Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The distinct smell of incense permeated the room, while the silent air only allowed for the gentle thrum of the fan above. Deep breath in and deep breath out. Back straight as he became comfortable with the darkness. 

The sun was rising when Hakamada’s alarm went off, reminding him that his meditation time had ended and now, he must go back into the world. With a soft sigh, he lazily reached for his phone and the noise vanished. 

Hakamada was finally getting used to this new routine, though he missed having a warm hand on his shoulder rather than the harsh chimes. But night and day continued on, time passed and he had to accept that his bed would forever be cold. 

With the grace of a prohero, the man stood up, ignoring the creak in his bones and the hardwood flooring under his bare feet. He showered and combed his hair perfectly, dressing his best even if his apartment was empty. 

Hakamada missed the compliments. The air was too quiet. 

But it was easy to be distracted by consistency and stubbornness, never once straying from the plan, because he found comfort in knowing the next step. It didn’t matter if there was something missing. As long as he had certainty in his own movements then nothing could hurt him again. 

It didn’t matter that prohero work was always unpredictable. There was consistency in chaos if one knew where to look. His image never faltered, his ranking never dropped. That was predictable. 

Grief was predictable as well. 

This wasn’t the first time Hakamada lost someone close to him. It was the life of a hero. 

But… it wasn’t predictable that it was him. He was supposed to live forever. Hakamada hadn’t even had the opportunity to bury him- 

Bury it down, forget the pain. He wouldn’t want him to be sad. Splashing cold water in his face was enough to drive it out, to lose himself in the routine. 

There was no reason to be sad. They saved a life. A good life. One that deserved to live, a spark that should have never been put out. 

His mind often wandered to the young hero these days. They had all been put on no contact until he recovered, leaving Hakamada in the dark. But he assumed the boy was alive at least. Surely, that information would have gotten back to him in the month since the fateful battle had it been true. It brought him some comfort on the lonely days. 

If it were any other circumstances, Bakugou would have been enjoying his summer break around this time, getting ready for his second year. 

He hated to admit it, but Hakamada hoped the boy would contact him soon. Even if it was only once, just so he knew his heart was still beating in his chest. However, he wasn’t expecting his wish so soon. 

Which was why it was so out of his routine to receive a call that early morning from a number he didn’t recognize, but Hakamada picked it up anyway, “Best Jeanist speaking.” 

“It’s Eraserhead.” Eraserhead? Aizawa Shouta? It was strange for the underground hero to be calling. They rarely interacted, one working in the shadows and in the confines of a school, while Hakamada chose to exist in the public eye. The two had nothing in common, except…

His stomach dropped. He steadied himself against his kitchen counter, feeling woozy. Mentally, Hakamada braced himself for more grief, for the pain, for the consistent bad news as of late. 

Bakugou was dead, wasn’t he? He was so numb that the man on the other line knocked the wind out of him by simply explaining that, “He’s alive.”  

Hakamada could cry. Thank you, Shinya.

“But he’s not doing well.” That was the catch. “If you’re up for it, I’d like you to come speak with him.” 

“What for?” 

“You’re the only one who can get through to him. He’s as hard headed and stubborn as ever. But… he respects you. You two have a special relationship.” 

“I don’t-” 

“Just get down here.” 

Hakamada was hesitant, but found himself agreeing nonetheless. 

Hakamada hated hospitals, yet lately he spent so much time in them that he was oh so familiar with the sterile smell and blank, white walls. It was strange, stepping through the front doors as a visitor instead of a patient. 

The pro was met with a surprise. The walls weren’t a boring white. They were filled with color, a mural of animals marching along ran over the many walls. There were kids playing in an added activity area. 

Musutafu’s children’s hospital didn’t match the bleak atmosphere permeating in the air. There were grieving parents and relatives filling out paperwork and simply waiting around for a name. Many held gifts and toys; it made him wonder if he should have brought something. 

Hakamada couldn’t imagine the young hero gratefully accepting a stuffed bear and cuddling it close to his chest. The amusing thought breathed fresh air into his aching body. Anything to stave off his building concern. 

An intense gaze had been on him since he’d entered the building. It was only now Hakamada thought to meet it head on. He recognized the long dark hair and piercing black eyes lurking in the corner of the room. 

“Aizawa.” He acknowledged as the man approached, not bothering to look up from where he currently was signing his name on the visitor sheet. 

“Jeanist.” His voice was muffled. It was only when he actually acknowledged him Hakamada noticed the white medical mask. Aizawa was quick to hand him one as well. 

“This is quite the place to have the reunion.” He mused, slipping on the mask. “I’ll admit, I was a little surprised when I received your call.” 

“Thank you for coming all the way here. I know you’ve been asked to keep a low profile for the time being.” The nurse pressed a button and the doors unlocked. Aizawa held the door while Hakamada stepped through. 

The actual treatment space was far less cheery than the waiting room. 

Aizawa didn’t wait; he started walking in the right direction, knowing Hakamada would be close behind. 

“I’m also surprised that Bakugou hasn’t been discharged yet. Is everything alright?” The dreaded question. He wished someone would be an adult, rip the bandaid off and tell him what’s wrong with the boy. 

“Actually, he was out for two weeks. He only just got admitted back last night.” 

“Aizawa, don’t make me beg for a straightforward answer. You want me to speak with him, but haven’t told me what about or why.” His annoyance began to show. 

It didn’t matter. Aizawa stopped in front of a patient’s door, his head lazily gesturing inside. “Just go talk to him yourself.” 

Hakamada scoffed, underground heroes had no conversational skills whatsoever. Despite how much he respected the educator in front of him, he would never understand him. So, he simply walked right past him without another word. 

Hakamada didn’t know what he was expecting, perhaps his mentee barking at the nurses to stop poking and prodding at him or the young hero angrily grumbling through channels, complaining about nothing. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t deafening silence. 

A small boy curled in on himself, blanket draped over his shoulders, back to them so he couldn’t see his face. At his bedside, a man and a woman, his parents. The mother looked identical to her son, but both parents wore their devastation on their sleeves. 

“Mr. Aizawa,” The father said, swiping at his teary eyes and hoping to hide the pure hopelessness with a tender smile. Hakamada knew it all too well. Some victims cried, some smiled, some cursed him and God. He was used to it by now. “O-Oh, excuse me, Best Jeanist, thank you for coming out of your way to see my son.” 

“It’s no trouble at all.” There was an awkwardness that filled the room as no one spoke. Because this wasn’t just any victim's family and he wasn’t used to this. His chest tightened, at a loss for words. What could he say to them, when it was his fault young Bakugou had died in the first place. 

The father cleared his throat and stood, the scratching of the chair against the floor was enough to make everyone flinch. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” He said, bowing to the prohero like he should be grateful to him. 

The father leaned down, resting a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “We’ll be right back.” He spoke softly into his ear. “Your mom and I are going down to the cafeteria. Would you like anything?” 

There was nothing. No words or grumbles or shrugs. The young hero laid dead still in the bed. It reminded Hakamada too much of the battlefield, sending a cold chill through him. He needed Bakugou to say something, do anything to acknowledge his father’s presence before he lept into action himself. 

But there was still nothing. 

The father’s smile faltered, but he put it back just as quickly. “It’s okay. I know what you like.” He kissed the top of his son’s head before moving away. His hold on his son’s arm lingered, hesitant to pull away, but he could. 

The mother, on the other hand, sat perfectly still and quiet, catatonic like her son. Matching crimson eyes never left him, not for a second. She refused to even stand with her husband. 

“Mitsuki,” he prompted, rubbing little circles into his wife’s back. “Let’s go.” She still refused to budge. It wasn’t until he carefully grabbed her arms and dragged her up with him that she stood. The father led her out of the room and past Hakamada, not once did her eyes stray from her son.  

The door closed behind him, leaving only prohero and mentee alone in the empty hospital room. Hushed whispers behind closed doors were muffled over the sound of the steady beeps of the hospital monitor, the only real tangible thing that let all know that Bakugou’s heart was still beating. 

Hakamada looked at his former student. He never thought Bakugou could look so tiny and helpless, curled in on himself in the small bed. It was wrong to see, but the unknown behind it all was enough for his legs to start moving on their own. 

Steady footprints did nothing to stir the boy. It wasn’t until he sat down with a heavy exhale and a bland, “Good to see you’re still alive,” that he got a response. 

“Why are you here, Jeanist?” His voice was hoarse, likely hadn’t used it in days. But for some reason, Bakugou decided he was worthy of an actual response. 

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” He answered him honestly. 

The boy scoffed, but finally, for the first time since he’d arrived, Bakugou moved. His movements were stiff and unpracticed. The slightest of twitches had Hakamada sitting upright and alert. His hands hovered over his thighs, ready for when Bakugou needed him. However, with much struggle, he single handedly rolled over and faced him. 

He looked terrible. 

The bright, fiery eyes he was familiar with were dull, only one visible as the other was covered with white bandages. Those same bandages wrapped down his neck and chest, until they reached the cover of his hospital gown. His right arm was bound in a cast and sling. It was a miracle he could roll over on his own. However, that wasn’t what frightened Hakamada the most. 

The boy’s skin was gray with a dark discolored circle under his visible eye. He had definitely lost weight since the last time the prohero saw him. It wasn’t uncommon to lose weight after major surgery, but not to this extent. His face was hollow, cheeks sunken in. 

Bakugou was thin, not dangerously yet, but he had lost some muscle mass that he had gained over his first year.  

He looked terrible. 

“Did they send you in here to talk to me?” He croaked with a labored breath. Now that the young boy faced him, the wheezes and gasps for air were audible. “Because if so, then you can leave. I’m fine. ” 

Hakamada didn’t deny it. There was no reason to conjure up a lie. Bakugou would see through it and Hakamada wasn’t sure enough in his own reasoning to say anything different. “Yes, they did.” He said smoothly and Bakugou spit out a humorless laugh. “But I came because I genuinely wanted to see you and ask how you were doing. I’m glad Aizawa gave me a call-” 

“So, it was Aizawa.” Damn. Hakamada grimaced at falling into his student’s trap. 

Bakugou relaxed into the bed, but the tension in his face and shoulders never disappeared. He couldn’t settle, writhing in his own discomfort and head fuzzy from the drugs. Hakamada watched through Bakugou’s eye how he fought the drowsiness and confusion. 

“S-So,” he panted, “are you going to ask how I’m doing, Jeanist?” His sharp eye flickered up at him with defiance, a hint of a smirk on his smart mouth. Hakamada rolled his eyes, but he was glad the kid’s spark hadn’t been smothered just yet. 

“How are you doing, Dynamight ?” It was Bakugou’s turn to roll his eyes and he expected another snide comment in return, but to his surprise, the boy shuffled around, attempting to sit up with a painful groan. 

Hakamada moved to support him when he began to sway and slump. His whole body shook under the strain of simply lifting his head. Bakugou weakly swatted his hand away, but it was back on his cold, clammy back not a second later. The boy didn’t persist more than that. 

This wasn’t working, but without him seeing, Hakamada messed with the settings on his bed, the automatic machine whirring to life as it forced him to sit up. Bakugou glared at him for using the easy way out, but it was for his own good. 

The sudden shift made his hospital gown slip off his left shoulder, revealing the rough, scarred old stab wound that ran right through him. Another time the hero failed to protect him. And Hakamada was well aware of a very similar injury, hidden behind bandages and residing only a few inches lower on his chest. The one that killed him.  

It was an unspoken reality between the two of them. A choice heroes made on the battlefield. 

Hakamada watched quietly as Bakugou struggled to keep his head up and his mind aware, but the boy did his best. “‘M feelin’ a little better.” He mumbled, simply because he was slipping too fast to speak clearly. “They finally gave me some shit that works.” 

Unconsciously, he rubbed his hand where the IV needle stuck into his vein and his blood pressure monitor clipped onto his finger. 

Pain management was hard enough with Bakugou’s quirk. Hakamada remembered reading his file before the young hero interned under him. His nitroglycerin-like sweat already lowered his blood pressure, which meant most medications were dangerous for him to take. Now, with his recovering heart, the list was cut in half once more. 

The ‘shit that works’ statement likely meant he had been in pain for a while. Just how long-

“Wh’about you?” The boy slurred, catching Hakamada off guard. The old Bakugou would have never thought to ask how he was doing. The kid had grown up so much and all on his own. Despite the somber setting, it made him proud. 

It put into perspective how long it had been since he had the opportunity to have a real conversation with him. 

“I’m holding up, but I’ll be back to patrolling soon.” 

Ash blond hair puffed every which way as his head plopped back against his pillow in what looked like relief. “Good.” 

A lull grew between them, but it was a comfortable silence. Most looked at Bakugou and saw a loud, hot headed brat, but Hakamada knew him a little better than that. Bakugou Katsuki preferred the quiet most of the time, only ever raising his voice when he felt the need. 

He wished they could forever stay in this peace, however, Hakamada did come here with an assignment. 

Clearing his throat, he waited for Bakugou’s eyes to focus before he leaned in close, legs crossed and tone serious. “Would you like to tell me why you’ve been readmitted?” The boy’s face instantly soured. “Why I’m supposed to be talking to you right now?” 

Bakugou frowned, gaze averting down to where he was picking at his IV. Hakamada figured that would be the end of the conversation and he failed his mission, but a garbled mix of words passed the boy’s lips. 

“You know better than to mumble.” He scolded out of habit, though he instantly regretted it. This wasn’t the time or place. Hakamada opened his mouth to apologize, but Bakugou beat him to the words, complying with his request. 

“They told me they were gonna put a feeding tube in if I keep refusing to eat.” He grumbled.

Oh. 

The prohero felt sick to his stomach. His heart dropped. He took his time to formulate his next sentence, uncaring of how long they were sitting with the tension. Hakamada needed to say the right thing, be careful with his words around his fragile psyche. 

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he forced out, “Are you… Is this a suicide thing-”. 

Bakugou shut him down. “No.” he said firmly. 

He cursed at how clumsy and calloused he sounded. Hakamada had never been the most empathetic person. He was good with civilians and the media, however, this was getting too close for his charm to work. 

“Then why-” 

“I just haven’t been hungry.” Bakugou shrugged as if it were no big deal and the adults were blowing things out of proportion. 

“You do understand that all of your medical problems will be exacerbated if you don’t eat.” He said, finding his own panic and worry taking over even if it wasn’t obvious in his normal, calm voice. “Your heart is weak. You’re already immunocompromised-” 

“Aizawa already gave me this lecture.” His brow knit in frustration. He was shutting off. “I know all that shit already, okay.” 

Hakamada’s lips pressed together, prepared to struggle through his next attempt. He needed the boy back with him. He couldn’t go into his anger spiral when they still had something to talk about. 

“It’s not weak to feel this way-” 

“I don’t want to off myself.” He groaned. 

“Then why aren’t you taking care of yourself?” 

Bakugou simply shook his head, weakly wrapping his free arm around himself as curled up as best he could. The boy closed his eyes. “’M just not hungry.” 

Hakamada signed, letting his head hang and bracing himself against the edge of the metal railing. Not only was the kid getting thinner by the day, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he wasn’t sleeping either. 

He’d always thought Bakugou Katsuki would be the death of him and that was turning out to be true. 

Back to the silence, time continued to tick on. It could have been seconds or minutes or hours, but the door to the hospital room clicked open and several footsteps shuffled inside. Hakamada lifted his tired gaze. 

The boy’s parents were back, his mother holding a tray of assorted food items, none of which Bakugou would eat. Aizawa was there too, taking in the scene with cold calculation. 

Hakamada rose, giving up his seat to the distressed parents who instantly returned to their son’s bedside without a word. The hero took his time to stroll back to his fellow pro, not wanting to talk of his failure. 

“I’m impressed.” Aizawa said, leaning against the wall. “You got him to sit up.” 

“Unfortunately, that was the only thing I accomplished.” 

“It’s a start. No one said it would be easy.”  

“Our line of work rarely is.” 

The men continued to watch from the sidelines. Bakugou’s selective mutism returned, but he did open his eyes for his parents, looking at his father as the man whispered sweet words and nothings to fill the air. A gentle hand petted through his son’s hair and the boy easily relaxed into it. 

The mother watched helplessly, holding the tray of food and failing to hold back her tears. 

“I never thought he’d come from two soft spoken adults.” Hakamada whispered. 

“He doesn’t.” 

The pro frowned, refusing to choke at the tragic scene in front of him. Two parents desperately wanting to be there for their child, but unable to do anything. Hell, it had to be bad if they called Hakamada in. 

“It’s your turn.” he gruffed, “What’s going on with the kid, Aizawa?” 

The men didn’t look at each other as they traded whispers, both watching and waiting in case they needed to step in. Hakamada wasn’t sure what exactly they were waiting for, but both of their instincts went on high alert. 

They wouldn’t take any chances. They already lost him once. 

“His heart isn’t strong enough to deal with this much strain.” he said, “Our problem child’s barely eating, sleeping, drinking. And in case it wasn’t obvious, he isn’t taking this well mentally either.” 

“Of course, he isn’t.” Hakamada scoffed, “Our fellow heroes are traumatized by Shigaraki and All for One’s reign of terror and they are all grown adults.” 

“It’s not just that. Due to the extent of his injuries and him being immunocompromised, he’s been confined to his home exclusively and isolated. I try to visit everyday, but it isn’t enough. His health’s declining. I’m not getting through to him anymore.” 

“And that’s why I’m here? You thought I’d ‘get through to him’? Make him see reason and start taking better care of himself?” 

Aizawa shrugged, but Hakamada caught how his face softened. “I thought maybe seeing a familiar face other than ours would do him some good.” 

“... His friends-” 

“Have been begging me to see him constantly, but it's too dangerous right now. He’s too physically fragile. A cold could kill him. Not to mention, most of them are dealing with their own injuries and mental scars right now too.”

Hakamada wanted to argue, but stopped himself. This decision was made to keep Bakugou safe. Aizawa didn’t want it this way. It was just how things needed to be for a while. But this was his intern they were talking about, the future number one hero, he’d bounce back in no time-

“Katsuki, please,” the father begged. The moment they turned their attention elsewhere things always managed to go awry. “You need to eat something, sweetheart.” 

The mother weakly held a spoon of yogurt to her son’s lips, but they stayed pressed tight. Her hand trembled, the plastic spoon threatening to fall between her nimble fingers, but she shrugged off her husband’s help. Like mother, like son. 

“Katsuki, please .” he tried again, “We want to take you home. You can rest in your own bed, in your own room. Please.” 

Bakugou limply shook his head, but he wouldn’t say why. However, it didn’t hide the guilt on his face. 

Both pros took a step forward in tandem, ready to take over. Hakamada saw how tired everyone was, even the boy’s teacher, whose sunken features were worse than normal. He could bear the emotional labor this time, sometimes other heros needed saving too. 

“If you don’t eat and get your strength up,” his barely coherent threat came out as the words popped into his mind. There was no time to think of a well thought plan, which bothered the man to his core, but this was for the kid. “Then… you don’t get to go on patrol during your internship next year.” 

Bakugou’s eyes widened, even the adults looked surprised by the childish threat. However, just as quickly as he was taken aback, his brow pinched and gaze narrowed. The boy was mad at him. 

Normally such a childish pout would be ignored, but that was the first semblance of actual emotion Bakugou had shown since he arrived. 

“Who says I’m gonna intern with you next year?” He spat back. Hakamada merely quirked his brow, which was enough to piss him off even more. 

“Y-You can’t do that.” 

“At this rate, you won’t have enough strength to hold a pencil in your classes, let alone your tacky gauntlets or anything else. So, yes, I can.” 

The two stared each other down for several long moments, but Hakamada wasn’t backing down and the boy knew it. 

“Goddamnit,” Bakugou fumed, a tint of angry red dusting onto his cheeks as he snatched the spoon from his mother’s hand. Bringing the yogurt to his mouth, the boy hesitated, irritation twisting into a nervous frown. 

But he put the spoon in his mouth, before shoveling in another bite. 

“Why didn’t you try provoking him earlier?” Jeanist asked the boy’s teacher. 

“I did, but he just said he could catch up later and be ready for UA.” He folded his arms. “Guess you just piss him off more.” 

Bakugou only managed to finish half when he dropped the spoon onto the bed. At first, Hakamada thought it was his childish way of saying he was finished, but the boy lowered his head in shame, his hand clapping over his mouth as his body wracked with shivers and trembles. 

“‘M gonna be sick.” He whimpered. 

“It’s okay, Kats.” His father soothed, cupping his son’s face. “Breath through it, okay? Try to keep it down.” 

“‘M tired, Dad.” 

His father smiled sadly. “Then go to sleep, sweetheart. We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“I d’n’t w’nna sleep.” His bottom lip quivered and pouted with his whines. He fought so hard to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. 

“Mom, bought you a dreamcatcher, remember? I promise you won’t have any bad dreams.”

“O-Okay.” 

No one moved an inch until the boy was fast asleep. They all prayed that him being surrounded by adults who cared for him and could protect him would be enough to fight off the nightmares and flashbacks, sadly, Hakamada doubted it. 

Aizawa was the one to break the somber peace they found themselves in. “We should talk.” 

“I- I don’t want to leave him alone.” The father pleaded, reaching to hold his son’s hand. 

“Just out into the hallway, we don’t want to disturb him.” he said gently, “We can leave the door propped open so we can keep an eye on him.” 

“There’s no need.” The mother finally spoke, her voice wet with tears. “He’s always been a heavy sleeper.” 

“It might be easier if-” Aizawa tried again to nudge her outside, but the mother refused. 

“I’m not going to see my baby soon. You’re not taking him away from me right now.” 

“Of course.” Aizawa agreed, pulling up a spare chair to the boy’s bedside. Hakamada followed suit. 

“We’ve already talked about your options.” he said so tenderly. Maybe his conversational skills weren’t so poor after all. Aizawa did a much better job soothing their fears than he did. “But I think we can all agree that how we were doing things before isn’t working.” 

“I don’t know what else to do.” The father cried. “He’s not getting better at home, no matter how hard we try to make him comfortable. Katsuki’s always been stubborn, but this is all too much. He’s too weak to be fighting us.” 

“So,” Hakamada’s face fell. “He’s staying in the hospital?”

The mother violently shook her head, eyes squeezing tight as another tear fell down her cheek. “I don’t want him to stay in the hospital. He should be somewhere he feels safe- somewhere comfortable, filled with people who love him- even… even if that isn't our home right now.” 

“What are you saying?” 

Aizawa placed a strong hand on his shoulder, “We were wondering how you would feel about Katsuki possibly staying with you for a while. At least… until his summer vacation ends in three weeks.” 

All of Hakamada’s schedules and plans and precautions were thrown out the window. The love of his life chose this boy, he chose this boy. And Best Jeanist would do anything for him.

Chapter Text

Hakamada took great care as he cleaned his apartment for his new arrival. The doctors made it very clear he needed to be in a controlled, sterile environment, so he took no shortcuts. The morning had been the living room, and he had since started in the kitchen, scrubbing the countertops with the strongest disinfectant money could buy. 

“Oi!” Usagiyama huffed as she rounded the corner, her long white hair tied back in a ponytail. She scrolled through her phone, not bothering to look up as she rambled. “Built the dresser and bed. I scrubbed everything in there clean like you asked. Now, I’m shopping for curtains and shit. What color do you think he’d like?” 

“I don’t think such frivolous things matter. Just pick one.” 

“Of course it matters!” she yelled. Hakamada’s eye twitched at the volume. Her strong, loud personality reminded him too much of the kid’s own; maybe that’s why she was so willing to help get him back on his feet. She kind of just showed up with the intention of helping, and there was no turning her away. 

The pair of pros were never really close before, but… as some of the last members of the top 10, they had become more acquainted over the last few weeks. Which was why he let her in when she suddenly arrived. It was kind of nice to not be preparing alone. Hakamada worried about where his mind would spiral. 

“It matters because he’s recovering, physically and mentally! He’s still just a little brat, no matter how tough he acts. Don’t forget that he’s staying here, because he wasn’t getting what he needed at home for whatever reason. His head is all messed up, so you should be doing everything you can to make the kid feel comfortable, so,” 

She stomped over to him, her prosthetic arm shoving the phone into his face. “Blue or red?!” 

Hakamada backed away, but she was insistent. He frowned with a tsk and took the phone from her, looking at the two options. Normally, he would just pick blue, but… 

“The kid likes black.” 

“Black? But that’s so depressing.” 

Hakamada shrugged. “You asked me what he likes, and he likes black. All his shirts are black, his hero costume is black, his-” 

“Ugh, I get it.” She said and snatched the phone back, wandering off as she grumbled about it not being cute or cozy at all. Hakamada tried to get back to work, thinking of other tasks to assign the rabbit hero to do as she waited for the order's delivery. 

“Oh, look!” She yelled from the living room. “A little Jeanist figure! That’d be perfect for the brat’s room-” 

His eye twitched once more. “You better not.” That only got him a laugh in return. 

The clock continued to tick. The house had been cleansed, and the bedroom set up. Dinner was simmering on the stove. 

But Hakamada had lost track of it all as he looked up at the picture of him and his fiance, Shinya, hanging on the wall. 

There were a few of them, actually. All from different points in their lives. The last one was taken only a few months before he passed… their engagement photos. Hakamada twisted the ring on his finger and contemplated. 

However, he ultimately decided to pluck the frame from the wall. The photograph felt heavier than it should in his hands, as if the weight doubled with his guilt. 

“I promise it’ll only be for a few weeks.”  

Shinya would understand where he was coming from. He would forgive him. The kid didn’t need a constant reminder on the walls. And maybe… it’ll be easier on him, too. Easier for the days to blend and the new routine to take hold. 

“Hey,” Hakamada turned and found Usagiyama looking back at him, arms crossed and concern written across her face. “Whatcha doing?” 

Hakamada went back to the wall, removing another frame. “Some light redecorating,” was all he had to say. 

“For the kid or for you?” 

Hakamada said nothing, and she sighed. 

“You miss him, but trying to forget isn’t-” 

“And what do you know about it?” The words snapped out before he could stop them. Her eyes widened a bit before narrowing. Hakamada saw how she reigned back her anger, but Usagiyama couldn’t hide it completely. 

“I’ve lost someone too. Don’t forget that.” 

Hakamada’s eyes fell shut. “Of course.” He wanted to say he didn’t mean it, but at that moment, he did. It was easy to forget that others were grieving as well. Nothing would be the same. “I apologize.” 

Usagiyama frowned. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Hakamada didn’t know- 

“Yes.”  

Hakamada froze at the ringing of the doorbell. He hadn’t expected them to arrive so early, but when he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, he realized how much time had gotten away from him. His visitors were actually a few minutes late. 

Usagiyama had long since left after decorating Bakugou’s room, and now it was only him. 

“Coming,” he called blandly, heading towards the door. Most of the security was outside of the building, but he had a few extra measures in place on his condo specifically. As he disabled everything else and unlocked the door, he heard muffled voices whispering to each other on the other side. 

Hakamada moved to open it, his nose briefly crinkled before returning to its relaxed state. He couldn’t let the boy’s first look into his temporary home be such an expression. 

Bakugou looked similar to when he was in the hospital bed. His right arm was still cast and in a sling, only now the plain white had some writing on it, but he couldn’t make out what it said. Of course, leave it to his student to not be picky in this one particular choice and pick out the blandest color. 

The rest of his body was also still bandaged like a mummy down his neck and chest, but his regular everyday clothes hid it better than the loose hospital gown. Not to mention, he looked more comfortable in his favorite worn out skull shirt and baggy black sweatpants. 

However, clothes couldn’t hide the bandages still wrapped around his face, but his features could still make that annoyed pout, so Hakamada wasn’t too worried. The boy would recover and if he had any feelings about his very visible scars… they would address them as they came. 

What Hakamada was worried about was the way Bakugou wobbled, knees threatening to buckle as he stood in one place too long, bearing all of his weight on the crutch under his left arm. 

Hakamada stepped aside and invited the two inside. The young hero hesitated, but once his teacher took the first step, he followed behind. It was hard enough to watch Bakugou stand, let alone walk. It was fumbled and pained, wincing with every botched step. 

Aizawa was quick to help steady the boy, and while his frustration with his helplessness twisted onto his lips and pricked at his eyes, he let him. 

Hakamada knew this wasn’t easy on him. His parents weren’t even here to bring him inside. The two pro heroes had talked about it and decided it would be best for Bakugou to say his goodbyes at the house before being handed over to Aizawa, who would bring him to Hakamada. 

He was still Best Jeanist, currently the number one pro hero, if titles even mattered in this new era. And Bakugou was arguably one of the most famous boys in Japan. His face and story had been plastered all over the news many times, a celebrity in his own right but never for reasons he wanted. 

Society still wasn’t safe for them, though the League of Villains and All for One were no more. The world was still restless and uncertain. They couldn’t in good conscience hand out Jeanist’s address, and Bakugou’s current safe house, to a member of the public. Even the boy's own parents. 

Surprisingly, Bakugou didn’t have any qualms about this. Hakamada listened to how dejected he sounded over the phone as he told them he didn’t want to hurt them anymore than he already had. He felt the nail in the coffin was him inviting them to watch him essentially be handed off to someone else. 

Bakugou didn’t think they could handle that or, more accurately, Hakamada thought the boy couldn’t watch that. 

By the time Bakugou managed to hobble the few steps it took to get to the living area, he was out of breath, leaning entirely on Aizawa or he’d collapse. His teacher had a steady arm around his waist as he lowered him onto the couch. 

Bakugou panted, ragged breaths scratching at his throat through his struggle. The kid had a high pain tolerance, often looking unbothered even after rather serious injuries, but right now, he couldn’t hide his pained expression. 

His hand white knuckle gripped his crutch, no longer supporting him, but when it was taken away, it reached for his chest instead, grasping at his shirt. 

Hakamada could relate to every emotion on his face and every agonizing movement. This was him after he had major surgery and his lungs had been shredded back during Kamino. That all felt like a distant memory now, yet he still had the scars and the occasional aches to prove it. 

And Bakugou . Bakugou was in front of him, too. 

The boy’s fingers uncurled from his shirt and Hakamada figured the worst of it was over, but Bakugou never removed his hand, rather he began to unconsciously rub at the wound. He hissed in pain, grinding his teeth, but his cold eyes were unfocused and distant, like he couldn’t register that the sharp jabs were coming from his actions. 

“Stop that.” Aizawa chided, and the young hero flinched, snapping himself out of his daydream. He stopped, dropping his hand down to his baggy sweatpants to hold on to them instead. Fighting through tears, he grumbled out an almost silent, “s’rry.” 

Aizawa sighed, sitting down on the couch next to his student, who was on the verge of shattering. Leaning over, he was careful to avoid Bakugou’s other arm, still bound and in the sling, as he whispered something into his ear. 

Hakamada turned his head with a frown. It didn’t feel right to watch them and, truthfully; he realized this was going to be harder than he initially thought. Bakugou was no less miserable here than when he was in the hospital. The only difference was his clothing. 

Bakugou shook his head. “no, ‘m okay. You should go home. ‘M sure Mic and Eri miss you.”

Aizawa moved slowly and carefully as he lightly ruffled the boy’s messy hair, giving his head a few scratches that had Bakugou melting before his hand traveled down to his back, gently rubbing small circles into his trembling form. 

“They’ll be fine. I can stay as long as you need.” 

Bakugou sulked a little at the soft treatment, but he didn’t complain or fight it and that was a start. It seemed Aizawa had gotten to the kid far more than he admitted or realized. 

“Why don’t you stay for dinner, Eraserhead?” Hakamada jumped in. If it was easier for Bakugou to accept his teacher staying because he was hungry rather than for the boy’s own comfort, then so be it. 

Aizawa’s and his eyes met, a silent agreement between the two pros. 

“I think that’s a good idea. Gives us more time to chat, too.” Aizawa turned to Bakugou. “Are you hungry?” 

His nose scrunched as he averted his gaze. “No.” he grumbled, but that didn’t stop Aizawa from helping the boy onto his feet and practically dragging him over to the kitchen, Hakamada following close behind. 

Bakugou never bothered to hide his displeasure before, so why should he now? He sat at the dinner table while the adults worked, a pout on his lips and a furrow in his brow. His one free arm crossed over the sling as he slouched. 

There was the problem child he knew. He tended to come back whenever Hakamada needed to see him the most. 

Aizawa graciously piled rice into the bowl before peeking over his shoulder at the boy in the chair. “Would you like to at least try some broth?” 

Hakamada glanced his way, too. 

The irritated expression dropped from his face. His already pale, sickly skin turned almost a green tint as his mouth wobbled and red eyes welled in almost fear. Bakugou shook his head, too afraid to open his mouth like he might puke just at the mention. 

“The doctor said your nausea from the anesthesia should only last another week or two, tops.” Aizawa nudged gently, but Bakugou’s stare was blank. Hakamada had to agree. Postoperative nausea was a fairly common symptom, but he was certain someone must have told his medical team, so why was it still plaguing him? 

Not to mention Bakugou was out of the hospital for two weeks before being readmitted two days ago, that should have been plenty of time for the problem to be taken care of or gone away on its own. Something wasn’t adding up. 

“It should be getting better. Most of that sick feeling might be coming from your empty stomach.” Aizawa explained as gently as he could, while also not sugarcoating it. These feelings weren’t the kid’s fault, but he could do something about them. “Just a little? No meat, I promise-” 

Bakugou shook his head faster. “No.” he whimpered, “‘ll puke. Just the smell is making me sick.” 

Aizawa frowned. It was hard to tell when his normal face was already pessimistic, but Hakamada saw the sharper lines in his scowl. But Aizawa didn’t push him any further. Tonight was not the night to be pushing limits. It would be hard enough without fighting whatever personal battle was going on inside the boy’s head. 

A bowl of plain white rice was placed in front of Bakugou, while Hakamada scooped some stew into their own rice bowls. With that, everyone gave their thanks and picked up their chopsticks. 

Bakugou grimaced as he tried and failed to hold them correctly with his left hand. Hakamada considered offering him a spoon, but he knew how that would end, so he kept his mouth shut and continued to eat in silence. 

Bakugou got it eventually, though it was entirely ungraceful and uncoordinated as he brought a small bite to his mouth, only for half to fall onto the table. He glared at the wasted food. Every twitch in his face was a sign he was ready to give up. 

“Eat at least half so you can take your meds.” Aizawa said, and that seemed to be enough to get him to try again, although with a mutter and a glower. 

“All of Bakugou’s medications need to be taken with food.” he continued, ignoring his student as he turned to Hakamada. Though ignoring wouldn’t be the right word. It was more like he was giving him the privacy to fail by turning his attention elsewhere. 

Hakamada could do that. 

“It’s important to keep his medication times at least somewhat the same. We have been doing it after breakfast and dinner. But he has a meal schedule too, with two snacks and lunch to get his weight back up.” 

“That should be easy enough to manage.” Hakamada responded as casually as he could. “But I’m sure he needs more than just a few snacks and some pills-” 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Bakugou snapped, but Aizawa paid the outburst no mind. 

“You are free to join the conversation whenever you feel like it.” They let the conversation fall into a silence, giving the kid some room to speak his mind. A million emotions flashed across his face, from anger to annoyance to uncertainty, and then finally, dejection. 

His bottom lip wobbled as he stared helplessly at the table, unable to look the two men in the eyes. “What… What’s going to happen to me?” he asked. “I just stay here? Do what I always do? What’s the point?” 

Hakamada did his best to hide his sympathy from his calm expression. Bakugou wouldn’t appreciate it, but he couldn’t help the heaviness on his chest. There were so many uncertainties after war and the boy was too young to be learning them first hand. 

“Would you rather be at home with your parents?” Hakamada wouldn’t blame him if he did, nor would he be hurt. Bakugou’s comfort and safety was his first priority. 

However, the kid simply shrugged, eyes dull. “I don’t know.” he mumbled, almost too quiet for the pros to hear. And didn’t that just break their hearts. 

“Why don’t you try it out and see if the new environment helps?” Aizawa said, “And if you want to go home or stay somewhere else, then we can arrange that. Okay?” 

Bakugou said nothing, back to the silent treatment from the hospital. He didn’t take another bite, now only stirring the mostly filled rice bowl. Bakugou hadn’t eaten half like he promised, but it seemed like they weren’t going to fight him on that either. 

It wasn’t long after that Aizawa left for the living room, muddling through the boy’s bag only to come back with an AllMight themed pill organizer, the kind a kid would pick out. 

Aizawa set it down without a word and Bakugou opened the appropriate day and time, scooping out pills of various sizes and colors and taking them without a fuss. At least Jeanist wouldn’t have to battle him on this front, as well. 

Hakamada cleared his throat. If Bakugou wasn’t going to eat anymore, then there was no point in sitting around the table in silence. “Why don’t I take you both on a tour of the rest of the place?” 

Bakugou stood in the doorway, staring into what would be his new bedroom. Aizawa and Hakamada hovered close behind in case of any problems, but Bakugou seemed okay with his room. He took a step forward, finally passing through the threshold, slinging his bag off of his shoulder and setting it down on the new black bed sheets.  

His eyes wandered, and his head turned. His outer expression may have seemed bored, but Hakamada could see the hints of interest shining through. Bakugou liked it. He made a good call with the black. 

But suddenly, his head stopped as he stared at the dresser. That’s when Hakamada noticed it too: the stupid Best Jeanist figurine that Usagiyama bought as a joke. He didn’t think she’d actually set it up! 

This was humiliating. 

Hakamada was about to step in and take it away, when Bakugou moved first, reaching for his bag and fumbling with the zipper. He struggled to open with only one hand while balancing his crutch. Aizawa stepped in to help him, only to be shoved away with a grunt. 

He got it after that. Reaching in, the kid pulled out a box. It was in pristine condition, not a dent in the cardboard, and AllMight’s face plastered on the front. This time he actually handed it to Aizawa, not wanting to risk his shaky hands damaging the prized possession. 

Inside the box was a limited edition All Might figure. 

Bakugou had just the one, but he proudly set it down on the dresser next to the Best Jeanist and paid it no further attention. 

The boy’s breathing became labored once more as he sat down on the bed. He needed a rest. 

Aizawa started unpacking his clothes from the duffle, and Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I can do it. Just give me a sec. I’m not helpless.” 

“I know you’re not.” Aizawa said, catching the boy’s gaze and resting a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m doing this because I want to. You know me better than to assume I would do anything out of pity.” 

Bakugou’s face faltered, but he nodded, watching reluctantly as Aizawa finished setting out the contents of the bag out onto the covers. 

He pulled open the drawers and began putting them inside, but Bakugou groaned. “You’re not doing it right.” 

“What other way is there to do it?” 

“You have to fold them first.”

“They’re already folded.” 

“No.” Bakugou snapped, “You have to fold them the right way.” 

The boy freely lectured his teacher about proper folding techniques and Aizawa put up with him, patiently refolding the clothes to the boy’s specifications and placing them neatly in the drawers in a specific uniform order. 

With every tweak and readjustment, Bakugou seemed to relax more and more into this new space. The boy was organized and particular. It shouldn’t be surprising that he’d only be comfortable when things were done in his meticulous way. 

Aizawa was so calm as he worked through Bakugou’s anxious tendencies and need for control. He didn’t fight, merely moving with the flow of his student and quickly accommodating to his needs. 

It could be seen as him being passive. He was giving Bakugou what he wanted so he wouldn’t have to hear him complain or yell, but that wasn’t it at all. Aizawa wanted to do this for him. He wanted to give him that sense of security. To some people, it may have been just a dresser, but it was clearly important to the young hero, so it was important to him as well. 

All the while, Hakamada watched from the doorway, unsure of himself. He was supposed to make Bakugou feel at home, but he couldn’t even do that. 

Hakamada understood the idea behind the decision to temporarily place Bakugou outside of his family home or the hospital. But from his perspective, here and now, the boy would be better off with Aizawa. 

While he cared about Bakugou, the two both had strong, stubborn personalities and they tended to butt heads. He understood the importance of a clean living space and an organized wardrobe, but he couldn’t picture himself in Aizawa’s place right now, fixing every tiny detail for him because the kid couldn’t do it himself. 

Hakamada frowned to himself, hating how his stomach twisted. 

Aizawa was used to being around kids. Hakamada didn’t have a parental bone in his body. The two couldn’t be more different. 

“There.” Aizawa said, readjusting one of the posters on the wall. “Anything else you want changed?” 

“It’s fine, I guess… thanks .” 

Aizawa hummed, “Would you like to come out to the living room with us or stay in here and get used to everything?” 

Bakugou was already messing with the arrangement on his nightstand before Aizawa could even finish the sentence. “‘m fine in here.” he said sluggishly, his head seemed to droop to one side and his eyes were growing heavy. Even his movements were slower than usual as he rearranged the pillows, adding his own from home. 

Aizawa expected this and nodded. 

Hakamada didn’t need any prompting. He was praying to get out of there and clear his head. Taking the initiative, he led Aizawa back into the living room. Bakugou’s door stayed ajar. From the couch, they could both see and hear each other. Everyone was accounted for and safe.

Aizawa took Bakugou’s bag with him too. Hakamada didn’t question it, despite how odd he thought it was at first, but it all made sense when he pulled out the last item, a black sleek binder with a grenade sticker plastered on the front. 

The binder was filled with various papers, both white and colored, and tabs with various labels. It was clearly well organized, perhaps done by the boy himself. 

“This should have everything you need. I tried to make it as easy to find stuff as possible. I know you’re going to have a lot of questions and doubts, but it should all be in here.” 

So Aizawa made it. Hakamada never took him for the orderly type. His scruffy appearance was deceiving. 

“Daily schedules, a calendar for all his appointments, as well as the doctors’ numbers and office addresses. Recovery Girl and I are available for call twenty-four seven, so if there’s an emergency, don’t hesitate to call. Our numbers are in here as well.” He flipped through the book, pointing out specific pages, and already Hakamada was feeling overwhelmed by the amount of information. 

“He has PT three times a week and his doctor checkups are more spaced off. He should remember the dates and times, but please remind him the night before so he’s not blindsided. The kid hates surprises.” 

“Alright,” Hakamada mumbled, eyes only scanning over the words. 

“There are his lists of medications and when his parents had them last refilled and when they need to be refilled again, as well as his schedule for taking them, so either you or him can refill his case. There’s a list of meds he can’t take, so be wary of that-” 

“Aizawa,” Hakamada stopped him. His head was spinning. He couldn’t wrap his head around this one simple thing. “I don’t understand why you need me. I want the kid here. You know I want to be there for him, but it’s obvious you’re the better fit. You’re what he needs. Not me.” 

Aizawa paused, tearing his gaze away from the book and turning to him. His eyes were unreadable, but it was enough to send a shiver down the hero’s spine. 

The man sighed, closing the book. He leaned back into the cushions of the couch, swiping his hand over his face. Aizawa let it linger. 

“I tried.” His voice muffled from behind his hand. He let it fall to his side, but now, his face had relaxed into pure exhaustion, and maybe even a hint of sadness and desperation. “He doesn’t want to be a burden to any of us. It was a fight to even get him to come here. The only reason he agreed was because he didn’t want to burden his parents, either.” 

“He’s not a burden.”  

Aizawa sighed heavily. “We know that, but he has yet to figure that out. In case it wasn’t obvious, he’s not taking everything all that well. Though, I’m honestly surprised the kid isn’t worse. He’s tough. I’ll give him that.” 

Hakamada checked over his shoulder back at the boy’s open door. He couldn’t see Bakugou, but he knew he was there, likely listening. 

“Should we be talking about this now-” 

“It’s alright. He’s definitely passed out by now.” 

Hakamada jumped to his feet and raced back towards the room. How could Aizawa be so calm about something like that?! 

His shoulder hit the doorway as his eyes frantically searched for Bakugou, but he didn’t need to look long. He was still on his bed, just where the two men left him. Only now, he was curled on his side, eyes closed. Soft little snores came from parted lips and sometimes his brow would twitch in his sleep. 

The boy looked so peaceful, all the troubles washed away. 

Aizawa passed right by him, entering the room. He made quick work, carefully repositioning Bakugou as well as unclipping his sling from around his neck and elevating his casted arm. 

“His meds make him tired.” Aizawa explained as he pulled the blanket over his student. “But it’s good for him to rest and heal.” 

“I… I see.” This was only reconfirming his point from before. Aizawa knew just how to take care of him. 

“He’ll be up soon. You’ll need to change his bandages tonight and then every two days. Again, it’s in the book. But also be aware that you might have to deal with other… physiological issues that happen during the night… The kid has nightmares… Bad ones.” 

Hakamada took notice of the dreamcatcher that was currently hanging over his bed. 

“He may need something to help him sleep again. He has sleep aids, but I try not to give him too much.” 

“O-Okay.” Fighting villains was far less stressful than taking care of a sick child. There was so much that could go wrong. So much that was completely out of his element. He wished Shinya was there… so, so badly. He would know what to do. 

At some point, Aizawa had returned to his side, placing a strong, but somehow also gentle, hand on his shoulder.

“I know this all is overwhelming. Sometimes it feels like us pros should have everything together, know everything, be prepared for everything, but I think this war taught us it’s just not possible.” 

“What if I mess up with him again?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Hakamada didn’t even sound like himself. 

“You might.” Aizawa shrugged. “But then you get over it and you figure it out. You’ll be fine, just try not to be too harsh on the kid. If you need anything, you can always call. There’s lots of people who care about him and are here to support you.” 

When Hakamada sat back down on the couch, he instantly reached for the binder with a newfound vigor. He still wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t mess this up, but Bakugou chose him, and that was enough to at least try. 

So, the pro flipped through the pages, taking it all to memory. He wouldn’t fail Bakugou again. Hakamada promised Shinya.