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Chapter Text

Disoriented. The only word that could properly describe how he felt right now.

Not many things could disorient Izuku Midoriya for long. He overthought things, he mumbled, he doubted himself, sure, but he always prided himself on analyzing. Analyzing people, analyzing quirks, analyzing combat strategies the heroes used. He'd honed the skill at six years old, hoping against hope being smart would make up for being quirkless in the heroic field.

He wasn't quirkless anymore, but it still helped.

It was hard to use the element of surprise when your enemy took surprise in stride. So he tried. To take the surprise in stride, to assess the situation and just roll with it like usual.

But—and he doesn't think this lightly—where the fuck was he?

He scanned his surroundings, more out of habit than anything.

He was standing in the middle of a road. Lining the street was buildings. Two or three stories tall, not houses. Shops, probably. He searched for Lemillion, Eraserhead, Nighteye—anyone who'd been at the rescue site with him. But there was no one in sight. The moon was bright tonight, though streetlights were doing most of the work. Wait, the moon? How was it night? A quirk? A dream? An illusion? The sun shouldn't be setting for another two hours, at least. A teleportation quirk? Could be a timezone difference. He stalked forward, shoulder throbbing, towards a display window. An advertisment was in Japanese, so it couldn't be time zones.

A car alarm in the distance startled him and his mouth snapped shut. He hadn't even realized it was open in the first place. He must've been mumbling out loud again. Old habits die hard.

Feeling lost, Izuku fell back on his training. The lessons Aizawa had drilled into them, day after day, not just to be better heroes, but to keep them alive, even if their teacher wouldn't explicitly say it.

Assess your surroundings. Where are you? Are you with anyone? Are you in danger?

Somewhere in Japan. That was good, at least. Alone. Safe.

Assess yourself. Are you injured or feeling unwell? Calm yourself, breathe. Assess others, too.

Izuku struggled to calm his racing heart and took a controlled, deep, breath in. Sharp pain he'd subconsciously been ignoring erupted from his shoulder and he winced, checking the wound out. A bloody gash in his shoulder, one he got ten minutes ago when a chunk of rubble fell while he was...

Izuku whirled around in panic, only just realizing his arms were missing the weight of a small child. The child he was rescuing. "Hey, kid?" No response. His head whipped around, hoping he would find the little boy on the ground nearby, but no luck. He called out again, a bit louder. "Kid!?"

Crap.

"This is bad," he muttered. If it wasn't bothering anyone, he may as well let himself. "The kid is gone—Or am I the one who's gone? I know I wasn't hit with a quirk, teleportation or otherwise, and there weren't even any villains around at the rescue. Damnit, this is taking too long to figure out!" He threw his hands up in annoyance. "I don't have time for this! The boy could be in danger, he was probably only four—"

He stopped, if only to hope his luck wasn't that bad. Out of all the times for a kids quirk to develop, what were the chances it would happen while being rescued in Izuku's arms? His luck wasn't that bad, right?

He thought back to when he got attacked by the sludge villain. And the USJ. And accidentally running into Shigaraki at the mall. And being quirkless.

Izuku groaned.

He shook his head, as if that would clear his mind. He was getting too frustrated.

When you find yourself in an unknown situation, stay calm. Panicking helps nothing. Figure out the most rational plan of action. Prioritize safety—saving yourself, then civilians. This doesn't always mean fighting back, sometimes it's getting help.

Izuku's eyes lit up. "Right! Help! I can call someone!" His hands flew to his pocket. Who should he call? Aizawa-Sensei? All Might? Nighteye?

His hand landed on an empty pocket. And another empty pocket. And... another empty pocket.

He blinked dumbly. Then slapped his forehead in realization. "You've got to be kidding me. I dropped my phone when I was rescuing that kid?" It was a borderline whine, but cut him some slack.

This whole situation kept getting more and more annoying.

Ten minutes later, Izuku was running with Full Cowl over rooftops. He had a general idea of where to go, but he could only hope he got lucky.

After he had looked at enough street names to (fortunately) recognize where he was, he'd taken off to find someone. Going to UA made sense, especially after he realized he still had his Student ID to get into the building, but it also wouldn't hurt to make a stop at Eraserhead's patrol route on the way there.

He prayed he would find Aizawa-Sensei. Eraser had been at the rescue site with him, so there was a good chance he could explain what happened. Assuming this was time travel, since he wasn't in a different time zone, he probably went to the future, not the past. Wait, what if he had travelled to the past? How far could he have gone? What if Aizawa-Sensei hadn't met him yet? What if his UA Student ID didn't work because it hadn't been created yet and he wasn't allowed in? And did he have to worry about the Butterfly Effect? He had only read about it briefly, but he knew it could have dangerous effects on his present, and what if he had travelled back to before he was born? If he did the wrong thing, would he be erased from existen—

There! Cutting off his train of thought, Izuku squinted at a shadowed figure standing on a rooftop in the distance. While Izuku had never actually seen Eraserhead on duty in the night, he knew what his homeroom teacher looked like, even in the dark.

He ran a little faster at the familiar, practically comforting, sight of a white capture weapon billowing around Aizawa Sensei's in the  breeze. There were a million questions lined up at the tip of his tongue, but all he could do from so far away was flash a relieved grin and exaggerated wave when the underground Pro turned his way. It must've been easy to spot Izuku with the sparks of green lightning trailing behind.

Izuku reached the edge of a flat roof and jumped, using One for All in his legs to boost him into the sky. He landed opposite on the same roof to his teacher and called out.

"Aizawa-Sensei! I'm so glad I found you." Izuku relaxed, relief palpably bleeding from his tense muscles. His shoulder throbbed from the burn of running. "You'd never believe what happened to me—well, actually, you'd probably believe it since it seems like it would have a rational explan—"

"Who are you?" Eraser cut him off curtly, and Izuku was taken aback. Was bad lighting making him unrecognizable or had he gone back in time before they'd met?

He wasted no time yanking off his hero mask. He really hoped it was the lighting.

He even stepped closer to a streetlamp nearby, hoping it would light up his face. When Aizawa didn't react, Izuku spoke, afraid of the man's answer. "Can you tell me what the date is?"

A beat of silence. "It's September 6, 20XX."

"Then why don't you recognize me?" Izuku blurted. Hell, he didn't know if he was asking Eraser or himself. A memory erasing quirk, maybe?

"You tell me." He sounded unimpressed, and wow, Izuku had forgotten how blunt Aizawa was with people he didn't know. Actually, Aizawa was blunt with Class A, too. Maybe they were just used to it.

"You really don't know me? Sir, it's me, Izuku Midoriya!" He spared a glance to his costume, the mask still clenched in his fist. "Well, I'm technically Deku right now, but I'm in your—"

The air shifted, and Aizawa moved, fast as lightning. On instinct, One for All flared to assist, but flickered out uselessly in seconds. Red eyes glared and a white scarf flew across the roof, wrapping around his body and neck. Izuku's rambling was cut short, and his eyes widened in shock.

"Wh-what?" he choked out. "Aizawa-Sensei, what are you...?"

"Deku, you said?" There was something about the way he said it that Izuku didn't quite understand.

"Y-yeah, it's me, Deku—"

Izuku Midoriya had seen his teacher fight villains, both at the USJ and in the Shie Hassikai raid. The cold, brutal, way Eraserhead fought, with sharp speed and no time for a defensive attack. It was what made him such a good Pro Hero, and why it was an unsaid fact among the people that knew him that he could easily be in the top ten rankings if he wanted.

Additionally, Izuku, along with the rest of Class 1-A, had seen his teacher angry. Many times. He wasn't unused to Aizawa-Sensei's glares as he told them to stop talking or the feel of his capture weapon yanking Izuku into a chair to be scolded when he did something reckless. But there was always something else in their teacher's eyes that would put them at ease. Something warm that would take different forms. Sometimes it was concern; sometimes concealed amusement. It was that warmth that they all liked, especially Izuku, because the teachers at Aldera Junior High never had that when they glared at him. It made them feel safe, and it made him a good teacher.

And for the first time, Izuku couldn't find any hint of that comforting warmth in his teacher's glowing red eyes.

The red veins across his skin and green lighting went dark, and he felt like a trapped little kid. Which was stupid, because he naively thought he'd never feel that way again. Not when he had a quirk, not when he had friends and teachers that cared about him. Especially not with his homeroom teacher. The first teacher to show him strict didn't mean cruel.

"On your knees! Hands behind your head!" Aizawa's voice was a growl, colder than he's ever heard it, and he didn't think to disobey.

"Aizawa-Sensei, stop—what are you doing? I dont understand! It's me , Midoriya!" He was practically begging now, but he didn't care.

Why was Aizawa attacking him? Why wouldn't he listen?

Chapter Text

Shota Aizawa faltered. Which was odd, because in all the years he's been a Pro, he's prided himself on never hesitating without a good reason.

Deku calling him Sensei was not a good reason.

It's just a manipulation tactic, Shota. Don't let it get to you. This is what he does. This is how he gets away, every fucking time. Reminding you of your students, making you feel guilty for scaring a teenager—that's fucking low.

Pissed off all over again, he tightened his capture device and yanked the villain, who had immediately dropped to his knees, face first onto the hard roof.

To be honest, Shota was a bit disappointed in his own abilities tonight. Not only had he not seen Deku coming until he was practically on the roof with him, Shota hadn't even realized it was Deku until he'd introduced himself. He'd gotten distracted with Deku's act; sloppy. A relieved, lost kid looking for him. One calling him Sensei, like one of his 1-A brats in trouble.

There was a reason Shota became a hero and not a detective, but come on. The whole advantage he gave joining Deku's case was because he was one of the few to have met him in person, and what use was that meeting if Shota didn't recognize him on sight! Or even at the sound of his goddamn voice! A different personality, a different outfit, even a different quirk should absolutely not be throwing Shota off the trail of one of Japan's most notorious villains.

He blamed it on the lack of sleep. (And whose fault was that, Shota?)

Now that Shota knew it was Deku, the physical profiles really did match. He'd been an idiot not to recognize it sooner.

Deku shot his hands out in front of him to block the fall, and Shota tracked it perfectly with his eyes, years of practicing with Erasure making it practically impossible for Shota to lose someone after they were in his line of sight. The villain would probably try to drag this out, stall for time, knowing Erasure's weakness, so he needed to throw him in an interrogation room before his eyes dried up.

There was no chance in hell Shota was letting him go today. No, not when they'd spent so long trying to track him; hours spent combing through street footage and tracing interactions with word of mouth only to build the thinnest of files on the League's shadow associate.

Deku was smart. And worse than that, he was quiet.

Those very qualities were what got Shota called on Deku's case in the first place. An underground Pro for an underground villain. Shota personally had stared at the little the police had on Deku for so long he'd burned it into his memory.

Name unknown, of course. His known aliases. (Only Deku.) Male. (Pathetically enough, they weren't even 100% sure about that.) Estimated 12-19 years old. (Only because no one wanted to admit an 11 year old could be capable of such crimes. And evading capture for so long.) Short, toned build. Mental quirk, potentially one centred around weaknesses. (Another guess. Maybe the kid was just really observant.) Known to associate with the League of Villains and other villains that operated in the shadows.

Yeah, they had jackshit.

But Shota had joined the case for a reason.

Deku attacked his students. Shota was not one to forgive and forget.

"Aizawa-Sensei?" Deku's voice cracked in fear, and Shota wanted to punch him. He stalked forward, ready for an attack should the villain pull some fucking flash grenade or god knows what out of his pocket. Deku may not have been seen using a quirk (before today, apparently), but he'd never been above using weapons.

"It's Eraserhead to you," he spat. Up close, he could tell Deku was probably the same age as his first years. "Don't pull the sentimental bullshit on me, Deku, it doesn't work."

Deku flinched at the words, but didn't struggle out of his scarf. Interesting. Most villains Shota captured tried squirming to free themselves, not knowing that only made the bindings tighter.

Had he trapped the villain in his capture weapon before? He didn't think so. Maybe he really was just observant.

Shota made quick work of loosening and recapturing Deku properly so his hands were tightly bound behind his back before he yanked him to his feet. But once again, he faltered.

The kid was trembling.

At some point, he must have realized Shota wasn't listening to a word of his usual manipulative bullshit and given up, because he had gone silent, aside from his shaky, panicked breathing.

Shota decided if his heartstrings tugged on his emotions one more time he was cutting them out with kitchen scissors.

"You're a good actor, but I'm too tired to care. Move, now. Before I make you," Shota ordered coldly.

As if he hadn't said the words to remind himself it was an act. An act, Shota. Because the only reason he was hesitating right now was Deku's age paired with the frightened kid act, and Deku was using it to his full advantage to get in Shota's head.

Shota tightened his scarf and started dragging him to the roof's fire exit.

He was Eraserhead. Sappy stuff didn't affect him, so no, he wouldn't go easy on the criminal. He'd arrested brats even younger than this one before, and for less.

If Deku had something to say, he could say it in the interrogation room on record.

Izuku didn't know what to do. He was tempted to ask if this situation could get any worse, just to see if some higher-ups wanted to fuck with him even more.

At least he still had his hero costume on, even if they took all his weapons and gloves off. Without the layers, he'd be freezing. The cold metal cuffs dug into his wrists and the table his forearms were resting on wasn't any warmer. There was no way this room was naturally this cold this time of year. Was it a silent interrogation tactic? To make him uncomfortable in the small ways?

In his opinion, it was petty.

He had been sitting here alone for maybe ten minutes now. For the first bit, he had been grateful for a chance to sit down and rest after his tiring rescue mission. The relief lasted a good twenty seconds before it went downhill, but twenty seconds of peace is way longer than Izuku expected to get cuffed to a table in an interrogation room. Optimism, folks. Now he was anxious all over again. Eraserhead hadn't even said anything on the short walk here other than a few curt orders.

Initially, Izuku had just thought his teacher had confused him with a villain. It would explain his harsh behaviour. It didn't, however, explain why Eraser didn't stop attacking after he'd gotten a good look at him, or heard his voice. And then there was what he'd said.

"Don't pull the sentimental bullshit on me, Deku, it doesn't work."

Deku.

Izuku hadn't been mistaken for a villain. His teacher knew exactly who he was. So—

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Finally. A tremor ran through him. He couldn't decide between being relieved and scared, and who said he couldn't be both? He watched as two familiar faces walked in wearing unfamiliar expressions.

Detective Tsukauchi and his homeroom teacher sat across the table from him, wearing mirrored masks of cold indifference.

Fuck it. Izuku couldn't wait for them to realize something wasn't right, or for them to be nicer. Speak now or forever hold your peace, right? "Detective Tsukauchi, I'm so glad you're here. Please, you have to explain what's going on! Why am I here? W-why was I arrested?" he rushed out.

Fortunately, they let him talk this time. Maybe now that Aizawa wasn't worried about quickly arresting him, he would actually listen and believe—

"You're still keeping up this act?" Aizawa-Sensei seemed exasperated.

Okay, that's cool, too. Plan B, then. (What was Plan B?) "I promise you, I'm not acting. I don't understand what's happening!" He forced himself to speak slowly and earnestly, in hopes they would listen if he sounded sane. He couldn't afford to ramble when he only got so many words in at a time. "I was with Sir Nighteye and Lemillion helping rescue civilians after the villain attack downtown this morning. You were there, Aizawa-Sensei! I was carrying a little boy when—" he paused when the detective held up a hand for him to stop. (How was this different from Plan A?)

"Deku. Do not insult us. If you want to play stupid and make me spell it out for you, I can do just that," he said sternly. Izuku just blinked at him. Were they not speaking the same language? "You were arrested for your numerous crimes, including but not limited to–theft, assault and battery, affiliating with the League of Villains, aiding and abetting escaped convicts, resisting arrest, attempted homicide—"

"Wait, what!?" Izuku sputtered in disbelief. Detective Tsukauchi wasn't even reading off a list! "You're—No, that's not possible! I've never even—I'm a hero."

His head was starting to hurt, and from the looks of it, so were theirs. "A hero, huh?" Aizawa chuckled tiredly. He definitely thought Izuku was full of shit. "You have a license, too?"

Izuku thought back to something he'd heard once about how different people in a person's life have different relations with them, and will view them differently because of that. Like how Izuku's mother and his friends know Izuku differently—one knows Izuku as a son; the others as a friend.

Izuku was always under the impression that Aizawa treated his students similar to everyone else in his life. But he was wrong, very fucking wrong, because even the way Aizawa sounded tired was different right now.

Izuku decided he didn't like people treating him like a villain. Seeing him as a villain.

Ignoring the sarcasm, his eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes, I do! I forgot about my license, that's perfect proof!" They looked at him like he was insane, and he felt like he was halfway there. "No, please, I'm not joking! Look in my pocket here," he gestured to the pocket as much as he could with his wrists cuffed to the table, "and you'll find my Provisional Hero License and my UA Student ID." Now they were actually looking at him like he was crazy.

Detective Tsukauchi shrugged, like this bullshit wouldn't affect him anyway, and reached into Izuku's pocket while Aizawa activated Erasure on him. He wondered, for a brief moment, if maybe this was where his luck got worse. If his only two pieces of proof had been dropped somewhere when he got arrested.

Tsukauchi carefully pulled out two cards from his pocket, handing one to Aizawa, and Izuku sagged with relief while the two scrutinized them. That meant they were considering it a possibility.

They were silent for a beat, before the detective spoke up.

"Where did you get these?"

Chapter Text

Shota turned the Student ID card over in his hands, looking for any proof it was a fraud. Beside him, Tsukauchi did the same with the Provisional Hero License.

UA Academy Student Identification Card

Name: Izuku Midoriya

Department: Heroics

Class: 1-A

Number: 18

Homeroom Teacher: Shota Aizawa

It looked like an exact replica of every other Student ID at UA. The only difference was the picture on the side was of the boy in front of him, not one of his students.

Shota glanced back and forth between the picture and Deku. They were the same kid, no doubt about that, although the boy in the picture looked slightly younger. Rationally, that would align with the time it's been since his own first years had their yearbook photos taken.

Now that he noticed, Deku looked pretty dirty right now, too. They had taken his weapons, gloves, and removed his mask before they cuffed him to the table, but he'd never stopped to get a good look at the kid. In fact, this was the first time he'd properly gotten a chance to look at the face of Japan's infamous villain. It was smeared with dirt, with messy hair falling flatter than it did in the picture. There were angry scratches around his left cheek and jaw, some of which had bright lines of blood collecting.

Those looked fresh. Maybe Shota could've been a bit gentler when he arrested him.

His eyes had started to skim over the boy curiously, but they froze again when they landed on shoulder of his costume. Ripped above his bicep and soaked with dark blood. He couldn't see the wound, but blood didn't seep through thick fabric like that easily. He knew Deku probably had a high pain tolerance, but not even wincing when his shoulder got pulled by his capture weapon? If that was any of his students, Shota would be concerned. He made a mental note to get him first aid when this was over. Villain or not, he was still an injured kid.

Tsukauchi, done with inspecting the card, stared at the boy. "Where did you get these?" He kept his voice neutral, but Shota was thinking the same way.

Civilians will blindly listen to anyone who flashes a hero license in their face. If forged identities and licenses this authentic are going around, they had a big problem on their hands.

At the opportunity, Deku sat up, eager to explain his story.

That was another thing Shota noticed was different from his usual demeanour. He seemed more...childish? No, that wasn't it. He didn't know what to call it, but it did remind him of his students.

Maybe...? No. No, this was exactly the kind of manipulation Deku used. He got caught, and now he's putting on an act to get away. That's all.

"One's from Principal Nezu, and the other is from the Hero's Public Safety Commission. They're both real, check them however you want. Hack them, trying using them—it'll work! Look, I kind of understand you think I'm some horrible villain, but isn't there a chance I'm innocent? That you have me mixed up with someone else, or that there's something else we aren't getting?" he pleaded.

Tsukauchi let out a long sigh, and then pinned him with a hard glare. "Okay, I officially don't have time for this. These," he gestured, tossing the card on the table, "don't mean anything to me. Do you know how easy it would be to have Twice copy these from any student?" Deku's eyes widened, and whatever tension that escaped his body when they were looking over the IDs was back in full force. "This isn't a game, and we aren't playing here, Deku."

Shota, who decided to remain silent, observed him. A single crack in this act, and he would have no reason to listen to his arguments. He could ignore his raging heart that only saw a scared kid in front of him. But all he saw was anxiety. Tsukauchi went further, about how he'd committed horrible crimes and there would be serious consequences, and Shota noticed Deku's frightened eyes dart around the room while his leg started bouncing up and down under the table.

When Tsukauchi mentioned prison— Tartarus— Shota watched the teenager's face intently as anxiety morphed into full-fledged panic.

Izuku didn't know what to do. He kept looking around the room, hoping a solution would present itself to him.

Come on. Think, you useless Deku. There has to be a way out of this. Has to be something to make them listen. Right? Crap. They don't believe you.

The best proof he had was his ID. And they didn't believe him. He didn't have his phone. He couldn't call anyone. Would anyone else believe him? Was it just these two convinced he was a villain? Would All Might believe him? What about his mother? Would they look at him with cold, cruel eyes, too?

Now what? He needed to think. He was supposed to be good at thinking, damnit. At strategizing. They didn't believe him. Aizawa-Sensei was probably still looking at him with those harsh, uncaring, eyes, and Izuku couldn't force himself to check.

He opened his mouth, to beg one more time. Please, Sir. Please, you have to believe me. Then he heard Detective Tsukauchi tell him they were going to send him to Tartarus, and the words died on his tongue.

Tartarus?

They sent All For One to Tartarus. He didn't want to go to Tartarus. He couldn't go to Tartarus. Please, Sensei, you can't send me to Tartarus. I want to be a hero. I can't be a hero from a prison cell.

Suddenly, it got harder to breathe. He looked from one man to the other, but he wasn't really looking at them—rather through them. Tsukauchi was still talking. He didn't want to hear him talk. Not about how horrible he was or how he would never see the sun again.

I want to go home.

The realization made his eyes sting, and he wasn't surprised. Actually, he was faintly more surprised he hadn't cried yet, considering the circumstances. Shit, what if they thought the tears were just another act? He blinked rapidly, hoping to clear them.

He parted his lips to say something. To object, because these claims were fucking ridiculous, but frustration and panic built a lump in his throat he couldn't talk through. Couldn't even breathe through. Please, he tried whispering. I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. You have to believe me. I'm innocent. Please. Please, Aizawa-Sensei, please, I'm your student, you know me.

He couldn't tell if his words were making any sounds, but he suddenly didn't feel very good. "Please, I'm not—" His voice cracked and he abandoned communication for oxygen. His chest was starting to hurt, but that was weird, since his shoulder was the one that was bleeding.

Aizawa-Sensei said something, but Izuku couldn't hear it. Something was wrong, he didn't feel right. The room was too small and the air too thin and their eyes too unaffected. He blinked and the tears spilled onto his face and dripped into his lap, but when he tried to wipe them away, the handcuffs dug into his wrists.

Take the handcuffs off. I'm innocent. I can't go to Tartarus, I don't want to. Why won't the handcuffs just fucking come off?

It hurt. Everything hurt, and he knew he was panicking but he couldn't stop. The walls of the interrogation room seemed to be bending closer to him; he curled into himself to give them space.

Home. He just wanted to go home, not Tartarus. Home, where he was safe. He yanked on the wretched handcuffs again, chest heaving and heart pounding loudly. God, he couldn't hear anything except his wheezing breaths.

Air. He couldn't breathe. Something was making it hard to breathe. Had he put his hero mask back on? He went to take it off, but the fucking handcuffs—

He heard something, and pulled on the cuffs harder. Why wasn't One for All working? He needed to Smash the cuffs. If he could just take off this mask and breathe, get air, he couldn't find any air in this room—had he inhaled it all?

Was the room expanding or shrinking? Neither was stopping the air from getting thinner. He inhaled sharply, and every oxygen atom evaded his lungs. His chest hurt. He was so fucking weak, such a Deku that he couldn't even breathe—

The same sound again, and this time he distantly felt something on his sweaty back. Was he making a sound? He couldn't hear past the numb sound of blood roaring in his ears. God, he was so fucking useless, he couldn't even breathe right—

You're okay.

No, his lungs were going to break his ribs and he still wouldn't have enough air and he felt dizzy—

Can you....me? Listen...my voice, okay?

He choked out a sob, but sucked in another lungful of air so fast it barely made a difference.

"Kid? You're gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

The touch on his shoulder and knee became easier to focus on. A hand. He leaned into it instinctively. He wanted it to take off the mask. Take off the handcuffs. Give him air.

"You're okay. You need to breathe, slowly. I know it's hard. Slower will help, not faster. You're safe."

Safe?

That was...Whose voice was that?

"Can you focus on my voice, kid? I need you to do that for me." The voice's hand made slow, soothing, circles on the back of his hand.

Aizawa-Sensei. He'll help. He always helps.

He tried to nod.

"Okay, that's good." His voice was patient, calm. "Can you focus on this?" Izuku refocused his eyes to watch the fingers on the back of his hand trace the same circle, again and again—an act you wouldn't expect to help but oddly enough, it really did. "I need you to try breathing with me, okay?"

He didn't respond, and a few seconds later, he heard Aizawa speak up again. "Okay... Izuku ?"

Something about hearing his first name loosened a knot in his chest. A hiccuping sob broke free, and he surrendered control to his tears, too tired to fight it.

"Please, S-Sir, you have to believe me—" he cried.

The hand faltered and left, but it was too late for Izuku to stop crying. He only cried harder when he felt its comforting weight return a second later on his shoulder.

Deku could easily stab Shota in the side any second now. This was the perfect opportunity to escape, with their guards being down.

Who would expect someone to viciously attack after experiencing a panic attack?

Shota was definitely an idiot for this. Crouching beside a criminal with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to breathe? Yeah, even Tsukauchi was giving him a look.

But Shota gave him a look back, because there was no way in hell he was going to sit there indifferent while a fucking kid had a panic attack across the table from him.

Tsukauchi was the one who triggered it with his Tartarus bullshit, too. He'd only said it to scare him, that much was obvious. Deku was what—15? 16? Sending a minor to Tartarus was rare. Shota was pretty sure he'd only ever heard of it happening once.

He'd known something was up when Deku started breathing fast and panicking, but he'd been hoping it wouldn't be worse than that. When the kid started making choking noises and pulling at the cuffs, he said fuck it.

Guilty or not, he wasn't that cold.

Now the kid was curled up—as much as he could with the handcuffs, anyway—and crying with a concerning amount of gasps. Fingers still rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand, Shota let himself think. Had that been an act?

His instincts told him it wasn't. It wasn't that Shota folded every time he witnessed someone beg or cry. In fact, Eraserhead was known as one of the colder Pros, even for underground standards. But this...this felt too real to be planned. It was too messy to be the 'perfect breakdown.'

Going with his instincts, Shota let the kid cry himself out a bit, before trying to calm him down. "Do you know the box method for breathing?"

The teen shook his head.

"It's simple, and helps you slow down your breathing. In for 4 seconds," Shota counted while he inhaled as demonstration, "hold for 4 seconds," he counted again, "out for 4 seconds," he exaggerated the fall of his chest while he exhaled, "and hold again for 4."

They repeated the motion for a while. Eventually, Deku calmed down enough for him to stop counting aloud.

Where the fuck do I go from here?

He let out a sigh. "Kid? Are you ready for us to try again?"

Deku swallowed and said hoarsely, "Y-yeah. Sorry."

Shota stood up straight, letting go of the boy's hand, and walked back to his chair. He felt Tsukauchi's eyes on him, and he met his stare, just for a second.

'Let me try talking to him.'

The cop gave a curt nod, but it was permission nonetheless.

"How're you feeling?" Shota asked. Best  to start with a simple question, right?

It was silent for a beat. "Uh," the boy across from him paused and cleared his throat, head still ducked down. "I-I don't know? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have panicked like that. I-I'm fine, now."

"It's fine to panic, it wasn't your fault. Look—Tartarus," the kid tensed at the word, "isn't for minors, so you don't have to worry about that. What you do have to worry about are the charges that are associated with your name, ' Deku'," Shota explained calmly.

"Aizawa-Sensei, I-I just need you to listen. That's not me; I didn't do those things you say I did," the kid insisted, and it took all of Shota's patience not to snap at him. It had been all of fifteen minutes in this room and they were back to square one.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Shota blurted out. If the same questions got the same answers, why not ask a different one? Besides, Deku seemed to have calmed down enough now.

"...Because you're my teacher?" he said, like it was obvious. "That's what I call you...? I mean, if we're out during our work studies, then you make us call you Eraserhead, but otherwise—"

"'Us'?"  Tsukauchi caught, and Shota impulsively made the decision to himself that he would hear the kid out. With an open mind.  It's the only logical thing to do. Being blissfully ignorant has never helped the truth come out. If Deku was acting, well, Jeanist would make some weird metaphor about the fabric of his story falling apart with too many holes. And if he's telling the truth...

They would cross that bridge when they got to it.

Chapter Text

Izuku was already sick of these four walls and he hadn't even been here long. They were pretty plain, in all fairness. One with a door. One with nothing. Another with nothing. One with a mirror—hey, that was exciting, right? Wrong. He didn't want to see his face after that train wreck of a panic attack.

Sitting there in that cold metal chair, with cold metal handcuffs still digging into his fucking wrists, Izuku was hit with an odd craving for his mom's homemade katsudon. Sue him, it'd been a while since he'd eaten.

He guessed it had been little over an hour since he arrived in this place, but it felt like days. Getting attacked by someone you trusted could do that to you, huh? His aching shoulder, puffy eyes, and probably snotty nose weren't helping.

Yeah, those were really killing the badass interrogation vibe.

Oh, look at that, he realized dryly. Post-panic attack Izuku was a sarcastic comedian. How great.

"Us?" Detective Tsukauchi interrupted. Oh, right. They were interrogating him.

"I–Well, yeah? Like, me and my class?" Izuku offered.

What's the point of these questions? Will they even believe me after? Or will they threaten Tartarus again?

No, Aizawa promised that wasn't going to happen. If anything, they were...giving him a chance to explain himself? Was that it?

The man in question spoke up this time, giving him an easy question. "And what class is that?"

If this was them trying to be nicer, he could muster up the energy to explain. He'd been through worse than a bit of questioning. Hell, he willingly shattered his bones for a school event. "Class 1-A. You're my homeroom teacher," he answered, finally looking up from his lap. On the bright side, his teacher looked kinder than he did before Izuku had lost it and started sobbing.

"Then where do you sit in the classroom?"

Easy. "Well, I, uh, I sit in seat 18, the far left row, behind Kacchan and in front of Mineta. We didn't get to choose our seats, we just got assigned on the first day, because you said choosing our seats would waste time and be 'irrational', which makes sense, I guess." Izuku wasn't a good liar, but he was good at rambling. If anything, senseless rambling made him less suspicious, right?

"There's no student named Kacchan in my class."

"Oh! Right, sorry. I meant Bakugo. I just call him Kacchan because we were childhood friends..." he trailed off, not wanting to get off topic.

"If you sit in seat 18, where does Shinso sit?" Aizawa tested.

This made him pause. The kid from the Sports Festival? "Shinso? He isn't in our class, Sensei. He didn't pass the hero course entrance exam, and got put in 1-C with Mic Sensei. He did pretty good at the Sports Fest though, and I think the school is considering moving him if a spot opens up."

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, and Izuku couldn't decode that for the life of him. But something else caught his attention. "Your scar," he said, the words slipping from his mouth.

His teacher looked at him strangely for a moment. "What about it?" he asked gruffly.

He immediately felt awkward for pointing it out, but that scar was important. It was the first sign he'd seen that proved he wasn't crazy. That this wasn't the same Aizawa he knew.

"I—Sorry, I just realized how, um, rude that is to point out, but I was just wondering—and I hope it's okay to ask this—where did you get it?" In different conditions, he'd definitely be ashamed to say something so insensitive. His mother taught him manners! Unfortunately, he was too desperate to prioritize being polite.

The scar wasn't supposed to look like that. It was supposed to be a small crescent under his eye, not a jagged slash from one cheekbone to above the opposite eyebrow.

"I got it during the attack on the USJ, a few months ago. Surely," Aizawa said, looking at him intently, "you must have heard of it?"

Why does it look different? He thought to himself.

"What did you say?" Tsukauchi spoke up, startling him. Crap, did Izuku say that out loud?

He thought about the best way to phrase this. "Um, I'm not sure how to explain this, but it's just that the Aizawa-Sensei I know got a scar from when we were attacked at the USJ, too, but yours is... different," he tried, narrowly avoiding the word worse. Smooth, Izuku. Real smooth. Something told him insults wouldn't help his case. "Which, I don't really know if that makes sense, because what changed, then, for this place to be different in small details, like the scar, or Shinso being in your class? And we still don't even know how this is possible, for me to be in a place that looks exactly the same from my life but be different, because you both think I'm a villain for some reason—" he said, beginning to mutter only to himself as he went on.

"Stop, go back," Aizawa-Sensei interrupted. "What do you mean 'we were attacked'?" His eyes narrowed. "So you admit you were also there that day at the USJ?"

"I mean, of course? I'm in your class and we were on a field trip—"

"No, you were with the League. You attacked us!" he insisted. "I saw you with my own two eyes."

Izuku's jaw dropped. It took a lot leave him speechless, but that? No wonder they were convinced he was a villain!

"Sensei? Can I be honest with you?" he gambled, deciding to forget about Tsukauchi for a bit. Izuku didn't know the Detective that well other than the fact that he and All Might were friends, but he hadn't been very keen on listening to Izuku's story, unlike Aizawa.

The man gave a sarcastic look that Izuku ignored, one that said, ' Have you just been making shit up the past twenty minutes, then?'

"I don't know how I'm supposed to prove this to you. That I'm innocent," he confessed. "We've just been going in circles now, with the whole 'please believe me' and 'give up the act, villain' thing. But there's obviously something wrong here if we have different accounts of the same event. Multiple events, even, and-and more than just events, if you don't even recognize me as your student, when in my experience, you've been my teacher for months now!" He paused to sigh, releasing the frustration that begun to bleed into his voice before continuing. "I can tell you as much as you want to know about anything in my life, if that'll make you believe me. I can tell you about how we always have English with Mic-Sensei in the mornings or how All Might sometimes has a Teaching for Dummies book in his pocket or how Iida likes being ten minutes early to class only to end up scolding us to the second before the bell about being in our seats, but it won't matter if you've already made up your mind." He forced himself to make eye contact with his teacher, an act he'd been trying to avoid in fear of seeing that icy glare again. "Sir, when I found myself on a random street I didn't know, my first plan was to find you. Because the one thing you're always telling us is that if there's ever a problem, if we ever need help—we should come to you. So, please help me."

Izuku scanned his teacher's body language for anything that would hint at his thoughts. Even a muscle in his jaw relaxing would be a sign. But this was Eraserhead, and he'd been dealing with criminals for far too long to let emotions roam freely on his face.

At least he was thinking about it. That means that somewhere in his little speech, Aizawa heard something worth considering.

He was not expecting Aizawa to mutter under his breath, " Iida?"

The only word, actually, before he was pensive again. And he said it so quietly that Izuku wasn't even sure he meant to say it aloud. Of all things, why had that stuck with him?

He counted a full minute before his teacher finally spoke up.

"I believe you."

Chapter Text

Shota didn't know what he was doing. The kid awkwardly sitting in the passenger seat beside him was either a lost hero student of his or one of Japan's most infamous villains, and he could quite literally be driving straight to his death right now.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel in front of him.

No, he had to trust his instincts and logic, both of which were telling him Deku was innocent.  Innocent until proven guilty; even if he wasn't a cop, that was the code heroes were supposed to work by, and throughout that whole interrogation, emotions and instincts aside, Shota hadn't found any concrete evidence other than his appearance that Deku was guilty. On the contrary, he'd found much more evidence proving his innocence.

However, believing him and trusting him enough to let him go weren't the one and the same, hence why it was twenty minutes later they were finally on their way to UA. He and Tsukauchi spent good time getting his whole story and making sure he spared no details.

His story sounds legit, I'll give him that.

Deku had been silent the whole ride, and Shota wasn't sure what to make of that, especially when all he'd been doing at the police station was rambling. Hell, they'd been ready to ask him an annoying amount of questions to dissect every detail, and there'd been no need, not when the kid word vomited and trailed off with side stories like it was breathing.

He could see the teenager's knee bouncing out of the corner of his eye, so he hadn't dozed off, either. It would make sense if he was tired, though. Assuming he was telling the truth, he'd been working at a rescue site for a while before all this happened. And god knows his experience here hasn't been relaxing, either. Shota grimaced at the thought. He definitely took the majority of the blame for that.

He was self-aware enough to know he'd been biased from the start. He'd tried, of course, to separate teacher from Pro, but it was harder than most people realized when a literal child in front of you was sobbing for someone to simply listen to him and you were expected to coldly lock him up for life. The fact he kept calling him Sensei didn't help.

"Are you hungry?" Shota's voice broke the silence, and for once, he didn't miss it. It had been an awkward and uncomfortable thing.

Just in case the kid said yes, he took a right, detouring to where he knew a plaza with different food options awaited. He waited for a response, only to find that more of that annoying silence.

Just as he was about to ask again, Deku spoke. "Kinda," he replied quietly.

Great, what the fuck was he supposed to do with 'kinda'? It was a yes or no question! The kid was cool with mocking his very rational time management as a teacher, but he got shy when asked about food?

"Kinda?" he repeated dryly. "Deku, you gotta be more specific than that." He winced internally at the snark in his voice. The kid needs calm, not judgement, Shota. "There's a bunch of fast food places nearby, so we can stop and pick up whatever you want," he added, a tad gentler.

"You can just call me Midoriya, you know," he blurted.

Surprised, Shota nodded. Assuming that's what he called the Problem Child in his own world, it would give him a comforting sense of familiarity. That much, he could do.

"Okay, Midoriya. How do you feel about American style burgers?"

"...I like burgers."

At least the place was decent. They were sitting in a small booth at the back of a 24 hour place that Izuku had been to a few times before in his world. He liked the American fast food they had here; it was better than most places nearby and cheap. The brown booth was cushioned, its leather seats cracking in places, and the table was a dark wood that Izuku found more soothing than any bright coloured plastic would be. (Even worse would be cold metal. From today onwards, he decided he hated cold metal tables.) In front of them laid their fries, two drinks, and the box from his burger, which he'd finished in seconds. Apparently getting interrogated builds an appetite.

Yeah, this felt awkward.

I mean, really, I should be thankful I'm not on my way to Tartarus right now. And he bought me food, too!

And he was thankful, but sitting across his introverted homeroom teacher at a fast food restaurant in the middle of the night was not on Izuku's UA Hero Academy bingo card. Especially in his hero suit that he hoped against hope wasn't leaving dirt or blood stains behind.

Now that he thought about it, what time even was it?

He missed his phone. Maybe if he had it he could call his Aizawa-Sensei. Wait, scratch that. Their numbers were probably the same.

"You're being awfully quiet, kid."

"I never thought I'd be sitting in a 24-hour fast food restaurant in a different world with my teacher at 1AM after getting arrested by him," he said bluntly. "Actually, what time even is it? My phone's missing."

Aizawa-Sensei gave him a tired look, but if anything, it put him at ease. That's the look he always gave them in class when they did something stupid, and it was familiar enough to break down a bit of the awkwardness he felt. "It's 1:46 in the morning," Aizawa announced after checking his phone.

He nodded in thanks, but then a question he'd been wondering came to mind. "Aizawa-Sensei? Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

Izuku ignored his teacher's sense of humour. Or maybe he was being serious? He couldn't tell. "How did Shinso get into the Hero Course? In my world, his quirk didn't work on the robots from the entrance exam," he asked tentatively. He knew his teacher wasn't anything like the ones at Aldera, knew he never had a problem with Izuku's curiosity before and would've said so if he did, but what if this Aizawa was different? Better to be safe than sorry.

"Shinso was transferred after the Sports Festival," Aizawa explained. He didn't seem annoyed with the question, so he decided it was fine to keep talking.

"I thought you guys couldn't do that unless there was an empty spot? And if he only transferred after and I wasn't there, then who was the twentieth kid in 1-A..." he said, muttering the last part mostly to himself.

"Did I not expel anyone in your class?" He asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "It's been a few months—I've normally expelled at least one kid by now."

"Wha—Expel?" Izuku stammered, caught off guard. "You mean those rumours about you always expelling a bunch of kids are true?!" He and the rest of Class 1-A had basically assumed the rumours were exaggerations of his strict teaching style, but people were being serious?!

"Didn't I expel the kid who came last in the quirk apprehension test I did on the first day?" Aizawa-Sensei asked, promptly leaving the boy stunned once more.

He was actually planning on expelling me? Was that stunt I pulled with my broken finger really that impressive? No way, it was a last ditch attempt that only a Deku like me could've come up with! Speaking of injuries, man, my shoulder is killing me. I need to get a first aid kit to wrap it. Maybe from the dorms? Crap, does it need stitches...?

Realizing he'd been silent for too long, he rushed to explain. "Um. No," he said eloquently.

"I—Well, you see, like, you threatened expulsion. But after you showed us the results, you said it was a ruse..." he rushed out, feeling like he was literally stumbling through that sentence. "Do you, uh, have any idea why you wouldn't have gone through with it in my world?" He prayed that last question wasn't pushing Aizawa's patience with him.

Aizawa-Sensei looked thoughtful. "I expel kids when they show me zero potential. If I told you I was planning on expelling a kid, I was dead serious. Whoever came last in your class probably showed me enough to convince me they had potential as a hero with the right teaching." He paused to think for a beat. "And if I still haven't expelled anyone in your class, that means I was right."

Oh, that totally didn't make Izuku feel special and warm inside. Not one bit.

When Izuku didn't have anything else to add, Aizawa spoke up again. "Ready to go?"

He nodded and began to pick up their leftover garbage with his uninjured arm, a detail that didn't go unnoticed by Aizawa. "Do you mind if I eat the fries in your car?"

"Only if you don't share with me," the man grumbled, swiping a fry from the box.

A few minutes later, they were back in Aizawa-Sensei's car driving to UA. Feeling less wary this time around, Izuku allowed himself a glance around. The car was sleek and black, but cozy on the inside, reminding him a lot of the man driving it. Before they let the aroma of greasy french fries take over, it had smelled fresh, like a candle his mom would make him smell at the mall.

Mom. Was she in this world, too? If he called her number, would she pick up? Was her life any different, with her son being a dangerous villain? Was it better or worse? He didn't know which answer would hurt more.

Izuku sighed to himself. Where did he go from here? Hopefully, this was the effect of a quirk, and it would wear off soon. And what if I'm stuck here forever?

"First thing when we get back, Problem Child, is getting that shoulder looked at by Recovery Girl." When Izuku snorted mid-sentence, Aizawa raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?" he asked skeptically.

"Nothing, it's just that, um, it's funny that you barely know me and you're already calling me Problem Child, just like my Aizawa-Sensei does," he explained, feeling embarrassed. But there was also a sense of ease, one that had been washing over him in waves as he talked to the man more. That little nickname was all it took to make him fully relax, make his guard drop completely—because this was the same Aizawa-Sensei, even if it wasn't.

His teacher rolled his eyes, but Izuku swore he saw an amused glint there. "Oh, so you're a Problem Child in every world, huh? Good to know."

Was Aizawa...teasing him?

Izuku's jaw dropped. "Yeah, well, you're a coffee addict in every world," he muttered snarkily.

He fished out the last fry from the bottom and the box and thought to himself. Maybe he was scared, and maybe he didn't know how he would fix this. Maybe he hadn't even figured out what this was.

But at least he wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

Izuku managed to keep his muttering to a minimum on the ride to his school. Or he hoped he did, anyway.

Once he and Aizawa-Sensei had settled into a comfortable silence, a wave of pure exhaustion had hit, paired with the throbbing pain he'd been ignoring in his shoulder, and it'd taken everything he had not to succumb to it. He trusted Aizawa, but falling asleep in his car like a little kid was downright embarrassing. It was enough to hope his shoulder wasn't bleeding on the man's leather seats. Especially when he considered that to Aizawa, Izuku was a random teenager with the face of a villain, not his student.

So to force his heavy eyelids awake, he decided to think. Which, in hindsight, might not have been the brightest idea with Izuku being an anxious overthinker with a mumbling problem. The poor boy sat there thinking of so many theories he started missing his analysis journals.

How was he here? Was here real? Was this place an alternate universe, or a mental conjuring of some sort, like a dream? What if this was his world, but a different timeline? That would be bad. How could he fix this? Assuming he got hit with an emitter type, it should wear off eventually. Their duration depended on the quirk strength and type. Was it mental? Physical? At this rate, he wouldn't be surprised if it was spiritual. Should he try to find the same kid he was rescuing before and see if his quirk works to reverse things? What if Izuku was in his world, but everyone's memories had been altered to think of him as a villain? No, too many things were different for it to only be a memory change—like Shinso being in the hero course. What changes specially occurred for Shinso to be in 1-A, like he dreamed of?

"You can't help the things your heart longs for."

The words Shinso had uttered after losing the fight in the Sports Fest came to mind unbidden, and it brought Izuku a small spark of happiness for the boy that, at least here, he was happy in the hero course. And then...guilt. Because it was his fault things weren't like that in his world, wasn't it? If Izuku never got in to UA, the spot would've eventually gone to Shinso. And Izuku beat him in the Sports Festival, too, crushing his chance of being acknowledged enough to be moved. In this world, he got in, because Izuku never beat him. Because Izuku was never there. It was technically his fault Shinso's dream didn't come true.

Who else was better off without Izuku in their lives?

Evidently, being stuck in a car with nothing but endless theories and guilt-ridden what-ifs didn't end happily. Fortunately, he didn't have to sit with those thoughts for long, because it was then that he noticed his school come into view. UA Academy. God, he could see this place a million times and would never get over how cool it was.

"Come on, out of the car. First stop is the old lady's," Aizawa-Sensei ushered, putting the car in park and unbuckling his seatbelt. "And don't leave the garbage in here."

Izuku scrambled to follow his lead, even though his mind stalled on his words. Grabbing the fries box with one hand and opening the car door with the other, he asked nervously, "Recovery Girl? Why are we going to her?"

His teacher started walking in the direction Izuku knew from memory was to Recovery Girl's office. "What do you mean, 'why?' Your shoulder is still injured, Problem Child," he said tiredly.

Anxiety flared in Izuku's stomach. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the Healing Hero—No! It was the opposite, really. Izuku just didn't want to bother her for such a small injury, particularly when she already wasn't a fan of healing his broken bones. "What? No! It's really not that bad, Sensei! Don't worry," he said, attempting a reassuring tone. But even to his own ears, he sounded uneasy. As Izuku stated previously, he was a shit liar.

Aizawa shot him a disbelieving look and kept walking at a brisk pace to the school door near the parking lot. Izuku had to hurry to keep up. Was Aizawa secretly a track star? Izuku would rather die than ask the stoic man, but Mic-Sensei would probably know. He should add that to his list of things to do when he got back, along with figuring out what in fresh hell happened to him in the last few hours. "It's concerning if you think that's not a serious enough injury to be medically treated."

"No! I mean, yes, you're right, it's more than a scratch, but you don't need to bother Recovery Girl. It's late, and she's probably sleeping, and I can stitch myself up no problem if need be—" Christ, he was borderline pleading.

"I already called her. She's awake," his teacher explained, cutting him off while he pulled out his ID to open the door. Only some of the doors past the gate into UA required ID access, and the door at this parking lot was one of them. Before Aizawa scanned his card, his hand paused as he thought of an idea. "Try your Student ID," the man said slowly.

Okay. Okay, yeah. No big deal. Izuku quickly pulled his card out with clumsy hands. It wasn't like Aizawa would lose all trust in him if this didn't work. He definitely wouldn't be carted off to Tartarus to be roomies with All for One if it was denied. He pressed the card against the little black scanning box beside the door and prayed.

The light flashed green and Izuku's shoulders sagged. He guessed Aizawa also relaxed on the inside, because the man had no external reaction whatsoever, other than a nod and opening the door. Was he a robot, too? A robot track star? Mic-Sensei definitely had the answers.

Izuku hadn't been entirely sure his card would work, considering it hadn't been entered into this UA's system. Maybe it wasn't individual access in a database, but a general code each card had? Izuku knew his principal was wicked smart—Nezu must've come up with an efficient method to...Wait. Aizawa woke her up?

That was the opposite of not bothering her! That was bothering her!

"You woke her up? Why would you do that!?" Izuku practically squeaked. He let Aizawa lead the way through the building, though there was no point, really. The quiet hallways definitely felt different at night, without all the bustling people and fewer lights, but he could find his way to her office in his sleep.

Aizawa-Sensei sighed in annoyance but didn't stop walking. "I don't understand why you seem to be against going to her, Midoriya. I called and woke her up because you need medical attention, and because she might be able to run tests to find out what quirk you were hit with."

"I'm not against going to her," he sputtered. They turned a corner and he spotted the door to her office. The lights were on inside. Crap, she was probably annoyed and sleepy. Good job, stupid Deku. Even in other worlds you manage to injure yourself and force her to use her quirk to fix you up. "I just don't want to bother her, you know? She's going to get less sleep because of me, when I can fix myself up on my own!"

"Healing you is her job, kid."

There was no time to understand what his teacher meant by that or to respond, not when the door to her office was right in front of them. Aizawa nodded his head, gesturing for Izuku to go first, and he faltered. What if she refused to heal him? Was this technically a self-inflicted injury, since he'd rushed to save the boy without noticing the debris fall?

At his hesitancy, his teacher gave him a mildly concerned look that Izuku missed in his worry when Aizawa pushed the door open himself.

The whole meeting honestly didn't take long. Fifteen minutes, give or take.

Which is why, as they walked to Heights Alliance, Shota didn't understand Midoriya's discomfort towards the whole thing.

Initially, he was suspicious that it meant he'd been wrong and the teenager walking beside him truly was one of Japan's most wanted. That maybe there was a clue in his identity he didn't want a doctor seeing. He dropped that idea after the Student ID worked and Recovery Girl ran a handful of tests on him. It wasn't even the test results themselves that convinced Shota of his innocence, it was Midoriya's openness to doing all the tests her heart desired. Hopefully the results they would get tomorrow could provide some answers for the situation.

He blew out a slow breath as the warm lights in front of the 1-A building got closer. He always enjoyed summer patrols. The weather at night was perfect.

If it wasn't guilt, then it could be a number of phobias. Recovery Girl was generally very kind to all the students, but maybe he had a bad experience with her quirk? Or a general dislike of doctors? No, the kid seemed fine with her. The only part that seemed to make him uncomfortable was...her healing quirk. That didn't sit well with Shota. Nothing about any of the staff should make the students uncomfortable. He mentally ran through the meeting.

It hadn't been anything special. Midoriya repeatedly told him he didn't want to bother the old lady, even after Shota told him she was already awake. That could've also been the kid being too nice, but him actually hesitating to open the door? That was a red flag. They went inside, Shota introduced the kid to her, and Midoriya explained his situation to her briefly, like he didn't want to take up too much of her time. Weird, now that Shota knew he was a rambler. Then, she asked him questions about his shoulder and gotten him to take off the top half of his hero suit so she could clean the wound.

The kid had scars. Serious scars. Another red flag, because Recovery Girl's quirk didn't leave scars, which raised endless questions as to why his whole arm looked like All Might stepped on it and put it back together.

Naturally, she asked him what happened.

This was where Shota was sure as shit he was missing something.

"Oh, you mean these?" Midoriya glanced at his arms, as if just remembering they existed. "I, um, wasn't always good at using my quirk. It was kind of...too strong for my body." He laughed it off awkwardly and the woman froze for a second. Shota would've just assumed he was embarrassed by his lack of control.

But Recovery Girl pinned him with this heavy stare. And pointed to him. There was this important question in her eyes, in the furrow of her eyebrows.

Midoriya paled in understanding, then swallowed. And nodded once.

It was glaringly obvious Shota was missing vital information, big enough to impact both their worlds, when her eyes widened a fraction in shock.

Yeah, that had been sketchy as fuck. He didn't need his years as an Underground Pro to know that, just common sense. He filed that away to ask about later.

Beside him, the teenager chuckled. "It feels like I haven't been back here in days," he said, gazing up at the dorm building looming over them.

Shota nodded in acknowledgement, though it quietly surprised him he'd forgotten Midoriya probably knew his way around these dorms better than Shota himself. "Those brats better be following curfew," he grumbled, climbing up the steps to the main doors.

"With my luck, Kaminari will be getting a late night snack..." the kid mumbled under his breath, and Shota almost laughed at how possible the scenario was. It was disorienting to remember they weren't strangers to him, that they were his classmates and teachers. To Midoriya, they talked everyday. He lived with them.

He thought about the meeting with Recovery Girl again. Other than that one interaction, the only thing that stuck out as a red flag to the man was Midoriya's insistence on apologizing every other second for 'bothering her' and 'making her use her quirk'. That, and how little he outwardly reacted to the drowsiness caused by her quirk. Was he that familiar with getting healed by her quirk, or so exhausted he didn't feel its effects?

Later, Shota. Ask your questions later.

With that, he stepped forward and held out the door to Heights Alliance for the boy at his side.

When he stepped through the door, flicked on the lights, and took in the main floor of his dorm building, the building he'd been living in for months now, Izuku was struck with a thought.

If Izuku didn't already know he was in the wrong world, he would've when he walked in here.

This...this wasn't his Heights Alliance.

This wasn't his home.

He didn't immediately recognize why. As he stood there, stopped only a few feet in front of the doors, all he could do was sweep his gaze over the room, again and again. He heard the door shut behind him, Aizawa's quiet footsteps coming to stand beside him.

At first glance, it looked exactly the same. Same coloured carpet, same furniture. Even the placement of the couches was the same.

"Something wrong?" Aizawa-Sensei kept his voice quiet, conscious of the kids sleeping above. Izuku didn't tear his attention from the room as he answered.

"It feels different from my dorm building."

"Probably because you know it's not the same," the man suggested.

The boy swallowed, pushing his unease down with it. "Maybe," he conceded. Aizawa was probably right. Occam's razor and all. There was nothing different, really. It was just his mind fucking with him.

They kicked off their shoes and picked them up before walking to the elevators. Another motion that felt out of place, since Izuku normally left his shoes beside his classmates. He glanced at the racks of shoes by the door, and did a double take when he saw a black pair he didn't recognize.

Those must be Shinso's.

Were there less shoes, or was it another trick of his mind? A bit of both, he decided before hurrying to catch up to Aizawa, since his own shoes weren't joining the rack.

Right before they reached the elevator, he noticed something and stopped in his tracks. He moved toward the empty section of wall to his left.

"Where's the picture?" he called out to his teacher, who hadn't noticed he wasn't being followed.

Aizawa, turning to see what he was talking about, appeared lost. "You're going to have to be more specific, Problem Child."

It was missing. The picture that hung here. The wall looked empty without it, and thinking back, that was the whole reason why they hung it here specifically in the first place. Warmth filled him when he remembered it, like always. They were so proud of that picture. "The class picture we printed." Realizing he wasn't part of any class pictures here, he rephrased that. "Like, didn't they take a picture? A class picture? After they all got their hero licenses that day?" Izuku's head snapped to the side, searching for the other picture they'd hung up soon after the first and...also missing. "And over there too—they never hung another class picture there? From the party they threw Kacchan and Todoroki when they got their licenses later?"

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at him like he was batshit, and yeah, he definitely felt like it. Then something seemed to click in his mind. "Wait, how many of you got your hero licenses on the exam day?"

Now Izuku was the one who felt stupid. Why was that important? "Eighteen of us, why? The only people who didn't were Kacch— Bakugo and Todoroki."

He let his eyes roam as he answered. Now that he knew small things were , in fact, different in the building, he wanted to find more . He thought about details related to him, because that appeared to be the most apparent change in the class, aside from Shinso. He walked to the nearest window ledge and swiped a finger along it to test his idea. Dusty.

Because he and Kacchan never cleaned the building. Because they never fought that night.

His teacher, who had been silent for whatever reason, decided to release a tidbit of information that strayed from his forming theory. "Only eight students in 1-A got their hero licenses the day of the exam."

"Wh-what...?" He blinked. "No, that can't be—it doesn't make sense! They're the same people, how could ten of them have failed here when they were supposed to pass?" So far, all the changes were events Izuku played a role in, like Shinso taking his spot. How...how did the exam results have anything to do with him? Uraraka and Sero failing, sure, maybe that was understandable, but more than half the class?

Aizawa-Sensei let out a heavy sigh, focusing on the empty wall like it would reveal the secrets of the goddamn universe if he intimidated it long enough. "I don't know, kid. There's too many variables, and it's too late at night for this. We can talk about all this tomorrow. Right now you need to sleep , you've had a long day." He turned and gestured for him to follow to the elevators.

Izuku ran a frustrated hand through his already messy hair before trailing after the man. He almost pulled his hair out, too, when he realized only now that he left his gloves back in Aizawa's car. Or worse, Recovery Girl's office. Probably his mask, too. He'd need to find them in the morning.

"So, um. Speaking of sleep." Yes folks, Izuku was known as the charismatic smooth-talker extrovert for a reason. "Do you...know a place where I can sleep?"

The man, bless his soul, did not comment on Izuku's awkwardness. Instead, he replied with, "You can either crash in the guest room of my apartment or in the extra dorm room."

The teenager perked up in curiosity as he pressed the up button for the elevator. "You guys built extra dorm rooms? Wow, we only have twenty!"

The elevator instantly opened with a ding, and they shuffled inside. When Aizawa didn't say anything for a minute, Izuku looked at him, only to find the Pro staring at him for probably the hundredth time today. The weight of his eyes felt crushing, and Izuku wondered what the hell his teacher was thinking about so intensely.

It felt like there was something he wanted to say.

"Aizawa-Sensei?"

Just as soon as he went silent, Aizawa snapped back to the present and merely pressed the button for the top floor. "You can sleep in my guest room. It isn't rational to sleep in the dorm, even if you're more used to it. The students will panic if they see you in the morning."

Izuku agreed and soon followed the man out the elevator to his apartment door.

He never mentioned that Aizawa never answered the question about the extra dorm.

Chapter Text

Shota was exhausted. It wasn't a new feeling; exhaustion had been introduced to the man at 17, filled with fresh grief , and clung to him ever since. But being familiar with a feeling doesn't mean you stop feeling it. Just means you get better at dealing with it.

He'd had a long day, to be fair. Classes throughout the first half, then marking assignments while supervising detention after school. They weren't even his brats—he lost a bet with Kayama ages ago and somehow she'd remembered to cash in this morning. (He was still hung up on that bet, because he was certain Yamada had prioritized Shota losing the damned bet over Yamada winning the fucking race, like he logically should have.) Shota barely had time for a quick nap before he was called in to the station to fill out villain processing paperwork. He'd clocked in for patrol immediately after, because who needs sleep, right? (Him, desperately.)

It'd been a slow night. Then Midoriya showed up, relieved eyes turning scared and confused within seconds of them meeting. Safe to say his slow night ended there.

Shota dragged a tired hand down his face, down eyebags that felt so permanent he considered them part of his hero suit, down the overdramatic scar that was apparently different in Midoriya's world (and didn't he want to know more about that ), and inspected the green-haired teenager fast asleep on his couch.

One glance and he could tell Midoriya was undoubtedly strong, contrary to his smaller frame, with muscles defined enough to show through his padded hero costume. A costume that was still dirty and stiff with patches of dried blood. Shota made a mental note to get Midoriya a change of clothes when he woke up. He was intelligent and fast, too, if their meeting on the rooftop was anything to go by. Personality-wise, the boy radiated a brightness that rivalled the sun in the way he talked and smiled. It reminded Shota of those he knew. Yamada, Shirakumo , All Might, Togata, even Kirishima.

Unlike them, however, Midoriya's kindness felt...quieter. Not weak , just timid. It intrigued him. It also concerned him slightly, if he was being honest, when the boy hesitated to get medical aid in fear of bothering someone. And there was that illogically silent conversation between him and Recovery Girl that Shota still couldn't understand. Throw in the fact that he was asleep on Shota's couch instead of his spare bed, and wow, he now had a steadily growing list of flags in his behaviour.

"It's alright, Sensei. Seriously, I don't mind sleeping on the couch, and really, I'd prefer it! Hopefully I won't be here long, and I wouldn't want to dirty your extra bed," Midoriya insisted.

He didn't budge, no matter how many times Shota told him he didn't care what happened to the damn bed, of all things, so Shota gave up. He wasn't going to force him, but seriously, what was with the kid and his obsession with not bothering people?

Shota pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning on and walked down the hall to his own room, dark wood floorboards groaning under solid footsteps every few seconds. Staring at the boy wouldn't give him any answers.

"Why is this shit already creaking, didn't Nezu just build these dorms..." he muttered offhandedly. He was an Underground Pro, sue him if he valued stealth. Eraserhead had ninja allegations for a reason.

He paused to listen for any sign Midoriya woke up, and was met with soft snores.

I'm such a hypocrite. Lecturing the Problem Child to get sleep after a long day and here I am, still wide awake.

He carefully shut his bedroom door behind him with a click before sighing at the headache building front and center of his skull.

Yeah, he wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.

After throwing on the first pair of old sweatpants he found, Shota pulled his phone out and opened the notes app. If he was going to think, he may as well be productive and organize his thoughts.

Before he slept that night, Shota made 3 lists. The first list was questions—for Midoriya, for Recovery Girl (he wasn't letting that interaction go), for the goddamn Holy Glowing Baby if it became relevant in this. One was full of theories. How this might have happened, possible solutions, etc. They would be subject to alterations as his questions got answered tomorrow.

The last was a plan of action. Because anyone could come up with basic questions and theories, because he was the adult here, because he couldn't get the boy's words to him from the interrogation room out of his head.

"Sir, when I found myself on a random street I didn't know, my first plan was to find you. Because the one thing you're always telling us is that if there's ever a problem, if we ever need help—we should come to you. So, please help me."

And didn't that sting like a bitch? To watch a scared kid that claimed to be his student in chains, tears streaking down his puffy red face, quoting him. Following his directions, the directions he apparently drilled into both 1-A classes like their life depended on it, even after being arrested by him.

So Shota sat there, and with the little information he had, he made a plan of action.

The shadow hung up without another word, his phone going dark, the room following suit. That had been an interesting conversation. Sansa could be full of shit at times, but not now. Not about this, not when everyone knew he had more than one method of gathering intel. Lying was plain stupid.

He clicked his tongue and the sound echoed in the newborn silence. There was no point wasting time when he could get some answers right now. The room glowed with faint light as he unlocked his phone. He dialled a number, one he'd memorized over a year ago, and held the phone to his ear.

Rang once, a nice, steady hum. Twice. On the third ring—

"The hell you want?" The raspy voice on the other end sounded snappier than usual.

"Aw, I'm sorry, is this a bad time? Are you in the middle of an epic Call of Duty match right now?" He didn't have the patience for the bastard's bratty attitude right now. Plus, annoying him was funny.

"Don't fucking test me right now, I'm busy. What do you want."

Well he'll be damned, Crusty sounded genuinely pissed about something. He decided to figure out why later, either through the man himself or external contacts, depending on how well this call went.

"Where are Toga and Twice?" It was a gamble to cut straight to the point like this, as it always was with someone as volatile as Crusty. Some days, the pale-haired man appreciated the efficiency, and others, he accused him of trying to give him orders.

"With me. Why?" he demanded impatiently.

He shrugged, even though the man couldn't see him through the phone. "It's a long story, and apparently , you're busy," he replied smoothly, before pushing for more answers. "Where have they been the past few hours?" He knew he was probably getting on Crusty's last nerve, but this was important. Bonus points if he annoyed the man so much he disintegrated the phone.

"God fucking —" Crusty cut himself off, probably to compose himself before he threw a tantrum. He'd gotten better at that these past few months, and he wondered if Kurogiri had the man-child enrolled in online preschool or something. "With me. They've been with me all day."

There was a short silence, presumably one that dumbass expected him to fill with an explanation. Fuck that, he didn't owe Crusty jackshit. For all he knew, he was pulling lies out of his ass.

He got comfier on the worn leather chair and eavesdropped on the noises he could make out from the background. He heard arguing, that's for sure, but when was the League not arguing.

"You hear anything today about me with Eraserhead?" he said carefully, testing the waters.

"No. The fuck are you doing with him?" Crusty sounded genuinely disgusted.

It was good enough for him. " I wasn't doing anything. I haven't seen Eraser in person since the USJ. Just got word that there's another me running around."

"A double?" A scoff. "...That's why you called about those two, right? 'Cause if it wasn't them..." He let the possibilities speak for themselves.

"Exactly." Already, his mind was running wild with theories, motives, possible quirks, any explanation it could come up with.

"Yeah, well, have fun chasing your copycat. I haven't heard anything and I got other shit to do." The phone screen went dark once more. Wow, they must be really busy with something, huh? Normally Crusty was chatty. Maybe the League was actually being productive for once...

He shot a message to Sansa's burner.

Footage from the station. Send it all.

Shigaraki was right. He had a copycat to catch.

Izuku blinked as he took in the room. He had just woken up, groggy and disoriented, sitting upright in a couch he did not immediately recognize. This wasn't his dorm. He did a double take of the room.

Oh. He knew this place.

Soft, warm, tones with dark wooden accents coloured the familiar apartment. Aizawa-Sensei's apartment, Izuku recalled. He'd never been inside, never had a reason to, but he'd seen glimpses of it the few times he'd come to his teacher's door for something or the other in the past. The space itself was simple, like the rest of the building, but with decorations and furniture that matched Aizawa's introverted personality. Izuku was on a coffee coloured couch, an off-white throw blanket draped over him. Both were extremely soft, and he wondered how many naps Aizawa took here.

Izuku liked it, he decided.

He got to his feet, instinctively looking around for his phone on his bedside table to check the time before realizing he's an idiot, he doesn't have his phone, he's not even in his own room right now—

"He must have a clock up somewhere..." he mumbled to himself, pivoting in place to scan the walls. Surprisingly, he found none, but he spotted 6:54AM flashing on the display above the stove, sparking a short-lived burst of panic through him. "Wait, I don't have to worry about being late since I doubt I'm even going to school today. I don't even go to UA here. Crap, am I missing school in my world? And if I don't attend UA here, what school do I attend—Come on, Izuku, stay focused," he scolded himself quietly.

He made his way from the living room to the kitchen, snooping through taking in his teacher's home as he walked. Aizawa kept the place clean, aside from the stray files and such lying around. Izuku caught sight of what looked like marked assignments on the circular dinner table tucked against a wall, and out of curiosity, he peeked at the top paper.

It was...Uraraka's. There was her name, written in her neat, round, printing. 'Ochaco Uraraka.' She told him once she found it fun to write her name because of all the circles and curves.

"What about the K?" he pointed out.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up from her worksheet.

"The K," he repeated, literally pointing to the letter in her last name. "It's the only one with only straight lines."

Her jaw dropped dramatically, like it was genuinely the end of the world. It made him laugh.

"Doesn't matter," she decided stubbornly. "It can be curvy, too. It's my name; I make the rules!" She attempted a K, the side lines bending.

"...That looks like an H. Or a B." Todoroki spoke up from beside them.

Izuku laughed harder.

The paper was dated a few days ago, and Izuku recognized it. It was her essay she wrote on the Rescue Hero: 13 for the Pro Hero critique they were assigned. Hell, Izuku had helped her write it. His eyes widened further with each line he skimmed.

The Uraraka he knew—she was better at writing than this.

Was that...because of him?

Izuku swallowed, a lump in his throat choosing to form without his permission. Really, it shouldn't have been a big deal. It was just an essay.

(But wasn't just an essay, not to him. It proved his presence in Class A did good, too. That just because Shinso's life was better without him didn't mean everyone's was. That Kacchan wasn't right about everyone being better off if he'd jumped.)

He put the paper down, not wanting to invade her privacy, because they were strangers in this world and—

"I see you're already awake. Did something wake you up?"

Izuku startled, whirling around to face his teacher who crept up on him without a sound.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

The man sounded half-apologetic at best.

Ninja , his mind hissed. "No, it's totally fine! I think I'm just used to waking up early for school. If I'm being honest, I consider 7 being late for school, since I normally go for a run at 6 and have breakfast with everyone before class starts," he answered.

Aizawa hummed in response and dragged his feet to the coffee machine beside the stove. He looked like he was thinking about something.

What was he thinking about?

"What're you thinking about?" Izuku wanted to slap himself. He refrained, obviously, but the urge was strong. God, he was such a mumbling Deku.

After grabbing a glass from the cupboard above him, the ninja turned to glance at him before voicing his thoughts. "I was thinking your body must be really disciplined to still be waking up early without an alarm when you didn't get nearly enough sleep." The bitter smell of hot coffee filled his nostrils.

Izuku gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Aizawa wordlessly open his fridge and pull out a carton of eggs, along with other things. "Don't worry, Sensei, I normally get enough hours of sleep. I guess I'm just used to waking up on time because the last time I slept in, Iida almost broke down my door trying to wake me up before class started," he laughed, hoping to inch the conversation away from his sleeping habits.

He and the rest of 1-A knew that Aizawa seemed strict on the surface (and he was), but was also the first to check they took care of themselves. Getting enough sleep, seeking help, medically or mentally, eating enough food, not beating themselves up when they made a mistake—Aizawa emphasized how important it was constantly, more so once they moved into the dorms and he became their guardian.

"Is Iida like that a lot in your world?" His words were careful, curious, as the man got to work making what seemed like breakfast.

Not what Izuku expected him to say. Still a change of topic. "Definitely—but not in a bad way!" he rushed to defend his friend, not wanting his friend to be scolded. "He just wants us all to be model students, especially because he's Class Rep and all. Is he not like that here?"

While he waited for a response, Izuku had a little epiphany. "Is Iida..." (Aizawa, whose back currently faced the boy, sucked in a silent breath, hands freezing above the chopping board.) "...not the Class President here? It would make sense, I guess, since I gave the position to him in our world. Did that affect his personality in the class, since we listen to him so much because of his position as Class Rep? If he's not, then who is Class Rep? Yaoyarozu?" His mind raced, the sound of food on the pan sizzling and his mumbles filling the room. (Aizawa forced his hands to unclench, forced the tension to bleed from his shoulders. His biggest failure, one that apparently only occurred here.)

It was primarily Izuku's muttering that kept conversation going for the next quarter hour, with the tired man commenting on details here and there. Aizawa, who admitted he didn't eat breakfast when it was just himself, made the two a passable breakfast while Izuku clumsily helped put ingredients back. They ate at his dining table, and agreed it would be best for Izuku to come to school with his teacher. There, Aizawa would explain Izuku's situation to the rest of the staff, preventing further arrests misunderstandings, and they would find time to brainstorm solutions with Principal Nezu.

"Um, Aizawa-Sensei?" He had to raise his voice to be heard over the clatter of dishes and rushing water in the sink. There was no reason for this to be nearly as awkward and embarrassing as it felt, but embarrassment was funny like that.

"What is it, Problem Child?" The water went silent, newly cleaned dishes drying on the rack.

"Would it be okay if I, uh, used your shower? I never rinsed off all the dirt from yesterday..." Maybe he should've swan dived after all.

"Of course you can, and I have a new toothbrush in the left cabinet you can use. I'll get you a school uniform to change into. Remind me to stop by Power Loader's to get your suit washed."

One glance at the man's say-it-I-dare-you face and Izuku dropped the idea of telling him not to bother with the clothes. "Thank you," he said instead, and that was that.

Twenty minutes later Izuku was clean, fluffy green curls no longer flattened with grime and in a familiar grey blazer, slipping beat-up red shoes on as Aizawa-Sensei pulled the door open.

"We're going to take the back stairs so the class doesn't see you. I'll introduce you to them altogether when class starts—it'll be more rational than having one see you and then gossip to everyone until we're being swarmed for answers."

Introduce them to me, his mind unhelpfully corrected. "There's back stairs in the dorms?" he asked instead, surprised.

"Only staff know, for safety purposes." Aizawa did not elaborate. "Ready?"

Izuku took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the bag with his dirty hero suit. It was weird enough to meet his teacher as a stranger.

What would meeting his friends be like?

"I'm ready."

Chapter Text

"Hey, Sensei?" Izuku said, breaking the comfortable silence that had formed on their walk to the school. The air was cool, dim street lanterns lighting the pathway they walked on. The nightsky was already changing to a pale blue, sun peaking over the treetops in the distance behind them.

At his voice, Aizawa simply nodded for him to go on. A man of few words indeed.

Izuku didn't mind, not when he knew his teacher was the type to speak up if he felt annoyed by all the questions. The man probably thought even saying "Hey, Sensei?" or asking "Can I ask you a question?" was irrational and a waste of time, but Izuku felt weird springing his thoughts on him without warning.

He also wondered if Aizawa found it weird that Izuku was still calling him Sensei even though he technically wasn't his teacher. Should he stop, or—

"Problem Child, I don't care what you call me. If Sensei is easier for you, that's perfectly fine." His teacher sounded exasperated, and Izuku felt his face get red.

Always a mumbling Deku. "Sorry," he stammered sheepishly. "Um, I just wanted to clarify something, from my world, if that's okay?" Great, now he felt awkward.

Aizawa nodded again, always patient. Izuku really liked that about him; it made him a good teacher.

"So, you mentioned stopping by the faculty lounge before class, right? To tell the staff about how I'm not actually the villainous Deku who runs around stealing or stabbing people or whatever I do here, and that I'm just a UA student who probably got hit by a quirk and—"

"Yes, exactly. What about it?"

He hesitated. "That includes All Might... right?" He held his breath waiting for an answer.

He really didn't want All Might's teaching position to be another thing that changed because of him.

Aizawa-Sensei gave him The Lost Look. Same one Izuku got when he asked about Shinso, about the expelled student, about the class picture.

Izuku wanted to bash his head in whenever he got that look.

"He doesn't teach here?" he said incredulously, voice bordering on a whine. How was that connected to him being a villain?

Instead of confirmation, he got another Lost Look. Now Izuku was just as lost.

"Of course he taught here," Aizawa said, like that part was obvious.

Izuku blinked. But then what...?

Blood turned to ice, heart to a rock that sat uneasily in his stomach for no reason other than the tense.

" Taught ?" he repeated slowly, the word carrying the weight of acid on his tongue.

For once, Aizawa seemed to figure out the difference in their worlds before he did. "Don't worry, kid, he's not dead." Relief hit the successor harder than Muscular ever did. "But All Might... he's in a coma."

Izuku didn't mean to shout. Truly, he didn't do it often, not in conversation. But—

"What!?" His eyes went wide and he stopped walking, every muscle tensing in a sick panic.

"Breathe, Midoriya. Calm down." The man sighed. "I bet Kamino played out differently for us." He spoke like he was choosing his words carefully.

"W-what happened to him? Kamino—what? He was fine after Kamino! A little beat up, sure, and he retired, but not in a coma—" His voice gradually rose in hysteria with each word until Aizawa silenced him with glowing red eyes.

Izuku hadn't even noticed One for All had started sparking.

" Midoriya ," Aizawa snapped, strict and stern but not unkind and much like the homeroom teacher Izuku had come to recognize over the past months.

Izuku forced himself to calm down and swallowed roughly, the thick acid burning his throat on the way down. The sun had only recently started rising and most students were still indoors, but he still shouldn't be bringing attention to himself like that. It was UA Academy, after all. Just like him, there were bound to be early risers getting a head start on the day.

"Yes, All Might is in a coma, and yes, he has been since the fight against All for One at Kamino this summer," the man said slowly, giving Izuku time to digest each word. "I presume the difference in outcomes stems from what happened at the USJ.

"My scar is worse than the Shota Aizawa you know." Izuku nodded, though it wasn't a question. They continued to the school while Aizawa explained. "Similar to that, I think All Might was injured worse here than there. At the USJ, Deku was there, working with the League. He told Shigaraki about All Might's... weaknesses. That day, All Might won the fight, but took decay to his side, injuring him gravely. He was probably weaker when he fought at Kamino than in your world."

Izuku's mouth went dry.

Weaknesses, plural. Not just his time limit. But the wound to his side, too.

Emotions raged inside him.

Nausea and guilt bubbled up uncomfortably because it was his fault, his, no one else's and it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for him, because All Might trusted his fan, whose life he'd just saved, to keep his secret safe after Izuku fucked up and followed the hero after his time was up, and he'd gone and betrayed him—

But then he was overcome with fierce protective rage and betrayal and absolute alienation from the Deku of this world, because he could not fathom betraying the trust of the Symbol of Peace like that, not when the man had given his successor everything—his time, his teaching, his homemade bentos, even his own fucking quirk —to make Izuku's lifelong dream come true. He felt regret eating at him at the thought of the kind man sharing his weaknesses only to be punished for it later and Izuku shoved it back down in furious repulsion because it wasn't his fault, not this time, it was Deku's.  And he didn't understand why, because maybe things were different for him here, but were they not the same at some point, if that boy was on the same roof as Izuku, asking the same question born from flickering hope and desperately chased dreams?

Izuku couldn't imagine wanting to bring anything to the world but peace and aid and safety, couldn't fucking imagine wanting to hurt people, not just people, but the Symbol of Peace he'd admired his whole life, just because he could, because the man gave him that knowledge, that knife, and asked him not to stab him with it. But he did, he stabbed him with it, and Izuku didn't understand why.

Another feeling festered deep within him that he ignored to its fullest capacity. He didn't want to think about the exact wording of his thoughts, of how he couldn't imagine doing such a thing, but he never mentioned thinking of it, because the hero handed him a knife that day but Izuku did tooo, only the Symbol stabbed first, frail and coughing blood, telling him being a quirkless hero was impossible and suicide and he should give up, be realistic,  stab stab stab stab, and didn't he, for a split second, think to himself 'I know your weakness, that gives me a little power, doesn't it?'

Shame, because he knew, just like the rest of this world, he and his doppelgänger truly were the same but different.

"You're being awfully quiet there, kid," Aizawa noticed. If the man muttered, "for a change," under his breath, Izuku pretended he didn't hear it.

Izuku looked up from his scuffed red shoes and saw the front doors of UA, attention dragged from the frustrating onslaught of feelings he didn't know how to deal with yet. He filed them away, especially the anger, because he never really learned what to do with all his anger as a kid.

"Just thinking." His voice felt strained.

"Anything you wanna share?" his teacher suggested, and Izuku shook his head. He didn't know how to explain this estranged... attachment to what felt like himself but wasn't.

"It's just... heavy," the boy offered. May as well give him a glimpse into his head, so he doesn't start thinking Izuku's a villain, too. The thought felt bitter. "All Might is my teacher, too, you know. He got a little weaker after the USJ and Kamino but he was fine, he just retired. He still teaches us, and he's really nice, and..." he hesitated to admit it, not wanting to make himself cry so early into the day, "...he's always been my idol, so hearing I'm the reason he's in a coma—"

Izuku wasn't even going to finish the sentence, but Aizawa interrupted before he could trail off. "You mean Deku is the reason." No room for argument, so he agreed.

Another comfortable silence, although one more pensive, floated between them and into the hallways as they entered the school.

His footsteps were softer than the rest of his Problem Children, Shota noticed as they walked across tiled linoleum floor. His movements more concealed, breathing almost silent even when he panicked.

He wondered, not for the first time since he'd met the bright but anxious teenager, what kind of student Izuku Midoriya was in his class.

Shota would bet money—something he seldom cared to do—that Midoriya was top of his class. Todoroki and Bakugo were high-scorers and had strong potential with their quirks, but they'd failed the licensing exam, apparently in both worlds. Maybe the boy was more like Shinso, or Uraraka?

Which brought another question to mind, one that was on Shota's list he made last night.

What was Izuku Midoriya's quirk?

Those green sparks, almost like lightning, followed him like a trail when he'd first laid eyes on the kid. They appeared more like a side effect than Kaminari's controlled electricity. He'd been running fast, so a speed quirk? But Shota had watched him jump at least a story high to reach the roof he'd been standing on. An agility enhancer, then?

Which begged the answer to his follow-up question.

Why had Deku never used the quirk in the USJ? Why had nobody ever reported seeing Deku use any visible quirk at all?

There were speculations, mostly between the police force and the heroes assigned the villain's case, of what his quirk could be. A mental quirk that spotted weaknesses, one similar to Ragdoll's, was the leading theory, but it was hard making assumptions when barely anything was known about the teenager other than rough estimates of his age and build.

The man mentally stepped back from his train of thought. He needed to stop thinking about it. After all, he'd written out a list of his questions to prevent a headache.

To distract himself, Shota checked the time on his phone. He felt the kid's curious eyes watch the movement.

"It's 7:50," he announced before he got asked.

"Oh. Thanks," Midoriya looked embarrassed to be read so easily.

"Don't worry about it. You lost your phone, correct?"

Shota's eyes subconsciously tracked his messy green curls as they swayed when he walked. After he'd taken a shower, his hair looked like a viridian coloured cloud. Almost like...

Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I must've lost it back at the rescue site."

They turned a corner, faculty lounge coming into view. Shota took a deep breath and hoped like hell this interaction would go smoothly. It was too early for it not to.

They stopped in front of the door. "Later, we'll try dialing your mother's number on my phone. Who knows? Maybe it'll go through." They should check all the boxes if they were going to get this kid back to his home.

He glanced at the Problem Child, hand coming to rest on the doorknob. He could already hear Hizashi and Nemuri arguing loudly. Probably over who called dibs on the last Drumstick and who stole it. (Little did they know, it was Shota who ate it after detention watch was over. They will rue the day they teamed up to make him lose that bet.) "Ready?"

Midoriya looked a bit nervous. "They're not going to try arresting me, right?" he asked meekly.

Inwardly, Shota grimaced. He probably traumatized the kid a little, getting attacked by a trusted adult and all. Yeah, okay, he fucked up, but in his defense, a notorious villain lying to catch him off guard was much more logical than a teenager being sent to a world where his doppelgänger is a goddamn criminal.

There was no point in lying. "They might try at first, but I won't let them."

Midoriya shrugged like that was good enough for him, and Shota pushed open the door.

"—dibs are a holy truce you broke—"

As they walked in, the bickering near—S hota guessed it, the freezer —ceased and the others paused whatever they were working on. He surveyed the room, pleasantly fortunate that all the staff, aside from Hound Dog and Recovery Girl, who were normally busy before school hours, were present.

Shota knew they weren't staring at him, they were staring at the awkward teenager they didn't recognize lingering behind him like a case of dry eye, but regardless, it felt unnerving to have all the focus directed towards him outside of class.

At least he didn't have to worry about getting everyone's attention.

His mind blanked. Damnit, he should've thought of how he was going to explain this beforehand.

"Who's the little listener?"

Bless Hizashi's soul for making this less awkward.

"This is Izuku Midoriya," he introduced. No reaction. He expected that, considering Deku's alias hadn't been connected back to his real name yet by the police. Kind of sad, now that he thought about it. "He's a first year hero student—"

"A transfer? Oh, how cute!" Nemuri interrupted.

" No, " he said pointedly. Shota really hated being interrupted; it was inefficient. "He's a student at UA, but he's not from here."

"Shota... did you forget to sleep?"

He took it back—damn Hizashi's soul.

He heard the brat behind him have the audacity to snicker quietly and he whirled around to glare at him for a second before facing the room again. "Shut up and let me explain," he snapped.

His best friend raised his hands in surrender before gesturing him to go on.

"I met the kid last night. He found me on patrol and kept saying I was his teacher, but I didn't recognize him. We realized later that the kid must've got hit with a quirk that sent him to another, identical, world—" Snipe raised a skeptical eyebrow and Nemuri opened her mouth to comment. She shut it when he glared at her. "—because he has a... well-known doppelgänger here."

"A doppelgänger? Is he famous, then? I've never heard the name 'Izuku Midoriya' before," Cementoss commented.

Shota steeled himself for the inevitable, even if doing so felt dramatic. He never even got a second cup of coffee before dealing with this shit. "That's because in this world, he goes by a different name. One that's ironically his hero name back home. Here, we know him by the name of 'Deku'."

The hostile reaction was instantaneous,  mirroring his own last night. Every Pro in the room shot to their feet, stances tense as they shouted objections.

"On your knees, hands behind your head, villain! "

"Damn it, Shota, he's playing you— "

" Everyone hold your breath, I'll put him to sleep!"

The room burst into angry chaos, and Shota's demands for them to stay calm were lost in the chaos. They yelled at Shota for being fooled, to step away from him, that Midoriya was a criminal, a villain, a member of the League of Villains—so much yelling that Shota lost track.

They carefully brandished capture devices and readied their quirks for a smooth but effective takedown, one to ensure the promise safety of the students living on campus.

Snipe marched forward, intimidating and ignorantly heroic and gun pointed, so Shota stepped in front of the kid protectively, blocking him from their view and vice versa. It was only when he was so close that he heard Midoriya's quiet, shaky, breathing, and he remembered he'd told the kid it wouldn't go like this.

Shota was livid. He activated his quirk with no remorse, reaching everyone but the anxious teenager behind him. The room went quiet, something he'd learned as a child was a side effect of people realizing they were suddenly missing a vital part of themselves.

"All of you, calm the fuck down!" he roared. "And Snipe, if you don't stop pointing that goddamn gun at the child, so help me god—"

Shota didn't bother looking to Hizashi's face for a sign of trust in him, in his words. He knew he'd find it, but he also knew that Hizashi had given in to paranoia just as the rest of them. Same with Nemuri.

Being angry right now made him a slight hypocrite, he was well aware, but in his opinion? There was a difference in their situations. Last night, Shota only had the word of a villain's lookalike to go off of. But they had him, a trusted Pro, fighting Midoriya's case.

"That reaction was bullshit," he growled. "All of you are fucking adults with hero licenses—act like it." He lowered his tone into a venomous hiss. "If you descend into ignorant panic faster than the civilians, don't call yourselves Pro Heroes. You're supposed to take in the situation before acting, not hear one word and ignore the rest!" They all had the decency to look scolded.

"Think rationally! My own students were the ones repeatedly attacked by villains; would I really bring a villain lookalike in the school if I wasn't absolutely sure he was innocent?" And he was. He'd had reasonable doubts on the drive back to UA, but he'd been observing Midoriya when the boy wasn't looking. Asking questions. Prying for details.

Shota believed him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned, seeing Midoriya hold out two cards, which he took with a thanks.

He slammed the cards down on the main table in front of him, for everyone to see. "IDs. UA, and a provisional hero license, both legit. The UA card works on this building, for Christ's sake." And him and Tsukauchi had scanned the license before they'd left the station on some fancy HPSC computer the detective had in his office. The search obviously came up blank, but the coding matched up so perfectly to their own that the system thought they were trying to add a new hero to the database.

Shota watched them pass them around the table where they stood, from Ectoplasm to Nemuri. At least they were actually checking out the cards. Even Nezu, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet, analyzed the cards, attention lingering on the UA ID.

"The kid is innocent. His story lines up, and I believe him," Shota restated, in a calmer voice. Make no mistake, he was still furious they scared a child like that. "He was at his workstudy last night at a rescue. He thinks the kid he was rescuing developed his quirk and accidentally used it to send him to another world. When he got here, he came to find me on patrol because I'm his homeroom teacher. I've been with Midoriya since."

It took time. Time and more details, a longer explanation of what happened, and yes, admitting he arrested the Problem Child before all of them seemed convinced. It probably helped that Shota was known to be rationally skeptical.

Hizashi is the first to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Shota. Shoulda heard you out. And I'm really sorry to you, too, listener. Totally uncool to freak out on you like that."

(Whatever, bless Hizashi's soul again for remembering the apology to the kid was more important.)

Midoriya, who'd been standing nervously a few feet behind Shota, startled at the apology. "It's okay, Mic-Sensei, I get why you reacted the way you did."

The rest of the staff followed to express their own apologies, to both Midoriya and Shota.

"You've been silent," Shota called dryly to the rodent in the back of the group. The only one who didn't go batshit at the name Deku. Unsurprising but suspicious, in Shota's book.

"Well, pardon my manners! This is quite a situation, and while you are most definitely not one to jump to conclusions, Aizawa, coming to a multiverse theory immediately seems like a stretch, so I'm thinking ways we can, hopefully with Deku's help, rule out more possibilities of how this happened!" The rodent clapped his hands, jumping off his high chair that used to amuse Shota years ago, before walking to the exit. The rest of the teachers, realizing homeroom would start in mere minutes, started packing their things.

"You should all probably call me Midoriya," the kid spoke up. The teachers paused to look at him. "I'll blend in better with other students if you call me by my last name, and... Deku will probably turn a lot of heads."

"Then see you around, Midoriya." Cementoss nodded in goodbye and others echoed the phrase as they left.

Soon it was just Shota and the Problem Child.

He sighed as he checked the digital clock displayed high on the wall. Originally, Shota planned to beat the brats to class and have Midoriya sit beside him as they filed in to avoid dramatics, but the class was probably half filled by now. Going in now would make all of them talk at once. Illogical.

"We'll go at the bell. That way we only have to introduce you once," Shota told him.

Midoriya gave an easy laugh, and it reminded Shota that of course he wasn't nervous about meeting them—they were his classmates. His friends.

"I'm curious about something." They had a few minutes to kill before class officially started. Or rather, in Kaminari's eyes, until they were officially marked late.

"About me?"

Shota nodded. "Who are you close with in my class?" Shota reprimanded himself as he asked it, because there was always the sliver of chance a kid doesn't have any friends, but something told him—maybe the way Midoriya talked about his classmates—that it was the very opposite for him.

Midoriya called one of his students a childish name... Kacchan, was it? Did that mean his best friend was Bakugo? Interesting, with how their personalities seemed to contrast.

The boy's eyes widened a little, surprised probably, at the topic Shota chose. "Friends? Hmm, I think my first friend here was Uraraka." Not Bakugo? Maybe he wasn't including Bakugo since he'd known him since childhood. "And Iida, too. We were a little trio, and then after the Sports Fest, I got close with Todoroki, too! And since Uraraka's really close with Tsu, I spend time with her, as well. That's pretty much who I sit with at lunch, but I think I'd consider the others in class my friends, too, like Yaoyarozu, Kirishima, and sometimes I spar with Ojiro... Jiro, too!"

Honestly, Shota should've expected him to delve into mumbles when he asked something as open as this. He also predicted Uraraka and some of the others, but Todoroki?

Todoroki didn't seem to connect much with anyone in class.

"What about Bakugo? I thought you said you're childhood friends?" Shota prodded lightly.

Midoriya tensed. Odd. "I—Well, me and Kacchan, it's... complicated."

Shota's brain stalled.

Wait, fuck, were they dating?

Shota dragged a tired hand down his face and groaned at his own curiosity. Internally.

Externally, he was the picture of calm, unbothered, as he shrugged. "That's alright, you don't need to explain it."

Midoriya practically sagged with relief, and yeah, they were probably dating, but Shota would rather die than ask to confirm it. Especially if he was wrong, because that's a possibility, too.

He doesn't care who dates who as long as they're always very, extremely, cautiously, painfully, responsible. (But Shota really hoped his awkwardness was around generally discussing his love life with his teacher, not in fear of him being homophobic.)

Before Shota can decide how to subtly make it very fucking clear to all his students he didn't discriminate, the bell rang.

Kaminari was officially late.

So were they.

Shota sighed. He wondered if sighing too much could develop a breathing disorder over time. "Let's get to class, Troublemaker."

"...they won't try to arrest me, will they?"

"I was thinking we call you a temporary exchange student and call it a day."

"That also works!"

Chapter Text

His knee bounced under the desk. Always his left; the one beside the wall so the extras didn't notice.

He didn't care too deeply if they noticed, he'd shrug it off with a scowl like he always did, but somehow, without even trying (or wanting to), he'd made a reputation of sorts for himself over the year. And while it...bugged him, sometimes, he also found himself subconsciously trying to uphold it.

People kept a distance from him, didn't mess with him. Left him alone, except for Shitty Hair, who couldn't take a hint to save his life. It made his life easier for everyone to think Katsuki Bakugo was some loner asshole that beat morons up when they looked at him wrong.

Aside from when people booed him at the Sports Fest. Or the media that said he wasn't hero material. Or when Denim Head stuck him in skinny jeans and a slickback and lectured him on being approachable. Or getting kidnapped by the League.

Okay, so the rep wasn't doing him too many favours.

It's not like it was way off, though.

Katsuki wasn't a nice guy.

And Dunce Face was getting on his last fucking nerve right about now, yapping about what he supposedly heard last night to the idiots behind him.

"It wasn't anyone from 1-B, either, I swear!" he exclaimed loudly, a few desks away. Too loudly, for the morning. Shit, class hadn't even started yet.

Honestly, Katsuki was surprised he wasn't late today. He'd been kind of hoping for it. Kaminari had remedials after school yesterday with some of the others, and he was always late the next morning because of how late he stayed up doing homework. He must've hustled to class to tell this dumbass story.

Katsuki tapped his phone, face up on the desk beside his history textbook. The screen lit up. 8:29AM.

Another minute of this before the hobo rolled in. The hobo who was currently the discussion topic.

"But then who was it?" Ashido whined. "Come on, you didn't take a picture of him or anything?"

"No, dude, I couldn't! Aizawa was right there! I told you—I was in the kitchen grabbing one of the muffins Sato baked, and I barely had time to hide in the bathroom when I heard them coming up the steps!"

"There's no way you didn't peak," Ears said from behind him. She was quieter, calmer, and Katsuki appreciated that, even if it wasn't for his sake.

"You sure it wasn't a hot babe?" Mineta asked, sounding desperate as fuck. "Ow! What was that for?" Someone grumbled an unapologetic response. Katsuki glanced at his phone again. 8:29AM.

Fuck his life. He was tired of hearing about this mysterious kid Kaminari overheard when it was just some extra from Gen Ed or something.

"It was probably just a student from another class, man," Kirishima said, reading Katsuki's mind and interrupting Acid and Tape Face's conspiracy theories of a secret affair child.

"No, I'm telling you! They were talking about weird shit—it didn't make any sense!" Sparky insisted.

"Weird how?"

"I dunno! It was definitely a guy, first of all, and he has to be a student here, because he was talking about how the dorms here feel different. But then he said something weird about how so many of us failed the Licensing Exam..."

"So he's just a judgy student," Shitty Hair summed up. "It was probably Monoma, bro."

"No, no, it was like..." he trailed off, trying to find the words.

Blessfully, before he could, the bell rang.

They all went quiet, routinely slipping into their seats, and Bakugo's leg stilled. Not a second later, the door opened, revealing their homeroom teacher. The man hadn't even been late when he was wrapped head to toe in bandages after the USJ.

Aizawa-Sensei didn't waste time, strolling in and addressing the class. To Katsuki's surprise, it was about the mysterious student Kaminari heard last night.

"Good morning, class. Nice to see you all on time. Before we get homeroom started today, I need to introduce you all to a temporary transfer student. He'll be joining this class for an undecided amount of time, unofficially, before he transfers back," he announced tiredly, standing at the front.

Katsuki felt the class vibrating with questions behind him, and heard at least half the class's hands shoot up. Aizawa ignored them. "Hold your questions til the end," he said flatly. Katsuki assumed the hands went down.

"Come in," the man called, facing the door. The extra was probably standing on the other side.

The door slid open, slowly, and Aizawa spoke. "Class, please welcome Izuku Midoriya."

Katsuki went numb, wood slipping between his fingers. Everyone's breaths were held for no reason other than overdramatic suspense, so the clatter of his pencil hitting the ground echoed in the room.

And he walked in.

Katsuki's heart stopped.

Or his lungs.

Something stopped working, he knew that much. His eyes or ears, most likely. His common sense, too.

Because he watched, paralyzed, as dark green hair and dark green eyes stepped into the room, stiff and awkward and bright nerdy grin plastered on his face like he was taken right out of Katsuki's memory.

Katsuki couldn't breathe as he saw Deku come to a stop beside Aizawa at the front, deceivingly innocent eyes roaming over the class, not lingering too long on faces because he's met all of them before, seen them at the fucking USJ, and his eyes only faltered at Iida's empty seat and the desk behind Katsuki, obviously because those were the only two fucking changes since the USJ—

Green eyes met crimson.

Katsuki was in an old bar, a separate room, staring into those eyes of the crazed ghost from his past in front of him who's telling a story of hatred and stomped dreams like it's the weather with a knife to his throat, and Katsuki wants to go home, but no one was coming, the ghost was right, no one was coming for Katsuki Bakugo, the prodigy of Aldera and the asshole of 1-A—

Katsuki shot to his feet, sparing a second to tear his eyes away to meet Icyhot's at the back of the room but nothing, no reaction to the boy at the front, because Todoroki hadn't been dragged to the separate room, Todoroki didn't know green eyes and greener hair, Todoroki never nicknamed a kid Deku and reaped the consequences.

His chair tipped and fell with a sharp bang, Shinso swearing with a flinch back.

"What the fuck," Katsuki spat. Deku's eyes widened, but not in fear, in surprise, and there wasn't a trace of fear there and suddenly Katsuki thought he was going to puke. "How the fuck," he snarled, and was his voice ragged or did it just sound weird to his ears, "did you get in here?"

It was dead silent in the class, maybe for the first time in weeks.

No, that was a lie. Katsuki heard a sound.

His breathing. His uneven, harsh, breathing. Like he'd just run a marathon.

Deku's lips parted but he didn't say a word.

And Katsuki was back in another classroom, telling the nerd to ask for better luck next time, watching his mouth open and then close without a goddamn word to say on the topic of his own suicide—

"What the fuck is he doing here?" he burst out, turning to Aizawa. "Do you even know—" he broke off, at a loss for words. He could feel twenty pairs of lasers burning him, uneasily watching him scream at what seemed like a new student while they decided what to do.

Look at Bakugo losing his shit for no reason as usual. That poor kid, probably thinks he did something wrong.

The only pair he was paying attention to slowly blinked back at him. Innocent, deceiving, traitorous, cruel, Deku was mocking him, humiliating him because the whole room was watching him throw a tantrum like a child while he stood there like a fucking stranger. And when he spoke, and Katsuki wished he didn't.

"Kacchan, calm d—"

" I'll fucking kill you. "

Anger took over, familiar, comforting, anger, the kind he'd been living in his whole life, the kind that washed away fear, grief, pain, guilt, and regret simmering under the surface, and he moved , over his desk and to the front of the class, slamming Izuku fucking Midoriya into the chalkboard behind him so hard the bastard let out a satisfying oof.

"I'll kill you, Deku, you hear me? I'll fucking end you right now," he yelled. He pinned his forearm painfully into his neck, right fist winding behind him and slamming down into his face with power , enough to make his neck snap back and head thud against the wall.

"Kacchan, wait, you need to stop—" Again, another thud, maybe even a crack, as Katsuki's knuckles aimed for those freckles he grew to hate so much.

Blood roaring in his ears, panting heavily, glaring as Deku tried to focus his dazed eyes on him, the single odd thought popped in Katsuki's mind.

Something felt different about him.

It dissipated as soon as it formed, carried away in a sea of rage tinted with too many feelings to count.

A hand grabbed him by his right forearm, intercepting the next punch. Another arm wrapped across his chest from behind and roughly pulled his whole body back, away from Deku, who sagged and gulped air even though Katsuki was sure he only choked him a little.

Fear shot through him, being forced to stumble back, because this was how it happened, this was how he got kidnapped again, with Dabi's hands all over him dragging him back into the portal—

"Bakugo, stop! You're hurting him, man—"

He aimed his palm behind him, but the explosions never came. Fuck that, Erasure wouldn't stop him. Katsuki rammed his elbow back and heard someone double over, breath rushing out. He ripped out of the hold and pinned Deku to the board again by his throat, seething.

"You tryna make me look crazy, hah? Acting like nothing's fuckin' wrong, like you're fucking innocent! Say something, Deku! " He shoved harder against his surprisingly muscled shoulders when he didn't get a response. "Like you aren't a fucking liar! A coward!" he screamed. Aizawa was yelling at him, angrier than he'd heard before, and a thick canvas came around his torso before he ducked out of it, buying him another second.

Wild eyes met wild eyes, but Deku's narrowed. "Kacchan, get off me." His tone was hard, unyielding, and panic flared in Katsuki's gut, because if Deku wasn't scared of him then he was scared of Deku.

He wasn't scared of Deku.

He raised his fist again, vengeful for not just the kidnapping and the USJ and All Might but also that day, their childhood, the shit he'd put everyone through, but before he could hit—

"Damnit, I said get off!"

Deku pushed back.

But not like he used to.

No, Katsuki fell. Stumbled back and tripped, falling hard on his ass, jaw dropped and flinching instinctively when quirkless little Izuku Midoriya started sparking with green lightning.

What the fuck,  he thought. Or maybe he said it, he wasn't sure.

The only thing Katsuki could feel was the cool linoleum under his sweaty hands, sweat that wouldn't explode him up to his trembling feet no matter how hard he tried, and the tightness across his chest that only came when he realized he wasn't going to win.

Deku stumbled away from the wall, and rubbed at his throat once, chest heaving. His eyes were glowing green, a contrast to the gradually fading red veins running across his face and arms. A quirk. That was a quirk.

People were shouting, scolding him with what's wrong with you's and why would you do that's and there were hands on him, too; firm hands on his shoulders and wrists from his friends trying to hold Katsuki back from attacking his childhood friend in standing before him, and Katsuki sucked in a breath. And another. And another, shorter, faster. He was hyperventilating, and he couldn't stop because if Deku was here, so was the League, and he was going to be kidnapped again, but this time he'd be alone , this time no one was coming for him because everyone knew it was his fucking fault All Might was in a coma—

Deku took a step forward and Katsuki tried a step backwards, but he was still sitting on his ass and all he could do was scramble back and brandish his palm at the room like it was a fucking gun. The universe sign for stay the fuck away from me.

Izuku blamed himself.

He was an idiot. An actual, honest to god, idiot, for not realizing how this would go before he walked into the room.

He wasn't even mad Kacchan had punched him. Multiple times.

He'd been so excited to see his friends, eager and curious to meet all of them for a the first time again, that he'd totally fucking forgotten Katsuki Bakugo and Izuku Midoriya had already met.

Kacchan already knew him.

Hell, Kacchan came up with Deku. Kacchan was probably the only person here who knew Deku's real identity, because he grew up with him.

So yes, his throat ached and his face throbbed, but nothing felt worse than seeing his friend on the ground before him, afraid. Because no amount of scowling could cover the panic that flashed in his eyes when Izuku stepped forward. And when his eyes lingered on One for All sparking around his body, Izuku realized he doubly fucked up.

Everyone was in chaos. Aizawa-Sensei's eyes were locked on Kacchan, hair floating and scarf ready as he stormed forward to presumably defuse the situation. Students were crowding them, some resorting to tugging Kacchan away from Izuku like Izuku was a scared animal.

(Izuku was not the scared animal here. Not when the hands made Kacchan breathe faster and jerk his palms around threateningly.)

Izuku took a slow step forward, showing his hands to the blond calmly. "Kacchan, I'm not who you think I am," he said, clearly as he could manage with his itchy throat.

"You're a fucking liar, Deku," Kacchan swore, hand still up and aimed, regardless of Erasure. His face was twisted in a scowl, one that was intimidating when he stood to his full height.

On the ground, all Izuku could notice was the glassy glint in the corner of his eyes.

On another note, while Izuku Midoriya was the name of a stranger to his classmates here, Deku was not. And this was not the first time Kacchan had referred to him as that nickname, but it was the first that they truly paid attention to it.

All of 1-A stiffened, the few standing in front of Izuku shifting away to properly take him in. Some looked skeptical, some looked to Aizawa for guidance, and some looked outright on guard.

The only person who didn't seem to care immediately about the name was Kirishima, who was busy kneeling in front of Kacchan with concern clear written in his features.

"Hey, Bakugo," he murmured in the chaos, a gentle hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "Bro, you gotta breathe. Slowly," he instructed.

Kacchan ignored him, glaring at Izuku like he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. And once again, Izuku felt like he was to blame for that.

He needed their attention. "Look, I know you all know a villain named Deku. And yes, one of my names is Deku, but—no, please, just listen —I am not the same Deku you're thinking of. Please give me and Aizawa-Sensei a chance to explain," he urged. Wow, his face hurt. How long had it been since Kacchan punched him like that?

Probably the fight after the license exam , his mind irrelevantly supplied.

Izuku looked to Aizawa, the adult in the room, silently pleading for assistance.

"All of you, in your seats! Now !" Aizawa barked. Almost all of them scrambled to their spots, leaving Izuku (who embarrassingly almost ran to his own chair out of habit), Kacchan, and Kirishima, who hesitated before ducking away to his spot.

"You all need to improve on remaining calm. You're going to be Pro Heroes—you can't just freeze when things go wrong." No one dared groan at the lesson the man predictably found from their fuckups. "But, none of you did anything necessarily wrong, so I'm not mad." Aizawa-Sensei opened his mouth to continue, but stopped when multiple hands shot up.

"Asui?"

"If none of us didn't anything wrong, then what about Bakugo, kero? Was he right for attacking the student randomly?"

Aizawa replied carefully. "Bakugo acted on the additional knowledge he had, even if it was influenced by emotion. Considering I reacted similarly to him when I got the same information, I would say his reaction is not excusable, but understandable."

Izuku didn't miss how his attention flicked to the still blond sitting tensed on the floor, almost across the room from Izuku. Kacchan stared at Izuku like he wished Izuku had never stepped into this class.

Once again, Izuku felt responsible for how poorly that played out.

"I am asking you all to hold your reactions, comments, questions— everything —and listen until the end, the way I failed to do when Midoriya tried explaining to me. Your trust and your attention is all I ask, and I'll explain everything. Sound fair?" Aizawa asked, brief and honest like usual.

They all nodded, agreeing mumbles and uncertain shrugs all around. So Aizawa explained, for the second time today.

"Questions?"

Izuku didn't know how Aizawa-Sensei did it, standing up at the front for so long. Izuku hadn't even been talking, just standing idly, and he was already tired. Maybe the swelling around his eye and cheek played a part in it.

Shinso probably thought he was creepy with how often Izuku was staring at him longingly. Izuku made a mental note to explain to the boy later that he was eyeing his usual chair, not him.

Thankfully, Aizawa was done talking, having just finished up telling them who was aware of Izuku's situation and that they weren't permitted to tell anyone for the time being.

"Yes, Kaminari?"

"So, you and Deku were the ones in the common room last night?"

"Yes, and I apologize if we woke you up. Also, we think it's best for you all to refer to him as Midoriya, rather than a notorious villain name."

"Oh, my bad, Midoriya! But, then I was just wondering—and I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to hear this—but what did Midoriya mean when he said more of us were supposed to pass the licensing exam?"

Izuku grimaced internally. From an outsider's perspective, especially one in the class, saying that felt judgemental. Like he was holding them to unnecessarily high standards. Before Aizawa could, Izuku spoke up to explain his poor wording.

"I guess the supposed to is more subjective than I felt in the moment. I mostly think of this world as the same as mine, but with slight changes where I would've intervened in my world. So in my Class A, eighteen of us passed, and I was confused why it wasn't the same here, since I didn't intervene with that," Izuku said.

There were shocked mumurs among the room, probably at the realization that eighteen of them passed in another world. Izuku questioned, not for the first time, why so many of them did poorly here when they were the same.

"So...you're in this class with us? Like, you know who we are and everything?"

Izuku turned to Sero and gave a sheepish shrug. "That probably sounds creepy, huh? But yes, I know all of you, and stuff about you, too!" His eyes roamed over the class for the millionth time. He would never get used to seeing someone else in his spot.

(That's what it could've been like for Shinso, if not for him. Recognized for his passion and useful quirk.)

His attention got stuck on the crimson glare leaning against a wall. Somewhere along the talking, Kacchan had stood up quietly and stopped trembling with anger and whatever fear he'd been feeling to silently observe. But he hadn't said a word yet, not even scoffed.

Izuku wondered if Kacchan believed him.

"What else is different in your class? Have more people been expelled? Or is the kid from the first day still there—"

Aizawa stopped the questions there. "No, okay, no more. All of you will have time to politely ask your questions later, given Midoriya is alright with you doing so. Right now, homeroom will be ending shortly and I expect you all to pay attention in your next classes."

As if on cue, the bell rang, signalling time for English, and everyone dug out their assigned workbooks and yesterday's homework.

The man began walking out the comically tall door. Then he paused.

"Midoriya. Bakugo. Both of you, come with me. You'll be excused from class."

Yeah, because that isn't ominous. Rational my ass.

Snickered ooh 's and whispered they're in trouble' s followed him as Izuku fell in step behind Aizawa-Sensei. He snuck a side glance to the quiet blond beside him, but Kacchan's gaze was straight ahead, hands shoved in his pockets, seeing straight through the man in front of him.

Izuku's face throbbed. It was pretty obvious what he wanted to talk about.

He just hoped he could get an ice pack on the way.

Chapter Text

Katsuki used to hate Parent Teacher Conferences.

When he was a kid, it was entirely boredom. Why did he have to sit patiently and listen to his parents and teacher talk about him if they were going to pretend he wasn't there? It's not like he didn't take home report cards to show them.

As he got older and paid more attention to what was said, the meetings started to piss him off. Bother him, the way the teachers at Aldera praised Katsuki when it was obvious they didn't give a shit about him. How naturally gifted he was. What a strong quirk he was born with. How easily the material came to him. What a... leader he was.

(That last one always felt a bit forced.)

By his last year at Aldera, Katsuki genuinely despised Parent Teacher Conferences.

So the first time Katsuki had walked in this room and dropped onto the irritatingly comfortable green couch beside his parents, he was in a pissy mood. More so than usual, because it was none other than the hobo sitting across from them, and Katsuki had grown to like Aizawa. Respect the man. Look forward to his lessons, his teaching advice. He hadn't been ready to resent him, not when he'd only gotten one semester of teaching out of him. Wasn't ready for another teacher in his life to dismiss all his time spent and hard work to succeeding and give all the credit to being fucking gifted at everything.

Katsuki walked out of that room quietly brimming with pride. Because it hadn't gone like he'd expected, not at all.

Aizawa praised his effort, his resilience, the way Katsuki refused to give up and strived to be the best. And the man did it again over the summer, reenforcing his position as Katsuki's favourite teacher when he stood, clean shaven and stuffed in a stiff suit, before a crowd of self righteous reporters, defending Katsuki on every front to the public.

For the first time in his life, he felt seen by a teacher.

That was feeling was the only reason he was sitting tensely on the same green couch right now. This was the second time he'd ever been in this room, and something told him he wouldn't be leaving feeling the same as last time.

And with every passing second he spent shocked speechless, pressed against the right armrest like he was subconsciously trying to be as close to the exit as possible, Katsuki cared less and less about how good a teacher the man sitting on the stool in front of him was. Not when he was hyperaware of Deku sitting a mere three feet to his right. It felt as if all the words had been ripped out of him and thrown at Deku's feet back at the classroom and left there, dismissed as nothing more than his usual tantrum.

Deku, not Midoriya, because he called bullshit on that pathetically strung together story. He understood that Aizawa didn't have nearly the same level of experience dealing with Deku as Katsuki, but was he that fucking naive?

He could feel the man in question staring at him, probably trying to convey a silent message that Katsuki didn't care to decipher nor answer. His mind was racing but he hid his nerves with obnoxiously arrogant body language. A defensive habit he'd grown accustomed to over the years.

Looking anywhere but green hair or red eyes.

A ripped seam at the edge of the couch cushion, single strand of loose thread for his fingers to fidget with. The wooden coffee table Katsuki pretended was a tall barrier between Aizawa's attention and him, narrowing his focus until he noticed a faint water stain from a mug. A wrinkle in his uniform pants, a single smear of reddish brown that must've come from his hands when he'd fallen on the ground.

Was it Deku's blood? Or his own?

His knuckles stung.

Katsuki really hated Deku.

They'd sat down a minute ago, the three of them. They'd walked here in complete silence. It was like one of them was supposed to break the silence, but it sure as hell wasn't gonna be him. He said his piece already and was met with a load of lies.

"Midoriya?" Aizawa said calmly. Let the silence be broken.

Deku, Katsuki thought, biting his tongue. His name is Deku, he forfeited the name Izuku Midoriya the day he decided—

"Can you leave us alone for a bit? Maybe get yourself an ice pack from Recovery Girl?"

Deku nodded wordlessly and left so fast anyone else would've thought he was the anxious one here. It struck a specific chord of annoyance in Katsuki that'd been dormant for so long he forgot what it felt like. For a moment, he was in middle school, listening to Deku infuriatingly mumble on and on for hours behind him about memorized hero statistics and KacchanKacchanKacchan—

It was only after the door clicked behind him that Katsuki finally felt the tight pressure against his chest go lax, letting him breathe as subtly as possible.

"There's ice packs in here, too, actually."

Katsuki's eyes flitted up to Aizawa as he slowly rose, sauntering over to a mini fridge nearby.   Before he knew it, the man was walking up to him, impossibly passing the table-barrier and motioning to the couch with his head, hands cracking the ice pack. 'Mind if I sit?'

Katsuki didn't say no.

Aizawa sat, not too close, and handed him the ice pack. (Thank god Aizawa didn't ask to ice his hand for him; that would've just been fucking embarrassing for both of them.) He took it without acknowledgment and held it to his right knuckles. Open scratches stung and fresh bruises throbbed, but the only thing he could focus on was the man sitting in his peripheral vision.

Aizawa had been yelling back in the class.

Katsuki mentally prepared himself for more of that.

"Are you okay?"

"The fuck?"

"Not an answer, kid. And watch your language."

His brain stalled like an old car engine. As always, Aizawa chose to react exactly the opposite to Katsuki's expectations.

'Are you okay?'

What...what was he supposed to say to that?

"Why're you asking me? I'm not the one who got beat up," he bit out. He didn't want to think about the question, for some reason.

Aizawa pinned him with a dry look. "Calm down, you only hit him three times and nothing broke. He'll be fine. And he's not the one who started hyperventilating."

"I'm fine," he snapped. He couldn't believe this was even a topic of discussion when they should be talking about the villain literally roaming their halls. Aizawa didn't comment but his expression said 'and I'm All Might'. "But I call bullshit on that whole story. There's no way you believe him."

"I do believe him, but we'll get to that later. Right now, I wanna know why you don't."

"Because he's a piece of shit villain, that's why—"

"You knew he was Deku before I told the class. How?" Aizawa cut him off, redirecting the conversation.

I grew up with him, I'd recognize the back of his head. "I saw the bastard with my own eyes when I got kidnapped! I know what he looks like!"

"Then why didn't Todoroki recognize him?" he pressed.

"Because Icyhot never saw him! Deku talked to me separately, and it was only for a few minutes!" Katsuki argued, making his teacher go very still. As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed himself.

"He talked to you? That wasn't in your record of what happened," Aizawa said, suddenly serious.

Katsuki swallowed, throat going dry. Regret slapped him in the face, swift and bitter and accompanied with a wish for a time reversal quirk so he wouldn't be here, having the very conversation he hoped would never see the light of day. "Yeah, because it wasn't important enough to bring up. Like I said, it was only a few minutes."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?" When Katsuki made no move to correct himself, he continued. "Are you telling me you left out crucial information about an ongoing villain investigation because you didn't think it was important?"

Shame writhed and festered in his gut, a parasite that had made a home for itself long before now. Long before Kamino. On that day, maybe, or even further back.

"If there's something I don't know, you need to tell me, Bakugo. That's a non-negotiable. I don't know how to help if we aren't on the same page."

Katsuki couldn't meet his eyes, not when he was debating whether or not he should straight up lie to the man's face. But the longer he took to think about it, the more obvious his decision became.

He really hated this conference room.

No one had fixed the chair.

Hitoshi kept staring at it, lost in thought as the blank worksheet lying on the desk judged him.

He ignored it. Nobody else was working right now, and it was a miracle Mic-Sensei hadn't noticed with how many gossiping whispers were floating around the room.

He didn't bother listening in. No one had any real answers about what happened, and he never cared to judge ignorantly. Call it a byproduct of growing up with a villainous quirk.

Hitoshi just wanted to know why Deku had kept glancing back at him for so long.

(Deku? Midoriya? He wasn't too sure, even if he trusted Aizawa. The whole story seemed a bit too far fetched for Hitoshi's skeptical nature. And Bakugo's... reaction hadn't helped the boy's case. Better safe than sorry.)

Was it because of his quirk? His absence from the attack at the USJ? Did Deku recognize him from the Sports Festival, and had Hitoshi garnered the same level of attention from the League as Bakugo and Todoroki without knowing?

"Hey Shinso," the grape behind him whispered conspiratorially, distracting him from the productive English zone he was in. "Maybe you should force that guy to tell the truth, with, y'know, your creepy mind control. Then we'll know for sure."

Force. Creepy. Control. Hitoshi resented the quiet but not unfamiliar sting when casually chosen words revealed more about his classmate's true feelings than the they realized.

He ignored Mineta in favour of picking up his pencil and beginning to write his name at the top of the paper.

That.

That was not what Shota had been expecting.

Fifteen minutes later, Shota had all but dragged the truth out of his student who apparently had more layers to him than Shota would've guessed. (And needed more therapy than Shota would've guessed.)

A quirkless childhood friend. A joined dream of being heroes. A suicide in his last year of middle school. Discovering it was faked and getting kidnapped for a vengeful chat.

And call it experience, call it a hunch, call it fucking teacher's intuition if you wanted, but Shota still felt like he was missing a vital part of this story.

It explained a lot, however. Why Bakugo was so upset at the sight of his old friend, one he'd mourned not too long ago. Why Bakugo immediately attacked, assuming the worst when he recognized Midoriya. Why he'd been scared at the sight of Midoriya's quirk.

But he couldn't get over the feeling that there was more he was missing. Bakugo knew Deku's true identity, for Christ's sake, and he didn't tell anyone. Why?

They were still sitting on the couch, melted ice pack forgotten but still clutched uselessly against Bakugo's knuckles. At some point, the kid started using it more as a stress ball than an ice pack. His knee had started bouncing, too, although Shota was pretty sure he hadn't even noticed it.

"Is there anything else I need to know? Do you know Dabi's real name and origin story, too?" Shota said wryly. He suppressed the urge to ask if Bakugo was okay (again) because if that had been crazy to hear, he couldn't imagine going through it. Unfortunately, he doubted his concern would be well received.

It'd taken a lot not to lose his shit the second they sat down in this room. To not yell and shout and demand what in the fresh hell Bakugo had been thinking when he decided to punch a random student bloody.

It'd taken significantly less when Shota took the time to actually look at Bakugo. Hands clenched, sitting straight, foot tapping soundlessly, breathing stiff. His signs were subtle, but there (even if Bakugo himself hadn't realized), forcing Shota to reign in the urge to throttle him and instead patiently ask for answers after he sent the source of the tension out of the room.

Teenagers and their anxiety would forever be his weakness.

Bakugo eased up a fraction at the joke but didn't quite meet Shota's eyes when he shook his head no. "Still don't get why you trust the nerd, though."

"The nerd?" he repeated, even if context clues were easy enough to follow.

Bakugo blinked. "Oh. Deku's a nerd. 'Specially about heroes."

"Is that why he's so good at spotting weaknesses? We always thought it was an analyzation quirk but..."

Bakugo shook his head. "He's just a fuckin' fanboy. Deku's been quirkless since the day he was born. Or so I thought."

Quirkless. The villain who'd been terrorizing Japan from the shadows was a quirkless teenager.

"That's because they're different people, Bakugo." The boy gave him a guarded look.

But not dismissive. Because of that glint of trust still lingering in Bakugo's features. Shota could work with that.

"I understand why you're skeptical about this—you have every right to be. But I promise you, Bakugo, that I'm not an idiot. I would never ," he emphasized, bringing a light hand to the kid's shoulder, "have brought anyone here if I so much as thought there was a possibility of them wanting to hurt you. You saw that much at the USJ."

Actions meant more than words to Bakugo, Shota learned a while ago. A relief, because Shota had never been good at words.

Contemplative silence emerged, although Bakugo never shrugged off his hand. Shota imagined him turning over the evidence in his head, comparing the differences between the Deku he knew and the Midoriya he just met. Then, "And what if he does something sketchy?"

"Within reasoning, I'll arrest him. Immediately." No fancy words, no fancy promises. Nothing he didn't mean in its entirety.

Shota let the boy search his face as long as he found necessary. Whatever reassurances Bakugo found proved trustworthy, because his shoulders dropped and he gave a short nod.

"Okay," Bakugo said, poorly hiding the hesitance he felt. It made Shota feel a way, to be reminded even the boldest, most aggressive brat in his class placed so much trust in him when he was doubtful.

He sighed in relief. "Thank you for trusting me. I know it isn't easy, with the history you have with the Deku in this world," he said, almost awkwardly. He wanted to cringe.

"I am curious, however, about the differences in Deku's childhood and Midoriya's. Since I met him last night, the two of us have been slowly comparing and piecing together the differences in our worlds to see if we can find a main, singular difference that everything else revolves around. Would it be okay if I invited Midoriya back in for us all to discuss?"

At the mention of differences, Bakugo perked up slightly. "What's different in our worlds?"

Shota removed his hand from the boy's shoulder to run it through his own messy hair. "Every hour we find out some new, seemingly irrelevant change, but they all seem to revolve around his life. For starters, Midoriya is in Class A, with you and everyone else." Bakugo's eyes widened a fraction. "Shinso isn't in our class and I never expelled the twentieth student. Almost all of you passed the licensing exam this summer, and All Might isn't in a coma, just retired. And Iida... Iida is alive, from what I can tell, and I haven't had time yet to break the news to Midoriya." And apparently, Deku was quirkless here. That seemed like a pretty big fucking difference that they'd missed until now—one that might just be the Main Difference.

Bakugo became increasingly more surprised as he listed things. "Damn," he mumbled, more to himself.

Shota almost laughed at that.

Eijiro knew he should be focusing on the English homework in front of him. He had barely passed the written finals last semester, and the last thing he needed was to fail this semester. He couldn't rely on Bakugo to always tutor him, either. Failing the Heroics final was bad enough; he was falling behind his class. Mediocre at best.

But it had been, like, twenty minutes. And Bakugo still wasn't back.

His stomach kinda ached. Man, Bakugo knew how to throw an elbow, didn't he?

Or maybe it was uneasy at the memory of his friend panicking like that, because say what you will—that was not normal Bakugo behaviour.

Eijiro didn't know the guy too well. Bakugo was, for lack of better terms, generally standoffish and arrogant, and Eijiro took pride in being one of the few to witness Bakugo's more thoughtful, observant, side every now and then.

But that was panic, and everyone, even Kaminari of all people, saw it written on his face. Even if all of them failed to understand it at first.

You're a fucking liar, Deku.

Eijiro remembered how the air in the room changed. Froze, when everyone wasn't engulfed in the chaos of prying Bakugo away from the new guy anymore and processed the name he'd been shouting. He remembered Bakugo on the ground, looking more like a defensive traumatized kid than anything and failing to calm him down.

He remembered that Bakugo was a defensive traumatized kid, even if he was an asshole. He just hid it better than the rest of them.

Maybe Bakugo needed a friend more than it seemed.

Chapter Text

CANON WORLD

It had been fourteen hours and roughly twenty minutes since Izuku Midoriya was last seen at the rescue site yesterday. Fourteen hours and roughly twenty minutes that Shota Aizawa did not spend sleeping, or eating, or teaching.

He sighed heavily, pushing away the thrumming panic that hadn't settled since Lemillion came to him mid rescue yesterday evening and asked if he'd gotten in contact with Deku in the last hour or so.

The panic because no, he hadn't talked to his student since briefly greeting him after seeing him on the rescue site.

Initially, it had just been light concern and mild annoyance, because knowing the Problem Child, he probably broke his comms by accident and somehow got caught up fighting an A tier supervillain to the death in an alley nearby. So Shota had put a word out to all the heroes and sidekicks on the scene to look for Deku, extending the message an hour later to the agencies nearby. He swept through the streets on rooftops, forcing himself to remain calm, because any second now, he would see Midoriya up against the newest Nomu edition in a faraway alley.

Of course he really hoped Midoriya wasn't out fighting for his life by himself, but...

Staring at the mountain of concrete rubble and destruction that covered the block, Shota decided he preferred the kid to be anywhere else and fighting than here and unresponsive.

By nightfall, he knew something was wrong. Midoriya wasn't the type to disappear without a word, and no fight he might've gotten stuck in lasted hours. He would've checked into a hospital by now and called them. Or he was dead.

But the destroyed intersection was crawling with heroes and snooping civilians, none of which who had seen him leave the rescue site. Multiple people came up to Shota during the rescues, offering the last time they saw Deku, and all their accounts matched up to make a rational timeline.

Deku was nearby, on patrol with Lemillion when the gigantification villain attacked, destroying a skyscraper and destabilizing a second, so they helped rescue citizens. Shota, who was also in the area, helped shrink and apprehend the villain before joining in the rescue efforts. For an hour or so, people reported seeing Deku around rescuing people or loose pets. Two sightings from later on noted Deku's shoulder seemed to be injured. The last sighting of Deku, who'd been seen saving a little boy, was a few minutes before the second building, which was fortunately evacuated, collapsed and sent everyone into chaos. The building Deku had been beside. Fourteen hours and roughly twenty minutes ago.

No one had seen him since.

Fuck.

Of course, he wasn't an officially missing person yet, not when it was more likely he got trapped in the rubble of the second building. (That wasn't any better.)

Throughout the night, workers and heroes had taken shifts clearing away the destruction from the blocked roads to search for people. A few reporters were injured, sneaking into the wrong place at the wrong time for a good story, and one runaway dog had been trapped, leash stuck under a chunk of rock. It was an operation that Shota wasn't as familiar with, being neither a rescue nor a limelight hero, so he tried staying out of their way, helping victims where he could.

Instead he spent his time getting word around to the necessary people. He made damn sure everyone at the site knew Midoriya's name and description, and called Nighteye immediately (who was being fucking useless and severely pissing him off with his indifference) to tell him the situation, along with Midoriya's mother in the morning. Shota had only talked to the woman twice before—once when the semester ended to discuss grades and twice when Midoriya was in a short coma after the training camp attack—and it felt like she cried harder each time he talked to her. He felt bad for her, in a way, because he couldn't imagine the worry that must come with having a certified Problem Child for a son. The Sports Festival alone would've had him pulling his kid out of UA with a lawsuit.

He also reassured Togata many times before he sent the boy home that none of this was his fault and that he was sure they'd find him eventually. The boy showed up regardless in the morning to help with the rescue efforts.

The worst part was that Shota couldn't bring himself to promise to anyone Midoriya would be fine. Not even to Ms. Midoriya when she directly asked if her son would be okay. He didn't like lying (unless it was to the media,) and the silence he responded with only made her sob harder.

Shota felt useless, if he was being honest.

All he could do was reassure everyone that the kid would turn up eventually, but it had been fourteen long hours and roughly twenty long minutes and he didn't want to admit it but he was pretty sure they had rescued everyone trapped from the attack by now.

And Izuku Midoriya was not one of them.

(Please. Please, not another Oboro. Shota couldn't take another Oboro.) 

MULTIVERSE WORLD

Izuku decided to kill two birds with one stone.

(He actually didn't liked the saying much, because it reminded him of the time Kacchan accidentally killed a bird when they were younger. They'd been out by the creek, just him, Kacchan, and the others, where they liked skipping rocks.

They had a competition going, that day, and they were all having so much fun they didn't even mind Izuku tagging along as long as he didn't compete or bother them. But Tsubasa showed off a new trick his older brother taught him to skip a rock five times in one throw, which beat Kacchan's score, and Kacchan didn't like losing, so he used his quirk to make the rock go flying and...

One thing lead to another, and then a bird was dead.

Izuku cried for a long time. Kacchan just stared at the limp bird on the ground, hands clenched, before declaring it was weak anyway if a small rock could take it down. But Kacchan never used his quirk to skip rocks again.)

Izuku's face hurt and his questions demanded to be answered, and anxiously pacing in the hallway as Bakugo and Aizawa talked about who knows what didn't feel like a fun idea, so he did as the latter suggested.

He went to Recovery Girl.

Not to heal his face, though, an ice pack would do that fine, and he didn't want to bother her with all that when it was pretty much his fault he got sucker punched in the first place. She hadn't said anything in this world but Izuku knew howshe felt about healing self-inflicted injuries, even the ones cause by accidental ignorance.

He kept his head ducked in the halls as he walked, praying nobody else knew what Deku looked like and decided to act on it. The absolute last thing he needed was some poor student to pull the villain alarm and have the school evacuated for no reason.

Fortunately, the halls stayed empty, but his luck ended there when he reached her office door, praying she wasn't treating a student, only to walk right in on Recovery Girl healing a shirtless student.

He did a 180 on the spot, hands flying to his slight swollen eyes and face going red. Fuck his life.

"I—I'm so sorry! I didn't even—I, um—" he stuttered out. Why didn't she lock the damn door!? He was pretty sure the student was a boy but still! What if he wasn't comfortable changing in front of others!? And what if it had been a girl?!

"Oh, don't worry about it, you can turn around! You're definitely not the first person to see me without clothes," a friendly voice joked. A very familiar friendly voice.

He turned slowly, a bit incredulously, because what were the chances?

His eyes landed on the shirtless chest he was met with when he walked in, and they trailed up to...

Mirio Togata's wide blue eyes.

"Damn, what happened to you?" the other boy blurted.

A cane lightly smacked the back of Izuku's head, and he ducked down instinctively.

"You crazy boy! I just healed you last night and you're already back with a bruised face? How did that happen in the twenty minutes since I last saw you!" Recovery Girl huffed halfhearted.

Shame washed through him, and he winced. "I-I know, and I'm really sorry for disturbing you! But I'm not here to use your quirk though, don't worry, I'm just grabbing an ice pack!" And hoping to ask you important questions, but I guess that's not happening anymore.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm not worried, trust me," she deadpanned. He awkwardly grabbed an ice pack from the cooler he knew from experience she kept them in, but she grabbed it out of his hands and put it back. "None of that, I have no reason not to heal you! Sit, sit," she said, ushering him to the bed.

He glanced at Togata. "No, really, it's not a problem, you can get back to healing—"

"Nah, don't worry about it, man! I'm all healed up, anyway." Togata flashed him a smile and gestured to his arm, which was bandaged lightly at the bicep.

The question left his mouth before he could decide otherwise, too used to asking all sorts of random things on boring patrols with Lemillion. "How'd you get hurt?"

The older student looked embarrassed for a second, and Izuku was about to take the question back and apologize before he answered. "I messed up and broke my arm this morning when I was training my quirk before school," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

This time, Izuku managed to stop himself before he said anything he shouldn't. It was bad enough he almost said Togata's name earlier—he wasn't even supposed to know his name, let alone the practiced, near perfect control he normally had over Permeation.

"What about you—what happened? Do I wanna see the other guy, or what?" Togata prompted.

"Well, the other guy's having a talk right now with Aizawa-Sensei, so you tell me," he replied with a mischievous grin, finding a way to answer next to nothing about the actual question. Izuku wasn't great at banter, but he found it was easy and fun with someone so outgoing as Togata—it was one of the reason's he liked working at the Nighteye Agency even when Sir Nighteye himself seemed to have it out for him.

Togata laughed loudly.

"Speaking of classes and Senseis, you should get to yours, boy," Recovery Girl suggested, making the boy nod.

"Yeah, she's right, I should get going. See you around... Hey, what class did you say you were in again? I don't think I've seen you around—"

"You'll have all the time in the world to chitchat later," she said sternly, literally shooing him out the door. "Get to class before I get in trouble for keeping you too long."

When the door closed with a click behind him, Izuku's shoulders sagged with relief, and he hopped on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Thanks for helping me not answer that."

"Don't thank me, I still want to know what happened." She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before he could protest, and he instantly felt exhausted but relieved. "Explain." She walked over to her desk, filling out forms while she listened.

Izuku twisting his body to face her, recounted what happened, grimacing at his own stupidity. "I grew up with K—Bakugo in my world. I didn't realize that might be the same here, so when Aizawa-Sensei introduced me to the class, he thought I was Deku, infiltrating UA. So he punched me."

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"...He also told the class I was Deku, so we had to tell them the whole truth instead of saying I was an exchange student or something."

"Lovely," she said sarcastically, a small grin spreading across her face that looked suspiciously entertained with their failure. Sometimes Recovery Girl reminded him of Nezu.

"But I don't think Kacchan was convinced I'm not a villain, so him and Aizawa-Sensei are talking in the conference room," he finished with a shrug. She nodded pensively.

"Well, while I have you here," Recovery Girl said, closing the file on her desk and putting it in a drawer, "I want to know more about those scars of yours."

He tensed as she gestured to his crooked right hand, feeling the palpable topic shift. She asked about it last night, too, but he got away with little to no explanation at the time with Aizawa in the room.

"Oh, you mean these? I, um, wasn't always good at using my quirk. It was kind of... too strong for my body." He laughed it off awkwardly but tried as hard as he could to show the double meaning in his eyes.

It had been a gamble, but not a risky one. Either she understood what he was implying (and did that mean All Might passed One for All down to a successor in this world, too, and they also couldn't control it at first?) or she took it at face value: a strong quirk and a weak body.

But the way her eyes had narrowed, the way she had subtly pointed to him.

You? Are you his successor? Are you saying what I think you're saying?

"And I want to know more about that too-strong quirk of yours you mentioned earlier, as well," she added intentionally, which was all the confirmation he needed.

Izuku took a deep breath, hands clenching on his lap.

"One for All. I broke my arm with One for All."

She sighed, long and hard. "Of course you did." She did not sound surprised. Izuku must've been better at silent implications and double meanings than he thought.

Maybe he could be a spy if the hero thing didn't work out.

But then Recovery Girl huffed in amusement, almost to herself. "That makes it all the more ironic, doesn't it? You aren't just a hero student stranded in a world where you're a villain—you're All Might's successor stranded in a world where you're a member in the League of Villains."

Izuku couldn't help but laugh with her, snickers morphing into chuckles, which slowly fell into the louder, fuller, laughs that weren't yet hysterical, because she was right and he was tired from her quirk and it was so hilariously vindicating to have someone else know just how innocent he was.

"I know," he laughed, quieting down after a few seconds. "Aizawa-Sensei was interrogating me and the best proof I have of my innocence and my hero dean dreams is supposed to be a state secret!"

He never thought he'd be sharing a laugh with Recovery Girl, of all people, but he was glad for this. It felt good to laugh after the shitshow that was the last—what, thirteen, fourteen, hours?

"Well, I'm glad we're on the same page about that, because it explains why some of the tests I ran on you yesterday were telling me you should be quirkless," she told him.

His eyebrows rose in realization. "Oh, you're right—I didn't even think of that. That would've been hard to explain to Sensei." He shrugged and decided he may as well tell the truth. Even if admitting he was quirkless always made his skin crawl, his stomach flip, because of the irrational built-in fear that she would realize he was just a good for nothing Deku. "But, yeah, I was quirkless before All Might gave me One for All, so your tests are right."

"Is that why you have those scars? You mentioned the quirk was too strong for your body, correct?"

Izuku nodded, sheepish when he remembered how she'd reacted when he first got the scars. "Um, yeah..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When I first got One for All, my bones broke every time I tried using it because I couldn't control the output percentage. You healed me every time but I, uh, took it too far at the Sports Festival. I completely shattered the bones my arm when I fought Todoroki, and you had to perform surgery to get the bone fragments out before you healed me. I learned control after, when I interned with Gran Torino."

He let her inspect his hand while he talked, and she nodded, gently turning it over and observing the way his fingers bent, just slightly crooked.

"Gran Torino, huh? So the geezer hasn't retired yet in your world?" she mused.

"Oh no, he did retire, a while ago, I think. He came out of retirement to give me an internship after he saw my lack of control at the Sports Festival."

She shook her head fondly. "So Yagi can't teach in both worlds, huh?"

He leaned back on his palms on the bed. "It wasn't that All Might couldn't teach me, more so that he didn't know how, and now that I'm saying it, those kind of sound the same, but I don't blame him, since he never had the bone breaking problem. Gran Torino kind of just kicked my butt until I figured it out, and just in time, too..."

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of Stain, of how close they'd been to dying that day in the alley. Of the terrifying look on Stain's face after he killed the Nomu with the wings, a look that froze even Endeavour in his tracks.

"In time for what?" She rummaged through a drawer under her desk until she found a few loose papers and began to write something on them.

Izuku opened his mouth to answer, and then thought about the gag order surrounding their fight with Stain. Did it apply in alternate worlds? "Well, at my internship, me, Todoroki, and Iida were attacked by Stain. So it was just really lucky that I learned that morning how to use One for All without hurting myself." He felt like that was a safe amount of information. Speaking of information... his attention went back to the paper on her desk. "What're you writing?"

"I'm creating a file of sorts for you, Dearie, since you have an interesting medical history that might alter the tests I did yesterday. I'm only writing down basic notes, like how you were previously quirkless and to remember I shouldn't be thrown off if All Might's DNA pops up," she said, handing him the paper. "Did I miss anything?"

Looking over it and handing it back, he shook his head. "I think that's all that's relevant, medically. Did those tests give you any idea of how I might've gotten here?" he asked hopefully.

She hummed in response, filing the papers away and setting them aside. He hopped off the bed and started walking to the exit, sensing their conversation was coming to an end. "I want to look over it more now that I have more information about you, and then I'll talk with you, Aizawa, and Nezu all at once, since heaven knows Nezu will be dragging us to meet sooner or later about this." She paused as if thinking something over. "Have you told the Aizawa in your world about One for All?"

The sudden change in topic caught him off guard. Izuku swallowed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other beside the door because he knew the answer to the simple question but he didn't like it.

He shook his head once, not meeting her eyes. "The more people that know... it gets dangerous. Unnecessarily risky." (Did he sound defensive? He wasn't defensive, he was just... defending his decision. There was a difference.)

She pursed her lips and sighed, but didn't comment.

Izuku didn't know how he felt about that reaction. "Does he know about One for All in this world?" Probably not, but there was also a decent chance Aizawa did know in this world and neither of them had brought it up to the other yet out of secrecy.

"No, he doesn't. I assume, just like your world, very few know about One for All."

He went to open the door, but then turned back quickly after a second of hesitation. One last question, one that had been bothering him since he heard about All Might's coma.

"Can I ask—Do you know who All Might's successor is in this world? Because it's obviously not me, since... well, I feel like it's pretty obvious why it's not me, but is it another student that goes to UA? Someone in Class 1-A, maybe, since he'd have the most time to train them with One for All? Or did he choose someone older, someone with previous hero experience so they would have a smoother transition and less to worry about—?"

"You just met him."

Izuku mouth stayed open but the words stopped coming.

"That nice boy in here you met a few minutes ago, Mirio Togata. He is the next wielder of One for All."

Chapter Text

Mirio Togata.

He should've known, really. He should've guessed it, considering his own world had been oh so close to being the same.

Izuku's hands itched for his notebook. They had for a while now, maybe even the whole time he'd been in this alternate world, but right now the urge to write was strong.

Taking notes was familiar. It was comforting, effortless, and a habit more than a hobby at this point in his life.

It would distract him from the irrational sting in his heart, the stupid, childishly insecure part that wanted to find Togata right now and ask him to spar, just to see who'd win; the weird little twinge he felt when he thought about the fact that he wasn't special for being All Might's successor. It wasn't destined to be him in every world, or anything cinematically dramatic like that. He just got picked by chance.

Was Togata a better choice?

Cementoss coughed quietly across the room, knocking Izuku from his spiral.

If not to distract himself, Izuku wished he had his journal to feel less awkward sitting in the teacher's lounge with nothing to do.

After Recovery Girl revealed the secrets of the universe to him, he couldn't just leave. They ended up discussing for another ten minutes, going back and forth with questions and theories that flew his mind into hyperdrive. She was in the middle of explaining how Permeation was affected by One for All when some second year walked in with a bloody nose when Izuku's back was turned, jump-scaring him half to death.

What asshole doesn't knock before walking in the room?

Oh, right.

He'd taken that as his cue to leave, thanking her for her help but pausing his exit when she'd called out to him.

"Yes?" He came closer when she waved him over.

"All Might may be the number one, but he didn't do it by himself." She met his eyes with a gentle but firm look. "Expecting you to isn't fair, even if he means well—not when you have so many brilliant teachers at your disposal. In every world."

He opened his mouth only to be shushed.

"It's your choice, dearie. I'm just telling you my thoughts on the matter, is all. That Aizawa will start figuring things out soon enough, anyway, with how determined he is to help you get back home." She patted him on the back and he left, the advice sitting heavy in his palms like an key.

He wasn't really sure where to go after that. He didn't know how long Aizawa wanted to talk to Kacchan, or what they were even talking about, and in all honesty, he didn't want to know yet. The chance of Kacchan convincing Aizawa Izuku was evil and lying to them all was low, but the fact that it wasn't zero was enough for him to decide ignorance truly was bliss sometimes. Wandering the halls was also a big no-no, lest he get attacked. He was not looking to get his shit rocked again, thank you.

Cementoss had been pretty chill when Izuku asked to wait here, and thankfully didn't try making any sort of conversation. It wasn't that Izuku didn't like him, Cementoss was a great teacher and amazing hero with a versatile and useful quirk (which he kind of had questions about, now that he thought about it. Should he be using this time to ask, or was that weird?), it's just that Izuku really wanted time to think to himself. In a perfect world, he'd use this time to journal his thoughts, but he didn't land in a perfect world, did he? No, he got a world where he's a nasty villain.

So he sat, twiddling his thumbs, and brought his mind back to the original topic of debate.

One for All.

Mirio Togata had it, which made perfect sense, if Izuku was operating on the assumption that this world could be explained with the Multiverse theory. In a different timeline, All Might never met Izuku, and he gave One for All to the UA student Sir Nighteye scouted and trained for the very purpose of inheriting One for All.

What caught Izuku's attention was that meant as of right now, there were two One for Alls in the same world.

But One for All was more of a sentient quirk, than say, Erasure. It connected its users, past and present, in life and death.

Did that mean Izuku was connected to Togata? Did One for All, like, Bluetooth pair with itself, even if they were from different worlds? If Izuku tried to contact the vestiges, would he see Mirio there? Would he see All Might among them? He wondered if being in a coma would affect his state as a vestige.

Or did it remain separate, with Izuku's quirk only connecting to the vestiges from his world? Could One for All tell the difference between users, like a different frequency? Could it sense itself?

Could Izuku reach his All Might from here?

Hope, bright and sudden, sparked within him. His fingers drummed faster on the armrest of the couch, practically bouncing to test his theory, to get answers.

He was distracted by the sound of the door opening. In the doorway stood Aizawa-Sensei—and hey, that was nice, Izuku was starting to think he got ditched—gesturing for Izuku to get up.

Later, Izuku promised himself as he stood. I'll try contacting my world through All Might's vestige later, and who knows? Maybe I'll be the first to invent multiversal Zoom calls.

Izuku had sat in this conference room too many times to count, and he quite liked it. He was no expert on interior design, considering his own room looked like an All Might shrine, but there was something about this room that felt exciting yet comforting at the same time.

He always thought it was the green couch that made him so fond of the place. It was so soft—every time he sat here he was tempted to bargain for a selling price with Nezu himself. Could you put a price on butt heaven?

But while the couch was still comfortable, he found himself fidgeting awkwardly in his lap instead of relaxing, and it only then hit him that maybe the fond association came from the people he was with, too.

Namely, All Might.

This room was filled with fond memories of him and the hero eating lunch and discussing their quirk together, and it didn't feel the same without him here.

It certainly didn't feel the same with Aizawa across from him and Not-Kacchan beside him.

Yes, Not-Kacchan, because the Bakugo a few feet to his right was most definitely not Kacchan.

Well, he was.

But he wasn't.

It was weird, and Izuku couldn't explain it. He didn't have enough proof yet to pinpoint what was off.

"You're quirkless here."

That was the first thing Kacchan said when Izuku walked in and sat down with a friendly nod, face freshly healed.  He'd partially expected it—Aizawa told him on the way here he convinced Kacchan he was innocent and that there really were two Deku's—but it was still odd to hear for himself.

Even more surprising was that Kacchan was, in his own way, apologizing for attacking him. Acknowledging he was wrong, at the very least.

But now he was screwed, wasn't he?

His mind tripped and fell at the word quirkless, because for the third fucking time, Izuku forgot something important.

How had he managed to spend the past twenty minutes thinking about not being the current wielder of One for All without realizing that that meant he was still quirkless here?

"I am?" he responded, the surprise measured to sound genuine.

'That Aizawa will start figuring things out soon enough, anyway.'

He bit the inside of his cheek.

He wasn't going to tell them about One for All. Telling Aizawa-Sensei was a risk enough, especially when this wasn't even his Aizawa. And there was no chance in hell he'd come forward about it with Not-Kacchan in the room.

Maybe Aizawa would find out eventually, but not now.

Aizawa took this as his chance to fill in Izuku. "Deku being quirkless adds up with the police file on him—he's never been seen using a quirk of any type. A mental quirk was a possibility, but I think he's always seemed like the type to be generally intelligent." The man focused his eyes on Izuku. "However, that has me wondering, Midoriya. What is your quirk?"

Izuku wished he felt guilty for how easily the lie slipped from his lips to the man who'd done nothing but help him. (Shut up, arresting him obviously didn't count.)

"My quirk's name is Superpower! It lets me

have enhanced physical strength and agility. It's good for both defense and offense. I was a late bloomer, and I didn't get my quirk until I was older." And now, to divert the topic. He turned slightly to address Kacchan. "Were we childhood friends in this world, too? Is that how you knew the other me is quirkless?"

Kacchan gave a curt nod, and what.

"We were?" he blurted, incredulous. It got him a raised eyebrow from Aizawa, so he hurried to add more. "Then do you know why I turned villain? Or, uh, have an idea of why?"

The Katsuki Bakugo Izuku knew would never say they were childhood friends. He always refused to, growing up, even if it was just acknowledging they might've been friends as toddlers. And sure, Izuku was a naive seven year old who'd lie to himself and say friends were supposed to push you, but he never thought of them as true friends either, deep down. It was just easier to believe than the truth.

Either Kacchan was lying, or their relationship was different here.

And as much as he wanted to believe there was a world where him and Kacchan grew up as the best of friends, he wasn't seven years old anymore. Kacchan had just confirmed he was quirkless here, too. Not to mention his villain name was Deku.

Gee, so original. Wonder where he got that from.

For a split second after he spoke, Izuku studied the blond's face, only to realize he was being studied right back.

The look on Kacchan's face was all the proof he needed to know he was right. Kacchan was lying, lying through his teeth about them being friends, and it showed in his eyes. A fraction too wide, with combination of emotions that Izuku couldn't ever remember seeing on him before.

But why? Why lie?

"I didn't know Deku well when we got older. But I know ever since we were kids, he kept yapping about wanting to be a hero. Got his ass bullied for it because he was quirkless." Kacchan shrugged, feigning indifference, but Izuku caught the way his eyes flicked away when he said the last part.

Izuku nodded along casually, and when Aizawa wasn't glanced away to check the time, burned a hole in the boy with a knowing stare that got avoided.

"That's interesting, but I doubt it's the only reason I'm a villain here. I grew up the same way with my quirk coming late, wanting to be a hero when I thought I was quirkless and getting picked on for it, but I didn't turn villain." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and he almost regretted saying them. Was it really that easy to summarize everything that'd happened in his life, aside from One for All?

Aizawa's eyebrows narrowed. "How late, exactly, did your quirk come in, Midoriya?" he asked skeptically, if not slightly concerned.

"Um," he blanked. "Well, it wasn't like, late late, just a bit l-later than usual, you know—?"

He shut up real quick when Aizawa glared at him to stop bullshitting.

"The day of the entrance exam," Izuku mumbled quickly, (Aizawa's eyes widened in horror) before moving on a tad too forceful, "but that's not important right now! Kacchan, do you have any other information about me when we were younger? There must've been something else different that can tell us more, right?"

"Pretty sure the only difference is you stayed quirkless here," Kacchan said, like he was stating the obvious. Maybe it was obvious, but that doesn't change the fact that it gave Izuku pause. Was that really all it was?

Was a single quirk the deciding factor of the trajectory of his life?

Their teacher, who gave Izuku a 'we'll talk about your quirk later' look, spoke up. "I think you're forgetting there's one other big difference in this world, Bakugo."

Izuku missed the way the boy beside him froze.

"There is? What?" Izuku asked curiously.

"Apparently in this world, Izuku Midoriya committed suicide over a year ago."

Izuku blinked.

"What?" he repeated blankly, theories coming to a screeching halt. Aizawa repeated what he said.

Time slowed, and his head slowly turned to look at Kacchan on its own. He stared into crimson eyes, and Izuku felt like he was starting to understand what was so different about them.

For a minute, there was nothing but heavy silence as the revelation sank in. The worst part was Izuku didn't doubt it, not in the slightest.

He averted his faraway stare to the wall, the peering eyes of his teacher and his old bully too much to bear. "What day?" The question escaped his numb lips, and he hated that he already knew the answer.

It was Kacchan who responded lowly. "April 2nd. Last year."

His heart dropped at the confirmation.

And when their eyes met once more, Izuku finally placed the unreadable swirl of emotion behind those dull crimson eyes.

Guilt.

From there, the conversation went by in a blur. Apparently Aizawa had already gotten brief details about Not-Izuku's suicide, so it was up to Izuku to ask questions. With each question he asked, he wanted to ask ten more and none at the same time. Each detail he brought up, getting curiouser and sicker with each answer. He jumped, he learned. (Or rather, swan dived, his brain supplied.) He did it sometime after school, he learned. He left a note in his shoe at the top, he learned. There was a funeral. An anti-bullying assembly. His mom spiralled alone after he died. She moved to America to live with his dad.

"Wait," Izuku said, stopping their emotionally detached back and forth, with Aizawa only chiming in whenever he wanted clarification.

Not-Kacchan glanced up from his lap. "What?"

"Who saved you?" At the blank stare he received, he quickly gave context. "On April 2nd, in my world, you were attacked by the Sludge Villain." Kacchan's expression became shadowed and closed off—confirmation in itself. "So who saved you?"

"What does it matter?" the blond bit out.

"Who saved Bakugo in your world, Midoriya?" Aizawa-Sensei interrupted, probably trying to maintain whatever unstable calm the two had built.

"In my world..."

Kacchan, I couldn't just stand there and watch you die!

"I ran in the fight. It was really stupid, and not thought out, but... I was standing in the crowd, watching the Pros on the scene just stand there and do nothing, and before I knew it, I was running to save him."

Kacchan looked at him with utter disbelief. "You saved me that day?"

"I-Well, no, All Might saved us in the end! I didn't do much more than be a distraction, but me putting myself in danger too forced the Pros to act faster. And then All Might came to the scene! Thankfully, you ended up being okay." He felt a little embarrassed now for thinking that day would've gone much different without him there. All Might probably just came a bit later to the fight and won the same way.

"All Might saved me." The blunt answer made it obvious Kacchan didn't want to talk about this any longer, and Izuku could empathize with that. In no world was being a victim a good experience.

"So if Deku died," Izuku started, changing the subject, "how is he still alive?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the blond muttered. "Damn bastard faked it. Got everyone throwing him a pity party while he was out chumming it up with the League."

The implication that he faked his own suicide for attention had Izuku bristling, but he brushed it off for the very reason that he shouldn't be feeling a way to begin with. He didn't fake anything—Kacchan wasn't talking about him. They were not the same person; Izuku needed to stop subconsciously associating them as one and the same. The villain attacked All Might, went after his weaknesses and put him in a coma. For all Izuku knew, attention was exactly why Deku faked his suicide.

"What about the body? Was it fake?" their teacher prodded.

"No fucking clue how he pulled that off," Kacchan confessed. Izuku thought that would be all, but then Kacchan continued, almost like an afterthought. "They only assume he died that day because that's when he dated the note. But he was missing for two days—nobody found him 'til the fourth. The building was in a dead area."

Izuku sat with that. He had more questions, but none were worth the inevitable pain the answer would bring. He didn't want to know how his mom was doing, if she was better or worse off. If she knew her kid was still alive, and if she would've preferred he actually be dead than be what he became. He doubted Kacchan would tell him about meeting Deku with the League if he asked, since he kept the only mention of that curt and sharp. Hell, the boy refused to explain what was written in the note.

Most people never got answers to their intrusive what ifs. Izuku walked into this room and got the most detailed answer to his mind's most popular one.

After that revelation, Aizawa decided there was nothing else pressing enough that needed to be discussed right away, so the three of them walked back to class. In silence.

Yep. Just one big, happy, family.

Izuku felt Not-Kacchan staring at him from the corner of his eye as they walked behind their teacher, and he was confronted with the urge to say something that would trip him up. (Or literally just stick his foot out and trip him.)

I bet you regret telling me to swan dive, Kacchan.

But there was no way he'd actually say something catty like that—especially when he didn't know the boy's full story—so he settled for giving a knowing stare right back. Also, Izuku knew that if he ever did kill himself, it wouldn't be because of that silly comment he knew Kacchan never actually meant. It'd stung, sure, but he never took it to heart.

A weird thought crossed his mind.

Did Kacchan know that?

He didn't even know which Kacchan he was thinking about.

He shook it off as they walked back into class. Not-Kacchan marched in and dropped into his chair aggressively (if Izuku found it funny as fuck he had to pick up the knocked over chair first, no one had to know) but Izuku was stopped at the front when Aizawa held out a hand for him to. Mic-Sensei, who appeared to have subbed in while Aizawa was gone, left the class with a friendly salute and a I'll be back in a few, listeners!

He could feel the eyes on him, and he bet Kacchan could, too. The blond had his own ways of being nervous, and Izuku knew from years of experience it was why he'd walked in so harshly, like he was daring someone to judge him. None of the class spoke, fearful of Aizawa's wrath.

"Class, once again, this is Izuku Midoriya," the man introduced for the second time. Izuku wondered how he could sound the exact same after that shitshow as he did two weeks ago when he announced there'd be a cupcake fundraiser in the cafeteria. "As I explained earlier, he has a doppelgänger here that goes by the villain name Deku, but Midoriya himself is a hero student in Class 1-A like the rest of you. He is to be treated as such, like a temporary student joining in our classes. Additionally, Bakugo's reaction was understandable, even if ignorant, considering he thought he was attacking a dangerous villain, so he will not be facing backlash for it."

No one dared whisper or gossip when Aizawa spoke, but Izuku could feel their curiosity. He was relieved when the man gestured for him to take a seat, and tried to distract himself from everyone's attention as he sat in Iida's empty spot by taking in how different the class looked from the other side of the room.

"Before we begin class, I'd like to remind everyone that the truth about Midoriya's current situation is confidential and on a need-to-know basis only, to prevent misunderstandings like earlier from repeating. Is all of that absolutely clear?" Nods all around.

Classes continued as normal, after that. Aizawa-Sensei went over whatever he was planning on talking about during homeroom, before he called Mic-Sensei back in to let him teach English. The man handed Izuku the English worksheet to complete, too, which Izuku appreciated, even if it wasn't going to get marked or affect his grade. He liked English, and he liked having work to do to take his mind off things.

Besides, the work was so easy. They did this sheet a few days ago—he practically knew all the answers!

It went the same way in all his other classes. His teachers would give him the current assignment, and he'd realize he already did it in his world a few days ago. Naturally, that just meant he'd speed through the work and spend the rest of the time debating why this Class A was behind.

By lunch, he'd come to a conclusion that he thought was pretty solid: Since so many of them were doing remedials, their grades had likely suffered. Because of that, they must've fallen behind in the curriculum a few days.

That, or there was another thing that happened to them in this world that didn't happen to his class,  which affected their marks in their other classes, and was also the reason they flunked the licensing exam.

Did they get attacked again? Was it All Might's absence? Did All Might's presence really affect his class's performance that much?

The bell rang for lunch, and everyone stood, packing their things for lunch. He did as well, albeit awkwardly, because he had nothing to pack aside from holding a few papers.

Also, he had no lunch to eat and no money to buy something, so what was he even supposed to do?

He felt some kids lingering, their focus on him from the corner of their eyes. They'd been waiting for hours for an opportunity to hound him with questions.

Maybe it was impolite, but Izuku really didn't want to talk to them right now. His meeting with the teachers in the morning, getting attacked by Kacchan, talking to Recovery Girl—it had drained his social battery. Not to mention his conversation with Sensei and Kacchan had left him a bit shaken. He knew they were curious, and he understood how they felt, truly, but he just didn't have the energy to make friends all over again with Not-Class A. He would do that later, he promised them silently.

For now, he dashed to the exit to get lost in a sea of teenagers.

Turns out, some people did not change. At all. Whatsoever.

By now, he knew to stand back at least seven meters when he heard that odd sound. (Silence.) So when the explosion rocked the hallway, one section of the wall getting blown into the hall in front of him, shooting everywhere and a burnt smell flooding his nose, Izuku barely flinched.

If anything, he was proud of himself for so casually stamping out the small fire that had appeared in front of him.

It was halfway through lunch, and they were here to run errands. Technically, Aizawa didn't even need to be here, but he grumbled something about Izuku not getting his ass kicked by someone from his past that knew Deku before following. They spent the first half in the teacher's lounge, where Aizawa had blessedly invited Izuku to hide out, and gave him a bunch of snacks from the fridge there.

Aizawa let out a deep, grievous, sigh beside him at the explosion. (Izuku thought the man should be more grateful—he wasn't the one responsible for her. She could've wanted to be a hero student, and then they'd surely be dead by now.)

It was only then that a pink head popped out of the brand new floor to ceiling hole in the wall, prying goggles off her soot-blackened face to reveal comically clean circles around fascinated eyes.

"Hatsume!" A voice scolded from beyond the new door. "What did I say about using supercharged airplane batteries as power sources!?"

"Sorry, Sir! I'll stick to regular airplane batteries!" the young inventor called back, ignoring the No, stick to AA, damn it! and turning her attention to the two in front of her. "Hello there! How can I help you?"

As always, she didn't wait for a response. Hatsume ran up to them, and with a deadpan stay-away-from-me-gremlin from Aizawa, she focused on Izuku—and now the plastic bag he'd been hiding behind his back was in her hands. Somehow.

"We aren't here for tech, Hatsume," Aizawa explained tiredly. "Just to—"

"Is this a hero costume? Wow, this is shit." She held up a bloody, torn pile of fabric, and okay, Izuku understood where she was getting at, but come on, she could be nice about it—

"Actually on second thought, it's not horrible. Pretty sturdy design, it's just busted up! You want me to fix it? Or better, improve it? Because I just made a new baby you won't believe—"

"Um, no, thank you!" Izuku interrupted with a squeak. He shuddered at the memory of the last time she tried improving his design. "We're just here to get it cleaned a little, stitched up a bit—no improvements or alterations!" He had learned through experience that Hatsume preferred strict, upright demands to polite, indecisive maybes on what you wanted. Otherwise she'd go ahead and add a jetpack to your elbows.

She nodded before he could object that she didn't have to busy herself with such a simple task. He knew how to patch it a bit himself, he was only looking for some green thread and cleaning solution. "On it! Is the information packet still built in to the suit? I've never seen this suit before."

"Uh, yeah, it's under a flap in the hood. Thank you so much!" He pointed to it, and she nodded.

"And you? Do you need help with anything, Sir? Maybe a new capture weapon? That one looks outdated—"

"No."

And then she was gone, rushing off to her lab with Izuku's precious suit. He really hoped it didn't come back with even so much as a new watch on his wrist. (It would be a jetpack, Izuku knew it would somehow be a jetpack.)

Rip, hero suit 2.3. You'll be missed.

Izuku was distracted as Powerloader stepped out of the hole in the wall. He waved the smoke from his face and craned his neck to see the extent of the property damage, closing his eyes for a few short seconds like he was pretending he was in peaceful, relaxing, Hawaii. Then he spotted them, and his face lit up.

"Aizawa, Midoriya, nice to see you!" He maneuvered his way around a smoky chunk of wall between them as he strode forward.

Aizawa greeted him with a nod. "Nice to see your teaching is as irrational as always."

Izuku stiffened. Oh crap, was that a jab? Did they not like each other—

Powerloader snorted, and the boy relaxed. "Yeah, yeah, as long as Nezu pays for it," he joked, getting Aizawa to grin. Grin. Sure, it was only a small twitch of his lips, but still, damn. "By the way, kid," he looked at Izuku again, more serious, "I wanted to say sorry again, for how I reacted in the morning. Wasn't very Plus Ultra of me, was it?" He chuckled a little in the end, but the sincerity remained.

Izuku's eyes prickled slightly with a warmth he blinked away. He really loved the teachers at UA. "It means a lot, Powerloader Sir, but really, I forgive you, and it's okay! Reacting like that was pretty understandable, considering how dangerous my doppelgänger is."

"Well then, I see you met Hatsume." The man snickered, gesturing with his hand to this destruction. He had the audacity to have a gleam of pride in his eyes. "She might seem like a lot, but don't worry—your suit's in good hands. It'll come back lookin' brand new."

"Oh, yeah, I'm not worrying at all! I've met Hatsume before a bunch of times in my world—we were on a team for the Cavalry Battle in the Sports Festival, and later she fought my friend in the one-on-one matches! She's super nice and really talented, and she always helps me and my classmates out with our gear." He forced himself to stop before he started rambling about her awesome quirk and came off as a freak.

Powerloader grinned. "Yeah, and what a shame she decided not to win the damn thing, huh? Especially since the kid she went against never ended up sticking around to get his medal."

Izuku knew the man was just making a good-natured joke. It didn't stop the defensiveness from bubbling up at the reminder how their internships went. "Well, it wasn't Iida's choice to leave before the medal ceremony—he had a family emergency. And besides, he ended up getting his medal later!" He hoped his tone came off as pleasant as he wanted it to.

Powerloader winced apologetically. "Ah, I'm sorry. That was insensitive, and you're right, it wasn't his fault." And then, "Were you close with him?"

"At the time of the Sports Festival? I mean, yeah, we were pretty close back then, too, but that was early into the year, and we got closer afterwards." His mind flashed to that alley, to that gut-wrenching fear that he would get there too late.

A weird emotion, something like pity, shadowed the man's face. "Oh, kid, I'm so—"

"You should probably go tell Nezu half the wall blew up," Aizawa cut in. He pointedly stared at another baby fire that had started up a few feet away.

Powerloader stopped and looked at Aizawa. Then slowly said, "Uh, yeah. You're right, I need to get on that." He said his goodbyes to the two of them, apologizing again to Izuku for how they met before leaving to find his hopefully not charred phone in the dust.

Before Izuku could wonder what he would've said, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch.

He was mad.

He'd gotten the notification early this morning, too quickly for those files to have been obtained with legal permission. Today had been a busy, work-filled day and after having so much time to think it over, he'd come to the conclusion that the chance of that cat bastard's story being true was next to zero. Maybe that was why he saved the footage to watch for later—as a humorous little treat. To laugh at how incompetent Sansa was.

His hand clutched the mouse tighter. Pressed down on the left click button to drag the bar back left. Pressed play, again. His fourth time watching this horrendously shit quality.

Maybe it would've been funny, still. The grainy figure definitely looked like him, but he didn't act that way. He would be caught dead before pleading with a police officer and Eraser in a police station like that. It could've been an amusingly pathetic attempt at pranking him. (As if Sansa had the balls.)

But it wasn't fucking funny, because this footage hadn't been edited. This wasn't Toga, or Twice, if Shigaraki was to be trusted. And looking at the sparks crackling from the figure on the roof, it had to be someone else.

But it couldn't be, because the costume the boy was wearing...

No one in the entire world had ever seen that costume design. That hero costume design.

No one but him.

It shouldn't be possible, but Izuku Midoriya saw, with his own eyes, as an identical copy of him ran around using a quirk, dressed in his dead dream.

Chapter Text

A part of him wished he hadn't said anything.

That he hadn't intervened, that he'd let the truth come out. Let it be someone else's fault for telling him.

It was a cowardly part.

Powerloader had been about to tell him. Accidentally, of course, since the man had no idea that Iida was alive and well in Midoriya's world, but the truth would've unraveled itself to both of them had Shota let him continue.

It might've made it someone else's fault, but you'd still have to see the fallout, his mind whispered.

Shota wondered if maybe interrupting was only logical. Logically, it should be Shota breaking the news to him, rather than someone he barely knew ripping off the bandaid. It would hurt less.

Shota clenched his jaw. It didn't matter. Regardless of who told Midoriya the truth about Iida, he would've had to watch the pain hit his eyes, morph his face, and twist his gut.

He wanted to procrastinate that as long as possible, even forever, if he could. That seemed the most logical to him. Why put the kid through unnecessary grief? Was being told his alternate self pretended to kill himself not enough? Or that his teacher—his idol, apparently—was in a coma? Was it not enough to put the kid through being arrested and interrogated by yours fucking truly?

(Shota was being ignorant, he knew, deep down. Midoriya would find out sooner or later, would inevitably wonder why he hasn't seen his friend around yet, and he'd only be more upset when he realized Shota intentionally lying by omission.)

He leaned against the wall, closely observing his students' form as they reviewed different offensive styles in sparring, spread out across the training gym. Even as his attention jumped from student to student, verbally criticizing, advising, teaching, they always wandered back to a certain spiky blond. One who was so obviously too distracted by earlier events to focus on his current match with Kirishima.

He thought back to the conference room. The whole time... Shota couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something. Unbeknownst to the two, he had caught the heavy stares they'd given each other when they thought he wasn't looking, and he saw enough to recognize those weren't positive emotions. (Definitely not in a relationship, then.) If anything, Shota was relieved Midoriya agreed not to come to Heroics, because he had a gut feeling it would end in a fight between the two boys.

His eyes roamed to the corner where Ojiro, Ochaco, and Sero sparred as the designated group of three, and a bitter taste rose in him at the sight. That Problem Child wasn't stupid, and even worse, he was curious. He'd ask about Iida, sooner or later, and all of these brats were dying to talk to him.

He needed to tell him before someone else did.

Soon, Shota swore. He just wanted to give him a break to adjust first, then he would find time to tell him.

Soon.

Ducking into the boys changeroom, Izuku tried to appear as casual as possible. He knew he shouldn't be wandering around like this, not after he told Sensei he'd just kill time in the teacher's lounge for Heroics after they'd agreed he didn't need to attend, but he just couldn't any longer.

He enjoyed pondering as much as the next person. But when you were Izuku Midoriya, it never stayed casual, not when the things on your mind included your doppelgänger's faked suicide and your mentor's ongoing coma. It took ten minutes flat with nothing to do in the lounge for Izuku to become jittery, itching to do something. (He had nowhere to write anything down, which arguably made his restlessness worse. What was the point in anxious overthinking if it wasn't going to be useful?)

That led him to now, a good thirty minutes after he told Aizawa he'd stay in the lounge, praying the boys' changeroom was empty as he walked in.

Lo and behold, he got lucky. Not a grey blazer in sight.

He instantly relaxed, shoulders drooping. Not that it would be a huge problem if he ran into another student, but if other students were in here changing for class, that meant his actual destination was probably booked out today.

Footsteps echoing as he strode up to the opposite door, Izuku pressed his ear against the wood and held his breath to listen. It led directly to Gym Beta, the gym least used, due to its smallest size and oldest equipment.

Good thing he didn't need space or supplies for this.

When he heard nothing but the air conditioning above, he stepped in, rolling his shoulders and beginning to flex his hand joints as his eyes scanned the place.

Hopefully I can test my idea here without interruptions.

A blur in the corner caught his attention, startling him so bad the panic signal shot through his body so fast it swerved right past his common sense and went to his feet, tripping him. One foot hooked around one ankle, and the next thing he knew, he swore he heard a lumberjack shouting timber as the gym floor rushed up at him.

Or I'll just die, he thought for nostalgia's sake.

His hands shot out to catch himself, but the impact came wrapped around his chest, not slamming into his palms, and the floor stopped coming closer. For the briefest second, deja vu hit Izuku like a four ton semi-truck, and he was floating weightlessly again.

"Whoa, I didn't even hear you come in! Are you okay?" Izuku was surprised at how heavily disappointment overtook him when he didn't hear that same bubbly 'release!' from all those months ago.

It shook him from his stunned state, and he stumbled upright as the strong arms around him loosened. "I-I'm so sorry, and no, I'm perfectly fine!" he stammered awkwardly, turning around to face his rescuer. "Thank you, for uh, catching me!"

"Hey, it's you again, from earlier!" This caught Izuku's attention, and he pulled his downcast eyes from the extremely interesting floor to meet—

Fuck his life.

Now I wish he hadn't caught me and I'd actually died instead.

"That's a crazy coincidence, us meeting again, huh?" Togata laughed, light and cheery as always, but all Izuku could see was the other choice, the better choice.

He swallowed hard. He needed to get over it already.

"Yeah, what are the chances?" Izuku smiled back, rubbing the back of his neck to ease his nerves. He took in the white and blue hero suit, the yellow tinted glasses and red cape, and realized oh, he's probably training. With One for All.

He needed to leave. If there was anyone other than Kacchan who could potentially attack him at this school, it was Togata. Deku had taken his mentor, and if Togata had half the connection with All Might that Izuku did, he would destroy Izuku with so much as the possibility that they were the same.

Yeah, he needed to leave.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you! I should get g—"

"Hey, I never got your name in the morning! You mentioned Aizawa when we met, so I'm guessing you're in his homeroom?" Togata's face brightened, wordlessly inviting him to stay for a few. "Oh, and I'm Mirio Togata, by the way!"

"It's nice to meet you, Togata," Izuku said with a small nod of respect to his upperclassman. "I'm Izuku Midoriya, and yeah, I'm in Aizawa-Sensei's homeroom." Please don't as—

"If you don't mind me asking, are you new? I met all his first years a few weeks ago, and I swear you weren't there," Togata asked curiously.

Izuku felt his smile getting strained. It honestly felt more like a grimace. "It's a little complicated, but I guess you could say that? I'm technically a temporary transfer."

"A temporary transfer, huh? I didn't even know they did that—awesome!" Togata grinned, and Izuku wondered before he could stop himself if All Might taught him to grin like that. "So that means you're a hero course kid, too, right? Then don't you have heroics with Aizawa right now?"

Think, think, think. "Well, technically, yes, but Sensei excused me for this block because of stuff that happened this morning." Not exactly a lie. "What about you—don't you have class?"

"Oh, did it have to do with the fight you got in? Wait, sorry, you don't have to answer that." Now his smile was the one turning into a grimace. "No, I have a free period right now, so I'm just training. They're rare, especially with third years, but a few hero students who do workstudies are allowed them to help balance their schedules," he explained.

Izuku nodded along, before deciding it was time to make his leave. "That's so nice of them—I didn't know they did that for you guys! Well, you probably wanna get back to your training then, so I won't keep you busy any longer. It was nice talking to you, Togata!"

He turned to leave, and again, the blond behind him spoke up.

"Wait up! If you aren't doing anything right now, you wanna spar with me? I'm working on some of my techniques, and I'd appreciate a partner." And then he added, like a confessed ulterior motive, "And I've fought everyone in your class but you, so I admit, I'm a little curious about how you fight!"

Like a moth to a flame, Izuku couldn't help it—he turned back around, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could think them through.

"Sure, why not?"

Izuku was tired, but he didn't want to stop yet.

They'd been sparring for half an hour now, at the very least, and it was safe to say he was long past the warm-up stage. He was dripping in sweat, blazer and pristine white shirt long since discarded in a neatly folded pile somewhere nearby. He'd never sparred with Togata like this, but he was used to the way his muscles were burning, the way the skin of his knuckles was stinging.

It felt good; familiar. He needed familiar in the midst of this parallel universe chaos.

It was also really cool, because once again, he'd never sparred with Togata in his world, which, aside from One for All, was a big reason why he'd said yes to this. He barely knew the guy, fighting him only once before with his class and only having patrolled with him for the past week. So sue him if he was eager to practice with the third year his stern homeroom teacher openly dubbed the most likely to be the next Number One.

Once they'd gotten comfortable around each other—decking someone in the jaw tended to melt away formalities—Togata actually had a lot of good pointers for him. Minuscule things that would only be discovered with experience, but things adults haven't sparred with him long enough to catch.

So when Togata's right fist came shooting for his left jaw, Izuku remembered from the last observation to react faster on that side, and threw himself into a backbend. He went with the motion, fluidly bracing his palms against the floor as he sprang up with his legs. He aimed for the blond's jaw with his foot, but didn't let himself be disoriented when it went straight through.

Togata was barely using One for All.

It was bugging him, if he was being truthful, because he wanted to see it in combat. Izuku wanted to know.

Who was the better choice?

It shouldn't matter at all to him, but it did, he couldn't help the tiny insecure seed inside, so he attacked harder, hoping he could force Togata's hand a little. Izuku himself had been keeping a careful leash on his own One for All—one slip up and he was irrevocably fucked. Too much power, a move too much like All Might's, just one recognizable mistake, and Togata could be eyeing him up and down with newfound suspicion. Thankfully, his power, with the red veins and green lighting, didn't look anything like All Might's or Togata's, so he didn't have to worry about the other boy finding similarities between them.

As they traded blows, Izuku vaguely noticed patterns in Togata's fighting style that he was certain he recognized from Sir Nighteye. Did those exist in the Lemillion in his own world, too? Was it specific to here? Did this Togata have hints of All Might's attack style, too? Were his Smash's better than Izuku's?

Izuku yelped, hastily throwing an arm up to shield his face from the unnoticed attack heading straight for him. Damn it, he got distracted. His eyes widened a fraction behind his forearm as Togata's fist glowed with a sudden surge of strength. One for All. He braced for the hit, because he'd been caught too off guard to dodge now, and Togata's regular punches were already pure power, but the hit didn't connect immediately. Or rather, properly? Izuku wasn't sure what exactly happened.

His eyes cracked open to see knuckles flying through his arm (why he still bothered to block against Togata was a mystery) and towards his cheekbone faster than his reflexes could save him. Instead of brutal force, however, he only felt a whisper of a touch graze his cheek before the arm vanished. Izuku blinked, eyes just barely catching the flash of movement below as the punch that had previously been at eye-level now connected with his collarbone.

He'd already been off his balance trying to dodge, so the hit sent him stumbling back until he fell on his ass, panting. He guessed that Houdini act had been Permeation and One for All working in tandem, making Togata move quicker than the eye could track.

They broke off, wordlessly calling for a break after that relatively harder hit. Izuku stood and rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the throbbing pain across his right collarbone that he really hoped wasn't a fracture as he silently marvelled over Permeation for the nth time. Even if that last punch hadn't felt... solid.

But then Izuku, hands on his knees to catch his breath, glanced up at Togata, only to see the opposite of what he expected. It wasn't the blond's exhausted but triumphant smile, or even a smile at all. Pure frustration was scrawled across the boy's face directed solely at himself, laced with pain and upset. Izuku stood straighter, concerned.

"Hey, are you alright—" he broke off, eyes landing on the newly purpled right arm Togata was gingerly assessing.

Izuku stared.

He shouldn't, he knew it was rude, but he just couldn't stop staring. He knew what that felt like, what kind of white hot pain that was. He knew how it felt, to be wrangling a power so great it slipped from your weak grip and burst out, shattering your body. He didn't expect Togata to know, though.

"Is your arm broken?" Dumb question, he was aware. But it was better to act dumb right now.

Togata's head whipped up, as if he'd forgotten Izuku was even here. How many times had the boy broken a bone alone?

'I messed up and broke my arm this morning when I was training my quirk before school.'

He'd originally thought it was with Permeation, but of course not—Togata had spent years perfecting it. But could someone so advanced as him really still he having trouble with this quirk months later? Even Izuku had gotten the hang of it after a month or so, and he'd been weak and quirkless his whole life!

"Um... yes?" Togata masked his frustration quickly, taking on a sheepish grimace. "But don't worry, Recovery Girl will help fix it. She's nice like that. Sorry about that last hit though, are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine, it barely hurts," Izuku dismissed with ease, already feeling the throb begin to dull. "But what about you? That looks painful—are you sure you're okay?" he pressed, speaking from experience.

Togata chuckled, and Izuku wondered if he imagined the bitter undertone. "Nah, all good! It's, ah, not my first time having this happen. Probably won't be my last, either." He shrugged, in a what can you do manner, but it only spurred Izuku on.

He quickly threw on his crumpled white shirt and grabbed his grey jacket. "Here, I can help." As he neatly packed away Togata's things into his duffel, ignoring the halfhearted protests, he thought of how to get some answers without feeling like he was prying. "You said that this has happened before, right? Does that mean you know what makes your bones break?" Izuku ventured.

Togata was silent for a bit, which was unlike his usually eager manner to explain the obstacles he'd overcame whenever Izuku asked him questions on patrols. He must be figuring out how to answer without revealing One for All to a stranger.

"I guess you could say that..." he trailed off for a second, holding open the exit door with his good arm for Izuku to leave first, before continuing. "Sometimes when I train, my control on my power, Permeation, kind of... slips? I'm not too sure, but it's like too much force bursting out all at once. That's why I've been practicing so much—I don't want this happening at my work study."

Did that mean his bones only broke occasionally when he used One for All? Or was that just a cover for the fact that he doesn't know how to use it at all yet? Izuku hummed, but kept his thoughts to himself. He caught sight of a clock displayed in one of the main hallways, and it was only then that he'd realized the time. Last period would end in only a few minutes.

He gave a non-committal response; some follow-up that he only distantly noted the answer to as they neared Recovery Girl's office. She wasn't surprised to see either of them again—only skeptical when Izuku insisted he wasn't the injured one. The bell rang, and he'd rushed back to the gym, swearing he'd just had his grey blazer in his hands but now it was missing, calling a quick goodbye to the alternate successor.

It was only alone in Gym Beta, (rushing over to where his jacket had been forgotten on a bench), that Izuku let himself privately mull over the feeling that had been stirring in his gut ever since he'd seen such a strong, hardworking, hero student break his arm and look so defeated. Or maybe the feeling had existed before that. Maybe it'd started at the guilt stained crimson eyes, or further back, to a C+ beside a bubbly written essay and a missing class picture on the wall.

(He thought over the familiarity of what he was feeling, and realized that even if he didn't have a name for it, he knew what happened next. He remembered shattering bones, over and over, thumb flicking through his cheek, until the arena exploded in fire. Remembered revenge concealed in his friend's blue eyes and racing through dark alleys, slamming a fist into that murder's face. Remembered following small footprints to a mountain cliff, offering a warm bowl of curry to a kid built of spiteful grief.)

Last night, Izuku had wondered if this world was better. Without him. Shinso's drastically altered life was a focal point of that. But now, interacting with this world, he was noticing things, things he wasn't satisfied with. And if he didn't know how to get back to his world yet...

He squared his shoulders, accepting the decision he'd come to subconsciously long before this moment.

At heart, Izuku Midoriya was a meddler.

CANON WORLD

Ochaco Uraraka was accustomed to nausea. It was a part of her life, as revolting as it was. At least it wasn't like pain—with pain, no matter how many times you experienced it, it never became easier to deal with. Once you've lived with nausea for long enough, you learn to work through it.

Currently, that what she was doing: working through it. She had been for a few hours now, and she was faintly proud of the fact that she'd only puked once, when she was floating almost triple her weight in concrete.

"Uravity, come in."

When she heard the crackle of her earpiece, Ochaco clenched her jaw in defeat. Had it been half an hour already?

"This is Uravity," she replied, stubbornly forcing every ounce of exhaustion far from her voice.

"Time's up, kid. Go take a break." Fierce desperation gripped her, so she opened her mouth to object, but Ryukyu beat her to it. "That's an order. At least an hour, and make sure you eat something."

Arguing would only get her sent home, and that was the only reason she clamped her mouth shut and safely released all the debris she'd been floating. There was no way in hell she was going home, not yet, not without him.

Deku had to be here somewhere.

She trudged away from the building collapse, ignoring the fewer heroes on the scene. This was no longer classified as a rescue site, it was just a wreck clean-up.

Ochaco pretended she didn't see the looks she got as she headed to the large break tent pitched on the outskirts of the destruction. Pity, mostly. (Revolting lust in one or two, but she'd grown used to ignoring those whole-heartedly.)

Her eyes lit up in brief warmth when she saw familiar red and green heads of hair slumped in chairs up ahead, and when she saw Aizawa-Sensei making his way to the same tent, she wondered if this so-called break was more planned than she initially thought.

Tsu caught sight of her and waved, Kirishima perking up right after,. He held up the snacks he acquired from the table across the tent like they were sacred trophies, and she smiled faintly as she made her way to the same food displayed across the tables.

At least it's free, her mind supplied wearily.

Once she'd gathered a small plate, she sat beside them. Hado and Amajiki must still be helping, then.

"Heads up. Sensei's coming over," Kirishima said with a nudge. Ochaco glanced up from her bag of chips, confirming her suspicions that their breaks had been aligned on purpose when she saw Aizawa walking over.

Tsu stole a chip from her, speaking around it. "He's going to try convincing us to go home again, kero."

It didn't matter. He'd already tried making them leave a few hours ago, insisted they go back to class and leave this to him and the others. But here they still were, worn and weary and maybe a bit too emotionally attached to be out working on this field, but working nonetheless.

"You guys got here before me, so if you're tired and wanna go home, I totally respect that," Kirishima spoke quietly. "But I'm not leaving, not yet." Not without him, went unspoken.

Ochaco tilted the bag to him in offering. "We only got here half an hour before you, you know," she said with a lilting grin, before she took on a determined edge. "I'm with you. He can't make us leave that easy. We're Class 1-A; we don't leave people behind. I'll search this whole block a million times over until we find Deku, or at least, a clue where he went."

She thought of the others, who had no idea Deku had disappeared yet. She and Tsu had been requested to come in to Ryukyu's agency this morning to help with the debris, but she found out about Deku entirely by accident by overhearing a phone call with Aizawa. Kirishima had apparently cornered Amajiki into admitting Deku was missing when he felt the upperclassman hiding something from him. And then, well, there was no forcing them to go home after that, but they did have to swear not to tell the class yet for legal reasons.

Kirishima reached for a chip with a thanks, and nodded in greeting when their teacher arrived. "Hey, Aizawa-Sensei!"

"I'm glad you're all taking breaks, even if you were forced," he said as way of greeting. Ochaco felt a pang of appreciation for the man when she saw his eyebags, darker than usual, and remembered he had been here since Deku went missing almost a full twenty four hours ago. Had he even slept? Or had he just been going over every possibility of where his missing student could be?

"I know you're all worried about Midoriya, but you need to remember that working yourself too thin isn't going to find him faster. Maybe it feels like it, but I promise it won't," he sighed, and Ochaco feared for a moment he would pull rank on them and force them to go back to the dorms. Maybe he saw the plea in her eyes, because he continued as if reading her mind. "I'm not here to make you go back to UA, not yet, but you are expected to make up the classes you missed. What you're doing is still valuable work at your workstudies, and I won't take that away from you, as long as you continue to prove you can stay rational on this clean-up. That means taking breaks—understood?"

They all agreed instantly, relief washing through them that they could help out, even if just for a few more hours.

"Do you have any updates?" Tsu asked hopefully.

The man didn't respond for a beat. His version of visibly hesitating. Ochaco pounced. "Do you have a lead? Do you know where Deku is?"

"No, we don't know that much," he relented. "But the young boy who Midoriya was supposedly rescuing when he was last seen woke up ten minutes ago."

They all sat forward in their seats, attentive, holding their breaths.

"And?" Ochaco pressed.

"And it's been confirmed by a doctor, though there is a chance this isn't related." Aizawa-Sensei took a heavy breath.

"Yesterday, that kid developed and accidentally activated his quirk—around the same time he was being saved by Midoriya."