Ha. HAHA. I'll just drop this and see myself out.

Naomasa waited patiently until Aizawa left the room to go and collect Bakugo, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Slowly, his gaze drifted from the door to the other occupant in the observation room. Midoriya was staring blankly through the one-way mirror, eyes trained on the table and chairs in the opposite room with the dull interest of someone who had spent enough time on this side of them that it had lost the novelty.

He took the chance to really look at the younger man, to take in the faint dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a restless night, and the way resignation seemed to cling to his shoulders. He had the look of one about to tackle an impossible task, dreading the confrontation but knowing it was necessary.

It was a sobering expression on someone so young, and a part of Naomasa ached that Midoriya wore it so well – that this kind of strain must be an old hat to him. Just how much had he done through to become like this?

Naomasa hated that he was curious enough to ask.

"How well did you know Bakugo?"

Midoriya didn't twitch, but Naomasa still got the impression that he had startled him with the question. Those green eyes shot to him, probing but not suspicious. He tilted his head.

"You said you grew up together," he added awkwardly.

Midoriya hummed, turning back to the mirror, his fingers idly playing together in his lap. "We were in the same neighbourhood as kids; spent most of our days playing together." Here, a slight but brittle smile came onto the other's face, surprising Naomasa with how bitter it was. "Kacchan was…so bright. He was larger than life, even as a kid – and he had the most amazing quirk. I was enamoured, pretty much everyone was."

Naomasa nodded absently, swiftly recalling the limited information he had about the boy, what Aizawa had told him on the way here. Explosions, something to do with his sweat, he recalled. He could understand the appeal, the draw of such a powerful, flashy quirk – but he could also see where this was going from the downward twist of Midoriya's mouth. It was, unfortunately, a common occurrence.

"Kacchan and I were still close after his quirk manifested, but as the months dragged on, and all the other kids started gaining their quirks, I was quickly singled out as different."

Naomasa frowned, and Midoriya caught his confusion. He huffed a quiet laugh, airy and tinged with a wistfulness that didn't match his next words. "When I was four, I was diagnosed as quirkless."

Oh.

Naomasa made sure the breath he released was steady, the pieces falling into place. He had wondered what Midoriya's original quirk was – an analysis quirk, maybe, or something like enhanced charm, given how easily he had gotten Aizawa and he both to trust him – but not that he knew the truth, he couldn't help but find it almost fitting, in a way. That the next holder of One For All was someone who had never experienced anything like it before.

Midoriya continued easily, and it was clear that for all he still carried the scars of what was no doubt a difficult childhood, he had long come to terms with what had happened to him. Had even moved passed it. It was admirable, and Naomasa could see what would have drawn Yagi to this one, in another life.

"We grew apart after that. Kacchan was destined for the stars, and I was just…me. Head stuck in the clouds, didn't know when to stop dreaming – Deku." Naomasa carefully didn't react to that.

Deku. Useless.

He tried not to wince.

He had found Midoriya's hero name curious, an oxymoron that was almost a taunt to villains. Now he realised it was much more than that.

Children were often the cruellest things, Naomasa thought.

"It was only after I met All Might that things became better for me. He rescued me from that villain, the one with the sludge quirk. He saved my life, twice." Midoriya's eyes crinkled as he said that, and Naomasa watched him closely, trying to see if there was more depth to that statement. To see if Midoriya meant that Yagi had saved him in more ways than one.

Each word that fell from Midoriya's mouth rang with sincerity. "After we both entered U.A. things were a little rough – a lot rough," he amended wryly. "Kacchan and I spent years butting heads, sometimes literally. But he got over it eventually, and we've been closer in the past year than we were in the decade before it." The warm spark in Midoriya's eyes slowly faded, and something similar to loss took its place. "He's not the easiest to get along with, but I miss him."

Naomasa had to look away from the sorrow on Midoriya's face, his lips pinching in sympathy. He couldn't imagine what the other must be going through. To have everything you knew ripped away from you, to be displaced in such a way. It must be torturous. He had seen the looks Midoriya gave he and Aizawa, the flickers of fondness and camaraderie in his eyes, the easy smiles and quick humour. He had found it difficult not to get caught up in the pull of conversation, to not enjoy too much how effortlessly Midoriya seemed to get him. He knew Aizawa was struggling as well.

It hurt him each time Midoriya turned to them, only to realise a moment later that they were not the people he was expecting to see. But Naomasa knew it must be so much worse for the other. Surrounded by strangers wearing familiar faces, and the sharp sting of disappointment every time he remembered himself.

He didn't know how Midoriya was handling it all as well as he was. So many others would have buckled under the emotional stress by now.

He cleared his throat, grateful that the other had paused, giving him a chance to process and compose himself. His lapse in attention should have bothered him, but the quiet calm Midoriya projected was dangerously effective.

"Do you know what you're going to say to him?" Naomasa asked, grabbing the first topic and clinging to it.

Midoriya shrugged, the motion a smooth roll, and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. It made the muscles along his shoulders bunch, and Naomasa blinked when he realised just how strong the other must be, even with the suppressant cuff cutting off his access to One For All. The loose clothes and fluffy hair had a way of making him seem younger – but the way the lights made the scars on his arms stand out reminded Naomasa starkly that this young man was probably one of the most experienced people in this building.

He couldn't see himself working with someone that wasn't competent and intelligent, just as he couldn't see Aizawa relying on someone who couldn't handle themselves when the chips were down. Midoriya must have proven himself a hundred times over in a thousand different way to work with them both as closely as he claimed.

"I'm going to tell him the truth," Midoriya responded evenly. "I meant what I said earlier. Kacchan is too perceptive to not put it together himself, or at least some version of it. He's always had a talent for reading people, and I'd rather control as much of this as I can." He stopped, frowned, then continued softly. "And I guess a part of me thinks he deserves to hear it from me first. It can't have been easy for him, seeing what happened that day."

"Will you be telling him about One For All?" He asked, unable to help the way his back tensed in preparation, his quirk buzzing in his ears, waiting for the answer.

But Midoriya simply shook his head. "No," he replied, "that's not something he needs to be aware of. I'll just tell him that I was a late-bloomer – that's been my official story for years now."

The tension in him disappeared. Naomasa sighed in relief, content that Yagi's secret would remain so for a little while longer.

Midoriya smiled, no doubt sensing where his thoughts had turned with the same unnerving accuracy he seemed to have with everything. "Don't worry, Naomasa," he said gently, teasing, if not for the tightness around his eyes. "It's my secret too, remember."

Katsuki walked through the still, empty hallway. His bag hung over his shoulder, lightly smacking against his back with each step, and his red eyes were unfocussed as he frowned to himself.

It was still early, maybe half an hour before most students would begin to arrive, and the campus was blissfully silent as a result. His footsteps were deafening.

He would have been in sooner, but his mother had been annoyingly persistent this morning about seeing him off. Even his father had been hovering, which was odd for the typically laidback man.

Katsuki knew why, and even though he chaffed at the coddling, he couldn't really find it in himself to blame them.

The attack at the USJ building had rattled his parents. The barely masked fear in his mother's eyes was the only reason he hadn't snarled at her to leave him alone.

His thoughts were too crowded to pay much attention to the concern in their eyes. He couldn't stop replaying the events of the attack over his mind, trying to make sense of what he had seen, trying to convince himself – of what he wasn't sure, but the need beat away inside his head.

That guy…

His grip on the strap of his bag tightened, his jaw clenching as his frustration rose.

He had only gotten a brief look at the hero who had leapt in to help their sensei. He had been too preoccupied pummelling the second-rate villains that thought they would be a match for him. But what he had seen left him confused and angry.

His hair, that face, it looked like –

Katsuki shook his head roughly, coming to a stop in the middle of the hall, turning his gaze to the window and the neatly trimmed grass of the field. It was all –

Green. Just like him.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the uncomfortable knot in his chest to subside.

It didn't mean anything. Lots of people had curly hair, and it might not have even been that colour. The guy's suit was green, after all. There was every chance he had just made a mistake as he'd watched the guy get wheeled out on a stretcher. It had been hard to get a clear view with all the Pros in the way and the distance between them.

Katsuki sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, staring blindly out over the school grounds.

It wouldn't make sense anyway. There's no way. Deku wasn't –

He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath. He groped desperately for his psychiatrist's words, recalling her voice, soft and lilting but strong.

"It's common to see the faces of people we've lost in others. Especially if the loss is recent, or traumatic. It's natural, Katsuki."

It had pissed him off at the time. He couldn't quite remember what he had said back to her, but he didn't need to. It wouldn't have been kind, or graceful, because he had never been either of those things – but those first few months after he had been a wreck. Choking on his anger and unable to acknowledge the black thing in his chest that was too close to grief for his comfort.

He hadn't been interested in talking, hadn't wanted to even think about that day; because remembering made it real in a way he couldn't handle. But time and effort were powerful motivators, and even though he would never say it, Katsuki was glad that his mother had forced him to go to his sessions.

Things had gotten more manageable.

He had stopped waking up covered in sweat with his fingers sparking and his sheets smelling of smoke. He had stopped having episodes where his senses were dragged back to that moment and he had to retreat to his room so that he wouldn't throw up. He had stopped flinching away from Inko, whenever he saw her and the dulled look in her too familiar eyes. He had stopped washing his hands obsessively because he swore that he could still see – still feel – the red covering his arms and chest.

He had stopped seeing his face everywhere he went.

Katsuki realised he was trembling and purposefully locked his muscles.

Fuck.

He had been doing so good, too.

It had been over a month since he had relapsed, too focussed on the entrance exam and starting school to think about it. But now here he was, shaking apart in some random hallway because he saw someone with hair that maybe resembled his – and he felt like he was back at square one.

His throat was dry and Katsuki swallowed roughly to squash the emotions brewing in his gut before they gained any more ground. He didn't want to be like this. He didn't want to be this weak, to have this heaviness weighing him down, to have guilt as thick as tar suffocating him.

None of it was fucking fair. Hundreds of people died every day – Katsuki knew the numbers, knew the yearly casualty rates of villain attacks.

Deku was just one in so many, just one more tally in the grand scheme of things. It shouldn't be so hard to get over. It shouldn't be – but it was because Deku was more than a statistic.

He –

He was –

"Bakugo?"

Katsuki's head jerked up, the black that had been edging his vision dispersing. He looked away just as quickly when he realised he could feel the persistent burning of his eyes. He refused to cry in front of his sensei. This had nothing to do with the man, it was his.

"What?" He bit out, shoulders rising an inch before he forced himself to relax.

Aizawa scanned him with tired eyes. He looked unharmed, no signs of the fight from the other day; and beyond the deep exhaustion on his face, he did not appear bothered by what had happened.

"I need you to come with me," his sensei said evenly, hand gesturing vaguely towards the end of the hallway. "There are some things we need to discuss."

Katsuki ground his teeth together, for one mutinous minute contemplating saying no. He wasn't in the mood for any 'discussions', but Aizawa was one of the handful of people he actually respected; and one of the only heroes he openly admired.

He trudged over to the man, his free hand slipping into his pocket as he tried to pretend that he hadn't been seconds away from crying just moments ago. Aizawa watched him, gaze piercing, before he spun around and began to lead Katsuki down several hallways, coming to stop eventually before an elevator.

Confusion and anxiety churned away as he obediently stepped into the elevator, and he frowned as he tried to figure out what he had done to prompt whatever this was. They had not had any classes after the attack, and he had not so much as spoken to any of the idiots in his class since his parents had picked him up that day.

Katsuki glanced at his sensei to see if he could glean anything, but the man was as unflappable as ever.

The elevator slid to a stop with a gentle chime, and Aizawa was walking languidly down the hall before the doors were fully open. Katsuki followed, briefly looking out the windows they passed, noting how high up they were. Only the teachers had permission to be on the upper levels, which was where most of their private offices and the school's operating systems were located.

Aizawa led him to an empty room, opening the door and pointing his chin in a silent order. Katsuki walked inside, eyes darting from the table and chairs, to the large polished mirror that dominated one wall, then back to his sensei. His instincts were going off, and he glanced back at the mirror to see his own haggard figure staring back.

His skin itched.

Aizawa closed the door behind them and waved him at a seat; waiting until Katsuki was in place before sitting across from him. He folded his arms over his chest, elbows balanced on the edge of the table, and stared at Katsuki.

The silence between them stretched, and Katsuki shifted, agitated and hating the uncertainty. "Well?" He insisted, stooping slightly.

Aizawa blinked, slow like a cat. His expression didn't change as he spoke, but his tone was firm. "I'm going to tell you something, Bakugo. Something that will no doubt be a great shock to you, but I need your word now that you won't react rashly, and listen to what I have to say."

Katsuki's frown deepened at the cryptic words. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."

His sensei looked unimpressed, though eventually the man sighed and glanced at the ceiling before nodding to himself.

"First, what do you know about the attack on the USJ – specifically, the man that intervened and rescued two of your classmates, and assisted me?"

Katsuki's pulse spiked at the question.

Green hair and freckles, he thought.

"Nothing," he said, wary.

His sensei watched him for a moment, eyes searching, and Katsuki had to glance away with misplaced guilt. He felt like a liar, but he didn't know why.

"You didn't manage to see him?" Aizawa pressed, tone oddly neutral while his questions were anything but. "Not even a glimpse?"

"I –" Katsuki hesitated, "I didn't see much." He admitted, unnerved all of a sudden.

Aizawa sighed, head tilting forward an inch. His countenance took on a more sympathetic light, his eyes softer. Katsuki leaned back, suspicions running rampant now. "Why?" He demanded, "What the fuck is going on? Why are you asking me this?"

His sensei didn't react to the language, merely continued to watch him with a steady gaze. "That man is a Pro Hero, but he's not from our world."

Before he could even process that, let alone reply, Aizawa continued. "He was engaged in a fight with a villain whose quirk sent him from his world to our, and until we can figure out how to send him back, he's stuck here. It was decided that for the time being he should remain here where we can help him."

Dangerous, Katsuki heard what the man wasn't saying, needs surveillance.

Atop the table, Katsuki's fists clenched. Sweat beaded in his palms.

"As well as this, he seems to be from about three years in what could be considered our future."

He could barely hear anything through the pounding in his ears. He didn't believe this. This was bullshit. Quirks didn't work like that.

He had never heard of something like that –

"You expect me to believe this shit?" He spat, teeth bared. Sparks crackled at his fingertips without conscious thought before his sensei's eyes gleamed and the reassuring thrum of his quirk vanished.

"This isn't a lie, Bakugo. This is a very serious matter, with very serious implications and consequences."

"Then why the fuck are you telling me?"

Aizawa's mouth twisted, displeasure curling over his face. "Because he asked for you to be informed. Because he believed it was for the best that you had prior warning about his presence, and given the natural of the situation, I agreed."

Katsuki stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the tiled floor. Words bubbled at the back of his throat, all fighting to make themselves heard, but he couldn't manage to spit them out.

He could feel things clicking into place, could almost see the image Aizawa was trying to paint for him, but his mind recoiled from the conclusions he was drawing.

Green hair, freckles.

It wasn't possible. It wasn't.

Aizawa looked up at him, cautious, but concerned. "He believed you would be emotionally unstable because of who he is – who he was in this world, and his connection to you."

Was. Connection.

Katsuki started to shake again. Aizawa stood, advertising his movements like he was a spooked animal.

"Who is he?" He asked, voice hoarse.

Aizawa frowned, hesitating.

Katsuki snapped. He shot forward, slamming his hands onto the table.

"Who the fuck is he?"

Before the man could answer, the door behind them opened.

Katsuki turned instinctively, drawn to the noise, his chest heaving. It took him a few seconds to focus on the man standing in the doorway, dressed in loose, plain clothes and staring at him with horribly familiar eyes.

"You were supposed to wait," Aizawa said, distant to Katsuki's ears. He couldn't look away, and the stranger – not a stranger, familiar, too fucking familiar – didn't look away either.

Katsuki didn't flinch when the other took a single step forward, but he very much wanted to.

Izuku ignored Aizawa and looked at Bakugo – fifteen, wide-eyed and looking painfully lost in that moment – and wanted to cry.

He had forgotten how small they used to be.

Seeing Bakugo like this now was a kick in the teeth. There was none of the confidence, none of the usual bluster, none of the rage that had become synonymous with the other over time.

He looked so young.

"Hi," Izuku said, gentle and tentative, his mouth curling into a reflexive half-smile.

Bakugo was frozen, his red eyes disbelieving and huge, and Izuku forced himself to be patient. Rushing Bakugo never ended well, and after watching him almost fall apart in front of Aizawa, he knew he had to tread carefully.

He didn't have to wait long.

Bakugo's shoulders shot up, his hands flexed tellingly at his sides, and his expression creased with some dreadful mix of agony and hope – and hate. Everything about him screamed defensive, and Izuku held his breath.

"What – what the fuck." Bakugo hissed out, his hands rising in front of his chest, "This isn't – stop looking like him."

Izuku took a step forward and Bakugo lurched backwards, knocking into the table before he twisted on his heel and stepped closer to the wall. He was frenzied, all wild energy primed to explode, but his eyes never moved from Izuku, the glint in them caught between denial and panic.

"Bakugo," Aizawa began, one hand held aloft, but Bakugo moved.

Izuku saw it coming, but still allowed the boy to slam into him.

Years ago, the force would have been enough to drop him. Now, all Izuku did was brace his legs and rock with the move. He caught Bakugo's blind punch, using the momentum to twist him around and pull the other into a hold. Without his quirk and emotional as he was, it was easy to immobilise him.

Bakugo bucked, writhing in the hold, but Izuku simply moved with him, shifting his weight as needed. They needed to snap him out of this, and Izuku knew just the thing.

"Kacchan, stop."

Bakugo went limp.

Izuku waited for a long moment, sharing a quick glance with Aizawa and Naomasa. Both men looked perturbed, but they seemed content to stay in the background for now. With a quiet sigh, Izuku released Bakugo once the boy's breathing had evened out. The second he let go, Bakugo was across the room, very much a cornered animal. He was calmer, but all it would take was one wrong move to set him off again.

"Kacchan," he started to say, but stopped when Bakugo pressed his eyes shut and hunched a little. Izuku bit his lip, chest tightening at the obvious distress his friend was in. He couldn't just stop though. He tried once more, "Katsuki," the name felt strange on his tongue, "can you look at me, please?"

He stepped forward once more, keeping his hands visible and body loose. It felt odd, using the same tactics he would on a frightened civilian with his friend – but until Bakugo lost the caged look, Izuku didn't want to risk overstepping.

It was a waiting game with Bakugo; always had been. Though for all that Bakugo burned the hottest, between the two of them, Izuku would always be the most stubborn.

He stayed where he was, quiet, watching as the line of tension in the boy's shoulders eventually began to ease, and two red eyes blinked up at him. There was plenty of uncertainty there, and more than a bit of anger – but there were also the beginnings of curiosity and hope as well.

Izuku kept his smile small as he held out his hand, an offering and a reminder in one "I know this is strange, and you're probably really confused, but I promise this isn't a trick."

Bakugo was shaking slightly, barely perceivable tremors that ran through his arms and legs, and the expression he wore was distrustful. He was thinking, though, and that was what Izuku needed. "You aren't…" the boy cut himself off, frustrated. He glanced away, then back to Izuku almost as quickly.

"I'm real," Izuku assured, keeping his tone light. "I'm real, and I'm here. I'm sorry this was such a big shock to you. I wanted this to be smoother, but I got worried and came in before I should have."

Bakugo stared at him, then his gaze dropped down to Izuku's outstretched hand. There was still some scepticism in him, evident in his frown and the twist of his lips, but Bakugo had never been one to hesitant for long.

The boy reached out and grabbed Izuku's bare hand, the touch probing. His thumb pressed into Izuku's palm hard enough to make the skin turn white and to feel the subtle shifting of the delicate bones underneath. Izuku's fingers curled in response, and he refrained from saying anything, content to let Bakugo come to the realisation on his own.

"I don't," he started, still staring at the hand in his grasp, "I don't get it. How?"

"It's like Aizawa said. I was fighting a villain and his quirk transported me here. Dropped me right in the middle of the attack. I wasn't about to sit back and watched people get hurt, so I lent a hand."

Bakugo winced at that, just a small twitch of discomfort that Izuku silently filed away. Hard to predict he might be, but Izuku had known the other for years and could easily guess where his thoughts had travelled.

"How were you fighting a villain?" Bakugo asked, though this time the question came out stilted. He still refused to meet Izuku's eyes. "You don't –"

"Have a quirk?"

Off to the side Aizawa shifted, the sound drawing Izuku's attention for a split second before he returned his focus to Bakugo.

He had been intending to run with the usual story, a late-blooming quirk, unable to manifest until his body was physically capable of handling the force. But one look at the quiet fragility on Bakugo's face gave him pause.

Izuku remembered Bakugo's disbelief when he first saw Izuku use One For All – and the flashes of almost-betrayal that burned in his eyes at the oddest of times, before he had discovered the truth.

He remembered how bitter Bakugo had been, thinking that all that time Izuku had been lying to him, that he hadn't trusted Bakugo enough to tell him the truth. He remembered how ironic he had found it, that Bakugo was the one that was hurt by Izuku's perceived lies.

Izuku knew the twists and turns of Bakugo's thoughts better than anyone, and he knew how hard the death of his counterpart must have been for him to process. All the things that would have been left unsaid between the two.

Izuku knew in that moment that if he let Bakugo believe that he was never quirkless – that it had merely been dormant until he was old enough to handle the power – then it would break the boy.

Bakugo as he was now still believed that quirks decided a persons' worth. He had honestly thought he was right to break his friendship with Izuku back then, and had built his entire worldview around that ideal.

While Izuku would never condone what Bakugo had done in their childhood – would never forget the years of torment and pain he had suffered through – he couldn't bring himself to be the one to shatter that perspective.

Bakugo, for all his faults, was as much a product of their society as everyone who had ever condemned Izuku in the past. There were better ways to help the other break free of that mindset.

Sorry Naomasa.

Izuku sighed, closed his eyes, and spoke. "I was given a quirk," he admitted, ignoring the aborted movement out of the corner of his eyes – Aizawa jerking Naomasa to a stop before the man could intervene. He would pay for this later, he knew, and there would be no distracting Aizawa from the notion of transferring quirks, but Bakugo came first right now.

"Given?" Finally, Bakugo's eyes shot to meet his, and there was the familiar spark of keen intellect there. It warmed Izuku to see it, to know that no matter what age, his friend was still the same in this regard.

"Midoriya –"

"It's okay, Naomasa," he said, looking over his shoulder. "I won't bore him with the details, but he can know the general stuff. I trust him."

He met the man's eyes and thought trust me.

Naomasa's mouth closed, his eyes narrowing in thought. After a lengthy pause, he conceded with a sharp nod.

Izuku turned back to Bakugo, swiftly running through what he could tell him without giving too much away. Nothing about All Might, or any specifics on One For All, but there was enough there to craft a believable story.

"Why don't we sit down?"

Aizawa stayed out of the way as Midoriya spoke to Bakugo.

The boy had dropped his hold on the other when they took their seats, but the intense way he studied Midoriya would have been disturbing if not for how vulnerable he had been earlier.

A part of him wanted to curse at how vicious Bakugo's response had been. He had known from the first day that the kid had some problems, and had been relieved to see there was a note in his file that mentioned he was seeing a psychiatrist – but he had thought it was for the aggression. Not this.

He could still see the desperation on his student's face, the overwhelming need to escape, and the way he had been on the verge of shutting down completely until Midoriya had coaxed him back.

Fuck.

How had they missed something this big? Why was there no official mention in Bakugo's documentation that he was suffering from such a severe case of trauma? That was something he needed to know if he was teaching the kid and preparing him to face high-stress situations.

What if something had triggered him during a training session? What if he had an episode in the middle of his untrained classmates and Aizawa wasn't fast enough –

He needed to get his hands on the actual report from that incident, to know just what he was dealing with. Death of any kind was debilitating for anyone, but it was a thousand times worse when there was a direct emotional attachment. The fact that it had apparently happened right in front of Bakugo just made the whole situation worse.

Dammit all.

By his side, Naomasa was reticent. Other than his attempt to stop Midoriya, he had made no move to interrupt the two. Instead, he looked fascinated, and Aizawa could hardly blame him.

Midoriya was exceptional at controlling the flow of conversation between them. He had said nothing incriminating – though Aizawa made a note to follow up on this lack of quirk topic – and had revealed nothing that raised any alarm bells. He answered all of Bakugo's questions with a practiced kind of ease, not even blinking at the other's harsh language or sullen mood, and he deftly managed the guilt and unease that randomly reared its head with grace.

And he said he couldn't teach.

If he had had any doubt that Midoriya knew another version of Bakugo, it was gone now. This level of familiarity only came with years of exposure, and the fondness in Midoriya's voice could not be faked.

What was even more remarkable was the effect it had on Bakugo. Aizawa had never seen the boy this subdued or contemplative before; and the proof that he could stop and think, rather than just react, was reassuring in a way.

Aizawa checked his phone, saw the time, and gestured to Naomasa. They would have to wrap this up soon, he had to be at homeroom soon.

The two boys had fallen silent – Midoriya expectant, Bakugo pensive.

After a moment, the blond spoke. "Where you're from," he began, eyes fixed on his clenched hands, "are we – am I –" His struggle was obvious, and Aizawa's mind instantly started filling in the blanks, various words jumping forth to try and complete the sentence.

Midoriya's smile was proud. "You're good, Katsuki," he said softly, the words heavy with a special kind of meaning. The slouch in his posture was confident, "We're good. There is no one I'd rather have watching my back."

That was finally the thing that pushed him over the edge.

Aizawa looked away as Bakugo visible fought to hold his composure.

They were going to have to address this, he thought. Bakugo's issues were clearly greater than any of them suspected, and the broken way he had asked if he was good…

Aizawa could feel the migraine forming.

Midoriya, strangely, didn't try to comfort Bakugo. Just sat before him and waited serenely for the boy to gather himself. It was so at odds with how he had been handling the meeting so far, but after a moment Aizawa considered it, and realised something.

Midoriya had never once initiated contact with Bakugo. Even when subduing the boy in the beginning, he had only ever reacted. He had let Bakugo reach for him, had wordlessly allowed whatever touch the boy wanted – but he had never once forced the issue. Bakugo was the type to lash out when vulnerable, and someone like him would likely perceive physical comfort as an attack.

His respect for Midoriya rose another notch.

When Bakugo dragged himself back under control, he looked embarrassed. Aizawa braced himself for an outburst of some kind.

But his student surprised him again by sighing and staring at Midoriya inquisitively. "What happens now?" He asked, muted.

Midoriya blinked, tilting his head, pondering. "The plan was for me to stay with Aizawa, and give him a hand in 1-A. Those villains that attacked the USJ are dangerous, and they will keep coming back unless they're stopped. I have a lot of information about them, I've fought them before, so while I'm here I will be helping to put a stop to them."

"You stopped them?"

Midoriya smiled, "Well, I had a lot of help." The look he gave Bakugo was warm, and underneath the bemusement he felt, Aizawa went cold at the thought of his students facing such a serious threat. His skin crawled, and a phantom ache throbbed in his elbow, the sensation of his flesh being eaten away coming back to him.

Funnily enough, the confirmation that they had faced the such danger together seemed to settle Bakugo. The boy straightened in his seat, nodding to himself. "You'll be here?"

Midoriya dipped his head slightly, "For the most part, I guess. Are you alright with that?"

The question seemed to throw Bakugo, and he frowned in puzzlement.

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Katsuki. I'll be in your class, you'll see me everyday at school, and you won't be able to tell anyone about me. Are you okay with that?"

Bakugo tucked his chin down, looking every one of his fifteen years as he asked, "Even Aunt Inko?"

Aizawa glanced at Naomasa in question. The other man was grimacing in pity.

"Not even her," the police officer interjected finally, snapping the two's attention to him. "No one can know who Midoriya really is, it's too dangerous. If the general public found out about him – if the villains found out – things would very quickly spiral out of control. The only reason we're bringing you into this is because of your particular relationship."

Bakugo looked ready to protest but stopped when Midoriya tapped his palm against the table to regain his focus. "I don't want to hurt her," the young man said evenly. "She's lost her son, and it wouldn't be fair to her to know about me. I don't belong here, Katsuki. I have my own world to return to, my own friends and life and mother. They're waiting for me. She'd be losing me twice – could you do that to your own mother?"

The boy scowled, "It's not fair." He snapped, sounding very much like the child he was.

"Life's not fair," Midoriya replied, the words delivered in such a matter of fact tone that even Aizawa was surprised. It landed harshly, all but ripping the wind out of Bakugo's sails. "We need to work together here, Katsuki. Can you do this for me?"

The boy was silent, expression recalcitrant before it smoothed out. "What's the story then?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Midoriya's relief was expertly hidden, and he turned to Aizawa.

"He's an underground hero that works with me personally. I called him in to assist with the USJ session, and he arrived in time to save your classmates and help me fight the villains. For extra protection, he will be remaining on campus and lending a hand with my class, until the threat of these villains is neutralised." Aizawa paused, thinking to himself.

"Actually, this could work to our benefit. Underground heroes are notoriously secretive, but it would help if someone had heard of you before, outside of the teachers." Here, he looked pointedly at Bakugo. "If you claim to have heard of Midoriya before, it will lend more credence to our story, and hopefully stop any of your classmates from digging deeper."

Midoriya met his eyes, giving no sign as to what he thought of the suggestion.

"That's stupid," Bakugo said, but it wasn't an outright rejection. The boy's red eyes darted to Midoriya. "What would I even call you?"

"Ah," Midoriya's expression faltered, becoming awkward. "My hero name is Deku."

Bakugo's voice was flat. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Midoriya's hands fluttered clumsily, "It was an idea from a classmate," he defended. "She thought it sounded inspiring." The last part was mumbled, and his cheeks turned red.

Bakugo closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, fine. Deku it is."

Hope everyone liked the chapter.

As always, my tumblr is 'Child_OTKW'. Come along if you want to discover theories, or scream at me, or discuss my new snippets! Thanks guys!