I joined the League to stop them and did awful things, Kacchan! Things I can’t forgive, and if I wear this – then I’m saying all of that was okay!”

The blond leans on his worktable, lips pursing as if deciding what to say. “Prove it,” Kacchan says with finality. “Prove yourself wrong and prove me right.”

Izuku growls in frustration, tugging his wild curls with both hands. “I don’t – I don’t even know where to begin! Prove you right? Kacchan, you don’t even know what I’ve done. How can you be so sure I’m a hero when I’m not?”

“It’s too early for this shit,” Kacchan grumbles, pushing off from the table before walking to Izuku. “Why,” the blond huffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stands less than an arm’s length away. “Why the fuck are you back, Deku? Can’t be to cause a bigger shitshow – even though you’ve done that already. You gave the losers their Variant quirks. You’re giving this reality its best chance at survival for what? Can’t be because you want it to burn. Rub your dwindling brain cells together and tell me why.”

“I want to make the world a better place,” Izuku gestures at nothing.

“Yeah? And who gives a shit? Villain 101 says they want that too. What else?”

“I want to create positive change without mass destruction. I want to help create a world that isn’t ‘me for my’ and always look over my shoulder. I want to help guide our society into one of understanding and make it so that a hero isn’t just someone with a license. It can be all of us.”

“So why the fuck can’t that be you?” Kacchan arches a brow.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whimpers, feeling his face heat with tears. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

If anything, the explosive teen looks more unimpressed than moments before. He sighs, taking another step closer.

“Fuck it, give me my quirk,” The blond removes a hand from his pocket and holds it out to the green-haired hero.

“What?” The statement is so left field, all heat leaves Izuku’s face.

“I know you can hear fucking fine, Deku. Give me my quirk.” Kacchan’s fingers curl as if to urge Izuku to move faster. “Cut the ‘I don’t know,’ bullshit. Either you tell me, or I find out myself. You’re not gonna say shit, so give me my fucking quirk.”

Izuku hesitates, barely raising a hand towards the blond. “Kacchan – ”

“Give me my quirk, Deku.” The blond glares. “You can’t prove it to yourself, so I’m gonna do it for you. You said that’s something I’m good at, after all.” Kacchan bares his teeth in an almost sinister grin.

“Okay,” Izuku takes Kacchan’s hand in his, holding tight as he searches the space in himself that contains dozens of quirks waiting to be used or dispersed. Red and orange lightning races down Izuku’s arm and up the blond’s. “Prove me wrong, Kacchan.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou distributes strips of fabric to the extras before him. There are two in black for Ears and Purple Hair, two in pink for Raccoon Eyes and Pink Medusa, and a green one for Deku. There are more people in this ridiculous posse than he’d like, but the damn pros insisted on more student eyes during the event.

“These are collar comms,” The blond gravels out, fastening the orange one around his neck, knowing it likely looks like the choker Ears wears in battle. “They come with throat mics, location tracking, four private channels.”

“That’s so cool!” Raccoon Eyes wraps hers on, the shade nearly identical to her skin. “It feels nice, actually. Lightweight, no hindrance in movement. Who made these?” Her eyes travel around the support course classroom as if trying to put a worktable to the end product.

“I did,” Bakugou growls, watching Purple Hair freeze mid-process of snapping the collar in place.

“It’s not going to shock me or anything like that, is it?” The apathetic teen raises a brow.

“Nope! I but them up against my babies!” Pink Medusa laughs. “You could run it over with a tank, and they’d still be fine.”

“And you know this how?” Deku asks, green eyes flashing bright.

“This touchy, hot-tempered inventor hasn’t even mentioned the coolest part!” She barrels on. “They’re Chinese finger traps!”

“They are not; stop calling them that!” Bakugou growls, snatching Pink Medusa’s collar comm, only for Deku to return the pink fabric a moment later.

“It’s almost as exciting as one of my babies!” She coos, spinning to her desk and then throwing herself over Raccoon Eyes’ back. “Apply significant pressure, and it hardens while providing significant support to the neck. If it were larger, it’d make a good neck brace for battle. As small as it is, it’ll protect against anyone slicing your throat.”

Or choking, Bakugou idly thinks as Pink Medusa reaches for Purple Hair.

“Of course, no pressure, and it’s basically a fashion object. Look at that fabric elasticity!” She hooks a finger between the collar comm and the hobo wannabe’s neck, giving it a gentle tug away.

“Use these collar comms if you suspect something is wrong during the expo,” Deku gestures to the collar on his neck. They will automatically switch you to a frequency made for us. We’ve been U.A. students long enough that any celebration on our part is a call to arms for villains, so we’re anticipating their arrival while hoping it doesn’t come to pass. I hope the only villains at the Expo tomorrow are the students giving you a run for your money.

“Some of you will receive specific teams from your pro hero sponsors this afternoon,” The nerd continues. “If I’m right – ”

“You always are with these types of things,” Pink Medusa sings, moving back to her table to stir a wrench in some weird green gel.

“Then you should be scattered across the city during the Expo. I’m relying on all of you to make sure this Expo is a success.” Deku levels his gaze at each of the losers. “Thank you so much for agreeing to help.”

“Good work training with the pro’s,” The hobo says later that afternoon, holding a clipboard before him as Class A and B form a semi-circle before the heroics course. “Through your hard work and our collective observations, we’ve decided to appoint five leaders for the Expo. This will make it easier for smaller groups to shine as you cover the city in sections.”

Raccoon Eyes leans into Shitty Hair, who bumps her shoulder in encouragement. Glasses straightens a little more while the Manga Otaku from Class B’s face turns into a series of exclamation points.

“Shishida, Yaoyorozu, Tokoyami, Kirishima, and Monoma will be leading you in groups of eight.” The erasure hero flips through pages on the clipboard. “A few of you have been assigned to specific teams to further enhance your training as per your pro hero mentors. In the field, you’ll work with a myriad of different personalities. Many of which you struggle to handle in either making yourself known or in learning to take the back seat.” The hobo levels his gaze on Bakugou.

“Kamakiri and Bondo with Tokoyami, Aoyama and Shoji with Shishida, Tsuyu and Kendo with Kirishima, Sero and Shinsou with Monoma, and Bakugou and Tokage with Yaoyorozu.” The hobo folds his arms as he looks out at the classes. Bakugou can feel those chosen looking towards their leaders, while uncertainty rises with the other losers.

“Leaders, you have ten minutes to pick the remaining five members of your team. I advise that you don’t pick what’s familiar. You have two members already; consider who else can balance it out? Whose quirk can you compliment and vice versa? What’s the best team? Not the most powerful team, the most logically fit for the challenges ahead.”

“But sensei,” Ponytail raises her hand, “We’re not entirely sure what those challenges are.”

“Nor will you know them as a pro,” The hobo challenges back. “Take that into account. Ten minutes.”

Ponytail chooses Dunce Face, Pink Cheeks, and three losers from class B. One has vine for hair, another is that welding fucker, and knock off Shitty Hair. The creation hero is quick in her decision-making, snatching the heroes before the hobo makes it to the side of the gym. She gathers the group around her by the time Emo Bird announces his first pick.

“Welcome,” Ponytail bows toward the losers. “I’m honored to be working with you; please take care of me.” A scattered repeat of words bounce back from Class B.

“Aizawa-sensei said to be prepared for any challenge, and while this team may appear to be geared towards rescue, I believe together we’ll be the best!” Ponytail says, hands forming into fists. It’s a Deku pose, when he says stupid inspiring shit that losers fall all over.

“Hell yeah,” Silver Shitty Hair roars, pumping his into the air. Bakugou smirks.

“I’ve already come up with a few ideas against some scenarios we could practice.” She unclenches a fist, leaving it palm up as it glows. A moment later, eight earpieces form in her hand. “Let’s work hard!”

“You look a bit roughed up,” Deku says when Bakugou slams the door open to the nerd’s room after practice.

Bakugou glares at the nerd on the floor, surrounded by notebooks, before flopping face-first onto the green bedspread. Fuck is he tired.

“No shit,” The blond growls through the pillow. Fuck, training was a disaster. Silver Shitty Hair couldn’t listen to directions for half a second, and Pink Cheeks got in the way of Ponytail in the welder fucker, that a sheet of metal cut her so deep, she needed to see Recovery Girl. The welder made a bomb intended for Bakugou’s nitroglycerin, but the welding process made the bomb unstable and exploded mid-charge. Everyone is lucky as fuck shrapnel didn’t get them in the eye. The explosive hero still feels sore and pockmarked with holes. Fuck everything.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No, Bakugou doesn’t want to talk shit. His brain is busy reliving the explosion, the horror in Ponytail’s eye, and Vine Hair throwing up a shield from the other loser teams. Dunce Face contained the blast from himself, that green chick, and Ponytail, creating an electric net that magnetized the metal in place. Sheer fucking dumb luck by that idiot. Meanwhile, Bakugou dragged himself and the welding loser to med bay, entering right when Pink Cheeks was cleared to leave.

If he’s on the best fucking team, the villains are going to win.

And it might be his fault.

Bakugou has had his Variant’s quirk for a day. He hasn’t used it or at least doesn’t think he’s used it, but the other members of Class A managed to activate their counterparts within hours of receiving. Could his nitroglycerin be more volatile? Is it more unstable compounded with an older Bakugou’s experience?

The blond turns his head, watching the nerd close his notebooks and stack them neatly on the floor. The green-haired hero twists, pillowing his arms on top of the mattress and resting his head on his arms. Vibrant green eyes stare at Bakugou, large and imploring. A tickle of something close to contentment flickers through the teen’s chest at the sight.

There’s his fucking symbol of everything.

Bakugou isn’t sure how he survived months without seeing Deku because looking at the nerd now is like air after drowning. Those sparkling eyes in the only correct shade of green has a hold of his heart. He wants to surrender to the color, and Bakugou hates defeat.

“You look like you’re thinking about something very hard,” The nerd hums, tilting his head as if considering Bakugou’s expression. “That’s supposed to be my job.” His lips turn into a gentle smile. It’s small and private, as if designed just for Bakugou.

It makes Bakugou’s arms throb.

Maybe it’s today’s training or the closeness of the Expo, but the sensation is so sudden and sharp, the blond can’t help but flinch with a grimace. Fuck, he hasn’t felt this way since Shiketsu.

“Kacchan?” Deku’s eyes grow wider. Is it possible to drown in this green sea?

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Bakugou bites out. “Some asshole kept me up.” Deflect, deflect, deflect.

The nerd hums once more, lips turning into a slight pout. “I bet you that asshole is very, very sorry.”

Another private expression, which makes pain radiate up his arms and to his chest. It’s suffocating. Why? Is it because Bakugou has never seen this face before? Not even to Eri – who is privy to Deku’s unbridled joy and softest moments. Except, this is even softer, and it belongs to someone else.

Who from that other fucking timeline did Deku first show this face? Who was worthy enough for the nerd to create a look that meant the person before Deku was his entire world?

Who was it? Because it sure wasn’t as fuck Bakugou. The blond didn’t even know he was in love – could be in love – until a month and a half ago.

It’s apparent, by the way Deku stares and the pain in the explosive teen’s limbs, the cost of love has always been different between them. Deku loves everyone. He loves those who hurt or befriend him;  he loves those he met in passing and people he has yet to meet. It is endearing and damning.

But Bakugou can’t. Not as easily as Deku. Never that easy.

The cost of love is too great, too treacherous. It’s a rope bridge over a chasm, and every person in his life is a loose piece of wood threatening to fall out from beneath him.

Bakugou cared easily for someone once in childhood. A brat even tinier than himself that stood up to bullies and frustratingly loved All Might too. They were an idiot and couldn’t even say Bakugou’s name correctly, so terribly butchered the blond had to concede to a stupid nickname. They would be best friends. They would be heroes together. They would be something together.

And then that tiny brat had to bruise Bakugou’s heart in his image. The blond’s heart has been mottled green for the better part of a decade, shaded to the brat's green hair and eyes. Bakugou was stained in evergreen hurt that care for another would always backfire. His insides were painted with envy that Deku could always move forward like quirklessness was nothing, while the blond was stuck in this ridiculous hurt that came from the diagnosis.

Fuck, Bakugou wasn’t even diagnosed, and it’s one of the worst things of his childhood. Quirklessness stole Deku away. It took away the nerd’s future, it stole Bakugou’s dreams, and his bratty self-compensated the only way a child like him could: closing off.

Bakugou loved and lost and was too young to want to go near the emotions ever again. So he pulled away, tossed names out windows, and separated himself from losers and extras that couldn’t keep up. Deku was the only one who got close, and if he couldn’t do it, no one would.

Hound Dog said in their beginning sessions that the nicknames are a byproduct of a fear of intimacy. Bakugou exploded a flower vase in response.

The mutt is right, in a way, the blond can see it now. He can see it because Deku is in front of him, and he can’t help but wonder if the nerd is really his. Those private looks belonged to someone else. It was a future Deku could have. It is evidence the nerd could have it again. And where would that leave Bakugou? Another broken heart and shattered dreams.  

Deku said he would never regret Bakugou. The nerd said he was enough.

The blond is still uncertain.

“Talk to me, Kacchan,” Deku whispers, leaning on one arm and reaching out with the other to brush away Bakugou’s spikes from his forehead.

What if the villains come? What if shitty Probability and that Firefly fucker knock down the gates? What if they take Deku away and Bakugou isn’t enough to stop them? The explosive teen wasn’t enough on Exit Island on either occasion and he sure as fuck was more useless at last year’s training camp after Deku broke both his arms.

If Bakugou loses the Expo, it means he loses to villains – no matter how fake. And if he loses to fake ass villains, he’ll lose to the real ones who took Deku away. And if Deku is gone, Bakugou won’t be able to breathe.

Fuck.

Bakugou doesn’t want to lose.

“Knowing isn’t enough,” The teen says, watching green eyes flicker with confusion before understanding dawns. Bakugou has had Deku for a month, if that. Their time was spent separated in preparation for the Expo, waking moments consumed hunting down the U.A. traitor between Deku’s fearful tears of becoming like his old man.

Bakugou only knows peace, only loves, is only sure of their relationship dozing in each other’s arms. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

How long until Deku is removed from his life entirely? How long until he loses? What can he do to keep the nerd at his side?

Fuck, Bakugou doesn’t want to lose.

“Okay,” Deku releases a small puff of air, sitting up and laying his hands at the corner of the bed. “I’m letting you take lead on this, Kacchan. What do you want to do?”

The blond slowly pushes himself from the mattress, limbs aching as he takes a seat on the bed, feet touching the floor as they bracket in the nerd.

“You have me,” Bakugou rasps, resisting the urge to reach out and trace the nerd’s freckles with his fingers. Constellations have never been this close to mortal men, yet there are stars below him too distant to touch.

His heart pounds with the words can’t have, can’t have, can’t have. It feels so acute and foreign Bakugou knows the longing sensation doesn’t belong to him. Variant Katsuki must have loved the nerd too.

How much? Did Deku love that Variant fucker back?

Variant Katsuki knew everything about Deku there; didn’t the nerd say that?

“I don’t have you.” The words are bile in his mouth.

The nerd is still pulling away, always pulling away, always finding an excuse to leave. Deku thinks he’s too old, or leaving to train Gen Ed, or promising hours of patrols to Aizawa. The idiot spent nights searching for a traitor, hiding in support course, and only appearing when Bakugou is half asleep – too tired to do more than accept holding or being held.

Not enough.

And with the Variant quirk running through his veins, Bakugou is more volatile than ever.

Hurt fractures the nerd’s green eyes, glistening with unshed tears. “Kacchan, I,” Deku stammers, one hand moving to grasp the blond’s. He looks panicked, like he doesn’t know what to say. “I came back.”

For the sake of the reality.

Deku had no intention of coming to Bakugou; isn’t that what the nerd admitted on that Exit Island bridge?

“I don’t have you,” Bakugou repeats, bending over and resting his elbows on his knees. Deku is so close now; their foreheads are nearly touching.

So close.

So far.

The nerd’s brows furrow, lips pursing. “I-I’m right here, Kacchan. I’m right here.”

Now he is, but does Deku have another patrol tonight? Tomorrow is the last night before the Expo, will the nerd be pulled into another pro-hero meeting? If they expect Probability and Firefly to show up during the Expo, how does Bakugou know the nerd won’t be permanently carted off to a new reality?

The nerd is slipping through his fingers. Why?

“I know,” Deku sniffles, “I know I’ve been gone for so long and that I’ve done unforgivable things. But all I’ve ever done is chase you, Kacchan.” The nerd drops his head until all Bakugou can see is curly green hair. He feels two hands grasp one of his own, a thumb brushing against his pulse point. “Since I was a kid, I chased you and followed you to the ends of the earth. In the Variant, I chased time and villains because it was the only way to see your face again. And when I came back, no matter how much I knew I was too late for you, I couldn’t help but lean into every opportunity to be at your side even when I should have turned and fled in another direction.

“Don’t you dare say you don’t have me when I am always,” He heaves for breath, shaking his head before lifting to meet Bakugou’s gaze, green eyes dark and determined. “Breathlessly, tirelessly, desperately chasing after you.”

“Prove it,” Bakugou mumbles, leaning forward to press his forehead against the nerd’s. If the nerd has been chasing so long, then he should know by now he’s all caught up. Why is Deku running when they’re already at the finish line?

The explosive hero has a desperation of his own. He needs evidence that his bleeding heart isn’t in vain. He needs proof that his symbol of everything won’t leave. Bakugou knows what he needs to say, but the blond has admitted far too many weaknesses in the quiet comfort of Deku’s room.

Stay, He thinks, staring down at Deku. The nerd is built for smiles, not this trembling tearful expression.

Bakugou can’t find the energy to utter the word, but he finds the strength to move, dipping his head low to fall into a kiss.

Chapter Text

“I need to talk with you!” Izuku grabs ahold of Uraraka as she steps off the elevator in the morning. He’s electrified and panicking and needs his hero course second best friend on his side.

“Uh, oh, okay!” She startles from sleepy incoherency to wide awake as Izuku drags her out the back door, going as fast as his legs will take him without activating his quirk.

Izuku finds himself mumbling, determined to get to the tree line away from prying eyes and ears. Who knows how far Shoji and Jiro can hear (Izuku knows, he’s too frazzled to remember), but the trees should be far enough if they’re not actively using their quirks.

“Deku! Where are we going?” Uraraka cries out, tugging from above.

Above?

Izuku skids to a halt, nearly slipping on dewy grass as he stares at Uraraka floating above him, wrist still in his grasp. She must have activated her quirk to keep up with his longer legs. How wrapped up is Izuku in his own thoughts to cart the zero-gravity heroine like a balloon?

The green-haired hero chokes a laugh, releasing her hand to cover his mouth, his other hand pressing against his belly. He treated a provisional hero like a balloon. Like he was some kid at a theme park skipping around, blissfully unaware he could lose it if he let go.

Let go?

“Release!” The heroine yelps, plummeting from a higher altitude. Izuku stops mid-laugh, jumping to catch her.

“Uraraka! I’m so sorry!” Izuku sets her on the ground as gently as he can before gesturing towards the trees half a dozen yards away. Uraraka seems to get the hint because she walks, sending glances Izuku can’t quite read the entire way.

“Deku,” Concern laces her tone, “what’s going on? I’ve never seen you so distracted. Why are we out here? Is it about the Expo? Why can’t the rest of Class A know? I’m sure we can help if – ”

“I kissed Kacchan!” Izuku blurts, slamming a hand over his mouth so hard he might have fractured his jaw. Uraraka’s brown eyes blow wide, and Izuku can’t help but feel his own mimic the size.

“Whe – ”

“Or more like, he kissed me!” He continues, hand waving wildly.

The zero-gravity heroine seems to relax at this information, tucking hair behind her ear and smoothing her skirt. Wow, she’s taking this super well. “Deku, you’re panicking like Exit Island wasn’t during the summer.”

“What?” Izuku stares at her, panic clawing at his chest.

“What?” It’s her turn to mimic his expression, which quickly turns into a staredown, both caught with different evidence of secret importance.

Uraraka is the first to break. Izuku doesn’t know if that’s a by-product of his training in the Variant or that the heroine is hit or miss when keeping secrets. “He’s going to kill me! I’m never getting invited to another girl’s night again.” She pouts, crossing her arms. “He was going to give eyeliner tips next time! No one has a mask that looks that good!”

The heroine stomps her foot on the ground, then abruptly pokes a finger to Izuku’s chest. It hits right at his sternum, making the skin and bone throb as she pulls away. “Now that you know, I can finally get some answers: Why didn’t you kiss him back?”

Izuku is pretty sure he kissed Kacchan back. That’s the whole purpose for this morning’s panic. When Kacchan first kissed him last night, the blond kissed like he was drowning. Kacchan pressed every weight he carried into Izuku, and the green-haired hero took it all. He’d swallow the pain, the weariness, the doubt – all of it – if it meant Kacchan could come up for air.

When Izuku kissed back, he pressed in comfort and admiration. He gave back every ‘you’re amazing, Kacchan’ he could remember. Then, when Kacchan pulled away, Izuku could see the blond didn’t agree, so he closed the distance to feel Kacchan’s lips on his once more.

If that isn’t kissing back, he needs a hard look at a relationship textbook.

“Exit Island, Deku!” Uraraka chastises.

Then Izuku remembers cayenne and reaching out to pull closer. Kacchan left, and Izuku sat on the floor to cry.

“He left me standing there, Uraraka!” He furrows his brow, confused how she would know about it. It was just Kacchan and him in the kitchen. And well, Kirishima crying out in the building. The girls were in a completely different building, and it was the middle of the night, so how would she know?

No wait, she mentioned an invitation to girl’s night…

Izuku stumbles back, falling hard on the ground and staring up at the zero-gravity heroine. “He told you?” The hero hasn’t told anyone and let that kiss tear his heart to shreds until Kacchan’s confession.

“Bakugou said you pushed him away.”

Izuku covers his face in his hand, cheeks burning beneath his palms. “I was trying to hold him!”

“You probably need to work on how to grasp things, then. That way, he doesn’t think you’re doing something else.” Uraraka sits beside Izuku, pulling her knees to her chest. “Does he know how you feel?”

The green-haired hero snorts, “We’ve been dating this long; I hope he does.”

And yet, Kacchan was so unsure last night, like Izuku could fade away at a moment’s notice.

“What?” Uraraka’s voice is sharp and surprised.

Izuku drops his hands, staring at her in alarm at her bewildered words. “What?”

“You’re dating?” She leans over, crashing into him and wrapping strong arms around the green-haired hero’s waist. “Since when? How did you get together? How long is long? I’m so happy for you!” Uraraka beams up proudly, so wide it nearly hurts to look at.

“You knew about Exit Island… but you didn’t know about us being together?” Izuku draws out slowly. “It um, it was the day we helped those second years prepare for the licensing exam. When Lightmare hit me with her quirk.”

Uraraka gasps, sitting back on her heels. “I’m gonna kill him. He told us he was pushed away a few days later. He had us hanging on to outdated information!”

“Uraraka! Please! Focus!” Izuku grasps at the heroine’s shoulders. Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do because she does focus, brown eyes zeroing on Izuku’s face – analyzing it like she’s trying to figure out how she can pull off some Gunhead Martial Arts from her seated position.

“You said you kissed him. That he kissed you,” She says slowly. “You didn’t know that I knew about Exit Island. Deku, when was that?”

Izuku looks away, mumbling out the answer.

“What was that?”

“Last night,” He whimpers. “I haven’t been able to sleep. Maybe that’s my Alert quirk, or maybe it’s because Kacchan kissed me, or maybe I’m just being stupid, and it’s the Expo. I told him I’d let him control the relationship because I’m so much older and don’t want to force things, but I have forced things. But Kacchan kissed me, and I’ve wanted that for so long and – ”

“Deku, breathe!” Uraraka presses a hand to his chest, keeping one finger from touching so he won’t float away. “Just tell me one thing, are you happy?”

Izuku blinks, taking a deep breath and grounding himself to the heroine’s steady gaze. If he’s what? Happy?

“Y-yeah,” He stammers, choking out a laugh as he struggles to put air back into his lungs. “I’m so happy.”

“Then what’s the freak out for?” She stands, brushing the dirt off the back of her skirt. “Enjoy it.” The heroine helps Izuku to his feet. “For the record, I think Bakugou is happy too.”

“After meeting with Midoriya and watching several archive videos of the hero course, we’ve determined the Classes will split with anywhere between two to eight leaders.” A second-year support analyst says, pacing an oversized screen as General Education students shrug on costumes. Her brown curls are pulled into a high ponytail and cascade to the floor, the tips of her hair nearly black from brushing the ground.

“The hero course may decide to separate themselves as classes A versus B, due to antagonistic tendencies of a couple of students,” A taller support analyst with a dalmatian face swipes at the screen, “but we predict that there will be five attack teams during the Expo. This goes in line with the teacher’s habit of splitting the class into teams of five. It allows more opportunity for students to shine within their teams and pose a challenge in communication and collaboration. Now, we’re not worrying about first and third years, as they’ll be running exhibitions of their own, but we predict the focus will be on the second years.”

“After all,” An analyst as short as Mineta crawls on top of a desk, pushing up his glasses. “It’s a second year that pitched the Expo, and it’s the second year hero course that has seen more battle than the other years combined. The public is watching.”

Izuku listens to the analysts' report as he helps the General Education students fit into their costumes. They have a general suit in black, gray, and blue for easy mass production, with enhancements for their quirk. The suit tends to be the easiest part of the costume, though gauntlets, arm bracers, and gloves tend to be a reoccurring challenge.

“What are our objectives again?” Izuku asks, unfastening a bracer to tug the long sleeve of the suit into place. The mild chatter from costume assembly quiets.

“Control at least fifty percent of the city by the end of the day.” The analyst with the ponytail answers louder than her report.

“Rob a bank,” The student before Izuku announces when the hero secures the bracer.

“Incapacitate ten hero course students!” Someone calls from across the room.

“Retrieve an informant.” The Dalmatian analyst looks at his tablet.

“Secure a hero hostage.”

“Protect one another,” Izuku says with finality, joining the analysts at the front of the room. “We’ve trained, run drills, and prepared to take the city. We’ve worked hard, and I’m proud of all of you.” He beams before taking a deep breath from beneath the comforting pressure of his villain costume. “Despite training to be villains, you’ve proved one thing very clear to me: all of you can be heroes.”

Izuku earns a sharp breath from the crowd, so he presses on. “You can be a pro if you choose it and continue to work for it. You can be a rescue and prevention specialist. I’ve seen your quirks in action, and many can help disasters before they happen.

“You can be a doctor, a police officer, a teacher, an analyst, an inventor and find ways to be heroes within your field. You determine what a hero is and can be. I can’t wait to see what all you can achieve.”

“What’s the plan for after the Expo?” Kacchan asks that night, pointing his chopsticks at Izuku as they sit side by side on the dorm rooftop, watching the sun set. It reminds Izuku of their nights at summer camp when the blond just discovered his secret.

Izuku pushes rice around his takeout container. He asked All Might to run an errand to pick up food earlier today, just to spend time with Kacchan. He hates being the reason for the blond’s insecurity the night before. Kacchan doesn’t feel doubt, not like that, and it’s all Izuku’s fault. He pushed away a little, opting to stay on campus during the weeklong break. During the summer, the green-haired hero had moved too close too fast with Kacchan and needed to slow down. But as Izuku slowed down, the Expo ramped up, and the hero practically scattered himself to the winds.

He tries to ground himself to the rooftop and the moment. This dinner is time with Kacchan. Tomorrow is a big day that might change everything – ending Probability and Firefly or jumpstarting society’s largest hero reform efforts.

It’s hard to focus on the present when so many unknowns lead to more uncharted territories. It’s hard to focus on Kacchan because all Izuku can think about when he sees the blond is kissing. Izuku has dreamed of it for years, and no amount of time in the other Variant could have prepared him for the sensation.

When people describe kisses as magical, earth-shattering, or world-stopping, it’s a flowery attempt to make the action more dramatic than it is: two lips touching. Lips are, in Izuku’s opinion, the least important part of it all.

Kissing someone is trust. It’s a promise. It is someone saying, I trust you with my most important space that allows me to express myself and use my senses. Kissing means the other entrusts the other with the same space. Repeated kisses can be searching for clarity, trust in one another’s emotions, or overwhelming relief someone loves as much as the other. It is one of the first steps into private spaces, a key to the vulnerable parts of one another.

Kisses aren’t magical; it’s everything else. It’s the heat radiating off of flushed cheeks, it’s noses touching previously unmapped skin. It’s the awkwardness and learning how to fit against one other and finding what’s right, then breathing in a person who you never dreamed could be this close. It’s wanting to open your eyes in that too intimate closeness to see how beautiful they are. What does Kacchan look like an inch away? Are his red eyes speckled in black and gold? Are they carved with the details of how much he likes Izuku?

“Deku!”

“Ah, yes? What? Sorry,” Izuku flushes, setting down his container and covering the red flush that’s covered his face with his hands.

Kacchan kissed him; how is Izuku supposed to focus on anything? How does being with Kacchan make him feel like a teen again?

“After the Expo, Deku. What are you planning?” Izuku peeks between his fingers to see the explosive hero roll his eyes, stabbing at his spicy noodles.

“I – I don’t know,” He admits. The green-haired hero takes deep breaths, willing the heat from his face. He drops his hands into his lap and sees Kacchan raise a brow in suspicion. “I really don’t! If the Justice Expo succeeds, then the aftermath of the League of Villains, the Variant I left behind, won’t be a possible future anymore. And as much as I like getting the education I missed, I like being a Pro Hero. But if we succeed in capturing Firefly and Probability, it’s best if I lay low at U.A. to dismantle the League of Villains. Then, if you’re talking about us, well, I’m still leaving that up to you. Do you want to tell others? Do you want to go out on dates? We never really figured out the minute details and – ”

“For fuck’s sake Deku,” Kacchan growls.

“I’m just,” Izuku heaves a sigh, squeezing his eyes tight before leveling his gaze with the blond. “I’m just so relieved to be back. I’m worried I’m going to mess it up. So, I haven’t really thought ahead.”

Izuku startles when Kacchan’s hand finds his, thumb rubbing over the green-haired hero’s scars.

“I’m still going to be the number one hero,” Kacchan says, turning his gaze back to the sunset. It’s a dream still years away from fruition. But, it is, at least, something to hold on to.

“Then, I’ll be at your side to make sure it happens,” Izuku beams, giving the hand a squeeze. “Who else is going to tell you you’re amazing?”

The explosive teen snorts. “You’re a fucking nerd.”

Izuku leans towards the blond until their shoulder’s touch. He gazes down at the teen, waiting for Kacchan to turn his way. When he does, Izuku captures flecks of gold in Kacchan’s eyes, rimmed black to contrast against the whites of his eyes.

“Yeah?” The green-haired hero finds himself smiling. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kacchan leans up, and Izuku can feel the radiated heat, their noses brush, which makes Izuku close his eyes, anticipating the final touch of lips on his own.

Instead, he feels the heat leave and cool air brush his face, snapping his eyes open to see Kacchan smirking at him. “I’m not gonna do all the work, nerd.”

“This so isn’t fair,” Izuku finds himself whining ever so slightly. He needs to be responsible; he can’t be the one to initiate. He agreed to date Kacchan, so isn’t Izuku already far past responsible?

Ugh. He really wants another kiss.

“You’re not ready either, Deku,” Kacchan says, leaning away and giving Izuku’s hand three quick squeezes. “Everything is fucked up, but we’ll make it right.”

“Together?”

Kacchan snorts, “Fuck, of course.”  

“Comms Check,” Izuku orders in predawn light, pulling his gauntlets on over his gloves. He stares out from his start location in a glass skyscraper overlooking the center of the city.

“Olympus ready!” Hatsume chirps.

“Hera Ready,” Watanabe, class president of 2-G announces. Izuku listens as each of the channels list themselves. There are twelve channels, something the students jumped on the idea of Greek gods. Hatsume claimed Olympus as the control room, and the students divied out names based on their leaders. Izuku remembers they debated back and forth for days on Izuku’s code name and main chain as leader of the classes. Zeus, for his green lightning, or Hades since they’re villains.

Izuku pulls on his domino mask, hearing 'Demeter' from Katou, a student with a plant quirk. He fastens his metal mask over his nose and mouth, gaze trained on a light on the entrance to the city. For students, the Expo starts early, heroes and villains alike in the midst of battle by the time attendees arrive. Business course students should be announcing play by plays throughout the day to keep guests up to date. All Izuku needs is the all-clear symbol from the teachers for all three years to start simultaneously.

“Hades ready,” Izuku states, feeling himself drift into the familiar comfort of the costume. Some part of the hero imagines his teeth growing sharper, eyes more narrow, and a constant simmering hatred filling his belly. He lifts his chin a little higher, relaxes his shoulders, and stares out at his domain. “On my mark, Ares.”

“Do we really have to do this? I just, like, don’t get the point of starting it off so loud.” One member of the Ares team – is it Kondo? – complains, earning hisses from her team.

“We’ve been looked down upon by heroes for far too long.” Izuku bares his teeth against the words. He warned General Education about falling into the role of a villain a few weeks ago. Then, he showed what channeling his villain side would look like without giving reason as to why he knew the role so well. “They’ve become complacent on their thrones, dictating what we can and can’t be. Isn’t it time to knock them down a peg or two? Isn’t it time to prove the castles they built were on weak foundations? I believe it’s time to prove how easy it is to shatter the peace they struggle to uphold.”

A light at the city entrance turns green.

“Ares, go.”

A moment later, the tallest skyscraper downtown shudders, windows waving towards the barely peeking sunrise as soft explosions grow louder, accompanied by tremors Izuku can feel on the other side of the city. A roar follows as if some impossible creature will tear open the sky. Instead, the skyscraper collapses, shattering sounds of thousands of glass windows breaking at once as it falls into another building, taking two more with it.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I’m sure that caught the attention of a hero or two,” Izuku hums, turning on his heel to prep the following location.

“We have approximately twenty-seven minutes until hero arrival.” An analyst says across all channels. “Apollo and Artemis, capture and divide as many civilians as you can. That should keep a good portion of heroes busy with rescue.”

“Teams Poseidon, Athena, and Hephestus. We need city controls. Cameras, waterways, traffic signals, the works.” Izuku kicks open the door to an emergency stairwell, activating One for All to leap between floors to the roof.

“Hermes team, Downtown Shinsei Bank is our best opportunity, relatively untouched from demolition,” Olympus calls. “Do an initial case and get out of there. We’ll strike when the moment is right. We need all players on the field before any tasks can begin.”

Izuku opens the rooftop door, stepping out to a sunrise painted in pure red. Alert screams danger to his surroundings as if the storm warning in the sky isn’t enough. It yells about an unknown variable, something he’s overlooked.

He shakes his head once; there are contingencies for unknown variables. Izuku touches his collar comms in reassurance.

“The moment those heroes step through those gates, I want them unable to tell up from down, left or right. I want to override their training and fill them with enough fear to turn tail and run,” Firefly would say these words with a snarl, but Izuku is so like his father, lilting as if his words are an amusing bedtime story. “We’ll show them what it really means to go Plus Ultra.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou is up before the alarm sounds.

He’s in the kitchen, checking over his handiwork. An army of onigiri stands at attention in neat rows with pocketable snacks and meal supplements. Bakugou has analyzed his loser classmates’ fighting styles and costumes for the past couple of weeks. Some can carry snack and energy bars, some are reliant on fresh foods, and some need food upfront, which results in fifty-two onigiri split between nineteen students.

The blond wraps the meals between bites of onigiri, writing seat numbers on the packaging. It’s a simple, mindless task, just like cooking, which has pulled his thoughts from Deku leaving hours ago to prepare the villain side.

Bakugou isn’t worried. He’s not.

What’s there to worry about when your overthinking analyst boyfriend can’t think of a future? What’s there to worry about when that same idiotic nerd hopes the Expo will change the foundation of hero work and Bakugou’s provisional license might be moot in the coming months? What is there to worry about when Deku is about to play the role of a villain – a persona he’s trying to escape?

He growls, realizing he wrote seat twelve on four different bags. Fuck.

Packaging and labeling food isn’t enough to compensate for the tension Bakugou feels in the air. The nerd expects that damn lightning bug to show up. If he does, Bakugou wants a rematch.

“Dude, what are you doing up so early?” Shitty Hair wanders around the kitchen counter, rubbing sleep from his eyes, spiked hair in a shit mess. Bakugou glares, correcting the numbers. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either. This is so big. I hope we win,” The idiot laughs nervously.

“Of course we’re going to fucking win. What the hell do you think we’ve been training for?” Bakugou snags the number eight bag and throws it the idiot’s way. “Breakfast and some snacks to tide you over. I doubt we’re going to stop the exhibition for a shitty tea break.”

“So manly,” Shitty hair mumbles, just as the elevator dings. A moment later, Ears and Frog appear, coherent enough that they’ve been awake for a short time.

It becomes a mild chain reaction, the elevator hum seemingly waking the losers and carting them to the common room. Within minutes, a little over half the class is in some state of bleary consciousness, glancing out the windows and to the bags Bakugou places in their hands.

Gray predawn light washes out the loser’s vibrant colors. A few offer to wake the stragglers and disappear into the elevators.

Bakugou catches sight of water bottles on tabletops shake, and fall without prompting. He hears distant booms a moment later. Fuck, he knows controlled demolition when he hears it. What the hell is Deku up to?

“Costumes,” Bakugou barks out, jolting his closest classmates to the door, “NOW.”

Ears slams hands over the sides of her head just as an alarm blares in the common room. The ear-splitting sound is paired with flashing white lights. His loser classmates bolt to the front doors where the costume cases are neatly stacked beside the shoes, painted in a vibrant sunrise as color bleeds through the uncovered windows.

Blood red peeks over the horizon, swallowing the gray and bathing his classmates in the color. It’s a warning and a reminder that their Variants died fighting villains. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?

Class A beats Class B to the entrance of the practice city by fifteen minutes. Even the support analysts on standby are on their channels by the time the other heroes arrive.

“We received word,” Ponytail says, taking to the front of the group with the four other leaders. Bakugou resists the urge to take his spot among them. He’s fucking leadership material; he has the firepower, he deserves the respect of being at the top.

He hangs back when Copy Bastard smirks and sticks his tongue out. Best Jeanist chose that fucking prideful copycat as worthy. Best Jeanist told Bakugou to lay low. This Expo means a lot to Deku, and the blond can’t ruin it for the sake of his pride.

“Villains have invaded the city and destroyed an iconic building in the downtown area.” Ponytail clasps both hands together so hard her arms shake. She must be nervous as fuck. “We’re told they have taken over the entire city, from sewers to city hall, and we must liberate more than half of the city. Every building we damage is a deduction: every villain we capture and addition for a score metric.

“Remember, while we may have additional objectives reiterated these past few weeks, our priority is saving civilians and meeting Villains at their level.” The creation heroine travels her gaze over her peers. “Then I suppose it’s time.”

“Plus Ultra!” Shitty Hair shouts, punching a fist into the air as Emo Bird signals a camera to open the gates.

“PLUS ULTRA!” Both classes cheer as one.

It starts with absolute fucking chaos.

Bakugou shouldn’t even be surprised.

After what that lightning bug pulled on Exit Island by dropping civilians and villains from the sky, the gigantic crater in front of the entrance covered by an illusion is practically parlor tricks. But it does nothing to stop the surprise of watching the city gates open and immediately watch half the heroes drop through a fake city street.

A piece of tape soars back through the concrete, latching onto a building before Flat Face is hauling himself out with Raccoon Eyes in one arm. “It’s an illusion!” He yells, only to drop once more as a villain cuts the tape attached to the building.

Bakugou turns his gaze upwards at the words, “Aphrodite! Go!”

The city disappears under a cloud of pink and purple smoke, glittering as sunlight tries to pierce through without much luck. The blond can’t even see the person standing next to him. Bakugou fastens his breathing mask in place; there’s no telling if the smoke is noxious gas. There’s already a blonde vampire chick who is friendly and deadly; he’s not chancing it to know if there’s someone on the villain’s side who’s the same way.

The smoke dissipates quickly to reveal Ponytail and Big Hands waving away the smoke, the former with a gigantic paper fan. The creation hero locks eyes with Bakugou a moment later, dark eyes determined while the rest of her face is covered in a gas mask.

“Rise,” Bakugou hears the order in his ear. He smirks; she might as well be telling him to go feral.

The blond explodes into the air, soaring above the remaining smoke cloud, throwing explosions at buildings to knock out wannabe villains. Pink Cheeks rises above the pink and purple smoke, holding her arms out wide as she glances Bakugou’s way.

“Fall,” Round Face says next as Bakugou sets off another set of explosions to remain airborne and mark his location.

Fuck, this is going to be shit on his arms.

Thorny vines shoot up from the smoke, wrapping firmly on the zero-gravity heroine’s arms before a capture scarf wraps around Bakugou’s. He growls at the pull, exploding upward even as the weight drags him down. The strain in his arms alleviates a little, signaling the weight on the other side of this scarf is now caught in his upward momentum. Bakugou sets off explosions behind him, using the force to rocket himself towards the ground.

This is the fall. This stupid fucking action is more ridiculous than sane. He could easily pull his team out from the depths of that hole by continuing his airborne trajectory, but Ponytail insisted on this combined move because it confuses opponents while it aids the team. After all, why would airborne heroes willingly plummet?

Ponytail has a whole fucking binder of these call and response attack plans. Practicing them in the limited time before the Expo and reviewing them over text was difficult for the other losers on his team, but if Pink Cheeks has the hang of it, maybe they’re not so screwed.

Ponytail and knock-off Shitty Hair soar upwards past Bakugou. Silver Shitty Hair clings to the creation hero for dear life as the heroine stares resolutely ahead, capture scarf wrapped around her forearms and hands.

The Rise and Fall attack plan is a slingshot—those who can fly draw attention upwards to take away from the battle below. The vines and capture scarf will pull tight against the flyers, starting the upward momentum, while the plummet is meant to confuse, especially when the heroes on either side of the line switch places.

Bakugou plummets, unable to see the ground as more pink and purple smoke moves in. He feels the slack on the scarves tighten, so he pulls, flat lines snapping against his arms.

And then, he’s weightless, capture scarf unraveling from his arms, the snapback converting his downward momentum as thrust to the duo above. He hears Silver Shitty Hair panic scream. Bakugou throws his arms forward once more, setting off two large blasts that push the smoke away. Pink Cheeks is still falling, one hand gripping tight to her forearm, though the vines are long gone.

Bakugou rockets towards the heroine, latching one arm around her waist as he uses one hand to thrust them over the smoke once more.

“Good work, everyone!” Ponytail says through comms. “Not bad for the first few minutes. Since we’re first out, we’re tackling the North West quadrant of the city.”

“Don’t celebrate yet, Ponytail. Pink Cheeks is down.” Bakugou growls, setting his sight on the newly designated scouting area. He sees six hero figures leaping over the rooftops with a couple of villains in black giving chase.

“I’m f-fine!” Round Face stutters out, managing to glare at the blond. Ha. He’s stared down that fucking hand villain in the eye; it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a pink princess to make him flinch.

Bakugou races over the rooftops, watching Silver Shitty Hair, Weld Fucker, and Dunce Face fight off the villains, wrapping them in leftover capture tape before making their way back to the group.

By the time the explosive hero reaches the far end of the city, the rest of the loser team has regrouped.

“Let me look,” Vine extends her hands out as if to ask an offering from the gods. Bakugou sets down Pink Cheeks, who tucks her arms close to her side. She protests when the blond immediately tugs one arm free, pushing up the belled sleeve of her newer costume. He catalogs the rips and tears on her sleeves, then the numerous puncture wounds bleeding sluggishly. “I have done unjust harm to you; I apologize.” The plant heroine bows her head.

“It’s fine!” Pink Cheeks laughs, grimacing when Bakugou pushes up the inner sleeve for a clearer look at her skin. “All the times we practiced, you latched on to Bakugou, so I didn’t think anything of it. The smoke was too thick to see through.”

That’s true; Bakugou has gouges on his grenade bracers thanks to the heroine’s thorny vines.

“How does it look?” Ponytail asks, removing her face mask, brows pinching with concern. The creation heroine may be the dedicated medic on the team, but Bakugou has always been the best field medic in class. His bedside manners may be shit, but he’s good at what he does.

“Punctures missed major vessels, may have grazed a nerve or two,” Bakugou unbuckles a pouch at his side and pours a glycerin gel over the wound. The zero gravity heroine’s arm shakes and jerks with something more than puncture pain as if she wants to hide her arms from the wind whipping around the skyscraper. “Give me plastic wrap.”

The blond tugs off a glove with his teeth, spitting it onto the ground before spreading the gel over every puncture. He sees the glow of Ponytail creating something in her hands before she’s at his side, holding out a roll of plastic with pursed lips.

“Wrap her up,” Bakugou holds Pink Cheeks by the wrist, directing the creation heroine on how to place the plastic. “We’ll change the bandages to something normal in a few hours. Give your body time to protect the nerve before trying to get your wounds to breathe.”

He tugs a roll of gauze from his belt, starting above the heroine’s shoulder and securing over the palm of her hand. The extent may be excessive, but it’ll keep the plastic in place. Once settled, Bakugou pulls down her belled sleeve and does the same to the other arm with equal efficiency.

“How do you feel?” Ponytail asks when Bakugou drops his hands away, wiping his hand on his pants before picking his glove from the ground.

“Better,” Pink Cheeks smiles thinly, the same way Deku does when hiding a secret. She still shakes, though no jerks or aborted movement follows. “I’ve fought with worse injuries, so this isn’t a setback.”

Bakugou turns his gaze to the rooftop, only to see three of their loser teammates missing.

“They’re scouting for a temporary base to regroup,” Ponytail offers, reabsorbing the roll of plastic. “So far, they’ve stumbled on some hostages in a few of these buildings. We’re assessing how many need to be rescued in this quadrant and warn the other teams they might be in similar situations.”

The blond turns, sweeping his eyes over the city still clinging to the last vestiges of night with its extreme shadows. Hints of red still cover the sky as it gives way to bright blue.

The Expo has barely started, and they’re already waist-deep in shit. Fuck, this is going to be a long day.

“So, as far as I can tell, the villain team has twelve channels,” Dunce Face rambles, glancing at his reflection in a hallway mirror before following Bakugou through some sort of corporate office.

“What gave you that fucking idea?” How the hell did he get stuck with the second biggest idiot on the team?

“Well, the analysts say they think there are at least six groups based on how many students there are in General Education.” The electric idiot counts on his fingers. “But, like, I feel it when they switch channels.”

Bakugou stops in his tracks, rounding on the blond idiot. “Ha?”

“You know, how Jirou can hear different frequencies? I can kind of sort of sense electricity the same way.” Dunce Face shrugs. “I started figuring out how to do it over the summer at camp with the robots, but it’s gotten easier since I have this.” He gestures to the hood zipped over his head.

“Dude, Kacchan, bro,” The electric blond beams without that idiotic need to be flirty or popular. It’s sincere, almost relieved. “I actually didn’t fail any of my tests recently. And it’s not that I’m studying harder; it’s that things are staying in my head. I’m not frying them out of my brain all the time. So, like, thank you, dude.”

Bakugou stares, watching the idiot scuff his shoe against the carpeted floor. Why the fuck is he being sentimental in the middle of a battle? So what if Dunce Face is less of an idiot now? He’s still has a long way to go.

“Keep that up, and you’ll have a different name by the time we graduate.” Bakugou turns on his heel, trudging ahead.

A few moments later, he hears Dunce Face scramble to catch up. “Like I said, I think there are twelve channels. I mean, you did hear the villains say Aphrodite, right? And maybe that’s a name Gen Ed gave another student, but I think it’s more likely it’s a team name. ‘Cause, like, support organized all the villains into fifteen categories, so it makes sense they’d just mix and match twelve groups, right?”

Dunce Face is definitely letting summer get to his head. He has one not-terrible idea and thinks he can call the shots.

“Besides, isn’t the key to winning this Expo about knowing the villain?” The electric blond presses. “So, shouldn’t we kind of lean into how we know Midoriya fights now?”

Bakugou pauses in his steps once more. That’s not a half awful idea, and why the hell didn’t he think of that first?

“Fuck,” Bakugou grimaces, “I’m gonna need a new name for you. Call that in.”

“They’re keeping Vantablack from the sunset line,” Ponytail says over comms as Bakugou stands at the top of a skyscraper, glaring up at the unnatural storm clouds above casting the north side of the city in night. In the distance, the blond can see the bright south side of the city, basking in the warmth of morning light and scattered gray and white clouds. The unnatural storm rolled in half an hour ago, and the support analysts on the hero’s side have been arguing over comms the entire time, trying to suggest the best course of action. The only thing they seem to agree on is that the area between dark and light should be called the ‘sunset line.’

“Villains are moving fast,” Lizard Girl comments to Bakugou’s left, kneeling at the roof’s edge as she stares down at the street.

“Midoriya is well versed in Covert Operations,” The creation hero says before casting out an order to Weld Fucker and knock off Shitty Hair. “He knows we have experience compared to General Education, and he’ll make up for it in carefully timed plans. We may be running blind, but he has the score to an entire symphony.”

“This makes hostage rescue seventeen,” Dunce Face calls over comms. “Don’t we have objectives or something we’re supposed to accomplish? I’m not telling anyone how to do their job because I’m doing great, but I just passed by a building that says power plant, and I really want to turn on some street lights.”

“Vine and Uravity, back up Chargebolt,” Ponytail commands, “It’s either heavily guarded or a trap. Midoriya would never leave something so vital unprotected.

“Great Dynamight, status?”

Bakugou sneers at the shortened hero name. Ponytail insisted on a shorter name for the Expo because the time to react is limited if there's a danger. She reminded Bakugou that heroes used his last name on the battlefield for that very issue. The creation hero gave him a syllable limit of four, like Uravity, which left the blond half a day to pick apart his hero name for something passable.

“Eyes on target,” Bakugou gravels out. Wannabe villains keep on exiting a shorter building across an intersection. They go in dragging their feet and leave refreshed and laden with supplies. It must be one of the villain’s bases.

“If you’re certain, move in with Lizardy while I finish taking these hostages to a safety zone.”

Lizard Chick stands as Bakugou steps up to the ledge, facing the rooftop as he leaves his backside to open air. He flashes a grin the heroine’s way as she seems to contemplate the best way down.

“Try to keep up,” Bakugou backflips off the edge, setting off an explosion in each hand rocketing towards the base.

Chapter Text

“Hades, they’ve taken Base Seven,” Hatsume’s voice rings in Izuku’s ear as he makes his way through a hotel lobby. His father may be the type of person to watch his minions do his dirty work, but Izuku likes to fight alongside his followers and instill camaraderie. Fighting together means the same goals and same mindset.

“We left Bases Eight and Three wide open, and the heroes took Seven?” Izuku grits his teeth, shoving open glass doors so hard they shatter as he steps through. Ares's team is struggling to keep their feet on the ground against a group of eight heroes. Of course, they’d struggle, Tokoyami is with the heroes, and the Artemis side is as dark as night. It’s a miracle Dark Shadow hasn’t gone crazy.

Izuku casts out Blackwhip, hidden in darkness to slash against Tokoyami. The hero stumbles back, and Dark Shadow roars. While the dark hero is getting better with his shadow, both have different controls depending on the levels of darkness. Dark Shadow becomes more protective and erratic at night; Tokoyami does the same at day. Izuku casts out Blackwhip again, slamming the dark hero into the side of a building before moving to aid the rest of his team.

“Be advised; Dark Shadow is about to lose control. When it does, it doesn’t know the difference between friend or foe.” Izuku says, pushing back on the student with a glue quirk.

Satou, a General Education student with a sand quirk, disintegrates a light pole and throws the resulting sand into the eyes of two heroes, moving through pitcher’s poses as if each fistful of sand were a baseball. Each throw is done with deadly accuracy and impressive speed. U.A. doesn’t have a great baseball team, but Satou deserves a chance to be recruited for professional or university teams.

Dark Shadow roars, hands growing the size of vehicles, dark claws jagged and outlined in a faint glowing purple. Izuku's eyes follow Dark Shadow to the source to see Tokoyami leaning against the building he was thrown into, holding his shoulder with a grimace.

Laughter bubbles past Izuku’s lips at the strange and sick satisfaction of seeing the teen injured. His chest blooms with pride, knowing these seasoned hero students trying and failing to win against villains with mere weeks of training.

“Is that really all you’ve got?” Izuku laughs, grinning behind his mask. He feels as feral as a wolf or Firefly about to torture. “Just a little shove, and you’re down for the count? What are little heroes being taught these days?” He kicks back at Pulamo, who’s mid-turn use his quirk, treating his glue like a rapid-fire machine gun.

The green hero isn’t fast enough because a glob manages to catch him on his left wrist, then another at his right knee and foot, stretching him out as he fuses to the ground below and a large piece of rubble behind him.

“An adorable effort,” Izuku says as Satou conjures a wall of sand to capture every glob of glue, rendering them into baseball-sized pieces of cement. The green hero activates One for All, kicking his foot free with a small percentage, before ripping the hardened glue from his wrist. “But it’s going to take more than that if you want to be worth anything in this world.”

Izuku feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He hears the honeyed words laced with poison coming from his own mouth. He distantly feels glee, watching the heroes struggle against the villains, despite the heroes outnumbering them two to one. He wants to preen with pride that heroes can spend years making people better, but Izuku can make the world worse in a fraction of the time. It’s thrilling, addicting, and wrong.

But Izuku can’t stop, not yet. Hero society needs to see where they’ve cornered the villains and what can happen if it goes unchecked. Because Izuku is still holding back. Despite attacking the city for the sake of wanting it burned, he is merely a fraction of the cruelty compared to those Variant villains. If his home reality can’t handle this much, they’re in worse shape than he thought. 

Dark Shadow lashes out, clawing into the street, creating five jagged lines in asphalt, separating the heroes from the villains. With its other hand, it grabs Hagakure, squeezing tight enough to flicker her into existence and earn a scream.

Suddenly, light floods the street, forcing every figure to flinch to protect their dilated eyes. The heroine is thrown several blocks in Dark Shadow’s flinch. Ares's team gathers themselves against the sudden brightness faster than the heroes.

“Go,” Izuku orders the remaining three members of the Ares team, raising his arm to set off an Air Force Smash and buy time. Dark Shadow shrinks to his normal size, fretting over Tokoyami.

“They managed to control sections of the power grid,” Kotokai, a Support Analyst with Olympus, states in Izuku’s ear.

“Yeah,” Satou snaps through a labored breath as he runs south towards the dividing line between night and day. “We got that.”

“I thought we had safeguards against that?” Someone asks while Izuku makes his own escape, leaping over debris and jumping from building to building to reach a rooftop.
“How are we supposed to break into a safe if the power is back on?”

“I’ve trained you all better than that,” Izuku hears the honeyed warmth in his words. “The heroes have made some victories, though we expected that. They have experience on their side. Every single one of you has done an amazing job so far, and I’m so proud of you. You’ve taken your skills to an entirely new level. I’ve seen you all create combined moves of your own without prompting. I’m sure we can work together and find a new solution for something as simple as breaking into a bank, hmm?”

All for One may be a terrifying villain, but he does get certain things right. The nonchalant calm in the face of unknown challenges is evidence of his power. His saccharine sweet voice praises effort rather than solutions, which is a childhood development strategy to encourage others to push forward. By contrast, his verbal attacks against heroes do the same by mocking effort and dismissing accolades.

It’s about will, Izuku, Variant All for One had said when he offered the hero an army of villains to command. Give them the will to strive for greatness, and they will fight past their dying breaths with loyalty that knows no bounds. Chip at that will, and you’ll receive heroes that blind themselves to their weaknesses, and well, that’s easy prey.

Izuku hears several students cheer over comms, some strategizing over one another of whose quirks will work best against an active vault.

It’s a misnomer to say that villains lurk in the shadows. It’s almost the opposite, really. Overly likable coworkers tend to be serial killers, the wealthy who flaunt their money also flaunt their skewed morals, and bullies tend to be star students. It’s those who bask in the sun like everyone else that one must look out for. And that’s what makes life so hard.

It’s the victims that lurk in shadows, trying to hide from the light danger brings. Some can get by, living just out of sight; others are forced to make lights of their own – turning into the villains they tried to avoid.

So Izuku sits on a bench outside a train station, eating a lunch prepared by the Demeter team. The villains are more or less taking a break city-wide as the heroes scramble for better footing in this conquered city. As long as Izuku remains seated on this bench, the break is in session. If the heroes catch a whiff of him out in the open, he’ll move. But for now, all is quiet, except for the storm slowly rolling in overhead.

The bench is pretty innocuous. It’s not in front of city hall, destroyed buildings, or important to anything Expo-related. Izuku thinks the closest hostage bot is seven blocks away. What reason would anyone look for Izuku here?

Firefly would. As would Probability. They’d look for an open space that’s less traveled to have a little talk. Firefly did that twice on Exit Island with his pocket cruiser and the trek uphill.

With the Expo a third of the way through, Izuku expects the villains at any moment. Gentle Criminal tried to infiltrate at the beginning of the cultural festival in first year. Other villains have typically assessed crowd flow and patrols before trying to get in. Five hours should be more than enough time for assessment.

So why aren’t they here?

Izuku stretches out on the bench, placing the bento in his lap as he picks at his sandwich. He’s sat here, in an overly vulnerable space, for over half an hour without a hint of a hero or villain. There’s a trap for Firefly set in the train station, and Izuku is aching to use it. He wants to be free of the worry that Firefly will corrupt him and that Probability will steal him away from his home once more. But that can only happen if he captures the both of them.

He listens as Olympus gives updates about the heroes. Monoma is leading a team with a surprisingly even mix of Class A and B students. It’s not the greatest team assembled, with quirks so varied and contrasting; it’s a miracle they’re not fighting each other every given minute. Sero and Shinsou seem to be standout stars within it, Sero offering aid to support the team and Shinsou knocking sense into Monoma with a little bit of mind control.

Kirishima is leading exceedingly well in the South East section of the city. He leads by listening to his team, which succeeds in team loyalty and enthusiasm, making up for the lack of cohesiveness and manpower. His team has rescued the most hostages, and they’ve taken all of the Apollo team into custody. Izuku can’t even fault the team. Kirishima showed compassion; he listened to the villains as much as he did his team. He took hits, offered help, and was silent when he needed to be. Much of his team acted in the same way. Izuku makes a mental note to give Kirishima’s team extra credit points for their diplomacy, especially since his team has the least amount of people.

Shishida is leading a team with majority mutation quirks. It’s an interesting team, though it’s lined with cringeworthy desperation. It’s the most volatile team by far, with the least amount of awareness of their surroundings. They’ve destroyed buildings with hostages inside in mad chases after Hermes and Dionysus. The worst part about it is that Izuku understands. Shishida clearly chose his team to be an advocate for mutation quirks and against quirk discrimination – except for Aoyama, who must be there for self-confidence reasons. But that desperation makes Shishida reckless and hurts his cause more than helps.

Yaoyorozu’s team, at least, seems par for the course. Minor injuries, mild conflicting personalities, and mad scrambles when someone on the team goes off-book. Each person on the team is self-sufficient enough to work independently, which means over-communicating to prevent one another from going too rogue and –

An explosion forces Izuku’s gaze up to see smoke coming from a nearby shop, glass splintering onto the street. Izuku shifts to his feet, setting his bento on the bench.

“Guess break time’s over,” The hero keeps his gaze locked on the shop, “Start phase two.”

Izuku treads carefully to the exploded storefront, glass crunching beneath his feet. He can name a handful of heroes who can make a bomb-like explosion: Monoma, Aoyama, Yaoyorozu, Kacchan, Kaminari, and Todoroki – okay, that’s more than a handful – but most of them should be far from this area of the city. He sat on that bench with no evidence of observation, and heroes aren’t the type to plant bombs for fun, so who could have done this?

All Izuku can hear is the sound of his breathing, his slow footsteps, and the faint crackle of fire from the smoky store. No additional movement. No hero waiting for the attack, just a relative quiet.

“Monoma’s team is enroute.” Olympus crackles in Izuku’s ear, Danger Sense flairs a precaution.

“Olympus, I need a drone,” Izuku replies quietly, crouching as he peers into the smoke-filled store. He fires off an Air Force Smash with one percent– barely a finger flick –  clearing the haze to reveal a red portal hovering in the center of what looks to be a stationery store. The portal is about the size of a notebook, not enough to send a person through but enough to deliver a weapon.

Izuku reaches up to his collar comm to announce a warning. He hasn’t seen a Probability Portal in months, and he’s not eager to see it before him again. Before he can touch it, a pale hand in fingerless gloves reaches through with a wrapped box the size of a pencil case.

Izuku turns to shield himself as the hand drops the box, only for it to land harmlessly on the table. The hand waves in Izuku’s general direction, throws up a middle finger before disappearing back inside the portal, which blinks out of existence a moment later.

“I will forever hate that man for teaching Benji dramatic flair,” Izuku grumbles, dropping his hand to his side, turning to see a black drone soaring a few stories up.

“Bomb check and retrieval.” He orders, directing the drone to the box. “Let me know what’s inside.”

“Not a bomb, just a voice recorder with playback option,” Hatsume crackles through on the collar comms.

Izuku swings between floors of a construction building that’s mostly steel beams and rebar. His teams should be closing ranks towards the center, allowing the heroes to gain some ground while villains maintain majority control. Izuku pauses on a steel beam five stories above street level.

“Play it for me,” He leans against a vertical beam, watching heroes and villains fight a few blocks away. Hephaestus and Athena seem to be holding their own against Kirishima and Shishida’s teams. The latter might have finally found their footing halfway through this exhibition.

Hi, Izuku, Firefly sings.

Now, I know you got me a present, why else would you put together that special little Expo if not to impress me? Unfortunately, my thank you gift got a little lost in the mail, so you’ll have to wait a bit longer. It should be in time for the finale. After all, I can’t have you feeling victorious over something you painstakingly made. You took away my island; it’s only fair I take away your chance at playing hero.

I can’t help but think of dear old Dad in times like these. He always said to make sure it’s business and not personal, but he’s always trying to make it personal. Everything about him is personal, what with his obsession with you and that Shigaraki kid I still haven’t met. I think that’s why he always liked you more, screw blood and whatever, you were always business, business, business. Meanwhile, I wanted to burn the heart out of everyone. I just want to break through their ribcages, get my arm all up in there, squeeze that fragile little thing so it can’t even pump a single blood cell and burn. It would be so satisfying, too, to just take your precious soulmate and watch those eyes fade as I burn him worse than he’s ever burned you.

Because, at the end of the day, that’s who I am, Izuku. I take care of the people I love, and I get rid of the people who aren’t deserving of the same air. But you’re not ready for that truth yet. You think he’s so deserving when he shouldn’t even be able to look at you. You, who is the monster of truth, living a lie. I at least know what I am. I like being the creature under the bed. I like to see heroes hiding beneath the covers. I like to watch them beg for mercy when their safest place will be their grave.

The public at least knows what kind of monster I am, but you? No one is prepared for harsh truths and revelations. You are a monster far worse than me.

Look at you, Izuku, revealing the truth about villains to heroes and civilians alike. I applaud you, I do, with your little ‘they’re just like us’ bullshit. All you’re doing is making people more afraid of one another. If normal boring U.A. students can defeat the heroes, what can my neighbor do to me? Keep revealing the truth; I’m looking forward to the chaos you’ll create.

Don’t grieve after the finale, Izuku. I have worse things in store.

The recording is silent except for the thumps of someone picking up the device.

Oh, and try to survive this time, okay?

Izuku stares blankly ahead as the fight continues below. He frowns, crossing his arms across his chest, and looks up at the sky where clouds are quickly rolling in, gray and heavy with moisture.

“Relay to all collar comms to be alert. We have reason to believe Firefly will attack in the final hours of the Expo. They just sent a message apologizing for being late; I can only guess that when they arrive, they’ll arrive loud.”

“Relaying,” Hatsume’s voice is small. “Switching us back to Olympic channels.”

“Status update,” Izuku says, throwing an arm up to brace against an attack from Shishida.

“We have Honenuki as our hostage,” Ares declares.

“Half of Monoma’s team is incapacitated,” Athena announces.

“We maintain sixty-seven percent of the city,” Hatsume calls from the Olympus channel.

“Informants are about to be released on the field,” Someone says from the Hermes team. They’ve lost most of their team to the partially failed bank robbery, where the team prioritized the money over members, which went against Izuku’s overarching orders. They’re down to two members and strictly on surveillance. But they’re doing better than the captured Dionysus and Apollo teams, so Izuku will take what he can get.

“Rumor has it that informants will be teachers to judge up close.” An analyst says just as Izuku drops low to swipe the beast-like hero off his feet before rolling out of the way as Ojiro’s tail slams down on his previous position.

“That bit of black is incredibly unflattering on you,” The green-haired hero glares from behind his mask. “You should do something about its smile.” Ojiro glances down at the martial arts belt keeping his hero costume together in time to see Kuroiro melt from it and leap towards Izuku.

“Capture the leader and win the expo!” Shishida shouts as Izuku leaps back, bright crackling lightning to make the Vantablack hero flinch. The green-haired hero has too much black in his costume. Kuroiro could immobilize him if he so much as touched Izuku’s outfit.

“A little help!” Izuku gasps, leap-frogging over the beastly hero and hurling himself around a street corner.

“So here’s a question, Izuku,” Hatsume says as he searches for the brightest spot on the damaged street. “I know you said we have to control more than fifty percent of the city grid, but if you make it unhackable from both sides, does that mean villains control it or does it become a percentage that belongs to neither, or does it get removed from the percentage all together?”

The question is far too casual to be a whimsical thought. Izuku narrows his eyes, standing on top of a white van, glaring at the way he came. Aoyama is slammed into a moped by someone on the Demeter team, only to blast the villain away with his navel laser.

“Percentage belongs to neither. Why?”

“How badly do you not want to be captured?”

Kuroiro appears at the street corner, grinning before melting into the asphalt. It’s only a matter of seconds before he consumes the entire street in his blackness.

“Badly. Whatever it is, do it!”

“Close your eyes in three,” The van shudders beneath Izuku, followed by the hiss of tires flattening. “Two,” The blackened street surges like a wave of ink, lifting cars off the road effortlessly in a dark tsunami. “One,” Izuku shuts his eyes.

He hears the whine of overcharging electronics, then bursts of light that are bright white beneath his eyelids, followed by the shattering of glass. Izuku opens his eyes to see Kuroiro curled up in the middle of the street, yelling in pain as hands cover his eyes. He sees glass falling from street lamps and a few blindingly bright windows still illuminated.

“We now control sixty-two percent of the grid,” Hatsume says proudly.

“Thanks for saving my hide. Demeter team, regroup.”

It’s All Might.

The Expo faux villain informant is All Might.

Izuku is doing everything in his power not to panic or fanboy or anything absurd because every radio channel is doing it in his stead.

“Holy shit, we have to retrieve All Might?” An analyst cries out.

“Oh my stars, are we like, even allowed to touch him? He’s like pro hero royalty.” Athena crackles in Izuku’s ears.

“Are we supposed to bow or something?” Poseidon asks.

“Screw that; it’s a miracle if we can approach him WITHOUT giggling,” Aphrodite screeches loud enough to make Izuku wince.

And he gets it; he does. He trained with All Might for the better part of ten months in preparation for the U.A. entrance exam and still fanboyed over the hero on the second day of school. Nothing will ever change the excitement he gets from new All Might merch, like the limited edition posters being released next week at a pop culture poster gallery. Izuku may or may not have requested permission to leave campus to stake out the gallery a day or two ahead of time just for a chance to get the original edition and variant edition poster.

So really, Izuku gets it. He understands obsessive fanboying.

But he also knows when fanboying can make or break a mission.

“I’ll ask All Might to throw everyone in second year General Education a party for all your hard work leading to today,” Izuku says, watching Tokoyami’s team stake out city hall. Tough for them; they’re operating on bad intel. All city official robots are hostages in key operating areas. Three are scattered in city water access. The mayor is with an electric grid that controls the city's south side. City hall is merely a trap. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to regale you with his pro hero stories. But more than that, I think he’ll want to hear about your successes today. Think about how proud All Might will be with you succeeding against Classes A and B.”

Izuku winces, hearing the honeyed manipulation of his father in his voice. Before he had complete control of the League of Villains, Izuku led a fifth of the group as an army. Their flag was black and green with a raven crest with weapons, and the words Strive for Greatness, Evermore written in English in some ornate font. The words had been part of Izuku’s first speech to the army, and they were the very words they took to heart. It was easy to convince them to fight or withdraw because greatness was everchanging. It made his army grow until his group dwarfed the remaining members of the League. Izuku followed in his father’s footsteps giving his people the will to win and stole the League in return.

Now, Izuku finds himself doing the same thing with General Education, despite his good intentions to follow through on the party.

“Artemis, retrieve All Might to base four. We still have a few hours on the clock.” Izuku orders.

“I hear something weird,” Jiro’s voice cuts off chatter from the villain channels as Izuku’s earpiece switches to the collar comms. A freezing cold drop of water manages to touch a rare bit of exposed skin on his face, and he flinches, glaring up at the dark clouds above. He'd hardly noticed the storm rolling in all day in his darts back and forth through the city, giving aid to his teams or implementing distractions.

“Don’t worry, that’s just Sero’s hysterical laughter that the only remaining members of Monoma’s team are all Class A,” Shinsou says.

“Not that!” Jiro hisses. “There’s a not sound happening.”

Izuku turns his gaze to the rooftops. Lightning rods on all taller buildings, no heroes or villains jumping between as light rain begins to fall. There’s no red coat of Probability or white outfit of Firefly. There’s no sign of Izuku’s so-called gift.

“Quit your yapping!” Kacchan snaps on the earpiece, though it’s clear he’s speaking with someone else. “Dunce Face got a brain recently, says there’s more than a thunderstorm in the air.”

“More people falling from the sky?” Ashido asks, worry evident in her words.

“They can do that?” Hatsume gasps in surprise.

“Things haven’t gone as planned League-wise,” Izuku glares at the horizon line where the sun is just above the trees. “Keep your eyes and ears open; Firefly said they’ll be around close to the finale.”

“Midoriya!” Jiro gasps just as Izuku catches sight of rain clouds a few buildings away begin to rotate. Tornadoes aren’t common in Japan, though they’ve increased in frequency since the early twenty-first century. They occur once every few years and typically in the countryside instead of the beach and mountainous areas like Musutafu.

“Jiro, merge your team with Yaoyorozu’s. You’re both down players, and I get the feeling this is going to get ugly,” Izuku grits his teeth, activating One for All as he prepares to jump towards the rotation. It’s not a tornado, he knows, because Firefly loved talking about the tornadoes that destroyed their home as a kid. Izuku has seen videos of the pressure wall, the colors the clouds turn, and the stillness that comes before disaster. They’re not all that different from the yearly typhoons threatening Japan’s shores. So he knows that this sudden rotation on such a small stretch of cloud is not a freak storm. It’s the result of a quirk. He can practically hear the hiss of the rotating band of red light over the rain freely falling.

A gift.

Firefly had said a gift. Is it too much to ask for Benji and Probability to come wrapped in a bow?

A figure drops from the rotation of clouds, decked in silver, red, black, and green. The colors send a shiver down Izuku’s spine. Those are his colors; what kind of gift could Firefly possibly give that makes a mockery of everything Izuku stands for?

The figure floats, a long red cape billowing behind them as they rotate around their rooftop, not unlike Izuku. They lock gazes with the green-haired hero, halting mid-turn. Even from this distance and the fattening droplets of rain, Izuku can see slicked back green hair. The figure smiles, or rather, can’t stop smiling as one side of their face is forever scarred to tug their lips upward.

Someone’s taking an extended jump through realities, Izuku remembers. The figure crackles with green lighting one moment, and in Izuku’s face the next, fist pulled back for a punch.

I-kun is older than me now; he thinks while Kacchan yells in his ear.

“Hi, Deku,” I-kun sings like Firefly, the chipper tone is different, filled with all the malice of someone who wants revenge for a life stolen.

Izuku doesn’t have time to block the hit and takes the full brunt of the impact straight to the chest. The downward force sends him crashing through multiple floors of a skyscraper and out a window, struggling to inhale as the punch makes him feel like his lungs caved in.

Izuku slams into a construction building, head bouncing off a steel beam, tumbling through a half-finished floor. As his vision dims to his hazardous flailing freefall, he distantly acknowledges I-kun isn’t the worst present he’s ever received, though he’s a pretty close second.

The last thing he remembers is the soft hiss of sand slowing his fall before passing out.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

So much for secretly capturing the U.A. traitor and friends.

Shit.

“Dynamight, calm down!” Ears cries over collar comms. “Hatsume has the villain teams protecting Midoriya.”

Like fuck if that means anything. The nerd can’t keep safe for a single fucking moment even with Bakugou by his side. Deku tries to befriend homicidal villains; he gets shot and poisoned under friendly fire, takes a knife between the ribs, and still has time to be a reckless maniac that fucked off to another reality for a few years – months – whatever. Deku disappeared when Bakugou wasn’t there to protect him and like hell is he going to let it happen again.

“Don’t worry!” Pink Medusa chirps in Bakugou’s earpiece with careless familiarity. “Izuku had a contingency for this too! Finally, my babies can come out to play!”

“Oh no,” Raccoon Eyes sounds horrified as Ears waves at Bakugou’s team from the street level.

“Oh YES,” Inventor Chick practically sounds feral.

Shit, they’re all going to die, aren’t they?

“Tell me what’s going on,” Ponytail demands, voice shaking, hands outstretched to grasp at Bakugou’s forearms. “You’re all very clearly operating on a different agenda.” She gestures out to the combined members of her team and Ears’ emphasis. “We can’t help if we don’t know how to tackle it.”

“Midoriya’s the one who planned this,” Ears says, adjusting the headphone on her head, glancing out of the first-floor lobby to a wrecked street. Bakugou can see the asphalt and concrete turning dark with drizzle even from this distance. “We were hoping that no one in the expo would notice. But that plan clearly failed.”

An idea whispers at the back of Bakugou’s mind, muttering like the nerd, running through contingencies and facts as Flat Face rambles about seeing two Dekus in the sky. That’s impossible, isn’t it? Pink Cheeks starts saying something too, tossing worried glances between the window and Bakugou before the idea snaps into place.

“Espionage is taking advantage of chance and circumstances, then making some of your own.” Bakugou grounds out, words off-topic enough to capture the attention of his classmates. “We gotta make our own advantages out of this. Deku didn’t want anyone to know the expo would be a trap for the League. If all went according to plan, Gen Ed would be none the wiser, and the hero course wouldn’t even notice. Most of all, expo-goers would know nothing about any disasters in his fucking plan. We can’t stop everything going to shit for everyone inside the city, but we can at least cover up against the idiotic audience.”

“Why would that even matter?” IcyHot asks, leveling his gaze on the explosive teen. “We have a real villain in the city causing trouble. Shouldn’t we merge our resources for the clear danger?”

Ponytail looks like she’s about to agree, but she hesitates when Bakugou shakes his head. “The only thing Deku wants is for this expo to succeed. He says if it does well, then somehow – fuck if I know how – it will prevent whatever shitty future the Variant has. If we raise the alarm, then we’re placing that future back on the table. Can you tell me that shitty Variant is worth ruining the expo?”

Ears stares at the ground while Flat Face and Dunce Face share a look.

“It’s not,” Purple Hair declares. “So, what do you suggest we do?”

“Firefly trap secure,” Raccoon Eyes calls over the collar comms. Bakugou wipes at the steady rain soaking his face as he makes his way across a rooftop. Fucking rain, making things harder than it needs to be. He’s so sick of water getting the best of him. “There’s a waterway control center nearby; we can use that to our advantage. I’ll tell Red Riot we’re setting up a trap for the villains. We still only have control of a third of the city.”

Bakugou waves Flat Face, Ponytail, and IcyHot forward to look out over a low building out of place surrounded by skyscrapers. The large stones and historical roof implies an old family residence, but the logo etched into concrete before the entrance signifies it’s one of the oldest banks in the nation. Old banks have old vaults, and old vaults – no matter how fake – make perfect holding cells for reality jumpers.

In the distance, Bakugou can hear a battle raging over the blanketing roar of the rain. Emo Bird reported three robots fighting a caped figure he couldn’t recognize, and the bots were clearly losing. Either Pink Medusa will run out of robots to fight, or a team will need to act as a diversion before the traps are in place.

“Check the perimeter of the building, IcyHot, and Flat Face. Ponytail and I will check the trap is secure.” Bakugou orders, blasting off the skyscraper to reach street level.

“Tokoyami and Kirishima’s teams are most intact,” Ponytail offers over collar comms. “I suggest, once all traps are secured, they should guard one each. If they’ve worked this well to stay together, they’ll work well trapping the villain.”

“That ain’t shitty.” The blond watches IcyHot slide down an ice ramp with an arm firmly around Ponytail’s waist as Flat Face casts a line out and swings to Bakugou’s side. Ponytail joins a moment later, splitting off from the other heroes. “But we need players not in the loop to complete hero objectives for the Expo.”

“Shishida’s team should be able to capture a few more villains,” Purple Hair offers. “We’ve got twenty villains in custody; objectives demand we take a majority. We’ve rescued more than necessary hostages and racked up enough bonus points to forgo regaining the city. Red Riot and his army of women have cleared most objectives.”

“Which means we can focus on capturing the real villain.” Bakugou grins, yanking the door to the bank open before stepping inside, Ponytail following close behind.

“What the fuck.” Dunce Face whispers, peeking around the street corner. Bakugou looks, too, watching a group of Gen Ed villains fight a figure in a green suit and long red cape. The curly green hair is unmistakable.

Every kick and punch is brutal as if Deku refuses to hold back, doesn’t know how to hold back. The blond has seen this type of fighting once before in the middle of winter when there was purple lightning to battle green.

Caped Deku turns in a roundhouse kick, showing off a scarred face permanently tugging one side of his face in a smile. Bakugou’s heart jumps, lodging in his throat.

I-kun.

“What the fuck.” The electric hero repeats, holding his hood securely around his head, shielding his face from the rain.

“Shit,” The explosive teen curses, flattening himself against the side of the building. How the hell is I-kun older? Wasn’t he Bakugou’s age over the summer? How could he be this built in such a short amount of time?

Probability – of fucking course.

“Shit, it’s a Variant,” Bakugou yanks Dunce Face back by the collar. “Fuck, it’s Variant I-kun.”

“That’s a cute name,” The electric teen smirks, folding his arms across his chest.

“And you’ll be a cute shit stain on the ground if he sees us.” The blond glares.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? We’ve got enough traps, don’t we?” Ears asks over comms.

“It might not be enough,” Ponytail says. “The bank trap for Probability might hold the Midoriya we know now, but this villain? This Variant I-kun? He knocked Midoriya out like it was nothing. I can create some extra safety precautions around the bank, go ahead and lead him to the Probability trap.”

“We’re gonna need more than the two of us,” Bakugou glances around the corner once more to see Gen Ed on their last legs, slipping over wet concrete.

“Red Riot and I are on our way with some extra backup!” Raccoon Eyes declares.

“Tag out, tag out, TAG OUT!” Dunce Face cries, sliding on flooded streets. Fuck, did U.A. not put street drains in the practice cities? “I would like to point out that I’m not Scooby or Shaggy or whatever, and am tired of being used as bait. So someone PLEASE tag me out!”

As if on cue, Raccoon Eyes jumps in front of Dunce Face, spinning as she yells, “ACID SHOT!”

Bullets of acid fly from her fingertips towards a figure in green, only to hit a large red cape, which falls limply to the ground. Then, to her surprise, I-kun appears before her unharmed and grinning, but it’s nothing like how Deku smiles. Instead, this is something closer to Firefly, on the cusp of insanity.

“You know,” I-kun hums, as chilling as All for One. “I can see my friends in you. You’re all,” he pauses as if trying to find the right words, backhanding Raccoon Eyes into a sheltered bus stop, which crumples under the force. “So similar. I can’t tell if it’s the naivety that you still think the world can be saved or that you act like it can.”

Shitty Hair roars from above; fist pulled back in his unbreakable form. Bakugou volleys two explosions to keep the Variant villain in place. The fist hits I-kun squarely in the jaw, sending the green-haired villain to the ground, hand lashing out at the redhead and barely missing a loose piece of costume.

“All I want is your precious Deku,” The blond can hear the venom dripping from the words as I-kun slowly lifts himself from the crater made from the impact, hands splashing on inch-deep roads. “He took my life from me, and now I’m going to take him from you.”

“Death first!” Bakugou roars, leaping forward. Flat Face’s tape lashes out, wrapping around the Variant villain while the blond slams into him with a series of explosions.

The green-haired villain twists, taking the brunt of the firepower while managing to kick the blond away. He breaks through the tape as if it were wet paper, jumping back when Shitty Hair moves in for another attack.

“No, no, no,” I-kun chides, diving away from Raccoon Eyes’ kick. “I would never try to kill you, no matter what Firefly wants.” The next thing Bakugou knows is chilled hands gently cupping his face and large blue-green eyes staring at him with all the wonder of a fucked up child setting houses on fire for pretty lights. “You will always be our missing piece, and we’ll always be yours. It’s going to hurt to pick up all the pieces Deku will leave behind, but you’ll get through it. Or maybe you won’t, and you’ll turn out just like me.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Bakugou roars, thrusting his hand in front of him, slamming explosions into I-kun’s chest. The villain flies backward, crashing into a car.

“He’s getting up!” Flat Face cries.

“Shit, he’s been trained by Firefly,” Bakugou rasps, running towards the villain. “They don’t do well in tag teams. Riot, you’re with me. We hit hard – ”

“And don’t stop hitting.”

“Demeter!”

“Algae-lanche!”

Bakugou kicks off I-kun and blasts himself on top of a light pole as the dark flooded streets turn bright green with sludge. The blond sees a short Gen Ed villain on the west end of the road, crouched low and arms outstretched, sending wave after wave of green slime.

Thank fuck, Red Riot was fading, and all this rain is fucking with Bakugou’s nitroglycerin.

“Arid Defense!” A new voice yells. Spikes as large as trash cans shoot out of anything remotely plant-like, popping tires and tearing into cars. I-kun roars in pain as one pierces his arm while another rips through his costume at the hip.

The blond hears his comms switch channels. “We’re not on the same side,” Deku says casually, nearly identical to I-kun. “We just have a mutual enemy in our way.” The nerd drops down to float beside the explosive teen, watching as I-kun struggles through a forest of oversized cacti needles. “Welcome to channel Persephone, heroes. We made this link just for you. Don’t get cozy; we’ll kick you off into the world of good soon enough. There’s a titan on the field we need to trick and trap, and you look like you could use the help.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Bakugou glares at the algae streets below, backflipping from the pole as I-kun sends an Air Force Smash his way.

“We worked hard for this city; we won’t hand it over to just anyone.” Deku casts out Blackwhip to wrap around I-kun’s arms. The villain glares, struggling against the hold. “Artemis, time to hunt. Heroes, get out of the way.”

“Birds of Prey!”

The rain surges, water merging to form countless birds that look like liquid versions of Dark Shadow soaring through the air. They pelt I-kun as Deku floats backward, tugging the thrashing villain away.

Three rain birds slam into the Variant villain, causing him to slip on algae and slide to the end of the block, where the rain begins once more.

“All right, that’s enough!” I-kun jumps to his feet, using Float to stay above the water. “I’m sure father didn’t share this little gift.” The villain stretches and stretches and stretches until he’s a third of his width, backflipping out of Blackwhip’s hold. “Incredibly passive, but useful enough.”

“We couldn’t defeat Midoriya at the beginning of summer five on one,” Flat Face moans over comms. “How the hell are we going to defeat this one?”

“Fuck off, you wannabe nerd!”

Deku tears his gaze from I-kun to Bakugou from his floating position a few stories up. The blond remains still. That was his voice, but it wasn’t him, which can only mean one thing.

“Ka – ” I-kun cuts off the mid-word as Purple Hair and Ears turn the corner. The knock-off hobo’s mask is plugged into Ears’ boot amps.

“That won’t hold for long,” Ears pants heavily as Flat Face wraps tape around the villain. “But Vulcan has control for now. Let’s get him to the bank; we’ve got a deposit to make.”

Control breaks mere feet from the vault entrance, resulting in I-kun punching up at the sky with an Air Force Smash that blows off the ceiling. The interior concussive force sends Purple Hair flying, leaving little time for Bakugou to catch the hobo wannabe and prevent him from crashing through the walls. Flat Face catches Ears, skidding on polished floors, while Dunce Face hits the Variant villain with a Volt Burst that forces him into the vault.

The vault door slams shut, audible clicks shaving off the tension of another attack.

“Huh,” Dunce Face straightens, staring down at his gloved hands where the fabric looks singed between the palms. “I’m surprised that worked.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ears complains as Flat Face sets her down. She brushes off the dust from the front of her legs, glaring at Dunce Face before sparing Bakugou a glance. It’s an exasperated expression that practically screams, ‘can you believe this is the guy I fell for?’ Which, of fucking course, she could do better.

“Thanks for catching me,” Purple Hair glances the blond’s way, tilting his head side to side as if checking for stiffness. “Well, if that’s all, we might be able to tackle a few more objectives before the Expo is – ”

The wannabe hobo trails off, staring up at the wide-open ceiling where rain pours inside, flooding the room. There’s a ring of red light above the opening spinning like a hoop with a completely white interior.

“What the fuck?” Bakugou stares. “Back up.”

Dunce Face scrambles back, tugging Ears and Flat Face behind a thick wall.

Feet dangle out of the ring first, white boots studded with silver and gold spikes, then white leather pants painted with golden insects, which leads to a studded belt, pale pink shirt, and a white moto jacket that’s all too familiar and holding a Best Jeanist themed umbrella.

Fuck.

A blond drops through, bearing a vicious smile and platinum blond hair. “Hey Kacchan,” Firefly sings, standing completely dry despite the torrent of rain. They hold one hand out in a clear line of sight, a bright golden light extending from their palm, slowly making the rest of their body glow. “Miss me?”

Then, like a supernova, the fucker explodes in a blast of light.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s head won’t stop throbbing. Sure, the medic on Hephestus’ team says he has a ‘pretty serious injury’ and ‘Midoriya, I don’t even have eight fingers to count, much less nine’ and ‘if you don’t tap out, you’ll die,’ but Izuku is fine. He’s had worse.

Maybe.

He’ll try to remember when the throbbing headache doesn’t want to make him gouge out his eyes. When is Variant Recovery Girl’s quirk going to kick in?

The exploding bank roof is surprising, but when Hatsume comes on collar comms proclaiming I-kun captured, Izuku tenses. He orders the Gen Ed villains to retreat and resume their Expo posts. He orders because capturing I-kun was too easy. His Variant self went with too little fight. His throbbing head disagrees.

General Education signed up for fighting heroes. They received basic heroics training to survive a fight and escape it. They didn’t sign up for someone like Firefly. It’s clear, even in Izuku’s hindered state, Firefly will take advantage of any weakness in this Expo, and the Gen Ed villain second years are too inexperienced to be anything else.

“Olympus,” Izuku croaks, squinting down at the exploded gap of rooftop. Is that a ring of red, or is his throbbing head playing tricks on his eyes? “Prepare all remaining Olympians for evac. Even if the heroes try to gain control of the city, there wouldn’t be enough time for the majority, much less an upcoming distraction.”

“Negative Hades, we’re not leaving you,” Olympus crackles back.

“Hell or high water, we’re with you. You saw us as heroes when no one else did,” Someone from the Aphrodite team says.

“Besides,” A new voice from the Poseidon team sniffles. “I worked really hard to get those waterways. This is our home; we gotta defend it.”

“We’ll fight against heroes; we’ll fight against whatever U.A. throws at us,” Demeter’s team proclaims, “and real villains too!”

Give them the will to strive for greatness, and they will fight past their dying breaths with a loyalty that knows no bounds.

Shit, they’re going to get themselves killed. The real villains were never supposed to get this close to General Education.

A light surges at the open bank vault roof, blinding Izuku as an explosion follows. Firefly’s Light Grenade. Powerful, if fully charged. Draining even if it isn’t. Benji can’t do much after a Light Grenade, which is why it’s usually a last resort.

Firefly is a sitting duck. The Firefly trap is several blocks away.

It’s now or never.

“All able bodies to the blast zone.” Izuku orders, utilizing Float to glide over rooftops and into the bank.

The first thing he notices is that the Probability trap is holding. Sure, the vault door is a little melted, and there are some apparent dents in the wall beside it, but there’s no overly buff I-kun bursting through and making life more complicated.

“I didn’t think this bank came with an open floor plan,” Izuku hums, touching down and stepping out of the downpour. He roves his eyes over mounds of debris that lead directly to the expansive lobby. It shouldn’t be based on the schematics of the trap Hatsume laid out with the pros last week, but floorplans are rarely accurate.

Danger Sense flares, sending Izuku’s throbbing headache into overdrive. He falls, rolling out of the way in time to see a jagged chunk of marble soar above him at an alarming speed, only to get slammed by another hunk skidding across the ground.

Firefly laughs, “Made you look!”  

Izuku groans as he’s pulled off the marble, what remains of his metal face mask falling as hands drag him out of harm’s way. The movement is too gentle to be anything but an ally.

“Midoriya, are you okay?” Sero props Izuku against a damaged wall, the green-haired hero struggles to make his eyes work. How does one blink or keep an eye open?

“That’s a loaded question,” He gasps as a wash of cold surges through him, soothing the ache in his neck and quieting his throbbing head. Tiredness follows, making his limbs feel leaden. Variant Recovery Girl’s quirk is finally working. Better late with internal bleeding than never, Izuku supposes.

“You don’t look good,” Jiro adds, face pinching with one earphone jack plugged into the wall.

“Kacchan thinks I’m pretty,” Izuku protests weakly.

“He does?” Kaminari appears over Jiro’s shoulder.

“He does?” Sero asks, eyebrows raising high in surprise.

“No,” Izuku quietly bemoans. “Kacchan doesn’t think about looks like that.” As far as Izuku can tell, the blond is primarily interested in his freckles, and any long stares come from the words and topics the green hero talks about instead of anything else.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Benji sings somewhere in the distance. Izuku struggles to sit up more, shaking out his limbs and blinking his eyes into focus. His brain does a systems check, noting the scattered injuries all over his body, the lightheaded feeling in his head, and how his arms feel on the verge of breaking. Underneath it all, he feels two quirks humming. Recovery Girl’s quirk quietly repairs his injuries, while All for One preens and begs to be used. Izuku’s mouth waters with a sudden desire to take and taste Firefly’s quirk, itching to put such a power to better use. 

The green-haired hero turns his gaze to Jiro, pulling up a hand to activate his collar comm as he tries to shake the impulse. “We need to get to the train station. Our best bet of success is getting Firefly to the station. I can’t take much more damage.”

“Uh, okay,” Kaminari looks confused but contemplative. “So, is there something we can do to limit the damage Firefly creates?”

Izuku blinks twice at Kaminari’s words. This is the third time the blond has said something clever despite its simplicity. Kaminari’s question is a casual comment, a statement easily overlooked by most heroes unless they prioritize rescue.

 “Alright,” Izuku heaves a breath, moving to stand with Sero’s help. “Here’s the plan.”

Izuku’s eyes burn.

For the past month, he’s trained with Aizawa-sensei and Present Mic to use Variant Aizawa's Erasure quirk with some success. The training was limited due to Expo preparation that sent Izuku in nearly every direction. But he learned using Erasure is vastly different than analyzing it. His eyes start to itch when he’s using Erasure. It seems the quirk shuts off tear ducts and whatever else moistens the eyes for hours after the initial use. Aizawa-sensei offered little on how to use the quirk despite obstructions.

All you need is one eye on a body part, and it’ll cancel, Midoriya.

Izuku struggles to maintain at least one eye open as Heroes and Ged Ed Villains force Firefly through city streets in a blinding downpour.

Aizawa-sensei also never mentioned how Erasure struggles under variability. Much like how the quirk doesn’t work against mutations, Izuku can’t erase quirks with wide spectrum usage. Izuku can erase flight, but not the poison blood. He can stop the sparking explosions, but not the blinding light. Izuku is not strong enough to defeat this villain.

He’s not entirely sure he wants to. They spent over a year as close as brothers; if Benji dies, what family will Izuku have left?

Rain blinds Izuku. He wipes furiously at his eyes, slicking his wet curls back, only to see a blast of golden light directed at his perch on top of a street light. A figure comes hurtling ahead of the burst, snatching Izuku around the waist and out of the line of fire.

“Don’t fucking just stand around like a useless Deku!” Kacchan yells over the rain, landing on the sidewalk with a splash. The green-haired hero looks at the blond dazedly. The explosive hero’s costume is burned and torn, orange x’s blackened, yet his face mask looks completely untouched from its spot around the blond’s neck.

That’s my heart, Izuku thinks idly as the teen removes his arm from the hero’s waist. That’s my home, my family.

“Hey,” Izuku says before he can stop himself, latching a hand onto Kacchan’s wrist. It’s stupid, so very reckless when there’s a battle raging on and he can barely make out the red of Kacchan’s eyes through the rain. But Danger Sense and Alert are screaming. He has to say it now, say it, or he’ll lose the chance, much like he did on Exit Island so many years ago. “I love you.”

Something in the blond’s face crumples, spiking the fear of rejection in the green hero’s chest. Then, just as quickly, the teen’s face contorts in anger, hand jerking from Izuku’s grasp only to punch him solidly in the shoulder.

“You’ve got some nerve! You don’t get to say that!” Kacchan snarls. “You don’t get to act like this is the fucking last time I’m going to see you. No fucking, ‘I’m here,’ before fucking off to who knows fucking where. You’re staying,” The blond shoves Izuku in the chest. “You sure as fucking hell ain’t going anywhere. You don’t get to say that to me because you’re scared shitless!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Izuku insists, gloved hands moving to cup the blond’s cheek, the other pushing back to flatten spikes and reveal a broad forehead. “We’re heading back into battle, and I think it’s important to know.” Izuku presses a kiss to cold skin above a furrowed brow, hearing the Ares and Artemis teams cry out for help in his comms.

Kacchan’s face turns unreadable, glaring up at the rain, which seems to have lightened a little. “You’re shit at timing; you know that?”

Izuku laughs, overly aware of his time in the Variant, floundering to get back to this reality. He thinks back to Dejima, where he realized he was in love in the middle of battle. Yes, he’s very aware his timing sucks.

But he’s here now, and that’s all that matters, right?

When Izuku rejoins the fight, Heroes and Villains are scattered between skyscraper floors. On one hand, he gets it. It’s easier to fight your opponent protected from a typhoon. But, on the other hand, he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose like Aizawa-sensei in annoyance because fights should not be conducted indoors, especially inside easily collapsible skyscrapers where one structural failure could cause over a dozen tragedies.

“Hades, we don’t know what to make of this new opponent,” An analyst from Olympus calls over comms. “They’re practically hunting Artemis. They’ve incapacitated all but one of the remaining members of Ares.”

“The opponent’s name is Firefly,” Izuku says, staring up at the skyscraper windows, waiting for Benji to appear within view. “I’m going to pull them away. Once I do, retrieve Ares, and any remaining villains fall back. I know you want to help. And despite knowing your quirks could pose a worthy challenge, I need a set perimeter. Firefly is wily; they might escape or have back up on the way.

“Keep the Persephone channel open. If you hear a hero in need of help, then go. I get the feeling the heroes will need all the help they can get.”

Izuku catches sight of bright white clothes near a window. He activates Erasure while casting out Blackwhip, watching it break through a pane and wrap securely around the villain. He pulls hard, yanking Benji from the seventh floor as Kacchan roars beside him, breaking into a run.

Crap, that’s right. Kacchan’s soaked through. His nitroglycerin is probably too diluted from the rain for explosions. How is the blond supposed to fight?

Izuku slams Firefly into the asphalt, watching as the explosive teen manages to fire off a few small explosions to add power to a punch. Blackwhip snaps back to the green hero right as Firefly flips himself from his place on the ground, dodging Kacchan’s punch before turning into a roundhouse kick. The explosive teen blocks with one arm, the other moving in with a horizontal elbow jab.

The blond villain falters, stumbling back before moving in with a punch. That’s right, Izuku remembers while keeping Erasure firmly on the villain, both Firefly and Kacchan have Muay Thai under their belts. Benji’s experience is wrapped up in Dutch kickboxing.

Not for the first time, Izuku wonders how the blonds could be so similar and yet entire worlds different.

“Protect Deku,” Kacchan’s voice comes on the Persephone channel, rough and gritted, as he dives out of the way from a knee strike. “He’s stopping this fucker from using his quirk. I’ve got an even ground right now. No telling if this Firefly fucker has more villains on the way.”

They get a block or two closer to the Firefly trap, a handful of U.A. students tag-teaming with Kacchan to fight Firefly. Two members of Demeter and Satou from Ares surround Izuku, alert and ready to fight should it become necessary. So far, Kirishima, Kacchan, Ashido, and Asui seem to have the blond villain thorough distracted.

Izuku sees the exploded storefront of a stationery store. Half a block more, and they’ll be in front of the faux train station. They’re almost there, and the rain is finally letting up, just in time for the sky to darken. Hatsume turns on the street lights from the safety of Olympus.

Then, Satou releases a yelp of surprise, dropping through a red ring on asphalt. The last time Izuku saw a portal yank the feet out from beneath someone, Shigaraki was out to kill All Might at the USJ.

Just as Satou falls through, Kirishima and Kacchan fall through two new portals, leaving Firefly’s front and right open.

Danger Sense flares, forcing Izuku to break his gaze from the blond villain to see Satou falling from the sky, arms and legs flailing out of a portal several stories up. Izuku leaps, catching the General Education Student in a bridal carry. As he sets the teen on the ground, he hears a scream.

Izuku jerks his head up, seeing Asui block a bloodied short sword with her prosthetic hand while Ashido manages a running kick into Firefly’s side, clutching her shoulder. He should feel relieved those two are fighting Benji. They stood the greatest chance against Firefly in the Variant. Ashido’s acid burns through the blond’s poison, and Asui’s numbing poison makes her resistant to the villain’s bloodletting.

Firefly seems to notice this, too, throwing his short sword when Ashido doesn’t falter in her footsteps. He leaps back, closer to the train station, lobbing balls of light that explode when they touch the ground. Izuku activates Erasure once more, which forces Benji’s eyes on him, earning a vicious scowl. The green-haired hero returns it, only to have the street beneath him drop out as well.

He falls through a portal, catching sight of crackling red light before landing hard on cold concrete. He stares at the ceiling, resisting a groan. Izuku is still heavily injured from the fight with I-kun. Variant Recovery Girl’s quirk seems to measure what energy he has left, choosing to activate sporadically. It’s almost as if the moment the green-haired hero finds the energy to fight, the quirk drains it away for repairs.

“You’re becoming an annoyance,” Probability nudges Izuku with his boot, frowning behind steampunk goggles.

“Most people just find that endearing,” The hero grimaces up from his spot on the floor. “What do I owe the pleasure? Last time I saw you, you brought me back here. Any more Variants you need to lie to me about?”

The former hero pauses, squatting down beside Izuku, trench coat billowing behind him. He pulls off Izuku’s domino mask, frowning at the green hero’s uncovered face. “You are so much like the Master.” He hums. “You were meant for greatness, and yet you chose to protect everything wrong with the world.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“It’s clear you won’t fall under Master’s beliefs again, even though I worked so hard to turn you his way.” Probability stands, straightening his red vest.

“I’m very determined,” Izuku sits up, scanning the area for more villains and potential traps. He masks his surprise, seeing the train at the station and the graffiti written on support columns. They’re in the middle of the Firefly trap.

As much as Izuku hates being dragged away from the fight, he’s one of the few heroes that enjoys a villain monologue. The more they talk, the less damage they do, and most of the time, they reveal weaknesses Izuku can incorporate into his fighting style. Though Izuku will admit, he’s seen more than his fair share of villains who treat battles with heroes as therapy sessions. There has to be a better way of receiving help.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Probability hisses as Izuku rises to his feet, shaking out his limbs and resisting the urge to shiver in his rain-soaked costume. “If I fail this time, Mamoru’s life is on the line.”

“Obi is far from here,” Izuku promises. He’s about to activate Variant Dabi’s quirk to work warmth back into his stiff hands when he smells rotten eggs. There’s a dizzying sensation to the scent that Izuku associates with metal, a coppery taste, and golden bubbles. Danger Sense agrees with the feeling, and Izuku keeps the fire at bay. “Obi doesn’t know the full extent of what you’ve done.”

“I’m giving my son his best chance!” The former hero glares. Izuku shifts into a fighting stance.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” The green-haired hero wishes for his face mask to filter out the gas smell. Since he can smell it, Izuku estimates he has roughly thirty minutes before adverse effects kick in. At least it’s not Hydrogen Sulfide, one of the most dangerous silent killers. “You told me something similar when you kidnapped me to the Variant.”

Probability charges, swinging up his large book to slam into Izuku. The hero blocks, counteracting the momentum by pushing Probability towards the train. Mid-step, the silver-haired villain dives to the side and Izuku stumbles, dodging when Probability throws his brown trenchcoat at the hero.

“Why are you so determined to ruin everything?” The former hero demands, tackling Izuku around the middle and slamming him into a pillar. Izuku’s hands catch something sharp on the steampunk villain, gloves tearing as he shoves the other’s shoulders. He manages to curl a foot to his chest in the minimal space, kicking as violently as he can, which sends Probability flying into a different pillar.

“I’m not out to ruin. I just want to save as many people as I can.” Izuku heaves a breath, holding a hand to his forehead as if the action will stop his head from hurting and his surroundings from growing fuzzy. He should have had thirty minutes before the gas smell got to him. Is it because he’s already weakened from injuries? Is it because he's been fighting?

“And you don’t think that’s what I’m trying to do too?” Probability holds his hands out, palms up from his spot against the pillar. They glow red, and Izuku suddenly hears the fight outside grow louder. The hero sees something flicker in the villain’s eyes that lurches him forward. Probability’s portals can start fires; they’re full of sparks, which definitely means they are the one thing that can’t be opened down here. As is, Izuku hasn’t activated One for All in fear of lightning sparks igniting the gas. As intense as the gas smell is, there’s no telling what it will do to a station with heroes fighting above ground. Just hitting a thin gas pipe can explode an entire city block; what will a spark do to an expansive space that’s absolutely saturated?

Izuku’s hand grasps the silver-haired villain’s, feels warmth seeping through his tattered gloves, and pulls.

His arms tingle, and blood sings with joy, practically chanting the relief of taking, taking, taking. He’s never taken like this before. It’s an accident, and it’s so much harder because the quirk is trying to cling to the host it's known for decades.

Izuku fights the urge to cry because he doesn’t want this, never wanted to take like his father, never wanted All for One’s quirk. He sees the fear in Probability’s eyes because the villain’s future quirk use is limited. Izuku may have taken the quirk, but there’s still fuel for some choice use.

The green-haired hero’s body shudders as it makes room for the new quirk. It jerks, forcing Izuku away from the frightened villain. He stumbles back as his hands glow green, unable to control everything he’s trying to prevent. Izuku feels power surge from his shoulder to his hands and thinks he sees the barest green spark for a portal when the station blows apart.

Izuku can’t move.

He coughs and immediately regrets it. The weight against his chest is crushing, and he feels like everything is about to cave in. Rain pours down on his face, forcing Izuku to turn his head to the side or risk accidentally drowning. His lower back screams in pain, but he tries to wiggle his legs anyway. There’s some room at his left knee, toes tapping the tops of his boots, but the pain is biting and sharp at Izuku’s mid-thigh on his right side.

Yeah, that can’t be good.

Next, Izuku checks his arms. One is free, the other pinned at his side. He could air force smash the weight against his chest away, but what further damage would that cause? Who else could be trapped in this rubble, and would the action make things worse?

Izuku coughs again, feeling the wetness before he hears it. Recovery Girl’s quirk seems hesitant to activate; the green hero must not have much stamina left. That can’t be good either.

The hero closes his eyes to the rain, trying to keep his breathing and heartbeat steady. He listens for fighting over the constant downpour. Where is Firefly in all this mess? Kacchan? Probability?

“H-Hades, ar – oo there – e – e?” Hatsume’s voice crackles in and out at Izuku’s ear.

“In the underworld, Olympus,” Izuku wheezes. “I think, I think Probability’s trap is destroyed.”

“an’t tra – or – lo – tion.”

“The station. I’m underground.” The hero feels like crying. What if no one finds him? What if he’s trapped here forever? What if he turns out like the Firefly of this reality, abandoned underneath rubble for months?

While this isn’t the first building Izuku has been trapped under, it’s the first one where he can’t move.

“-ater control break,” An analyst from Olympus cuts through, sending a shiver down the hero’s spine.

Water control break.

That’s even worse. It must be the torrential downpour that burst the drainage. These practice cities are concrete jungles built upon with every destroyed class. Izuku could dig under the city for an entire train length, and it would still be practice city debris of courses past. When water control breaks in places of dense concrete, high saturation, and little absorption, they’re prone to flooding. Areas at sea level tend to get swallowed by water by a few meters.

Izuku is underground and far under sea level. If rescue doesn’t come soon, he’ll drown, especially since his respirator is broken and discarded somewhere in the city.

If he thinks about it, the hero’s boots feel colder than before. Is that water rising?

The green-haired hero sighs, worst Expo ever.

“Deku?” Izuku snaps his eyes open at the voice shouting from high above.

“K-Ka!” The hero struggles for the name, unable to finish it when the rubble above threatens to crush him forever. “Kacchan!” He manages to say the blond’s name, but it is far weaker than the first attempt.

“I see him,” Kacchan appears from above on a long slab to the left of Izuku. He has one hand up to his ear. “Sending you my location. Water’s rising, so hurry the fuck up.

“How the fuck did you end up here?” The blond demands, picking his way through the rubble, eying the concrete and rebar pinning Izuku.

“Doesn’t seem like I got impaled by something. I just feel on the unpleasant side of squished. I wonder if this is how that All Might plush felt when we were kids. We should get new ones, right?”

Ah. And there it is, the frustrated confusion of someone who’s never experienced Izuku injured. The casual dismissal always sets people on edge because it moves past the expected response of ‘I’m Fine’ and into ‘let’s grab ice cream after this.’ It is, unfortunately, another byproduct of Izuku’s time in the Variant. Villains hit hard, but heroes who feel betrayed hit harder, and the green hero had to pretend their attacks were merely entertaining at best. Nowadays, this type of dismissal only comes when the injury is great.

“We need Uravity,” Kacchan growls into the mic, sliding down the final few feet and examining the concrete pinning Izuku. “The debris pinning the nerd is supporting weight up top.”

“Uravity is busy!” Ashido says in a frustrated yell. Izuku can catch snipped of fighting raging in the background. “Kind of down and out with the new set of villains.”

The blond clicks his tongue, turning his gaze up where debris meets sky. “I’m gonna take a look around, see if there’s a way to get you out that doesn’t make things worse. We’re on our own.”

“This is not how I pictured our next date going,” Izuku grimaces, earning a red-eyed glare in response.

Kacchan is only gone for a few minutes. In that time, the concrete groans, lifting pressure off Izuku’s chest while something digs harder into his thigh. The cold feeling around his feet rises past his knees and over the wound, sending shocks of pain as freezing water touches an open wound.

“Shit, this area is preventing the rest of the block from collapsing. The losers are still fighting hard above. Fuck, it’s flooding!” The blond reappears at Izuku’s side, pushing at the concrete pinning his arm.

“I can’t really swim right now, sorry.” 

“Stop trying to be funny, nerd,” Kacchan flicks Izuku in the forehead, which makes the green-haired hero laugh in relief. The explosive teen was starting to look a little too tense.

“Trying? Don’t you mean succeeding?” The water is up to Izuku’s hips, and he feels his smile freeze as it begins to touch the small of his back.

“Kacchan,” The green-haired hero tries to keep his voice steady. “You’ve got to go. The water’s rising fast; there isn’t much time.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you.” The explosive hero continues to push at the debris pinning Izuku’s arm. It shifts a little, applying more pressure to Izuku’s thigh. The green-haired hero bites back a cry.

This is fine; he’s had worse. Izuku thinks of his wrecked arms during the summer of their first year. He thinks of waking up in the Variant, unable to support his own weight in the months that followed. He remembers a pro hero who idolized All Might that broke Izuku's bones one by one until Firefly saved him at the last moment.

But it’s not fine because Kacchan is here watching Izuku’s face contort in pain. It’s hard enough to be in hurt alone, but it’s always worse when the blond can see. Izuku can see the moment the teen starts to blame himself. If he had been faster, stronger, more responsible, smarter. Those beautiful red eyes are fracturing with everything unsaid. If Izuku dies here, Kacchan will question why he ended Izuku.

The green hero reaches out with his one free arm and flicks the crease between Kacchan’s brow. His back spasms in protest, but Izuku pushes through. “It’s not your fault,” Izuku smiles. “This was my idea; this was me trying to tie things neatly with a bow far faster than I should. You know me, I can’t even tie a tie.”

Kacchan huffs, sparing a glare with little heat Izuku’s way. “You’re a self-sacrificing idiot; you know that?”

“Uravity is heading to your location,” Ashido heaves through collar comms. The water is at Izuku’s stomach, seeping into the tiny pockets of space between debris and Izuku’s chest. The chill of the water makes him shiver.

“Just a little longer, now.” The hero tries for a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, might as well keep your idiotic face company to pass the time.” The blond settles beside him, features tense. That’s Kacchan speak for you might have a concussion, so I’m keeping you talking.

Izuku shivers again, forcing Kacchan’s gaze away from the hero’s face to the water peeking over the debris, rising towards Izuku’s throat.

“Shit,” Even the teen knows the time it takes to float debris away is disproportionate to the flooding. Kacchan touches his collar comms. “We need an oxygen tank. Deku’s gonna submerge in a few minutes.”

“That’s not a terrifying statement at all,” Izuku laughs, trying to mask the fear suddenly clawing up his throat. He remembers Exit Island and diving after Kacchan. He remembers struggling to find him in open water and how terrified he was when Kacchan didn’t breathe – didn’t move – when he came up for air.

“You’re gonna be fucking fine,” Kacchan says, unfastening the respiratory mask around his neck and kneeling over Izuku. “It’s got a compressed tank. That should buy you enough time.”

“Time,” Danger Sense screams loud enough to make Izuku tear up. “I hate time,” Izuku whimpers. “We don’t – we never – there’s never enough of it, Kacchan.” The blond feeds the strap of the mask behind Izuku’s head.

The water is past Izuku’s collarbone, mere inches away from Izuku’s mouth. Just before Kacchan can fasten the mask in place, he’s pulling away. Izuku lashes out, catching the blond by the forearm as the explosive teen is pulled into the air by his feet with some invisible force.

“Portals are back!” Hatsume sings over collar comms. Izuku flicks his gaze from Kacchan to the wobbling red portal in the sky that seems to be sucking in smaller debris like a black hole.

Probability doesn’t have many uses left before the quirk fades out of his veins entirely, and this is what he’s choosing to use it on?

“Deku!” Kacchan shouts with a determined grimace on his face, using Izuku’s arm as a tether to draw himself closer, one hand gripping the hero’s costume as the other attempts to pull the mask back into position.

“Kacchan!” The water brushes over the top of Izuku’s costume, where villain outfit meets skin. The green hero shifts his grip to the blond’s chest, yanking him closer. Izuku lifts his head as much as he can manage, crushing a kiss to Kacchan’s lips. For a moment, he thinks he misses because there’s rain in his eyes, and Kacchan’s focus is on Izuku staying alive, but the blond presses back, bruising even in its brevity.

The portal tugs harder, and Izuku can feel himself losing grip. Kacchan pulls away first, whether by choice or the portal, Izuku doesn’t know. The hero sees new determination in the blond’s red eyes, and gloved hands focus on fastening the mask instead of anchoring himself to Izuku’s side.

The mask snaps into place, and Izuku sees it – a devastating, heartbreaking expression on Kacchan’s face as the pull of the portal causes the hero’s grip to slip until the only thing keeping the blond from flying away is their tightly grasped hands and outstretched arms. Izuku never knew Kacchan could look like this. His red eyes are so large, a rarity since his moments of duress typically make them into pinpricks. Izuku can’t even begin to fathom what would make them so big, it’s like the world is ending, and Kacchan is trying to take in a final sight. Maybe it’s that the world is ending because Izuku is about to be underwater, and Kacchan is being pulled away to who knows where. Some other location around the city? Another reality? The unknown has never been more terrifying.

And yet Kacchan looks at Izuku like this. Large red eyes, brows that furrow with helpless worry instead of anger, transforming sharp almond eyes into rounded ones filled with fractured color. Kacchan’s lips pull into a thin straight line, not quite a frown, not much of anything really. He looks like he wants to say final words but doesn’t want them to carry the weight of finality.

Izuku is overly familiar with this type of hesitation. He’s done the same with his Variant classmates in the aftermath of a Firefly attack that leaves them damaged or dying. He’s done it to Kacchan in the early morning before disappearing for years.

“I’m here,” Kacchan rasps over the downpour. “I’m here, Izuku.”

The explosive hero’s hand slips from his green and orange glove, red eyes shrinking to pinpricks in surprise as he tumbles up and through a wobbling portal that flickers out the moment he falls through.

Izuku stares up at the dark sky pouring rain to his outstretched arm, the empty glove still grasped tightly in his own, and goes underwater.

Chapter Text

Benjamin Hashimoto was four when he learned the world was not created equal.

His body was strange and felt out of order. His skin prickled as if it belonged to another, but he woke up in the same wrongness every day. Every day he woke up as Benjamin and never anything more.

He knew the world was not created equal when the other kids his age made fun of his narrow eyes and bowl-cut blond hair. They laughed and pushed him for not being pure enough – whatever that meant.

Benji knew the world was not created equal when he was the only kid without a quirk in his preschool class. He remembers the malicious glee of his classmates, who hurt with their new powers and called him quirkless. He remembers the scowl of his father-by-blood upon learning Benji fell behind.  

“Aren’t you Chinese supposed to be good at everything?” The man demanded after striking a hand across his partner’s face.

“We’re Japanese!” Four-year-old Benji burst out from the hallway to defend his mother. Back then, it seemed like a valid argument, as if race were the issue and not the man wielding a fist. After a bruising kick to his chest and a broken arm, Benji was quick to learn that arguments are meaningless without power.

For all he came to defend his mother, the more she seemed to pull away as if knowing her child could bring more harm, more danger, and pain.

So Benji did the same.

He spent his afternoons running from bullies, sneaking onto farms to pet sheep and horses, or wandering the forests near the farms. The sparkling lights of fireflies became his source of entertainment, and with it, he found a friend.

There was a reclusive woman the townspeople called a witch who taught Benji that the world was only equal when one was far away from people determined to tip the scale. She taught him how to care for sheep and chickens and that his blond hair and blue eyes are a birthright to rule.

She taught him one of the most important lessons of his life: If Benji intended to live around people, he had to tip the scale in his favor first. Kill the fox before it gets to the chickens. Poison snakes out for eggs. Trap the wolves to keep the sheep safe.

Stop the man who sees Benji as a disease.

Benji’s quirk came during a freezing night before his sixth birthday. The house was cold, and somehow, it was Benji’s fault there wasn’t enough money for food or heat. He shivered and shook in too thin blankets wondering how he would ever be warm again when his body started to glow, illuminating a darkened room. Benji cried out in wonder of warming the night, in the strangeness of not knowing his own skin, of still being wrong, wrong, wrong.

But voices of despised children should not wake temperamental men.

Down came fists, then hardbound books and objects sharp enough to cut. Eventually, the light won, exploding most of the house into splinters. When Benji blinked away the light, he saw the abusive man he’d never dare call father lying prone on the ground, blond hair staining red from a gash on his scalp.

At that moment, Benji saw his chance to finally tip the scale in his favor. He loomed over the man, glowing fists making contact on a much larger form, and smiled because he finally had power.

The police ruled the man’s death an accident, a heart attack after a first-time quirk activation. It was too coincidental. Too good to be true.

How could Benji do it again?

The kids his age snubbed Benji, despite his newfound quirk. It was powerful, villainous, and even murdered a man – or so the rumors said. The kids no longer tried to shove Benji into doors, but they pressured him into doing bad things that left him in more trouble than not.

He was a walking conundrum to his teachers—a straight-A student with a powerful quirk, yet always in detention. Why did he have a foreign name, when he had fair hair and blue eyes? Benji strayed towards the town witch instead of the obedient children at school. Why would he stay with the woman rumored to feed her spouse’s corpse to the pigs? The town whispered she might do the same to Benji. The teachers idly thought Benji disappearing would be for the best.

“This,” The witch said, spreading out a map on her uneven wooden table, “was supposed to be ours.” The map consisted of Eurasia with dotted routes marked in reds and blues. She described the Dutch East India Trading Company and how it was the largest business the world had ever seen. She regaled on its history and how it existed for so long that it ruled over many docked countries.

“But not Japan,” She scowled, blue eyes sharp as daggers. “So fearsome of the world that they would not trade with anyone but us, and yet so prideful they kept us on an island – far from their people’s eyes.

“We are not meant to be hidden; we are meant to rule. And you, dear child,” The old woman rasped, bony fingers combed through his poorly cut blond hair, “may rule them still. You are partially theirs with your mother’s blood, and they will welcome you with open arms because you are smart and powerful and everything they are not.”

“What if I’m not ready to rule?” Benji remembered the abusive man and power held in a fist. He thought of the kids at school that have strength in numbers, who forced him to break windows or destroy library books under the threat of black eyes and a broken nose.

“Then,” She hissed, silver-blonde hair fell over her face, “we make you ready.”

Benji’s biggest bully disappeared from school the following week. He silently thanked the witch while the town panicked. In the terror of missing and ‘what if it happens again,’ the other kids left him alone. Police discovered a child’s body of charred bone months later, which Benji took as an opportunity to reign over his grade.

If one kid stepped out of line, something terrible happened. Someone got sick, had bruises or broken bones, or a parent was arrested for poisoning their child. Of course, no one died, but the threat of disobeying was enough, and soon Benji controlled every grade.

They, not he.

The realization comes while some idiot in a lower grade tries to stand up to Benji, shaking a fist while a group of kids hesitate behind her, torn between joining in or cowering for forgiveness.

As royalty does in movies, Benji lifts his chin a little higher, noting the girl is much too brave for a peasant. There’s room for one queen, and that’s them.

Benji warms. Them. That’s what they are. Every day, they’ve woken up as a ‘he,’ feeling like their skin doesn’t fit quite right, and it’s true. Because Benji isn’t a he or a she. Their powerful quirk, knowledge, and destiny can’t be confined to a singularity. Benji is so much more.

They owe this girl some thanks for the realization. So Benji crafts a custom punishment by visiting her home, fascinated by the sight of ballet shoes on her closet door, the dance posters plastered on her bedroom wall, and the dance recital flyer pinned to the refrigerator. Benji breaks her foot, then her toes—one by one—threatening to do more than crush dreams if she reveals what happened.

Benji doesn’t kill until they’re sixteen. Well, not including that disgrace of a man who was already mostly dead. They target two boys on the football team who like harassing the witch and destroying her garden. After a rock broke through a window and gave her a mild concussion, she replaced glass panes for wood.

So Benji does what any benevolent ruler should to deliver an appropriate punishment: They bleed into the training coolers.

Over the years, Benji’s quirk has grown in versatility and power. First, the glowing hands could set off explosions. Later, they could illuminate their body in blinding light, then flight and super strength. The change in their blood was among the last, which bled purple at every cut. They learned it was poison when a dog licked their bleeding injuries died the next day. Next, they learned, in small doses, that it made people violently ill.

After a week, the football team withdrew from a game, then another, and then one fell dead. It wasn’t one of the boys harassing the old woman, so Benji continued. It took until half of the team was in the hospital—dead or dying—for one of the boys to fall. Benji didn’t stop until the other one fell too. By then, they had seven deaths on their hands.

Seven deaths aren’t something the police can overlook.

Benji is questioned and released; the old woman is taken and charged with murder.

Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Before Benji can rescue her, a grieving parent fires a gun screaming, “Witch!”

As the reclusive woman dies collapsed on the ground in handcuffs, she latches her gaze with Benji’s, croaking, “We are meant to rule.”

Benji explodes.

The aftermath leaves hundreds of deaths in front of the town’s courthouse, complete with long blast shadows of the damned.

Benji runs.

They run in tattered clothes, raiding a thrift store with broken windows for the first outfit that fits – a white studded leather jacket, white jeans, and golden shirt – and run further still.

They raid the witch’s home next, first the map, then any spare change. The first is easy to find, pinned to a wall in a study; the second is a fortune in hundred-dollar bills stuffed into every nook and cranny. She must have been a millionaire hiding in squalor.

When they leave with a backpack stuffed full of cash, Benji’s mother stands outside the witch’s home. “What did you do?” She demands as if her light juggling quirk could act as any defense. Benji doesn’t answer; they don’t remember the last time they’ve had a decent conversation with their mother. “I knew it. I knew you were as evil as him; I should have gotten rid of you the night you got rid of him.”

Ah. So, she knew about that too.

“I was made to rule,” Benji snarls, hands heating with a light of their own. “I won’t have lesser beings tell me what I can and can’t do. I certainly don’t need someone like you to dictate my existence.”

By the time Benji leaves the farm-filled town, the death toll has grown by one.

It’s not hard to leave the country. It’s not hard to do anything when you have blond hair, blue eyes, and a polite enough smile.

They stay in the Netherlands for a year learning. They learn why the trading company failed; they learn how the Dutch mocked the Japanese, stole Japanese culture, and made it their own. Dutch kickboxing was just a mockery of Japanese kickboxing mixed with Muay Thai. It was the Dutch who bullied men out of their topknots and sent them home as an embarrassment.

Benji learns the Dutch have no more right to rule than the Japanese relegating them to an island. They learn purity is a disease, like inbred blue bloods who felled themselves with marriages to first and second cousins and like the fool who allowed the Dutch East India Trading company to fall.

If anyone has the right to rule, it’s Benji, whose light can burn the unworthy, and blood will clean their homes of a wasting disease. First, Benji will take over Japan and prove it’s not a country to mock, then bring the Netherlands to their knees. Then, should they get a little bored, they might as well take over the rest of the world.

Benji takes up the name Firefly by the time they reach Kyushu. They remember the summer nights, chasing bugs on farms and in forests, and how their mother sang Hotaru no Hikari in rare moments of care. The song is as much an ending as it is a beginning. Here Benji will start anew, ending an unjust world for one worthy of their light.

They fight anyone who tries to take away their birthright and kill so efficiently that blood no longer finds a way to their stark white clothes.

A hero named Midnight seems interested in their killing spree, but she doesn’t linger for too long. The League of Villains ends her before Benji has a chance to go on the attack. It’s a shame, too, as no other so-called hero has come close to figuring out their plan.

Then those bastards from U.A. get involved, and Benji learns hatred anew.

How dare they.

How dare they prevent Benji from taking back the island that is rightfully theirs? Dejima is more Benji’s home than the country’s poor mismanagement. Dejima is not Japan’s, not the Netherlands’; it’s theirs. They’ll fight anyone to prove it.

Luckily, a green-haired rabbit volunteers to be the first punching bag.

There’s a blond with an explosive quirk as volatile as Benji’s. Firefly is mildly tempted to recruit the feral beast, but when the grenade hero teams up with that fucking annoying rabbit, they know it’s a lost cause. No one works that in sync without conviction. The blond has no reason to fight like that unless they’ve bullied the undeserving, like the idiots Benji killed in America. The rabbit, however, turns out to be fascinating.

The rabbit falls when the grenade leaps; he spends more time covering the feral blond than attacking and is too conscious of his surroundings. The green hero is quick to protect a building, quick to contain damage, and quick to block and dodge their teammate’s careless actions.

The rabbit is quick with care Benji has never known. The rabbit is someone Firefly needs.

All benevolent rulers need consorts, don’t they?

Benji is mildly regretful for carving up the rabbit; the knife was intended for the grenade – who bullies under the pretense of saving. But the regret quickly disappears when it’s the rabbit fighting them sometime later after explosive blond is removed from the battle.

Oh, how vibrant those eyes. Those eyes glow with anger and desperation; they scream of volatile destruction and a need to make the world right. What the rabbit doesn’t understand is that Firefly is righting the world. Benji is creating order. No one will stop them, and Firefly will make this rabbit understand, even if it means beating him at death’s door.

Dejima belongs to Benji; the rabbit will see. Firefly grips the rabbit at the back of his neck, thumbs digging in just above his ears, forcing the green-haired hero to stare at them. They grin, body ablaze to burn this island in their image. With this explosion, they’ll make the rabbit see.

And if not, what’s one more body on their hands?

Firefly wakes to a man in a ridiculous steampunk outfit. Though, he supposes, it’s better than grenades and Benji’s short-lived Elvis Presley jumpsuit. Introduces himself as Probability and rescued Firefly while they were in freefall from the explosion, taking them to the League of Villains to be cared for. Steampunk admits he saved the rabbit – Midoriya – too, though the teen is worse for wear and sent to a different reality to recuperate.

“I brought an alternate Midoriya here,” The man says mildly; his smooth baritone voice is reminiscent of the abusive man in Benji’s childhood, which makes them want to tear this person limb from limb. But Firefly is too exhausted, too littered with bandages, and in far too much pain to sit up. “You might like him too; they’re both sons of a villain named All for One, leader of the League of Villains. I’ve tasked myself with bringing all Midoriya’s to their father’s side; it seems to be the only way you and the League of Villains get what you want.”

“I deserve to rule over Japan and the Netherlands,” Benji snarls.

“You will, so long as the League succeeds.” Steampunk flips through the pages of a large book strapped at their side. “And the League only succeeds when Midoriya leaves Bakugou and joins the League of Villains.”

Leaves Bakugou? The rabbit was overly protective of the grenade, is that grenade bully named Bakugou?

“Will you help?”

Benji doesn’t hesitate to answer.

Midoriya Izuku joins the League of Villains of his own free will. He claims his mother revealed his lineage, and when the teachers found out, they expelled him. The former hero’s appearance is too convenient, and scar face with a fire quirk is quick to investigate. But it turns out Izuku’s ties are severed, and he’s so very alone; Benji doesn’t think it will take much to change him into the perfect villain.

Izuku rises through the ranks quickly, despite the hundreds of new followers who joined before him, standing at Firefly’s side at the foot of All for One. The green teen is smiles and laughter as if to say even villainy can be pleasant. The smile reminds Benji that villain is a misnomer to make peons comfortable. The League is a villain to the way society currently functions and not the way the world should be.

And oh, how the League rallies around Izuku. The teen is a champion for all that is right, proof of a prodigal son earning his rightful place on the throne. This alternate Izuku is not merely a potential consort but a king. If only the rabbit knew his potential sooner.

Izuku spends a great deal of time with Benji and All for One, privy to gifts no other can receive. He leads charges in battles, bandages wounds of his subordinates, and cares like the benevolent ruler he is. He takes in the strays U.A. rejects and builds a larger and stronger army than the rest of the League. The Ravens, they call themselves, strive for a greatness that will outlive them.

Benji doesn’t see the betrayal until it happens.

Izuku defeats All for One in a sudden and underwhelming battle. He sends most of the League to jail while he sets the rest on a path of reform. Everything happens so quickly that Benji doesn’t realize they’ve lost their future crown until they’re the only member of the League left standing.

The betrayal is like that bullet that killed the witch all over again. But, this time, Benji doesn’t kill in a blind rage; they plot out a way to return the favor and take away the kingdom Izuku chooses to defend.

It’s in the planning that Benji realizes Probability was right when they watch how Izuku brightens impossibly around Bakugou Katsuki. For the League to succeed, Izuku had to leave Bakugou and join the League of Villains. The green teen did one of those things.

In retrospect, Benji suddenly understands the rabbit’s distant gazes and faltered laughter during his time with the League. They understand that the League would never win because Benji would always be the furthest priority from Izuku’s heart. If there is a devastating brightness to a Bakugou that isn’t his own, what would the rabbit look like with his alternate soulmate?

Benji will never have Izuku.

It’s only fair Izuku will never have anything at all.

They pick off the anti-gravity heroine first, followed by the mute one with animals. Then, it’s the mutant quirks and the idiot with a belly laser. They catch on, finally, when the acid heroine is the first coherent survivor. The anti-gravity heroine corroborates months later when she relearns to speak. Next is the invisible girl they don’t find for days, then an electric hero whose light could rival Firefly’s.

Slowly, Benji makes their way through the people Izuku chose over the League. They move with care, mimicking all the times the rabbit pretended the same.

Benji saved Bakugou Katsuki for last. They knew it would hurt Izuku the most and would only be a fraction of the rage they felt. It would be fitting for Bakugou Katsuki to disappear as suddenly as the witch, but Firefly knows the blond deserves no such luxury.

Bakugou Katsuki is a bully, far worse than anything forced on Benji as a child, and yet Izuku smiles at him, loves him, forgives him. Bakugou Katsuki is a hero despite his transgressions and is proof of everything wrong with the world. Firefly must dismantle this terrible society that praises abusers and punishes victims. An example must be made of the explosive hero. Izuku may forgive, but Benji won’t.

Benji will rid the world of fakes, pretenders, and unjust rulers.

And perhaps, when Firefly remakes the world in their image and Izuku has nothing left, Benji will remake Izuku too.

Chapter Text

“Are you alright, Deku?” Uraraka asks the moment Izuku surfaces from a meter deep of water after she frees Izuku from the rubble.

The wielder of One for All unfastens the mask, letting it dangle around his neck before touching his collar comm. “I need a headcount, now.” He wipes water furiously from his eyes, glaring at nothing while keeping himself steady. Izuku’s right thigh is screaming in pain, he hears the wet breath in every inhale that can only mean a punctured lung, and there’s a lightheaded sensation he can’t differentiate between blood loss or Recovery Girl’s quirk.

“Deku!” The anti-gravity heroine cries. “We need medevac! Deku, you need to lie down, don’t move.”

“Hatsume!” Izuku snaps, holding out a hand for the bubbly heroine to stay put. All he can see is red, red of the Probability portals, red of Kacchan’s eyes, red from the head wound bleeding into his vision. “Are all souls accounted for?”

“No,” The hero stiffens at the quiet reply. Hatsume is loud and energetic. Even when something explodes or is destroyed, she is quick to dramatize the tragedy. “Four collar comms went offline the last time the portals appeared.”

“Then bring them back online!”

“Izuku, they’re indestructible!” Panic seeps into the inventor’s voice. Whatever is happening is something she can’t invent her way around; even Variant Hatsume was unfazed when she lost her quirk. “If they were anywhere from here to Pluto, I’d be able to track them, but I can’t! No Kyouka, no Ashido, no Hitoshi, no Bakugou!”

“Have you checked the frequency of the portals?” Izuku sways. Uraraka rushes to his side, pulling one arm over her shoulder. “I’m fine,” He winces, trying to give the heroine a reassuring smile. “I just need food.”

“They’re-they’re,” Hatsume sounds like her lip is trembling. She probably misses Jiro, who could identify the portal frequencies in a heartbeat. “They’re over 500 hertz, which is, which is different than the ones from earlier in the battle when Probability sent people to different places in the city. It’s a variant jump.”

A variant jump.

The hero releases a breath, trying to rid the tightness in his chest. “We’ll get them back,” He assures the inventor. “Continue the headcount to find out who else is missing. Contact Nedzu and Aizawa-sensei. I need to debrief, and we need to plan a press conference. And, uh, ask them to have some Recovery Girl gummies and protein bars on hand.”

“It was always a possibility with Probability involved,” Nedzu and Izuku say in unison when Aizawa-sensei levels Izuku with an unimpressed stare. Izuku leans against the principal’s desk, pressing most of his weight onto his uninjured leg, while Nedzu sits behind the desk with Present Mic fiddling with a pile of prepackaged food.

“Creepy,” The voice hero mutters, sliding Recovery Girl gummies the younger hero’s way. Izuku eats two protein bars, then a jelly pouch, hoping the food will jump-start Variant Recovery Girl’s quirk.

“I believe Midoriya has a plan for our—ah—missing student situation, for lack of a better term.” The Principal hops from his seat and pads to the far end of the room towards a beverage nook. He starts the electric kettle, scooping leaves into a teapot.

“You remember the Chief of Police demanded we ceased festivals to prevent villain attacks, right? That didn’t just slip your mind? We agreed to shut down at the first alarm.” Aizawa-sensei states, each word is overly punctuated as if no one in the room is bothering to listen.

“That was last year’s school festival, Shouta.” The voice hero interjects.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku grips the desk with one hand, bowing as low as he can. His ribs protest and his legs threaten to give out from the pain, but the hero maintains the position even as Present Mic tries to pull him upright, and the erasure hero releases an exasperated sigh. “I am sorry for everything that’s happened.” The successor to One for All straightens. “I understand these students are your responsibility, and I jeopardized their safety trying to capture Firefly.

“I thought my contingencies were enough. I thought I would be strong enough, fast enough, clever enough,” Izuku sniffles. “But now there’s six students in Recovery Girl’s care unrelated to the Expo battles, and nearly half of Class A is in an alternate reality. I didn’t mean to, but I-I have – I took Probability’s quirk. I can bring them back; I just, I just have to practice. I just need time.”

“Kid,” The erasure hero doesn’t sound like he’s chastising, but the green-haired hero can’t see through his tears to confirm.

Cold blooms in Izuku’s chest, expanding his lungs while chasing some of the sharp pain away on his right thigh. He gasps, knees giving out at the sudden relief, which earns startled cries from his teachers.

“Here, drink.” Nedzu is at the hero’s side, offering a warm mug of tea. Izuku wipes furiously at his tears before taking the cup with shaky hands. The principal’s black eyes are a comfort in their saddened understanding.

Izuku takes a scalding hot sip before pressing the cup to his sternum, wishing the heat was from champorado mixed with cayenne instead of green tea. He wants the warmth of holding Kacchan close. He wants Kacchan.

Nedzu takes a seat on the floor beside Izuku, sipping on his own cup of green tea. “It is my understanding you also had a contingency should all others fail.”

The hero heaves for breath, a feat that seemed impossible moments ago. Aizawa-sensei sits at the edge of a nearby coffee table away while Present Mic takes a seat on the armrest of one of the office’s sofas.

“I do,” Izuku admits, though he hoped it wouldn’t come to pass. He lifts his gaze, shifting from the voice hero to the erasure hero. “We mostly tell the truth.”

Aizawa-sensei sighs, running a hand through his black hair. “Mostly.”

“I take responsibility. I have to,” The green-haired hero taps his fingers along the cup of tea before taking another sip. “I need to announce that I was kidnapped for some time and returned at the beginning of summer. The past few months were an investigation of my kidnapping, which was tied heavily to the confirmed U.A. traitor Probability, the villain known as Firefly, and the League of Villains.

“That sounds like a vague interpretation of the truth so far,” The voice hero scratches his cheek thoughtfully. So far, the announcement refrains from mentioning time in a variant reality and Izuku’s age.

“In a parallel effort, U.A. proposed a new conference called the Justice Expo for more interdisciplinary collaboration and a look into hero reform.”

“Which you technically proposed, Midoriya,” The erasure hero interjects.

Izuku nods, “U.A. agreed to support my idea and proposed it to the public, but that’s getting into the weeds. Due to overwhelming support and participation from the hero community and increased attacks from Firefly, the committee agreed to utilize it as a potential offensive measure against the League of Villains. The school implemented contingency plans as part of the Run of Show with select students and heroes in the know to maintain the expo’s appearance.”

The successor of One for All sighs at his words. The explanation sounds overly professional, like Izuku didn’t agonize over this plan or spend sleepless nights planning contingencies, only for Nedzu to immediately poke holes the following morning. Izuku feels like he’s lying, even though the information is true. The Expo committee agreed, and certain students knew of Firefly’s potential attack, but it’s all so vague. Izuku is lying by omission.

“Should the Justice Expo go through its original plan, these select students would not be activated. In the event of Firefly, Probability, or the League of Villains, these students were tasked with reorienting the Expo battles to capture the targets.

“These students,” Izuku grips the teacup so hard he hears it crack, hot liquid dripping through his fingers and onto his tattered suit. “Were also entrusted to continue the mission, should the battle permit.”

“And the battle did permit!” Nedzu chirps.

“And if the public asks? If the parents ask, what in good heavens am I supposed to say?” Aizawa-sensei looks frustrated, hands clenching into fists at his knees. “Sorry your child has gone missing for the dozenth time; I have no means of contacting them, don’t worry. Midoriya, I’d have my own head if this were Eri!”

“Your child has chosen to execute a covert operations practicum, an opportunity many do not receive while in school. For their safety, we are not permitted to discuss the details of the mission at this time.” Izuku states hollowly.

The erasure hero claps with a laugh on the verge of disbelief. “And there is the lie.”

“You must understand, Aizawa, I’ve seen the press conference go many ways. This lie is our best chance at getting your students home safely.” The principal takes frequent tiny sips of tea.

“It’s a logical ruse,” The green-haired hero protests weakly. “It will buy me time to-to learn.” Izuku holds out his free hand where a green disk sparks and sputters, spinning with the want to expand. For a moment, the center hole turns white and shows a sparkling clean beach in mid-afternoon before sputtering out completely. Present Mic’s gaze drifts to the window behind Izuku, likely confirming it’s still the middle of the night.

It’s not like the Erasure hero to protest a logical ruse. Though Izuku supposes, Aizawa-sensei’s tricks don’t typically involve real danger or a vast unknown. Logical ruses usually have scripted outcomes; at the moment, Izuku isn’t even sure rescue is an option.

“And what happens, Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei slouches. “If they don’t come home?”

The erasure hero seems to understand there are no other options, an impossible feat because the erasure hero always finds a way. Sensei teaches the rules and teaches how to break them. He will figure out how to fight and save at the cost of his own life and limb. Aizawa-sensei can win a battle on sheer determination alone. Izuku can’t help but hold the teacup a little tighter, which shatters it completely, pointed shards digging into his scarred palm.

“I,” Izuku’s lip trembles. He breathes in a shaky breath. “I’ll take responsibility for that too.”

Fat tears pool in Izuku’s eyes. He thinks of Ashido and Kaminari, who are lynchpins to Class A, seamlessly weaving in and out of every friend group. He thinks of Yaoyorozu, Kirishima, and Todoroki, stalwart friends and pillars of the class. Next is Shinsou, who hasn’t even been in Class A for a year, who deserves to become a hero, and Jiro! Izuku can’t forget Jiro, whose music brought about Eri’s first smile.

Then, there’s Kacchan.

His Kacchan, a person Izuku has loved for a quarter of his life—and if he’s honest—likely longer. Izuku persevered to return home to his Variant, his life, his Kacchan. He finally got to kiss the blond, love him, and even say the words aloud. Kacchan is gone in a variant Izuku can’t reach, a fact that makes every part of his body feel like shattered bone. For one glorious moment, Izuku had Kacchan. For the first time in years, Izuku could hold his love, his heart, and home.

But now, Kacchan’s gone.

And Izuku doesn’t know if he can bring the blond back.

Izuku sobs, curling into himself, hand clenching tighter around the shattered cup. Heavy tears cling to his eyelashes, holding the weight of his grief, only to fall and reform again. He thinks the tears are stealing his breath, the fat globs must be large enough to fill his lungs, yet they continue to fall while his chest begs for air.

Maybe Izuku is drowning in guilt and heartbreak. Maybe he’ll cry long and hard enough to form a river that will float him out to sea, or maybe they’ll fill Nedzu’s office like a great lake, forcing Aizawa-sensei to use the coffee table as a boat, and the principal will use a pillow as a flotation device.

All the dramatics of Izuku’s tears pales in comparison to reality. Where the thought of Present Mic using a couch as a canoe might be funny, Izuku knows nearly half of his class is missing in action. They could be in countless variants running at different times. They could die of old age in the time it takes for the green-haired hero to find them. Izuku might never control the quirk, and they’ll be trapped in variants where they might not survive.

Everything hinges on Izuku being enough. Enough to fight All for One, enough to bear One for All, enough to fight at Kacchan’s side, enough to fight Shigaraki (though this is Probability’s lie), or enough to save his friends.

Izuku doesn’t know if he’ll ever be enough. He’s not much of a hero or a villain. He’s the son of a murderous psychopath and protégé of the greatest hero of all time. He has countless quirks at his fingertips, yet Izuku is still a worthless quirkless kid at his core.

How can Izuku ever be enough when he’s lost these friends once in a Variant, buried far too many, and is at risk of doing it all over again?

Chapter Text

Fuck. It reeks.

Bakugou coughs, trying not to grimace at the acrid smell invading his nostrils and the blistering heat that threatens to sear his face if it weren’t for the fact he’s still half-drowned from the rain. Despite this, Bakugou feels the sun threatening to blind him even with his eyes closed.

Fuck!

Everything hurts. His shoulders throb with overuse while his legs feel leaden like he’s hiked an entire mountain range. Could Bakugou move if danger presented itself?

He pulls a page from the hobo’s book, mentally listing things for his senses.

Five things he can see.
Fuck that; Bakugou will pretend to be unconscious as long as possible.

Four things he can feel.
The blond can feel water pooling at his heel inside his boot; he can feel scalding heat and dusty wind. He’s lying on something hard and uneven, hot enough to dry his backside.

Three things he can hear.
He hears the quiet movements of pebbles scratching across a surface with the wind, a distinct lack of crowds and technology, then a distant creak of bending metal.

Two things he can smell.
It stinks like fucking sulfur and motor oil.

One thing he can taste.
Bakugou can taste his nasty ass morning breath, which reminds him of battery acid mixed with garlic.

But before this fuck awful mouth, he remembers rain and Deku when the nerd finally kissed first. He remembers the nerd almost underwater, a wet kiss so aggressive, Bakugou cut his lip and added blood to the brief touch.

I’m here, Izuku.

Bakugou snaps his eyes open at the words, immediately grimacing under the blinding light, throwing a grenade-free arm over his head to shield some of the sun’s rays. He blinks away sun spots, still baring his teeth at the idiotic move of giving away his location to his enemies.

The explosive teen’s range of vision as his arm blocks the harshness of the sun above and most of his periphery, leaving a limited view directly ahead or down to his toes.

The blond barely shifts his gaze before taking note of the large piece of rubble to his left. A female figure sits cross-legged on top, wearing a Shiketsu High hat with straight black hair cut into a bob that ends abruptly at her chin. She wears a simple black outfit, jogger pants paired with ankle boots, and a low-cut crop top. The chick tilts her head owlishly, pointer finger on her cheek in thought, lips pursed in a stupid fucking duck face.

Bakugou would recognize her anywhere. She looks significantly older than the last time he saw her. He bites back a comment about her buying anti-aging cream.

Get out of this shitty situation first, insult Shiketsu Chick later.

The chick hums, tapping her cheek twice before standing on the rock, towering over him more than before. She grabs the rim of her hat with one hand while brushing off imaginary dirt from the front of her joggers with a silver gloved hand.

“Well,” Shiketsu Chick says with a level of importance the blond never thought she could pull off, “you’re not my husband.”

“No yeah, I got ‘em,” Shiketsu Chick speaks into an oversized watch that seems to have its own satellite dish. She tucks her hair behind one ear, glancing at her surroundings, followed by the setting sun. “C’mon, this was barely a challenge. If you’re sending me to collect Pokémon, I expect at least the original one fifty, not eight babies and a literal zombie.”

“Who are you calling a baby?” Dunce Face protests.

“Hush now, Momma’s talking,” The illusion heroine waves a dismissive gloved hand. “Look, the sun’s setting, so either I have to camp out and explain this shit show to them—and you know I will purposely do it wrong to spite you—or you leave the door open an extra half hour, and you can explain the shit show to them.” Shiketsu Chick tilts her head, likely listening to the second half of a conversation Bakugou can’t hear.

The explosive teen looks away to the weary group he’s recovered throughout the day with the heroine. Ears and Ponytail share uncomfortable looks, while IcyHot and Purple Hair seem to be in a contest of expressing who cares less. Shitty Hair looks more confused than studying for finals, and Raccoon Eyes seems to be picking Dunce Face’s jaw off the ground. All Might stands heads above everyone, brows furrowing in concern while hands fidget aimlessly.

“Great!” The heroine beams, “Don’t forget, I call dibs on the leftover cookie batter!”

“There’s cookie batter?” Dunce Face whines to Raccoon Eyes.

Shiketsu Chick turns to the group, bending forward as if talking to toddlers. “So like, hi. I know I introduced myself like fifteen million times, but I’m Camie. You, I assume, are variant reality travelers, which I totally haven’t seen in years but my hubby was CONVINCED at least one of you would show up here.” She straightens before walking towards ruins in the distance, gesturing at Bakugou to follow. “He was pretty sure it’d be you explode-o-boy, that self-absorbed egotistical prick.”

“Whoah,” Shitty Hair limps between Bakugou and Shiketsu Chick, one eye swollen shut from the Expo battle. “That’s not very manly to say about Bakugou!”

“I’m talking about my husband,” She laughs, “though there’s not much difference. You’ll see.”

“Still,” Shitty Hair looks unsure, glancing between the heroine and explosive teen. He shrugs, falling back to walk beside Dunce Face and Raccoon Eyes.

“Anyway, we kind of have to hurry,” The heroine glances back at the straggling group. “I know you’ve all been put through the meat grinder, then thrown in a rock tumbler, and tossed off Niagara Falls, but the Nocturnals rule this land at night, and I like this pretty face scar-free.”

“And who, if I may ask, are the Nocturnals?” All Might asks, helping a limping Ponytail along.

Shiketsu Chick’s shoulders hunch, expanding her stride until it’s hard for even Bakugou to keep pace. They walk in silence for a few short minutes, their breaths and footsteps the only sound. Then, a shrill cry whistles through the air, jerking the group’s gaze in the direction they came.

The illusion heroine latches on to Bakugou’s and IcyHot’s wrists. Her grip is tighter than iron as she tugs Bakugou forward. “Executioners. They executioners. C’mon, we’re running out of time.”

“It’s a bathhouse,” IcyHot states the obvious as Shiketsu Chick gestures the group into a standing structure with a blue tile roof.

“Is it, though?” She sings, pulling down the metal gate before sliding close a wooden door. She turns the shitty lock on the door that’s so small, Bakugou doubts it has any purpose.  

The blond turns to stare at the locker entryway, then the large mural depicting Mount Fuji which continues further inside.

“It’s a bathhouse,” Purple Hair confirms, turning the corner to reveal a service counter, more lockers, and a lounge area.

“Is it, though?” The heroine sings higher, waving them through a doorway labeled women.

Inside is a large pool in a near oval shape dotted with rocks, an indoor waterfall, and edged with dead or dying plants, mimicking a natural onsen in a mountainous area. Rows of mirrored washing stations sit off to the side, stools in a haphazard pile.

“It appears to be a bath house.” Ponytail agrees, apprehension on her features. Bakugou doesn’t blame her, the waterfall may be moving the water, but the pool is too cloudy to be anything more than a breeding ground for bacteria.

“Is it, though?” Shiketsu Chick sings even higher, leaping onto a jutted rock in the pool. She jumps twice, kicks the protruding stone once, and then leaps over the questionable water again.

A piece of rock on the waterfall slides back, revealing a dark opening.

“Babies and zombies first.” She beams, this time tugging Ears and Purple Hair around the pool before shoving them through the opening.

Shiketsu Chick separates the group once the waterfall closes once more. She shoves Bakugou and the boys into a storage closet filled with linens and gym uniforms as she takes the heroines with her, yelling, “Don’t catch hypothermia, change out of the ratty clothes! Kay, Thanks, Bye!”

“I’m not entirely sure we haven’t been kidnapped,” IcyHot states, staring at the closed door.

“For all we know, the Nocturnals are the heroes wherever we are,” Dunce Face agrees.

“If we are in a variant, that would explain why I haven’t heard of the Nocturnals before.” All Might holds his chin between his pointer finger and thumb.

“A variant, huh?” Shitty Hair beams, “We’re just like Midoriya.”

“Wait,” Dunce Face’s eyes widen, holding his hands out as if trying to still the room. “Do you think this is the variant Midoriya was in?”

Bakugou stomps to the shelves, grabbing a stack of towels and throwing them at the idiots. Purple Hair makes a noise of protest before shrugging off the top of his hero costume, wiping his arms and chest dry.

“We won’t find out shit until we’re out of here,” The blond snaps, peeling off his one remaining glove, gauntlets, and top. “If we get sick from being soaked to the bone won’t help our chances if we need to leave.”

“I’d prefer to keep some of my uniform,” Half and Half eyes the gym clothes warily. “I can dry your uniform with my hot side.”

IcyHot radiates heat from the corner of the room, drying himself while the rest of the idiots change. Purple Hair sets his capture scarf and gloves on top of Dunce Face’s hooded jacket in Half and Half’s lap. Shitty Hair and All Might seem content in the shelved gym uniforms, hanging their clothes to dry on the few hangers in the closet. Bakugou begrudgingly tosses his pants and boots to the dual user after pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He shrugs on two thin sweaters before pulling an oversized jacket from the shelves.

Fuck, he’s still cold.

The room's heat is just under unbearable, yet it doesn’t reach the frigid cold at Bakugou’s core. He knows how to sweat on command and keep his temperature up for optimal efficiency. The rain depleted him, stole the heat from his palms and chest, and no amount of burning sun, trekking through ruins, or shitty flames set him straight. He’s so fucking screwed if this turns into a fight.

Bakugou straps himself into his boot when the door slams open. He’s preoccupied, noting the boot is dry from calf to heel, but toes are still damp, soaking through a fresh pair of socks. He scoffs at the sensation; IcyHot can’t even dry clothes properly. Sure, Bakugou’s hero pants are plenty dry, but how the fuck is he supposed to keep focus while his feet prune?

“Good heavens,” All Might whispers.

A hand grabs Bakugou by the collar, dragging the blond to his feet and out the closet door. “The fuck are you doing?” The explosive teen roars, stumbling to keep pace with the figure dragging him along. He grapples with the black metal hand on his collar clenched into a tight fist, details accented in red and orange. The black prosthetic extends up the entire arm, with an impression of muscles on the bicep.

Bakugou follows the arm to a figure taller than him with broad shoulders and sandy blond hair braided at the sides, the center stripe spiked into a mohawk. Well fuck, he’s wanted to try that look for a while; but his hair annoys the shit out of him when it gets past his ears.  

“Drink,” The figure rasps, shoving a large mug into the teen’s hand. Bakugou takes a tentative sniff of the dark liquid, smelling familiar spices, and takes a sip.

The change is almost instantaneous. Warmth seeps through his core as spice tingles his mouth as the bitter taste of dark chocolate pulls his body from the brink of exhaustion to a state of alert. Bakugou downs the drink in three large gulps before the figure takes the mug once more.

“Your nitric acid levels are low,” The figure turns to hand the explosive teen the replenished mug. Bakugou takes in eyes more orange than red, furrowed brows, and thin pressed lips. He notes the two slashes along a strong chin, a puncture scar that doesn’t quite match his own, and claw marks around the real arm before the marks disappear around the back under a dark tank.

“Katsuki,” Bakugou grunts in greeting. The drink sits heavy in his stomach; he tastes sawdust but refuses to take the tiniest sip of the refill.

“Kacchan,” Variant Katsuki nods. “How is,” He hesitates, persimmon eyes glancing back the way they came. “Izuku?”

Bakugou’s hands ache. So this is what Deku had for all those years. While the teen went crazy, the nerd had a variant to keep him company.

Jealousy as bitter as the hot chocolate spreads a different heat prickling his skin. Bakugou wants to throw the mug in his variant’s face and declare Deku deliriously happy because he has Bakugou and not some cheap facsimile with a junkyard arm.

But Deku isn’t fine. The teen still remembers struggling to latch the respirator in place before that portal took him away. The nerd could be drowning. The nerd could be dead, and Bakugou wouldn’t know.

“Fucking reckless as always, then,” Variant Katsuki scoffs, hands shifting to their hips.

“What a shitty nerd,” Bakugou can’t help but agree.

“What’s he gonna do without us there to keep him alive?” The older blond shifts his stance briefly, leaning more on one side than another. Fucking weird. Bakugou doesn’t lean when he stands; he distributes his weight equally, shifting weight only when he’s about to move.

The variant catches his gaze and sighs. “What an annoying brat.” He lifts his right pant leg, revealing a prosthetic leg that disappears into the pants past the knee in the same design as his left arm. “Happy?”

“How?” Bakugou frowns.

“Heroes lose things; that’s part of the job.”

“Alright, dimension traveling zom-babies!” Shiketsu Chick bursts into a lounge area where Bakugou and his older variant have arranged food over every flat surface. “I hope you’re ready for a bedtime story!” The illusion heroine skips while Bakugou’s gang of idiots trail behind in some mixture of gym clothes and hero costume. The heroine’s terrible black wig is gone, and familiar caramel-colored waves fall to the small of her waist.

“Take a seat! Eat some food! Take a load off! I know I’m tired after searching for you, can’t even think about how you feel based on looks alone.”

…that’s true.

Each classmate Bakugou pulled from that rubble desert today has had some sort of injury, treated on discovery, or left to their own devices. Shitty Hair’s swollen eye has turned black, a bruise spreading over the rest of his face. Bakugou suspects a fracture on the cheekbone and knows there’s more bruising over the red head’s chest. Dunce Face and Ears had the least injuries from the Expo battle, but the heroine has a bandage wrapped around her right forearm spotted with red.

“All Might,” Variant Katsuki says quietly in a tone Bakugou recognizes as awe.

“Yes, young – I mean, Bakugou?” All Might fidgets, offering the older explosive hero a tentative smile.

The blond crosses the room, ignoring the teens, and wraps the former number one into a tight hug. All Might looks briefly bewildered, hands flapping at nothing before settling to hold the variant close.

“Fucking great to see you alive. How’s your health?” Variant Katsuki pulls back, squeezing the taller blond’s shoulders. “Missing lung the only issue, yeah?”

“So Recovery Girl tells me,” The former number one assures.

“Fuck yeah.” The variant moves away, putting together a plate of food and settling in an armchair. Shiketsu Chick is quick to perch on the armrest beside him as the rest of the losers make their way to the couches.

Shitty Hair takes a seat to Bakugou’s right, while Raccoon Eyes sits to his left, a soothing familiarity while he stares at an older version himself.

The group settles in for a few minutes, picking at their dinner while the explosive teen nurses his third cup of bitter hot chocolate. Variant Katsuki observes them from the other side of the room, frowning.

“You gotta know what’s going on. A lot of shit has changed since Izuku left.” The older blond finally says, his rasp travels easily over the room.

Raccoon Eyes nudges Bakugou in the ribs, eyebrows shooting high as she juts her chin to the variant as if to say, ‘how come he gets to call Deku by his real name?’

“First thing you gotta know is that your Izuku came to this variant. Your arrival frequency is the same as his departure. Second, heroes are quirkless.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Ponytail conjures up cutlery to eat. “Our class received your quirks. It makes sense some have pursued heroism without powers.”

“Oh baby,” Shiketsu Chick makes a pitying cooing noise.

“All heroes are quirkless,” Variant Katsuki says again. “Almost every shitty person on this planet is quirkless, except the villains.”

“May I ask why?” All Might asks, food ignored in his lap.

“The nerd’s old man,” The scarred blond says. “He’s over fucking two hundred years old. You don’t get to be that old without controlling high-profile figures across the world. They were told, should the fucker’s plan fail, to start a biological war. Entire countries were bombed, and in it, radiation permanently suppressed the quirk gene.”

“Hold on, what?” Dunce Face stammers. “Are we going to lose our quirks? Doesn’t radiation last forever? Isn’t that a thing? Like we’re all a little more radioactive than normal because of those nuclear bombs?”

“Discharge your electrified booty,” Shiketsu Chick waves her gloved hand dismissively. “The bombs have an aggressive half-life. It’s the initial dose within the first few days that suppress it. After that, it’s too little to do anything. There hasn’t been a bombing in like, two years.”

“Most villains were notified to hide prior to the bombings and managed to keep their quirks. And since they had power, they took over nations while we tried to figure out a new normal. Firefly should have led the charge on the takeovers since that’s their M.O., but I haven’t seen that fucker since they tried to kill me.” Variant Katsuki glances toward the illusion heroine. “We’re still fighting the fight, trying to make it so civilians don’t have to be scared walking around outside. But it’s harder when you gotta fight unarmed against those with quirks.

“I got this from one of the early fights,” The hero says, lifting his prosthetic arm.

“Same, and now we’re a matching set!” Shiketsu Chick tossed her hair over her shoulder, waving the silver gloved hand. Except no, it’s not a glove. How had Bakugou not noticed sooner? The hand is similar in shape and form to the heroine’s but gleams in silver plating, ending abruptly just past the wrist. He sees joint lines, though they’re nearly invisible.

Variant Katsuki huffs, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been at this for two and a half years. Our network is small but growing. While we do have the means to track shitty variant jumpers like you, we don’t have the means to send you back. All that tech either doesn’t exist or is out of reach.

“You’re stuck here,” The blond gravels out, “Until you get Probability to rescue your ass, or I-Island can safely dock in Japan.”

“So you don’t know.” Purple Hair states flatly, earning a sharp look from the older hero. “You don’t know Probability is the U.A. traitor. All of this,” The mind control idiot gestures around at nothing as his voice rises, “is because of him. He sent Midoriya here. He’s the one who sent your Firefly to our reality. He’s the reason I have this variant’s quirk and memories.

The purple teen stands, knocking his nearly empty plate to the floor – the pottery breaking on contact. “We are stuck here because of Probability. You were fucked over because of Probability. Everything that has happened is because Probability owes All for One.”

“Young Shinsou, what would he owe All for One?” All Might asks as Dunce Face leans from his spot beside Purple Hair and starts picking up shards of the shattered plate.

Bakugou recalls Deku speaking through the Persephone channel moments before the explosion that tore the practice city apart. That variation fucker brought up his son, the Shiketsu Extra, with an analysis quirk.

“Obi doesn’t know the full extent of what you’ve done.”

“I’m giving my son his best chance!”

He remembers the fight between the Shiketsu second years: I want to assure you I am in no way like my father. I am as horrified by these turn of events as you are, and I apologize for any undue burden he may have caused.

Then, words on a rooftop from a hot summer night.

“Why the fuck would All for One give you his quirk?”

“Fathers always want to create something their children will inherit.”

“Shiketsu Extra got his analysis quirk from All for One.” Bakugou’s mouth feels dry; it all makes sense. Deku’s animosity for the fucker before the fight and the nerd’s hesitation to accept any help from someone with an analysis quirk.

“What?” Dunce draws out the question, snapping his gaze to the blond. “Obi seems like a nice guy! Well, you know, except the whole trying to bash my head in during our match. 

“Oh, I liked Obi!” Shiketsu Chick pouts. “I mean, of course, before he turned evil and took over Japan. Yeah, okay. That tracks. I guess that’s a hell of a debt to owe to a villain.”

“It’s like you two share brain cells or something,” Ears mutters, leaning back to rest against the couch.

Variant Katsuki looks around the room, lips pinching in a frown. He glances at Purple Hair—who takes over cleaning the floor from Dunce Face—to Ponytail, Bakugou, and lands on All Might. It’s not a look that hints at a silent conversation. Instead, it reminds the explosive teen of Deku when he mutters, trains of thought exploding in every direction.

The older blond doesn’t move, even as Shiketsu Chick lays a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

Finally, Bakugou’s variant self sighs. “Then we can’t rely on a variant jumping quirk. Your quirks endanger our mission, so we need to send you shits home. But for us to do that, we need I-Island to adapt tech from multiple countries, which means overthrowing villains.”

“Babe, this sounds like a spiral,” Shiketsu Chick hums.

Babe?

Raccoon Eyes notices the term, too, because she jabs his ribs with her elbow once more.

Bakugou recalls Deku bristling at the mention of her name. He remembers the nerd thinking Bakugou might want to be with the brunette more throughout summer.

“I’m talking about my husband, though there’s not much difference. You’ll see.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Variant Katsuki starts again, making the same precise gestures Bakugou makes when he has a plan. But none of that fucking matters. All of it is shit because ‘babe’ is impossible. The nerd is the only option.

Bakugou has never loved anyone before Deku and will never love anyone besides Deku. The nerd is Bakugou’s favorite color; he is proof of the blond’s being and the only correct thing in the world. He could jump realities, lose his quirk, lose his license, forget his own name, and it would be fuck whatever so long as he has Deku. Bakugou has lost the nerd before and refuses to do it again.

So how could Variant Katsuki move on? How could his other self give the nerd up and marry Camie?

Chapter Text

A bouquet of sunflowers, two industrial-sized rolls of fabrics, and a box of chocolates isn’t enough.

If Izuku is honest, it’s a pittance. If Kacchan were here, he’d laugh at the green-haired hero and call him desperate.

And well, Izuku is desperate.

He’s about to tell the Bakugou’s as much as he’s able, and he’s nothing short of terrified of what they might say.

Hi Oba-san and Oji-san, I’m dating your son, but I’m also four years older than him, and I just lost him to an alternate reality. Please let me continue to date him.

Yeah, that’ll go great.

Izuku hesitates at the front gate, arms filled with gifts. He frowns at the paved path before him and the selfish thoughts clouding his head. This visit isn’t about dating Kacchan. It’s not about his guilt. It’s about Izuku’s mother and how the Bakugou’s deserve to know instead of fatal worry.

“Izuku?” The green-haired hero snaps his head towards the door where Bakugou Mitsuki stands in a black top and lilac skirt. There’s a pin cushion strapped to her wrist; her hair is clipped haphazardly with elastics, butterfly clips, and bobby pins. Kacchan described this look once, cackling as he detailed his mother’s haphazard appearance when lost in a design spiral. She loses track of time; sometimes, she forgets the days, and pulling her to reality is like trying to stop a bullet train.

And yet she’s here with dazed red eyes, concern in her furrowed brows, and pinched lips.

“H-hi, Oba-san!” The young hero forces his biggest smile, a shaky laugh escaping from behind his sternum. Another sound escapes, transforming the laughter into a sob, tears carving paths over his cheeks.

“Oh, oh! Izuku!” He hears her quick tapping footsteps as she yells, “Masaru! Come here!” Then the gate is pulled open, hands yanking the stupid gifts from his arms. He hears the fabric thump on stone, the chocolates clatter, spilling on the ground, and glass shattering from the vase holding the flowers. “Kid, Izuku, c’mon.”

Cold hands cup Izuku’s face, delicate fingers wiping the tears, gently guiding his head left and right to check for outstanding injuries.

“Is it Katsuki?” Bakugou Masaru’s voice is breathless with hope like he just ran to the doorway. He must be so disappointed it’s Izuku standing before them instead of their son.

“Izuku, what is it? What hurts?” Oba-san frantically asks. Her words are sharp with urgency, but Izuku hears the warmth beneath it all. His mom used to ask the same questions during his childhood when he came home with bruises and reprimands from teachers because ‘a quirkless kid can’t be the smartest person in the class.’

“Kid, you gotta talk to me,” She says, hands shifting to his shoulders. He grounds himself to the touch and reminds himself where he is.

“I just,” Izuku sobs, lurching forward to hug Oba-san tightly. “I miss him so much.”

Bakugou Mitsuki leans into the embrace, resting her cheek against Izuku’s shoulder as she wraps her arms around the hero. “Oh, kid. I know. I do too.”

Kacchan’s parents stare at Izuku in silence.

The hero presses his knees together and stares at his scarred hands holding a mug of tea. The liquid shudders in the cup because Izuku is trying desperately not to have a repeat performance of Nedzu’s broken mug. Variant Recovery Girl’s quirk is only going so far at the moment. He suspects the quirk is either overused or his body is too exhausted to heal properly, which is why one hand is heavily bandaged. Aizawa-sensei bandaged the shard-filled hand, chastising Izuku’s recklessness.

This was a stupid idea. Izuku spent months parsing out information of his time in the variant to Kacchan and Aizawa-sensei and holding back when it seemed on the verge of overwhelming. But Kacchan and Aizawa-sensei are trained to endure the weird and impossible; the Bakugou’s are not. The Bakugou’s are civilians; they shouldn’t be burdened with alternate realities, time differences, traitors, and villains. But should does not determine need.

The Bakugou’s have lost their son once when the League kidnaped Kacchan. He was impaled on two separate occasions fighting villains before the end of his first year and nearly drowned in the summer. Now, he’s been shipped off to an alternate reality. That’s more duress than any parent should bear.

Izuku’s mother died from the unbearable worry he gave her. Between quirklessness, bullying, broken bones, and near-death experiences, it’s a wonder how she ever put up with him. What would she say if she saw Izuku now?

The hero imagines his mom on the couch beside him, gently taking the tea from his hands before laying a hand on his forearm. She’d smile at him, her guilt and worry evident in the crease at her brow and rounded face. She would support Izuku, despite her apprehension of Kacchan, despite the fact he’s no longer a child, and despite knowing he will never tell her how he acquired most of his scars.

Midoriya Inko would simply ask her son if he was happy. Izuku would probably say yes if Kacchan were sitting at his other side.

“I’m not entirely sure I got all of that,” Bakugou Masaru says slowly from the opposite couch, “But Katsuki is alive, right? He’s out there saving people, being a hero?”

“I don’t really know, Oji-san,” Izuku admits. “If-if it’s anything like my time in a variant, then yes, Kacchan’s saving people.”

“Don’t lie, Izuku,” Bakugou Mitsuki scoffs, rolling her eyes as she picks up her own mug of tea. Despite the smirk on her lips declaring prideful confidence, Izuku watches her hand tremble, hinting at his own fears for the explosive teen so far from home. “You and I both know he’s making things into a larger shit storm.”

“I-I, uh, um, I-I don’t–”

“Bring that brat back as fast as you can, so he’ll stop fucking up a different world.” Her red eyes level with Izuku’s green. “As fast as you can, Izuku.”

“A-as fast as I can,” The hero nods.

“And when you do,” She leans back, taking a sip of tea, “Bring him by for dinner. I want to see my kid squirm when he finally admits he’s dating his childhood crush.”

Izuku blinks twice, freezing at Bakugou Mitsuki’s smirk.

Childhood crush?

“How’d it go?” Uraraka asks that evening, sliding into a chair across the dining table in the common area. She clasps her hands together; her arms still wrapped tight from the wounds brought on by Vine. The anti-gravity heroine seems to scrutinize him as if attempting to analyze Izuku slumped in his seat. He spins his pencil absently, staring down at blank pages in a notebook. “Deku?”

“Hmm?” He startles, stealing air into his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“How’d it go with the Bakugou’s?”

“Oh, um,” He breathes deeply through his nose and sighs, glancing at the burn mark on the inside of his wrist. Izuku is in the correct reality, so why does it feel so wrong? “They took it – they took it well. The variant, Kacchan missing, us being an ‘us.’ I think they were more concerned if I was okay.” The green-haired hero lays his pencil into the gutter of the open notebook.

“Are you okay?” The heroine presses.

Izuku frowns, lifting his gaze from the notebook to laze about the room. The sun is barely setting outside. Usually, the common area is filled with his classmates until late evening, but it’s uncomfortably still and silent. He’s been at the table since he returned from the Bakugou’s in early afternoon and doesn’t recall a single soul passing by until Uraraka.

“I did the math, you know,” Izuku picks up his pencil, scribbling numbers. “I was in the variant for close to four years. Three years, seven months. I was missing here for three months, six days.” He writes out 1,305 and underlines it before writing 96 beneath it. “Over a thousand days for me and ninety-six for you, which means for every day that passes here, nearly two weeks pass in that variant.

“It’s been two days, Uraraka. If we assume Kacchan and the rest of the class are in the variant I went to; then it’s been a month for them. They’ve been waiting for me for an entire month already.” The hero writes 13.59 before scratching lines over the entire equation. “Everyone is waiting for me to master Probability’s quirk. It’ll be a miracle if I can master it in a month. By then, Kirishima, Ashido, Yaoyorozu – all of them – will be more than a year older.

“When I was there, I at least had a purpose,” Izuku scoffs, “I had a goal, no matter how much it turned out to be a lie. I was promised a chance to return. They don’t get that. They don’t even know I have Probability’s quirk, and I’m trying to get them back. What if they think I abandoned them? What if I never master the quirk?”

“Deku, it’s hard for sure. I mean, I can’t help but think that if I had been a little faster or less injured or a better hero, I could have prevented it—kind of like what you’re doing now. But Izuku,” She reaches out, closing the notebook and laying her hand over his bandaged one, “everything you just said doesn’t tell me how you are. It doesn’t tell me if you’re okay.”

“I’m,” The green-haired hero hesitates, “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse too, so I’ll say I’m fine as a middle ground.” He forces a smile, which turns Uraraka’s into a frown. “This is uncharted territory for me. No matter what I did or what happened, even when my morals seemed nonexistent, I have done my best to save. Even when Firefly began hunting variant Class A, I did my best to keep them alive and fight another day.

“But Uraraka, I was selfish. I stole someone’s quirk, something I promised I would never do. And that’s not even the worst part.” Izuku sighs, pulling his hand away.

“Deku, we know.” The anti-gravity heroine says quietly, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “We know why you kept your distance. All of us have memories from our Variant lives, and we pieced together a bit of your life based on what our memories have in common. So, we know you were a villain for a time and did a lot of bad things to save a lot of people. We know your Dad is All for One, and he gave you a copy, or he has the copy of his quirk.

“So, don’t hold it in. We’re still Class A; we do things as a team. Let’s share the weight of your burden, okay? I can help a little, like when you were learning how to float.” She giggles, offering a smile. “I know we’re not Bakugou, but we want to help. Please let us help.”

“Nine portals,” Hatsume says, sitting cross-legged in her workshop chair and keyboard in her lap. She wears an oversized bomber jacket the same golden yellow as her eyes; though it’s so grease-stained, it nearly looks brown. Her workspace is surprisingly clean, though Izuku suspects that’s a byproduct of the expo results.

Hatsume doesn’t feel much for people, often caring more for her inventions than those who use them. But when she takes a shine to someone, she would reverse the earth’s rotation for their sake. It also means she takes it twice as hard when she fails someone.

Variant Hatsume went on cleaning sprees at every failure to a friend. Failing an invention is one thing; she’ll just build another, but to fail a human? She’ll scrap every idea and start from a clean slate. In a way, Izuku knows that a clean slate is a punishment for the inventor because an empty table means an empty mind, but the pink-haired inventor always knows how to get up again.

I love in all the ways I am capable, Izuku. Which may not seem like much to others, but it’s everything to me.

“Nine portals,” Hatsume repeats, sounding the furthest thing from enthusiastic as she looks up at a towering twenty-foot holo screen marking Probability portals around the practice city. “All the same frequency, which means they were all sent to the same location. Nine portals, eight missing second years. All expo participants and speakers are accounted for; all active pro heroes have confirmed their existence, and all third and first years are safe.”

“Hold on,” Ectoplasm interrupts, voice echoing. Izuku glances away from Hatsume and to an assortment of teachers scattered about the Support Course classroom. “You’re missing a variable. Not every teacher or employee of U.A. is an active hero.”

“Everyone in Support is here,” Powerloader says from his perch near Hatsume.

“Gen Ed is accounted for,” Snipe agrees.

“All of my teachers fall into expo participant and speakers,” Nihara-sensei, a civilian teacher from the Business Course, sounds indignant as he lays a hand over his tie much like NightEye used to. The teacher might be blatantly copying the pro’s look for all Izuku knows.

All non-hero course teachers are accounted for; all active pro heroes – a requirement to be a teacher for the hero course – are accounted for, except…

“All Might.” Izuku gasps. How could he have forgotten his mentor?

Chapter Text

Two months, three days, and nine hours.

Bakugou has been stuck in this fucking Variant for over two months. His internal clock preens at its use, counting every minute, hour, day, and month. The blond’s hands ache with grim familiarity. He can’t help but feel shoved back in time as his body constantly searches for stupid fucking Deku in some shape or form. The clock adding tension to the explosive teen’s shoulders reminds Bakugou he’s another minute further away from the nerd. The pain in his arms and hands is evidence the blond isn’t strong enough to hold the important things in his life.

Two months, three days, and nine hours.

As far as Bakugou can guess, a little more than four days have passed in his reality. While the teen wouldn’t consider math his strongest suit, he excels at chemistry – which is just math with volatile objects. The blond calculated Deku’s age against the three months, six days, and seventeen hours the nerd was missing, where two weeks pass for every day in the main reality. Bakugou double-checked the math, triple-checked it with Pink Medusa, who loudly complained, “I thought you had a real math problem, not simple algebra,” and came with the same result.

Two months.

Bakugou has had Deku back in his life for a little over that. He’s been sort of dating the nerd for a month before that Probability fucker sent him here. Bakugou has spent more time as Deku’s someone in an alternate reality than actually with the nerd.

Fucking hell, what is his life?

Is this penance for all the shit Bakugou pulled on Deku as kids?

If it is, why would the other Class A losers suffer through this too?

Bakugou scouts a skyscraper in the latest city block. He listens to every creak of metal, takes cautious steps to assess the structural stability, and examines every crevice for a possible villain hideout. Bakugou and Raccoon Eyes have been on scouting duty for the past month and a half, methodically moving through city blocks, rescuing struggling civilians, or chasing away scattered villains. It’s tedious work, barely clearing a block a day, but the hobo made it clear on the first week of heroics that most heroism is in the tedium. It’s probably why the Class A losers have no complaints about working to expand the safe zone borders.

Defenses are extended with every reclaimed city block, and buildings are assigned for civilians and resource recovery. Ponytail and Pink Medusa have transformed three skyscrapers into rapid-producing vegetable gardens. Dunce Face recovers security cameras with Purple Hair and Ears, rewiring them to be on the lookout for villains Bakugou rarely sees.

Class A has been nothing but a fucking miracle in the past couple of months, with their quirks shortening weeks of work into days or hours, and yet – the blond knows – they’re being kept at arm’s length.

Bakugou knows Variant Katsuki is keeping secrets based on All Might’s sudden case of stutters and fidgets. He knows because the Variant Katsuki offers non-answers or dismisses in the same way Bakugou refuses to relay information. He knows because there are areas of the underground hideout that are off limits, even though Pink Medusa forgets and only ever manages to get the blond partially through the door before someone reminds her.

It’s fucking infuriating. Bakugou would rather spend the next two months in therapy sessions answering stupid questions from Hound Dog than deal with trust issues and secrets.

The blond steps onto the tenth floor, blinking fast against the sudden and harsh wind. He roves his gaze over the floor where most of the space still seems to have a ceiling, if not for the diagonal slice cutting the floors above at a steep angle. Bakugou leans over the edge of the floor to the collapsed second half of the building a few stories below. The building creaks, threatening collapse with the wind.

He marked it condemned before stepping inside; the exterior rubble pressed against the bottom three floors is hard to ignore. The collapse of the second half of the building likely weakened the sliced remains, and Bakugou refuses to take chances when there are still plenty of trashed buildings to assess.

Time for Bakugou to get the fuck out of here.

“Heyyyyy Zombabies!” Shiketsu Chick’s voice crackles through makeshift comms. Bakugou winces as it screeches in his ear. He nearly rips it out but keeps it in for directions. The sun is setting, which means all rebels must return to their dedicated home bases. “It’s time to come home. Mom and Dad have some important news to share with all of you!”

“Ew,” Dunce Face replies over comms.

“I don’t get it,” Half and Half says before announcing his return trip.

“Well,” Raccoon Eyes hums, “When a mama and a papa love each other very much – ”

“I AM NOT having a birds and the bees talk on an open channel.” Ears cries, hysterical.

“I imagine Bakugou would make a great father should he curb his temperament.” Ponytail offers politely.

“I,” Shitty Hair laughs, more pained than anything else, “am gonna agree with Jiro on this one. I really can’t look at anyone in our class and think, ‘how manly, they’re going to be a parent.”

Father. Bakugou. Parent.

The words don’t seem to stick. His thoughts filter through word associations as he moves through the streets, quick to dodge fallen concrete and stomp over cars.

Father. Parent. Bakugou. Brat. Kid. Baby.

Baby.

Fuck.

“Ow!” Shiketsu Chick complains when Class A enters in fresh clothes. She rubs at the top of her head, grimacing at Variant Katsuki’s raised fist as if it had just been used as a gavel.

“For the last fucking time, stop feeding misinformation internally.” Variant Katsuki growls before removing his kitchen apron. The illusion heroine pouts as the older blond snaps at her to set the table.

“I’m guessing it’s not a baby announcement after all,” Raccoon Eyes stage whispers, staring at Bakugou with wide eyes. Something in her face mimics the wave of relief he feels.

“No,” Variant Katsuki seethes, glaring at Shiketsu Chick, “it fucking isn’t and won’t ever be the case.”

“Oh?” Purple Hair raises a brow. “There a problem downstairs?”

“Ha? You wanna die, you fucking hobo wannabe? I don’t need a dumbass quirk to kill you!” Bakugou snarls in unison with his Variant. The reverberating voices silence the room. The blond refuses to look anywhere else than Purple Hair, whose eyes have blown wide in surprise.

Chopsticks clatter on the table, snapping the room’s gazes to Shiketsu Chick, standing beside the table with a fist full of chopsticks in one hand while the other holds an imaginary pair in a loose grip. Her lips form a circle, looking like a fucking Pikachu meme.

Slowly her expression contorts with absolute glee. “Oh – ”

“No.” Variant Katsuki states.

“Oh Mah Gah!” She squeals, hopping up and down with such enthusiasm Raccoon Eyes and Dunce Face jump along with her. Fucking idiots. “I cannot WAIT for more of this in the future.”

“It’s not going to happen again,” The older blond snarls.

“What’s not going to happen again?” An arm leans on Bakugou’s shoulder like Shitty Hair does as a way to appear ‘manly.’ The blond flicks his gaze to the far side of the semi-circle where Shitty Hair stands next to Half and Half, eyes wide as if he’s seeing his pro-hero idol for the first time.

“So manly,” He hears the redhead murmur.

“So hot,” Raccoon Eyes adds.

Bakugou forces the arm off his shoulder, glaring at the new inhabitant in the room.

It’s.

Fucking hell.

How many others are there?

Variant Shitty Hair – fuck, Bakugou needs a new name for this asshole – towers over the blond, hair pulled into a messy bun streaked in reds, blacks, and whites. The stubble on the variant hardening hero’s scared face is a mixture of salt and paper. Scars litter the hero’s body with deep discolored gouges marring well-defined muscle. A deep and angry mark on Variant Shitty Hair’s right forearm reminds Bakugou of the scar Deku is always eager to hide under a compression sleeve.

“Hey,” Variant Shitty Hair brightens, red eyes taking in the members of Class A. “I’m so glad Katsuki finally said we could meet you! Looking forward to working with you all!”

“We?” Half and Half is quick to point out the glaring word.

A chatter of voices drifts from a hallway Bakugou has been kicked out of half a dozen times. The blond watches the still hallway, listening to the light footsteps growing louder and for the yellow light on the wall that speaks of a deeper room to cast shadows of whatever’s in the hall. “You do not need to worry about making a good first impression!” A female’s voice stresses, though no less cheerful than Variant Shitty Hair. “They’re us! But like, younger and more awkward.”

“But they’re not us,” A new voice moans, “At least, not most of them.”

“Ugh! This is just so exciting! I want to just run out there!” Then, a third female voice practically shouts.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay,” The first extra placates. The voices snap into place at once: Round Face, Frog, and Raccoon Eyes.

“You know that really old movie with dinosaurs, the jeep, and the glass of water?” Dunce Face asks, catching Bakugou’s eye for a moment. The electric blond freaks out on any given day, but he’s been more confident at charging into the unknown now that he’s not short-circuiting his brain every five seconds. “It feels like that.”

“Nothing to be worried about, bro,” Variant Shitty Hair laughs, moving to slap Dunce Face’s back.

“Oi, stop standing around. Either take a seat or help out, dumbasses!” Variant Katsuki shouts, holding up a ceramic bowl.

Bakugou moves, refusing to play a part in a waiting game for new extras to appear. He accepts two bowls before heading toward the dining table. “There’s not gonna be enough seats,” Variant Shitty Hair sings cheerfully as he passes the shorter blond.

“First come, first serve.” The older blond barks.

The explosive teen sets the bowls at one of the few empty seats. He counts the chairs at the cramped table, nearly full with his class of losers. Ten seats at the table, eight Class A students from Bakugou’s reality, three Variants currently in the room, and at least three more coming down the hall. All Might may join, but the retired hero has taken it upon himself to visit civilians after hours.

Fifteen people and only ten chairs. Good to know this version of Shitty Hair is vaguely capable at math.

Bakugou is on his third round, setting bowls of ramen in front of Raccoon Eyes and Dunce Face, when a large gasp tears through the room in the direction of the hallway.

Variant Raccoon Eyes stands in front of a handful of extras, hands on her cheeks in the mimic of The Scream. Her pink hair is mildly tamed, curls wild on top while she sports a tight undercut along her sides. The heroine’s skin is as pale as Shiketsu Chick’s, if not slightly sunburned, with sclera a shade of gray that mutes her golden eyes. Didn’t Raccoon Eyes mention her complexion primarily comes from acid production? Is this how the heroine would look without a quirk?

The older heroine looks unscathed from battles, barring a bruise forming on her right cheek. Despite wearing an oversized sweater that comes down mid-thigh, the clothing hints at a dramatically curved figure Midnight might envy.

“You’re all SO CUTE!” Variant Raccoon Eyes rushes forward, arms outstretched to force Half and Half and Ponytail into a hug. IcyHot shifts in his seat one moment and out the next, kicking up his chair and holding the back, so the four legs stick out at the older heroine. With his annoying stoic face, the idiot almost looks competent lion tamer. And fuck if that isn’t an accurate analogy because Raccoon Eyes can be as feral as a lion if she wants to be.

“Mina, you’re scaring them!” Variant Pink Cheeks chides moving forward with cautious steps, a bright pink cane in one hand that’s used every couple of steps. The anti-gravity heroine is still the same height Bakugou remembers, though her hair is much longer, a brown braid tossed in front of her shoulder and ending at her hips.

“Please excuse her,” Frog ribbits, tucking a loose strand of a chin-length bob behind her ear. The amphibious heroine stands significantly straighter than Bakugou recalls. Though, he’s not sure if that’s the fact that his reality Frog has curled into herself more, trying to hide with her prosthetic hand, or that the frog quirk fucks up her posture. “And us for not meeting you sooner.”

“Well,” A smooth voice adds with an air of boredom – how the fuck did Bakugou not notice that freakishly tall fucker standing behind two short heroines? “This looks like fun.”

Half and Half hurls his chair at the hallway. The white-haired extra makes a gesture Bakugou associates with fire and is rewarded with the chair encased in a block of ice as it loses its momentum and falls to the ground.

“I’m not thawing that,” Bakugou distantly hears his variant self complain with a huff as if ice from a fucking fire user is normal.

For a moment, Bakugou is thrown into a memory of summer, sitting on a rooftop where his nerd shows blue flames in the palm of his hand. They were blue flames of a quirk willing given because Deku would never take.

The extra smiles, and Bakugou is acutely aware why the fucker slipped by unnoticed. The fucker is scar free. There’s no burned skin stapled to his ugly shitty face. Fuck, the white-haired bastard doesn’t have a single blemish on him and looks barely older than Bakugou, as if someone turned back time to prevent him from looking like a burned raisin.

Variant Dabi releases a noise of disappointment, “Is that any way to greet your big brother?”

“So,” Shiketsu Chick draws out, straddling IcyHot’s back, her metal hand holding the teen’s wrists together. She looks bored like restraining Half and Half were a common occurrence. “We probably should have warned you.”

“Why didn’t you warn them?” Variant Shitty Hair grimaces as Bakugou and the younger Shitty Hair thrash in each arm, kicking at the older hero.

“I think it was supposed to be part of the announcement,” Frog offers, sweeping up remnants of burned chopsticks and ramen mixed with shards of broken bowls.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy the battle of whatever the heck that was,” Dunce Face wheezes from his prone position on the floor, staring up at the ceiling while Ears and Purple Hair are piled on him, dazed or unconscious. “But why do you have a quirk?”

It wasn’t a battle; that much Bakugou is certain. Despite having extra quirks and facing that Firefly fucker multiple times, the younger Class A is no match for their older counterparts. Shiketsu Chick forced Ponytail out of the line of fire and used cloth napkins to tie IcyHot’s hands together before the idiot could destroy the room. Variant Raccoon Eyes tackled her younger self into a hug and refused to let go, with Variant Shitty Hair doing nearly the same as he pulled Bakugou into a one-armed hug with his younger self in the other arm. Frog and Round Face tag teamed subduing Dunce Face, Ears, and Purple Hair. Pink Cheeks is vicious with a cane.

“Part of the announcement,” Shiketsu Chick sings.

“Then fucking say it already!” Bakugou shouts, aiming his kick higher at Variant Shitty Hair’s hip. The redhead goes down hard, and the teens scramble away when his grip loosens.

Variant Katsuki reenters the dining area, rolling in a mop and bucket, pulling out the mop long enough to slap Shiketsu Chick with the wet cotton end, earning a whine of protest in response. “This is your mess to clean up,” The blond glares, “Wasting food rations for dramatic flair, the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” The heroine pouts, releasing IcyHot as she stands.

“I guess I’ll just make myself useful and reset the table,” Variant Dabi strides deeper into the room, skirting past the pile of teens before bending to lift the ten-person table upright from its fallen position. He straightens the chairs, blatantly ignoring the one still encased in ice. The action seems to set aside ‘the announcement’ for the moment because variants and Class A alike begin cleaning up the room. Ponytail creates replacements for the wrecked bowls and chopsticks, listening intently as Variant Katsuki mumbles requests. Both Raccoon Eyes pick up discarded napkins and fallen utensils, inspecting glasses and bowls for cracks.

By the time the room is back in order, the ramen is ready to be served. With only nine chairs at the table, the amount of people without seats is nearly equal to those without. Bakugou chooses to stand, unable to bear the thought of sitting unguarded for another attack. Pink Cheeks and Variant Katsuki sit, likely due to their old injuries. Everyone chooses their spots until every seat is filled, and Bakugou is left standing with Shitty Hair, Dunce Face, Frog, Shiketsu Chick, and Variant Raccoon Eyes. No one says anything when the bowls are less filled than before, and they don’t bat an eye that Ponytail gets a double portion.

Bakugou’s stomach clenches. He knows he should eat, a day’s worth of scouting and examining buildings should work up an appetite, but there’s a villain at the table. The blond is so fucking tired of villains being allies and heroes being enemies and fucking variants and time jumps. Hell, what’s next? Soulmates? Dragons?

“I want to apologize,” Frog croaks, setting aside her chopsticks, despite never taking a bite, “On behalf of all of us. We kept you at arm’s length; we wanted to confirm you were who you said you were before we could trust you with more. I’m sorry we took so long, and I want to thank you for all you’ve done within the resistance. We could not have gotten this far so quickly without you.”

“The announcement is that we trust you,” Shiketsu Chick says, tapping her chopsticks on the side of her bowl. “Which means we can tell you more about what’s going on, and we can actively work together to take back Japan and send you home.”

“It also means we’ll be more hands-on with training,” Variant Katsuki announces, turning his gaze to Bakugou. “We’ve determined training regimens for your best growth while here.”

“And the first thing to know, before we move forward, is that we still had quirks up until the bombings.” Pink Cheeks pushes her uneaten bowl forward, clasping her hands together as she rests her forearms on the table. Her gaze is unwavering as she turns to every loser in Class A. “One of All for One’s quirks he gave your Izuku was a copy quirk. While we gave him our original, he was able to return a copy to us. It was to keep up appearances and still do our jobs as pro heroes while making sure Firefly continued their trajectory. If they knew we gave up our quirks, they might have done something even more drastic than, than –”

Frog lays a hand over Pink Cheek’s clenched hands. “I’m sure we don’t need to explain why there’s so few of us here.”

“Oh,” Ponytail pauses mid-bite. The soft sound is fragile and filled with mourning.

“Even after Firefly left to who knows where,” Variant Shitty Hair waves a hand dismissively, “We still worked hard. Sure Izuku disbanded the League of Villains, but there are always fringe groups trying to carry on the cause. Kind of like us with our rebellion now.” The idiot offers a sharp-toothed grin, then winces as Bakugou’s counterpart smirks. Ha. Classic. A swift kick under the table never gets old.

“So we got someone to go undercover,” Shiketsu Chick sets her bowl down on the table. When she lifts her hand, she ruffles Purple Hair’s wild locks. “And they told us of the quirk suppressing bombs.” She moves around the table, perching on the edge where the tenth seat should be.

“Hatsume and Bakugou worked with Kai to build a radiation-proof bunker. But we didn’t have much time.” Raccoon Eyes offers.

Shitty Hair frowns from beside Bakugou, pacing to the kitchen to set his bowl of ramen on the counter before laying an arm on the blond’s shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Bakugou swears he sees the teen mouth, Kai, as a questioning expression fills his features.

“We were about to do a trial run when the bombs launched,” Variant Katsuki says. “If we were prepared, we could have fit twenty people in there. Instead, we got three. We needed someone with a powerful quirk to protect the other two should something go wrong.” The older blond spares a glance to Dabi, which turns several gazes the fucker’s way. Variant Dabi appears unfazed, one of three individuals capable of eating.

“So he got to keep his quirk?” Half and Half asks, voice toeing the line between rage and apathy. “No one saw a problem to leave a mass murdering pyro with civilians?”

“You and mother did a lot to bring back my humanity,” The white-haired fucker replies simply. Thank hell and high water, Bakugou can only see the back of the redeemed villain’s head because he sure as fuck doesn’t want to see whatever’s changing IceHot’s face so quickly.

“Kai,” Shitty Hair interrupts, pushing off Bakugou’s shoulder, moving to slam his hand against the dining table and earning a glare from both explosive blonds in return. The redhead quickly removes his hand but stares at Variant Katsuki with something like betrayal. “As in Kai Chisaki, head of the Shie Hassaikai. The guy who literally disassembled a tiny girl for parts? Who put his father figure in a coma? Who wanted to rid the world of quirks? He’s the one who built the bunker?”

“This Chisaki isn’t like yours,” Variant Shitty Hair is quick to stand; his voice leaves no room for argument. “This Chisaki was as much a prisoner to Shie Hassaikai as Eri. And it’s this Chisaki who’s actively working to restore quirks.”

Huh.

Bakugou turns his gaze to Raccoon Eyes, her black and gold eyes wide with surprise as she looks back at him. The dark eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. Bakugou feels time repeating itself as they stare at each other over a large table. He nods his head once in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the variants explaining one by one.

The blond can’t believe he’s actually relieved to call a girl’s night, but fuck – this variant keeps screwing them over.

Chapter Text

The setup isn’t anything close to the first girl’s night back on that fucking island, but it’s something. A step up from pathetic, Bakugou thinks, laying out blankets and pillows on the concrete floor. He ties the thinnest sheets to wire shelves, draping them at an angle and pinning them to the floor with heavy boxes. Once complete, the blond steps back to examine the fort taking up half the men’s closet.

Bakugou latches his gaze on his neatly folded hero costume for a moment. It’s wrecked as fuck, and his one remaining gauntlet marks the pile like a gravestone. The blond sways briefly in his hero costume boots, still satisfied with their feel, before removing them at the foot of the fort to inspect the construction from the inside. He fiddles with the flap at the front entrance when there’s a knock at the door.

Ponytail opens the door tentatively, holding a pillow at her side. She’s dressed in a silk rose gold nightgown, eyes flickering around the room to take in the shelves, the fort, and Bakugou at the center of the room, still holding the fort flap.

Ponytail's had the hardest time adjusting in the short time they’ve been in the Variant. She’s used to a life of luxury and wealth. She’s used to terrible battles ending with expensive teas and buffets. She’s used to wars ending and working in teams, not being the center of attention.

The creation heroine is in charge of filling the gaps. Whatever supplies don’t exist, she makes; and with a world under siege by villains, Ponytail makes a lot. She gets a larger ration than anyone else, but it’s still less than what she needs to thrive.

“I hope I’m not bothering,” She says like the night wasn’t already planned. Ears steps in after the heroine, tugging a blanket tight across her shoulders, hiding the gym clothes underneath. Everyone in this shitty compound has gym clothes for sleepwear except Ponytail, who made new nightclothes after the low thread count kept her up too many nights.

“That’s a nice fort,” Ears nods with appreciation, tucking her purple hair behind her ear. The long locks brush just past her shoulders; she complains about it every day but never cuts it.

“It’s fucking fine,” Bakugou scoffs, gesturing the two inside. Who knows if the fort is well-constructed from the inside, these early birds can check.

Ears and Ponytail are barely inside the fort when Raccoon Eyes bursts in, throwing herself into Bakugou’s arms. “Thank you, Bakugou,” She hugs him tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest while one horn jabs into his chin. “It means a lot you’re doing this. I just – I mean – I get it; I just don’t know what to do.”

Ha. Hell if Bakugou knows what the hell is going on either.

Raccoon Eyes rubs her cheek against the explosive teen’s sternum –  a surefire way to get dirt into pores and develop acne – before pulling away enough to look Bakugou in the eye, hands still laced around his waist. “I hope you don’t mind I brought someone along.”

Fuck.

What shitty extra could it be? Raccoon Eyes wouldn’t be so dense to invite Dunce Face or IcyHot when they’re Ears and Ponytail’s crushes. Bakugou is sure as fuck she didn’t ask Shitty Hair when part of the night will be about him. As social as she is, Raccoon Eyes wouldn’t invite a Variant if she didn’t know them well enough; and she sure as fuck wouldn’t invite Shiketsu Chick after the bullshit she pulled tonight.

Who else is there? What shitty extra would voluntarily come to this bullshit?

“Is that a pillow fort?” Purple Hair appears in the doorway, hugging two pillows tight to his chest, only loosening his grip to shut the door. When he turns back, his face is all but neutral, if not for the simmering self-hatred keeping his mouth in a frown and brows in a furrow. Bakugou is familiar with the look, forcing it from his features at the thought of the old hag lecturing about premature wrinkles. If this fucker is anything like Bakugou, then that self-hatred comes from not being enough for their person, which means Purple Hair will fight right in.

“I – I’m not going first this time,” Raccoon Eyes stammers when they’re all settled inside the fort. She wrings her hands together, glancing around the loose circle before leaning over to curl around Purple Hair’s arm. She squeezes her eyes tight, a few loose tears escaping.

She’s scared. Raccoon Eyes always holds tight to someone when she’s afraid.

When someone is scared, someone else needs to be brave. It’s why All Might rescued with a smile on his face. It’s why Deku ran towards Bakugou and the Sludge Villain while D-list heroes held back. It’s why Bakugou kissed first, why he declared himself as something only Deku could own when the nerd was terrified of the world around him.

Bakugou turns his gaze around the space; none of these losers have adapted well to the Variant. Ears complains about her hair because she can’t sleep at night. Of the nights Bakugou has caught her sitting in the common area, she cries herself to sleep repeating villain propaganda she picks up with her earphone jacks through the airwaves. Ponytail’s hunger pains are so apparent that Dunce Face, Bakugou, and IcyHot take turns diverting their lunch rations her way. Raccoon Eyes has had the roughest encounters with villains while on scouting duty and has a dark pink scar lancing over her left forearm as proof.

On the other hand, Purple Hair keeps having shitty interactions with the civilians. They’re quick to scream and yell. Sometimes they even throw shit while proclaiming the mind hero a villain. He had to sit out for a week after some extra beaned him with a rock, which resulted in a concussion and a scar hidden by his growing hair.

So, that’s it. Bakugou needs to be the brave one.

“Ears, get over here,” Bakugou points to the spot in front of him.

The music heroine waves her hands wildly, somehow managing an embarrassed grimace. Her earphone jacks mimic her hand movements. “Wha – I don’t – ”

“You’re not going first,” The blond rolls his eyes. “I’m braiding your shitty hair.”

“Oh, uh, if that’s all,” Ears passes Bakugou a dubious look, crawling from her spot and sitting cross-legged with her back to the explosive teen. She readjusts the blanket on her shoulders and fiddles with one of her jacks.

“You braid Eri’s hair, don’t you?” Ponytail asks, but it requires no answer. Her tone emphasizes reassurance towards the music heroine.

Bakugou hums in return, finger combing Ear’s locks.

“Things are shit,” He gravels out, creating a side part in the wine-colored hair at the highest point of the heroine’s bangs. “Deku and I are together, but fuck, I’ve spent more time in this fucking Variant watching myself moon over Shiketsu Chick than with the nerd.”

Even as he says the words, they don’t feel wholly true. The illusion heroine comes on obnoxious and flirty, but Variant Katsuki rarely fans the flames. While Bakugou isn’t the most affectionate person in the world, he knows his variant self holds Shiketsu Chick in a different regard. It’s love, but not what Bakugou has for Deku and more than he’s ever felt for the losers that call themselves the Bakusquad.

“Wait,” Ears whirls, hair slipping from Bakugou’s fingers until she stares at him with wide eyes over her shoulder.

“Hold the phone – ” Raccoon Eyes screeches, squeezing Purple Hair’s arm so tight he yelps in pain.

“Congratulations!” Ponytail straightens, beaming with joy.

“Hold still,” Bakugou grasps the top of her head and faces it away, grumbling as he starts over, finger combing her hair. “Deku and I – I didn’t – ” He groans, shaking his head. “You fuckers are gossipmongers. We were new, and it sure as fuck didn’t make sense, and we were trying to figure it out when you ambushed me on a morning run.” The blond glares at Ponytail and Raccoon Eyes as emphasis. “Idol Chick scared Deku shitless and forced my hand – ”

“Idol Chick?” Ears interrupts, head twitching to look back, only for Bakugou to swivel her head forward again. “As in Akemi Minori, Lightmare, the heroine that’s part of an idol group?” Each word gets more tense like she’s starting to grit her teeth. “The one Kaminari gushed over for weeks?”

"You were together before we left Shiketsu?" Raccoon Eyes gapes.

“Yeah, stop moving,” He gathers hair at the nape of her neck to start the braid, pulling the strands up towards her face. The words fall easily from his lips as he concentrates weaving the strands together. “Deku and I were something – together – for a little over a month. We visited his mom and went hiking. While Raccoon Eyes was on a date with Shitty Hair, and you fuckers were attacked by that fucking Lightning Bug, Deku and I were having dinner.

"Shitty Hair sort of knows about us," Bakugou remembers the redhead catching him comfort Deku in the middle of Recovery Girl’s office. “But we haven’t had much time. The nerd was always gone doing some shit for the Expo. We were all in extra training.

“And get this shit,” The blond huffs, tugging the long strips of fringe free to dangle in front of Ears’ earphone jacks. “The nerd tells me he loves me during the Expo. We’re all out there fighting in the fucking rain against his variant asshole, and he has the fucking nerve to confess like he’s going to fuck off to another reality!

“Now look where we are,” Bakugou grumbles, accepting an elastic from Ponytail to tie off the braid before pinning the end within the braided crown encircling Ears’ head. “My shit variant is married, and who the fuck knows if we’ll ever get back.”

“Oh, Bakugou,” Raccoon Eyes croons with pity. The explosive teen shoves Ears away with a growl.

“So, that’s it? We just complain and talk about our love lives to each other?” Purple Hair raises a brow.

“I can braid your wild ass hair too. Might improve your shitty personality,” Bakugou sneers.

“Big talk from someone whose vocabulary primarily consists of curses,” The mind hero rolls his eyes but removes his arm from Raccoon Eyes’ hold to scoot in front of Bakugou. The blond runs his fingers through purple hair, noting its coarse texture, lack of layers, and long length.

Variant Shiketsu Chick has offered haircuts to anyone interested, but only Bakugou and IcyHot have taken her up on the offer. Dunce Face is surprisingly good with scissors, likely a by-product of keeping up with the latest trend, while the remaining losers have opted for growing their hair out. Ears has at least kept up with her fringe.

The average head of hair grows at about 2.5 centimeters every two months, a fact the Old Hag kept pinned to her wall when recruiting models and debating wigs. With four months in the Variant, Bakugou expects five centimeters on everyone’s head. It’s hard to tell with Ponytail and Raccoon Eyes, curls tend to stay compact, and it’s hard to gauge length when ponytail height changes daily. Ears and Purple Hair, however, seem to be growing like weeds. The purple hair is so long and heavy that it can no longer defy gravity, falling awkwardly around the mind hero’s face.

Bakugou gathers hair at the top and flops it in front of Purple Hair’s face before tugging at long strands at the temple. “Your turn, Cheshire Cat. You weren’t here before; why’re you here now?”

“Really know how to woo a guy, huh?” Purple Hair huffs a laugh. The loser stiffens beneath Bakugou’s fingers, tilting his head down, only for the blond to pull him back up.

“I,” Chesire falters, “I am always fighting to be good enough.” He raises a clenched fist and immediately drops it. “And yeah, sure, we’re all fighting for that, but you all got into the Hero Course at the beginning. I’ve been labeled as a villain all my life.

“I fought to get my place at the Sports Festival. I trained with Aizawa-sensei in and outside of school hours and then some for that Joint Battle Training just to be considered. And I made it, I finally made it to the Hero Course, and it’s everything I wanted – everything I still want – and I’m so fucking far behind.

“Then, just when I think I get my footing, Midoriya comes back and wipes the floor with all of us. He was gone as long as I’ve been in the Hero Course, and he got better than all of us combined. I had to wonder if I was really cut out for this.”

Bakugou tugs a piece of hair not in a braid, jerking Purple Hair back with a small yelp. “Stop beating yourself up. You’re already better than what Grape Face managed in an entire year.”

“I find it again, you know,” Cheshire continues, “my footing. Maybe it’s because my quirk compounded after the training camp in the woods or whatever, but I’m good at Covert Operations.” Bakugou hears the excitement climbing in Purple Hair’s voice. “I work great with Camie during drills. I can impersonate any voice; she can create any illusion. We could be unstoppable. She gave me extra Covert Ops training before the test so I’d succeed and in turn – ”

“You developed feelings,” Ponytail says, offering a small pile of elastics the same color as Cheshire’s hair. She’s creating shit for Girl’s Night, even though she got a smaller portion for dinner. It’s not his turn to forgo lunch tomorrow, but he’ll try to sneak an extra amount into her meals.

“Camie makes no sense,” Purple Hair sounds breathless, somewhere between disbelief and awe. “It’s so nonsensical, and you have to respond. I’m still trying to figure out how to incorporate it into my fighting style.”

“It probably helps that her hero costume is smoking hot,” Raccoon Eyes says with her hands in her lap, sitting close to Ears. She must be relaxing from the conversations. She still needs to be close to someone but doesn’t cling tightly with fear.

“I guess?” Purple Hair tilts his head in thought and promptly straightens when Bakugou holds the braid firm at the opposite temple. “Ow. I didn’t notice because we were usually in gym or regular clothes.” Then, he sighs, “I thought she might like me back. We exchanged numbers before I left, and we’ve been talking, and I was going to confess after the Expo.

“But I got here, and she’s with Bakugou, and what if Camie likes Bakugou in our reality?”

“Don’t like her,” Bakugou scoffs, tying off the temple braid before starting another one below it. “Don’t know how the fuck you can forget I’m with Deku in the span of five minutes.”

“I didn’t even know you were dating Midoriya until a few moments ago,” Cheshire snaps. “I didn’t even know you were, you know...”

Fuck, this is a shitty conversation, and it’s only getting worse.

Why does any of that matter? Why does it even have to be something to consider? What’s the fucking point of a label, and what if the label doesn’t fit? What if there’s nothing – a lack of something – to consider?

What if Bakugou doesn’t care enough about that shit to be anything other than himself?

After all, Bakugou knows two absolutes about himself:

• He’s going to be the number one hero.
• Deku is his symbol of everything.

“I don’t,” Bakugou growls, braiding with more force than necessary, “because it doesn’t mean shit. Deku could be a shitty dragon, and I’d still feel the same.”

“Shinsou,” Raccoon Eyes moves forward, reaching out to grasp Purple Hair’s hands in hers. “There’s a difference between liking someone for their body and liking someone because they’re someone. Of course, you can like both, and I’m trying to figure out how, but your version of like for someone isn’t mine or Bakugou’s.

“Bakugou likes Midoriya. That’s not news,” The acid heroine laughs lightly, “but that’s all we get to know or talk about until someone says otherwise. That was kind of mean when you said, ‘you know,’ just now. You’re putting Blasty into this box that might not fit. Maybe he doesn’t even want the box. Maybe he’s not ready to know, or maybe he already knows who he is, and stuff like preference isn’t even a consideration.

“I, uh, I, um,” Raccoon Eyes uses one hand to push back her messy curls. Bakugou pulls back the purple hair in Cheshire’s face, tying it with the four side braids to form a Viking hairstyle where his wild hair lays loose against his neck and just past his shoulders. “I had some recent things I wasn’t ready to find out, but I had to anyway.”

Purple Hair slides out of his spot, guiding the acid heroine in front of Bakugou. The blond immediately sinks his fingers into pink curls wishing they were green.

“So recently I discovered I’m cupioromantic, which is just an overcomplicated term to say I don’t love, I can’t love romantically – even if I want to and I really, really, want to.” Raccoon Eyes keeps still, though she keeps one hand in Cheshire’s grasp, occasionally squeezing as Bakugou weaves tight braids at the sides.

“I like Kirishima, that’s not news to this group, but it might be to you,” She glances at Purple Hair, who touches the side of his head with his free hand. His fingers delicately trace over the braids as his lilac eyes watch Bakugou’s hands move. “We went on a date, and when Kirishima blushed or did something, I just – I just couldn’t relate.

“Bakugou and I talked about it while I was still trying to figure it all out. I told him about Midoriya’s little speech about symbols of everything and how I could see it with Kirishima, but it wasn’t something I could touch.

“Blasty says it might be different for me,” Raccoon Eyes huffs another laugh, “He said it in a way that made me feel bad for not doing extra training, too,” Ears and Ponytail offer small giggles with Purple Hair’s emerging smirk that earned him the name Cheshire Cat. “And I just kind of have to focus on what makes Kirishima different from everyone else. Maybe it’s love, maybe it’s that smoking hot bod, or maybe my kind of love isn’t romantic, but I don’t feel that way for anyone but Kirishima.

“I’m still trying to figure it out, so imagine my relief I get more time to figure it out because Kirishima came to the Variant too,” Bakugou leans to the side to tackle a difficult braid and sees the corner of a wobbling smile on the heroine’s face. “And guess, go on, guess, that utter devastation when Variant Kirishima stood up for this Kai guy so fast. Did you see how intense and determined he was? How quick he was to challenge himself like he’d fight a thousand Kirishimas to protect this guy.” She sniffles as Bakugou pauses to scratch at the loose pink curls at the top of her head. Raccoon Eyes leans into the touch.

The explosive teen had seen Variant Shitty Hair. In the moment, Bakugou knew the look didn’t add up with the acid heroine in the room. In retrospect, Variant Shitty Hair’s face was familiar. Bakugou wore it when Idol Chick fucked with Deku. The nerd wore it when he talked to the class like a senpai instead of a peer. Anger first, then simmering desperation to make another understand, mixed with an aching care for others. It’s care that creates the look, anger forcing its way to the surface because some fucking outsider extra doesn’t care as much as Bakugou, and why don’t they understand and –

Yeah, Bakugou knows Variant Shitty Hair’s face and why Raccoon Eyes feels so shitty.

“He loves Kai in a way I can’t even begin to figure out. Am I going to be too late? Is Kirishima going to fall for someone else because I can’t love him like he clearly loves others? What if I can’t figure it out? What if he finds out and we’re stuck here, and he hates me? What if he falls in love with Kai or Dabi and wants to stay here? I don’t want to lose him just because I don’t know!”

Raccoon Eyes bursts into tears, tilting her head forward to bury her face in her hands. Bakugou releases the small braid. Tonight is for her, meaning he’ll re-braid as often as necessary.

By the time everyone says their piece, Bakugou’s hands are aching from his handiwork. Raccoon Eyes’s hair is in a braided mohawk, curls loose in a wide stripe on the top of her head. Ears’ crown still looks perfect, and Cheshire’s Viking updo is holding well. Ponytail had the most to work with; the process took longer than her and Ears’ initial spiels. When Bakugou finishes, Ponytail has a five-strand dutch braid cascading down her back with three thin pinky-width braids woven in.

Ears lays on her stomach, hugging a pillow to her chest as she hums a tune. “What if we tested it on a scale,” She proposes, tapping a jack on the concrete. “If it’s not romantic love and something different, let’s rate people on it. It’s kind of like music; you’ve got to play a note and see if it’s sharp or flat and tune accordingly.”

“I wish we were old enough to drink; this would be a fantastic game,” Cheshire leans back against the far closet wall. “Does Bakugou like me over Kirishima?” Bakugou glares at the purple-haired teen. “Answers point to no. Does Bakugou like his mom – affectionally called ‘Old Hag’ – more than All Might?”

“Not fair!” Raccoon Eyes pouts. “It’s All Might!”

“Bakugou-san gave birth and raised him!” Ponytail protests.

“Oh,” Purple Hair smirks, “This is getting good.”

The answer – that these fuckers will never find out – is that it’s the Old Hag. Sure, All Might is the hero he admires most and is a benchmark for his heroics, but the Old Hag is something else.

She’s attention to detail and power in presence. She’s got a bad attitude and is so fucking likable that she’s never lost a client. The Old Hag taught Bakugou how to hide his bleeding heart while the Old Man wore it on his sleeve. Careful, Katsuki. Your father can show his heart because I keep mine locked away. It’s more precious, I think, that only your old man has the keys. She taught him to be better, even though he didn’t take any of it to heart until after the Sludge Villain. She’s what a hero should be outside of the battles because being the best doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, or the fashion line leaves the runway.

“Dunce Face or Flat Face?” Bakugou demands, glaring at Raccoon Eyes. He doesn’t want to think about the Old Hag in another reality missing him, cursing his name, or waiting by the phone. Instead, the explosive teen recalls awkward smiles from the Girl’s Breakfast over the summer. Flat Face always looked away when Raccoon Eyes talked about Shitty Hair or Ponytail talked about Half and Half. The tape hero leaned towards Raccoon Eyes despite looking away and held himself firm with the creation heroine.

Flat Face like IcyHot and Raccoon Eyes.

Ha. Who would have thought?

“That’s a no-brainer,” The acid heroine beams, “Sero!”

“Okay,” Ears prods, “Sero and Kirishima.”

Raccoon Eyes falters, “But they’re both so hot in like a nerdy kind of way.”

“Sero or Kirishima,” Ponytail presses.

“It’s different,” Raccoon Eyes promises, “but it’s also the same. Does that make sense?”

“There can be only one,” Purple Hair intones like he’s some shitty omnipotent being.

“Come back to me on that! Jiro, Tokoyami or Bakugou?”

“Ha?”

“Those are two different categories,” Ears states simply. “I have no interest in dating Bakugou whatsoever. Tokoyami, sure.”

“Okayyyyyy,” Raccoon Eyes draws out the word, “who else would you want to date?”

“Sero or Kirishima?” Cheshire grins. Bakugou doesn’t know how often the question has been asked throughout the night, but it’s become a running joke with how Raccoon Eyes awfully evades the question every time.

They’ve made the back-and-forth comparison with Ears, Ponytail, and Purple Hair. They’ve gotten a broad scale with Raccoon Eyes; she either has an easy time deciding or deflects. Ponytail attempted to figure out Bakugou’s scale, but he refused to play along.

“I think I’m close to an answer,” Raccoon Eyes taps her chin.

“You said that three questions ago,” Ears complains.

An alarm jolts the fort’s inhabitants.

“Fuck,” Bakugou stretches across the fort to his phone, declaring an alarm for his morning workout session. “Breakfast in an hour and a half.”

“We stayed up the whole night?!” Raccoon Eyes yelps.

“No point in sleeping now,” Cheshire sighs, gathering pillows from the floor before turning his gaze to the thin sheets shielding them from the remainder of the closet. “Need help with teardown?”

“Aw, man!” Dunce Face says, walking into the common room towards the end of breakfast. “Everyone looks so cool with their hair like that! Do I need to grow out my hair too? Would it make me look cooler?”

The electric idiot walks to Purple Hair and lifts the loose hair cascading down his neck to examine before testing its weight in his hand. Once satisfied, his gaze drifts to the other braids before settling on Ears. His expression turns so dazed that Bakugou thinks he electrocuted himself stupid again.

“Pretty,” Dunce Face whispers, a blush crawling across his cheeks as Ears talks with Ponytail, unaware.

Chapter Text

"He's taller than you," Aizawa-sensei observes, arms crossed as he stares into the underground holding cell.

"Uh, yeah," Izuku scratches the side of his cheek, shifting from foot to foot. “That's probably a childhood development thing. Variant Katsuki and I-kun got along better as kids, which likely means he wasn't bullied as much. I mean, it's not all that surprising given the amount of uncomfortable situations I've been in impersonating him." The erasure hero makes hums an inquiry, which causes Izuku to ramble. "NOT THAT it was supposed to be uncomfortable. I just – I didn't socialize a lot as a kid, and that's not for the lack of trying. I mean, I'm not used to being willingly invited somewhere. I don't know what to do at people's birthday parties. I, I," The hero gestures at nothing, heat pooling in his eyes, "they threw I-kun a birthday party, and I, I didn't understand. And that's really something I should say to Hound Dog and not here where we should be brainstorming how to interrogate myself and –"

Strong arms wrap around Izuku, and a hand cradles the back of the young hero's head, guiding Izuku's face into a warm chest. He feels a pressure at the top of his head – similar to how Variant Aizawa-sensei would rest his cheek on Izuku when he offered a hug.

Izuku leans into the touch and heaves a shuddering breath, "I'd like to think I turned out okay."

"More than okay," Aizawa-sensei breathes.

"You," I-kun glares when Izuku enters the cell. He sits on a bed bolted to the wall wearing white scrubs in a white room. His tanned skin and green curls are shocks of color in the bland whiteness.

Izuku keeps his distance, ensuring the door is locked as he looks over his variant counterpart. I-kun has a broader and taller form, quirk suppression cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and a Glasgow smile stretching his lips.

"Me," The green-haired hero agrees, bowing his head in agreement. "How are you?"

Cold, dark laughter fills the air. The sound is familiar, sending shivers down Izuku's spine. It's the laugh he used in the variant while pretending to be a villain. It's the same laugh he used to squeeze the life out of heroes that told the public he was unredeemable. And underneath the malicious sound, Izuku can still hear the quiet plea to be good again.

"You stole everything from me," I-kun snarls.

Stole?

"Well," Izuku can't help a laugh escaping his throat. All he's ever tried to do is survive. If he stole, it was for survival, but never to harm his variant self. The young hero wasn't even aware I-kun was alive until summer. "The feeling's mutual."

I-kun yells, leaping to charge Izuku. His quirk suppression cuffs buzz and magnetically slams him to the floor.

"Did Benji teach you that anger?" Izuku approaches his variant self slowly. "Or was it father?" Sea-green eyes turn up to glare at the younger hero, baring teeth like a feral animal. By habit, Izuku feels himself take on his villain persona as he squats before I-kun, a mimic of All For One's carefully curated calm. He stares down with disappointed disdain; his hands folded neatly in his lap. "Benji, then. Anger is unbecoming and will distance you from potential goals."

"The only thing that kept me from what I want is –"

"Me? I assure you that's not the case. If you are a victim of being thrust into this reality, then I am as much a victim of being tossed into yours. We had the same quirks during our first encounter with Firefly, I-kun. I had as much power to send you to an alternate reality as you did. Perhaps I had time with your Katsuki, but I wanted to be here."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me," Izuku waves a dismissive hand at nothing. "As far as I can comprehend, we are victims of another's plot. We were promised home in exchange for villainy. I don't believe you're my enemy, so why –"

"You talk like All For One," I-kun growls with the same ferocity as Kacchan. Green eyes turn dark blue like a fathomless ocean.

"I do,"

"He lies,"

"He's persuasive,"

"You lie,"

"Not about this."

"Will you tell them?" I-kun demands, struggling against the restraints to push him up from the floor. Izuku catalogs visible scars, missing baby fat, and sunken eyes. He's not sure how old his variant self is, but he's visibly older. Kacchan saw I-kun in EPCOT when they were both sixteen; where did I-kun go to pass twenty in a little over a month? Another variant, or many variants. "Will you tell them who you killed to maintain your cover? Will you tell them what all you stole from me? That was my family! My fathers! That was MY LIFE!"

I-kun lurches forward, thick, scarred hands reaching for Izuku's neck. The young hero falls back, rolling into a kneeling position out of reach.

Fathers? As in plural?

"You sit there," Variant Izuku grunts, pushing himself up by his elbows, "maintaining your innocence. You LIE to U.A., you lie to Ka-kun, and you take and take and take like the villain you are. And you do it with a smile. We might have been All For One's successors, but only one of us succeeded in his dream."

Izuku feels a wash of cold down his spine. He knows which men I-kun deems worthy of the term 'father.'

"You inherited the League of Villains when you killed All For One. And before that, you fulfilled father's dream by killing All Might. I won't let you do the same in this reality."

Izuku expects to be cuffed once he leaves I-kun. Maybe even put into a cell to wait out one of Principal Nedzu's interrogation tactics (which is a polite way of saying psychological warfare). He wouldn't be surprised. While he didn't hide the fact he killed to maintain his cover with the League, Izuku never mentioned All Might was one of his victims.

He understands how it looks from the heroes' perspective: hero student defects to the League of Villains for personal and unsaid mission goals. The same student murders All Might: his childhood idol, mentor, and the closest thing to a father figure, in favor of blood relation. Said hero student, who Variant Nedzu claims could keep up with his high specs and would therefore know the ramifications of killing god-like symbols. Said hero student who omitted the truth upon his return and exposed treachery was revealed by – for the lack of a better term – his evil twin.

The heroes should question whether or not Izuku is genuinely a hero because all signs point to 'no,' and Izuku should be locked in a jail cell until the end of time. 

Instead, Present Mic leads him down several winding hallways and a flight of stairs to an underground bunker war room filled with pro heroes. Ectoplasm, Aizawa-sensei, and Detective Tsukauchi stand at the far wall. Hound Dog stands a few feet away beside Nedzu while Snipe stands with a gun drawn, lazily aimed at Izuku. Dangerous to fire a weapon in such a confined space, but Snipe's aim is legendary.

The villain in Izuku offers a polite smile as he bows slightly in greeting. Channeling his inner villain keeps the tears and panic at bay. Keeping up a charade of calm prevents Izuku from looking at Detective Tsukauchi and falling apart. The detective and All Might are supposed to be best friends, and Izuku let the detective down by losing his mentor to an alternate reality.

"Midoriya," Nedzu climbs up the center table of the war room and places his hands behind his back as he mimics Izuku's expression. "You've disclosed much of your time in the variant to us; it's understandable you may have some experiences deemed private at the time. We've acknowledged some information may be traumatic or sensitive to share. As such, we've given you some freedoms based on the experience and professionalism you've shown, hoping you would confide missing gaps of information with time. While I understand you may need more time to process your time in the variant, with I-kun's words, we can no longer afford you such luxury. I hope you understand."

"I do," Izuku nods, "I also understand the cavalry.” He spares a glance at Snipe and Ectoplasm.  “Thank you for accepting my initial debrief for as long as you did. I hope you don't mind if I take a seat. I'll even leave my hands in the open so you can see my every movement."

"Of course not, so long as you don't mind Detective Tsukauchi validating your statements."

Izuku holds back the urge to roll his eyes. This overt politeness gets old very fast and often makes others feel more uneasy than casual words ignoring glaring issues. Izuku side steps the chair at the head of the table and takes one on the side, sandwiched between two empty seats. It's illogical for making a quick getaway, as it allows others to cage him in and prevents easy access to the door. Better to ease the tension in the room. But Izuku doesn't plan on running, and if he must pay for his crimes, then so be it – just let him get Kacchan home first.

The young hero splays his hands palm up on the table. "What would you like to know?"

"Was the cover worth it?" Aizawa-sensei asks on the walk back to the dorms after hours of questioning. "All those lives –"

"I need to believe they were," Izuku admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. The action feels more like Kacchan than himself. "Probability made it seem like doing it would stop this reality from collapsing. I was willing to be put behind bars or killed to save billions of people. But learning it was a trick–learning it was to break me–I have to keep believing. Because their deaths bolstered me, those deaths proved Probability wrong, and I will not let it be in vain."

The young hero glances at the dark sky with a frown. U.A. produces too much light pollution to see the stars, but they're the only thing he wants to see at night. Late nights are for talking with Katsuki or Kacchan – stargazing with the brightest star at his side.

Izuku could mitigate the guilt.

He could blame Probability for sending him to an alternate reality, separating him from Kacchan. Izuku could say it’s Probability’s fault he killed to maintain his cover, and it would be partially true. It would be the easiest way to dismiss snuffing out the world’s brightest star: All Might.

The young hero could blame Variant All Might too, for believing Izuku was much more than his DNA. Or that the former number one chose to see Izuku one last time instead of his chemotherapy appointment.

“Young Midoriya, you must forgive this selfish man for wanting to save you one more time. My hope is to convince you to come back with me to the be with your friends, family, and heroes like Aizawa. If not, perhaps I can save you from the League’s scrutiny, because I know your pure heart would not turn towards them without good intention.

"You know, I used to worry about having enough time in my hero form,” Variant All Might laughed, coughing blood into a handkerchief. He ran a thumb over spots of dark red. “Now I worry I won’t have enough time to see you grow into the hero I know you can be. Tell me, son, is there something I can do for you while I am still here?”

“I’m not your Midoriya,” Izuku cried, admitting a secret only Variant Katsuki figured out. “He’s–I don’t actually know. They never found the body. I was sent here because he’s gone and–” Thin bony fingers latched onto Izuku’s hand. It was cold to the touch, like All Might was already too far gone. First, All For One took All Might’s lung, then the experimental surgeries took a toll on the former number one’s body and this sickness that will take what remains.

“You will still be a great hero,” Variant All Might assured, his wide smile trembled while his sunken blue eyes fractured. “I think, yes, I think it’s time for me to go.” The former number one guided Izuku’s hand to his throat. “You must stay safe during your crusade, Young Midoriya. And I, I would like to see my son, if you don’t mind.”

Izuku killed All Might, and the hero didn’t even get to see I-kun in the afterlife. What kind of cruel existence is that?

"All For One had this thing about Monsters," Izuku kicks a loose stick on the sidewalk, sending it skittering to the side. He hops a few times, shaking off the memory of his last moment with Variant All Might. The young hero feels his eyes prick with hot tears as grief over the man tries to squeeze his heart. He heaves a breath, rambling to keep the past from pressing in. Say anything. Anything will hurt far less.

"He'd ask us to choose what type we'd like to be. Should I be the modern interpretation – a villain we blindly fear; or should I be a monster in the original sense – a revealer of knowledge? Firefly chose fear, and I chose knowledge. Knowledge is passive; knowledge gains tools without lifting a finger. I'm not – I'm not saying my hands are cleaner than Firefly's; I chose my way because I thought it would have the least amount of damage. I would become a monster to the League, revealing I'm a hero. I would be a monster to that reality when they realized I wasn't their Deku. I'm monster to everyone here when they realize I'm not the same person who left.

"And I wonder," The green-haired hero scoffs, "I really wonder if Firefly is right, if I am the worse monster. Heroes can prepare for villains like them, who destroy because they can. They're a known unknown. But heroes can't prepare for someone like me who uses knowledge like medicine to cure an ailing society. Who can prepare for a creature who casts doubt into the hearts of the brave?"

"Midoriya, there's nothing to doubt," Aizawa-sensei sighs.

"But you did," He smiles at his teacher. "The moment I stepped foot on campus, you doubted my existence. And even after I debriefed, a single sentence from I-kun called everything you knew about me into question. I became a monster to save everything I love. In a way, we all are. Eraserhead – the quirk-negating demon who would do anything to protect his kids. All Might – the towering giant who leveled Kamino Ward out of revenge for his mentor. Snipe – whose deadly aim has no prejudice when others step into the line of fire.

"I'm a monster," Izuku glances at his teacher. While Aizawa-sensei doesn't visibly express agreement or denial, the young hero finds comfort in the dark gaze. Aizawa-sensei's face remains passive and nonjudgmental despite Izuku's admissions throughout Detective Tsukauchi's questioning. As an underground hero, Aizawa-sensei has seen where civilians and vigilantes succeed when heroes' hands are tied. Despite being known as demanding and logical, the erasure hero is patient, always listening – no matter how illogical – to understand. Even when his world is out of control, Izuku feels safe whenever Aizawa-sensei is around. "But you've taught me that even monsters can be good."

Chapter Text

It’s barely two weeks – another day in their home reality – when new revelations happen.

When Bakugou returns from the day’s scouting mission, three brats run around the common area. One has long, flowing blonde hair, another a short and spiky purple, and a third has ink-black hair with zig zags of purple and yellow. They chase one another, leaping over furniture or sliding under tables and chairs in a chaotic game of tag. The brats remind Bakugou of the kid in the U.A. classroom, maybe even younger. Do they have quirks? Were they born after those quirk-suppressing bombs? Before? Are these the first brats to grow up without knowing life without quirks? Are they like Deku?

“Oji-san!” One cries out, tackling Bakugou’s leg. “What happened to your arm?”

“Why are you so short?” The girl with blonde hair skips forward; downturned black eyes emphasize her bottom lashes.

“Don’t be rude,” The brat in all black tugs the purple-haired one attached to Bakugou’s leg.

“You said you’d braid my hair next time we came in for a check-up!” The little girl stomps her foot.

They’re all rude. Each of their shitty bratty expressions add up to something Bakugou can’t piece together at that moment. So, instead of retrieving a glass of water, he forces the girl in a metallic skirt to sit on the couch to braid. Her hair is fine and soft beneath his fingers, unlike the damn Cheshire Cat, whose coarse waves leave Bakugou wanting to dunk his head into a vat of conditioner. The motion reminds him of braiding Eri’s hair, and he gently pulls the long strands into a style he planned for her after the Expo.

Bakugou is halfway through the main braid when he hears someone enter the room, and the blonde hair slides through his fingers – like Deku’s hand in the rain.

“Daddy!”

Daddy?

Bakugou tears his gaze up to see the blonde girl clamber over an armchair and launch herself into Dunce Face’s arms. The electric blond lives up to his namesake, yellow eyes turning to pinpricks in bewilderment, despite instinctually closing his arms around the girl.

“Hey! Uh – ” Dunce Face looks to Bakugou for help, but the explosive blond remains impassive. He has as much information about the brats as Dunce Face.

“Let her go!” The brat with zig zags in their hair punch at the electric hero’s leg. The third kid hangs back, looking between Bakugou and Dunce Face, golden eyes growing wide.

“Ouch! Ouch! Hey! Setting down, promise!”

“No!” The girl screams, wrapping her arms around Dunce Face’s neck.

“Need to – breathe. Bakubro!” The teen wheezes, one hand coming up to tug at the girl’s arm.

“Meiden! Let him go!” A sharp voice orders from that fucking forbidden hallway. The two other brats hurry in the voice’s direction

The girl releases Dunce Face and jumps from his arms, scurrying past Bakugou. The electric blond looks dazed as he follows the girl’s path. “Meiden?” He whispers, lifting his gaze only to stop abruptly. Bakugou turns in his seat on the couch to see a slim young woman leaning over to run her fingers through unfinished braids with one hand and resting her other hand in zig-zag hair. She wears a salmon pink shirt with a black motorcycle jacket, one sleeve bright yellow. A large black tool belt dangles at her waist, attached to loose cargo pants bulging at the pockets.

“Jiro?” Dunce Face hesitantly calls out. The woman lifts her dark purple head, lips pressed into a thin line as she looks past Bakugou to the electric teen. She’s missing one earphone jack and has a scar beneath her left cheek.

“Hey,” Something wars in those dark eyes. “They weren’t supposed to meet you – you were supposed to be out training with Mina.”

“We – uh – finished early, uh.”

“These are my,” Variant Ears sucks in a sharp breath, “my kids. You’ve met Meiden,” She glances down at the blonde girl, “And Kirou,” The zig-zag brat starts digging through Variant Ear’s tool belt. “And this one is Kaden.” The brat with purple hair moves behind the older heroine. “You-you shouldn’t see much of them. We’re usually in the outposts with me. I’ll see if Kai and Mei can start meeting us out there and – ”

“But they look like me. And you. Us. They look like – ”

“They’re not yours,” Variant Ears glares with finality. “And now I have to explain why you exist and why they can’t get attached and – ”

“Momma,” The brat called Meiden tugged on Variant Ears’ jacket, “Shouldn’t you be happy Daddy’s come home?”

“Bakugou,” The heroine grits her teeth, tears pooling in her eyes. It took one word, just like it took one glance from Raccoon Eyes for Bakugou to move.

The explosive teen moves to his feet, throwing an arm around Dunce Face’s neck and dragging him out of the room.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, Bakubro! What did I do?” Dunce Face stumbles after the blond, coughing exaggeratedly as the explosive teen leads him to an underground room filled with books and papers. At one point, it was a storage room, based on the large metal shelves, but makeshift boxes dividing the rows into three make the space look more like a library. “Those are my; those are our kids! Me and Jiro – shit, I never thought we’d get this far - ”

“Those aren’t your brats,” Bakugou growls, scanning the oddly shaped tables crammed into the room. “This isn’t some fucking future you get. This isn’t ours! We’re only here until we find a way back.”

“And when is that? We could be here for the rest of our lives!” The electric teen protests, throwing his arms wide and knocking a stack of papers to the floor.

“They still wouldn’t be yours.” He picks up a large book, flipping it open near the beginning when it was still in Deku’s handwriting. He skims the ledger to find the name at the bottom of the page; words cramped to refrain from moving to another page.

When Dunce Face finally surfaces from the ground, papers in hand, Bakugou exchanges the contents for the book, pointing at the entry. “Kaminari Denki, December third, Firefly, died protecting Earphone Jack and eight civilians from Firefly.” The idiot trails off, reading the rest of the entry. “I’m dead? What do you mean I’m dead?” He tosses the book onto a table as if it burned him. He pats himself down, checking to make sure he’s alive.

“Your variant is dead, idiot.” Bakugou shelves the papers away. “Which means this Ears went through having those brats alone. You don’t get a say in their lives; you don’t get to be a part of it.”

“But they’re – ”

“They’re not. You don’t.” Just like shitty All For One shouldn’t have had a choice in Deku’s.

“I’ve loved Jiro since I met her,” Dunce Face insists.

“Then what the fuck do you think it’s gonna do to her knowing you’re not hers?” Bakugou snarls, hands aching as he clenches them into fists. Fuck, it’s on his mind every time he looks at his variant self, wondering what relationship he had with Deku. “That you’re going to leave for a second time the moment we figure out the portal?”

“We don’t know if we’ll ever get the portal working – ”

“What about our Ears? You can’t have both. They’re not the same, no matter how they look alike.”

“I’m not saying I want both!” Dunce Face claws his hands into his hair. “I’m just saying – ”

“What?”

“When Firefly attacked during the summer,” The electric blond covers his face, muffling his voice. “I couldn’t let them get Jiro. I didn’t think, and it hurt, and I was scared I was gonna die, more than I’ve ever pretended in battle. I was gonna die, and all I could see was her and this–this–this future we’d never get – which is just stupid because we’re kids, and I should just be focusing on cool stuff at the mall. I was gonna die, and all I could think about was a mini-Jirou who looked exactly like her, except she had my eyes, and she was named Meiden. Do you get that, Kacchan?”

The nickname slaps Bakugou in the face. Only Deku is allowed to call him that. Dunce Face stopped after the nerd died – disappeared. Hearing it now is an open wound because the last time they talked about the future, Deku didn’t know. Because the future was an impossible thing when Deku was missing. Because the only future Bakugou wants is where he can be a hero with the nerd calling him Kacchan again.

“Do you get that?” Dunce Face asks, voice shaking. “Cause I still get these shakes, and sometimes the world tips upside down, and I think my heart’s stopped beating again. And I can’t get a pacemaker ‘cause I’ll short it out, so I gotta have something prepared to defib myself, but what if I do it wrong and Jiro doesn’t know, and Meiden doesn’t exist? And what if I don’t make it back?

“If there’s a choice where I have to stay behind or don’t make it for you guys to get back through – I’m gonna take it. I have to take it.”

The idiot sniffled, wiping furiously at his eyes. “So can’t I? Can’t I, just for a little bit, get to know Meiden?”

“It’s not gonna be fair to anyone, Denki.” Dunce Face’s name feels foreign on Bakugou’s tongue. The electric blond hiccups and throws himself against Bakugou, bawling into the taller teen’s chest.

“So,”

“For Fuck’s sake!” Bakugou snarls at the ceiling. What the fuck is going on? He’s known as the one with the anger issues, the one who’s emotionally stunted and would rather bring down a building floor by floor than talk about feelings – so why the hell is everyone coming to him?

“This is why I love you; you know that?” Shiketsu Chick wraps her arms around Bakugou’s shoulders from behind in a brief squeeze.

“Not your husband, hag.”

“Not really my husband, Explodo-boy.” The heroine leans against the balcony railing of the indoor space.

As the resistance expands its borders, they’ve been getting creative with how they develop, including connecting and expanding building basements to form underground towns. Variant Katsuki’s training has Bakugou carving through stone and rubble, packing extended power in smaller explosions. The civilians are eager to pick up where Bakugou leaves off, building town facades and faux fountains for a facsimile of the world above. In thanks, civilians gifted Bakugou and the rest of the Class A losers with the second floor of two mock buildings, four bedrooms split amongst nine strangers with a central common room for them to meet.

Bakugou suspects it’s a byproduct of witnessing Variant Ears’ kids. Now Variant Class A is trying to keep their secrets as secrets, but fuck whatever. Sharing a room with Shitty Hair is a hell of a lot better than sharing a room with the rest of the fuckers in his loser class.

Shiketsu Chick looks down at the hustle and bustle of the crowd below while Bakugou keeps his eyes firmly on the ceiling painted dark blue with white stars. He’d been watching the crowd, reminded how the facades and space resembled EPCOT and reminded of climbing rooftops while talking with Deku when this idiotic heroine intruded.

“The fuck do you mean by that?” He glares, watching the heroine smile and wave with her prosthetic hand to a kid below.

“You’re the one in command,” She says, which is a non-answer if he’s ever heard one. “So I’m choosing to trust you – we’re all choosing to trust you with more info than we’ll share with the rest of your crew. You handled Kyouka and your Denki really well, so I’m gonna trust you with this.”

With a final glance at the crowd, Shiketsu Chick pulls Bakugou into his shared bedroom and locks the balcony and bedroom door. “Katsuki and I are a convenience. I can see in your head you don’t understand why we’re together because you understand who and what you are.” She sits hard on Shitty Hair’s bed, languidly pulling her legs to her chest and pillowing her arms on her knees. “And you’d be right. We just look like we work. As a son of fashion moguls and a heroine of illusions, we know how much appearances matter.”

“The fuck are you getting at?”

“There was no marriage ceremony. There are no rings,” She pauses, lips quirking to the side. “Well, there are rings, but they’re not for each other. There’s an inside man – ”

“The one who told you about the bombs.”

“The very one,” Shiketsu Chick practically blossoms. Bakugou has never seen her smile so wide. “Handsome and needs hair care tips like no other. Quiet, but he looks at me like I’m real. Do you have any idea how hard that is? When your quirk is illusions and everyone thinks everything about you is fake, but someone comes in and sees you as something real and tangible – well, you don’t give them up.”

“But you did,” Bakugou glares. Calling Variant Katsuki ‘husband’ and hanging off his shoulder is evidence of moving on.

Shiketsu Chick shakes her head, “I’m protecting them. We were close after Deku dismantled the League, and when stuff started up again, he had to go back undercover. We had to stop any suspicion that he was a spy. So I got ‘married,’” She lifts her hands to make air quotes, “he did some stuff in ‘revenge,’ and Katsuki got an excuse to stop chasing your Deku.”

“What.”

“Deku didn’t know if he’d ever go back either. He was trying to build a life while keeping one foot out the door. Katsuki was going to let him stomp all over his heart since I-kun was dead. But it was killing them both, and letting go of my guy was killing me, so I gave Katsuki an out.”

“He took it?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Shiketsu Chick unravels, standing into a stretch with her arms far above her head. “Point is, you don’t need to have a crisis of who you love.” She takes slow steps to the door, pausing as she reaches for the lock. “And if you want, because I have no doubt in my other self, you can tell our favorite purple-haired zombie the same.”

Chapter Text

“We’ve got a generator down on the northwest perimeter,” Pink Medusa calls over comms. “Anyone out to take a look?”

“I’m on it,” Bakugou grunts, leaping up the stairwell of his latest building and to the rooftop. Once he breaches the door to the high buffeting winds, he turns his gaze north for signs of a failing security gate. He jumps rooftop to rooftop towards the downed generator.

There’s no electric dome over the reclaimed areas and no obvious sign of villain reclamation. Civilians are still underground, and the war gardens are hardly visible in mirrored skyscrapers.

The generators supply energy to security systems, traps, and defense measures. Every generator along the Resistance perimeter is brand new, a byproduct of Ponytail, Pink Medusa, and Variant Katsuki’s invention. They should be the last machines to fail, so why is this one down?

“We’re coming with,” Raccoon Eyes chirps through comms.

“You might need backup,” Shitty Hair adds. Well fuck, they’re turning into heroes with half a brain, after all. Even they can see the red flag in a perimeter generator failing.

“How’s my baby looking?” Pink Medusa asks though it holds none of her usual enthusiasm. Bakugou imagines her focusing on another invention. Lately, she’s focused her time and efforts on some sort of over-engineered hoolahoop.

The blond stares at the generator sliced like a loaf of bread. Fuck. They’re designed to be modular and with fail safes. If something breaks, Bakugou could take a part from another section and get it working until a new piece comes in. He’s one of the few on-field mechanics, shoulders aching from the tool bag he lugs every day, and there’s nothing inside that can fix this.

“Gonna need more than a couple of screws to get it working.” Bakugou approaches the sliced machine with caution. Who found it? The Resistance carefully hid it inside a mid-rise building. Who destroyed it? The slices are neat, which means it wasn’t cut with a serrated knife, and there are no burns to indicate a laser.

He lifts a sliver, pressing it together with another piece to examine the writing on the side. Depending on how the lettering lines up, he can determine the thickness of whatever cut it. His fingers throb when it nearly lines up perfectly. If anything, there’s a hair’s width of difference.

“Bakugou, what is it?” Raccoon Eyes asks, entering the room from the corner of his vision. “What happened?”

“Fat Gum is a villain in this reality,” Bakugou shifts, analyzing the room, looking for the barest glints of light. He thinks he sees something gossamer thin on the floor. “JUMP!”

Raccoon Eyes squeals, leaping and pressing her feet against either side of the door frame. Bakugou launches himself into the air, setting off explosions to keep him from the ground. Flashes of light shift on the floor, table legs an inch shorter, the generator’s bottom diced.

The blond growls, exploding towards the door, looping one arm around the acid heroine as he barrels into her, remaining airborne until they land on top of three desks in another room.

“What is going on?” Yellow eyes on black sclera turn into pinpricks as the generator room continues to collapse. “We need to get Kirishima; he’s patrolling outside –”

The building rumbles, desks tilting in warning.

“We need to get outside!” Bakugou barks, “Melt the window!” He grabs the heroine again, blasting to a wall-length window. Raccoon Eyes screams, throwing a glob of acid ahead of them. It melts the glass a breath before Bakugou pushes through.

He tumbles through the air, shoulder burning, and crashes on a rooftop across the street, losing grip on the heroine and his backpack as he rolls into an air conditioning unit.

Bakugou bites back a curse, looking up in time to see streaks of light cut through several levels of the mid-rise as easily as if slicing through a cake.

The blond clutches his shoulder, scanning his surroundings as the building falls away.

“Ejirou!” Raccoon Eyes cries, running to the roof’s edge. Bakugou tackles her to the ground, only to see another flash of light trim off the tip of one horn and a few pink curls.

“Who the fuck,” Bakugou heaves, resisting the urge to scream into his comms and give away his location, “was gonna tell me Best Jeanist is a villain in this shitty variant?”

Bakugou knows that ultimate move anywhere from his work-study days. The interns called it  ‘the floor is lava,’  Best Jeanist called it the  Plaid Trap , but it reminded Bakugou of a dance called the Tinikling. The fiber hero would weave thin threads in a grid-like pattern anywhere from a finger-width height to a fist off the floor. Then, when he’d trigger the trap, the fiber would slice through anything that height: car tires, metal beams, generators. Or, in this villain’s case, he was willing to cut off body parts.

“Get Shitty Hair out of here,” Bakugou hugs Raccoon Eyes close. “Use Acidman to protect yourself. Those threads will burn away before they get to you.”

“I-I can’t just leave you!” She cries. “You don’t have anything to protect you!”

“The fuck are you talking ’bout? I’m gonna be number one; I don’t need protection to win.” The blond shoves the heroine away. “Get out of here. Don’t you fucking dare eat my dinner.”

Raccoon Eyes stares at him through tears before nodding. She crawls a short distance away and wills acid to cover her body before melting through the floor.

She’s gone for a heartbeat before Bakugou hears footsteps on the roof. It’s the sound of cobbled shoes – someone who waits for prey – white collar villains who take advantage of the weak.

Bakugou pushes himself to a seated position, gripping his right arm tight. Fuck, Raccoon Eyes threw the acid too late. Some of it got on his skin while escaping. Is this better than glass shards? He doesn’t know.

“Katsuki,” A tall and slim figure approaches, backlit by the setting sun. The explosive teen can’t see much with the figure in shadow, but he recognizes the cowl on an obnoxiously long neck. He startles, not at the name, but at the light glinting off a smooth head.

Ha?

Ha.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

The villain takes the slow, measured steps of a predator towards Bakugou – who is obviously the prey – and he can’t stop laughing.

Because Best Jeanist is bald.

“The fuck, did you pluck it all out?” Bakugou howls with laughter. “Did you run out of thread and thought, what the hell, my hair does just fine?”

The villain stops in their tracks less than a meter from where Bakugou sits on the floor.

“You don’t seem to realize the predicament you’re in.”

Best Jeanist moves his hands in small and sharp motions as if plucking the strings of a harp. Instead, Bakugou feels his scalp prickle and sees a few strands of blond hair turned into needle points floating near his throat.

Don’t laugh at the bald bad man, got it.

“Tell me, and I might agree,” The explosive teen smirks. Hell if he ever backs down from a challenge.

“You’re,” Best Jeanist pauses, head tilting to the side, “younger than I remember. Missing a few gifts I gave you.” Two strands of hair caress Bakugou’s chin. Gross. “Are you a gift from Probability? I told him to send a version of you I could trust. Though, he can hardly be trusted.” The tall blond scoffs. “Do I finally get to call you mine?”

“Creepy ass fucker,”

“Not like that,” The villain moves closer, kneeling at Bakugou’s side. He lifts the teen’s chin with a thumb and curled pointer finger, examining his face. “I’ve been looking to design a successor looking for someone comprised of the right pattern and fabric.”

“Still fucking creepy.”

“You’ve always shown so much promise, and if I stitched you just right, you’d never come back from avenging your parents –”

“The fuck –”

Bakugou imagines himself in his reality with Deku walking the same path to Midoriya Inko’s grave. Only this time, he sees his parents’ names carved into stone. Fuck, he has to get back home.

“We could weave together an empire –”

“You have some loose threads –”

“If you could just take a moment to see –”

“BAKUBRO! WE GOT YOU!” Shitty Hair tackles Best Jeanist out of the way.

What the fuck.

“Come on!” Raccoon Eyes appears at Bakugou’s side, holding up an acid shield with one arm while she tugs the explosive blond to his feet. They leap off the side of the building, crashing onto another rooftop – running and slamming onto another.

They run with Shitty Hair close behind as Best Jeanist’s livid snarls drift away.

“I know,” Raccoon Eyes heaves for breath as they take a break deep in Resistance territory behind two additional defense walls. They’ll loop their trail in a few minutes in case they have tails. While an entry point is only a block away, they’ll aim for a heavily guarded entrance on the other side of town as a precaution. “I know that was scary and all, but did you see-eeeeee?” She bursts into laughter mid-word. “He’s, he’s, he’s BALD!”

Bakugou grins, breaking into cackling laughter. “He fucking hated I called him out. Turned my hair into fucking weapons!”

“Oh no, yeah, I got that,” Shitty Hair releases a heavy breath, leaning a shoulder against a pillar for support. “Thanks to my quirk, they didn’t go so deep.”

“Ha?”

Shitty Hair turns around where needles of blond, red, and pink hair stick out of his back in the worst form of acupuncture Bakugou has ever seen. How did Bakugou lose that much hair? Did any of them notice mid-battle?

“Oh, my, g-goo-good heavens,” Raccoon Eyes bubbles with more laughter. “I’m not – I swear I’m concerned and-and-and want to know if you’re alright b-b-but,” She laughs so hard she loses her voice, desperate gasps of air between each silent laugh. The heroine slaps her chest, then the walls, slowing the laughter for deep breaths – though giggles still escape. “You look like a porcupine.” She covers her mouth with her hands, which does nothing to muffle the giggles.

“Uh, thanks, I guess?” Shitty Hair scratches his cheek, giving Bakugou a confused expression. The blond shrugs and then winces as the acid burn on his arm throbs. Fuck, this needs to be treated.

“A v-v-very, very handsome porcupine.” Raccoon Eyes muffles a laugh long enough to kiss the redhead’s cheek.

“Manly,” Bakugou offers, unable to thank the idiot for yet another reckless rescue.

“Really?” Shitty Hair brightens, his blinding smile split between the acid heroine and the blond.

“Very.” Raccoon Eyes nods profusely, tugging on the hardening hero’s wrist. “Let’s go. We need to get moving if we’re going to get treated.”

“Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow,” Shitty Hair grimaces as Eri, a preteen whose silver hair practically drags on the floor, plucks the hair from the redhead’s back and deposits them into a shallow rectangular tray barely the size of a cell phone. She wears a lab coat and blue medical gloves; her red eyes hyper-focused on the task.

“Do you know what type of acid got you?” Chisaki Kai asked from behind a red face mask. He wears a similar outfit to Eri, though he sports a Red Riot sweater under the lab coat that has clearly seen better days. The man with short brown hair turns Bakugou’s arm gently, carefully examining the wound.

From what Bakugou knows of this man, care is reserved solely for a Yakuza boss. Chisaki Kai experimented on Eri, tortured civilians, killed to ensure his reign, and tried to erase quirks for good. This Variant Chisaki Kai could have been the one to give the goods for those quirk-erasing bombs.

Then again, Variant Shitty Hair said Variant Chisaki was as much a prisoner as Eri. Which means they should both be timid and afraid of strangers that might hurt them. Eri has a bleeding heart, what about these variants?

“Raccoon Eyes. Had her melt glass to escape out the window.”

“That doesn’t really help,” Variant Chisaki sighs, adding a purple powder to Bakugou’s arm. “If she’s anything like Mina here, they don’t have control of the general makeup of their acid. It’s dependent on what they eat and what they experience. Higher levels of dopamine or adrenaline can reduce PH levels significantly.” He hums, taking a closer look. “I guess it’s a good thing it was you. I see some signs of healing without scarring. I imagine your nitroglycerin helps with healing and prevents scarring?”

“You’re going to look like a baby forever,” Shitty Deku says in awe.

Bakugou’s hands throb at the sudden memory.

“Something like that.”

“Fascinating.”