Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The problem started when the oven in his room stopped working- Wait, no. That would imply that it was his oven’s fault he was in this mess, when in reality, it was unavoidable. His classmates were savages.

Let’s rephrase. The actual comprehension of how bad and deep the problem ran began from the moment his oven decided to call it quits.

His oven was broken and it stayed broken, as the mechanics were either too busy or not yet able to trudge through the unholy amount of paperwork needed to visit the dorms- paperwork created by the Principal in the name of safety. Which might seem a bit overzealous, but knowing his class’ track record, he could only be grateful. And since he wasn’t- hadn’t been- desperate enough to ask someone in the Support Department, he was forced to move his baking into the kitchen. Which shouldn’t be a problem. UA had not skimped on their appliances. It was a good kitchen. Good oven too. Everything worked fine.

Sato knew his classmates weren’t…. experts in the kitchen. It made sense, really. All of them had lived with their parents until now. They were young. Of course they had not yet learned how to cook. He understood that. He had predicted that, since the moment he knew that UA would become a boarding school. That was why he had baked that cake on the first day. To give them a taste of homemade food. Make it a little bit easier.

What he couldn’t have predicted was the lawlessness. The complete and utter disregard for everything.

How did he get here? He couldn’t help but wonder. He wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in the afterlife or reincarnation. But there had to be something, right? Because he had done nothing in his sixteen years of living to deserve this.

He stared at a certain cabinet that was a lot emptier than it should be, and turned to his classmates.

“Kaminari. Ashido”, Sato said, trying to remain calm and patient. “Why is the sugar gone?” Again.

The pair shuffled their feet, looking down on them in shame.

“It’s my sugar, he said firmly, emphasizing the words as if that would drill the message into their heads. It hadn’t the first three times, but who knew. Miracles could happen. Rikidio was capable of having a positive mindset.

"It’s in my cabinet. I can’t bake in my room right now. I need the sugar for my quirk. You know that.” He sent a look to Ashido, who was using the fact that she was light on her feet to discreetly shuffle towards the exit. “Both of you.”

Ashido had the nerve to look sheepish. He could spot a few grains of sugar on the corner of her lips. He wanted to throttle them.

“Sorry, man”, Kaminari said, making his eyes snap back to the blond, leaving Ashido free to shuffle away further. He had his hands in the air, an universal sigh of surrender that Sato knew he didn’t mean. “We stole some of Bakugou’s food and it hurt, like, really bad."

Of course it did. Bakugou had warned them, quite literally so. After his leftovers were stolen for the millionth time, he had dragged them all into the common room and told them, explicitly, that, from now on, his food wouldn’t just be ‘hot’ anymore. Instead, it would be, and he was quoting here, ‘Satan’s ass-crack levels of hot’. Seemed like he hadn’t been exaggerating. Kaminari’s face was still red, Mina’s skin more watermelon than her usual bubblegum. Both had tear tracks on their face.

Ashido nodded frantically. “Sugar is supposed to help with that, right?” She said. “So we took some.”

Sato could feel his eye starting to twitch. “Some?” He manages to ask. The edge to his voice was slowly starting to inch to a threat.

By the Gods, was this how Bakugou always felt like? Boiling with rage. His respect for the blond increased. He was this close to stabbing someone- since he couldn’t smash their face trough the wall since his sugar was gone.

Kaminari must have sensed something off, because he slowly started to backtrack towards where Ashido was still standing, words falling out his mouth like a waterfall.

“Well, we only took some, but Jirou had heard us yelling and wondered what the racket was about, so she came here to see, but by doing so, she startled us-”

Ashido grasped his sleeve as soon as he was in reach, and started to lead him backwards, leaving Kaminari to his rambling and free to keep looking Sato in the eye. The action pissed him off even more. He wasn’t the animal here- they were!

He heard something crack, but he paid no attention to it. More than anything, he wanted to hear what excuses Kaminari could make up.

(He also deftly ignored the way Kaminari started to ramble faster.)

“- and we were kind of in a hurry because the, you know, extreme and all-consuming agony, so we kind of ripped it out of the cabinet and ended up sending it everywhere, but we will replace it, I swear!”

Well, that explained the mess left on the floor. That they didn’t clean. He wanted to tell them to, but they had already inched too close to the door.

“Really sorry”, Kaminari said again. And then, they were gone.

Leaving Sato with his sugar all over the floor. He briefly considered chasing them, but he was tired and agitated and he didn’t want to waste his energy by hollering bloody murder.

He took a deep breath and went to get the duster- Huh. He stared at the crack in the countertop. It was in the same place his hand had rested on. He hadn’t noticed that.

He frowned. Had that been there before?

____________

By the time he finished cleaning- which took a lot longer than he thought, both because the sugar had indeed gotten everywhere and he needed a minute half-way through to calm himself when he found they had also sent his cinnamon down in their haste, because of course it had, it had been just that kind of week-

He heard a door slam into his hinges, a telltale sign for everyone who lived in the dorms. Bakugou had returned from his run. He snorted quietly to himself.

This would be good.

And indeed, within a minute, hell broke loose.

“DID YOU MORONS EAT MY FUCKING FOOD AGAIN!”

Kaminari yelped a denial, words unrecognizable as Mina did the same, mixing it in a jumble of words.

“I CAN SEE THE PLATE, YOU MOTHERFUCKING DUMBASS.”

Kaminari’s response wasn’t very clear, but he sounded very panicked. Bakugou’s, on the other hand, was not.

“I AM NOT A FUCKING IDIOT. THAT’S HOW.”

Another voice, also very panicked. From the sound of it, this time it was Ashido’s.

“HE’S ALWAYS THE ONE TAKING MY SHIT.”

Fair enough, Sato supposed. Although both had been at fault in this case, Kaminari had the most tally marks for annoying Bakugou. He got away with it pretty well too, usually-

“DON’T YOU DARE TAKE HIS FUCKING SIDE, EIJIRO. I FUCKING WARNED HIM.”

Huh. Seemed like Kirishima had been dragged into this too. He absentminded dumped the last bits and pieces into the garbage. The redhead had either been out training with the blond or arrived just in time to see it all go down. He hadn’t been in the common room when Sato had been there and he hadn’t heard him arrive. Kirishima had the habit to loudly greet whoever was sitting there.

A high, pained yelp came from the common room, quickly followed by the sound of quick, angry footsteps.

Bakugou stormed into the kitchen, dragging Kaminari behind him, the other’s ear held in a vice grip. Kaminari was whimpering, struggling to keep up. Mina ran in after them. Kirishima brought up the rear; probably to make sure his boyfriend didn’t kill his friend.

He knew he should feel some sort of sympathy, but he came up dry. Kirishima and Mina were both there and Bakugou was too hell-bent on becoming a hero to commit murder in front of witnesses. Kaminari would live.

Bakugou released Kaminari, who immediately grabbed his, admittedly, very painful looking ear and stomped to the counter.

There, he calmly slid a knife out of the knife block.

Kamari stopped whimpering and went still, like a deer looking into the headlights of an incoming car.

“Kaminari”, Bakugou said calmly. “Ashido.”

Oh no. If Bakugou was using their names, it was really serious. His eyes flickered to the knife- Bakgou’s knife. The blond always made sure to keep his knifes in good condition, sharpening them regularly. He could see the way the metal shined, light running along the edge until his attention was drawn to it. Clean and very, very sharp.

“I want you to listen to me", Bakugou said slowly, like he was speaking to a pair of toddlers. "It seems like the message didn’t quite sink in, but seeing how stupid both of you are, it shouldn’t surprise me.” The trio didn’t even bother to respond to the insult, too busy eying the knife.

“Under the circumstances, I am willing to generous to repeat myself one last time. My food is. Off. Limits. Do not. Take. My fucking shit.”

“If I catch either of you- any of you- one more time...” Bakugou paused, letting the words hang in the air next to the future maiming weapon.

He could see that Kaminari was starting to sweat. But like a fool- a brave fool- but a fool nonetheless, he grinned.

“You’ll kill me?”

“No”, Bakugou answered, knife still in his hand. “I won’t.”

And that was that. Bakugou slid the knife back in and stormed back towards the living room. He didn’t even acknowledge Sato.

Kaminari was left in the middle of the kitchen. “Hot damn”, he wheezed. “I lived.”

As Mina crashed against Kaminari for a ‘survived-Blasty-again-hug’, Sato stared at the doorway that Bakugou just stormed through. In the recess of his mind, a small cog started to turn.

____________

After this incident, Kaminari, or anyone else for that matter, dared to touch Bakugou’s food unless the blond personally handed it to them. The ‘Beast of 1-A’ had made his point loud and clear.

Sato’s things, however, still disappeared.

And it was slowly- but surely - pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He sat on the couch in the common room, holding a cup of hot chocolate that was supposed to sooth his anger. It hadn’t, however, because some filthy thief had stolen his cacao. Shoji, who had lent him some of his, was still seated next to him, even after Sato had finished venting what had been days worth of rage. He was a good friend, but entirely unhelpful.

“Maybe a lock would be a good idea”, Shoji offered.

The cup shattered in his hands.

He stared at it, nonplussed as the people around him screeched in alarm. Aoyama, in particular, had jumped back as if it had been acid instead of hot chocolate.

How did that happen, he mused, staring at the broken pieces.

Shoji immediately started to inspect his hand, letting out a little sigh in relief, as he couldn’t see any blood or wounds. Sato let him, staring at the hot chocolate mournfully. There went his comfort drink. He already knew that stain was never going to come out.

Ojirou, who had the reflexes of a cat, had immediately run to the kitchen to get a kitchen roll, tearing them off and leaving them over the liquid, gathering the pieces with careful hands.

Sato didn’t miss the look he exchanged with Shoji, especially since it lasted several seconds. They seemed to have reached an agreement, because afterwards, Ojirou turned to him.

“Sato”, he said carefully, a worried look on his face, even with his kind smile added into the mixture. “Are you okay? You’ve been kind of on edge ever since your oven broke-”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. He tried to go for a chuckle, or, if that weren’t possible, a low, single laugh would suffice. Something polite. Controlled. Instead, what burst out his mouth were high pitches cackles.

Oh, the irony. Sure, it was his oven that was the problem.

He ignored the way everyone took a step back, tampering down his laughter until all that was left were low, wheezy giggles.

It was fine. He was fine. Sure, people stole his stuff and forgot to return it, saying they were so sorry and they forgot and didn’t remember what he wanted or preferred and wanted to make sure they took the right thing, but they would take it with them next time, promise! - Or gave him the wrong thing, because, yes, there was a difference between baking soda and baking powder, but no, don’t worry, it was no problem at all- Or just gave him money instead of actual food, and yes, thank you for compensating me, it’s very kind of you, but it was hard to cook with money and he had plans to test out a new recipe, but don’t fret, I’m sure it can wait.

‘Almonds taste like cyanide”, he almost breathed into the silence of the common room, just like he almost felt bad for thinking about it. ‘If I make a little cake for you, do you think you can tell the difference?’

Shoji ended up being the one the break the silence. “Sato”, he said slowly. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit. You seem tired.”

“Yeah”, Ojiro added, his smile only slightly forced. “We can clean this up, no problem.”

Sato breathed out heavily and moved to the kitchen to get a bucket of water and dishsoap, ignoring the clamoring behind him. He was fine. Maybe he would follow their advice and go lay down for a bit. He could feel a headache starting to beat away at his temples. That could be done after he cleaned up the mess he made though. He also should ask a teacher for permission to go to a store and get Shoji some new cacao. He refused to become a hypocrite.

He was so caught up in his emotions that he failed to notice Bakugou, who was staring at him, thoughtful frown on his face.

___________

This was it. He had said it many times before. In his head, to his friends and, after the same thing kept happening over and over, to whomever was around to hear it. He had thought it when filthy dishes were left in the sink. He had thought it when the girls ‘borrowed’ his chocolate, trying to make chocolates by melting it in a pan. He had complained about it when someone had switched the salt and sugar. He had said it when Iida tried to make a kitchen schedule, even though there were three people who could actually use a kitchen. But this time, this time, he meant it.

Days of accumulated messes, stolen goods and things being misplaced, all leading to this.

“Sorry”, Ochako said with a sheepish smile. “We just tried to bake something. I don’t know what went wrong.”

Sato looked at the burnt pans, the filthy floor and was that egg on the ceiling!

It was. And it was undercooked too. The white parts stuck to the ceiling, pieces of shell stuck in it like needles out of skin. The yellow part was partly liquid. Sato could only watch, with fascinated horror, as it slowly gathered in the middle, like a water drop on the verge of falling down.

He looked at his oven mittens, one badly burned and one soaked. Probably sacrificed in order to put out the fire. They were beyond saving. The only reason he recognized them was because they were mitten shaped and he was the only one who owned a pair in the first place.

He looked at the ice that covered half the kitchen, destroying who knew what, even though they there was a fire extinguisher in the kitchen. Todoroki was in the corner trying to melt it, leaving soggy patches of Gods knows what in his wake.

He looked at everything and knew.

This. This was the last straw. They were going to pay.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched out.

They might have called out to him. He wouldn’t know. The entire walk was spend in a haze. Blood was rushing in his ears. He had barely enough cognitive power to remember to take the less-used stairs. If any of them tried to talk to him right now, the spider-thin tread on his patience would snap.

Five minutes later, Sato found himself in front of a certain door on the third floor. Right where he had to be. The only place where he could find an ally in this madness.

He knocked.

Bakugou opened the door with enough force to show what kind of mood he was in. Maybe he had already seen the mess in the kitchen. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have to explain that clusterfuck. He wasn’t even sure if he could.

“Hey”, he said, before the blond could slam the door in his face. “I need your help.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki had been living with his classmates for a few weeks and he already had enough.

He literally got beat into unconsciousness during the final exam of the term, where he not only had to work with Deku, he also had to be carried over the finishing line by Deku.

Somehow, miraculously, the pain and humiliation he felt back then was nothing compared to this.

What was ‘this’ exactly? Well, it was living with a bunch of morons whose brains were the fucking size of a motherfucking bacteria.

He barely managed to stop Gloves from pouring not twice, but trice the amount of laundry detergent needed into the machine.

Sparkles nearly tore a hole in the wall in shock after Snow White’s shirt turned his favorite turtleneck pink. Not that that mattered, because as it turned out, the shirt had been made out of wool and he dumped it in with all his normal clothing and guess what happened?

Horns had ended up claiming it to use as her new crop top, and ended up taking Sparky shopping after to buy a new one, so at least that wasn’t Katsuki’s headache. Not that it was to begin with. Just- Ugh.

He caught Ponytail in near-tears, trying to scrub bloodstains out with warm water. The look on her face when he ripped the cloth out her hand was somewhere between stupefied and humiliated. It looked extremely stupid, especially on someone like Ponytail. And why the fuck was she surprised? He had been training to be a hero for years. Of course he knew how to get bloodstains out. It wasn’t that weird. And yes, he stayed around to explain it to her. He wasn’t totally heartless and this was just pathetic. If she had to crawl to him every month, shit would get old real fast.  

Soy Sauce had the tendency to kick of his slippers when he was sitting somewhere and forget to put them on again after. If he had to almost-trip over them one more time, he would tear that stupid tape out of his elbows and tape those fucking things to his feet.

Pikachu sometimes supercharged the carpets when he wasn’t paying attention, giving everyone who walked over them a second-hand electric shock.

Horns had melted a part of the cushions during a horror movie, leaving two handprint shaped holes where fabric used to be and a burned smell that didn’t leave until two days later.

This entire experience was a training in patience. He could believe that this was planned. A belated and subtle punishment for what he did to All Might. For being stupid enough to let himself be captured, for not being able to escape, for being so fucking weak-

He forcefully pushed the thought to the back of his mind. No use thinking about it. Planned or not, this was reality and this was what he had to deal with.

At least he finally managed to make it loud and clear to not steal his food. It was a small victory, but he would take it.

He took a deep breath.

He was Bakugou Katsuki.

Future number one Hero.

He was not their fucking babysitter.

But, somehow, he turned into that more times than he could count, because none, fucking none, of them had any common sense.

He was actually astonished just by how fucking stupid they were.

That shouldn’t be possible. His expectations for these people were already at rock bottom. They were using their incompetence to dig themselves further into a seemingly endless well of ineptness.

He hadn’t even known that it was possible to be this bad at life. He knew he wasn’t, but the was better than them. He just hadn’t expected the difference to be this big.

And the kitchen.

Oh, the fucking kitchen.

Of all the monstrosities he had witnessed, the kitchen was by far the worst. In was the deepest circle of hell. The Bermuda triangle of the ocean.

Arms had managed to burn the rice in the rice cooker- which deserved a fucking medal. It really did. Arms could create additional sensory organs and yet he failed to see the rice turn black or smell the rice turning to ash.

Glasses had forgotten to wash the fucking rice, because apparently he didn’t know he had to.

He could operate the damn thing since he was six, but apparently it was too fucking hard for the rest of them.

Tails shoved a meal into the oven and took a bite of it raw, because he forgot to pre-heat the damn thing.

He had seen Eijiro slam an egg against the side of the pan before refusing the get the pieces of egg shell out, with the argument being ‘well, it’ll a bit crunchier, but that’s fine, right?’

….

He was dating this moron, why?

They had a microwave at the dorm, which Gloves had used to make popcorn at a time some people tried to sleep, without, somehow, knowing how to use the fucking thing, setting off the fire alarm and leaving it to blare for twelve minutes straight, because nobody knew how to shut that thing off.

Round Cheeks, on the other hand, had used it to ‘prepare’ her fish in, leaving the whole dormitory to suffocate the smell.

Eye Bags drank way too much coffee, but never rinsed the fucking thing after and it drove him over the wall.

Everyone ‘forgot’ to clean their dishes, with the most heard excuse being ‘I’ll get to that later’ and only ever returning when fucking mold was growing on the damn things.

And those were just the minor offenses.

He watched Ichyhot try to bake chicken in literal water and had the nerve to be surprised when it burned.

This, he thought, are the heroes of tomorrow.

Icyhot blinked down at the meat. He could see the moron trying to figure out where he went wrong.

He felt his eye start to twitch as his fingers started to flex by sheer reflex.

Katsuki didn’t have a lot of faith in humanity to lose, but these people were pulling him closer to the edge each single day.

He took a deep breath. He had a goal. He couldn’t become a hero with a criminal record, let alone the Number One. His future was more important than the temporary satisfaction of strangling these morons, however sweet that may be.

He could do this. He could remain calm and steady and not give in to his homicidal urges-

Icyhot’s right hand lit up, hovering close enough to the pan to blacken the edges, as he tried to make the chicken turn to charcoal on all sides.

The chicken caught fire.

The fire alarm went of.

And Katsuki snapped.

He jumped the bastard.

It took Eijiro’s and Soy Sauce’s combined forces to drag him away from Todoroki's almost- he was so close, dammit- snapped neck.

On a more positive note-

Because he could be fucking positive if he wanted to. He could be made of fucking sunshine and rainbows and whatever Eijiro got injected with in his youth.

- This was the perfect practice for Hero work. He knew, in the deepest corners of his soul, that if he managed to go through three years of this complete and utter bullshit, nothing, literally nothing, in this world would ever again be able make him lose his shit. No villain attack, no whiny victims and not the fucking parasites that pretended to be reporters.

There was nothing that could compare to the pain he felt every day watching these morons try to behave like actual human beings.

Bakugou Katsuki was no quitter.

If he survived being literally kidnapped, he could survive this too.

____________

His day started just like other day.

Hellish.

His eggs had been going missing ever since the start of the dorm, in a pattern so nonsensical that it made him want to tear him hair from his scalp. That was, until this morning, where he caught the culprit red-handed and was forced to have the dumbest discussion possible.

His classmates were fucking morons, that was a given, but even he wouldn’t have gone so far as to call any of them intelligently incapacitated.

This was, of course, before this whole bullshit situation happened, and before he found out how little brainpower Bird Head and his tag-along were left with after two nights of doing fuck-knows-what instead of actually sleeping, like anyone with common sense would do. And so, he was forced to have a heated discussion with a teary-eyed moron about the dumbest subject on Earth.

- Again, no, eggs were not unborn chickens, you complete and utter-

After that, he spent the afternoon tutoring Pikachu, which was even harder than usual, because the former was a bit apprehensive after he pulled a knife on him.

No, he wasn’t sorry, he deserved it, shut the fuck up Eijiro.

When he finally managed to get at least a few concepts through Pikachu’s thick skull, he made way to the kitchen, only to freeze in his tracks. He heard something. Something he had become way too familiar with over the course over the past few weeks.

He heard the sound of the fire alarm blaring in the distance and made the wise decision to move as far away in the other direction as he could.

It was when Big Lips had started to bang on his door, eyes wild and crazed, that he knew he made the right choice.

“I need your help.”

He let him in without a word, closing the door behind them. Big Lips made his way to Katsuki’s chair, dropping in it with a sigh.

He quietly observed him, as he walked back to his bed. He never paid much attention to him. Training and studying was his main priority. Eijiro was second. Then he also had three other people sticking to him like fucking glue.

So no. He never paid much attention to the other.

He had noticed him, however.

Mostly in the context of Katsuki’s most recent, worst headache.

So here they were. Two victims of their classmates complete brain-deadness.

“So”, he drawled. “You want my help?”

“I can’t take this anymore!” Big Lips snapped, throwing his arms in the air. “The kitchen- I have never in my lifetime- My oven mitts-“

Big Lips paused, before his lips curled into a snarl.

“Todoroki.”

God fucking dammit.
“What did the moron do now?” He asked, against his own better judgment.

Big Lips just hissed.

You know what, fair.

“I can’t anymore, Bakugou. I can’t. The things I’ve seen are just-“ He closed his eyes, hands covering his head as if that would ward of the image. Shit luck, pal. If it were that easy, they wouldn’t be here.

“I”, Big Lips whispered. “Have never hated Aoyama more than I do now.”

He could relate. He caught Sparkles trying to put glitter on a cheese No, he didn’t care it was edible glitter, it was the principle of the thing-

“He stole some of my jelly”, Big Lips whispered. His voice sounded incredibly pained. “I saw him. I couldn't stop him.”

“Everyone steals your shit.”

Big Lips glared at him, actually glared. “You don’t understand”, he snarled. “He took the jelly and put it in with his meat.”

What the fuck.

“What the fuck”, he repeated out loud. “What the- You serious?”  

Big Lips only let out a low drawn groan in response.

He was speechless. Bakugou Katsuki was actually speechless.

“I mean, that they steal my stuff is bad enough!” Big Lips continued to rant. “Is it really so much to ask they don’t destroy my sanity while they do it!?”

Ah. Now he understood. This was not about the theft. Well, at least, not completely. This was about being surrounded by morons who expected you to play nice, while they took his stuff and used it for their crimes

“I fucking got it”, he said, crossing his arms. “You want revenge.”

“HOW!” Big Lips yelled. “I tried to be nice! I tried to talk to them, tell them, no, that’s not what you use a spatula for, but did they listen?! NO!”

“You’re overthinking this”, he snapped. “It’s revenge, not some fucking math problem. You just take what they’ve given us and pay it in double.”

“What they’ve given us, huh?”

Big Lips cocked his head to the side, before continuing, voice extremely calm and twice as cold. “If someone, anyone, does anything to the kitchen, even if it’s you, I will lose it.”

Fucking hell. See, this was why he didn’t bother to vomit glitter and rainbows. The repression couldn’t be good for one’s brain.

“I’m not planning on doing jackshit to the fucking kitchen”, he said with a sneer. “Those fuckers are causing enough damage as it is.”

“We’re going to obliterate the very fucking notion of messing with the kitchen.” He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrow as he stared at his sudden ally. “Believe it or not, you’re actually not doing that shitty. Those fuckers are jumping at the shadows, cause they are not used to seeing you as anything but a fucking doormat.”

Big lips made a sound of protest. Unfortunately for him, Katsuki did not give a fuck.

“When things don’t go as expected, people tend to panic. That stunt you pulled last week was enough to send those extras into a frenzy. What do you think will happen if you double-down?”     

“You mean behave like you?”

Katsuki generously let that slide.

“I can do that. I’m pissed enough.”

He snorted. “No shit. I’ve seen what the shit they pulled on you. It’s a wonder you haven’t killed anyone yet.”

God knew that he had thought it about a couple of time.

Big Lips faltered, a slightly nervous smile appearing on his face. “Well, I may have fantasied about punching them a couple of times. And, uh, cyanide?”

He blinked. Holy fuck. They had no idea what kind of monster they created. Well, whatever. That was very much a them-problem. In fact, this would only work in his advantage.

“Like I said, you acting like that will make these losers shit their pants.”

“I see.” Big Lips frowned. “So that would mean you would have to be-“

Katsuki stared at him. Face emotionless. He kept staring until Big Lips was fidgeting under it, hands flexing in agitation.

He stopped a pleased grin from tearing up his face.

He knew he was intimidating. Hell, he liked it that way. He also knew that he got the Hag's looks and most of her personality- fucking hell, even the Old Man’s genes had no fucking spine.

So he knew, from personal experience, that his mother could be intimidating to extra's. He had once watched her tear someone such a big one that he almost split at the seams.

It had been hilarious.

Bakugou Katsuki was no extra and the Hag’s screaming and her taps had no effect on him. In fact, he gave it as good as he got, because he wasn’t born from a weak bitch, and her ire would be good practice for later. If he pushed her enough, he might even get a new curse word out of it.   

The Old Man’s longsuffering none withstanding. He married the woman. He should have expected at least this much.

He hadn’t chosen to be born. If they regretted it, that was their problem

So no, while his mom could make interns and CEO’s shit their pants with equal intensity, he had been immune for a long time.

Still, that did not mean the Hag couldn’t be intimidating.

When Bakugou Mitsuki was angry, she was dangerous. If she was quiet, she was deadly.

The first time it happened, he had shut his mouth. The mood, whatever had triggered it, had disappeared by the next day.

The second time, however, he went against his instincts. He had been ten and just gotten in a fight. It was an unlucky coincidence his mom saw him before he could bandage himself. It was even unluckier that his mom had been was in that mood

He should have known to endure her fretting, even if it made him bristle. Instead, he ignored everything his instincts were telling him and started yelling.

His dad had to separate them in the end.

They both left the fight in tears. He can’t remember what he said, can’t remember what she said, but he remembered it hurt. He remembered hurting back. His mom had never been gentle with him, too focused on the future, on her own ambitions and dreams and too understanding to not push him forward at the same speed.

There was a difference between that and this vicious hatred.

He would have liker to say they never happened again, but that would be a big fat fucking lie.

Those arguments always left a bad taste in his mouth. They learned to leave the other be when they were withdrawn. It was better in the long run. His dad had to pick up the slack a bit more than usual, but he never seemed to mind.

He preferred to be loud about his displeasure, had not really a choice when adrenaline pumped through his veins as if it belonged there like his nitroglycerin did, when his palms started to heat up and blood rushed in his ears-

He wasn’t a loud person, despite appearances. He certainly wouldn’t need to be as loud if those fuckers weren’t so fucking annoying.

Point was, he was pretty sure he could stay calm. In the name of the greater good.

And there was no greater good than to stop those molecule sized brain headed morons from defiling the kitchens.

“Big lips-“                                  

“Sato”, the other interrupted

A fucking spine, huh. His grin finally split his face in two. Fine by him.

“Sato. Lets show them just how badly they fucked up.”

After a second, Sato mirrored his expression.

Oh yes. This would be fun.

Chapter Text

Kaminari was woken up by a loud grumble. He groaned, just as loud, burying his face further into the pillow.

He didn’t want to be awake. He probably wouldn’t be awake to begin with, if his stomach wasn’t creating a ruckus.

That was probably because Bakugou – aka, his meal ticket- had disappeared and Kaminari’s dinner had consisted of a small omelet, because for some reason all the eggs were gone.

Food, his stomach whined.

Sleep, his brain protested.

Shut up, he snapped as he rolled out of bed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with an empty stomach anyway. Even if it was- He peeked at his alarm clock and couldn’t’ hold back a groan. Six o’clock. Christ, the Gods must really have it out for him today.

He sneaked past everyone’s room, trying not to wake anyone up, because just because Kaminari was awake didn’t mean everyone else had to be. Besides, the atmosphere had been kind of funky the last few days and it had everyone on edge.    

He hadn’t been there for Sato’s ‘mental breakdown’ and he didn’t need to be there to understand he didn’t want to have been there. Ojiro haunted eyes said enough.

That, and Kaminari had personally looked Sato in the eyes when he was boiling with rage, so, in that way, didn’t he understand better than anyone? And it wasn’t that he didn’t understand why Sato was mad. Ashido and him did steal his stuff and made a mess, so really. Anger. Completely understandable, even if the look in his eyes made him want to backtrack like… something that backtracks.

(Sue him, it was six o’clock. Humans weren’t meant to be awake so early- which was an added point to the Iida-is-a-robot theory. Take that, Jirou.)

So, Sato had been close to murder since his walk-in with Kaminari, but then something else happened which caused him to snap. And now, yesterday another… accident had taken place.

Sato had apparently walked right back out after Todoroki had frozen half the kitchen. Which, fair. But who had decided Todoroki was a valid choice to put out a fire. Didn’t he nearly set the kitchen on fire a week ago? You know, when Bakugou literally tried to kill him.

Speaking of Bakugou, he hadn’t seen him since the- shudder- tutoring session.

He knows Bakugou saw him as a- friend? Semi-friend?

Whatever. He tutored him and cooked for him and, on very rare occasions, even praised him, in his own Bakugou way.

So no. He wasn’t afraid of Bakugou. The guy could be an ass, was an ass, if he was honest, but Bakugou cared about him, is his very special, Bakugou-way.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think Bakugou was scary. He still vividly remembered their first training exercise. The way Bakugou smiled, before launching an explosion big enough to kill Midoriya. He didn’t know what the guy did to piss Bakugou off, but he was sure it was nothing deserving of that.

And yes, Bakugou had threatened him with a knife- zero out of ten, not recommended- which had been kind of scary, but Bakugou was build for violence, so it wasn’t too out of character, right?

Above his head, the Gods looked at each other and smiled. ‘What a fucking idiot’.

And you know what? For once, he was inclined to agree.

When Kaminari crept into the kitchen, he nearly got a heart attack. Two pairs of eyes stared at him, unblinking.

“Hey”, he said awkwardly. Neither answered. Sato lifted his mug to his lips and took a judgmental sip.

He seriously considered walking out again. Bakugou was showing as much emotion as a wall, which set a lot of alarm bells, but then there was also Sato, who was scowling like- like Bakugou, and the alarm bells turned into sirens- And holy shit, was that a rolling pin besides him?!

He slowly stepped back, but then his stomach rumbled again. Loudly.

….

Surely, he could get a sandwich at the deli?

Then he remembered that they couldn’t leave campus without permission and he shuffled back into the kitchen. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad? Right? Maybe the two had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. At the same time.

Coincidence. It was just a coincidence that the two people who looked like they wanted him dead this week were here. Together. Yeah.

He was a firm believer that denial could make the world turn, as long as that denial didn't come back to bite him in the ass.

As he walked to the counter, he felt the eyes following him. He tried to ignore them. It was kind of hard, though, when he could feel the stares burning into his neck. Early or not, they were acting strange and he wanted no part in whatever had possessed those two. He made his sandwich quickly, dumping whatever was in reach on it, exhaling in relief when he was done and could leave, shifting his feet, ready to turn so he could escape-

“Hey”, Bakugou said, breath brushing his ear, and- Holy shit. Where the hell did he come from? He didn’t hear him walk. He would have turned around, but something old and primal inside him just froze.

“Can’t you see the mess you’re leaving behind?” Or Bakugou asked gently. “Were you planning on leaving it there?”

He wondered what would be best, in a situation like this. He was pretty sure telling the truth would be bad, but he was also pretty sure that they would be able to smell his lies. Bakugou in particular had a build-in lie detector that wouldn’t look wrong on Kaminari’s mother. He opened his mouth-

Sato shifted, the chair grating against the floor as he growled.

- and shut it, choking on a whimper.

“See”, Bakugou said, still in that same gentle voice. “That’s how the kitchen gets so dirty.”

“It’s because people like you”, Sato added, voice rumbling with anger.

He could feel Bakugou’s nod. “Exactly. And we don’t want a filthy kitchen, now do we?”

He shook his head frantically.

“Good. Very good. Now, go clean it up.”

He swallowed a sob and staggered away, desperately trying to figure out where the dishwasher was.

“Guys”, Jirou asked, stepping in the kitchen, eyes still turned to the living room. “Why is Kaminari sobbing on the couch- FUCK.” She stopped, eyes wide as she looked at Bakugou and Sato, who in return, were looking straight into her soul.

“Good morning”, Bakugou greeted pleasantly. “I suspect you want breakfast.”

Jirou suddenly knew why Kaminari was crying and could feel a part of her soul whither and die in exchange for that knowledge.

Shinsou was still contemplating whether or not to go back to sleep when he arrived in the common room, so it took him a few seconds to spot his classmates.

Jirou was frantically shaking her head, mouthing something to him, and Kaminari was near inconsolable next to her.

It was too early to be awake.

Too early to be alive.

And therefor, way too early to decipher whatever the two were trying to tell him.

They also looked like they had seen a ghost, but honestly, Shinsou had been awake for just ten minutes and he was already done with today. If a ghost wanted to kill him, he’d welcome it to try.

Whatever they wanted to say could wait for after his daily caffeine shot.

But maybe, he should have stopped and talked to them, coffee be dammed, he mused as he was greeted with a growl as soon as he dared to step a toe into the kitchen.

Bakugou and Sato were waiting for him, eyes focused on him, Sato’s lips still caught in a snarl. A small shudder travelled through his body, banishing some of the sleepiness away. He blinked. Neither blinked back.

Okay then.

Experimentally, he took a step into the kitchen.

Sato growled.

Yup. That was terrifying.

But....

Coffee.

He steeled himself. He was training to become a hero, goddammit. If he was afraid of his classmates, how was he going to survive in the real world?

He took another experimental step closer to the coffee machine-

Crack.

He stiffened, something flung past his head quicker than his eyes could track.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned to look at the wall beside him.

A ladle. Buried halfway into the wall.

He swallowed.

“I wouldn't move if I were you”, Bakugou said conversationally.

Yeah. No fucking shit.

He lied. He was a liar. He wanted to live. He wanted to survive long enough to become a hero- long enough to make a career. He could feel sweat drip down his back. Was this one of those famous villain attacks he heard so much about? He didn’t have his scarf with him.

He just barely managed to get into the Hero Course, he thought despairingly. He faced quirk discrimination, harsh training by the Eraserhead and now he had to face this? Shinsou scowled at the unfairness of it all, face snapping back into his neutral mask after another one of Sato’s growls. He didn’t know if that counted as a response, and you know what? Fuck courage. Fuck heroism. Fuck his quirk, even. He saw the crack in the table. He wasn’t risking it.

Hero training didn’t prepare him for this.

He heard footsteps and his spine stiffened even further, to the point he feared it would snap if someone were to poke it.

No, he thought, trying to project his consciousness into the mortal who dared to walk into forsaken territory. Don’t come in. Shoo. Leave. He would shout a warning, but Sato’s eyes were still focused on him and he knew better than to try.

This time it had been a ladle. Next one could be a knife.

Surely, he thought, this morning couldn’t get any worse.

And, because every time Shinsou dared to think that, the universe took great delight in showing him, yeah, it really could, Midoriya stepped in.

Midoriya.

In the same enclosed room as a possessed Bakugou.

Midoriya, who was a mere technicality away from being sleepwalking, managed to make it to the cabinet and stay unaware long enough to get a mug. When he turned around, he saw what was waiting for him.

He blanched.

The mug shattered on the floor.

Shinsou didn’t know what was worse. The way Sato slammed his hand down on the table hard enough to crack it even further or the way Bakugou smiled.

“Izuku.”

Midoriya whimpered in response, shoulders hunching to his ears. Like he wanted to crawl into his own skin, just to get away.

“Clean up. If you would.” Midoriya nodded, movements stiff with fear. So stiff in fact, that he remained where he stood, eyes frozen wide open.
Sato and Bakugou looked at each other, Sato raising an eyebrow as Bakugou scowled. Something inside Shinsou uncoiled at the sight. This was the first Bakugou-like emotion the blond showed since Shinsou entered. He was happy to see Bakugou angry, and if that wasn’t a good indicator of how fucked the situation was, well… He had nothing more to say.

Finally, Sato looked back at Shinsou and pointed towards Midoriya, before sharply jerked his head towards the exit. And suddenly, he was free, permission to finally get the hell out of there granted. He scrambled towards Midoriya, and yanked him along, very firmly not looking at either Bakugou or Sato. If Shinsou dared to look back, if he looked them in the eye, they may change their mind.

Midoriya was nonresponsive besides him, tripping over his feet every three steps.

His escape couldn’t have taken more than a minute, but it felt like an hour, so when he finally arrived at the couch, he collapsed into it, barely avoiding crashing into a still hysterical Kaminari, who Shinsou could relate to a whole lot more than a few minutes ago.

Midoriya got seated somewhere near his legs, mind rebooted enough that he started to make some noise. He had clearly gone in shock, kind of staring into space, kind of muttering nonsense and kind of crying. Shinsou didn’t believe it was because he got the living daylights scared out of him. He had been in shock ever since Bakugou called him by his actual name. Midoriya had been face-to-face with scary Bakugou more often than anyone else. He wondered what it said about their survival chances that he seemed to have gone in shock by Bakugou being nice.

When more people where starting to wake up, Sato and Bakugou still hadn’t moved out of the kitchen.

Most of them had learnt from the frantic people already there, because most only darted into the kitchen, only to dart out a minute later. Which, still, was long enough for them to lose all the blood in their face and, probably, a part of their will to live.

Kouda took one look into the kitchen, did the sensible thing and turned around and left. Traitor.

By the time the truly late risers arrived, they took one look at the situation and didn’t even bother going in.

They sent in Todoroki- even if, in hindsight, that was the one of the worst moves they could have made. If it wasn’t at the very top, it sat very firmly in the top three.

But back then, it made sense. He was acknowledged as one of their class’s powerhouses. If anyone could survive, it would be him.

The reaction to his face was so catastrophic they didn’t dare to send him in again.

Sero silently wondered how they were going to get that rolling pin out of the wall. It was visible even from the common room, so there was no way anyone could pull it out, unlike- Something that Sero was not going to think about.

Hagakure tried to sneak in, only to sprint out of the kitchen, babbling about ‘mom powers’ and ‘he looked at me’ in a high-pitched voice.

“We could storm the kitchen”, Ojiro offered. “It’s nine-to-one.”

“Well, yes”, Hagakure chirped, voice still a bit too high. He couldn’t see her skin, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was as pale as- shudder- flour. “But could didn’t necessarily mean would and would didn’t necessarily mean want.”

“Sato threw a rolling pin through the wall,” Shinsou said blandly. “He also assaulted me with a ladle, and there are knives in the kitchen. Bakugou is a walking bomb and I saw something lying next to him, which would mean he would not have one, but two ways to 'explodo-kill' us. If you crave death, that’s fine, but there are less painful ways to die. Starvation is one of them.”

“So you would really rather starve than walk into that kitchen.”

Shinsou blinked, slow and lazily, completely unrepentant, and maybe just a bit terrified. “I don’t think I’ve heard Sato talk since I came down here”, he said. “Even if I could distract Bakugou, Sato would walk up to me and crush my head like a tin can. So yes. Starvation is how I want to go.”

“Kirishima”, Ashido suddenly said. “Why aren’t you miserable?”

Sero slowly turned his head towards his friend, who had been both suspiciously silent and suspiciously non-active.

The redhead froze, awkwardly not looking at any of them. Sero’s eyes narrowed. Ashido was right. Kirishima was being suspicious.

“Ah. Well.” Kirishima fumbled. “Katsuki may have brought me snacks last night!”

Ashido gasped, pointing an accusing finger at their friend. “You’re using your favorable Blasty points to your advantage while leaving the rest of us to suffer!”

“I’m not using anything!” Kirishima protested. “Katsuki gave them to me last night. I had no idea what they were planning!”

“I trusted you!”

Well, Kirishima snapped back, rising to his feet. “If you hadn’t stolen his food, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!”

She gasped in outrage.

Oh, that was it!

Ashido Mina was a woman of honor and she wouldn’t stand for this slander- whether it was true of not.       

“Kirishima”, she said, tone a lot softer, Kirishima’s the one that was narrowing his eyes this time, as he looked at her warily. “You can go unbreakable, can you not? So go unbreakable, go into the kitchen and get us some food.”

“Yes. Come on, man! We’re starving”, Kaminari complained from where he was finally freed from his terror-daze. Right on time as well.

“If you want food so bad, can’t you get it yourself!” Kirishima said, now looking faintly panicked at the suggestion.

“As just proven, Bakugou likes you more than he does the rest of us”, Sero added. “He won’t kill you.” He paused. “Probably.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Kirishima”, Mina said. She felt slightly bad for this, but she was a growing woman. She had to eat. And there was no way she was entering the kitchen after what Bakugou and Sato did to the rest of them. She might be dumb, but she wasn’t stupid.

“What?”

“Kirishima”, she repeated. “Isn’t it manly to face your fears to help your friends?”

Sero and Kaminari gaped at her. Jirou, sarcastic little shit, slowly starting to clap her hands. She was spending too much time with Shindou and Bakugou, clearly. Mina had, once again, done nothing to deserve this slander.

“Mina…”

She winced, barely stopping herself from clutching her heart. Oh, the betrayal in his voice. The pain in those puppy eyes. But, she thought, steeling herself. This was for the greater good. “Don’t you think so?” She asked, in the most sugary and sweet voice she would muster.

And Kirishima, the manly, heroic soul that he was, couldn’t help but agree. “Yes”, he said, voice pained. “I think so too.”

It looked like a scene from a bad comedy. Kirishima, shirtless, looking very anxious. The rest of the class, surrounding him. Some were cheering him on, others were shaking their heads. Midoriya was still crying. Truly, a befitting farewell for their hero.

“Okay”, Kirishima said, voice strangled. “I’m going in.” He turned himself unbreakable and marched towards his fate.

Kirishima went in two minutes ago. It was quiet. Too quiet. No one had been in for this long without screaming and running back out like the devil was nipping on their heels.

“Do you think they already assassinated him?” Kaminari asked. It was like the question was an unknown signal. Or perhaps the demons heard him through the wall. The question was a sign and its response was swift.

Kirishima stumbled out of the kitchen, hardening already fading from his skin. He was, also, without any loot.

“Kirishima”, Kaminari yelped. “What happened?”

Kirishima looked at them, face as red as his hair and dropped.

“Kirishima!” Mina tried to catch him, but the weight nearly dragged her under as well. She cursed as others jumped to their aid. At least she had prevented Kirishima’s head from cracking open on the floor.

"His heart is beating way too fast!"

"What have they done to him?!"

The commotion erupted the second Kirishima stumbled out. He could swear he heard one of them call for an ambulance. Sato turned to his partner in crime, who had returned to his chair, looking extremely pleased. Like a cat who not only caught the canary, but bit through his head as well.

“Was that all really necessary? Kirishima looked like he was getting a heart attack.”

Not that he was advocating for mercy or anything. A part of him just sort of expected Bakugou to go a little easier on Kirishima. Which was really foolish in hindsight. Kaminari was arguably Bakugou’s best friend after Kirishima and he sure as hell didn’t go easy on him. In fact, he was pretty sure Bakugou took great delight in scaring the living daylights out of him. A lot like Sato was feeling, actually. He had never known that revenge could be so pleasant.

Bakugou snorted. “The idiots deserved that for arguing so loudly”, he said, taking place upon his throne once more. “And that idiot deserved it for going along with it.”

Sato shrugged and settled in to wait for their next victim. It wasn’t like he was going to complain. Still…. To achieve that effect with just some words whispered into Kirishima’s ear and a kiss. It only confirmed Sato’s hypothesis.

Bakugou was terrifying.

“This had gone on for long enough!” Everyone turned to Iida, who was now standing up, both hands placed in his sides, like the very image of a righteous hero. “I will no longer stand for this. We’re training to be heroes. Nutrition is an important aspect of our growth. I shall go talk to them and make them reconsider these dramatic actions.”

Midoriya looked like he wanted to stop him, but he couldn’t through the next stream of tears and hiccups. Uraraka just nodded solemnly. Probably because she had not left Midoriya’s side since she came down and knew just how much of a threat hydration was.  

“I’ll go too”, Yaoyorozu said quietly.

Jirou’s head snapped towards her friend, eyes wide in disbelief. “Yaomomo, you can’t be serious!”

“But what Iida says is true! Besides, as a representative of our class, isn’t it only right I try to solve this problem. Surely, they can be reasoned with. If we just went to talk to them, maybe it would be resolved.”

Their class president and vice president were amazing and they had done nothing to deserve them.

Just like they had done with Kirishima, all who had recovered enough to stand stood up and, solemnly, wished them good luck.

And Sero, who was still calming Ashido after her own desperate run-in with the two, couldn’t help but trust her care into Shouji’s many capable hands, which he all offered for the support of his fellow classmates. Shoji had, just like Kouda, decided to stay far, far away from the kitchen and had instead dedicated himself to victim relief.

A wise man. And Sero, in comparison, was a major dumbass. Perhaps it was because Ashido and Kaminari were out for the count, but he couldn’t help himself. He snuck off to see the confrontation between the demons and their class representatives. At least, this way, if they were to die, there would be someone there who could retell their heroic tale. So, despite knowing better, he walked to the kitchen and peeked around the opening. Just in time to see Iida in the middle of his speech.

“- And once again, this is a community kitchen”, Iida said, chopping his hands aggressively. “You cannot claim the entirety of it for yourself.”

Bakugou and Sato were still seated on their chairs, as they had been since this very morning. Sero wondered how they managed to look so intimidating even from such a low position.

“Listen”, Bakugou said, voice very, very calm. “If I were you, I’d think before saying another word.”

Iida, the brave fool, merely narrowed his eyes in response.

“You’re being unreasonable.”

Sero would make sure he’d get a nice funeral. Lots of flowers. He’d even give a speech.

Iida, he’d say. Was very brave. The bravest of all. But even All Might would not be able to win against the demons living under their classmates skin.

The demons stirred. One moved. Another kitchen utensil met its end in the wall, this time in the form of a fork. Sero desperately tried not to remember his own spatula-incident.

Iida jumped, quirk actually flaring in shock.

And Sato spoke.

“Iida”, Sato said, voice still rumbled and edged with the same thing that haunted them ever since he broke his mug. They should have known back then that that signaled the beginning of the end. “You’re the worst. I get that you come from a rich family and need a little order in your life, but if you rearrange the kitchen one more time, I will lose it.”

Bakugou- Bakugou!- placed a calming hand on Sato’s arm.

“What Sato is trying to say here, is that, even though it isn’t in neat little rows, the way we arrange our jars isn’t alphabetical, it still is logical to us.” Bakugou’s smile was starting to get a little unhinged. “So, next time, instead of moving our stuff around, focus on the cretins who don’t even know how to cook a motherfucking egg without setting the kitchen on fire. Or, perhaps, those who can comprehend the working of a rice cooker.” Bakugou cocked his head to the side, as he was observing a misbehaving child.

Or an insect.

“Understood?”

Iida nodded, cowed, and shuffled out of the kitchen.

Yaoyorozu’s mouth opened, hand hovering in the air, clearly ready to call her fellow representative back-

“Yaoyorozu.”

“Yes, Bakugou.”

Sero choked on his spit. He suddenly understood Midoriya’s reaction so much better. Hearing Bakugou say their actual name was like being dropkicked into the twilight zone after being hit by a sledgehammer.

Very confusing and not all that pleasant.

“Do you have something to say? Or, perhaps…” The blond rolled the words of his tongue, almost as if he was giving the other time to retreat, but Yaoyorozu stayed where she was.

“Perhaps”, the blond started once more, when it was clear she wasn’t moving. “You agree with Iida.”

“I do”, she said, voice crisp and proper. “While I do agree that some of our classmates can be a bit messy, I also strongly believe you may be taken this a bit too far. I don’t remember anything that would condone this response. I think you’re overreacting.”

“I see”, Bakugou said slowly. “And you truly believe that.”

Next to him, Sato let out a snarl, but he stayed seated and silent.

Yaoyorozu’s eyes jumped from him, back to Bakugou and nodded. “Yes”, she said. “I do.”

Bakugou sighed, slowly leaning forward, hands folded on the table. “You know, I didn’t want to let it come to this, but you leave me no choice. As someone who has beaten me in the midterms, I had high expectations for you.”

Sero froze. Oh no, he wouldn’t-

“Then I heard you say you put your tealeaves in your noodles to give them more flavor and I have to say it. I expected more from you. I thought you were better than the rest of this vermin. I know you were raised privileged, but to think you’ve allowed yourself to remain this unaware of basic cooking skills is quite shocking. To think I considered you as someone who works hard for the things she wishes to achieve.

But I guess you never wished to be an independent person after all. How disappointing.”

Sero could actually see Yaoyorozu shrinking with every syllable of verbal assault. At the end, she was hunching over so much that even Tsuyu would be taller than her.

“I see you understand. Now, go think about your actions.”

Yaoyorozu nodded, and practically ran out.

Sero turned, almost ready to walk in and tell Bakugou off-

Bakugou’s eyes met his. He smiled.

Besides him, Sato was holding another spatula.

He scrambled away, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. He was not risking another confrontation. No sir.

At the end of the morning, everyone had decided that they would prefer to starve instead of entering the kitchen again.

Tooru always thought that she’d prefer if Bakugou toned down a bit, but if this was a quiet Bakugou, then she’d prefer him threatening murder. At least, that way, she didn’t have to worry about actually being murdered. Psychical or otherwise.

Yaomomo, after the verbal beat down Bakugou had laid down on her, had retreated somewhere, probably to lick her wounds in peace.

Jirou had uncurled herself from her position on the couch and had left to join her, so Tooru wasn’t too worried.

Besides… Yaomomo wasn’t the only one who needed to recover.

“It were just a few crumbs”, Aoyama whimpered from where he was curled up. “Just a few crumbs.”

Ashido patted his hair in comfort, the hue of her skin closer to cotton candy instead of her lively pink, a leftover from her run-in an hour ago- which made her remember Sato, oh please no. She might have whimpered, because Ojiro patted her softly on her shoulder.

The sun was mockingly rising higher and higher, it’s rays exposing all their flaws and mistakes. As the unending crawl across the horizon continued, everyone was starting to snap because of hunger. But starvation was better than allow the devil to take another part of their soul. Or so Tokoyami believed.

Then, their salvation appeared. Shining like the sun and smiling benevolently at the sinners that managed to get themselves into her good graces. She too, had fought against the demons, and for that, she was both hero and human, both sides of her graced her in their own way. She had valiantly stood up for her people. The demons had proven too strong to defeat, as they had had for all of them. However, now she stood here, battle scars healing as she moved forward to a new chapter.

“Everyone”, Yaoyorozu called, holding up her phone. “I just spoke to Kendou. She talked with her classmates and said we were allowed to use their kitchen, as long as we clean up after ourselves after.”

As if they wouldn’t after facing those two. Aoyama was still praying to a certain ‘Dieu’ after his own confrontation, as if the Gods would hear his pleas and intervene.

Sato and Bakugou, he thought, maybe a little spitefully, had clearly sold their souls to form a contract with a much higher power. That, or they had finally showed their traitorous, foul nature to them, mere mortals.

Bakugou was known for his mercilessness, but Sato he had considered a friend. The betrayal cut as deep as the monologue the two had given him, where words were secretly knives and started to dismantle him from his very soul.

“So, everyone who wants to eat, please follow me to the 1B-dorms.”

“Yaomomo!”

She just smiled, even more brightly. His suspicions were confirmed. Yaoyorozu was a Goddess and he would happily pledge the remains of his tattered soul to her. Kaminari actually threw himself at her, weeping in relief.

Tokoyami was tempted to join him, pride be dammed. Not that his pride mattered. He had looked madness into the eyes this morning. He shuddered. All he wanted was an apple.

A strange sight greeted everyone who would watch the path to Class 1-B’s dorms.

A steady march of children. Class 1A. Most of them were still in their pajamas. Even more were pale.

Vlad King looked at them with a face he was desperately trying to keep blank. He had heard from Kendou about Yaoyorozu’s weird request. Since he didn’t see any reason to deny it, he agreed. Now, he was wondering what he was getting himself into. This didn’t seem like a blown-up kitchen incident, as he had assumed when he heard they wanted to use their kitchen.   

“Sanctuary. We seek sanctuary.”

Vlad King looked at them, feeling both too much and nothing at all. “I’ll call Mic”, he finally said.

"Godspeed", Kaminari whispered.

1A was known to be the most chaotic, danger-attracting classes UA had ever faced. So, really, Hizashi shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. And yet…

“Bakugou. Sato,” He said slowly. “Please stop your siege on the kitchen.” He cringed internally as soon as he said those words. What had his life come to?

“No.”

Hizashi had to stop himself from saying ‘I tried’ and walking out. He was a hero. He had faced and defeated dozens of villains. He wasn’t going to back down because of two teenagers.

Even if one of those teenagers was a walking bomb and the other one was armed with an apron and an assortment of kitchenware.

Bakugou looked out the window, eyes distant. “We warned them”, he said. “We warned them, that if there was one more fucking dirty plate we had to wash, if there was one more mess we had to clean up, it would be war.” He looked back, eyes glowing eerie in the light. “They asked for this”, he said ominously. “Now they got it. If they weren’t prepared to face our wrath, they should have changed their ways. Now, it’s too late.”

He nodded, a steady stream of curses rushing in his head. Of all the times for Shouta to be away on a mission…

Then again, maybe not. Hizashi loved Shouta, he did, but the man did not have a way in the kitchen. Might not make him the best person to talk about this, not without him being a massive hypocrite at least.

On the other hand, Shouta was one of the few adults Bakugou respected and listened to.

Satou wasn’t a problem kid, so Hizashi couldn’t be too sure about him, but if he was being honest, Shouta was the only one who really had any control over the problem class.

Not that it mattered, because Shouta wasn’t here and as the only other available adult, he was responsible for the most recent ‘incident’.

Unfortunately.

Especially since this incident apparently involved two 1-A’s students laying siege on the kitchen.

“I’m not an violent person”, Sato said, eyebrow twitching. “Nobody sees me as an violent person, which is impressive considering my build and my quirk. I’m training to become a hero. I baked for charity, I am always kind and polite. But, Sensei, they’re driving me to homicide.”

“They are one issue”, Bakugou added, scowl breaking the blank face he’d been staring Hizashi down with. “At least that is solved with murder, something I am more and more willing to do if it would get this all over with. Now, the issue of the fucking kitchen-”

“Now hold on”, Hizashi cut in, because he shared an apartment before. He understood their woes, but where did the kitchen come into this. “There is nothing wrong with the kitchen-“

“You have ten skillets for all of us!” Bakugou snapped. “There is no knife sharpener in sight! You dumbasses installed an actual microwave-“

“Microwaves can be useful”, he protested.

Bakugou drew in a breath, so sharp it turned into an actual hiss.

Hizashi knew sound. He was a DJ. A presenter. His quirk was literally sound based.

And that sound, that noise, was filled to the brim with seething hatred. He leaned subtly back, realizing he stepped on a Sensitive Topic

“Microwaves”, Bakugou said slowly, like he was talking about a satanic ritual instead of a kitchen appliance. “Are the short-cut to bad life choices. There is nothing you can do in a microware that you can’t do in the actual kitchen. Reheating food works perfectly fine in a pan. You can buy corn that turns into popcorn. And guess what?! Baked popcorn has a million less fucking chance to make the fire alarm go off in the middle of the night when people are trying to fucking sleep!”

“And the fish”, Sato added, voice dipping into a growl.

“And the fucking fish”, Bakugou agreed with a snarl.

“Well, why didn’t you say something?” He wasn’t so sure about the whole classmates thing, but the kitchen related problems were all valid points and could be solved easily enough.

“Because of Aizawa-sensei.”

God help him, he could feel the headache spreading. “What about Eraserhead?”

Sato and Bakugou exchanged a single look and all the instincts that he had honed through years of being a Hero told him that the next thing out of their mouths would be nothing good. Hell, they looked like Hizashi did when he was trying to figure out how to break some bad news to a civilian.

“Sensei”, Sato finally said, apparently haven been chosen to take the lead in this. “How long have we had Aizawa-sensei as a homeroom teacher?”

“A few months?” He ventured, because he wasn’t going to count the months on his fingers and he had the feeling the number didn’t really matter to Sato anyway.

Sato nodded. “Indeed”, he said. “And how many times do you think I’ve seen Aizawa-sensei eating something that didn’t come straight out of a convenience store.”

“Uh… six times?”

Maybe he should have more faith in his friend. Maybe.

“None.”

He blinked. Okay, that was... informative. He kept him face blank as his mind started to race. As soon as this was resolved- as soon that sleeping bag on legs came back- Hizashi was going to drag him to a kitchen and stuff the most potent, healthiest concoction in his mouth. He may not be able to take that man in a fight, but he knew all of his hiding spots. He had a key to his apartments and was not afraid to use it.

“I have nothing but respect for Aizawa-sensei”, Sato continued. “But there is no way, no way in hell, that man is going to be making any choices about our kitchen.”

Yeah, you know what. Fair.

“I understand your point. I can see what I can do on that front. Still, your classmates do need to be able to enter the kitchen. Like it or not, they do need to eat. You can’t tell me you plan on banishing them from the kitchen forever? Unless you plan on cooking for them.”

Surprisingly, Bakugou shrugged. “I don’t mind cooking for my idiots. God knows that if I didn’t, they would manage to die of scurvy or some shit. But none of them realize food cost money and when I have to buy more, it cost more. I don’t have an unending budget, you know.”

“UA buys your groceries”, he said, disbelief tinting his voice.

Bakugou scoffed. “You buy weak-ass peppers, your tea is pre-bagged and you buy the sweetest garbage possible for the dumbest people alive. I will do my own groceries, thank you very much.”

“Can’t you ask for more allowance?” Hizashi said, which may not be the best response in hindsight, but he had seen Bakugou’s house. His parents were designers. Also, he was not mentally prepared to get a dressing down from a teenager on groceries of all things.  

Bakugou raised a single eyebrow and stared straight into his eyes. “I would sooner die”, he said, voice completely serious. “Than ask my mother for more allowance, just because I was too weak to protect my share from their grubby hands.”

Yeah… he was not delving into any of that.

“Okay, sure.” His hands were twitching lightly, only his years of experience made him able to resist the urge to rub his temples. “Anything else?”

He was having a hostage negotiation with two teenagers. Over a kitchen. Why was this his life?

Bakugou grinned, teeth flashing in that bloodthirsty mockery of a smile that always appeared when Bakugou got ready to decimate his opponent. He was pretty sure that kid could smell weakness like a shark smelled blood. “So, you are planning on doing something about them.”

Were they giving him a choice?

“Yes. So, anything else you want to mention.”

Sato stared at him. “I have no many things I could tell you my voice would give out before I finished”, he said blandly. “The horrors I have witnessed are as numerous as there are fish in the ocean. I could write a book about their sins, as they have haunted me every single night.”

And then, as an afterthought. “I want my oven fixed.”

Right.

“Right”, he repeated out loud, because scary teenagers may be scary, but that didn’t mean they could read his mind.

… He hoped.

Bakugou and Sato looked at each other, some of the wrath slipping from their face.

“Nice”, Bakugou said. “We didn’t even have to use the extreme measures.”

He opened his mouth to ask a question he probably didn’t want to know the answer to, when his eye caught something in the corner of his eye. “Bakugou", Hizashi said slowly. "Are those Molotov cocktails?”

“No.”

Hizashi looked at the bottles, which were definitely Molotov cocktails, to Bakugou. The boy didn’t even blink.

Right.

In the end, they made a deal.

Class 1-A would be forced to attend a program, specially made by Lunch Rush, Bakugou and Sato themselves.

Both on, as Bakugou so aptly put it, learning to cook some real fucking food without destroying the fucking kitchen and some basic fucking maintenance.

Without the diploma, they would not be allowed to set a foot into the kitchen.

He thought it was kind extreme. Sure, they couldn’t cook, but what sixteen-year old could?

That was, of course, until the combined forces of their idiocy set the kitchen on fire, turning the stove and surroundings to charcoal.       

They refused to say who had done it.

Hizashi would admire their comradery, if there hadn’t been scorch marks on the counter.

As it was, he had to suffer through the astonishing lack of knowledge of kitchen applicants of seventeen students.

Maybe worse were the blatant ‘I told you so’ looks that could only come from a pair of vindicated teenagers.

Chapter Text

Shouta stared.

Hizashi stared back, smile splitting his face in two.

Shouta frowned. He took a step back. His foot was now back out of the door, back into the hallway he just came through, before he opened the door and came face to face with Hizashi, sitting at dining table, surrounded by bottles and covered plates.

He wondered what Shouta saw, what was going through his head, that he would consider a tactical retreat, even with the exhaustion so visible in the lines of his body that Hizashi could see it even from where he sat.

Probably nothing good.

Hizashi kept smiling.

A minute passed.

Shouta’s frown turned into a scowl. He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him a bit louder than was really necessary. He set his bag down and crossed his arms.

Seemed he had decided that whatever got Hizashi is such a mood, it wouldn’t be more troublesome than finding other place to sleep after his mission.

It was so nice that he could count on Shouta’s efficiency in the face of exhaustion.

Another minute passed. And then-

“No.” Shouta’s tone was final. He had no idea what was going on, but it was clear the ‘no’ was meant  to cover all and any ideas or plans Hizashi might have had.

How unfortunate it was for him that he wasn’t playing this time.  

“Yes”, Hizashi responded, endless cheer in his voice. Because it was endless. He was endless. Shouta may be stubborn, but he had a night job and a day job, and just came back from a mission, whereas Hizashi only had day jobs.

Three of them, but still! He slept in the night.

Sometimes.

Sort off.

(Maybe Hizashi was also a bit sleep deprived. Maybe. But if he had enough energy to go to work, be had enough energy to force feed his friend vitamins.)

Without another word, he pushed the smoothie towards him. A whole liter of it, in a see-through bottle so Shouta could see the color, witness the sheer intenseness of the green.

Shouta just stared at him.

“Drink”, he said. “You need to eat your veggies.”

“I ate”, Shouta said, just a tad irate. Probably remembering the times when they were younger and Hizashi was a bit more forceful in his manner of caring for him.

In his defense, Shouta wasn’t mourning well.

Or at all.

Thank God they got him a job at U.A. Despite what the man thought, those kids had been good for him.

Talking about kids…

He had a mission here.

“Did you eat your veggies?” Because ‘ate’ could imply a whole variety of food.

“I am an adult, Hizashi”, Shouta said. His voice was sharper now. “I know how to take care of myself. Besides, I always take my supplements.”

“Supplements are supposed to supplement the food you eat. It's in the name”, Hizashi said in a voice that technically could be called gentle.

If you knew him, however...

Shouta looked at him, eyes narrowed.

The irritation was gone now, replaced by something closer to suspicion. Hizashi wasn’t worried, though.

Shouta could throw him out. He was better in hand in hand combat, after all. But Hizashi had the spare key. He would just walk back in. He’d done it before. He’d do it again.

It seemed that Shouta had deemed it not worth the effort that whole exchange would cost. He slid into the free chair and accepted the smoothie, taking a sip.

His face immediately contorted.

“Is this kale? Couldn't you at least put in spinach?”

Hah. No.

“Kale is healthier”, he said instead.

Shouta grumbled something, but obediently continued to drink.

The only upside of Shouta being a terrible cook was that his taste buds had gone slightly numb to everything that tasted bad. His grimace waned as he continued to drink, sips getting bigger with every single one.

Hizashi waited until he took a big one, before speaking again.

“Oh, by the way”, he said almost absentmindedly. “Bakugou and Sato laid siege on the kitchen.”

The spit take he did was truly beautiful. As was the wide eyed stare of disbelief and the spluttering that followed.

And he hadn’t even talked about the Molotov cocktails or the kitchen ware holes in the walls!

He took a sip of his own – spiked- tea and smiled as three different kind of warmth filled his chest.

Ah. Yes. This is what he needed, after the week he had.

A warm drink, a bit of alcohol, and perhaps the most importantly, to see his friend suffer like he had.

Now, of course, Hizashi was a Hero. He was a good person.

One may wonder how he could find such joy in the suffering of others.

Well, that was quite simple, dear listeners!

It seemed that the real calamity was not created by some mere villain. Oh no.

True horror came in the form of a too-smart rat bastard and a duo of mentally twisted teenagers.

Because not only did he have to negotiate the release of the kitchen, not only did he have to coax back the rest of 1-A from the 1-B dorms, not only did he have to take both Sato’s and Bakugou’s weapons from their conniving little palms, as the whimpers of their fellow classmates rankled his ears, and not only did he have to report this whole complete clusterfuck to Nezu- who kept an admirable poker face, but Hizashi had worked with that stupid rat for years and he just knew that sadistic bastard was repressing a smile-

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

So.

He had to do all that, but that was not the end of it. In fact, it was nowhere near it.

Because afterwards, he had to sit with Lunch Rush and Nezu- as he was the one who had witnessed the whole incident- and discuss it as well. He had to go back to the 1-A dorms, take Bakugou and Sato with him to the main faculty and continue the hostage negotiations there.

And, this is where it went from fantastic to just amazing, because he was the one who solved the little siege and was there during the follow-up negotiations – despite the fact that he didn’t have a choice in either of the matters- he was the one that was going to have to supervise. Thanks to Nezu, he was now allowed to witness the destructive capabilities of teenagers in HD.

And this destruction wasn’t even on purpose! Don’t get him wrong, he had hated the siege business. Getting rid of those Molotov cocktails- made by Bakugou’s own sweat and rubbing alcohol from the kitchen cabinet, which was simultaneously a relief and not a surprise at all, because of course would the selectively rule abiding Bakugou not have bought real alcohol- had been an experience. It had been somewhat awe inspiring to see just how big of an explosion such a small bottle could make.

And Bakugou had smiled when handing them over.

He shuddered at the memory of those teeth.

Sato’s brand of destruction hadn’t been any better. From the common room, the damage was doable, but if one took one step into the kitchen, they would come face to face with a dozen pieces of kitchen equipment just… sticking out from the walls.

(He had tried to pull one of them free. He couldn’t.

It didn’t even budge.)

And unlike the Molotov cocktails, which he could just toss into one of U.A’s patented quirk safe training areas, he had to get Cementoss to get him to fix this mess. 

Cementoss, who had taken one look at the kitchen ware buried into the plaster and glared at Hizashi, like he was at fault for everything.

Sure, he could understand it was annoying to be constantly pulled from your work to fix everything, but there were holes in the wall. What was Hizashi supposed to do? Leave it there, where they could remind Class 1-A of their trauma every time they spotted them? Fix it himself? He didn’t know anything about home repair. His quirk consisted of basically screaming his enemies into submission. He was a DJ, a hero and a teacher. This wasn’t his skillset!

Well, someone might have said if they were listening to Hizashi’s woes. That sounds like a lot to deal with on one day.

Thank you, he would have replied. It was. Thank you for noticing.

But unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Because things could never be that simple, now could they.

No, they couldn’t be, because by the time that mess was fixed, they hadn’t even had their little lesson sessions yet .

Sessions, in which he started to relate to the two more and more with every new one that went by.

He refused to feel sympathy for the two little monsters, though.

Why, one may ask. They were just children, right? Evil, conniving, nightmare-inducing children, but children nonetheless. So why refuse to feel sympathy?

Well, simple question, simple answer. It was, for no other reason than the fact that the two were little harbingers of evil who enjoyed the suffering of others.

Looking back on it, perhaps he shouldn’t be that surprised. They did sent their classmates from the kitchen in tears.

But he digressed.

The two, Yamaha had learned, found their classmates incompetence a lot more funny when it didn’t directly target them.

So, every session, they were always there, even when he, very carefully, tried to hide the date and location from them.

Perhaps they could hone into the smell of burnt food or melting metal. Perhaps they had developed a special sixth sense, so they could always track the feeling of dread and despair.

Maybe they just followed the smell of salt, the tears, sweat and blood that led them there.

(He had been getting looks from Recovery Girl, going through as much plasters and bandages as he did. It wasn’t even his fault! But now, he was inching up the elderly hero’s hitlist. He didn’t want to be on her hitlist. After Nezu, she was the worst college to antagonize.

That, and Lunch Rush.

…

He was lucky Nezu took such joy in the suffering of others, otherwise he’d have the top three people he didn’t want to make an enemy off after his ass.

People always underestimated Lunch Rush and Recovery Girl, until they realized that the people who were supposed to patch you up and made you food were, in fact, not people you wanted as your enemy.)

So, yes. Either they had made a deal with a devil and got the well-honed instincts of a shark- but instead of blood, they could smell suffering.

Perhaps even his specifically.

Or, he thought venomously, as Bakugou and Sato walked through the door, inciting a round of whimpers and groans, and a single happy response from a single redhead, who instead smiled at his boyfriend, they had a spy.

Just for that, Kirishima was going to be on onion duty.

Not that it would matter. Kirishima had figured out how to harden his eyes on the third session and promptly became the envy of all his classmates.

The smugness Bakugou had been radiating the whole hour had been unbearable.

In short, the two were just here to witness Hizashi’s misery and one day, he was going to snitch about that to Nezu.

Hero students, his ass.

So, while he knew that his friend had just come back from a very exhausting mission that probably saved dozens of lives, Hizashi found he was just fresh out of sympathy.

Tragic. 

And he damn well sure was going to drag Aizawa into this mess as well. Since their official homeroom teacher was back, it shouldn’t be his sole responsibility, after all.

In fact, Hizashi already had a meeting planned.

And not any meeting. A meeting at six o’clock, an hour before their work day started.

It was approved by Nezu and all.

Haha. Hahaha. HAHAHAHAHA.

Ahem.

The stress and the sleepless nights were having a bit more influence on him than he thought.

Maybe he should take a nap?

…

Like hell he would!

The horrified look on Shouta’s face was going to feed him through four workdays.  

Speaking of Aizawa, his smoothie was still not empty. He not too gently pushed it back towards his face.

Ah. And to think he just mentioned the siege and this was the face he was making.

Like this would be the end of it.

No. This afternoon was just beginning.

He had nothing planned until next day. He was going to sleep over, just so he could explain this entire experience in as much detail as needed.

All the while handing Shouta the healthiest of drinks and food of course. He was a good friend, after all. He cared for his friend’s wellbeing.

(He was going to drop the info about the morning meeting right before the lights went out. He wanted that face to follow him in his dreams.)

Chapter Text

After his horrible morning, Shouta was both out of fucks to give and very fucking tired.

Simply put, he was not having a good time. Hadn’t been really having a good time since he had gone on that mission.

A mission that had been messy and long and exhausting enough that he was relieved when it ended.

And when he returned, instead of his well-deserved rest, he came face-to-face with his completely crazed best friend, lying in wait at his apartment, eyes blown wide as if he had had drugs.

Surrounded by pots and bottles, filled with a hideous green something, grinning like a maniac.

And then, his friend had seen it necessary to schedule a meeting at the same time the sun rose, for some strange reason.

He exhaled. He got a quick update on the arrangement from Nezu and Lunch Rush and if he was honest, he still didn’t get all of it. Some was because of his exhaustion and the early hour, but the rest was just because of the sheer incomprehensibility of it all.

Most of Class 1-A being horrendously bad cooks? Of that, he was well aware. After all, he was the one who had to go check it out every time a fire alarm went off.

Bakugou and Sato, being tired of their classmates? Fair enough. More expected of Bakugou with his short temper, but still, he could understand.

Bakugou and Sato laying siege on the kitchen?

Bakugou and Sato laying siege on the kitchen and scaring their classmates enough that they had been ‘traumatized’?

Bakugou and Sato laying siege on the kitchen and scaring their classmates enough that they had become ‘traumatized’ enough to seek refuge in the 1-B dorms?

Bakugou and Sato continuing to hold the kitchen hostage after scaring their classmates away and basically blackmailing their way into a deal with Hizashi and Nezu?

Improbable. It seemed near insane.

It had sounded insane when Hizashi was rambling about this at the kitchen table yesterday.

But today, Nezu had looked him in the eyes, explained the arrangement in detail as if this was something that had actually transpired?

It felt like some logical ruse.

Like one huge prank.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the type of prank Hizashi would pull, especially not with the timing being what it was. And while Nezu could be instigated into such things if it had enough entertainment value, Lunch Rush, while chipper, was also a time management perfectionist.

This being a prank was highly unlikely- but so was it being the truth.

He sighed. Either way, he was going to check in on his problem children.

Best case scenario, he could get this whole thing over with.

Worst case scenario…

Hm.

His head throbbed. He hoped this wasn’t a worst case scenario.

He could already see the remains of his free time vanish in the wind.

Everything looked fine when he walked in. There were no children screaming or crying. There was nobody rocking back and forth.

Nobody curled up in a fetus position, as far as he could see.

In fact, in was almost shockingly normal.

There were only a few of his students present, but that was far from surprising. Considering how early it was.

He felt his eye twitch slightly.

Curse you, Hizashi.

There was more than enough time for them to get to school – even more if they were okay with almost running late, like some of his students were a bit prone to do.

Shouta wished they had better time management skills- less chance of them skipping breakfast that way- but they were young. They had time to learn.

At their age, Shouta hated getting up too.

Then again, he never really grew out of it.

Fuck mornings.

His eye twitched again.

He needed coffee.

Shouta knew that his students had noticed him. And since none of them had come running to him, in complete hysterics about whatever Sato and Bakugou had done…

He had time to get coffee, he decided. He could speak with his students later. After he had time to artificially replace the energy the morning meeting had dragged out of him.

Shouta turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, where he came to face with someone he hadn’t expected at all at this time of day.

“Shinsou”, he greeted, voice carefully neutral.

Shinsou blinked and squinted, highlighting the eyebags under his eyes.

Ah. His insomnia must have hit, then.

“Aizawa-sensei”, Shinsou muttered, straightening from his slough. “You’re back”. He stiffened. “Wait, you’re back.”

“Yes, I am”, Shouta said.

“Since when?”

He frowned. Shinsou’s voice held something urgent. “Yesterday, in the evening”, he replied.   

Shinsou’s eyes narrowed. Silently, Shouta wondered what he was thinking about. None of his students had screamed terrorized to him, but Shinsou was behaving oddly.

Too focused on something that Shouta personally would place in the ‘small talk’ category.

“I see”, Shinsou said, voice a bit too neutral to be sincere. “Welcome back”. A pause. “You’re here early. You needed something?”

Yeah. Subtle. Shinsou should really learn how to be more subtle during interrogations, if he wanted to go underground after graduation.

Should his answer be straightforward? Maybe this could be a good time for a first subtle lesson…

As he pondered that, he reached for the coffee machine.

And Shinsou shrieked.

Shouta jumped back.

“NO!” Shinsou shrieked, again, ripping the coffee pot from his hands and cradling it against his chest, hunching over like he would protect it with his life.

Now, he knew that Shinsou may be a bit addicted to caffeine, but this was just ridiculous.

“Shinsou”, he said slowly, holding up his hands to show he didn’t mean any harm. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“You were”, Shinsou hissed back, eyes darting around the kitchen like he was expecting an ambush.

They were in a kitchen. Alone.

“Okay”, he said, voice calm. Something clearly spooked the boy. “What was I going to do?”

“Make coffee.”

Shouta blinked. What?

“Yes”, he said, trying really hard to keep the bewilderment out of his voice. “I am aware. That’s what the machine is for, right?”

Had there been some accident with the coffee machine he was unaware off? Some of his class had gotten really close with one of Power Loaders more… experimentally inclined students. According to him, Hatsume Mei tended to get a bit ‘excited’ about machinery. Had she done something while he was gone?

But then again, why not just replace the damn thing? U.A could afford another one.

“You can’t use it”, Shinsou hissed, but Shouta saw how his hold relaxed now it had become clear he wasn’t going to take it away from him.

“Okay”, he said slowly. “Why not?”

“You don’t have a license.”

“A… license?”

Shinsou nodded, feverishly. “Yes. Only those qualified are allowed to use the kitchen. You haven’t gone to any of the lessons yet, Sensei, let alone completed the whole course. So you’re not allowed to use any of the kitchen appliances without explicit permission or under supervision.”

He paused, looking at the coffee machine with a clear, desperate longing. “I know Bakugou is around, though. I can get him, if you want.”

Shouta just stared at him, in complete disbelief.

This was what Hizashi had been talking about? The coffee machine ought to have gained sentience for it to garter that reaction.

Shouta was well aware that his students had faced more than people their age should have. No matter what their future had in store for them, they should not have the amount of experience facing villains at their age.

(Not to speak about some of their home situations)

But they had faced those things head on. Shouta wished they didn’t have to, but they had managed to overcome and grow from those experiences with a resilience some of his coworkers could learn from.

So this reaction?

Shinsou freaking out over using a coffee machine because he wasn’t allowed to? That just made no sense.

(He ignored a voice inside his head that sounded suspiciously like Hizashi. Just as he ignored the way that voice was chanting ‘I told you so’.)

Shinsou acted like he had been tortured.

“Please do”, he finally said. “I need to talk to him anyway.” And Sato, he mentally added.

Shinsou’s eyes became really intense for a moment.

“Sure”, he said. “I will.”

And then he was gone, leaving Shouta to look for clues that might give him some more context to what the fuck happened.

He found a lot, surprisingly enough.

For one, the kitchen had taken hits while he was gone. There were scorch marks- mostly around the stove, but strangely enough, also on kitchen cabinets and the counter. There were dents in them too, that hadn’t been there when he left.

There was a new fire alarm as well, with a dent around the place where it used to hang.

The walls were different too- they had to be replaced by Cementos, Hizashi had claimed, because Sato threw a few forks in them? He had startled to ramble at that point. Hizashi’s exhaustion always had had the tendency to turn into manic energy.

And the person who greeted him at the kitchen table of his own apartment had been clearly drunk on it.

That, and Shouta was certain he had smelled something distinctly alcoholic in Hizashi’s tea.

With that in mind, he thinks he was right to be wary of Hizashi’s account of the situation.

He sighed, and rolled his neck, as if that would do anything to get the tension out-

He stopped.

He had missed it before, but now he looked up…

There was a suspiciously bright spot on the ceiling. Like someone had rubbed a bleach soaked towel over it, over and over again. It was bobbly too, adding a strange texture to the otherwise smooth ceiling.

...

What the fuck had happened while he was gone?

And this was how his two students found him, staring up, frowning like it might give him the answers to the universe.

Shinsou cleared his throat to get his attention, so he turned to face his students.

Bakugou had followed his gaze and was now scowling at the ceiling, displeasure clear on his face.

And Shinsou-

Shinsou was very clearly not looking, which was even more suspicious.

God, he was tired.

He wondered if he should question Bakugou right now or wait until he had coffee. Coffee always made things more bearable.

But since he couldn’t make coffee without sending Shinsou right into a panic and Shinsou himself was waiting for something, he just sighed again and turned to one of the two sources of this mess- God, he had never expected this from Sato- and asked the only question he could ask.

“What did you do?”

This question turned Bakugou from scowling to full-out bristling. “I didn’t do shit”, he snapped.

“The fuck you didn’t”, Shinsou muttered.

Bakugou turned his glare on him. “Weren’t you supposed to be making coffee right now”, he snapped.

Shinsou didn’t react to the insult. Instead, he brightened. “I can?”

Shouta’s brain was malfunctioning, clearly. Either that, or he was having sleep hallucinations. He hadn’t had those in a while.

Fun.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, acting like this was normal.
 Said you could, didn’t I?” He sniped.

“You said you had to think about it”, Shinsou said defensively. “I just want to make sure.”

Bakugou let out a short bark of laughter. “Afraid you will be set back even further”, he sneered. “Good for you, finally getting some braincells, you fucking moron.”

Shinsou huffed, but still didn’t move.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Eyebags. Fuck up and I will have you start from the fucking beginning, you understand?”

Shinsou nodded and leapt  to the coffee machine.

Once again, Shinsou’s obvious coffee addiction was slightly worrying, but right now, Shouta needed coffee as soon as physically possible.

That didn’t stop him from making a mental note. He should really talk with Shinsou about it soon. Maybe help him look into an actual cure for his insomnia.

His question still hadn’t been answered.

“Bakugou”, he said.

The blond turned to him, eyebrow raised and chin raised.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shinsou tense.

“What happened?” He asked, instead of asking the same question again. It seemed the right move, from the way both Shinsou and Bakugou untensed- from their defensive and combative postures respectively.

Instead of the brazen reply he expected, Bakugou’s answer was filled with pride. “We are teaching these dumbasses the bare fucking minimum. You should be grateful. This way, they might even survive long enough to hit twenty.”

We, Shouta noted. Sato was included in that statement, then.  

‘So I heard”, he said dryly.

“You did have a meeting with Nezu already then. Figures.”

“I did.” Then, as a probe. “But I also heard some things from Present Mic.”

He had expected Bakugou to become suspicious or act like he didn’t know what Shouta was talking about. Instead, he smiled. A quick flare of teeth and sadism, before it was all hidden behind Bakugou’s usual small scowl.

He blinked. Had he seen that correctly?

…

With every minute that passed, he became more and more worried that he might not have given Hizashi enough credit. At all.

“Well, then you must have heard that the Headmaster agreed to everything”, Bakugou said, sidestepping the last topic completely.

“I’m sure he did.”

“You didn’t have a look at the contract, did you? I’ll bring you the whole file later. Sato and I have some adjustments we wanted to give to the Headmaster. You should see them beforehand anyway.”

He wanted to ask, but someone else was faster.

“Adjustments?”

He turned to Shinsou, who had lost part of the blood in his face. His eyes had gone wide. Something about him reminded Shouta of a cat, coming face to face with a cucumber.

Startled.

Ready to activate his flight instincts.

And Bakugou laughed.

“Don’t worry, Eyebags. You’ll know soon enough.”

That, clearly, wasn’t the reassurance Shinsou was looking for. Nor was it the explanation Shouta wanted.

“What adjustments?” He asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Nothing that will make sense if I tell you without the whole file there”, he grumbled. “Just some things we want to change about the lesson plan.”

Lesson plan?

Ah. Right. One of Bakugou’s and Sato’s conditions to stop their… siege.

He really needed coffee, he silently despaired. It wasn’t even noon yet.

‘I thought Lunch Rush made those”, Shinsou said, baffled.

Bakugou scoffed. “The fuck he does. He isn’t the one who lives in the same fucking building as you idiots. Lunch Rush approves them. Sato and I make them.”

That… that was just strange. Why would Nezu allow students to be in charge of lesson plans for people in their own class. Not to even speak of Lunch Rush. Shouta respected his fellow hero, but you could see some very clear signs of his chosen side career as chef in everything the hero did. Lunch Rush was friendly, yes, but he was also a perfectionist.

´Nezu and Lunch Rush both approved of this´, he asked again, just to make sure.

Bakugou snorted, wholly unconcerned and without the slightest sign of guilt. “Stop worrying so much, Sensei”, he drawled. “Unfortunately, this only goes until all of these idiots are declared competent enough to cook an egg.” A pause. “Then again, knowing what they’re capable of, that might take a while.”

“In fact”, Bakugou continued flippantly, “enjoy it while it lasts. This way, we can monitor Eyebags coffee consumption.”

At that, some life returned to his student’s stiff body. Shinsou hissed, curling around his mug like a feral stray cat. “Fuck off”, he snapped.

An empty mug, as Shouta could see that the machine was still dripping.

Bakugou just looked at him.

The stare down continued. Neither of them blinked.

Shinsou made another low sound, but turned away.

That had been easy.

Shouta had spent enough time with Shinsou that he knew just how snarky his student could be. For him to just roll over like this…

He really needed to get the whole story.

“As I was saying”, Bakugou said pointedly, facing Shouta once more. “We thought some changes may help to smooth out part of the progress, since these idiots all want this over and done with.”

He was not getting any answers like this, was he?
“I see”, he said, voice carefully neutral. “And you cannot give me a concise summery for the points you are going to make later on?”

The implication was there, but not direct enough to make it seem like he was goading him.

As expected, he could see Bakugou’s hackles rise. “The fuck I can’t”, he bristled. His eyes flickered to the side- towards the new wall, and he visibly calmed himself. “It’s not going to be much use to summarize it. Gotte hand you the whole plan first. Easier to just read it, anyway. I’m not some loser who hands in shit work.” A short pause. “Besides, Sato made some of those changes. I’m not going to explain shit for him.”

Not going to take credit for his work, Shouta translated in his head.

“You said you were going to meet with Nezu and Lunch Rush to explain”, Shouta countered. “Why insist on telling me the changes beforehand?”

A shrug. “Better to hear about it beforehand.” He crossed his arms, and smiled. And once more, Shouta was faced with that short flicker sadistic pride.

“After all”, Bakugou continued, voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “Now that you’re back, I think that Present Mic is going to want to hand all of this over to you.”

Shouta could do nothing but stare at Bakugou for a few long seconds.

Was he… Was he going to have to apologize to Hizashi, for his students? Because clearly, Bakugou and Sato had done something to the man.

If it had been nothing, if it had just been Hizashi’s own stress, then Bakugou would not have been so smug.

A small prod against his arm startled him from his thoughts. When he looked, Shinsou was offering him a mug, his own coffee already in hand.

He had no idea the coffee had already been done brewing. In fact, when he looked, there was no sign of it happening, aside from the two mugs of black coffee now held in their hands.

… Had Shinsou brewed and cleaned everything up in the time he and Bakugou had been talking?

Bakugou had been silent, and when Shouta looked at his troublesome student, his eyes were systematically looking through the whole kitchen, in a way that could best be described as judgmental.

Whatever he looked for, he must have found it, because he turned back to them without even a single comment on his strange behavior. 

“We’ll hand you the documents and explain later. Hell, you can even go the classes if that would ease your mind. Like I said, this is for their own good, so don’t worry too much.”

For their own good.

Right.

Shinsou shivered next to him, taking a sip of his burning hot coffee, staring at Bakugou over the rim. Bakugou stared back.

Shinsou lowered his cup.

Then. “You’re an evil psychopath, you know that.”

Bakugou let out a scoff. “Get fucked, Eyebags”, he responded.

“Thank you, Bakugou”, Shinsou replied, full with sarcasm.  

“And?”

He sighed. “I will wash this mug as soon as I am done, Bakugou”, he said, voice completely monotone.

“Good. Now fuck off.”

Like he was waiting for permission, Shinsou ran for it.

Bakugou just looked at him go, shaking his head. “Fucking coffee addicts”, he murmured. Then, his eyes fell onto Shouta’s mug. “Sensei”, he asked, odd tilt in his voice. “How many cups of coffee did you have already?”

Shouta had years of hero experience under his belt. By now, he knew how to pick his battles.

He would get his answers later.

“Come to my office in an hour”, he said, instead of answering. “Both of you. We’ll review everything there.”  
And with that, he walked out the kitchen.

Bakugou did find him later, after Shouta had drunk his coffee and done a little reconnaissance of his own. Talked to a few colleagues. Looked at a few files. Felt the pulsing in his head become more and more prominent.

He was accompanied by Sato, as asked to.

Sato, who had helped Bakugou lay siege on the kitchen. Sato, who in the words of Cementoss, had ‘riddled the walls with kitchen ware’. He had to make a new wall, not only because there were too many holes to fix, the tools were also stuck so deep he couldn’t get them out and ‘the sight of them made their classmates burst into instant tears and turn into inconsolable bundles of unprocessed trauma’.

Hound Dog couldn’t reveal anything because of patient confidentiality, but he had said that Bakugou way of handling the situation had been a ‘pretty good textbook example of psychological warfare’ and that ‘it was ‘pretty impressive that he had turned his classmates into such nervous wrecks without saying anything even the best judge in the world could convict him for’.

Which meant that Hizashi really hadn’t been exaggerating. He’d stand by his own musings and apologize to him, if the man hadn’t dragged him to a meeting at six o’clock in the morning. As it stood, Hizashi could take him ‘I told you so’s’ and choke on it. 

After the week he had, he was allowed to be tired. Now, after how yesterday had gone and what happened today, nobody could blame him for putting hands in his head and groaning after seeing the two causes of his current headache.

“Good to see you too, Sensei”, Bakugou said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He didn’t look up, but he heard two things fall unto his desk.

He had only expected one. He was very worried what the second might be.

When he looked, it was indeed a folder with U.A’s official logo on it. Next to it, though, was a bento box.

He looked up, confused.

Neither of his students were looking at him. Bakugou was scowling, arms crossed and staring at the wall. Sato was fiddling with his fingers, staring at the desk.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

“What is this?”

Strangely enough, Sato spoke up. “You’ve just come back from a mission. We thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

Hm.

He was a bit unsure about the bento box, after all the ‘food’ Hizashi forced him to eat yesterday. But, from what he could see, the bento box looked safe. In fact, it looked and smelled delicious. He had enough experience with Sato’s baking and Bakugou’s cooking that it would be exactly that.  

“Thank you”, he said. “Though it’s not your job to take care of me, I appreciate the gesture.”

Bakugou snorted and plopped down on a chair, kicking his feet up on the stool right beside it. Before Shouta could comment, Sato sat down on it, picking up Bakugou’s feet and disposing them in his lap.

Huh.

That was new.

With some regret, he shoved the bento box away for later, and focused on the cause of his still ongoing headache and the reason for even more future grey hair.

He opened the folder.

And lo and behold, there was indeed an official document, outlining the lesson sessions for 1-A, complete with timetables, requirements for passing and material that needed to be discussed. And, at the end, with swirly letters, Nezu’s signature.

He could also see the adjustments Bakugou had been talking about, presented in a separate paper, complete with red ink and circles to point out the adjustments.

All in all, it looked pretty professional.

He’d hate to admit it, but he was almost impressed.  

Apparently, he was taking too long, because his attention was pulled away by Sato. “Sensei.”

He looked up. “What is it, Sato?”

Sato looked at him, eyes wide and pleading. “Sensei, please, you’ve got to believe us. They deserved it.”

Bakugou immediately scowled and used his position to roughly kick against Sato’s leg.  “The fuck did I say? Don’t talk like that. It’s fucking pathetic.”

Sato didn’t even sigh. He just patted on Bakugou’s leg. “I know. I’m so-”

Another kick, this time harder.

“What the fuck did I just say?!”
“I know, Bakugou. I’m- I slipped. It happens.”

Bakugou huffed, but settled again. “Self-deprecating idiots, the whole fucking lot of you”, he grumbled. “Have some fucking pride. How the hell you’re going to be a hero if you keep doubting and apologizing every time you breathe.” He narrowed his eyes. “You finally found a fucking spine. Now keep it.”

“Yes, Bakugou”, Sato said, rolling his eyes.

This was interesting.

He had seen Bakugou do this before. Mostly with Kirishima, but also with his other friends. And, on a rare occasion, with Midoriya as well, though that version was even more rough around the edges.

This was the first time he had seen him do it to Sato, though. It seemed to work wonders. He had heard Bakugou speak about Sato in the kitchen in a way that had hinted at a change in dynamic. But to see it was a different story. Shouta again marveled at how tough his students were and how well that worked with Bakugou’s attitude. It had taken some time, yes, but in most other places, Bakugou’s talent, belligerence and rudeness would have isolated him.

He had a theory that was what happened before, when he was younger.

But instead, Class 1-A had learned Bakugou’s language and forced Bakugou meet them halfway.

Because Bakugou wasn’t one for teamwork. He had improved, yes. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t his first instinct. He wouldn’t do it without prompting.

Which meant that Sato was the one who initiated this.

He felt another flare of pride, one he still wasn’t sure if he ought to push it away, yes or no. It was a moment of incredible growth for both of them, yes. But at what cost? He had seen the way Shinsou acted around Bakugou. And, when he asked around, Sero had tensed at the mere mention of Sato.

They had threatened their fellow classmates and at the end of the day, he wasn’t sure if he could let that slide.

“Be as that may”, he said, locking his eyes on both of them, gratified how he immediately had their attention and fuck, he was getting soft, wasn’t he? “It doesn’t change the fact that your classmates have requested an appointment with Hound Dog after this incident."

Bakugou made to roll his eyes, but stilled, eyes jumping to the side.

Another mental note was added to Shouta’s list. Good. Even if it had to take the combined forces of Shouta, All Might, Class 1-A, ‘the Bakusquad’, Kirishima and Midoriya- and yes, those last three should be counted separately, for entirely different reasons- Bakugou would willingly go to a therapy session before he left U.A.

Sato looked guilty for a second, before his face hardened. “Most of them already had running appointments anyway”, he said.

Sato had really spent a lot of time with Bakugou, hadn’t he, for him to be so shamelessly blunt.

“Besides”, Sato added, voice gaining steam as he continued. “They deserved it. I would never willingly harm any of them, but God, Sensei, they were driving me insane!”

“I don’t get what all the fucking fuss is about”, Bakugou said bluntly. “It’s a learning opportunity. You are all acting like it’s some horrible thing, but it fucking isn’t. I meant what I said. At least this way, they won’t still be eating shitty instant ramen and convenience store bento’s when they’re thirty.”

Well, Bakugou wasn’t wrong.

“Besides”, Bakugou added.” This is nothing. A bit of tough love can work wonders. I had worse growing up and I turned out fine.”

Shouta stared at him. He was not going to respond to that. He was not qualified to touch Bakugou’s clearly complicated relationship with his mother, and until the boy showed clear signs of emotional distress, he couldn’t force the issue either.

Somehow, he was not surprised this was in part Bakugou Mitsuki’s fault.

He took a deep breath.

“Explain to me why exactly this is for ‘their own good’ and I might consider letting it slide.”

Both immediately lit up, before that look was swept off their face by a mix of every emotion known to man.

He had never seen Sato look so angry. His face was twisted in a scowl, his hands were gesturing wildly as he recounted everything his classmates had done to the poor kitchen.

Shouta had already taken a look at the old lesson plans before these two had come here. He had seen what had happened to the kitchen in that one week he was gone.

With the number of fire alarms scares he had seen- with the number that was added to that while he was gone…

He knew they weren’t exaggerating.

Bakugou was almost serene in the face of it, and he had a nearly twenty minute rant over the complete and utter lack of knowledge that his classmates had over the most basic of human needs.

Halfway through, Shouta had the realization that it may not be pure frustration, but instead a mix of that, disappointment and worry, expressing itself in something that to others would look like pure psychopathic tendencies.  

At the end of their rants- rants that seemed like they would never stop, Shouta stared at them.

He had one simple question.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

Not when he was gone, obviously, but they could have told him before he left. Or waited until he returned. They had done neither

He got two twin looks of pity in return.

“Sensei”, Sato said. “You don’t know how to use the kitchen either.”

“I can.”

They looks didn’t abide. “We know”, Bakugou said. “You’re a functioning adult. You just don’t.”

He did. Might not as often as he should, but he did.

“If you knew that I could cook, I once again ask why you didn’t come to me.”

“I didn’t think that someone like Yaoyorozu was incapable of using common sense either, yet here we are”, Sato muttered under his breath.

“Point is, Sensei, we were living with people so fucking stupid they kind of damaged our faith in humanity’s general capabilities”, Bakugou added blithely. ‘That’s why we took some more extreme measures. However, we thought things through, during the meeting with Headmaster Nezu, where we discussed what to do with the situation. After talking it over for a bit, we changed our mind.”

Wait. If they thought this through while they were in the meeting…. Did that mean they had been considering restricting his access to the kitchen as well?

A shiver went down his spine.

Nemuri would never let him live it down.

At the end of the day, he decided to just let it be.

This betrayal was felt deeply by his other students, who had apparently seen him as their last hope.

They seemed to conveniently have forgotten the long list of equipment that had to be replaced, the fire alarms that had gone off and the damages to the kitchen itself.

What Sato and Bakugou had done might not be seen as the most logical of actions, but it was clear that it booked results.

He scoffed.

Ridiculous, all of them.