Chapter Text
Izuku still remembers the day Auntie Mitsuki painted the guest room lavender. He had suggested bright red with all the innocence of a small child, but Auntie had been well aware that Izuku stayed in Katsuki’s room whenever he was over, so she’d just laughed, ruffled his hair, and jokingly offered to repaint Katsuki’s room instead. The other boy had protested indignantly and with more heart than Izuku was expecting, which was how Izuku had discovered that Katsuki’s new favorite color was green.
Emerald eyes blink up at the ceiling. The walls are a deeper color, but Auntie had mixed too much white paint into the last batch, making the ceiling so pale that the color barely comes through. Light spills through the gaps in the curtains and draws patterns on the blank surface, reminding Izuku slowly of his whereabouts and, subsequently, yesterday’s events.
A deep breath in and a meditative sigh calms Izuku’s racing heart. He’s obviously at Katsuki’s place, and the two of them are far from the UA dorms, if they even exist at all here. He doesn’t know where here is, or even when here is, but he knows that none of the Bakugous recognized him, and that alone is cause for concern.
Yesterday’s fight in the shopping district was a blur. Izuku remembers taking down several members of the villain group, using a significant amount of his energy in the process. Aizawa’s face swims in the periphery of his memory for a second before he recalls the ground vanishing under him and him collapsing into a tangle of thick underbrush miles outside of town.
He doesn’t remember much between then and stumbling out in front of Katsuki’s car - and since when did Kacchan start driving? - but Izuku had been covered almost head to toe in blood and trembling like a newborn doe, something he’d only registered when his hands left traces of red on the soft yellow towel Katsuki had thrown at him. There had been other people there, people he had to fight, but no one he recognized. He couldn’t even tell if he’d escaped them for good or if they were still out there, biding their time and waiting for an opening. Or worse, that they would never leave that forest again because of him.
And then there was Katsuki himself. The other boy was jumpier than usual, and not just around him. He may have looked at Izuku like he was a ghost, but his shoulder blades had tensed almost imperceptibly when Auntie grabbed his chin, though he didn’t show it. Izuku was a bit surprised to see the complete lack of a reaction from the explosive boy, and now that his brain wasn’t completely fogged over with pain and exhaustion, he was free to turn it over in his head.
Katsuki didn’t swat his mother’s hands away when she touched him. From their quick exchange last night, they had fought, and Katsuki had calmed down and apologized. Katsuki had gone on a long drive out of town instead of blowing up half the house, in such a quick manner that it seemed like he hadn’t even been thinking about it long enough to grab his phone. Izuku knew the other boy like the back of his hand, and while his aggression had calmed down since the start of high school, this still felt like a big step for him to take so suddenly.
And then there was the way he treated Izuku. He’d offered him a ride home and a place to stay, despite not knowing him at all. He looked at Izuku like he was a spectre, someone he wished was real, in such a reverent way that Izuku had felt compelled to indulge.
In the end, only a lie fell from his lips. Akatani Mikumo is a ghost in all sense of the word - an identity he had made up when he was younger, back when he entertained the idea of running away and starting over at a new school, in a new life. UA had done away with that fantasy for good, and Izuku has a much better grasp of his self-worth after fighting and winning a whole war, so he hasn’t thought about it in years. Objectively, hiding his real identity is the best course of action until he figures out what is going on, but it still stung to feel the wall between him and his childhood friend slam back into place when he said it.
Katsuki had believed, just for a little while, that he could’ve been Izuku. He believed it like he hadn’t seen the real Izuku in a long, long time. He was- he was different because of it, more articulate in a way Izuku’s Katsuki hasn’t managed yet.
Which begged the question, what exactly had Izuku done to induce this?
Dinner the night before had been an intensely awkward affair. Katsuki had clearly informed his parents of Izuku’s fake identity before he came down, and his parents spent the entire hour poking Izuku for details about himself while the boys picked at their oyakodon. By the end of it, Akatani had become a student from another prefecture with an oddly specific case of memory loss that kept him from remembering which one, and the spicy chicken tasted like rubber in his mouth.
Izuku grips the edges of the bathroom counter and stares at his face in the mirror. Now clean of the blood from the night before, he can clearly see the familiar scars lacing across his skin. His fingers trace over the planes of his torso, mapping out every single scar he remembers having. Mercifully, they’re all there.
Not for the first time, he wishes for his phone, so he could text someone from his class and figure out what was going on with Katsuki. He misses Ochako, whose bright optimism would ignite the same positive spark in him, and Shouto, who would waste no time getting to the bottom of it all. Even Iida would spare no expense to make sure Izuku was okay. Briefly, he wonders what they must be feeling now that he’s been missing for a full twenty-four hours.
He quickly shrugs on the shirt Katsuki had thrust at him after his shower the night before and heads out. He meets the other boy, who is walking from his own room down the hall, at the top of the stairs. “Breakfast,” Bakugou grunts.
Izuku follows him downstairs, and they tuck into some pancakes in silence. Katsuki’s parents have already left for work, and he is already dressed in the UA uniform, so Izuku guesses he will be leaving soon too.
“UA, huh?” he notes as casually as he can manage. “Are you training to be a hero?”
Katsuki eyes him distrustfully. “Yeah.”
“Do you, uh,” –he swallows nervously– “have any friends there? In your class? Or did you start without knowing anyone?”
“Hah? What the fuck kind of question is that?” Katsuki stares at him like he grew another head. “No, I didn’t know anyone in my class before I got there. Why do you even want to know?”
Izuku shrugs. “I didn’t know anyone my first year of high school either,” he lies. “It was lonely for a while. Guess I was curious if it was the same for you.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m a second-year, moron,” he mumbles, the harsh edge dropped off his tone. “Thought you didn’t remember anything?”
“Bits and pieces,” Izuku says defensively. “Just not everything. Like, I remember seeing UA in the news recently, but I don’t remember what for.”
Katsuki’s suspicious gaze returns. “You sound like you’re just fishing for information,” he accuses halfheartedly.
“Sue me for being curious when I’ve lost my memory,” Izuku pouts, desperately hoping Katsuki will buy the ruse. Izuku couldn’t lie for shit when they were younger, and while he feels bad for preying on the other boy’s grief-tainted memory of him, the survival instinct weighs out.
Katsuki turns back to his mostly-empty plate, and he sighs internally in relief. “Probably the USJ,” he answers. “It was all over the news a few months ago. Don’t think anyone’s covered anything else from UA since.”
Izuku’s stomach drops. “The USJ?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “What- what’s the USJ? What happened there?”
“It’s a training facility at UA. There was a villain attack.” Katsuki leans back in his chair, surveying him. Izuku schools his face carefully to avoid reacting, even as his heart pounds fearfully in his chest.
Katsuki is in his second year at UA. The USJ attack was only a few months ago. Izuku never went to UA, and Katsuki probably hasn’t seen him in years. Katsuki-
Katsuki got therapy.
Something he refused even after the Sludge Villain attack.
Izuku is no fool. He remembers what middle school was like, doesn’t deny the dangerous things he thought about. This could very well be a reality where he followed through with it.
He’s been silent too long. “That sucks,” he offers belatedly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I hope no one got hurt.”
Katsuki doesn’t comment on his slip-up. “They’re fine now.”
The rest of the meal is finished in silence, but it’s less awkward than before. It feels almost like a return to what Izuku knows, and if he closes his eyes, Izuku can almost believe he has just returned to the dorms from his morning run around campus to sit down for breakfast with his best friend.
After a good five minutes of them scraping syrup off their empty plates, Katsuki puts his fork down. “So I have to go to school today,” he starts.
Right. Izuku is a stranger to him. He can’t stay in his house by himself, and he certainly can’t show up at the fortified school that has no idea who he is.
Katsuki is still waiting on his reply. “You sure you have nowhere to go?” he prompts.
Izuku sucks at his teeth, stemming the muttering he knows the explosive blond will recognize instantly. “I can go to the police station,” he volunteers finally. “Maybe they’ll help me figure out where I lived before, and I’ll go home.”
Katsuki looks relieved that he is the one to bring it up; no doubt he’s been deliberating whether or not to call the police himself. It makes Izuku feel a little guilty for lying through his teeth. Either way, though, Katsuki will be rid of him, because the longer Izuku stays here, the more suspicious the other boy will get.
“Oi, gimme your phone,” Katsuki orders as they are about to walk out the door. “I’ll give you my number so you can call me if you get lost or something.”
“Oh.” Izuku scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I actually don’t have it. I guess I lost it somewhere last night.” He most likely dropped it in the battle at the shopping district.
“Tch. Figures.” Katsuki pulls a marker from his bag and grabs Izuku’s wrist, telegraphing his movements to avoid startling him. He pushes up his sleeve to expose his forearm, not even blinking at the silvery scars that lace up his skin, and deftly scribbles his phone number on it. Good, Izuku thinks dazedly. At least if I’m in danger, no one will question how I know his number.
(He’s had it memorized since the day Katsuki got it, but no one has to know that.)
Katsuki drops his wrist and steps back. “Call me if you need anything, n-” –he clears his throat– “and let me know if you’re coming back tonight.”
Izuku’s heart aches at the almost-nickname. He nods numbly and steps through the door, blinking at the harsh sunlight. Katsuki starts down the street, checking back occasionally to make sure Izuku is following.
The train station is bustling and noisy, and Izuku feels anxiety pool in his throat. He sticks close to Katsuki, wary eyes trained on every passing civilian. The other boy definitely picks up on his nervous energy, but he stays calm even as his eyes jump around from passenger to passenger, searching for anything suspicious. They step onto the train that takes them to UA, still keeping watch.
The stop by the police station arrives too quickly. Katsuki steps off with Izuku as promised, and Izuku falls into step after him, belatedly remembering to pretend he doesn’t know the city as well as he does. He trails behind as the other boy leads him down familiar streets towards the station.
Except, well, they’re a little…off. It takes a minute for Izuku to realize that what’s wrong isn’t just his own brain feeling jumbled. He knows their surroundings are different because he’s been here - he helped rebuild some of these paths and buildings himself after the war, and he’s walked them several times since. In his reality, there are no worn stones left to trip over, no faded advertisements plastered on old brick walls - only smooth paved roads and clean concrete pillars.
They come to a stop in front of the station. Izuku shifts his weight, not originally intending to go inside, but now that Katsuki is here, he has no choice. Katsuki’s face betrays nothing as he breezes past him to open the door, but Izuku knows he can tell how much he doesn’t want to. Sometimes he forgets that his childhood friend knows him just as well as he knows Katsuki.
The building is eerily silent when they enter. There is no one in the lobby save for an older couple that is animatedly detailing whatever mundane problem they have to a bemused receptionist. As Katsuki goes to sit down in one of the waiting area chairs, Izuku casts his eyes around for an excuse and lands on the clock.
It’s 7:42 AM. The next train to UA leaves in seven minutes. Perfect.
“Aren’t you gonna be late for class?” Izuku comments idly as he follows Katsuki to the waiting area. “You don’t have to stick around. This’ll probably take a while.”
“Shit!” Katsuki glances at his watch and comes to the same realization Izuku has. “Sensei will flay me alive if I’m late.”
Izuku plops down in a chair with faux nonchalance. “Thanks for everything, Bakugou.” He smiles sweetly at the other boy, who is clearly torn between running to catch the train and staying to make sure Izuku actually talks to the police. “I really appreciate your help, but don’t worry about me. I’ve got it from here. Go to class.”
In the end, Izuku is still a stranger, and Katsuki has done all he can to make sure he’s okay. Common sense wins out, and he heads for the door. “Call me from the station’s phone when you’re done with the cops,” he barks as he steps out.
“Right,” Izuku lies, giving him a cheery wave. He waits thirty seconds after Katsuki leaves, absentmindedly listening to the older couple’s story about a giant creature in their backyard, before he determines that the receptionist hasn’t noticed him at all. He slips quietly out the door, head down and steps light.
The library is a few blocks away, and that’s where Izuku starts. He gets a couple of strange looks on his way there, but he chalks it up to him walking around alone without a bag or uniform during school hours. The librarian at the front desk doesn’t bat an eye as he passes, which he counts as a win.
He beelines for a computer tucked in the corner, where he would be largely hidden from sight by the large monitors surrounding him. As he swiftly types his name into the search bar, a part of him wonders if he will be glad or horrified to find his own obituary.
It takes a lot of digging to even find a record of him anywhere online. When his name doesn’t come up immediately, he goes looking for his old social media and hero forum accounts. All his old posts and comments are still there, though Izuku doesn’t dare try to log in in case someone from his alternate self’s life still watches them.
His social media has been abandoned for three years. His last post is a blurry picture of a wild fox, taken as it was running away. It’s captioned “Isn’t it wonderful that the world keeps turning even on your worst days? 🌏🦊”
This is not a post he recognizes. He glances at the date, and his heart jumps into his throat.
It was posted the day he met All Might. Specifically, it’s at the time when he would’ve been walking home after the Sludge Villain attack, meaning this reality did not see him pancaked on the sidewalk. Judging from the caption, it was probably before All Might found him again.
His fingers fly across the keyboard as he opens a new tab and begins another search. Sure enough, there are multiple articles on Katsuki’s encounter with the Sludge Villain. Izuku is barely a footnote in half of the accounts and missing from the rest, a nameless civilian they paint as the villain’s next projected victim rather than a concerned helper, but it’s enough to confirm that he was at least there in some capacity.
He turns to his hero forum accounts last. He has two, one public and one secret - the public one for fanboying about his favorite heroes that he tells everyone about, and the private one for asking questions in quieter places where he can gather information without drawing too many eyes. The public one is just as abandoned as his social media, but his private one…isn’t.
Izuku frowns as he scrolls threads for some of the newer heroes. Forum user ‘akmi-onethousand’ is as active here as Izuku normally is in his reality. Sorting through the posts on his profile, he sees that they never really stopped over the last three years, and the writing style is still consistent with Izuku’s own voice. There’s a longer-than-usual gap in the months after the Sludge Villain incident, but almost a year later, the posts start up again like nothing was wrong.
Izuku mulls it over, glad now that he’d lied to Katsuki about his identity. He has no idea what the other boy knows about this, or if he even knows that his Izuku is probably still alive. Of this, Izuku has no illusions; the possibility of someone not only gaining access to his secret account but also continuing to impersonate him online for three years is laughably low. It’s anonymous for a reason, designed to be thrown away at the slightest concern, and there is no reason for anyone else to tie themselves to its history instead of making their own account. Izuku himself only uses it out of sentimentality, keeping alive the small part of him that still cherishes the Akatani Mikumo identity.
He spends the next few hours scouring the news and reading his more recent forum posts. Some he recognizes, but many are for heroes he doesn’t know. Distantly, he realizes they probably existed in his timeline but quit or died during the war - a war that hasn’t happened in this timeline. The most recent headline he actually knows is about the USJ attack Katsuki mentioned, which is indeed just a few months past and not over a year ago. He also learns that All Might is still teaching at UA even without him there, and he wilts a little inside at the thought of his mentor handing One for All to someone else. It hurts even more to find a record of his mother’s nursing license registered in Kumamoto City, hundreds of kilometers away.
He takes a break only when his stomach complains too much to ignore. A quick look at the time tells him that he has missed lunch and it is well into the evening. He’s not keen on going back to Katsuki’s house and explaining that he spent the day in the library instead of the police station, so he reasons he should get some food and figure out where to stay tonight.
A different librarian is on shift when he leaves, but she doesn’t take notice of him either. Izuku’s feet take him to the cafe down the street, itching for a quick sandwich and a cup of coffee. Not for the first time, he wishes Katsuki’s sweater had a hood to cover his distinctive green hair, but he doesn’t frequent this part of town, so he figures it’s probably fine.
He ducks into the cafe just as the streetlights turn on behind him, silently thanking the distraction. It’s just busy enough for him to get lost in the crowd, but not enough to overwhelm him. He makes his order and sits down at an empty booth near the back, facing the rest of the room with a direct line of sight to the door. It’s this position that lets him spot familiar clumps of messy green hair poking out from the hoodie of the masked teenager that slinks away from the counter to wait for his order.
Whoever it is hasn’t noticed him yet but definitely feels Izuku’s eyes on him. The stranger shifts uncomfortably and looks around, but Izuku is too short to be seen around the taller patrons in front of him. The stranger settles uneasily, and Izuku catalogues every detail he can about him before he leaves.
Less muscular. Worn-out clothes in dull colors, designed to keep from standing out. Stanced as if expecting danger. Covers his features to avoid being remembered in any capacity. It would be a shocking coincidence for Izuku to run into his presumed-dead alternate version in a cafe he rarely goes to on his second day here, but he supposes weirder things have happened.
“Akatani!” the barista announces as they place the cup of coffee and a bagged sandwich on the counter. The stranger’s head jerks up, alarm in his eyes, and his head swivels around at the room, searching for whoever the order belongs to. Izuku forces himself to stay hunched over in his seat, heart pounding.
Having found nothing, the stranger bolts down the back hallway of the cafe, not even waiting for his drink. Izuku swears and shoves up from the table to follow him. The employees are too busy with orders to pay him any mind as he dashes past the bathrooms and bursts through the back door.
The alleyway behind the cafe is completely empty, and so is the narrow street at the end that runs perpendicular to it. Flattened cardboard leans against the dumpster, and Izuku curiously pushes them aside and lifts the lid of the container. There is nothing but smelly days-old garbage in there, and Izuku wrinkles his nose, confident that even if he could fit in there, he’d rather risk getting caught.
Still, with no sign of the stranger, he heads back inside, grabs his order, and sinks back into his booth to chow down. With All Might at UA, there’s no way his alternate self has One for All, so he has no idea how the other got away from him. He doesn’t recognize any of the other names the barista calls out, but someone must have picked up the stranger’s cup by accident, because there aren’t any leftovers on the order counter when Izuku is done eating.
Problem for another day, he decides. He has more important things to worry about right now, like where he plans to sleep tonight.
The third instance is when he cracks.
Present Mic’s head pokes in through the crack in the door, once again interrupting Aizawa’s lesson. Katsuki levels a glare at him, but the teacher doesn't even glance his way, eyes fixed on the tired man at the board.
Aizawa seems as fed up with the disruptions as Katsuki. “Hizashi, please-”
“This one’s important!” Mic hisses, beckoning him over. “It’ll only be a few seconds.”
Aizawa sighs and sets down the chalk, abandoning the sentence he was writing. He drifts over to Mic and leans in to let the blind whisper quietly in his ear.
Katsuki’s eyes drift to Jirou, who has subtly plugged one of her ear cords into the floor next to her desk. Across the room, Shouji has converted some of his appendages from eyes to ears, straining to listen in. The rest of the class is as clueless as Katsuki, murmuring quietly among themselves.
A pencil prods the back of Katsuki’s neck, and he whips his head around to snarl silently at the perpetrator. Shinsou sits behind him, smirking slightly. “What do you think they're talking about?” he asks, tilting his head at the teachers.
“Fuck if I know.” Katsuki shrugs. “None of our business, anyway. Probably pro hero stuff.”
Shinsou isn't satisfied with that answer. “I haven't seen Aizawa that exhausted since the USJ. He looks like he’s got a lot on his mind.”
“I don’t care, Eyebags.”
“Don’t you want to know what’s so important that Mic would have to interrupt class?” Shinsou’s tone turns taunting. “Don’t you want to know what kind of pro hero work they’re talking about?”
Katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns over the events of last night in his head for the umpteenth time. Truth be told, Aizawa is not the only tired and distracted person in the classroom today. He drums his pencil against the desk nervously as Mic leaves and Aizawa returns to the lesson, scrutinizing his teacher discreetly. The bags under his eyes do look a little darker than usual, his movements slower and clumsier, but maybe he’s imagining it.
The lesson moves on without interruption for the next hour, and he almost forgets about it until he is packing up for lunch. Kirishima is gearing up to sling an arm around his shoulders, but as Katsuki moves to smack him away reflexively, Jirou's pencil case thwacks against the floor, grabbing his attention.
“Go ahead without me,” he mutters to a confused Kirishima. “Need to ask Ears something real quick.”
He makes his way across the rapidly emptying classroom towards Jirou, who is rifling through her bag for her lunchbox. “Oi, Ears,” he says softly as he approaches. “What did Mic keep coming in here for?”
“How should I know?” she answers cagily, not meeting his eyes. “I'm not a mind reader. Ask him yourself if you’re so curious.”
“I saw you eavesdropping through the floor,” Katsuki hisses. “You know what they said. Spill it.”
She scowls at him through narrowed eyes. “Information like that gets me in trouble, Bakugou. Whatever is going on, they can handle it. They’re pros.”
“I'll get you the vinyl for that new LADY XMX album you won’t shut up about,” he offers. “The limited edition one with the cool patterns.”
She caves. “Mm, fine. If you want to know that badly. It’s pretty nonsense, though.”
“Anything’s helpful,” Katsuki says. “C’mon, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
She fiddles with her ear cords as she talks. “There’s some mystery guy on campus,” she begins, voice low. “Showed up last night, I think. Keeps saying crazy stuff like he’s dreaming or something. Inventing things that never happened, asking about people that don’t exist. They thought at first that maybe he was from the future, because he thought the League of Villains was dead, but other stuff doesn’t really line up.”
Katsuki frowns. “Memory loss?”
Jirou shakes her head. “Doesn’t sound like it. And you wanna know the kicker?” She leans in, and Katsuki finds himself mirroring her without thinking. “He looks and acts just like Aizawa.”
His mouth thins into a firm line. “You think someone’s impersonating him?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I won’t lie and say I’m not curious, because I am. But I’m gonna try to resist the temptation to dig without permission. It’s up to you what you want to do with that.”
He follows her down to the lunchroom in silence, mulling over the information. Jirou keeps shooting him questioning glances, which he ignores. Is Imposter-Sensei like Akatani? Should I go find him? He's probably in the staff room or the principal’s office….
A hand waves inches from his nose, and he snaps at it with his teeth instinctively. “Hellooo? Earth to Bakugou?” Jirou stands in front of him, distinctly unimpressed. “You’d better not be thinking of going to search for that guy. You’ll get us both in trouble.”
“Only if I get caught,” he mumbles mulishly, “which I won’t.”
“You will.” Jirou grabs his arm, uncaring of his growl, and drags him into the lunchroom, putting him in direct view of his friends. Ashido waves him over, and he has no choice but to join them.
He spends the rest of the day antsy and irritable. His friends have already learned to leave him be when he’s in a mood, but it doesn’t do much to ease his restlessness. To top it off, each minute his phone is silent betrays that Akatani still hasn’t called him. As soon as the final bell rings, he’s out of his seat and through the door without a word.
The police station lobby is completely empty when he throws the doors open and beelines for the counter. The same receptionist from that morning smiles at him through the glass. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“I'm here to see Akatani,” he blurts out.
“I'm…sorry?” She blinks at him bemusedly. “Is it an officer you're looking for?”
“Akatani Mikumo,” he articulates slowly. “The green-haired kid I dropped off here this morning, just before eight. From another prefecture, got a weird memory loss problem. He was supposed to come back home with me after I finished school. Where is he?”
Her nails click against her keyboard as she types the name into the computer. “No one who’s been in here today matches that description. Are you sure that’s the right name?”
“You should’ve talked directly to him this morning,” he presses. “After that old couple.”
She shakes her head no. “No one else has been in here today besides them. Maybe he left while I was talking to the couple.”
“Shit.” Katsuki scrubs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Where the hell did he go, then?”
“Would you like me to ask someone in the station if they’ve seen him?” the receptionist asks sympathetically.
Katsuki nods absentmindedly, and she moves to call someone in the back office. He pulls out his phone, fingers poised to dial-
Who?
It might not even be Izuku. Katsuki knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he can’t help but feel invested. He doesn’t have Auntie Inko’s number; he could get it from his mom, but there's no way she’d let him be involved in this again. Besides, he still remembers Auntie’s sobs the last time they spoke, the hollow resignation in her words, the months shut away in her house with only the occasional meal from his parents for company. What right did he have to drag her back into that?
Aizawa is the next option. He's clearly aware of what is probably the other half of the problem, but Katsuki can already hear his gruff, exasperated voice ordering him to stay away from the case in his head. As…different…as Aizawa has been from Katsuki’s other teachers, there are few adults he would trust farther than he could throw them. Not with Izuku.
Never with Izuku. He’s too important.
He shoves the phone back in his pocket and turns to the receptionist. “You got any cameras in here?”