Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a Tuesday after school. The sun was shining, the schoolyard rapidly emptying, and Deku was being fucking difficult.

Again.

Sparks lit in Katsuki’s palms. “What did you say, Shitty Deku,” he growled.

The little twerp’s eyes were wide, his shoulders trembling, but, as ever, he refused to back away.

“Mom wanted me to ask you to dinner tomorrow,” he said, voice quiet but clear.

Katsuki felt a familiar fire ignite in his chest, and the explosions in his hands grew. “We. Aren’t. Fucking. Friends.”

“I know,” Deku replied, lowering his eyes, but still he refused to move. Fuck, if it wasn’t the most infuriating thing, how he was so weak, but never acknowledged it—but yet never fought back. Katsuki didn’t truly know what he wanted out of Deku, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself—but whatever it was, it wasn’t ever what Deku did.

So, they were at an impasse. One that must have occurred thousands of times before, to be sure, but that never once quelled Katsuki’s annoyance, in all the six years since he’d gotten his quirk, and the loser trembling in front of him hadn’t. It was an anger that refused to die, but, since Katsuki was fueled by anger as a rule, this was something he was willing to live with.

“But we could be friends,” Deku murmured, and the dam holding Katsuki back cracked.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” he snarled.

Deku just said nothing.

Katsuki scowled, but then smirked, raising a fiery palm.

Anger had an outlet.

Deku tensed, bracing for impact, one that almost came—

—before Deku disappeared in a puff of black smoke, Katsuki’s explosion scorching the brick wall behind him.

Katsuki’s heart skipped a beat, and he froze, staring at the empty space in front of him.

What the fuck?

Mind racing, Katsuki took a furtive glance around. What was that? Where was Deku? Was it villains? Katsuki had never been up close to a villain attack, and suddenly, he realized he really didn’t want to be.

Or, worse, had that—had that been Deku himself?—

—and then the black smoke reappeared, and a mass of green lightning came hurtling out of it, missing Katsuki by mere centimeters as it crashed into the schoolyard, digging a deep rut through the grass. Almost faster than Katsuki could comprehend it, the figure—it was a person, Katsuki realized—scrambled to their feet and launched themselves straight back where the black smoke had been, only to crash into the brick wall. Into, as in, they made a full body-sized crater in it, dust exploding everywhere.

Katsuki gaped and took a couple involuntary steps back. Suddenly, he wasn’t the most powerful person around. Not by a long shot. He hated how his heart began to pound.

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. Katsuki may have been eleven years old, but he wasn’t a fucking weakling.

As the dust began to settle, Katsuki kept an eye on the figure. It looked like a man, lean but tall and musclebound. The lightning had by now mostly subsided, but now and then a couple of sparks arced up and down the man’s body as he emerged from the wall, waving the dust away from his face. The whole theme with this man seemed to be green—green suit, green light, green hair. Katsuki squinted. He didn’t recognize the costume, which was strange, but it looked like a hero’s. Or, at least, he fucking hoped this was a hero, that he didn’t know for some reason, even though he could have sworn he knew all of them (he wasn’t a fucking nerd like Deku, alright, he just—he appreciated heroes, okay?). Otherwise, he was screwed.

“Some sort of teleportation quirk,” the hero(?) was muttering. “Black smoke. It’s the same color as All for One’s, but that manifested itself as more of a liquid-like substance. Still, it’s worth noting that it transported me somewhere important to me, so the villain must have personal knowledge they plan to use against me…”

Katsuki didn’t know what the man was going on about, but he wished he’d get on with it, because he was in fucking suspense here. Maybe he should say something? No, that would be an idiotic move—

Then the man saw him, and he froze, mouth open, as if Katsuki was the one who had just come fucking flying out of nowhere.

“Kacchan?”

Katsuki’s thoughts ground to a halt.

Only one person, only one, ever fucking dared to call him Kacchan, and that was the nerd who he’d been about to put back in his place. The nerd who’d been standing right there, fifteen seconds ago.

Katsuki’s eyes darted back to the man, only this time, he looked closer.

Same broccoli-ass hair. Same ridiculously huge eyes. Same open expression.

No, no fucking way.

The man recovered quickly, forcing on a blinding megawatt hello-there-random-citizen smile that reminded Katsuki, rather uncannily, of All Might, but that only made the damage worse, somehow. He was trying to backtrack, to cover it up, but there was no mistaking that stupid face.

“Deku?”

The man’s grin faltered, and an edge of panic creeped into his eyes. He looked like a fucking deer in the headlights. Katsuki’s stomach twisted at the confirmation, and his heart started pounding faster. Fuck, it truly was him.

He was a grown-up now, and distinctly un-quirkless, but it was fucking him.

Katsuki gaped. The hell?

The strange, older version of Deku seemed frozen for a couple moments more, as if debating something in his head, before his shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “This is bad,” he mumbled. “I’ve never time-traveled before, but if this quirk induced a time-travel concept in which the past can indeed be changed, instead of a fixed timeline, which must be the case since Kacchan didn’t know, and he’s not a very good actor—”

Katsuki didn’t know whether or not he wanted to roll his eyes, punch something, or scream. The muttering. The fucking muttering.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Katsuki clenched his fists. Grown-up Deku. Hero. Quirks. Time travel? Super-strength—how the fuck did Deku get a quirk?

Hero Deku cleared his throat, and Katsuki’s eyes snapped back to him. Fuck, Deku looked so strong and confident and—and everything he wasn’t supposed to be. Katsuki had always been the strong one, the one who was going to be a hero, but this adult version of Deku—

—he looked exactly like the kind of hero Katsuki had idolized since he was in diapers.

Katsuki felt smaller than he’d ever felt in his life.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Hero Deku said, with a weak smile. “I—um—” he faltered. “This isn’t ideal.”

“No shit,” was all Katsuki could think to say, and Hero Deku laughed suddenly, a big, joyful laugh, as though Katsuki had said something actually funny.

Hero Deku noticed the look on his face and clamped his mouth shut. “Oh, uh, sorry. You just—reminded me of your older self, that’s all,” he said, before wincing. “Oh dear. Time travel. I really shouldn’t say anything like that.”

Older me, Katsuki thought for a moment, but then his mind went blank again. He kept staring.

Hero Deku seemed to study him, pensive, before crouching down to Katsuki’s eye level. Something in Katsuki roiled with annoyance at the implication that he had to be talked down to—he was eleven, not three—but the feeling felt fuzzy, distant.

“Kacchan, can I ask you a favor?”

A favor. From him? What the fuck could Grown-up Hero Deku need from him?—but Katsuki gave a quick nod, anyway.

“Can I ask you where I am?” Katsuki gave a blank stare, and Hero Deku blinked. “Ah, that is, your Izuku? The one that’s the right age?”

Oh. “He disappeared,” Katsuki mumbled.

Hero Deku frowned. “Did it look like the same quirk? Black smoke?”

Katsuki nodded.

“Not good, not good,” Hero Deku muttered, chewing on his lip, before jolting, as if in realization. “A switch quirk,” he said, and his eyes widened.

He turned back to Katsuki and placed a hand on his shoulder. Katsuki tried not to flinch. “Kacchan, I know you don’t like me very much, but—I think the villain that did this was trying to hurt me. Younger me. If I’m right, he might be in the future right now, but I think I and my younger self will switch back soon. He might come back really hurt. Can you help him—me?”

Katsuki looked at his big, wide, sincere, Deku eyes. Fuck it, he wanted anything rather than to say no.

Maybe that’s why Deku had always infuriated him so much. Because Katsuki never could really want to hurt him.

“Okay,” Katsuki managed, and Hero Deku smiled, a look of relief on his face, and Katsuki felt a twinge of guilt at the idea that Deku might think he wouldn’t help him.

He could see why.

“Thank you.” Hero Deku paused, smile fading. “There’s something else I have to ask you, though.”

Katsuki waited.

Hero Deku fixed him in the eye, suddenly gravely serious. “Time travel is very dangerous. The smallest difference could change everything, and that could be really bad. Do you understand?” Katsuki nodded again, and Deku continued. “That’s why I have to ask you to keep all of this quiet. Don’t tell anyone—not the police, not your parents, not your friends, especially not me.”

“About your quirk?” Katsuki found his voice all of a sudden. He’d thought—well, he hadn’t known what to think, but maybe his Deku had just been hiding it, or it was dormant, or something—so wait, his Deku didn’t know?

Hero Deku gave a small grimace and looked down. “Yeah. Especially not that.”

Katsuki stared. Deku wanted a quirk more than anything, and Katsuki wasn’t stupid—the freak’s life would be a thousand times easier if he did have one. But here his future self was, practically begging him not to say anything—that one day, he wouldn’t be a quirkless loser anymore.

“Why? And how’d you even get a quirk, anyway?”

Hero Deku gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry, Kacchan, I can’t tell you that.”

Suddenly, Katsuki was angry—what, he was just going to show up, all hero-y out of nowhere, and he wouldn’t even let him know what the fuck was going on? He was big, he could handle it—

—but then the black smoke appeared all around Hero Deku, and Katsuki’s eyes widened.

“Please,” Deku said, voice still firm.

“Yeah, alright,” Katsuki groused, and then Hero Deku was gone.

For a long, terrible moment, Katsuki was alone in the silence of the schoolyard.

Then, all of a sudden, the black smoke came back, and Deku—his Deku—came stumbling out.

Katsuki hated how relieved he was to see the nerd, safe and sound—

—but then Deku collapsed, and Katsuki yelped in shock.

There was a knife sticking out of Deku’s side, blood leaking out at a rapid rate.

Katsuki felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn’t fucking squeamish, but this—

Damn it, Deku couldn’t die, Deku—

Katsuki choked down a sob and whirled around, looking for someone, anyone. He needed help. He—he usually hated needing a grown-up for anything, but—but Deku—

Katsuki’s feet took him into the school. He barely recalled yelling at a teacher to come do something, leading them back to where Deku was, the sirens of the ambulance, the police bugging him to find out what had happened. At first, Katsuki hadn’t been able to register anything, to let any image into his mind but Deku, bleeding out on the grass—

—but finally, when they got fucking annoying enough, Katsuki snapped. A villain attack, Katsuki told them, and he wasn’t fucking lying.

He just wasn’t telling them everything.

He was going to keep his word.

***

Katsuki sat by Deku’s hospital bed, the attack running through his head on repeat.

Shit, the nerd was supposed to live, according to the doctors, but he looked so weak and helpless—useless, like the name Katsuki had given him—like this, so much so he could hardly reconcile the picture in front of him with what he’d seen, earlier. Deku the fucking pro hero, with a powerful quirk and a smile to rival fucking All Might’s. It was fucking unbelievable—

—but at the same time, something in Katsuki didn’t doubt what he’d seen was the truth. The future. The more he pondered it, the more right it felt.

It was infuriating. Or, it should have been.

As angry as Katsuki wanted to be—he couldn’t fucking do it.

Oh, he wanted to be mad. Deku, the weakling, the extra, would somehow pull a huge quirk out of his ass, the lucky fucking bastard. He’d get everything he always wanted. He was going to go and take the profession Katsuki always wanted to do, too. Hero-ing was supposed to be Katsuki’s future, not Deku’s. The fucking nerve.

But then Katsuki looked back at Deku’s face as he slept, and he thought about how little Hero Deku’s face had changed. So kind, and open, and—trustworthy. Katsuki had met Hero Deku for all of two seconds, and he already had trusted him with his fucking life, no questions asked. He positively radiated a sort of safety, and comfort, and—it was disgusting. But undeniable. Deku had the fucking face of a hero.

This was the kid he punched the lights out of on a nearly daily basis.

All of a sudden, the thought made him sick.

Katsuki uncurled his palms and ignited several sparks, watching as they ran from his thumb, all across his fingers to his pinkie, and then around and back again.

Katsuki had something special of his own, though, and he wasn’t fucking giving up on it.

He looked back at Deku. “Alright, just fucking try it,” he grumbled, quiet enough that no one would hear him and kick him out. “But I’m going to be even better. You hear me?”

Nothing but the beeping of the heart monitor.

“Right,” Katsuki muttered, and he rose to leave, before pausing at the doorway and looking back.

Well, if Deku truly couldn’t hear him…

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Katsuki turned, opening the door as quickly as he could and making his escape, cheeks flaming.

Oh, fuck, he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. As he stood, his back to the door, though, he felt something release in his chest, something knotted and ugly and heavy.

Ugh, he'd been around Deku for too long. How fucking sappy.

Still. It felt… pleasant not to have to hate him.

Well, whatever—no one would know about today, anyway. Katsuki would make sure of it. Anyone who learned the secret would be fucking dead.

***

When Deku finally returned to school, Katsuki couldn’t stop himself from watching him, all day. He looked even more fragile after the whole ordeal, physically, but Katsuki was looking closer, and he could still see something of the grown-up hero in him, the same quiet, optimistic determination.

After class, Katsuki’s dumbass friends—or, maybe, allies was the better word—decided to swarm Deku, blocking off any escape and lobbing taunts and jeers—business as usual. Katsuki walked through them, straight up to Deku, and paused, looking him in the eye.

As always, Deku simply stood his ground. No offense, no defense. Just resignation and a sort of sadness.

Katsuki fought the urge to roll his eyes. Fucking infuriating.

Without a word, Katsuki turned on his heel and walked away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki watched as the extras all froze, or dropped their jaws, gaping like fucking trout fish.

“What are you fucking waiting for?” Katsuki snapped.

They followed him.

Katsuki didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

It was several months later before Izuku saw the black smoke appear again, licking at the edges of his vision—this time while he was at his desk, in the middle of class. It crept in closer and closer, blocking out his sight, until the weightless feeling took over, like before, and Izuku could feel nothing but his own mind-numbing, heart-pounding panic.

He had a really good reason to be scared, after all. Well—he didn’t remember much of the first time this had happened, to be honest, but it was plenty terrifying. He’d found himself tossed somewhere that was definitely not the schoolyard, while a large, scary woman advanced on him, holding a wicked-looking collection of knives. He remembered backing away, and then trying to run, while a hero he never quite saw enough to recognize engaged the villain—but he must not have run fast enough, because something slid into his side and lit it on fire with pain, and he passed out. Something stuck with him, though—the only thing he recalled the knife-wielding villain saying. She’d called him Deku.

He’d pondered it for ages afterward. Why him? Where had he actually gone, and why hadn’t the police found any more signs of the villain? And how in the world did she know what Kacchan called him?

However, none of his perfectly valid curiosity meant he actually wanted to go back and find out—but now, it was happening again, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

All of a sudden, the smoke spit him out, and he tumbled down onto bumpy, uneven ground, rolling in an uncomfortable manner that he was sure might give him a few new bruises. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as his shaking limbs would allow, scanning wildly for the threat he knew was coming.

He was in the woods, at nighttime. Izuku saw a large tree root where he’d landed—must have been why it was so painful. Behind him, he saw a tree with a thick trunk, and he quickly put his back to it.

Just then, a large BOOM sounded, and a flash of fiery light lit up the woods to Izuku’s right. He whirled around, squinting through the trees, before there was another explosion, and a figure came hurtling through the air, landing near Izuku and rolling rather uncomfortably, just as Izuku had done when he’d arrived.

The figure grunted and lifted up their head—and Izuku’s heart stopped.

It was the villain from before.

And she’d noticed him.

She sneered, rising to her feet and brandishing a knife (she must have some sort of padded sheath that would protect her from her own knives if she fell on them, the analytical part of Izuku’s brain couldn’t help but note). “Ah, there you are, little Deku.”

Izuku tried to take a step back, but ran into his tree, and he stumbled. He gripped the tree bark, trying to recover, trying to get away—

—and then another explosion went off, and suddenly, there was another figure in view, stalking towards the villain.

He was tall and broad, wearing a far flashier costume than the knife lady’s, with heavy-duty boots and large gauntlets. Bursts of light radiated from his palms—explosions, Izuku realized—and lit his face, so Izuku could see its features, twisted into a menacing scowl.

Izuku’s eyes widened. Why did this man seem an awful lot like Kacchan?

“You stay the fuck away from him,” he growled, and Izuku felt a pang of relief.

Whoever he was, he must be a hero.

Propelled by another explosion, the hero launched himself into the fray.

***

Midoriya Izuku, also known as the pro hero Deku, should have known better than to let the switch villain touch him.

He’d dealt with this sort of quirk before—(Shigaraki, the back of his mind supplied, and he shivered at the memory)—the five-finger activation kind, where you had to be extremely careful not to get too close. Long-range attacks worked far better than close-quarters combat, in this situation. That’s why he had been mostly working to support Kacchan’s explosions, which were extremely capable of repulsing an attacker without touching them. Several of All Might’s old tricks worked pretty well so far—shockwaves generated from claps, snaps, ground punches. But neither he nor Kacchan had a longer-range capture weapon like Shinsou’s—to be honest, both generally ended up simply knocking the opponent unconscious (it did work!). So, at a moment in which Izuku had thought she’d been caught enough off guard, he went in for a finishing kick—

—only for her to stab him in the leg, stalling him just long enough for her to wrap all five fingers around it—

—and then the black smoke swallowed him up.

Izuku only had enough time for some choice words he’d picked up from Kacchan to run through his head before he was dumped somewhere else, and he slammed, still Full Cowling, into something hard and uncomfortable with a large CRASH.

Ignoring the pain, Izuku made himself get to his feet as quickly as possible, battle instincts taking over. Always be aware of your surroundings, at all times.

He looked around. Desks, all occupied with children gawking, open-mouthed, right at him. His eyes widened. Oh no, this is bad.

He’d arrived back in time right in the middle of a class. And completely obliterated his own desk.

With a note of shame, he let Full Cowl flicker out. Then his eyes settled on the seat in front of him, where Kacchan sat. His eyes were wide, too, but evidently, less out of shock and more out of concern.

Kacchan swallowed. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked, voice low.

Izuku felt his heart warm—Kacchan was concerned about him, the younger him. He gave Kacchan a small smile, nodding. “I think so—there’s someone else there who I trust.” You’re there.

Kacchan’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly in relief.

By now, the classroom was abuzz with noise, students pointing and whispering, but then a voice rose above the rest— “Settle down, class!”

Izuku turned to face the teacher as she strode up to him. He remembered this one—all business, little leniency for distractions. “Are you a licensed hero?” she asked.

Normally, he would have praised a teacher for taking such a clear, calm-headed initiative. This time, though, he felt a mild jolt of panic. He needed to avoid her seeing the license. If she didn’t recognize him now, as he sincerely hoped, she’d certainly make the connection if she saw his real name.

Izuku plastered on the smile he was known for, leaning on it to lend him its usual measure of confidence. Perhaps he could simply charm his way out of this one?—

—and then a boy to his left yelled out, “Wait, is that Deku?”

Izuku froze. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kacchan do the same.

“No, really,” the boy continued, pointing, “he looks like him, and he showed up right when Deku disappeared!”

Izuku blinked—crap crap crap—before straightening his posture, trying to look as un-quirkless as possible. “You must be mistaken,” he smiled—

—and then Kacchan disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

***

It all happened so fast. One minute, Izuku was sure this (suspiciously Kacchan-like) hero was going to save him, but the next, the villain had managed to somehow dodge an explosion just well enough to sneak around and place her hand on the hero's back—and then the terribly familiar black smoke swallowed him up until he vanished.

Izuku let out a whimper, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Too late. The villain whirled around, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Hah, this is even better than I expected!” the villain cackled. “I’m going to get two for one! Isn’t that great, little Deku?”

Izuku edged around the tree. He tried to get his legs to move, but they were rooted to the spot, trembling.

The villain took out a knife, pointing it ominously in his direction. “You first.” She began to stalk towards him.

Izuku stumbled backwards.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” she said—

—and then another explosion rang out from behind the villain, though smaller this time. Izuku paused. Was the hero back?—

The villain whirled around, and Izuku was just barely able to make out a trace of black smoke in the night, out of which came—

Izuku’s eyes widened. Kacchan. It was Kacchan, who took one look at the villain before hurling an explosion at her. She dodged and took out a knife, preparing to throw it, but Kacchan ran, and it missed him by mere centimeters. Kacchan scanned the trees, as if trying to find the best route of escape—

—and then he saw Izuku. Izuku fought the urge to shrink back as their eyes met, but Kacchan surprised him by looking—perhaps, relieved?—and running over in front of him, stance protective.

The villain was still advancing on them. “Nice try,” she grumbled. “But you’re not getting away from me that easily.”

“You stay the fuck away from him,” Kacchan snarled, and Izuku froze.

The hero from before—he had said the exact same thing—

—he gasped. That really had been Kacchan, he was suddenly certain. Grown-up, Pro Hero Kacchan.

Izuku’s mind wheeled. An older Kacchan meant time travel. Since he and his Kacchan had been displaced here, and not the other way around, they must be in the future. The crazy lady who wanted to kill him was from the future. Izuku’s brain threatened to break with the implications, of the timeline, of seeing Kacchan all grown up, having achieved his dreams—

—but even harder to get his mind around was the way Kacchan was behaving. To be sure, ever since the first attack, Kacchan had stopped saying mean things, stopped seeking him out to beat him up, and that in itself had been shocking, to Izuku. But now, Kacchan was actively protecting him, without a second thought, and his older self had done exactly the same.

Izuku was so caught up in his thoughts he barely noticed the stray explosion hurtling towards him in time.

Izuku jumped down and let the heat pass above him, heart pounding, before rising back up and staring at the situation in front of him.

Kacchan was trying to fight the villain, all by himself.

He looked like he was doing alright, maybe—but the lady had so many knives, and his explosions were so much smaller than those of his adult self. It looked like it was only a matter of time until—well, the worst happened.

Izuku’s clenched heart in fear. He had to help. He didn’t know how, but he had to do something. He took a step forward, and then tripped, nearly falling flat on his face.

Izuku glanced at the ground. He’d stepped on a stray, loose tree branch.

He straightened. A branch. He could use that.

It was better than nothing.

With no time to lose, Izuku scooped up his makeshift weapon and ran towards the fight, just as the villain darted at Kacchan, stabbing down with her knife, and Kacchan was too slow—

—Kacchan cried out, clutching his arm, and the lady swung her knife again—

—and Izuku let out a yell and swung his stick as hard as he could. To his surprise, it connected, and the villain doubled over. Without a thought, Izuku grabbed Kacchan’s good arm and began to run, as fast as he could while lugging his tree branch, in the other direction.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Kacchan grouched. “I had it!”

“We have to get out of here,” Izuku panted.

“You’re going to get yourself—watch out!” Kacchan cried, and they hit the dirt, rolling. Izuku heard the sound of knives whizzing by and, with several thuds, embedding themselves in a tree trunk.

Kacchan scrambled to his feet, releasing him, and Izuku tried to follow suit, head spinning. He’d lost his stick somewhere back behind them. Kacchan was rushing at the villain again, explosions sparking, and while she stepped back to dodge the first blast, she still had a bundle of wicked-looking knives in both hands, looking ready to throw them.

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried.

Kacchan let out an explosion that targeted one of the villain’s arms just as she threw, and the knives whizzed away, off course.

“Run!” he shouted, punctuating his point with another explosion at the villains’ feet. She staggered back—but her other hand, still full of knives, was curving right towards him.

Izuku did run. His feet carried him straight back into the fight.

All Might, was all he could think. What would All Might do.

All Might would SMASH. Izuku couldn’t really smash.

But that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Izuku slammed himself into her side, nearly toppling her. For a moment, he thought he’d unbalanced her enough to make her fall, but then Kacchan let out a yelp of warning, and he flinched back just in time to narrowly miss a knife to the face. Heart pounding, he stared up at her as she whirled around to face him. Her eyes narrowed.

Before she could attack Izuku, Kacchan gave her a flaming punch in the back, and she cried out, letting a couple knives loose in Kacchan’s direction that whizzed above his head.

A spark of hope lit in Izuku’s chest. They’d been trying to go at her one at a time, but maybe together, they could keep her off guard.

He aimed a kick at her shins, at the same time that Kacchan shoved an explosion at her head. But she was too fast. She ducked away, and suddenly both Izuku and Kacchan were standing right in front of her as she loomed over them, knives in both hands once more.

“Alright, playtime’s over,” she sneered, before fixing Izuku in the eye. “I couldn’t believe it at first, but I can see it now. You really are him, aren’t you? You were just as insufferable, even as a weakling.”

Kacchan bared his teeth and lobbed another explosion at her, but she sidestepped it neatly, laughing.

“You too, runt. Feral as a dog, as ever.”

Kacchan faltered, scowling.

Izuku frowned. “Stop,” he mumbled, hands shaking.

She peered at him, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “What’s this, now?”

“Stop it,” he said, louder this time. “This isn’t right.”

“And you would know what is, little Deku?” the villain drawled.

“Why do you want to hurt people?” Izuku asked, looking her in the eye. In his peripheral vision, Kacchan was staring at him, eyes wide.

She regarded him for a moment—and then, out of nowhere, she slashed in a broad circle with her knives, and Izuku’s stomach felt like it’d been lit on fire. He stared down. His shirt was sliced across the front, oozing dark spots growing near the slashes.

Izuku heard Kacchan cry out, followed by the sound of more explosions. He looked up just in time to watch the villain grab Kacchan’s arm. He yelped in pain, struggling, but it was no good.

“I can do whatever I want,” she sneered. “And you can’t stop me.”

***

The classroom stared in shock at the spot where Bakugou Katsuki had just been. A student screamed. Others whimpered.

Izuku’s heart began to pound. The switch villain had gotten to Kacchan, too. What would happen to their younger selves?

He didn’t have time to ponder the thought, though, since at that moment, the sound of an explosion rang out through the room, and the pro hero Ground Zero tumbled out of another smoky portal, cursing up a storm.

Izuku ignited Full Cowl, instinctively grabbing students out of the way of Kacchan’s explosions, and just in time, as the hero smacked down with a boom, turning the younger Kacchan’s desk into a smoking, blackened crater.

Oops.

Kacchan groaned from where he lay on the smouldering remnants of his desk, before blinking and scanning his surroundings. Like Izuku had before, he took one look around and evidently realized the implications of where he’d landed.

“Fuck,” he snarled, and Izuku couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Setting down his armful of shell-shocked students, he walked up to Kacchan and offered him a hand, giving him a rueful smile.

“Are you alright?” Izuku asked softly, bringing Kacchan to his feet.

“Can’t believe that fuckface got the jump on me,” Kacchan growled. Izuku took that to mean he was fine. “How’s your leg?”

Right. Izuku had been stabbed. He glanced down at the wound. Eh, he’d had worse. “Fine.”

“Can either of you gentlemen tell me what is going on? I would like to see your licenses, please,” the teacher interrupted—

—at the same time as another student yelled, “Oh my GOD, that’s totally Bakugou!”

Izuku’s stomach clenched, and Kacchan stilled. The two exchanged glances. They weren’t getting out of this mess easily this time.

Fuck it, let’s just get this over with and then do damage control, Kacchan’s expression said, and Izuku gave a small nod.

With a sigh, he fished out his license and walked up to the teacher. “I have my license,” he said, handing it to her, “but I have a feeling it won’t be valid for several more years.”

The teacher frowned, scanning the card, and then her eyes bulged.

“Matsuzaka-sensei,” he said, finally remembering her name. He bowed.

She looked back up at him, opened-mouthed and far more ruffled than Izuku had ever seen her.

“Midoriya-kun?”

The classroom (figuratively) exploded.

Cries of “I knew it!” and “Holy shit, he has a quirk?” and “Wait, him?” filled the room. Most of the students were out of their seats by now, something Matsuzaka-sensei would never have allowed, as Izuku remembered it, but she was still too busy gaping at him to do anything. Sheepish, Izuku took his license back and pocketed it, before shooting Kacchan a nervous look. This was really not ideal.

Kacchan gave him a tell-me-about-it face, before straightening and turning to face the room. “Alright, everybody shut up!” he yelled.

The class obeyed him so fast, Izuku could have heard a pin drop within mere seconds.

Kacchan folded his arms. “Listen up, dipshits, this isn’t a fucking show-and-tell. We have a real situation here.”

The teacher recovered enough to shoot Kacchan a disapproving look. Izuku stifled a chuckle, realizing he should probably take over.

“Yes, we are indeed your classmates,” he started, causing another ripple of murmurs, “but we are only here as a result of a villain’s quirk. This quirk has switched us with our younger selves. Right now, they’re in the future, and they’re probably in danger.”

The class quieted at this.

“When they get back, we need you to help them,” Izuku continued, “but right now, we have something else important we need to ask you.” He surveyed the class, making sure they were listening, and was pleasantly surprised to find all eyes on him, Deku or no.

“Time travel is really tricky,” he said, remembering what he’d told a young Kacchan, the time this had happened before. “If something small changes, it can have drastic consequences for the timeline. We need you to keep what just happened quiet. Very quiet.”

“As in, you’re not telling anyone at all. No police, no friends, not your fucking mama,” Kacchan put in. He turned to give the teacher a pointed glare. “Including you.”

Izuku put a placating hand on Kacchan’s shoulder, who rolled his eyes and shoved him off.

Matsuzaka-sensei cleared her throat. “Surely you can’t expect me not to explain—this?” she said, gesturing broadly towards the remnants of their desks.

Izuku turned towards it and gulped. Oh, right—that. Splinters of wood and metal had been strewn all across the cracked tile floor, parts of it blackened or even still smoking.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell them it was a villain attack,” Kacchan retorted. “It’s the truth, after all.”

“We really are sorry,” Izuku added, hoping the poor teacher could at least see his sincerity, even if Kacchan was going to be his usual prickly self.

“But anyway,” Kacchan continued. “You tell no one about us. Especially not about Deku.”

Izuku nodded. “Not even me. He can’t know.” A couple students gave him incredulous looks, and he shook his head.

“Got it?” Kacchan barked.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, gradually, the class began to nod, or respond in the affirmative. Izuku even heard a “Yes, Bakugou-sensei.”

Kacchan gave a great, terrifying grin. “Wonderful,” he said—

—just as the black smoke returned at the edges of Izuku’s vision. He glanced at Kacchan. See you soon.

The blackness enveloped him, and he was gone.

***

Younger Izuku stared in horror at the villain. Kacchan was still in her grasp, and she was brandishing another knife, about to stab him—

—before he knew it, Izuku was there, tackling Kacchan out of the way. He felt another angry slash cut its way down his side, but he’d gotten them out of reach. Still grasping Kacchan, he tried to find his feet. Fighting was no good. They had to run, they had to flee.

Kacchan seemed to agree, and he sent a wild, haphazard explosion backwards, with seemingly everything he had, before the two staggered off, arms on each others’ shoulders. Izuku checked furtively behind him. She was still about to throw her knives—

—and then Izuku felt weightless, and he realized the black smoke was back, about to whisk him away.

“Kacchan!” he cried.

“No!” the villain screamed in frustration, and he heard a volley of knives fly—

—and then he was deposited, unceremoniously, back on solid ground.

Izuku swayed, and nearly collapsed, before he felt two strong arms wrap around him, steadying him and lowering him slowly to the floor. “I gotcha,” a male voice grunted.

Izuku blinked. It was light again. He looked around.

His whole class was staring at him. In the middle, where his desk should have been, there was a large, smoking mess of wooden shards.

He stiffened. Was there still a villain here? Who was holding him—

He looked up to see the face of Grown-Up Kacchan. The resemblance was even more undeniable, up close. Hero Kacchan was gazing at him with undisguised concern, and Izuku realized that perhaps he should have been surprised, but he felt nothing but relief.

Izuku felt himself relax. He was safe. He was—

—but Kacchan wasn’t. “Kacchan,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Hero Kacchan said, but he didn’t understand. Izuku tried to explain, but he couldn’t make his mouth move.

“You, call an ambulance,” Hero Kacchan barked at someone behind him, and he began to rip strips off of Izuku’s shirt and wrap them around the long, bloody slices. Izuku moaned at the pain.

“You’ll be alright,” Hero Kacchan said. “You’re a tough motherfucker. Always bounce right back.”

Izuku didn’t feel tough, but he tried to smile anyway.

“Thank you, Kacchan,” he said.

“No, thank you,” Hero Kacchan murmured, so quietly Izuku almost didn’t hear him.

He didn’t have time to ask him what he meant before the world faded into black.

***

Pro Hero Deku had barely enough time to get himself oriented, once he landed back in the future, before trouble found him–as usual.

He’d landed several feet away from younger Kacchan, who, judging by the way he was folded in on himself and staggering backwards, was already hurt and still in danger. Izuku heard the telltale sound of knives whistling through the air and acted before he could think, powering up Full Cowl and scooping Kacchan up into his arms and out of harm’s way. Izuku bounded through the trees, carrying Kacchan just far enough to be safe from the fight, before letting him, gently, down to the ground to examine him.

Kacchan stared up at him, naked relief upon his features. A long gash tore the skin down one of his arms, and there were two knives stuck into the other, as if he’d used his arms to shield his face from getting hit.

Izuku felt his resolve harden. This fight had gone on long enough.

“Stay here,” he said, and ran back to where the villain was.

Izuku knew that, as the ninth user of One For All, he had an overabundance of power to fight most criminals. He could easily kill his opponents if he wasn’t careful—so as he grew older, using his abilities became, to his surprise, more of an exercise of restraint. However, Kacchan didn’t have time for his restraint. Izuku was changing strategies.

The villain turned back to face him, sneering. As always, she let loose another volley of knives, but Izuku barely paid them mind. Powering up 40 percent of One For All—enough to do some damage, but not enough to kill (at least, he hoped)—he clapped his hands together, unleashing a shockwave that rippled through the forest. Leaves blew, the knives veered off, and the villain was thrown backward, her back smacking into a tree. She crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Exhaling, Izuku dashed back to Kacchan, before letting himself power down.

“You’re safe now,” he said, giving Kacchan his typical Hero Smile. His eyes gravitated back to the injuries on Kacchan’s arms, and he felt some of his smile fade. “Make sure you get that treated fast. Don’t pull the knives out.”

“I know,” Kacchan scowled, reflexively. “And you, too.”

Izuku squinted, before he remembered. His leg. “Right, of course.”

Kacchan fixed his gaze on him. “Was that big rumbling thing you?”

Izuku cringed inwardly. He should’ve remembered—Kacchan hadn’t seen everything he could do yet, so he should have probably kept things low key. All the same, he wasn’t going to lie to him. “Yes.”

A look of awe and respect crossed Kacchan’s face—one Izuku would have trouble believing, were he not seeing it now. “Cool,” Kacchan said.

And then, just like that, the black smoke was back. Izuku felt almost sad to see little Kacchan go. “Goodbye, Kacchan.”

“Bye,” Kacchan grunted, and then he was gone.

A moment later, his adult counterpart reappeared. Everyone was all accounted for. Suddenly exhausted, Izuku leaned his back against a tree.

“That went well,” Ground Zero groused, and Izuku laughed. Ever so eloquent, Kacchan was.

Then he frowned, remembering their younger selves. “Was I alright? Young me?”

Kacchan gave him a small grin. “You were about the usual.”

Izuku felt his cheeks heat. “So, banged up, but he’ll live?”

“Exactly,” Kacchan said, pointedly, and Izuku looked away, rubbing his neck with a sheepish smile.

“You were going to be alright, too, by the way,” he added.

Kacchan grunted. “Good.”

They stared at the moonlight that filtered through the trees.

“Well. That was interesting.”

***

Izuku woke up in the hospital for the second time in several months, bandages crisscrossing all over his body. His mother was waiting for him, shoulders drawn tight in nervous fashion, but joy quickly overtook her as Izuku stirred, and the two embraced, sobbing (as the Midoriyas were wont to do). A doctor came in, fussing over him and assuring him that he was lucky and that his recovery would be swifter, this time. Kacchan was okay too, apparently. Izuku let the relief settle over him. He’d now survived two villain attacks. He was safe.

Though, he still couldn’t stop himself from pondering it over in his head. A villain from the future had attacked him twice now—and he could be sure she really was targeting him, since she seemed to know something about him. That would only make sense if Izuku was to accomplish something in the future she wanted to stop.

With Kacchan, the motivation made sense. Kacchan would grow up to be a hero, and a really good one, from what little Izuku had seen. But Izuku couldn’t figure out what was so special about him.

Could he dare to hope that it was because he was a hero, too?

Before too long, a knock sounded at the door, surprising both Izuku and his mother. A doctor opened it, asking if Izuku was willing to let in—

Kacchan. Kacchan, who actually wanted to see him.

Izuku blinked. Then, he nodded.

The doctor gestured over his shoulder, and then Kacchan shuffled in. Heavy swaths of bandages covered both his arms. He carried himself with a certain foreign stiffness, his facial expression more blank than hostile.

“Oh, I should give you two a little privacy,” Izuku’s mom said, wiping her eyes and gathering up her purse. “I’ll see you in a bit, honey.”

Izuku gave her a smile, and then the door closed, and he was alone with Kacchan.

Izuku glanced at him again, trying to quell his urge to fidget. “Uh, hi, Kacchan.”

Kacchan grunted and sat in the chair by his bedside.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, Izuku took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said, giving Kacchan a shaky smile. “You saved my life—multiple times! It was so cool. And so did the older you! He was—”

“Don’t tell me,” Kacchan interjected, with a startling forcefulness. “About my future self. It’s something you missed, when—” he frowned, seeming to think better of what he was about to say. “We aren’t supposed to talk about anything to do with the future.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Right, to preserve the timeline! Of course—I should have thought of that! Too many anomalies could cause a butterfly effect, ruining everything…”

Kacchan snorted, a funny look crossing his face, but he remained silent.

There was another awkward silence, and Izuku found it difficult not to stare at Kacchan. It was no longer a life-and-death situation, but he still wasn’t being mean. Not for the first time, he wondered what had made Kacchan decide to back off.

Well, he could always ask.

Izuku was steeling himself to do just that, when Kacchan suddenly spoke.

“You weren’t so bad yourself, you know,” he mumbled.

Izuku stared.

“I mean, a fucking tree branch? You’re nuts,” Kacchan continued, giving a short laugh, “but it got the job done. Lady didn’t stand a chance against us.”

Us, as in both of us, together?

“Kacchan—”

“So, uh, I guess,” Kacchan shifted, lowering his eyes. “Thanks.”

Izuku couldn’t find his voice.

Something in Kacchan’s demeanor changed, and he rose, making for the door, his posture more casual. “See you in school, nerd.”

Then he left.

***

School was different, when Izuku came back.

Well, for one, Izuku’s and Kacchan’s desks had been reconstructed—and so had some of the tile floor, for that matter—in the aftermath of the villain attack. Izuku had never had such a nice, clean desk. It was kind of awesome.

But really, the biggest difference was his classmates. Izuku knew he wasn’t supposed to know anything about his and Kacchan’s future selves, but it seemed that they must have made an impression, because of all the stares. The kids that had never noticed Izuku before were looking at him. So were the other, oft-bullied kids who avoided making anyone’s eye contact, not just his. And so were even Kacchan’s usual minions—though Kacchan hadn’t been hanging around them as much recently. Even Matsuzaka-sensei was giving him weird looks, Izuku could have sworn, though he was sure no one would believe him.

Kacchan was no different—he got plenty of stares, too, at least at first. Soon enough, though, he’d snapped at enough kids (“Fuck off! The hell you looking at?”) that no one would risk it, at least if they thought he was looking. But something in the atmosphere still had changed. Izuku caught drifts of rumors in the hallways, of their future selves, but every time he got close enough to hear, the students would shush themselves quickly, glancing at him, wide-eyed, until he passed.

Izuku didn’t much like attention—it made him uncomfortable—but as the weeks went by, he realized that it wasn’t just Kacchan who had stopped being mean—no one was bullying him anymore. No one would really talk to him, either, but Izuku was so pleasantly surprised he didn’t dare look a gift horse in the mouth.

One day, soon after his recovery, Izuku’s mother asked him to invite Kacchan over to dinner once more. This had never really worked in the past, ever since they were five—but this time, Izuku had a feeling it would be different. And he was right. Sure, he had to follow him, and plead and cajole, but after a surprisingly small amount of time—

“Fine,” Kacchan grumbled. “I’ll fucking come over for dinner. Happy now?”

“Thanks, Kacchan!” Izuku beamed.

“Yeah, whatever,” was the response, and they fell into step beside each other.

Dinner was awkward, but it was nice all the same. By the time Kacchan left, Izuku thought he finally understood.

Kacchan might never be his friend again, like he was when Izuku was five. But they had an understanding now. Rivals, it was. Kacchan would try his best in school, and so would Izuku, and they’d both strive towards their goals—one Izuku knew Kacchan would succeed at, in the end. But he’d never stop hoping for himself, too.

Chapter Text

Todoroki Shouto, currently Japan’s Number Three Hero, should have known this was going to happen to him. After all, he was a part of Aizawa’s infamous Class From Hell, and it’s not like he had any better luck than Izuku or Katsuki.

So, by the time he was hurtling through time and space amidst a murky black fog, he’d already figured it out, with a tired, detached sort of certainty. The person who’d come out of nowhere while he was on patrol, grabbing his arm from behind and thus sending him into this… less than ideal situation, must have been Izuku’s switch villain. Meaning, he was about to get plunged into his life from ten years ago, and his poor twelve-year-old self was going to have to fight for his life against a crazy, knife-wielding villain who just did not know when to stop. How she’d even broken out of prison, none of Shouto’s hero friends knew, but they knew she was bound to show up at some point, given her surprising ingenuity and… tenacity. Shouto just hadn’t fully expected it to be him she went after.

Again. Shouto Should Have Known.

But, too late now.

All Shouto could do was brace himself for the inevitable—

—and there it was. The black smoke parted, and Shouto tumbled to the ground. The first thing he noticed was the hard, unforgiving floor beneath his palms, the same floor he’d spent half his childhood staring down at in various painful positions as he had his ass handed to him. Shouto’s stomach clenched, and he rose to his feet.

Standing in front of him, flames fully ignited, was his father. Todoroki Enji, also known as the Number Two Hero of this time, Endeavor. Also known as the father who, he’d slowly learned to recognize, had abused him and his family through his entire childhood.

Evidently, the switch villain had crashed a “training” session. Shouto also should have expected this. It didn’t mean he would ever have felt prepared for it.

Shouto felt his body stiffen, begin to shut down, an instinctive reaction he didn’t know he still possessed. Taking in a breath, he lifted his chin to meet his father’s eyes, careful to leave his face blank—a habit that also came back more easily than Shouto would have expected.

Enji, who at first had glared at him, stance prepared to take on an unknown enemy, suddenly took a step back, eyes widening. “Shouto?”

So, he’d been recognized. Now what?

Shouto thought about the twelve-year-old version of him, fighting for his life in the future. He’d likely need medical help, when he came back, more help than this version of his father would be willing to give him. And—and Shouto was tired, so very tired of dealing with his father, of Enji’s baggage hanging over him, a shadow clouding his entire life. Shouto only had one minute here, and he wanted to make the most of it. Wanted to spend it with people whose names were most definitely not Todoroki Enji.

Shouto let his father stare at him for a moment more. Then, wordlessly, he turned on his heel and settled into an ice slide, speeding out of the room. Enji’s surprised shouts followed him, but he paid them no heed. One minute. He needed to get to Fuyuumi and Natsuo, fast, if he wanted any sort of meaningful contact with them.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Shouto to find his siblings. Shouto burst into the kitchen—and there they were. Fuyuumi stood over the stove, tending to rice, while Natsuo cut vegetables—or, this was what his siblings had been doing, before Shouto entered. Now, they were frozen in shock.

Shouto took a small step back, gently raising his arms in the universal I-mean-you-no-harm gesture. “We don’t have much time,” he started. “But… um… it’s me. It’s Shouto. I can explain.”

Natsuo gave Fuyuumi a wide-eyed help, I have no idea what to do here glance, and Fuyuumi visibly swallowed. Shouto felt a pang of regret lurch through him. Goodness, his siblings were so young. He’d always looked up to them, seen them as pillars of support—ones he couldn’t access often, but that were always there, in the background; allies he could trust, lean on in emergencies. But in this time, they were younger than him, and he could suddenly see, clearer than ever, the terrible weight of the responsibilities they’d had to assume, all these years.

Mouth suddenly dry, Shouto turned away, absently activating his left side, ever so slightly, to melt away some of the ice he’d trailed in. A gasp echoed through the kitchen, and Shouto whirled back around to see Fuyuumi cover her mouth, wide open in shock. Shouto followed her gaze. His quirk–right, his quirks, plural. If nothing else could prove his identity, they could.

Slowly, Shouto called a small flame to his left hand and a smattering of frost to his right and presented them, palms open, to his siblings. “See?” he murmured. “It’s really me.”

Natuso’s eyes got even wider, if that was possible, and Fuyuumi finally seemed to gather herself enough to speak. “Shouto—what?...”

Shouto lowered his hands. Right. Okay, now… he needed to figure out at least some way to explain. Great. Izuku was far better at this sort of thing.

“It’s—a switch villain. Um, so I’m from ten years in the future, and she switched me with my younger self—um, the one who’s supposed to be here—to try and kill him, before he becomes me?”

There was a pause, and Shouto cursed his lack of eloquence. “Sorry, I know it’s crazy—”

“Wait, time travel?” Natsuo breathed. Shouto almost smiled at the look on his face—half shock, and half a tentative sort of excitement. He wished he could let Natsuo stay excited. Unfortunately, he was going to have to ruin Natsuo’s fun.

“Yeah, uh, that’s how I’m here. But younger me—your Shouto—he’s in the future now, and he’s in danger. That’s why I came here.” Shouto raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “The quirk only works for one minute. I—he’s probably going to need your help. Very soon, do you understand? He’ll probably be… hurt.”

A sudden look of understanding crossed Fuyuumi’s face. Shock replaced by determination, Fuyuumi turned off the stove and rushed out of the room, most likely to retrieve her first-aid kit, the one that had held Shouto together for nearly a decade. Shouto watched her go, gratitude lighting in his chest.

Enji chose that time to make his reappearance.

“Shouto, what is this?”

Shouto stiffened. Great. Almost subconsciously, he took a small step in front of Natsuo. Back then, it had always been Natsuo protecting him, but now that he was, technically, older, he found himself falling into the reverse.

“Switch villain,” Shouto found himself replying. His voice sounded cold, flat once more. An unwelcome reminder of old times. “I’m from ten years in the future and have been switched with myself from this time. This was an assassination attempt on my younger self. He should be back shortly, and he’ll probably be hurt. I’m making the necessary preparations.” Might as well tell the truth, to make things simpler. Keep Enji’s wrath at bay.

Enji scowled. “And you’ve become a Pro Hero, I assume?” he asked, gesturing towards Shouto’s costume.

Shouto swallowed down his annoyance. “Yes.” No thanks to you.

His father folded his arms, scanning him, probably looking for something to judge, to nitpick. “You should not have let a villain get close enough to use his quirk on you. Shouto, I expect more from you.”

Shouto bit his lip. Damn it, he was twenty-two, he shouldn’t still let this bad memory of his father treat him this way—but his limbs were still locked, the fear he’d thought long gone still there. Natsuo twitched behind him, looking like he wanted to step in, and shame flooded Shouto, that he’d still be relying on his brother, even now, to defend him. The shame turned to anger. Anger at Enji, at this shitty situation, at himself.

Enji raised an eyebrow at Shouto’s lack of response, but chose to simply continue his interrogation. “What is your ranking?”

And suddenly, that was it. Shouto had had enough. He took a step forward, looking his father right in the eye. He was taller than his father, now. Taller, and a full-grown adult, and he was going to let Enji see it. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

Enji’s eyes widened for a moment, before a spurt of flames sputtered to life around his face. “Excuse me?”

“All the people you’re supposed to save, all the lives you’re supposed to make better, and you only care about a goddamn popularity contest. Well, I don’t, and I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

Enji growled, flames spreading. A part of Shouto wanted to stop, to hold back, keep Enji’s wrath from growing and possibly hurting his other siblings and himself, but something bitter took hold in Shouto, making him keep stubbornly standing his ground even as his father stepped forward. Enji’s fists clenched. “You dare—”

“But I will tell you this,” Shouto said. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Fuyuumi appear at the doorway to the kitchen, first-aid kit in hand. Good—both his siblings were here to watch. He wanted to give them the satisfaction. “You want to talk about your precious rankings? You’ll never beat All Might. You’ll never be a Symbol of Peace.” Shouto let that sink in, a hundred other grievances rushing through his mind, ones he couldn’t say. Neither will I, because All Might’s successor is Number One now, and I’m so proud that he is. And while you were busy being obsessed with your stupid, petty catfights, you let Touya slip through your fingers. You, as Number One Hero, created the villain that destroyed you. That will be your legacy. And I’ll never forgive you for it. At the thought of Touya, Shouto felt much of his fury fizzle, and he sighed. Enji was speechless for now, but his rage would soon return, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Time to stop poking the bear.

“You know what, it’s not worth it,” he grumbled, and turned around to where Natsuo was standing, a look of disbelief on his face—but not without a hint of tentative joy.

Shouto felt a wave of affection for his brother, and scooped him into a hug. “I love you,” Shouto whispered. Keenly aware of the time ticking out, he released Natsuo and walked up to Fuyuumi, Natsuo and Enji both watching him go, still frozen in shock. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you for everything,” he murmured, before pulling her in tight.

Then the black smoke was back, and Shouto was pulled from her embrace before either could say another word. When he was dumped unceremoniously back onto the street he’d been patrolling, back in the future, his eyes were misted over with unshed tears.

Quickly wiping his eyes, Shouto jumped into a fighting stance, searching for the threat—before a gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, easy, there,” Uraraka Ochako’s voice said.

“The villain has been apprehended,” Tenya announced from behind him, and Shouto turned to see him hauling the villain into quirk-suppressing cuffs, a police presence growing steadily in the background. Shouto let his body relax at the sight. That’s right—he’d been patrolling near both of them. “Thank goodness,” he huffed.

“Tell me about it,” Ochako agreed. “This one’s pretty wily.”

“And annoying,” Shouto chuckled.

“Yeah, we’ve got to be sure she stays in Tartarus, this time.”

Shouto cringed, before remembering. His younger self. “Hey, is…”

“Little Shouto alright?” Ochako sighed. “Well, he got a little banged up—couple scratches and a broken arm—but otherwise, he’s fine.”

Shouto let out a breath. “That’s good to hear.”

“Sure is,” Ochako nodded. “He was soooo cute, though! You didn’t tell me how absolutely adorable you were—”

Shouto sighed inwardly, and let Ochako’s babbling wash over him. He was back in the present, back with his friends, back where his father could never hold that power over him again.

Damn, it felt good to be home.