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“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”
-Sir Edmund Hillary
The sign outside the teacher’s lounge was clear and specific.
‘Requests for off campus leave are due no later than 1600 on the Tuesday prior to travel. They will be returned on Thursday of that week no later than 1200. Requests are approved at the discretion of UA’s staff. Failure to fully complete the request form may result in denial of the request.’
“Ugh, Mr. Aizawa denied the movie trip we submitted for Sunday! I don’t get it, he approved Tokoyami’s request to go see the same thing.”
“Let me see your form.” Sero reached out with an assurance that he could solve the problem by sheer force of will. Jirou handed it over skeptically before flopping her head down on the desk in suitably dramatic fashion.
He peered at the paper carefully, looking over the boxes and lines for why their teacher had denied the request.
Down at the bottom of the sheet, sharp brown eyes spotted the culprit.
“You missed this here,” he pointed to a single box regarding use of provisional licenses off campus that Jirou had not ticked off.
“No way!” She snatched it back to confirm. “Because I didn’t check one box? We don’t even have our provisional licenses yet and I know you’re not supposed to engage...that’s not fair.”
“Filling out paperwork is a significant part of life as a hero. Consider what might have happened if you hadn’t filled out paperwork for the police correctly and a villain was released on a technicality.”
It was uncanny how Aizawa could cut through the noise of any room without raising his voice. The students hadn’t heard him come in (had he even left? - it was possible he’d just gone to sleep under his desk or in a corner piled with clutter).
“But this is just a request to go to the movies,” she grumbled.
Aizawa was suitably unmoved. “Let me be clear, this isn’t about whether you filled out a leave request properly. It’s about being thorough so that you can be trusted to evaluate the details as well as the larger picture in the field.”
The classroom door slammed open almost on cue. Midoriya skidded in clutching an identical form to the one Jirou had. In the flurry of his typically anxious energy, Izuku fumbled another piece of paper (likely with corrections) from a notebook crammed with them and held it out.
The sharp glare of disapproval said all that was needed. It was comical to watch the wince that crept over Izuku’s entire frame in real time.
Jirou shared a sympathetic look with Him, relieved to be in the same boat as one of the top members of class 1-A. After a sheepish pause, Midoriya tucked the form away before scurrying to his desk.
“If you want your application approved, submit it correctly and on time. It is that simple.”
Three weeks later on a warm Wednesday morning, Aizawa collected the sheets of paper from the appropriate wall folder outside the teacher’s lounge. His free hour while Yamada taught English was enough time to complete some of the never-ending bureaucracy that made up life in Japan.
Most weeks, processing the forms took forty minutes. There were typically several students who needed to travel for family celebrations or concerns. Iida had a standing request every two weeks to visit his brother in rehab for instance. The bulk of the forms involved typically frivolous but fundamental experiences that made up much of teenage life. He scrutinized those with an eagle eye. They most often contained errors and it was easy to deny those without feeling nagging guilt for chastising children about errors in paperwork.
Contrary to most of their beliefs, Shouta was willing to overlook minor issues if the situation warranted it. The man did nothing to advertise this since the rumors of his inflexibility kept 1-A on their toes and radically reduced paperwork errors.
He’d never deny an application out of malice. Shouta was nothing if not ruthlessly fair and he was careful to evaluate each application individually. But no one was perfect and denying an application for a basic error tickled the sadistic sense of humor he harbored.
Looking at the first form was proof of how well this logical ruse worked. Jirou’s request was filled out exactly as it should be. An effortless approval.
At the bottom of the pile was a neatly stapled packet, far thicker than any he’d received before.
“Don’t tell me Yaoyorozu wrote you a novel?”
Nemuri was draped over the chair to his immediate left, peering at the papers with an expression that was part impressed and part bemused. They both had first hand knowledge of how much of an overachiever the number one student could be, evidenced by nearly ten additional pages of writing she submitted with virtually any assignment.
“No,” was his distracted response.
“Midoriya then? Seems like something he’d be prone to do.”
“No.” He tilted the paper enough for her to see Bakugou Katsuki in the kid’s efficient script.
Her eyes widened just a tad, her reply sardonic.
“Didn’t think he’d be the type to submit so much...extra. To go off campus?”
Aizawa drew the packet back with a more forceful gesture than was probably necessary. The annoyance he felt was more acute than expected, Kayama probably hadn’t meant to sound so flippantly cynical.
“Bakugou hasn’t left campus since we moved in.”
How had he missed this?
“Huh. Well, have fun reading...looks denser than a syllabus Nedzu would design.” She swung out of her chair with a typical flourish. “I have a meeting with my agent and he might actually fire me if I don’t show up again. See you later.”
Rarely empty during the school day; several teachers were bent over papers and keyboards. The hushed quiet of work descended as she left.
Aizawa turned to the packet in his hand. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious.
A hike? A solo hike. He vaguely recalled Katsuki having listed mountaineering as an interest in his application to UA.
Shouta fought an instinctive urge to deny the request outright. It was hard to describe the deep primal fear that gripped him.
Kamino had been a little over two months ago.
And it was impossible not to remember those nightmarish hours in the woods, the desperate search that followed and the look on Katsuki’s face when it was over. The bone deep fear that a kid was dead and he’d had some hand in it (however indirect).
He’d gone with the instinct to let Katsuki do his own thing in the aftermath. Aizawa was trying to balance a semi hands off approach with providing support so each student could grow on their own terms.
Aizawa fiercely guarded his private life and so it hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary for Bakugou to want to do the same.
Shouta had tried a few times to check in surreptitiously with the teen. Evidenced by his ability to cook and keep to a reasonable schedule, it was clear Katsuki was used to being self-sufficient. It had been a little surprising to observe how much of an introvert the teen was but that wasn’t a cause for concern, more a trait he hadn’t quite expected.
There were never enough hours in the day. He did have to sleep once in a while, eat too. Other times something equally important would take his attention away.
He should have somehow noticed though.
It was frustrating in the way that realizing your own limits often was.
That vague amorphous concern, one that had waxed and waned since the night the teen had been rescued sharpened as he read over the request.
The trail was only an hour and a half away from campus. Several pages were dedicated to topographic maps of the route, a clearly well traveled trail if the pages of testimonials printed from a local hiking site were to be believed. He’d attached time tables for the trains including two separate routes in case one was late.
The following pages were printouts of a satellite GPS communicator* user’s manual. The device’s capabilities were robust and for a brief irrational second Shouta fantasized putting one of the devices in every kid’s pocket.
He skimmed the remainder of the form, confirming that Bakugou had correctly answered all the required questions. From a technical perspective there was no reason to reject the request.
But the teen wanted to go alone.
Six months ago the kid wouldn’t have had to fill out a form. Hell, it’s doubtful Aizawa would have even known about this apparent hobby.
Now though.
After all they’ve been through it seemed like an irresponsible risk to allow any student to take let alone this one.
He sat back with a huff.
The unease lingered. A headache creeped along his skull. So much for finishing these before his next lecture.
Cordial chimes indicated his free hour was over. The sound of students moving through the hallways followed almost immediately afterwards.
It would be easy to deny the request and cite the recent *everything* in Bakugou’s experience.
But. At some point he would have to leave campus for internships or Golden Week or a thousand other reasons. Eventually students graduated and went on to full time hero work; arguably that was what UA was preparing them for every day.
Most of the class had left campus for one reason or another over the last two months.
Bakugou was the only student who hadn’t.
When he reviewed other requests Aizawa found that Kirishima had added Bakugou’s name to several group outings. On the day of, inevitably the sign out sheet didn’t include the explosive name. Aizawa was sure that Katsuki’s excuses had been easily made and completely understandable.
Which told him much more than he’d expected. His quirk wasn’t suited to stealth work but Katsuki’s ability to slip under radars was expertly honed.
“So you don’t want to let him go?” Hizashi asked as they walked back towards the teacher’s apartments on campus. There was a skepticism in his tone.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Shouta grumbled. He’d spent the last few minutes detailing the situation to his oldest friend in a bid for an outsider’s perspective. Albeit one that understood the situation more than a civilian.
“You just told me you hadn’t signed his form despite him having filed it appropriately. Bakugou’s given you more contingencies that we usually have for actual hero patrols. I know you don’t waffle on stuff like this, so what’s going on?’’
“Considering all possibilities is just a logical step in evaluation.”
“He wants to go hiking, not jump out of a plane without a parachute. Which by the way would probably be fine since he’s basically taught himself to fly with his quirk.”
Shouta nearly growled his argument, fury directed at the blonde for a brief moment. “The last time he went for a walk in the woods we couldn’t find him for three days. Is it fair to him, to his future, if I don’t take that into account?”
Yamada eyed his friend over the top of his glasses. Worry pricked at Shouta’s posture, folded his wiry frame in on itself. It looked an awful lot like doubt. Hizashi hadn’t seen that particular gesture make an appearance quite like this in years.
For all that they didn’t talk about it, he and Shouta recognized that their shared history colored their world view in ways that weren’t always healthy. Sometimes it felt like they would never escape that rainy afternoon that had changed their lives forever.
He swallowed the lump that appeared without warning. “When will it be okay to let him go off campus then?”
They came to an uncomfortable halt on the stairs, eyes on the horizon and the sky respectively.
“Next month? Next year? Never?” Hizashi kept the tone honest even if the questions were hyperbolic.
Aizawa grimaced. Truth didn’t diminish the ache of worry and fear that was keeping him paralyzed.
Yamada softened his tone. He hadn’t meant to accuse. “Look, I know this class is extra challenging, this year’s been nothing short of a disaster, every decision we make is under a microscope...”
Those reporters and that press conference had been brutally incisive. They had asked painful, difficult questions in their quest to get clickbait soundbites out of UA’s faculty. And to a degree they had been right. Not in every way though.
“But they still deserve to be kids. That has to be part of our job too,” Aizawa conceded quietly.
“I just...can’t fail them.” Abject earnestness filled every syllable. One hundred percent pure Shouta when it came to these kids.
Yamada’s smile was the quiet one he reserved for very few individuals. “You haven’t and you won’t.”
On Thursday morning Shouta left the forms for pickup in their usual spot.
Right before the late bell Bakugou slipped into the room, snatched his packet and rushed to his seat without looking at it. If Aizawa was a betting man he’d say the kid was apprehensive. Halfway through the lecture he caught the teen checking the paper.
As the class dispersed for lunch he caught Bakugou’s attention. The kid stopped in front of his desk, filled with the wary disdain he showed things that were annoying.
“I expect a message once you summit and one when you’re on your way back.”
“Tch. Is that it? Was planning on doing that anyways. My dad expects one before I start too.” Bakugou scoffed. He wouldn’t quite meet Aizawa’s eyes but the man could read slight almost gratification in the glimpses he got.
“I’ll be waiting then,” Aizawa gave a deep sigh before shifting back to his gradebook or possibly back to sleep. It was often hard to tell.
Sunday morning at the very early or very late (depending on one’s perspective) time of 0530 was exceedingly quiet. The sun was an hour or so away from completely rising and the world was bathed in chilled, flat blues.
It wouldn’t be completely fair to say that Aizawa had planned to stay up. But he’d arranged his schedule so that the end of his patrol radius took him to a sleepy JR station just off campus that saw very little traffic on the weekends.
The platform was mostly deserted. A man in a janitorial uniform sleepily scrolled on a cell phone. Two women, dressed in scrubs and clearly co-workers were chatting quietly on a bench, each clutching cans of coffee. A furry probably still drunk salaryman was swaying half asleep on a bench. When Aizawa shifted his position to another telephone pole--balanced like a particularly large raptor--he found what he’d been looking for.
Bakugou was unsurprisingly alert, calmly waiting for the train with a well maintained daypack next to his feet. The kid was rarely buried in his phone at school but the teacher spied the tech casually cradled in one hand. Dressed in appropriate layers and gear for changing weather it was obvious hiking was no casual hobby.
The hero spread his awareness out to check the rest of the station and surrounding area.
Quiet as expected.
As it should be in a world filled with so many heroes.
Mr. Aizawa might critique the way Bakugou left his bag open for grabbing.
Shouta wanted Katsuki to feel that safety.
As the distant clack of train wheels drew closer he felt the brief buzz of a notification in his pocket.
Right on schedule.
Shouta wasn’t expecting the apprehension that choked him, unbidden despite the lack of threat.
It seemed to grip the teen as well.
Clutching his day pack a fraction too tightly, warm red eyes fixed a thousand miles away, anxiety radiated off of Bakugou. For Aizawa, it was honestly pretty miserable to witness. This lack of confidence felt part reset part setback.
The brash, abrasive attitude Katsuki wielded like a shield was a partial front; Shouta had seen it in a handful of students he’d taught before. That would fade with time and experience. Even the flashiest pro heroes (ones who adored life in the spotlight) were comfortable in their skin in a way that teens just weren’t at this age.
But there was a difference between wanting the teen to be more self aware, courteous (humbler if he was dreaming big) and the real fear that was rooting Bakugou to the platform. This crippling hesitation had come after Kamino, Aizawa was sure of it.
He held back the urge to reveal himself, even from afar.
It was a hunch he’d been building since he’d seen only one name on that request.
And that hunch hinged in many ways on Shouta’s trust.
The nurses and the janitor had boarded already. The drunk salaryman had fallen deeply asleep, oblivious to the sound of the polite announcer. The announcer who was politely informing the world that the train would depart momentarily.
Centered in the warm glow from the train and the deep shadows he cast on the platform Bakugou looked both older and younger than his age. He took one deep breath and then another. Each one visibly stilled him just a fraction more.
Shouta leaned forward, fists clenched and breath held almost unconsciously.
When Katsuki boarded it was just as the doors slid shut.
The train promptly departed, rattling away from the station as if nothing of import had even happened.
Aizawa unwound from his stiff crouch slowly, watching until the train was long out of sight.
Four hours of sleep was a respectable amount for him these days all things considered. Shouta woke to cats curled around him, daylight seeping in around the edges of closed curtains and the quiet of late morning suffusing the air. It was rare to wake this calmly, to feel rested even marginally these days.
He could feel Sushi’s purr in his marrow. Purrsimmon was pressed close, relaxed and calm when he gently carded his hand through the fur. Namak snored deeply next to his left ear.
His phone lay silent, an innocuous brick of metal and glass on the stand beside his head.
He’d checked Bakugou’s clinical departure text when he got home and had gone to sleep with the ringer all the way up.
The phone stayed quiet as he went through his morning routine.
A pleasant breeze filtered in from the open porch door and windows filling the modest apartment. It was an aggressively bland Sunday.
Aizawa had to remind himself that it was actually okay. Normal even.
Sitting over a pile of essays with Namak relocated to his lap it was fair to say that he was on a kind of autopilot he’d developed for grading. More often he found himself watching the phone out of the corner of his eye and fighting the desire to cancel the approval of Bakugou’s application and telling him to come back immediately.
Bakugou’s itinerary had left a window for summiting that was due to start in about an hour and a half. Unless there was an emergency, it should be quiet.
When the phone buzzed a little after 1130 he tried in vain to shake off the internal jolt of panic he knew was irrational.
But just as promised, it was a check in. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
Summited. Eating lunch and then I’ll start the descent. Still on schedule.
The relief was immediate. He’d watched the kid send the first text which had felt almost like a cheat. This second one had been the real test.
He shot off a quick acknowledgement in response. Similarly clinical and succinct. It wasn’t in his nature to offer excessive praise and he’d gotten the sense that Katsuki wouldn’t appreciate it.
The phone went back to its spot at the table and Shouta went back to puzzling out Aoyama’s thought process when making scattershot arguments about cheese.
When the sun started to angle lower Aizawa kept an eye out for that last text, trying to do other tasks but ultimately failing.
The alert came right on schedule, accompanied by a photo that indicated Bakugou had returned to an area with cell reception. Must be waiting for the train back to UA.
The photo was spectacular. Aizawa wasn’t much for hiking as a regular hobby (did any adult even have time for hobbies?). But views like this might convince him to get out more frequently.
Bright blue sky with picturesque fluffy clouds stretched uninterrupted from end to end of the panorama. Rocky peaks extended further west and the outskirts of Mustafa glinted faintly more than 3000 meters below. Katsuki had caught a few hikers in the frame, sprawled out in bright coats munching on fruit and looking sweaty but satisfied.**
Aizawa had to assume it had been a good day. Bakugou was taciturn about expressing himself as teens often were around adults, especially teachers. But he could tell from a picture alone (that the kid wasn’t even in) that Katsuki was proud.
It felt good to know that.
He wasn’t expecting another text. The deal had been for three alerts, one at the start, summit and finish of the hike.
Leave it to one of his overachievers to live up to that title in the most unexpected way.
Just as he headed out for patrol, paused to wrap his capture weapon around his shoulders the phone buzzed one more time.
It had probably been easier over text than in person for a kid who had a long way to go with expressing himself. It didn’t eliminate all the worry Aizawa still felt; maybe nothing ever would.
None the less it filled Shouta with the kind of quiet satisfaction he rarely experienced and treasured deeply.
Thanks Mr. Aizawa. I needed to make sure I could.