Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Adolescents are not monsters. They are just people trying to learn how to make it among the adults in the world, who are probably not so sure themselves.”

-Virginia Satir, The New Peoplemaking, 1988

Bakugou was losing time. 

Because he was standing on the street just a second ago. He’s sure of it. With so many people...watching...watching All Might... 

Finishing that thought aches in a way he’s never experienced before. So he doesn’t.

But now he’s sitting in a metal chair in an interrogation room? It looks like one at least from the countless iterations he’d seen on TV. When he tries to shift the chair it doesn’t move. Bolted down like the table then. There isn’t a one way mirror but a camera in the corner of the room blinks red and he can see the lens as it racks focus every few minutes.

It’s cold even though it’s the middle of August. Probably the air conditioning. He almost wishes he’d taken Yaoyorozu up on the offer of a sweatshirt. Before his classmates had left to go home she’d offered. He didn’t remember what he’d said but it was probably enough to get her to back off. He was good at that.

What time was it?

A detective had come to ask questions at one point. About the villains. What they said to him, what they wanted. Descriptions of their quirks. Who outranked who. What All For One wanted. 

He tells them everything he can. Then repeats it when they phrase the questions differently. 

Normally he’d be so pissed about having to repeat himself. 

But he hasn’t slept in at least thirty six hours. And everything feels strangely numb and distant. Even anger.

A sergeant tells him his parents are flying back from London. They were supposed to come home next week Bakugou remembers. Meeting with clients and prepping for New York fashion week he’s pretty sure. Unless it’s been longer than that? What day is it? He’d tried to track how long he’d been held but it was impossible to be sure how long he’d been unconscious.

“When?” he manages to get out.

“They land in six hours. Once they clear customs an officer is going to bring them here.”

“Can I talk to them?” He hates how his voice almost quavers.

“Once they land we can make sure you get a chance to talk to them. Until then…” the officer trails off. Bakugou nods into the ground. Of course. Right. 11,000 meters in the air going 700 kilometers an hour.

It’s sudden, sharp and all encompassing but he wants to go home. He wants the four walls of his room and the tiny yard just off the kitchen. His dad had hung fuurin outside when they first moved there. Bakugou hadn’t thought of the thin glass domes in years but he wants to hear them now, clinking unevenly in the tepid breeze. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

Someone brought him a water bottle and he sipped his way through about half of it. It made him nauseous but he was dehydrated. The villains had offered him a bottle more than once. Tampering had been a high possibility so he’d refused.

He kept shivering in spasms.

“Can I go home?” he asked when the first detective came back. 

“We can’t release you to anyone but a parent or an emergency contact. Once your parents get here we can. But unless someone else they authorize is available, you’ll have to stay.” 

Bakugou remembered glancing into the bullpen when he’d been led into the building. Controlled chaos would have been putting it lightly. His classmates had left him with a medic near the outskirts of the police cordon probably halfway across the city. His phone was long gone. No one would know he was here.

He didn’t dare ask about All Might. Or about Best Jeanist. He’d caught a glance of the thread hero on a TV monitor being loaded into the back of an ambulance, a medic doing chest compressions. Watching Deku cry as they’d witnessed that insane fight, he knew something was very wrong. Maybe permanently wrong. If one of them...if any of them...

His fingers gripped the material of his pants.

A knock on the door derailed the cliff his thoughts were tipping over. It was probably another detective. He’d answered so many questions already. What were twenty more?

The quiet way Eraserhead slipped into the room was distinctly not what he’d expected.

“Mr. Aizawa,” he almost stuttered, instinctually halfway to his feet out of habit. 

“Bakugou,” he acknowledged with a tone that was equal parts nonchalant and genuine relief. It was so utterly, mundanely normal that it made the teenager sag just a little. Finally, a competent adult who would understand just a little bit if nothing else.

The man looked exhausted, worn thin like the early days after the USJ incident. Honestly the blonde couldn’t remember ever seeing an adult that seriously injured before. It had been sobering to watch him barely make it through a basic lecture. He didn’t think Eraserhead had been part of the rescue team, but he couldn’t be sure. Had the man been hurt again?

His teacher’s words during that broadcast had given him the steel he’d needed to brace against when he’d been so sure he was going to die. Even now they were taping some vital part of him together. He was a hero. If someone else believed it then he could too. 

There were hands suddenly on his shoulder and it’s the first contact he can remember since grabbing Kirishima’s outstretched arm hours ago. 

“I’m so proud of you kid,” Aizawa pronounced sincerely with a force to it that Bakugou feels down to his marrow. “And I’m so sorry .” 

The hero’s grip is firm just like his voice and for a brief moment Bakugou almost believes that everything is fine. Is going to be fine. It’s not All Might’s signature catchphrase but it’s so much more than he feels like he deserves.

His throat closes up again. 

It’s been a long night. He doesn’t want to do emotions anymore. 

He can’t suppress the shivers despite trying as hard as he can. It can’t be that cold in this building?!

He’s grateful that Aizawa doesn’t press further when he can’t respond.

“Did they feed you?” his teacher asks instead. 

A practical question. 

Those he can do.

Bakugou gives a half shrug half shake of his head. He’s not sure if Aizawa meant the villains or the cops but the answer is no either way. The idea of eating anything makes his stomach turn and ache in equal measure.

A long pause and a deep breath forces the blonde to look up. He’s seen that look on Aizawa’s face before.

“If you’re alright with it, I’m gonna take custody of you until your parents get back. You can shower at my place. Eat something. Get a little sleep. Unless you want to stay here and wait for them. I know they won’t be back until sometime in the morning. It’s your choice.”

It’s an efficient practical offer.

‘He has a house?!’ is the first irrational response that pops into his head. While the whole of class 1-A seems to think they’ve figured their teacher out, Bakugou is aware they actually know almost nothing about him. There’ve been theories widely circulated around the whole of UA for years. Nothing had ever been confirmed. Ashido was convinced he literally lived in his sleeping bag.

Bakugou is exhausted. The covert glances that he knows are being directed his way bite in a way he can’t seem to ignore. Ones that accuse, and pity and wonder if he really is a villain despite what Aizawa said.

Most of all he wants to be able to make a decision of his own. He appreciates that more than anything Aizawa’s offered him thus far. Apology and praise included. 

“I don’t wanna stay here for another fucking second.”

Aizawa huffs an amused snort and doesn’t miss a beat.

“Alright then. Let’s get outta here.” 

It’s more informal than Bakugou expects and he follows the pro hero out the door with an almost smile on his lips. 

No one stops them. He’d had to fill out what felt like fifty forms tonight. The officers probably have more contact info for him than UA did. And Aizawa was a Pro Hero, more than capable if something were to come up. 

In any other instance he’d be shouting about being able to take care of himself. It almost bothers him that he just wants someone else to be in charge for a little bit.

Aizawa’s beat up, blue compact car is halfway across the parking garage. At least Bakugou is reasonably sure it belonged to his teacher. The only thing that seemed out of place was a bag of cat food visible in the hatchback’s trunk and a long rectangular contraption that looked like a very unwieldy cage that took up most of the back seat.

The trip isn’t particularly long but Bakugou loses time again. 

He doesn’t sleep, just stares out the window unable to process the neon of downtown that gives way to the quieter residential section of town. 

The radio is off and he’s not sure if that’s on purpose or not. Even this late, what happened is probably being broadcast across every station in the area. Maybe all over Japan. 

The warm humidity feels better than the air conditioning but not by much. 

Aizawa lives in a small building at the end of a quiet, nondescript warren of roads. Bakugou prides himself on his sense of direction but he can’t seem to orient when he tries to find a landmark.

The apartment (not house) is small and traditional, the teen notes when he toes off his sneakers inside the door. It feels weird to not have shoes on--better certainly--but it just reminds him it’s been days since he’d been able to do anything normal.

Little details stand out. He’s always been the observant type and it’s automatic to catalogue. Something he and Deku share minus the obsessive recording of those observations in notebooks.

The tatami must have been replaced recently, he can smell the green newness faintly.

A shrine is tucked into the corner of the main living space but there aren’t any offerings out.

 Aizawa gives him a brief tour of the small space and digs out an extra pair of sweats to change into after he showers.

It’s 2:32 in the morning. 

He doesn’t revel or linger in the hot spray, just washes as efficiently as he can. And if he scrubs harder than he ever has before--desperate to erase something only he can feel--no one will ever know.

Despite the hot water he still feels weirdly cold. The sweatpants and sweatshirt help a little. They’re too big even though Aizawa isn’t much taller than him and certainly isn’t built the same.

When he reemerges into the hallway Bakugou’s stunned to find two cats watching him placidly. One is a calico, almost perfectly spherical in the way she sits. The other is jet black with piercing yellow eyes that remind him immediately of Aizawa’s hero persona.

Huh. Aizawa has cats?

“You’re not allergic are you?” the man asks as he scoops up the calico. It’s effortless and affectionate; these are most definitely his cats and Bakugou isn’t hallucinating.

“No. My parents just travel too much. We never had pets.” The boy holds a hand out hesitantly and the black cat gives it an experimental sniff before butting against the palm possessively.

 “Good. You probably won’t see the orange one. He’s pretty skittish around strangers. But these two are curious and Namak there sleeps on heads from time to time.”

There’s a futon laid out in the main room, a low table’s been pushed to the side to make room. It’s the only thing Bakugou has eyes for frankly. Aizawa’s eagle gaze doesn’t miss the laser focus.

“Get some sleep. I’m guessing you’re not too hungry.” 

He’s used up all his words for what feels like a lifetime so Bakugou just shakes his head very slightly. 

“I’ll wake you up when your parents call. They’ve got my number and the commission is going to let them know once they land that you're here.”

“Thanks,” he manages to eek out. It’s not enough and he hopes his teacher can infer the gratitude he feels.

He pulls the thick duvet over him and fully lays back. 

He’s so tired. 

It’s a sure thing that he’ll be asleep in moments.

Twenty nine minutes later he’s not so sure. 

If anything he’s colder. The more he curls up the worse it gets. His feet are freezing. When he shifts, the blanket seems to leech what little warmth he’s been able to generate. It’s ridiculous but he’s acutely aware of how cold the tip of his nose is. This is my fault intrudes just as he seems to drift. Illogical of course. All For One and that stupid league are solely responsible for kidnapping him, for causing those injuries...some part of him knows that analytically. But every time he gets his breathing back under control the thought shatters his calm.

He just wants to sleep. If he sleeps, then this nightmare will be over.

It’s shocking when he feels the tears slip down his face and pool in the shell of his ear. A line of ice that feels worse than he expects. He almost swallows the sob and mostly succeeds at it. 

Aizawa’s probably already asleep.

He can’t stop the tears or the shaking that continues. There’s no bandwidth left to examine where they’re coming from. Is he the only person on the planet awake?

The room is dark though a small night light in the adjacent kitchen spills weird shadows on the floor. 

It’s an odd detail he clings to. 

There’s a balled up piece of tinfoil under the small entertainment center. 

He’s still crying and he hates it.

When a hand settles carefully on his head Bakugou very nearly blows a hole in the bedding. Aizawa had drilled situational awareness into every member of 1-A ruthlessly since day one. On some level those lessons must have stuck or Bakugou very likely would have done something drastic. 

The teen takes in a wet gasp even though he doesn’t remember holding his breath. He clings to the edge of an almost blind panic. ‘It’s your teacher. Don’t hurt him. It’s Aizawa. Don’t hurt him. No way he’d let someone into his house he didn’t trust. It’s not a villain. Don’t hurt him. You’re out. It’s safe. Don’t hurt him.’ He manages to get through the frantic mantra twice before he acknowledges the truth of the facts he’s stating.

When Bakugou tilts his head minutely it’s just enough to look up in the dim light of three AM. The edges where Aizawa ends and the wall behind him begins are hard to discern but the man tilts his gaze to meet him after a long moment. 

Katsuki struggles to put a name to the complexity of the man’s expression and fails. It isn’t pity at least.

There’s two false starts before Aizawa finds the words to articulate what he wants to. “The adrenaline crash sucks. I usually have to take something to knock me out. A lot of nights I just don’t let myself sleep. They’re both terrible coping mechanisms so I don’t advise them.” 

It’s delivered as deliberately and practically as always but Aizawa doesn’t quite sound like a teacher. There’s a frank honesty to his tone that Bakugou can tell would never come out during a lecture. 

“You survived a situation that most heroes--most people--will never experience in their lifetimes. It’s okay to not be alright. For however long that is. You can always...” he trails off searching for words. “I won’t let you…” sputters out as well on a suspiciously wet note.

Eventually he settles on something else. “I know you won’t give up on your dream. You’ll find a way to move forward. I found a way to eventually. And you’re stronger than I ever was.” 

There is hesitance in his teacher’s quiet tone. It’s painful. Bakugou knows as deeply as he’s known anything that there’s more to that ‘found a way’. But he doesn’t have the words to ask about it.

Aizawa doesn’t speak again. His scarred hand moves slowly, carding subtly and carefully through blonde spikes. It’s a hyper sensitive sensation until it suddenly isn’t.

And somewhere between one blink and the next Bakugou drifts off.

Five and a half hours later he’s shaken awake. There’s weak morning sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window. Katsuki doesn’t feel any better; if anything he’s more tired than before.

Aizawa is gently insistent when Bakugou tries to turn over and pull the duvet over his head.

“Nope. C’mon Katsuki. Your parents are on the phone.”

The groan he lets out seems to amuse the man greatly.

“Just for a few minutes. Then you can go back to sleep. Deal?”

He takes the phone from outstretched fingers and cradles it against his ear almost hesitantly.  “Mom?”

It’s harder than he expects to hear her start crying.

The next few minutes are filled with lots of ‘I’m fines’ and ‘I knows’ and ‘it’s okays’ that aren’t completely truthful. He doesn’t know what else to say though. He doesn’t want them to worry. It’s over now anyways. The heroes won. He clings to that truth even though it feels like things are never going to be the same again.

When he hands the phone back to Aizawa it’s with a little hint of relief. 

His teacher briefly chats with his parents or with the hero assigned to escort them but it’s hard to listen. Now that he’s finally slept it’s all he wants to do. Surrendering to the urge without thinking about it is easy.

It’s maybe eleven when he wakes again, suddenly too warm under the blanket and pinned down by weights that don't feel human. Sure enough there’s a cat curled up behind his knees and one on his head (the black one Aizawa had warned him about). Sitting up dislodges both creatures. They seem both unsurprised AND pissed about it at the same time. Eight paws imperiously stalk away when it’s clear Bakugou isn’t going to lay back down again. 

Aizawa’s seated at the tiny table crammed into a corner of the kitchen. He’s working through something intensive...probably paperwork. Bakugou’s not dumb enough to think he hasn’t been noticed but the man pays no special attention to him when he steps into the room.

“There’s conjee* in the pot on the stove. Bowls in the cupboard directly above the sink. Help yourself. Your parents will be here in about forty minutes. I convinced them to let you sleep a little longer.” 

Normally he hates rice porridge. It’s blander than just about anything except maybe water. No one he knows likes it. But there’s a bowl of it next to Aizawa’s elbow, steam curling in the sun. 

He wonders if the man slept at all. It’s hard to tell in the best of circumstances.

Overthinking is Deku’s thing and he forcefully pushes the speculation away to dig in the cupboard till he finds an appropriate bowl and a clean spoon. There’s a pile of books and papers that once occupied the other chair that’s been shifted to the floor under the table. When the blonde sits down he’s immediately joined by a lapmate. It’s a little awkward but Namak doesn’t seem to notice or care, sticking his nose into the bowl to inspect the contents and then promptly ignoring it when the investigation doesn’t prove fruitful.

The cat curls into a perfect circle on the teen’s lap and promptly goes to sleep. 

Aizawa is still working, though he had slid his own bowl in a way that would allow him to do both simultaneously if he chose. 

“I’m not a little kid,” Bakugou asserts stiffly. In the light of day it feels like a failure to have cried in front of his teacher.

“No, you aren’t,” Aizawa agrees mildly as he puts down the pen he’d been scribbling with. There’s a challenge somewhere in the tone that feels important. Waiting for him to take the lead? Maybe waiting for him to curse about how bland the food is.

An imperfection in the wood grain of the table is easier to look at than meeting his teacher’s gaze. He intensely doesn’t want to disappoint this man.

Settling on a default response seems safest. 

“I’m gonna be okay. I’ll prove it.” 

The conviction is shaky but Bakugou is pretty sure no one would notice. If it’s the answer Aizawa wants he doesn’t let the man comment on it.

“Thanks for the meal.**” He grips the spoon and starts in on the gruel. He still has no appetite but the bland rice does take the edge off a headache he’s been sporting for what feels like days.

A brief glance tells him that Aizawa’s not satisfied by the answer. He’s frustrated but it’s clearly directed inward, not at Bakugou. 

“You don’t have to prove anything Bakugou.” It’s painfully earnest and Katsuki knows his teacher means it.

And yet.

It’s not an easy realization to swallow. 

Because this was an adult. And adults had answers . They used to have ALL the answers.

And he’s certain that Aizawa was very wrong about what he’d just asserted. 

Chapter Text

“True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.” - Arthur Ashe

He has to remind himself of it constantly. There is a role he has to play in this scenario--a vital one. 

His quirk would be useful but with limited experience in rescue operations of the scale they were attempting it could quickly become a liability.

As much as he wants to be on the front lines it stings to recognize that desperation would get in the way. Because he didn’t care about whatever larger fish the commission was trying to snag.

The only thing he cared about was getting his student back.

Safe. 

Alive. 

Whole. 

And that can’t be the only objective in this operation. Much as he believes it’s the most important one.

So he clenches his fists, swallows the emotions roiling inside and gets through the press conference without incident. It’s a very close thing. 

He has a responsibility.

To the public. 

To his fellow Pro Heroes.

To Nedzu and his coworkers.

To UA.

All of those pale in comparison to the responsibility he feels for his kids. 

Failures had once been paired with the opportunity to learn. 

But now.

Failure meant one of his kids might be dead.

He’d been blunt when the reporter had questioned their worst case scenarios. But the words weren’t completely true. Every scenario from what almost happened to what did happen was the worst case.

The only acceptable outcome was the one where his students had their provisional licenses and he got to listen to them fall asleep on the bus ride back to UA.

Aizawa can’t shout that truth like he wants to. It’s not professional for one. How the other heroes around him manage to soldier on eludes him more often than it should.

He sits in Nedzu’s office, tense and silent through most of the first raid. Several of the officers have body cameras on and he’s never felt the kind of relief he does when he sees Katsuki. 

Alive. Thank everything.

Brave. Angry. Fighting back. I never doubted you for a second kid.

Definitely shouting at All Might. We’ll work on it.

And gone in an instant. Literally ripped out from under the hand holding him. No. No!

He can feel the echo of his own rage and grief in All Might’s scream.

Things happen very fast after that. When the helicopters catch up to the fight it’s immediately clear this is well beyond what any of them might have imagined. The cameramen stay back and focus on All Might’s form.

Aizawa can’t get a clear visual of what else is going on. He catches glimpses of someone who might be his student but it’s piecemiel at best. The movement feels right, precise and efficient but also cornered and desperate. He can’t imagine who else it could be.

After several long minutes one camera catches a river of ice erupting from the ground. In the chaos it’s just another background element that no one would notice.

Fuck. 

He knew that style. It’s confirmed a moment later when a missle quick form races by in the deep background. Midoriya. Iida. Kirishima. Wearing flimsy disguises that he’s sure they think are foolproof. The wall of ice could have only come from Endeavor’s son. The only way they could have found this specific location was by tracking that Nomu. Which meant Yayorouzu was probably involved as well.

Aizawa’s going to expel them all. 

The kids are gone in the next instant, he’s not sure to where. The cameras don’t take any notice of what’s happened in the chaos but he knows what they’ve done. Half cocked and desperate as it is they’ve succeeded.

He’ll shake/lecture sense into them and then expel them all.

There’s no pause to the battle but it’s clear that All Might seems to maneuver more freely. More proof that Bakugou is far away from the epicenter.

The fight that follows is brutal and startlingly short.

And then the world is watching the end of a legacy. For all that he knew it was coming--that nothing (not even the Symbol of Peace) could last forever--the end is both painful and awe inspiring to witness. All Might will never be replaced. But the void he will leave is vast and intimidating. Eraserhead can feel how much danger the future will now hold for them all. 

The cheering crowds are audible from inside the office. 

Nedzu in contrast is solemn. “It’s over then.”

Aizawa is pulling the tie loose from his neck, already on his feet. 

“They’ll likely take him to the fifth precinct. Incident Command is being moved there.” The principal is two steps ahead of him as always.

His nod is firm and Shouta’s out of the room in the next breath.

It takes only a few minutes to change into his hero uniform. 

Far longer to actually locate where his student is. A mass casualty incident being added on top of such a complicated operation slows Aizawa considerably. He wants to blame everyone for their incompetence when he finally gets good intel but he knows this kind of chaos is to be expected. Finding one person at the center of this is not a priority for those coordinating triage.

It isn’t acceptable but there’s nowhere concrete to direct his frustration.

The Eighth Precinct is not at the epicenter but it’s where Katsuki had ended up. No trains are running and few roads are passable. It’s almost one in the morning before he makes his way into the station.

A Detective Wakamatsu sketches in the basics of what Bakugou had relayed. It’s unsurprisingly detailed and intuitive. Katsuki was one of his problem kids but also one of his best students. For all his bluster and noise he has a tendency to hang back and observe with the same intensity the teacher had noted in Midoriya.

“Injuries?” he presses.

“Almost nothing. We had a medic take a look at him when he came in,” the detective relays. Aizawa follows as they weave their way around desks crowded with officers and paperwork. “His parents are flying back from abroad. It’ll be a few hours though before they land. Even longer till we can get them here with all the road closures.”

There’s a video monitor setup just outside an interrogation room. 

He almost doesn’t recognize his student in the child on screen.

Exhausted. That’s clear enough for anyone to read.

Quiet. Not unusual honestly. Bakugou is all or nothing a lot of the time.

Small. He’s fifteen. They all act like they’re adults but…

Bakugou is folded in on himself. Not by a lot. Not enough for one of the officers to notice. But he’s hunched very slightly, hands fisted in the dust covered pants he’d been wearing for three days. 

Some deep part of Shouta aches at the sight. 

Leaving his student here would be a mistake. An inexcusable one.

“I’m going to offer to shelter him until his parents can pick him up.”

The detective clearly wants to object. Ready to cite a million and one regulations the teacher is sure. 

Aizawa shifts his tone just a little bit. It’s one of the rare times Eraserhead is thankful for the term Pro Hero and all the privilege it grants him. 

“As a UA teacher his parents have designated the school generally and myself specifically as emergency contacts for situations such as this. This is on top of the commission’s policy on civilians and Pro Heroes. Unless there’s some procedural reason you need him to stay here I’m well within my rights to offer him the choice to stay with me for the next few hours.”

The man relents almost instantly. He’s efficient as he takes Eraserhead’s contact information and coordinates transport with the teen’s parents when they are back on the ground. 

The bureaucracy is over quickly enough. 

The urge to simply burst in, grab the kid and not let go isn’t easy to tamp down.

What would you have wanted in that moment?

The question’s guided him before. He’s an adult and a teacher and a hero and a mentor. Katsuki is going to need all of those from him. 

Honesty. What do I say if he asks about Toshinori?

Support. And what does that look like, how do I offer it, will Bakugou even listen?

Absolutely no pity. You did the right thing getting out of there instead of fighting. You are not weak for knowing your limit.

He takes a deep meditative breath and knocks.

The room is arctic cold when he steps in. 

Bakugou clearly doesn’t expect him to be there. There’s a resignation in the way he raises his head that speaks volumes to how he’s aged in just three days.

“Mr. Aizawa!” the kid stammers, halfway to his feet. Aizawa has never been much for formal protocol in the classroom and Bakugou flaunted rules and niceties at almost every turn. But it’s reassuring to see those drilled in gestures of respect surface. 

“Bakugou,” he acknowledges, hands in his pockets, demeanor carefully nonchalant like he hadn’t just spent hours searching the whole city for him. 

The kid is very nearly vibrating but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the temperature, the exhaustion, stress or some wild combination of all three.

Aizawa knows he looks more like shit than usual. He hadn’t slept since the night before the kidnapping and had kept going on a mixture of anxious fury, protein packs and the occasional green tea foisted on him. Aside from the shower before the press conference, every resource in him had been devoted to the search.

Being analyzed by simultaneously sharp and worried eyes is unusual but not unprecedented. It’s a testament to how concerned the teen probably is.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened. After the USJ he’d wanted to return to work immediately. The need to keep tabs on this class had been a constant thrum since regaining consciousness. 

It had been a miserably hazy few weeks where even basic tasks wore him to the bone. He’d only ever caught a few kids in the act. Bakugou had been one of them.

The very small genuine smile he hides in the folds of his capture weapon couldn’t be prouder. 

This kid. 

This too stubborn, too loud, still needs to learn so much ball of teenage nonsense.

Don’t hug him. That’ll just be weird.

He fights the urge and settles on a more reasonable gesture that probably won’t spook Bakugou. When he grabs the teen by the shoulders he doesn’t expect the confusion that meets his own gaze.

The truth is effortless and easy. “I’m so proud of you kid.”  

His failure looms over him though and sobers his expression in the next instant. Apologizing is inadequate but Bakugou deserves to hear it. However little good it may do. “And I’m so sorry.”

He feels Bakugou shut down under his palms and a stone sinks in his stomach.

It’s at least partially the overwhelming nature of what’s happened he’s very sure. Aizawa shelves the instinctual desire to prod into what that turn inward might mean.

This isn’t the time. Not yet at least.

Don’t push too hard. 

He’s just spent three days held captive.  

Let him guide the conversation. 

Start with the basics.

“Did they feed you?”

Aizawa suspects he already knows the answer. When Katsuki gives a shake he’s seen a hundred times from kids who ‘don’t wanna talk about it’ his suspicion’s confirmed. 

Of course not.

Why would someone think to feed a kidnapping victim who most likely had refused to eat anything his captors had offered? If even one of those officers had been thinking beyond getting information... 

Irritation floods the deep breath he lets out.

Don’t shout.

Offer the help you came here to give in the first place.

“If you’re alright with it, I’m gonna take custody of you until your parents get back. You can shower at my place. Eat something. Get a little sleep. Unless you want to stay here and wait for them. I know they won’t be back until sometime in the morning. It’s your choice.”

Katsuki deserves a quiet place to decompress, even if it’s only temporary. 

He can only imagine what Bakugou is thinking. Rumors about him abound at UA. Yamada takes great joy in collecting the more outrageous ones to relay when they share office hours. Aizawa’s sure Bakugou’s got his own suspicions even though the kid acts like he’s above teenage gossip.

Either way Aizawa’s not leaving the kid alone until his parents come. If that means he’ll be sitting in this icebox for the rest of the night, so be it.

“I don’t wanna stay here for another fucking second.”

The relief he feels is deep. 

There you are.

It’s the first true sign of the teen inside this shell shocked human.

He jerks his head towards the door having barely suppressed the snort of laughter. He couldn’t agree more if he was being honest. Aizawa didn’t want to stick around either.

 “Alright then. Let’s get outta here.” 

Shouta doesn’t linger or look back; he can feel Bakugou following anyway. The televisions don’t appear to be replaying any footage from the fight but he clocks them and maneuvers away from their line of sight regardless. 

The fallout from this will be immense. 

Though the larger story will be centered on All Might and his inevitable retirement, it’s fair to assume some portion of that attention will fall for better or worse on Bakugou’s involvement. 

Aizawa can’t stop that but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t protect his student as long as he possibly can from the inevitable storm on the horizon.

It’s a warm and humid night--typical for August. 

Bakugou is on autopilot it seems and leans his head against the glass when he gets into the car.

The quiet that follows is more comfortable than oppressive. 

When he glances over at stop lights he’s surprised again at how young his passenger looks, blonde hair pushed the wrong direction and flattened by how hard the kid is leaning on it. Always observant eyes are dull and distant.

If he’s processing or just half asleep it’s hard to say.

Aizawa hasn’t been home in over a week.

There’s no mail piled outside his door though and it’s a comfort knowing his neighbors have been checking in on the place while he’s been away. 

When he shows Bakugou in, there aren’t three angry felines demanding food so it’s clear the vet tech who lives above him has been stopping in regularly. Even though they’d only agreed on the four nights he would have been gone at the training camp.

Bakugou for his part is back to observing, Aizawa can tell. There’s not much to see but it surely tells a story. The tour doesn’t take long and he digs around in a drawer to find a pair of sweats for the kid to change into. They’re clean, plain and warm which the teen will likely appreciate even if he doesn’t acknowledge it.

When the water starts running in the bathroom Shouta stops hovering and goes to make up a bed. Digging the futon from the closet and making space occupies his hands with a task at least.

Get the kid through tonight. That’ll be enough. Tomorrow and all the days after can wait till the morning. 

The water runs a little longer than he expects for an efficient-to-a-fault teenager like Bakugou but it doesn’t immediately trigger a red flag. He’d done the same plenty of times after a long stressful day. And this had been one nightmarishly long day hadn’t it?

There’s a cat winding carefully around his legs and he crouches down easily.

“Hey Sushi-girl. Missed you too.” Despite being almost fifteen she ruled their small home and knew it. After a lingering moment of petting she strolled away. Off to observe the curiosity that was his visitor probably.

When the bathroom door slides open but no footfalls follow he realizes his oversight.

Probably should have mentioned the cats.

Bakugou for his part looks only slightly off put by the two in the hallway. Kala Namak is lounged directly in front of the boy and clearly not looking to move anytime soon. Sushi is nearby, tucked up like a particularly round loaf. 

“You’re not allergic are you?” Shouta asks as he scoops up the calico.

“No. My parents just travel too much. We never had pets,” Katsuki volunteers easily. He crouches and holds out a hand hesitantly for Namak to sniff. The black cat is eager to make friends and after a cursory sniff rubs shamelessly against the blonde’s palm.

“Good. You probably won’t see the orange one. He’s pretty skittish around strangers. But these two are curious and Namak there sleeps on heads from time to time.”

Bakugou only has eyes for the futon laid out for him. Aizawa isn’t quite expecting the ‘thanks’ that’s uttered but it’s nice to hear. 

The kid lays down, pulls the blanket up to nearly his eyes and turns on his side.

Shouta should get some sleep as well. Even for a night owl like him it’s late. If he sets an alarm he’ll get up in plenty of time to receive the call from the airport.

That’s his intention at least. 

But instead he finds himself at his tiny kitchen table sending messages by the light of the screen and the waning moonlight. One to Nedzu informing of his success at locating Bakugou.

Another longer one to Yamada reassuring him that he wasn’t dead in fact. It had been shitty of him to ignore the messages (that had been slowly but steadily growing in their level of concern). But he’d been so desperately focused on searching for Bakugou. If anyone would understand, it would be his oldest friend.

He’s not surprised when he gets a response back immediately. Hizashi’s message is an admonishment but Aizawa thinks it would be delivered at normal volume if the voice hero were actually in the room so he’s sure they’ll be alright.

He mindlessly scrolls through his newsfeed for a solid five minutes without absorbing a word. Starts a search for resources to help teenagers manage trauma. He’d neglected his own continuing education in the area and was by no means up to date on recommended modalities.

Which is all to say that he’s still wide awake twenty nine minutes later when a very choked off sob pierces the stillness unique to the deepest parts of the night.

Shouta feels like he ages a decade in the span of that sound. 

So now. 

Now is his kid’s limit.

Because it’s been years. 

But he remembers this exact moment in vivid, painful clarity.

He’d desperately wanted to shield his students from this, ideally forever.

And he’s failed at that too it seems.

It takes a moment to control his suddenly shallow breathing in the dark. He doesn’t remember when he’s let his head fall into the hands propped on the table. 

This isn’t the time. Bakugou needs you right now.

Three meditative breaths later he can lift his head. Another two and he feels like he can face this moment. As inadequate as he is to handle it.

Bakugou’s tucked into a ball and doing the best he possibly can to fall apart silently. His students are not children but Aizawa thinks sadly that as he gets older, they’ll just feel smaller and even less deserving of life’s cruelties.

Apparently he’s more quiet than he realizes. When he places his hand on top of Bakugou’s head the kid very nearly flies apart. The teen has remarkable control of his quirk so it surprises him that Katsuki clearly is worried. 

He keeps himself loosely still, trying to project the calm many mistake for apathy.

Bakugou pulls himself together over the course of a long minute. The reaction is clearly some combination of exhaustion and stress. Maybe finally dropping off that plateau of adrenaline that he knew had been keeping the kid upright for the last few hours.

He feels eyes watching him before he finds the courage to look back.

What now?  

Practical advice is what comes out and he probably shouldn’t be this frank with a fifteen year old.

“The adrenaline crash sucks. I usually have to take something to knock me out. A lot of nights I just don’t let myself sleep. They’re both terrible coping mechanisms so I don’t advise them.” 

Long hours spent drilling katas till he was too exhausted to stand. Nights when he’d patrolled until the sun came up, racing across rooftops and keeping himself moving so he had to focus on his surroundings to avoid death. Napping in brief intervals to avoid dreaming or sleeping only when he was too tired to dream. The rare nights he’d drank himself into a stupor with Yamada. The rarer ones where he’d drank alone.

No. He didn’t want that for Bakugou. 

“You survived a situation that most heroes--most people--will never experience in their lifetimes. It’s okay to not be alright. For however long that is. You can always...” he trails off searching for words. 

‘You can come talk to me’ feels miserably trite. Bakugou will blow it off as a meaningless platitude even if Aizawa sincerely means it. 

“I won’t let you…” sputters out as well on a suspiciously wet note. The vision of a bodybag in the pouring rain flashes in his eyes. 

Not now. 

This isn’t about the dream we never achieved.

Part teacher, part adult, part parent, part hero, part too honest for his own good human. It’s what he settles on next even though he’s not sure it’s sound advice. “I know you won’t give up on your dream. You’ll find a way to move forward. I found a way to eventually. And you’re stronger than I ever was.” 

He’s seen that look before in Midoriya. Bakugou and he are far more alike than they’ll ever admit.

Please don’t ask is all he can think of as he realizes what he let slip.

Aizawa doesn’t even realize the slow gesture he’d been repeating through it all. Carding his hands carefully through damp blonde spikes felt like the right thing to do. Minutes tick by in even intervals and eventually after about ten of them where the teen unwinds in slow halting steps, Bakugou drifts off.  

He stayed folded by the bed for another forty minutes. It’s not necessary. Exhaustion extracts a high price and Bakugou is dead to the world. He won’t dream, Aizawa is sure of that.

He doesn’t talk about his experience at UA. Not voluntarily and certainly not with his students.

What happened isn’t a secret, there are records and articles and coverage about it somewhere. 

It’s a private pain though, one he’s never willingly shared.

Maybe he should. If it made his kids just an ounce more cautious it might be worth it.

Namak interrupts his thoughts, crawling into his lap to purr like a motor. He catches a glimpse in the dim light of an orange face with a tipped ear very, very cautiously inspecting the edge of the futon. Purrsimmon* was a former feral who never quite warmed up to anyone except Aizawa. It’s a welcome surprise to see him out from the corners he tended to haunt when a guest was over.

He slides his phone out and swipes open the world clock. 

It’s 15:21 in New York. The habit’s an old one he developed when the late nights first used to get to him. Millions of other people were out there, at least one of them had to be wrestling with these same questions right now. 

It wasn’t quite comfort, just a useful internal acknowledgement that he wasn’t the first person to have doubts about the right course to take.

Eventually he got up and went back to his interrupted research.

He’d dozed for a solid hour and a half around sunrise and woke with plenty of time to check on Bakugou before the expected phone call.

The kid had barely shifted, still deeply asleep.

Good. 

It gave him time to shower, stretch, go through his email and have a cup of tea before the phone vibrates next to him. 

Bakugou’s parents are blunt but also distraught. He doesn’t blame them for their ire. On some level he welcomes it, no one outside of useless media pundits seems willing to place the blame on him that he deserves.

“Let me get him up, he’s been sleeping for the last few hours,” Aizawa assures while carefully shaking the teen awake. 

When Katsuki groans and tries to shove/wave him off, it’s the most fifteen year old thing Shouta can imagine.

A little bit of coaxing gets the kid awake enough to sit up and take the phone. He doesn’t seem entirely awake.

The hesitant way he seems to handle the beginning of the conversation slides into more typical teenage deflective assurance as it goes on. Aizawa doesn’t buy the ‘I’m fine’s’ and ‘it’s okay’s’ ; as a teacher he’s heard too many of them in that exact tone when a student was stonewalling him.

Bakugou seems mildly relieved to give the phone back. He’s definitely still half asleep.

“We’re about an hour away still, assuming the road closures haven’t been removed.” Aizawa’s only half listening, trained more on the kid who’s curled back up, already asleep again.

“Can I talk to his parents for a minute?”

He’s a little stunned that he manages to buy a few more hours of sleep. The police want to outline a plan with both parents regarding protection details and the new normal they’ll be in for the foreseeable future. It’s convenient to get that out of the way before coming here.

When he hangs up he has an expectant audience watching him from various levels of furniture.

Breakfast was late. Which translates to unacceptable to all of the cats.

The next two hours are taken up by the mundane tasks of adulthood. Cats are fed, litter changed. He catches Wakana before she leaves for work to thank her for the extra catsitting. Digs around in his pantry to make sure he has some rice left and boils it down into bland conjee. Not the most exciting meal, but a solid one for someone who hasn’t eaten anything for a while.

Purrsimmon retreats to a window for one of many morning naps and Sushi makes herself at home in the crook of Katsuki’s knees. Namak eventually sprawls atop the blonde’s head.

Lesson plans are due in a week and while he’s planning on only mildly modifying the one he used last year there are some specific changes he’d like to make regarding his problem children. And there’s still the matter of what if any mandated therapy he should have Bakugou attend. He doesn’t like the idea of mandating anything for someone who was kidnapped but Aizawa’s also not sure that Katsuki would willingly ask for help.

He’s five pages into a challenging reading on trauma presentation cues in heroes versus civilians when Namak flies through the room and bounds off into the hallway.

So Bakugou’s awake.

The teen shuffles into the kitchen shortly after, rubbing sleep from his eyes and exceptionally rumpled. Eight-ish hours of sleep is not enough to make up for losing so much rest but he at least looks less hollowed out.

“There’s conjee in the pot on the stove. Bowls in the cupboard directly above the sink. Help yourself. Your parents will be here in about forty minutes. I convinced them to let you sleep a little longer.” 

Bakugou’s too tired to look poleaxed but he definitely tries his best. He must spy the bowl Aizawa has because he digs through the cupboard and serves himself a modest portion without complaining.

Shouta briefly thanks his past self for the foresight as he pulls his own bowl closer. If he hadn’t it’s obvious Bakugou would have chosen starvation over perceived coddling.

Teenagers have a spectacular skill at flopping into seats with indignation and Bakugou is no exception. When he flops down it’s with an unintentional only-if-I-have-to attitude. Aizawa is sure the almost sulking would have continued if Namak did not take any open lap as an invitation. 

The black void is his largest and when he worms his way onto the teen’s lap, apprehension overtakes the sulking. Like most non cat owners, Katsuki isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, hovering them a few inches away from the nosey feline. Bland rice is very uninteresting as far as food goes so the cat promptly settles down to continue napping instead, right in the kid’s lap.

Aizawa annotates the article while he eats, content to let Bakugou set the pace.

“I’m not a little kid,” Bakugou asserts stiffly.

Much as Shouta wants to disagree (turning thirty certainly changes your perspective on how young or old anyone is), the teen isn’t wrong. 

Bakugou Katsuki is relentlessly fifteen.

A wildly talented and driven student dedicated like few are at this age. He has an attitude problem and might never learn to work well with others. He’s combative when challenged and lacks a lot of emotional intelligence. If he and Midoriya manage not to kill each other this year it will qualify as a miracle. 

And yet he’d displayed the kind of bravery that All Might had espoused his entire career when faced with truly terrifying odds. For some reason he never truly lost patience when he was tutoring his classmates. He’d told Midoriya not to follow him three days ago and in that Aizawa can sense the kind of selflessness that makes truly extraordinary heroes.

He’ll need help to get there. By no means is he there yet. But he was right to say it before. Bakugou’s going to be a hero, a spectacular one. 

He chooses his response carefully. A very mild challenge seems like the right course to take.

“No, you aren’t,” Aizawa agrees mildly as he puts down the pen he’d been scribbling with. 

There’s an imperfection on the table that has all of the teen’s attention suddenly. While he’d appreciate some eye contact, Aizawa’s more hopeful for a loosening of some of that very tightly fitted armor that had been exposed in the middle of the night.

C’mon kid.

“I’m gonna be okay. I’ll prove it.” 

The conviction is far shakier than it should be and Shouta almost curses. He’s heard this statement before, hates that he’d uttered it once too. It’s a product of years of messaging from society and teachers of all kinds before him. It’s beyond frustrating to think he’s been trying this entire time to shape that idea into something more holistic and has probably gotten nowhere.

Bakugou is tucking into the porridge with gusto, either hungry or looking to avoid talking anymore. 

“You don’t have to prove anything Bakugou.”

You have value . You the individual, no matter whether you make it to the top or not.

It doesn’t seem to penetrate and he worries about the why in the silence that follows.

Chapter Text

“Life is about change. Sometimes it’s painful. Sometimes it’s beautiful. But most of the time it’s both.”

- Lana Lang

Moving into the small apartment on campus is painless. He’ll definitely miss the quiet tucked away nature of his old place but he’s got a balcony now. It’s not something Aizawa thought he would care about but the cats are enamoured with the small patch of outdoor space. The sliding door’s propped open anytime he’s home to let them wander in and out at will.

For the students it’s a whole host of challenges and changes. 

If he thought he was involved in his kid’s lives before, Shouta was wildly mistaken. 

There are endless questions about the basics of the almost adulthood they’re now living in. Laundry and cooking and how many stamps do we need to send mail and do you know how to sew a button on this shirt Mr. Aizawa? 

For the most part they’re fast learners or teach each other. The button sewing requires a moogle search however. 

The newness of their situation will wear off...eventually...probably. 

Teenagers are exhausting.

Within the first two weeks he’s handed out extra assignments for violating dorm rules almost daily. Mineta and Kaminari easily rack up the most offenses but Ashido, Midoriya and Kirishima are right behind them and no one completely escapes, not even the class reps.

It turns out Satou is as good in the kitchen as one might expect. Less expected is how Ojiro and Sero are quick enthusiastic studies. Jirou could burn water and Todoroki gets distracted alarmingly often. The rest of the class falls somewhere between those two extremes. 

Bakugou is one of the excellent cooks, though when you need to feed twenty people, the workload has to be shared. The first few communal meals where he reigns over the kitchen don’t end well. A bunch of his classmates (Asui, Kirishima and Uraraka in particular) don’t let Bakugou get away with much and give back as much as he dishes out.

Once Aizawa sets ground rules on how the kitchen will be run from now on there are significantly less shouting matches and much less collateral damage. It’s amusing to watch Bakugou and Satou scold and teach in perfect tandem when they’re paired for dinner duty.

His most homesick kids come out of the woodwork in the middle of the night. Tenya in particular struggles, torn between his education and the close knit family he loves dearly.

Aizawa gains a small irregular rotation of students to his apartment before long.

“Can we play with the cats?” is often what they start with. But it’s usually accompanied by another request. So long as he isn’t on his way back out to patrol he’s happy to give up his time.

Shouta is under no illusion that for Koda at least he is not the main attraction. 

Namak is in heaven.

Purrsimmon significantly less so. Shouta’s given him more high “safe spaces” in the apartment which at least keeps the cat from squirreling into the cupboard for hours on end after a student comes over. 

Sushi is the most go with the flow cat he’s ever met and she is always regally tolerant of pets, treats and affection from all the kids. 

“I don’t understand Present Mic’s homework.” Go down to his apartment and ask him your question then. My English is abysmal.

“How do you fill out the internship paperwork?” Let’s take a look at what you’ve done thus far. Did you bring the forms with you?

“Mineta tried to peek into the girls locker room again, it’s super not okay.” Can you write down the specifics for me? I’ll bring it to Principal Nedzu. I agree it’s not acceptable even if he keeps saying it’s a joke.

“How do you use the fax machine?” There’s one in the common area, follow me.

“Should I be worried about climate change if we can just use quirks to fix everything?” This is way above my pay grade...you should probably talk to Ms. Mugen who teaches third year ethics. Generally I believe it’s our responsibility to leave the world a better place than we found it...and yes that involves addressing the climate crisis.

“Is it okay...if I don’t want to be a hero after I graduate?” Of course it is. You can be whoever you want...there’s not a time limit on changing your mind.

There never seems to be enough time to cover all he needs to and Aizawa pushes class 1-A hard. 

They push themselves even harder.

It’s not perfect. But days are filled with lessons and training instead of kidnappings and villains.

Bakugou’s required to attend several sessions with Hound Dog. He goes without a fuss. His skills continue to increase in leaps and bounds; the AP shot will be devastating once he’s able to master the prep.

Midoriya seems to settle, especially after he sorts out his new shoot style. He’s still taking after Toshinori in all the worst ways though and Shouta’s not sure how to confront All Might about it.

He spends the deep hours of the night when he has dorm duty, turning over arguments and approaches in his head to Shoto’s home life before the dorm.

Most of the time he gets an appropriate amount of sleep; plenty of nights he convinces himself that he does when he doesn’t. He even occasionally (IE once) gets a chance to go drinking off campus with Hizashi and Nemuri.

Life goes haltingly on.

Bakugou and Todoroki fail to acquire their provisional licenses. It’s not unexpected necessarily but it’s a disappointment all the same. At least it’s the kind of failure teenagers should experience once or twice. 

Two nights after they get back from the exam Bakugou and Midoriya do their level best to beat the shit out of each other. He supposes it’s a step up from killing one another which is a small blessing.

Toshinori brings them back from the Gamma grounds forty five minutes later; all three quietly slumped and guilty. 

He almost threatens expulsion, but using that line too often will tip the kids off to how empty a threat it can be.

“Who punched first?” He expects the truth. It’s hopefully clear his patience is wire thin.

Bakugou is at least unrepentantly honest. “I did.”

House arrest and cleaning are relatively proportional responses. For two overachievers like Bakugou and Midoriya, missing classes would have done the trick but cleaning feels like a punishment they can grumble about when they have to work in tandem.

“Bed. Now.” he orders. They have the common sense not to complain and slink off accordingly. 

He keeps Toshinori in the room with the glare reserved for his most disobedient students. 

“What was that about? Because it wasn’t just teenagers being teenagers.”

It stuns Shouta when the man actually answers. 

He sketches in the basics. It’s a mixture of analytical and impressively insightful observations--testament to a lifetime spent as the number one hero.

Clearly information is still being left out. Shouta’s had suspicions for a long time about why Midoriya and UA’s newest teacher share so many similarities. He doesn’t need to voice them; both adults seem to have silently agreed to keep their understandings to themselves.

Toshinori sounds ancient and broken when he admits to the deeper truth of what’s going on.

“Bakugou blames himself. For my end. For not being strong enough to get away on his own. I was too focused on Midoriya to the exclusion of almost every other student. And I’ve failed to see what that was doing to him.”

Aizawa’s suspected as much since Kamino. To hear it confirmed is something else entirely.

He’s going to go gray before the end of this year. 

“We’re both to blame. I should have pushed harder for him to talk to someone. I’m sure it contributed to his failure at the licensing exam.” 

A straightforward admission that makes him feel like he’s a first year teacher all over again--green and inexperienced and on the wrong edge of overwhelmed.

It’s very late by the time they finish talking. He helps the older man back to the teacher’s building and then returns to the abandoned grading.

Unsurprisingly it’s one of the nights he doesn’t sleep.

Four days later Bakugou’s back in class. He’s not happy about the remedial assignment but he’ll do fine once he commits to the process. 

Shouta thinks about how to approach the more challenging problem for the better part of the day.

The class is mostly out the door before Aizawa requests in the same monotone he says anything. “Bakugou. A minute please.” 

“Have a seat,” he gestures to a desk and crawls atop one himself.

Bakugou mirrors the action with an apprehension Aizawa has seen before in many students who think they're in trouble.

“Do you know what this is about?”

Baleful red eyes glare back with a particularly vitriolic scorn.

Fair enough. It was a dumb question.

“I think you should talk to Hound Dog again. Regularly.”

The shutdown is immediate. Just like that he seems to have somehow lost weeks of progress with Katsuki. 

“No.”

Silence blankets the room except for the ticking of a wall clock.

“Care to elaborate on why?” Aizawa tries once he’s swallowed the bewilderment he feels. Bakugou is often oppositional but this feels far more defensive than stubborn. 

“I don’t think he’s interested in helping,” the teen bites out.

It’s not the answer Shouta expects. But it breaks his heart just a little.

“Do you want help?”

The blonde gives one of those non committal shrugs that implies ‘this is uncomfortable and I don’t know if I want to talk about it’.

Aizawa waits him out though. 

“Maybe,” Bakugou admits very quietly.

He’s on the right track.

“Talking with a professional is no different than maintaining my skills with this,” Shouta gestures to the capture weapon around his neck, “or making sure I’m drinking enough water or working through physical therapy when I’m injured.”

This perspective has clearly not crossed the teen’s mind before. Bakugou’s one of his smartest students but it’s easy to forget that fifteen is a very small number in the grand scheme of experience...even in the case of class 1-A. 

“Do you think talking to someone else might be helpful?” he probes carefully in the silence that stretched afterwards. “It doesn’t have to be someone here at UA. Not every therapist works for every person. It took me a few tries before I found someone I was okay talking with.”

He catches the flash of surprise that Katsuki’s not quick enough to conceal.

“How often do you go?” Bakugou asks eventually, probably trying to do the calculation on when therapy happens in his teacher’s already crammed schedule. Does it help? is written in the margins of his words.

“Not often these days; probably once every other month. But for a while I went more frequently. It helped. And I was stupid to not seek it out sooner. It’s made it a lot harder to unlearn bad habits.”

There’s a shrewd consideration in Bakugou’s gaze now. “Like not sleeping when something gets to you?”

So he had been awake enough to remember that.

“Exactly,” Aizawa responds calmly, holding back the joy of ‘you get it, thank everything’ that thrills him down to his soul.

Bakugo grins sharply before sobering.

“I just...I don’t think Hound Dog listens. He just keeps...talking...but he hasn’t heard anything I’ve said? Like he didn’t listen to me before, why would he listen now? Everytime I left there I felt like shit and it didn’t get any better. I figured it’s probably always like that so why waste both of our time?”

Aizawa catches the ‘before’ and almost asks what his student means. But there’s really only one time that Katsuki could realistically be talking about. 

The sports festival. 

Of course.

He’s firm and no nonsense in response. 

“Okay. We’ll find someone outside of UA you can talk to then. It helps at least in my experience to start from a place of trust.”

Bakugou looks mildly apprehensive. What if that doesn’t help either? Hangs in the air.

“And you can come to me if it’s not working out. Anytime. We’ll figure something else out if that’s the case. Deal?”

He holds out his hand, the oddly western gesture one he’d picked up from Hizashi and Toshinori who’d spent so much time in the US. 

In Bakugou’s eyes he can see the teen is considering the offer. 

Intensely. 

That’s alright. He can be patient.

After a long thoughtful pause Katsuki nods very minutely and reaches out his own hand.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

"I don't need it to be easy. I need it to be worth it."

-Lil Wayne

A wet knock on his door spooked the cats and sent them scattering across the apartment.

Aizawa isn’t expecting anyone. It’s Wednesday (IE not his night on dorm duty) and a rare night he doesn’t have patrolling due to the forecast (severe thunderstorms). 

Once he finished grading tests he’d been looking forward to getting some extra sleep. He was tired, which was both a perpetual state and an acute condition these days. Thank goodness grading was a mostly rote process.

When he cracked the door it was with barely controlled irritation. 

Bakugou looked like a drowned rat, scowling at his shoes.

This had become an infrequent at most occurrence.

“Does Present Mic know you’re here?”

“No,” the teen is more sullen than usual.

“Is there a particular reason you decided to leave the dorms,” he checked his watch, “nine minutes before curfew?”

“It’s too damn loud. I couldn’t concentrate.”

Now that Aizawa’s looking he can see Bakugou’s got a chemistry textbook tucked under one arm, sheltered from the worst of the rain.

“Can...Can I just stay here for like an hour? I’ll go back before you go to work or whatever.

Ah. He’d forgotten. Wednesdays meant counseling.

“Alright. Go grab a towel and dry off. You know where they are.”

While Bakugou rummaged in the bathroom (it was nice that this apartment mirrored much of the layout of his old one), Aizawa made room at the low table in the living room. Quiet jazz was playing from the stereo and he left it on despite the fact that all the kids (aside from Jirou) decried it as lame.

You’re a student short FYI. he texted Yamada.

I saw him sneak out. Figured he was heading your way.

Shouta could picture the nonchalant wave Hizashi used when it wasn’t a thing to worry about.

“Knock it off Namak. I’m not playing,” was grumbled from under a fistfull of towel as Katsuki expertly nudged the cat out from under his feet.

The dorms were chaos on the best of days. Loud and busy, where finding a corner to yourself that wasn’t a bedroom was difficult. Most of the time it seemed not to bother the teen or if it did he sought out a friend. It was healthier progress than Aizawa had expected.

On really rough days though, when Shouta suspected the therapist had pushed hard during a session Bakugou came to him.

“Everything still good?” He tallied another column of red before moving on to the next test.

This checkin too had become an almost routine.

Katsuki still mastered indignant teenage flopping as he pulled his textbook closer and opened it to the section they were scheduled to get to next week.

“Yeah, it’s just...hard…” he admitted after a long pause.

“Well you’ve never shied away from putting in the work.”

That got a proud challenging smile directed at him.

Aizawa went back to marking tests in the comfortable quiet. He watched from the corner of his eye as Purrsimmon slunk up to crouch next to the thick chemistry text. A few minutes later he hid the private smile when the teen was very carefully petting the cat, unconcerned by his audience.

Shouta was apprised almost daily about villains and their machinations outside of UA. 

It was still his job to prepare each of his students to be heroes. Hopefully ones that would think rationally, and act accordingly in high pressure situations.

He’s still not quite sure how to broach the idea that you don’t ever...win at therapy. Or how to explain that you can’t save everyone even when you do everything ‘right’ - his newest challenge with the kids now in work study a whole year early.

Sharing his own experiences even in the service of educating his students still feels out of the question.

Not all of them will go on to become Pro Heroes. At the very least he hopes they will all grow into compassionate, thoughtful adults. 

Watching this class get there is going to be the most rewarding and difficult experience of his life.

He can’t wait.