Chapter Text
-.-
Other than the lack of injury, the nice thing about a session with Recovery Girl was a full night's sleep. It didn't even have to be a serious injury. His body took the effects of her quirk as a mandatory order to sleep.
With a yawn, he stretched, lamenting that this bed wasn't as comfortable as the one at Olympus. He'd have to ask Izuku about the pillows because he needed every advantage he could get.
Rolling out of bed, he got ready for classes and stalked to the kitchen. If he was lucky, the early birds were done with it, and the late risers were still pulling themselves out of bed.
He was not.
Apparently, his habit of getting up and being the last one out the door, or up dysfunctionally early, made him a terrible judge of everyone's routine.
Kyoka was sitting with Yaoyorozu, plates of food between them. Ojiro and Hagakure were at the next table.
At least it was only Shoji and Tokoyami in the kitchen.
Since the coffee pot was almost empty, he poured the rest into his mug and made a new pot.
While he waited for that, he scrambled eggs. His coffee was ready when he'd finished washing the pan. Cringing at how every sound felt loud. The water, the gurgle of the coffee maker, the bump the pan in the rack.
It was like being on the train. All the voices were muted, muttering and whispering so they didn't impose on anyone else. Nothing like a group of teens who'd been living together for years and had to save each other's lives.
Nothing like mornings at Olympus.
Kirishima and Kaminari came down, quickly raiding the cabinets with barely muttered greetings for anyone.
Fuck this.
I’m not doing this again. I’m not shrinking to make other people comfortable.
Hitoshi dug into the feeling he had at Olympus. The normalcy of treating people like people instead of glass cannons.
"Hey, Shoji, can you hand me the sugar?" He carefully kept his voice low and flat, looking from the taller teen to the container behind him.
Shoji looked startled, turned to see where it was. The muttered conversations around the room paused when he disturbed the peace with his request.
Once he shook off the surprise, Shoji handed it to him.
"Thanks," he fixed his coffee, grabbed his eggs, and took the empty seat next to Kyoka. Ignoring how Ojiro went to check on Shoji. Like he'd need to use his quirk for basic manners.
Asshole.
He concentrated on his food.
"You look like you slept." Kyoka nudged his arm, tilting her head to get a good look at him. "Can you hear okay?"
For a moment, he tensed. Then had to fight off a wave of self-deprecating anger. It was stupid to be strung out and on edge because he'd asked for sugar. And Kyoka didn't deserve misplaced angst.
She's asking because she was worried. He mentally kicked himself.
"Yeah, RG works wonders. I slept, and the ringing stopped. "
"That's a relief," Momo replied as Kyoka nodded. "Good."
"I had most of it handled, but… I appreciated Kirishima stepping in."
Speaking of.
There was shuffling as the rest of the class came in. Not needing to linger at the table, he took their dishes to the kitchen. Kirishima came in with his, and Hitoshi reached to take the bowls, putting them in the dishwasher.
"Thanks, man," Kirishima sighed, looking vaguely lost as he struggled with some internal dilemma.
Hitoshi didn't know what that was about and decided not to ask.
"Thanks for yesterday," He turned to face the redhead squarely. "I'd have been in rough shape if you hadn't stepped in."
Kirishima looked torn and nodded. "You're welcome. That was… not cool. He'd been really upset since…" he trailed off, and Hitoshi let the silence settle.
It wasn't his job to make Kirishima comfortable, and he had no reason to be uncomfortable.
"Yeah…." Kirishima looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, it wasn't right, and…" The other boy took a deep breath, straightened, and met Hitoshi's gaze.
"I've made a lot of excuses for him. I've cheered for him and pretended it's just him being passionate. And… He'd have really hurt you yesterday, and I don't understand why. But, it was wrong."
Well, what the hell was he supposed to say to that?
He was saved by Aizawa-sensei stalking in.
"Shinsou, a word."
He nodded at Aizawa, turning back to Kirishima because he really had to say something.
"Thanks," it was lame, but he wasn't sure what to say, and he was already mentally preparing for his conversation with Aizawa.
"We cool?" Kirishima looked earnest and worried and … what the hell?
"We're cool."
They never really had been before, but sure. He'll take it.
He flashed a two-finger salute at Kyoka to let her know everything was okay, and followed the teacher out.
"Are you okay after what happened?" They were barely out of the door when the man stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Yeah, Recover Girl fixed me up."
Aizawa nodded slowly. "Good, but that wasn't my only concern." He leaned against the column. "But it's a good start. Even Jiro missed most of what was said. Explain to me what was going on."
There was a nagging fear at the back of his mind. An ache in his heart that this was going to be his fault. That he didn't de-escalate.
But he took a breath and recounted events. He knew Bakugou had issues with Eight, but he didn't know what 'sob story' Bakugou was fishing for.
"Maybe I could have said something that calmed him down, but I didn't know what." He shrugged, half listening for people coming through the door. The windows in his peripheral vision. He was surprised no one was peeking out of them.
“It wasn’t your responsibility to manage his emotions.” Aizawa sighed, and Hitoshi forced himself to exhale slowly. "All of that was unacceptable."
The man paused, and Hitoshi grit his teeth. Waiting.
"Bakugou was sent home last night. He and his parents will be meeting with Nezu, Snipe, and me this afternoon."
Hitoshi looked over, making eye contact. He'd been bracing for blame—prepared to defend himself.
Expecting disappointment.
He should know better than that by now. Should trust his mentor to be better by now. But after a lifetime of shitty teachers, Aizawa's apologetic expression was still a surprise.
"Bakugou will be attending classes tomorrow and Friday, but he is suspended from Heroics until Monday. If you have any additional problems with him—anywhere, at any time—I want to know immediately."
"Yes, sir."
His voice was fainter than he expected it to be.
UA had been a major improvement over middle school, but even with that, he was still a little stunned.
He's always been inconvenient. Too snarky. Too sarcastic.
Too dangerous.
Years later, the confidence and support were still novel.
Snipe informed the class that Bakugou would be absent, bluntly telling the "Bakusquad, "Don't blow up his phone."
But, watching them, they didn't seem eager to. Whatever had happened between Kirishima and Bakugou had affected their whole group.
In the silence that followed the announcement, Bakugou’s empty seat felt louder than he ever was.
-.-
The conference room felt smaller with Bakugou Mitsuki in it.
Shouta had been teaching long enough to recognize parental archetypes at a glance. The apologetic ones who enabled their children. The disconnected ones who treat school like glorified babysitting. The aggressive ones who saw every consequence as a personal attack.
Bakugou Mitsuki was the spitting image of her son, right down to the sharp eyes and the ready-to-detonate posture. She hadn’t softened at all since their brief meeting when the dorms were instituted.
The father—Masaru—sat beside her, quiet, hands folded on the table. Bakugou himself was rigid in his chair, staring at the wall above Nezu's head like he could bore a hole through it with spite alone.
"Let me make sure I understand," Mitsuki leaned forward, voice tight. "My son is being suspended from Heroics training because he got into a fight with another student."
"Not a fight," Snipe corrected, voice flat. "An assault. One-sided."
"It was training. They were supposed to be fighting." She pursed her lips, tone scolding them for idiocy.
"Quirkless sparing," Nezu interjected pleasantly, "Young Shinsou made no aggressive moves. In fact, he attempted to de-escalate multiple times."
"We have footage," Snipe added, turning the laptop toward her. "The audio is limited, but the visuals tell the story. From multiple angles."
Mitsuki's jaw tightened, but she sat back.
Bakugou's hands clenched on his knees.
"Katsuki's been working his ass off at this school," she said, some of the aggression draining into something closer to frustration. "He's—he's passionate. He pushes himself harder than anyone. One bad day—"
"This wasn't one bad day." Nezu's tone remained pleasant, but there was steel underneath. "This is a pattern of behavior. Verbal aggression toward classmates. Excessive destruction of property during training. And now, physical violence."
"The old man's not wrong." Bakugou's voice was rough, startling everyone. He still wasn't looking at them. "I fucked up."
Mitsuki stared at her son. "Katsuki—"
"I'm not saying I'm sorry," he bit out. "I'm saying I fucked up."
Shouta resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Barely.
"The question," Nezu continued, "is what we do about it. Expulsion is on the table."
That got Bakugou's attention. His head snapped toward the principal, eyes wide.
"You can't—" Mitsuki started.
"We can," Snipe said. "We have. UA's reputation is built on producing heroes. Not training grounds for villains."
"My son is not a villain!"
"Then he needs to stop acting like one," Shouta said quietly.
The silence that followed had a ringing quality. Sharp. Poignant. No one moved.
Masaru cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him—he'd been so quiet that Shouta had almost forgotten he was there.
"What would you recommend instead?" His voice was calm, measured. "If not expulsion."
Nezu tilted his head, a small smile crossing his features. "I'm glad you asked. We have several requirements."
He pulled out a tablet and swiped through to a prepared document.
"First: mandatory therapy sessions, twice weekly, with a counselor who specializes in anger management and emotional regulation. This is non-negotiable."
Bakugou's face was turning red, but he kept his mouth shut.
"Second: community service. Sixty hours, to be completed over the next three months. We have several approved organizations—"
"Community service?" Mitsuki's eyebrows shot up. "For a school fight?"
"For assault," Snipe corrected again.
"Third," Nezu continued, unruffled, "a formal written apology to Shinsou-kun, though we will not require him to accept it. Fourth: Bakugou-kun will attend classes tomorrow and Friday of this week, but is suspended from all Heroics training until Monday. Fifth: any further incidents of this nature will result in immediate expulsion. No appeals."
The weight of that settled over the room.
"And if he complies with all of this?" Masaru asked.
"Then we help him become the hero he wants to be," Shouta said. "But he has to want it. And he has to do the work."
Mitsuki looked at her son. Really looked at him—taking in the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on his own knees, the way he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
"What's this really about, Katsuki?"
Bakugou's jaw worked. "Nothing."
"The altercation," Nezu said carefully, "appeared to stem from Bakugou-kun's hostile reaction to a young hero student named Midoriya Izuku."
Shouta watched as Mitsuki's expression clouded with confusion.
"Izuku?" She repeated. "What does Izuku have to do with anything? He's in America."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bakugou's head dropped forward, hands coming up to grip his hair.
"He’s not," Nezu said gently.
"Yes, he is. Inko took him—they moved—" Mitsuki's voice was rising. "After the sludge villain, she took him to America where he'd be safer—"
"Mom." Bakugou's voice was barely above a whisper. "Shut up."
"Don't you tell me to—"
"He's at Ketsubutsu." The words came out strangled. "He's been at Ketsubutsu this whole fucking time."
"That's not—" Mitsuki turned to Nezu, then to Shouta. "Is that true?"
"Midoriya-kun's current school enrollment is not something we're at liberty to discuss," Nezu said.
Mitsuki sat back in her chair, looking genuinely shaken. "Inko told me they were leaving. She was taking them to Hisashi. That it was too dangerous here. Izuku couldn't—that he wasn't cut out for—"
She stopped.
Looked at her son.
Understanding dawned across her face, and Shouta saw the exact moment she made the connection between her son's behavior and the Midoriya boy's departure.
"Katsuki, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!" The explosion finally came. Bakugou surged to his feet, chair scraping back, almost toppling. "I didn't—he was quirkless! He was useless! And I told him that because it was true, and everyone knew it, and—"
"Sit down, Bakugou," Shouta said, voice hard.
The boy's chest was heaving, hands sparking, but he sat.
"So this whole thing," Mitsuki said slowly, "is because you found out Izuku is training to be a hero after all?"
"He can't—" Bakugou started.
"He can," Snipe interrupted. "And from what I've seen and heard, he's damn good at it."
That hit harder than any physical blow could have. Bakugou flinched like he'd been struck.
"The Midoriya situation is separate from this disciplinary action," Nezu said, bringing them back on track. "But it does illustrate a pattern we need to address. Bakugou-kun, you appear to have built your identity around being superior to your peers. When that worldview is challenged, you respond with violence."
"I'm the best—"
"You're skilled," Shouta cut in. "But skill without control is worse than useless—it's dangerous. To yourself and others."
Masaru spoke up again, voice still calm. "We'll do the therapy. I'll take him to the sessions myself."
Mitsuki nodded slowly, still looking shaken. "And the community service?"
"There's a center in Musutafu," Nezu pulled up the information. "The Equal Ground Initiative. They run a homeless shelter and support programs for individuals experiencing Quirk discrimination. Many of their residents are quirkless. I think it would be …educational."
Shouta caught the slight emphasis. The Equal Ground Initiative had connections to Olympus. Of course Nezu would send Bakugou there.
"Fine," Mitsuki said. "He'll do it. All of it."
"Katsuki?" Masaru looked at his son. "Do you agree to these terms?"
For a long moment, Bakugou said nothing. His hands were still fisted on his knees, shoulders hunched.
Finally: "Yeah. Fine. Whatever."
"We need more than 'whatever,'" Shouta said. "We need commitment. Because if you don't take this seriously, you're done. Do you understand?"
Bakugou's eyes finally met his. There was anger there—there was always anger—but underneath it, something else. Something that might have been fear.
"I understand," he ground out.
"Good." Nezu stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "We'll have the paperwork ready by the end of the day. Bakugou-kun, you're dismissed for the remainder of today. Use the time to think about what kind of hero you want to be."
The family stood. Masaru put a hand on his son's shoulder—Bakugou didn't shrug it off, which was something. Mitsuki paused at the door, turning back.
"Where is Izuku?" She asked quietly, searching their faces. "Is he okay?"
"He looked well while he was here. The rest isn’t my information to share," Shouta said, not unkindly. "But if you're concerned, you could reach out to Midoriya Inko directly."
She nodded slowly, then followed her family out.
When the door closed, Shouta let himself slump in his chair.
"Well," Snipe said. "That went better than expected."
"The mother will be a problem," Shouta predicted. "She'll want answers. About Midoriya, about where he is, about what happened."
"Let her ask," Nezu said mildly. "We are under no obligation to provide those answers. Though I suspect she'll find her way to Olympus eventually."
"I need to warn Shinonome."
"I suspect they would appreciate that," Nezu's eyes glinted. "Though I imagine they are capable of handling one concerned parent."
Shouta stood, feeling every year of his age. "I'm going to Olympus anyway,” he shot the principal a pointed look. The rat was why he was going, after all.
"Of course." Nezu's smile was knowing. "Do give Masetake my regards."
-.-
After some internal debating, Shouta decided to take the train. Last night and this afternoon had drained the life out of him so thoroughly that coffee hadn't helped.
At least Bakugou was signed up for therapy to deal with his entitlement and anger issues. The mother had looked genuinely shaken by the revelations about Midoriya, and hopefully that would translate into her son getting help. The father seemed solid enough to follow through on the community service.
He should probably speak directly with someone at The Equal Ground Initiative as well. They needed this effort to succeed, or this kid's career was going to flame out before it began.
The contrast between the Ketsubutsu students and his own class chafed. Bakugou might not be the only one who’d benefit from time spent helping instead of fighting.
He sent a note to Snipe as the train pulled away from the station. They could offer extra credit for a certain number of volunteer hours. The exposure would benefit all of them.
His phone buzzed. Snipe's reply: I'll draft something.
Shouta pocketed his phone and watched the city slide past, already mentally preparing for the conversation he'd need to have with Shinonome.
He didn't know what Midoriya Inko would say, but he'd wager Bakugou Mitsuki was going to descend on Olympus like a natural disaster. They needed to be ready for it.
Just one more way UA was causing that boy grief.
-.-
Checked in at Olympus, he stepped out of the elevator and into the extensive lounge and kitchen area they had for a break room.
It looked like half the agency was here.
He recognized several Ketsubutsu students, including the girl who all but waterboarded Bakugou and crafted explosives to give as gifts.
At least she was only his headache during joint training.
Midoriya was at the center of a whirlwind.
Exchanging notes or homework with his classmates. Accepting food and a water bottle from Shinonome to shove into his backpack. And managing not to get distracted as Zephyr and Gemini ruffled his hair as they passed by, like he was some sort of good luck charm.
Everything about the boy—from his 'adoption', to his enrollment, and Olympus itself—was in response to a crisis.
You'd never know that watching them. Midoriya laughed at something one of his classmates said, easy and unguarded in a way Shouta hadn't seen at UA.
The group dynamic is desirable. Illogical, emotional, but they are effective and successful.
More a family than an agency.
No wonder Shinsou was so determined to join.
And no wonder Bakugou had lost his mind when he realized Midoriya had found this. Not just a school, not just training—but a family that supported his dream.
"I have to go, or I'll be late!" Midoriya was walking backwards, typing something on the tablet on his arm.
"Have fun!" One of the girls yelled after him.
"Keep your clothes on!" Shinonome sounded exhausted. Shouta was going to need that explained.
"It's not my turn to pose!" The boy shouted back, spun, and almost collided with Shouta. He stared down into wide green eyes, and the kid sputtered.
"Hi Eraser!" He managed a strained smile. "Bye Eraser!"
With a quick sidestep, the kid dodged and thundered down the stairs.
Shouta waited for the sound of footsteps to fade and turned back to the room.
"Why would he be taking his clothes off?" He approached the other hero, watching as the remaining students vanished toward the locker rooms.
"He's going to his art club. It's his last non-heroic activity, and they do 'life sketches'. He posed shirtless at some point, it was in the art show, and I've heard entirely too much about it." The man sounded pained. "From everyone. The students won't stop talking about it."
Shouta filed that information away under 'things he didn't need to know but now couldn't forget.'
"You're here for Mastake?"
"Yeah, Nezu wants another joint training." He shrugged, accepting the change in conversation. Then paused. "But I need to give you a heads up."
Hourglass's expression shifted, professional mask sliding into place. "About?"
"Bakugou. The mother, specifically."
As they walked to Blockade's office, he explained what he knew about the Bakugous and the likelihood that they'd reach out in the very near future.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.