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His coffee was cold, his fucks were out, and Aizawa Shouta was sure, more than anything, that it was going to be a day to forget. It was a… Tuesday? Wednesday? The past few days (or weeks, or maybe months, who knows, time was as dependable as his sleep schedule) sort of blurred together into a kind of muddy fugue.
It didn’t take a genius to parse out that Shouta was unstable, and when he heard the first bell of the day ring on a Tuesday-Wednesday morning, he was planning on making that instability everyone else’s problem.
“Good morning, Sensei!” Iida greeted him, already in his seat by the time Aizawa quite literally rolled out of bed and onto the floor of his classroom. After his coffee became cold, Aizawa had given up on functioning and retreated into his sleeping bag behind his desk. All Iida had needed to see was his teacher’s spindly hand grasping onto the edge of the table before snapping at everyone to get in their seats.
“It is a morning,” Aizawa drawled, watching his students scamper to their desks and look at him with anticipation. “Today we’ll be going over the answers to the-”
“Aizawa-sensei, if you’d please make your way down to the office,” came Nedzu’s shrill voice from the intercom, “ I’d like to have a word.”
Great. Aizawa tried to restrain himself from rolling his eyes before throwing his self-restraint out the window and flat-out grumbling in complaint. He began to slink out of the classroom before Iida shouted, “Sensei! What should we do in your absence?”
Stopping in his tracks, Aizawa took a moment to ponder his options. Unfortunately, he was too tired to ponder, so he just stood there staring at nothing for a few seconds before spouting out some bullshit task. “Babysit Midoriya.”
“Yes, Sensei!”
“ What? Why me?”
“Deku, I love you, but you could literally just breathe and a villain would find a reason to attack you.”
“That’s not fair, it’s not like it’s my fault!”
“HAH? You know what ELSE isn’t fair, shitty nerd? LIFE. Get the fuck over it and shut up, dipshit.”
“Aw! Bakubro is such a good babysitter!”
“START RUNNING-”
A burst of something akin to joy lit up in Aizawa’s chest as he left that shitshow behind. Principal’s orders dictated that whatever battery Bakugou was committing at that moment was not his problem.
That joy was quickly quenched under the evil, evil stare of his boss. He very often- daily, in fact- sat across from beings whose very essence gave him acid reflux, but with Nedzu it was always exacerbated. He rubbed at his sternum with a faint grimace.
“You’re wondering why I called you here,” Nedzu said, his little outfit ensemble reminding him of the Calico Critters Eri liked so much, except the Calico Critters were adorable and just wanted to live in their cute little houses while Nedzu was demonic and wanted to enslave humankind to watch them wail in agony beneath him. So.
“Aizawa, let me be frank,” Nedzu sighed. His snout twitched as he collected his thoughts - or maybe he was just fighting a sneeze, what did Aizawa know? - for a few moments, before he continued with, “Your email inbox makes me hate humanity.”
With sullen eyes, Aizawa appraised his superior with the amount of shame as a toddler with a booger up its nose and a finger to pick at it with: that being none. (And if Hizashi would get mad at him for referring to a human child as an ‘it,’ however hypothetical the child was, then so be it. They were cute to see in strollers on the street, he supposed, but that didn’t mean he wanted to own one.)
“I thought you already hated humanity?” Not that Aizawa blamed him. He was a teacher, after all- just yesterday, Sero had tried to use his tape like a capture weapon and gotten it tangled up in his hair.
( “I can get it out!” Sero had chirped, trying for a reassuring smile but landing on a faint grimace conveying panic and a concerning amount of despair. The tape had stuck the back of his head to the wall, his hair squelched between the two; the rest of his hair wasn’t faring much better. Tape hung on it in clumps, while strips of it laid crumpled on the floor, stray hairs sticking to the surface.
“Forbidden wax strip,” Ashido murmured in awe.
From his desk, Aizawa briefly indulged in his third favorite fantasy ((after the one of him turning into a cat and biting Vlad’s ankles until they bled and the one of him turning into a cat and being adopted by a group of silent monks)), this one starring him turning into a GIANT cat and instigating the apocalypse. As imaginary-him tore down the UA campus with his humongous claws, the screams and cries of the innocent a soothing melody to his ears, he accepted his lot in life and decided to move forward.
“Bakugou,” he said finally, and the former leash baby vaulted out of his seat like it was a fucking hurdle, grabby hands already extended. The smile on the kid’s face would have been frightening if he didn’t have a fat piece of spinach in his teeth. His problem.
“You shouldn’t have done the worm, bro,” Kirishima told Sero as Aizawa relinquished a pair of scissors into the, if not capable, then eager hands of Bakugou.
What followed was a terrifyingly efficient shearing and an equally horrible clean-up; Todoroki kept picking up the hairy tape hunks and sticking them under the desks like they were pieces of chewed gum. It really wasn’t necessary for Bakugou to go that close to the scalp, but Aizawa ended up just feeling impressed with how thoroughly he eradicated every strand of Sero’s hair with a pair of safety scissors. Bald Sero™ would scar him for the rest of his days.
Sero had spent the next hour proclaiming himself to be ‘Mr. Worldwide.’)
“I do ,” allowed Nedzu. There was a quiet shuffling sound, and then Aizawa found himself face-to-face with his open inbox. There were currently 14,746 unopened emails. Sheesh. “But this,” Nedzu continued, “ will push me towards exterminating your kind altogether.” He said it with such certainty that Aizawa winced. Damnit. He didn’t care about humanity’s demise all that much, but it would be kind of a dick move to be the cause of it. Plus, someone had to feed his cats.
“Fine, I’ll deal with it,” he mumbled, trying not to pout and failing horrifically. Nedzu’s face brightened, and he patted Aizawa on the knee.
“I’m glad you see it my way,” he said like the eldritch conglomerate of terror he was. A computer mouse was nudged under his hand, and Nedzu left Aizawa alone in his office to rot. That had to be some kind of labor law violation.
With great anguish, he clicked open the first email, fittingly entitled: Re: i think i’m dying??
sensei i have this lujmp on my armpit and google says it’s a tumor so i think i have a terminal illness and i’m going to die which sucks because i haven’t even seen the new demon slayer movie-
Aizawa had to look away for fear that his eyes would drop out of their sockets and plop onto the ground. The run-on sentences and the typos really enhanced the viewing experience. For the worst. Lujmp.
-so yeah i kno last time when i had that weird cyst it was just a skin tag from my clothes rubbing on it too hard but like what if this time it’s for realsies?
plz respond at ur earliest convenience
kaminari denki
He deleted the email with a satisfied click, along with whatever annoying thread Kaminari had made. It seemed to just be screenshots of WebMD pages with symptoms for various terminal illnesses, which was odd because it’s not like Kaminari cared that he caused literal brain damage to himself on a semi-regular basis. Then there were a spurt of twenty or so emails from Shinsou, all with grotesque subjects like ‘ FRWRD THIS OR U WILL DIE IN 10 DAYS’ or ‘ U CAN’T USE THE IMMUNITY DOG ON THIS ONE.’ Lovely.
He clicked on one purely because the subject read, ‘ THE IMPORTANTEST EMAIL EVER 🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀…’ with the godawful emoji going up to the character limit of the header. With a quick prayer to whatever force controlled his optic nerve, he buckled down to read.
It’s moday ✌️the start↗️of a new✅ week mondays✏️are✏️HARD ‼️send this↗️▶️▶️to 6 HOMIES to make them have a GOOD Monday. DON’T BREAK THE CHAIN or else you’ll have a BAD monday.⏩⏩⏩GO⏪⏪⏪
Aizawa blinked at the screen as the metaphorical equivalent of acid scalded his corneas. However, that didn’t stop him from forwarding the email to All Might. It was the little things in life.
The next few emails were just selfies that Aoyama had taken of himself in his hero costume- the email was from the beginning of the year- that he had edited with a sparkle effect. While unsure of Aoyama’s intent with the selfies, at least it wasn’t indicative of criminal activity.
Unlike some of his students.
Dear Sensei,
I’m so sorry to bother you, and I hope you’re doing well! I know your time is precious, and that you’re a pro hero and obviously super busy, but I had a tiny, quick concern that I wanted to share with you.
Currently- and I mean that, I’m writing this inside of a trash can- I am being chased. Don’t freak out! I’ve been chased loads of times before! I know just what to do, so don’t worry about me!
The person chasing me has a kind of peculiar quirk that… well, Sensei, to get to the point, it allows him to wield tentacles that come out of his groin. It was literally the most traumatizing thing I’ve ever witnessed, and that’s saying a lot.
I’m so sorry about this, but I think I’m going to late for curfew. I just took a detour to pick up some kimchi and I really didn’t anticipate that I’d end up sitting in a trash can with suction marks on my throat. (Don’t show this to Kacchan- he’ll make a crude joke about always knowing I wanted to be choked by a massive c
The email ended there. Aizawa sat. And read the email again.
“Hm,” said Aizawa. “That’s kind of fucked.”
I’ve been chased loads of times before? Choked by a massive-?
Yeah. Kind of fucked.
This email he didn’t delete, and something was prodding at the back of his subconscious, like it was familiar to him for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why. With a sigh, he opened the next email, also from Midoriya, with the subject: SORRY OH MY GOD.
SENSEI,
DON’T READ THE PREVIOUS EMAIL. I ACCIDENTALLY HIT SEND.
REGARDS,
MIDORIYA IZUKU
That kid.
Wait.
There we go. The words he had been grasping for slipped out from the recesses of his mind, nudging their way out from where they were trapped, and flew to the forefront.
There had been talk- nothing much, just passing rumors that held less weight than a promise from Kaminari to do literally anything- of an up-and-coming vigilante. A short, stocky kid with a suit of toxic green handling robberies, armed assaults; unorganized crime.
They were called ‘The Kid.’ Though an innocuous name, The Kid had garnered a bit of attention, especially in the underground.
Notably, The Kid had taken down a villain who had used his quirk (Groin Grabber) to rob local stores. Grabber had ran his schemes unchecked for weeks before The Kid had somehow tied up the villain with the man’s own dick tentacles in a neat bow, and then double-knotted it for good measure. When asked what the vigilante had looked like, Grabber had begun to cry and wailed, “ He looked like a fruity Phantom of the Opera,” which was saying a lot, considering just how fruity the original Phantom was.
Fantastic. Midoriya was not only a theater kid, but a vigilante as well. Aizawa loved the youth.
He began a folder with emails he flagged as suspicious, figuring he’d send them off to the police department after he was done. As much as he wanted to protect his students, he really didn’t want to be held liable to whatever bullshit they were doing. That would be so much extra paperwork. It was just a precaution, anyway. No cause for concern.
Ha, PSYCH. It quickly filled up. Why were all his students so unwilling to do normal annoying teenage things, like be truants? Then he’d have less students to teach. Instead, they all showed up constantly and did criminal activity on their own time. What was wrong with them? He’d had practically perfect attendance all year, except for when his students were kidnapped or something, with most of his students doing all of their assigned work, and they STILL managed to have free time to commit crimes.
He swiped down the list and clicked on a random email. It was a mistake.
HAGS!!!!!!!!! :))))))) <3<3<3<3
-Togata Mirio
Just kill him already.
Next.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Where would u hide a body.
Where would u hide a body.
-Anonymous
Sent: 4:03 AM
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Perhaps, Aizawa mused, there wasn’t a murderous explanation for that email. Perhaps Todoroki was just being a weird little shit, as per usual.
He dropped his head into his hands. Maybe Anakin was in the right.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Where would u hide a body.
Nvm. Bakugou helped.
-Anonymous
Sent: 5:31 AM
Right to the crime folder.
Subject: Thursday’s Test
Aizawa,
I’m giving my students that aptitude test you suggested on Thursday, and I wanted to know whether you meant number ten to be a personal reflection or a scientific inquiry question.
Thank you,
Vlad
Snorting, Aizawa swiftly clicked the ‘delete’ button and cleared his throat to get the bitter taste out of the back of his mouth.
Time to indulge in his first favorite fantasy of biting Vlad’s pale-ass ankles until they bled.
As Aizawa scrolled through the rest of his unread messages, he noticed a weekly trend of emails from Iida, all neatly titled, Class Update: Week [x] , which was the closest he got to feeling guilt throughout the entire process.
Subject: Class Update: Week 14
Sensei!
Below I have attached my observations from the week. As always, thank you for your time and diligence! You are truly a pro deserving of the title!
Laying it on a little think there. But regardless, it was thoughtful, even if Aizawa wasn’t exactly sure how helpful the emails were.
Tuesday, 12:03 AM - Sensei, I have changed the air filters for the dorms as Ojiro happens to shed. Do not mention this to him, as he is insecure about his fur loss. Will need an allotment from the monthly budget for new backup air filters.
Wednesday, 5:52 AM- Sensei, I got up for my morning run and Shinsou was in the dorm kitchen. He was chewing on coffee grounds straight from the bag. I ask that you plan some kind of intervention. The mental health of my fellow heroics students is of the utmost importance!
Wednesday, 4:24 PM- Sensei, we are out of laundry detergent. It seems the laundry room is flooded. I placed a ‘WARNING: SLIPPERY WHEN WET’ sign in front of the affected areas but Kaminari laughed at it so hard that he did, indeed, slip. I do not believe Yaoyorozu knows how to do her own laundry, as I asked her what happened and she said she put in equal parts detergent and clothes. She also reported that in the chaos, Mineta stole one of her undergarments. Do not worry, I made sure the thief was properly disciplined!
Wednesday, 5:03 PM- Sensei, Mineta has started an underwear protest outside the laundry room, halting students from using their allotted times for washing. He is wearing a pair of small boxer shorts on his head and is proclaiming that Momo’s undergarments are the people’s undergarments, citing Marxism, though Japan is not a communist country. When Jirou informed him of this, he proclaimed, “equal rights, equal fights,” and tried to tackle her. However, the laundry room’s floor is still wet, so he fell and knocked his head. He might have a concussion from that, or from when Jirou kicked him in the face following his fall. I have sent him to Recovery Girl and elected not to punish Jirou.
Thursday, 6:47 PM- Sensei, I am so sorry. I have been informed that Hagakure has been missing since last Saturday. My classmates have confessed to impersonating her in class as well as in the dorms. I take full responsibility for not noticing sooner. With that said, I think we need to send out a search party, as I have been told by Ashido that her mother has been calling.
Friday, 1:26 AM- Sensei, I have been fooled. The Hagakure situation seems to have been an “elaborate prank” on me. She is not missing, please do not call the authorities-
That was enough of that. When the lunch bell rang, Aizawa sent off a hastily-written email to Detective Tsukauchi and immediately went to the teacher’s lounge to take a juicy nap.
Hizashi managed to shove a few spoonfuls of rice in his mouth before he passed out with a promise from Zashi to wake him up when the period was over.
He dreamt of Bakugou and Todoroki dragging a barely-conscious Pitbull across a blood-streaked floor, the lights flickering on and off as they went. As the two boys were about to throw Pitbull out the window, an octopus in a pair of boxer briefs broke through the glass and engulfed Pitbull whole.
The last remnants of the dream were occupied by Todoroki pulling out his phone and typing, “ Nvm. Bakugou helped. ” The octopus gurgled happily, attached to the side of the building.
Todoroki’s phone began to ring. Tsukauchi, read the Caller ID. That was weird. How did Todoroki know Tsukauchi’s number? Instead of answering it, Todoroki merely looked towards the ceiling and asked, “ Sensei? Aren’t you going to get that? ”
He woke up to Hizashi shaking him and holding his phone up to his face. “Shou~, it’s the law~!”
Snatching the phone and blindly swiping at the screen, Aizawa barked out, “ What,” and shimmied out of his sleeping bag.
“ Eraser, it’s Tsukauchi. I think you need to bring these kids down to the station.”
Oh, FUCK. He thought he’d be getting out of paperwork. He was wrong. He should’ve let his students keep breaking the law. Ignorance may not be bliss, but it was so much less work.
“They have class- can it wait until tonight?”
There was a strangled scoff from the other end of the line, before the delayed reply of, “ Sure, Eraser. You know what? That’s fine. Just to give you a warning, though, there is strong evidence to charge Midoriya with vigilantism and there’s some circumstantial evidence that points to Todoroki potentially being connected to a body we found that would have been killed during the time frame that he sent those emails. Bring Bakugou, too, if Todoroki is implicating him as an accomplice.”
“Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be there at around seven,” said Aizawa, because he wasn’t surprised, and then he hung up. Now he had to talk to his three demon children more than he was contractually obligated to.
“I can’t go,” Todoroki said that afternoon. He was eating a bowl of noodles. When Aizawa looked to see what kind, he was met with the image of a noodle-fied Endeavor. As he watched, Todoroki viciously attacked the noodle portrait with his chopsticks until the likeness was unrecognizable.
“And why not?” Aizawa questioned, staring down Todoroki with the eyes of a man who had seen the true vortexes of Hell.
“Because,” said Todoroki like it was an annoyance to explain, “I’m going to have a brain aneurysm tonight.”
Exasperated, Aizawa rolled his eyes. “Can’t you do that tomorrow?”
Todoroki looked at him like he was crazy. This was a bit uncalled for, considering that Todoroki was planning a fake medical emergency for ‘personal reasons.’ “No. Rescheduling would ruin the effect.”
“What effect? It’ll be the same if you do it tomorrow night.”
Todoroki huffed, sullen, and slurped his noodles. “You just don’t get it.”
No, thought Aizawa. He didn’t happen to understand the appeal of roleplaying fatal injuries.
“You kinky fucker,” Bakugou ground out from the other end of the table, his feet kicked up by his plate of curry.
Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment and centered himself. “If you two find Midoriya and get in the car,” he said, and the two boys perked up at the idea of a reward, “I will pull a few strings and get you a few buildings to destroy.” When Bakugou opened his mouth, Aizawa interrupted with a sharp, “There will be NO people inside to blow up.” Wilting, Bakugou snarled under his breath but nodded.
Todoroki asked, “Can I bring a life-size cut-out of Endeavor to light on fire?”
“Will you come to the police station so that you can be charged with murder?” countered Aizawa.
Pensive, Todoroki considered his options. Then, he said, “Okay.”
At 6:45, they headed off campus, Bakugou stomping in front of Aizawa despite the fact that he didn’t know where his teacher was parked. This resulted in the awkward moment of Aizawa saying, “Bakugou, not that way. Go left. No, your other left,” but such was the name of the game.
“Where’s Midoriya?” Aizawa asked once they got to the car, finally realizing that there were only two children with him.
“Fuck if I know,” shrugged Bakugou, claiming the front seat. Todoroki, who was looking at a webpage titled: “Brain Aneurysms: Causes and Treatments,” got into the back.
Aizawa let out a world-weary sigh. Two out of three. That wasn’t too bad, considering, well, everything.
They pulled out of the parking lot as the stars began to come out. The roads were relatively empty, and it was a quiet ride, until, of course, it wasn’t.
Looking at something out the window, Bakugou burst into raucous laughter. Aizawa swung his head to the left and- what?
“Is that…?”
Bakugou rolled down the window and shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK, DEKU? OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING-” before breaking down in hysterical cackles, his breathing devolving into wheezes.
Staring at the car like a deer caught in the headlights, Midoriya Izuku lifted a shaking hand off the handle of his bright pink bicycle to wave at them.
“That’s Midoriya?” asked Todoroki, looking baffled, which was fair, considering the fact that Midoriya was currently wearing an LED mask and a jumpsuit so bright green that it burned to look at. On his wrists, elbows, knees, and shins were bright orange protective gear, showered in little graphics of oranges.
They didn’t have time for this. “Get in the car, kid,” Aizawa called through Bakugou’s open window. Hunched in on himself, Midoriya opened the backdoor, stuck his bike in (squishing Todoroki), and got in the car.
“LOOK, SHITTY HAIR,” crowed Bakugou, and that was when Aizawa noticed that he was on FaceTime. Kirishima’s flash of red hair was in the corner of the screen, and he was screaming incoherently at Midoriya’s appearance.
Leaning back in his seat, Bakugou shoved the phone in Midoriya’s face, much to his mortification. More screams from their classmates filled the car. The LED mask was a rose gold, and a soft pink glow lit up around it. It was very obviously one of those light therapy masks that celebrities used in their Vogue skincare routine videos.
“Yassified Midoriya- ”
“Shut the FUCK UP-” Bakugou screamed, as he was in the process of imagining punting Midoriya in that outfit so far into space that he began to orbit the planet as a satellite and he needed to concentrate. His classmates were not sympathetic to his thought exercises and only got louder and more obnoxious. No one appreciated art anymore.
“Yas, vagina slay queen,” Jirou deadpanned, and Ashido burst into peals of flabbergasted shrieks.
Midoriya hastily tore off the mask to reveal his furious blush, his cheeks practically swollen from his despair. Todoroki attempted to try it on, but Midoriya whacked it out of his hands with a shriek of, “ You have OILS on your skin, Todoroki, pLEASE-”
Aizawa did eventually force Bakugou to end the call when they pulled into the precinct, but the call had done more than enough damage: Midoriya was shaking, trailing behind Bakugou and Todoroki with a kicked-puppy expression.
Tsukauchi greeted the group with the smile of a man who knew his every hope and dream were going to be squashed in a matter of hours. It was necessary to go into any interaction with Class 1A with such a mentality, and Tsukauchi was a seasoned veteran. It was time for battle.
First up was Midoriya.
“I’m not a vigilante,” Midoriya insisted. His vigilante costume shined under the fluorescent lighting.
“True,” observed Tsukauchi, utterly baffled. “He thinks he’s telling the truth.”
Aizawa peered at Midoriya closely, watching his student shrink under the attention. “What would you call what you’re doing?” At Midoriya’s questioning look, he continued, “The sneaking out in protective gear to stop crime without a license stuff.”
Midoriya blinked, tilted his head to the side, and made a face. “I have rosacea.” True.
There was a moment where the two adults transcended the mortal plane to try and grasp at whatever the fuck kind of non sequiter that was , but it was a fruitless endeavor - not even the gods could contextualize whatever was going on in the anxiety-riddled kid’s head. Both of them bluescreened. “ What?”
With ruddy cheeks- which, Tsukauchi surmised wryly, was a result of the rosacea- Midoriya scratched at his face and whined, “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, voice laced with incredulity, “what are you talking about?”
“My skin gets so irritated during school, so whenever I’m without my friends I try to do skincare-”
“Hold up-”
“-because I never wanted to let them see me with this stupid face mask on, oh my GOD, that was so MORTIFYING-”
“Midoriya-”
“-and we’re sweating ALL THE TIME during Heroics training so it’s not like I could cover up to prevent sun exposure because the flare-ups would be SO BAD, and I promised my mom I would wear this stupid light therapy mask at least three times a week, and since we switched to the dorms the only time I’m not surrounded by people is when I’m walking to hip hop class, so I just started wearing it on my walk there, you know?”
Suddenly feeling twenty years older, Aizawa leaned forward on his elbows and asked, very delicately, “Hip hop class?”
Midoriya smacked his hands over his mouth and murmured a muffled, “Oh no.”
“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi began before loosing out a frustrated sigh. The boy in question twiddled his thumbs anxiously, very obviously trying to fight off the urge to panic. “How long have you been dancing?”
“Oh, it’s pretty recent,” Midoriya replied in a strangled voice, his face cycling through the five stages of grief as he avoided the stare of his teacher and the detective. “I go three times a week. Helps with agility and, um, core strength.”
“Why would you wear this,” Tsukauchi asked, gesturing to the jumpsuit and the padding on his elbows, knees, and shins, “to a casual dance class?”
“The jumpsuit is my dance outfit,” Midoriya replied, almost defensive. He picked at a loose thread on the collar with a slight hint of a frown. “I thought it looked cool.” Tsukauchi’s quirk stayed quiet: True.
“And the orange shin guards?” Aizawa drawled, and, yep, they were an offensive shade of orange. Then again, his goggles were an offensive shade of yellow, so he wasn’t really the person to be giving critiques.
Midoriya seemed to shrink ever further into himself, if that was possible, and he muttered, “I’mlearningtorideabike.”
Tsukauchi blinked. “Sorry? Can you repeat that? Didn’t catch what-”
“I’M LEARNING TO RIDE A BIKE!” he blurted, and then went even more red from his hairline to the edge of his jumpsuit. “I ride my bike to dance class, but I don’t want to get banged up because Recovery Girl would get upset, and she’s scary, so I wear gear!”
“But you don’t wear a helmet?”
Midoriya spared him an aghast look, “Well, duh, I’m not that much of a loser.”
Aizawa brought his hands up to his throat and seemed to mime strangling himself. Tsukauchi could agree with the sentiment.
“So, let me get this straight,” Tsukauchi said, trying really hard not to succumb to an oncoming migraine, “you wear a scary, illuminated mask ( “LED light therapy,” Midoriya muttered quietly, but was ignored ) because of a skin condition, pads on your joints because you’re learning to ride a bike, and a toxic green jumpsuit because you go to a hip hop dance class three times a week? And all of this is true?”
“I mean,” Midoriya squeaked, hiding his face, “yeah?”
True.
“What about Grabber? Or the other villain takedowns accredited with your vigilante name?”
“I was embarrassed, okay? They were committing crimes and saw me looking like that and I guess they could tell that I was a hero student because they always came rushing at me! And what was I supposed to do? Not take them down?” Midoriya was beginning to look haggard, pulling at his hair and bouncing his knee under the table.
“I don’t think they could tell you were a hero student,” Aizawa told him plainly. Midoriya furrowed his brow. “I think they thought you were some crazy-ass vigilante trying to stop them.”
“ Why would they think that?” Midoriya despaired, scrubbing at his red-lined eyes. “My bike is pink. It has a bell shaped like a baby duck on it.” Aizawa patted his fluffy head in consolation. “This is all because of that stupid email,” Midoriya sniffled, eyes so very wide and sad. “I meant to put it in my drafts for later, but…”
“Are you telling me that you didn’t intend to send the initial email?” Tsukauchi inquired.
“Yes!” Midoriya agreed enthusiastically, before shrinking a bit in on himself under his teacher’s death glare. “I… I like to type out emails any time I’m feeling scared. And then I delete them. No one’s supposed to read them.”
“Why don’t you send them?” asked Tsukauchi.
Midoriya shrugged, looking as if he hadn’t really asked himself that question before. “Telling people you’re scared makes you vulnerable,” he said slowly, and then once he processed what he said, he let out a nervous laugh that ended with him choking on his spit.
Aizawa blinked at him. “That’s kind of really sad, Midoriya.”
Still struggling to breathe, Midoriya sent him a shaky thumbs-up and bent over his knees.
“Was there any evidence of quirk use?” asked Aizawa, and Tsukauchi startled. Slowly, though, understanding swept over his face, and he massaged his temples.
“Nothing concrete. But-”
“Great,” said Aizawa. “Midoriya, we’re running a tight schedule here. Get out.”
“Wh-” Tsukauchi objected, but Midoriya was already gone, his choked hiccups following him out.
Before he could properly process just how badly he had gotten steamrolled, Bakugou and Todoroki were sitting down across from him. Bakugou kept kicking at Todoroki’s shins, but it was getting late so Tsukauchi elected to pretend it wasn’t happening.
“Todoroki, do you remember sending me an email asking where to hide a body?” Aizawa asked him.
The boy tilted his head in thought. “That email was anonymous, Sensei.”
“It was sent through your school email, kid. It was not anonymous,” his teacher explained, flat. Todoroki made a face.
“The only way you’d know if the email was supposed to be anonymous would be if you sent it, Todoroki,” Tsukauchi pointed out.
“Did I say that?”
“Um. Yes, I think you did,” Tsukauchi replied, taken aback. Because he had. Fifteen seconds prior. However, Todoroki looked back at him with his expression flat and his eyes empty. For someone with such a colorful appearance, he sure was monochromatic.
“I don’t know. Did I?”
Tsukauchi blinked in shock; he hadn’t even seen the kid’s mouth move when he spoke. Was he a puppet? Was Tsukauchi hallucinating? His quirk refused to pin the questions as true or false. Hell.
“I believe that you think I said that.” True.
Was this kid seriously gaslighting him in his own interrogation?
“Todoroki…”
“Smash a like and subscribe.”
“I think what you said has some cause for concern…”
“Call-out post.”
Tsukauchi pushed a police report in front of Todoroki and let him look at it. “This is a report of a body that was dragged from the water the morning after you sent those emails. It’s so mutilated that we can’t identify it. Do you know anything about that? Have you seen this person?” He moved the picture away and held Todoroki’s eyes.
“I’ve seen that person,” Todoroki admitted. True.
“Yeah? Where?”
“Uh. Here. Right now.”
Tsukauchi stared at Todoroki with open amazement. How was someone so damn stupid?
“Can we get to the fucking point? I’m sweating my ass off in here,” interjected Bakugou, who had been waiting patiently, by his standards, next to his classmate. Aizawa was fiddling with his capture weapon, disinterested.
“Todoroki,” Tsukauchi said slowly, hoping to be as succinct as possible, “did you or did you not tip a body into the water?”
“I did tip,” began Todoroki, and Tsukauchi let out a sigh of relief, “the Club Penguin iceberg into a body of water.”
Tsukauchi’s face crumpled in defeat.
“FUCKING LUCKY!” Bakugou shouted, suddenly animated. “What was your username, Half n’ Half? I bet I beat your ASS at Card-Jitsu.”
“I believe it was ‘usernameusername,’” Todoroki said, ignoring Tsukauchi’s watery gaze.
Bakugou went eerily still. “You… your Club Penguin username was ‘usernameusername’?”
Todoroki furrowed his brow and replied, “It said ‘type in username,’ so I did until it let me create the account. Was that… not what I was supposed to do?”
When Bakugou was six years old, he had a friend. It was a secret friend. He’d come home from school each day, a snarl curling up his lip and his throat dry from shouting, and would hunker down in the computer room.
His friend was weird as shit, but that was okay. They were always dressed in a mermaid suit and had a clown afro on their head. They used ‘XD’ unironically because they thought it was an acronym that stood for ‘X-Deavor.’ When Bakugou had asked what the fuck that meant, they had replied with a cryptic-as-shit: ‘Crossing Endeavor off of the list.’
So, okay, his friend had a few quirks, but they would let Bakugou stay at their place and would play that card game at the dojo with him, so somewhere in Bakugou’s feral, six-year-old soul, he found some way to give the kid grace.
They bonded over months of multiplayer games, events, and most of all, puffles. Both Bakugou and his secret friend had the most fantastically bad puffle names. From Puffle 1 to NUCLEAR POWE- (the name was cut off by the character limit), to Puffle 2 to EMPEROR MURDER , their themes never faltered, except for one that his secret friend had named Uffle, but that just seemed to be a mistake.
So it was only natural that they’d fall in love.
It started with his secret friend sending him heart emojis- the universal sign for ‘we’re a couple now’ on Club Penguin, to those who were uninformed- and changing their afro to a wedding veil, and surprisingly… Bakugou hadn’t minded. So maybe he sent a heart emoji (or four) back, accompanied, of course, with a flurry of swear words that got him temporarily banned for profanity.
Their relationship was what you’d expect from two six-year-old’s on Club Penguin: Bakugou messaging, ‘ you dumb@ss little sh!t f*ck can’t even throw a f*cking snowball worthless clown looking a$$,’ (Bakugou was one strike away from being permanently banned and had not yet mastered sentence structure), with his penguin lover’s response being, ‘sorry, father- i mean boyfriend- i will work hard to surpass the number one hero- i mean user iluvvhawtmoms69 -in this snowball fight :)’.
And then they broke up. And Bakugou most certainly wasn’t upset about it, and definitely didn’t get banned from Club Penguin permanently following the split.
His ex’s username?
Fucking usernameusername. (Not the ‘fucking’ part - that was just Bakugou’s embellishment, to be clear.)
“I can’t fucking believe this! You piece of shit, my username was- ”
“I know who you are,” Todoroki interrupted, solemn. “I’ve known for a while.”
“Can we go back to the fact that you and Todoroki may or may not have murdered someone and hid the body in some sort of insane conspiracy?” asked Tsukauchi.
“No,” replied Todoroki.
Tsukauchi slumped in his seat, worn out. “Truth.”
“I didn’t even know a dumb motherfucker like you could even USE a computer,” Bakugou snarled. Todoroki did, in fact, know how to use a computer, though it was his father’s. It’s not like his father watched him often enough to care.
“I’m sorry I broke your heart, Bakugou,” Todoroki suddenly said, and Bakugou reared back in offense, red eyes flashing.
“MY HEART? You think you fucking broke MY HEART ? I BROKE YOUR SHITTY HEART -”
“I know it was shocking, finding me with another penguin,” he continued like Bakugou hadn’t spoken, sounding honest-to-god regretful of his torrid penguin affair.
Bakugou started snarling, but when Todoroki continued on with describing how Bakugou had arrived at his place to find Todoroki sending a heart emoji to some skanky bitch (in Bakugou’s words) wearing a Pro Hero Thirteen costume from that month’s event (which was very objectively not ‘skanky,’ though no one should ever call someone a skank, but Bakugou did not understand this kind of irony when he was blinded by his ‘spurned lover’ status), he bit out, “And then you TOLD your FUCKING SIDE SQUEEZE that you NAMED A PUFFLE AFTER THEM? REALLY? YOU NAMED A FUCKING PUFFLE AFTER THAT GODDAMN HOMEWRECKER AND NOT ME?!”
“I didn’t like the name ‘SUPREMELORDEXPLODO4018’ for a puffle,” Todoroki replied, recalling the username with perfect accuracy. “It was too long. And also dumb.”
“DUMB?! You BITCH! Did they name a stupid puffle after you, too, huh?” snarled Bakugou, froth from his rage spitting out of his mouth. “Did you have COUPLE PUFFLES like FUCKING LOSERS-?”
“I don’t know,” Todoroki told him. “I never played after that day.”
“You… you WHAT?” Bakugou blurted, stunned. The argument, which had been fast-paced and loud thus far, suddenly lulled to a more even rhythm; the calming of a really stupid-ass storm. He looked at Todoroki like he had never seen him before, like something in those dead eyes of his was all at once familiar and a novelty. “Why the fuck not?”
Todoroki shrugged and glanced to the side. Bakugou followed his movements with a kind of unhinged sense of reverence. Somewhere in the background, emotional K-drama had begun to play, and goddamnit, Nedzu must have hacked into the police station again. Aizawa had seen that fucker watching Crash Landing on You, he KNEW it, and he KNEW Nedzu had been lying when he claimed it was just some run-of-the-mill illegal surveilance footage.
“You got banned that day for calling me ‘a stinking pile of human shit, you fucking waste of space, I never liked your sorry ass, fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you,’” Todoroki explained, voice even.
Bakugou barked out a laugh, though it didn’t sound as abrasive as it could of. “Damn right.”
“It wasn’t the same without you,” admitted Todoroki, swiping a flyaway strand of hair away from his eyes. “I realized it wasn’t worth it. So I deleted my account.”
“IcyHot…”
“Bakugou…?”
Bakugou slowly reached his hand out in a fist. Todoroki stared at him, confused. Was he going for a fist-bump? Was this an olive branch of solidarity over their lost fake love? Was this friendship-?
And then Bakugou attempted to deck Todoroki across the face.
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT YOU LEFT YOUR PUFFLES TO DIE YOU INCONSIDERATE FUCK I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU-”
Todoroki dodged Bakugou with the casual affect of someone who had once asked his father if he was going through menopause and needed emotional support during the new stage in his aging body’s life.
“-THEY PUT OUT THOSE GODDAMN ADORABLE DINOSAUR PUFFLES AFTER I LEFT AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET THE T-REX ONE THAT ONE WAS SO FUCKING METAL AND THEN THERE WAS THAT ALL-MIGHT ONE AND YOU- YOU MOTHERFUCKER -”
And then, horrifyingly, Bakugou began to choke up, turning towards the wall with a fist to his open mouth. Tsukauchi watched the scene with the growing realization that even if these boys did murder someone, it would just be too much of a pain to do anything about it. Sometimes letting people get away with murder was okay. Tsukauchi just needed to let go of his perfectionism (and proper police protocols) and practice some self-love.
“Maybe… maybe sometime we could play Animal Jam together,” Todoroki suggested. Bakugou turned from his corner, his eyes wary.
“The fuck? Why?”
Shuffling a bit on his feet, Todoroki said, “My dad would pay for our memberships. I know his bank account number and his security code.”
“I…” Bakugou looked indecisive, grinding his jaw. “How long? A year?”
“I’d set it to automatically renew every time it ran out,” Todoroki promised.
“This is not the time to be doing this-” Tsukauchi began, but Bakugou cut him off with a scoff and a muttered, “Shit. Fine, then.”
And when Todoroki’s lips twitched up into a smile, Bakugou didn’t punch him in the face.
“What time is it?” asked Todoroki in the wake of whatever kind of reconciliation that was. Tsukauchi glanced at his watch. The clock read 8:00 PM.
He relayed this information to Todoroki, who promptly passed out onto the floor.
As he began to scream and seize, Tsukauchi rushed over to him, cursing up a storm. “CALL THE PARAMEDICS! SHIT-”
He cut himself off as he looked at the other occupants in the room. Bakugou, who was surreptitiously sniffing his armpits, seemed only put-out. And Aizawa…had a flask.
“Down the hatch,” he muttered, lifting the flask up in a cheers before taking a hefty swig. Tsukauchi watched him at first with shock, then with irritation, and then finally coming around to reluctant acceptance.
“Just… just go.”
And so, Todoroki, clutching at his head, was hoisted over Aizawa’s shoulder, and they left the police station with no charges against their names.
At the end of the day, Aizawa had 0 unread messages, a tension headache, and 20 students with clean records.
He was right. It had been a day to forget.