Bakugou knew this was a bad idea. He knew that but he couldn't convince himself not to follow through with it.

So here he was, in the middle of the night, wearing darker clothing and wandering around past curfew on the outskirts of the red-light district.

He escaped the attention of the police by using the simple tactic of walking with a purpose and wearing a standard face mask. Unfortunately, Bakugou wasn't entirely sure where he was going. Lucky for him, however, he overheard some idiots mention a familiar name and managed to follow them to the place he was going.

During his time in dojos, he heard a few of the less dedicated students chat off-handedly about illegal fighting rings. Back then, he had just brushed them off. But now, the itch to fight and test how much of his fighting prowess he had regained and how much he had left to go until he caught up with his previous strength overtook his rational mind.

So, in spite of himself, he decided to check it out himself and try a few rounds. He had assumed that he would be able to easily find one of the few his former students had named, but Bakugou had overestimated his experience. Of course, they wouldn't be broadcasting their location in obvious ways. That would be just asking to be shut down by the police.

But luckily on his first night out, he found one.

The building was much larger than he had expected. It baffled him how these kinds of places constantly escaped the notice of the heroes and police. This place was about as subtle as one of his explosions during a string quartet recital. There were loud noises clearly originating from the run-down building that were muffled by the rough-looking doors.

With a deep breath, Bakugou steeled his nerves and stepped foot into the busy, run-down building. There was no music or alcohol, only shouting, roaring, and gasps of pain, accompanied by taunting and jeering from both the fighters and the large crowd. Large strobe lights practically blinded him as he was quickly pushed to the side of the crowd.

Hundreds of people, crowded and constantly shoving each other to get a better view, were packed in the place from wall to wall, barely leaving any room toward the edges of the building. There were no windows, but nobody seemed intent on admiring the bland city scenery when there was a much more entertaining show in front of them.

Out of habit, Bakugou donned his characteristic (though not so much anymore…) sneer and forced his way through the crowd until he found a counter with alcohol and what appeared to be some common drugs.

He tried to blink the dizziness away after someone blew smoke into his face as he walked by, shooting the asshole a glare. The fucker flinched, surprised by such a terrifying glint in his eye. Well, at least he hadn't quite lost that intimidation factor on the people it really needed it to work on in the end.

He stood in the back on a chair, leaning against the wall casually. He took care to observe the nature of the fights closely.

There appeared to be two types of fights. One ring had seemed to be a free-for-all smackdown where four people were all beating on each other without quirks. The chaos and brutality of the fight seemed to be the biggest draw there. Another ring seemed to be the quirked fights, though still a free-for-all between three fighters.

The last ring, however, seemed to be the one-on-one fights. After watching two of them, he realized that they were using quirks and only ended once a fighter yielded. One of the fighters seemed to have been knocked unconscious, but since he hadn't yielded, the other fighter hadn't relented until someone in the crowd dragged the unconscious fighter away.

It was clear that those injuries could possibly end up being lethal.

Although part of Bakugou was a bit afraid, the rest of him was shaking in excitement. He hadn't had a challenge like this in ages.

So, with dread and excitement thrumming through his body, he began to look around for the fighting roster, in hopes that these fights weren't scheduled days in advance.

Luckily for him, he discovered that this fighting ring was a rather small one and let walk-in fighters fill up the roster all night to keep the patrons entertained. But just as he was about to walk up and put his name (a pseudonym of course, he wasn't stupid) in for a fight, he thought he saw a familiar face from the coner of his eye.

His mind began to run on overdrive, trying to think about what to do next. Carefully and smoothly, he slightly altered his destination to an open seat slightly off from the sign-up sheet. Without showing his fear on his face or in his body-language, he sat on an open stool and swiveled around casually.

Bakugou scanned the crowd and tried to figure out who he had spotted earlier. Unfortunately, whomever it was did very well fitting into the crowd. And, although that narrowed down the possibilities greatly, none of the options really made much sense.

Besides, it could have just been him overreacting or imagining it.

So he breathed a soft sigh in relief and rolled his shoulders to get rid of the lingering tension. And was immediately spooked by the doors being kicked in.

His fight or flight instincts kicked in and he immediately recognized several pro heroes storming the building. So flight it was.

He sprinted out the back door that he had made sure to locate as soon as he came in and climbed the fire escape in the back up to the roof. Breathing a bit more heavily than he would have liked, he scanned his surroundings and tried to figure out the best way to escape.

Bakugou settled on jumping a few roofs over and climbing down and speed-walking the hell away as quickly and quietly as he could. And once he got a certain distance away, he would just be a kid breaking curfew, not a kid attempting to join an illegal quirk fighting ring.

He was mostly successful in getting away, though he could have sworn that he saw a familiar red glare before he had made it over the first roof.

As he stumbled down another fire escape a couple of roofs down, he cursed under his breath. Maybe parkour was another thing to invest in, because that was pitiful. Plus, through eavesdropping and carefully phrased questions aimed at Deku, he gathered that in the future there was a yakuza group that created drugs that could temporarily and permanently take away a person's quirk. So the need for this kind of skill far outweighed the cost of just relying on his quirk.

Besides, Eraserhead had done his best on multiple occasions to prove to him that quirks weren't everything.

And now, well… he knew that his teacher was far from wrong.

Bakugou speed walked the rest of the way home with a purpose. He took care to maintain it just fast enough to be brisk but not so fast as to look anxious. Luckily for him, it seemed most of the patrolling police officers must have been called to that bust he had just escaped from. He didn't even spot a single one anywhere near him.

However, he felt as though he was being watched.

But as stubborn as he was, he refused to turn around and look, so he just kept walking.

And kept walking right past the intersection that led to his house and toward his favorite convenience store.

His mind began to run through the quirk laws he remembered, trying to figure out the best way to defend himself while still being able to call it self-defense.

But as soon as he walked through the doors of the 24 hour convenience store, he saw a figure pause at the door before continuing on down the street. He could help but breathe a sigh of relief before grabbing a package of cheap instant ramen and purchasing it. (The real reason he liked this convenience store was that they didn't check IDs and never reported him breaking curfew, granted that was few and far-inbetween.)

Taking some extra time just sitting in the small restroom in the store, he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. There was nothing interesting in the news feeds, just more sensationalized bullshit and clickbait.

It frustrated him to no end, all the fakers and attention-whores that graced the heroics industry. That Stain-bastard also created a lot of trouble in the future because of this idea, so how could he not despise it. But until he became an influential hero he wouldn't be able to do anything. Besides, he had to wait for Deku to catch up to him before any real progress would be made.

He knew that the chances of All Might and Deku meeting before were next to none, so he probably wouldn't receive One For All. But that didn't mean that Deku wouldn't get a chance once he started at UA.

Bakugou knew that his friend was quirkless, but his determination was boundless and his desire to help people (even those who didn't want or deserve it) was just as strong if not moreso.

Yes, Bakugou was certain that he would at least be seeing Deku at the entrance exams and, at the very least, he would make it into General Studies. Then all he would have to do is nudge All Might in the right direction and then all of his fuckups would be solved.

Heck, maybe he could keep Deku from being so god-awful with his quirk control and he would avoid his debilitating injuries all together.

He wished he had been able to help Deku prepare for the future, but clearly that was impossible now. All he could do was make the best of it.

Deciding that, finally, the coast was probably clear and his stalker had most likely given up at this point, Bakugou finally left the restroom. He gave a curt nod to the tired cashier on the way out and headed back the way he came.

It was oddly serene around three in the morning. He couldn't exactly describe the freeing feeling it gave him, but it was relieving compared to all the shit he had to prepare for. Out of habit, he pulled a piece of paper from behind his phone case.

It was neatly folded and gently worn around the creases, carefully sized and smoothly flattened so as to not rip or tear or bend. As he unfolded it with care, the determined face of Deku stared into his soul. He couldn't help but notice all the flaws in his art.

The way Deku's hair didn't quite frame his face it did in real life. The way his fingers, clenched in a fist, didn't quite show the tightness of his grip—none of the fear or hope that went into his body language every time he fought a losing battle. The way the messy lines couldn't capture the precision and intention Deku put into every word, every action. The way Bakugou couldn't capture the real light in Deku's eyes.

Anyone else would probably stop and praise him for such detailed art, or maybe for "creating" such an original character, no matter how plain. In fact, they had when he was caught unawares while sketching. Was he writing a story? They had asked.

All he could do at the time was slam him hand over the art and not so politely ask them to fuck off. In the Past-Future, he would have sent them a death glare and threatened them with getting a good taste of his explosions, but Bakugou just didn't have that same kind of pull anymore.

Something made his heart clench as he stared at the face of his one constant who was now missing from his life by his own doing.

He came to a stop at the front door of his house, staring at the picture with mixed emotions swimming in his chest. Slowly, he forced himself to fold the picture back and hide it away into his phone case to not see the light of day until later.

Bakugou stepped into his house quietly, making sure the door didn't squeak on its hinges or slam behind him. But when he turned around and shuffled out of his shoes, he was greeted with his father's disapproving face.

Oh fuck...

He stared his father in the eye, refusing to back down but unable to verbally defend himself.

Masaru raised an eyebrow, "And where were you?"

"...out," Bakugou resisted the urge to facepalm at his own response. Because yes, being sarcastically vague would resolve this situation.

"Yes, clearly you were out. What I want to know is where and why?" Masaru grit without tact, clearly grouchy because of the time.

Bakugou remained silent, unsure of how to tread around his father. His mother was easy, and he had a lot of practice with her in both affectionate and serious fights. But his father never created conflict, only ever placating his overly-aggressive wife and son.

So he stood rigidly, awaiting whatever consequences he would receive for his admittedly dumb choices. He never used to get consequences in the Past-Future so part of him wanted to make up for that now, but also he knew the amount of shit his parents had and would have to deal with because of him so Bakugou couldn't bring himself to protest.

Besides, it wasn't like he could explain what he had actually been doing, and both he and his parents all knew that he was a shit-liar. So the two Bakugous stood there, a pair of eyes not quite meeting the other, in the customary silence of early morning.

And stood there.

Waiting.

His father broke the silence first by turning around and shuffling back to the kitchen. He flicked on a light and started the kettle to boil some water.

Bakugou blinked in surprise.

Was he making tea? At this time of night… well, more accurately, morning?

Masaru tiredly shuffled back to his son with an unreadable expression on his face. Bakugou stared at his right up until they were face-to-face, almost touching with how close they were.

The awkwardness dragged on for what felt like hours, though he wasn't sure whether it was more than a few seconds. Masaru pulled the instant ramen from his sweatshirt hoodie and set it on a table near the entrance before pulling his son into a tight hug.

Bakugou couldn't help but sink into the reassuring warmth. He had almost fucked everything up just because he had been too impatient. Just like always.

He had to do better.

He fought a losing battle against the tears that gathered in his eyes, eventually escaping down his cheeks and forming a wet spot on his father's nightshirt.

Instead of pulling away and pretending as though none of this happened, Bakugou felt himself curling into his father's grip. His fists gripped the fabric, unrelenting and beginning to shake with silent sobs.

All the built up frustration and self-loathing and uselessness came pouring out wordlessly, Masaru just standing there, a silent pillar of support.

In the time where All Might shouldn't help, in the time where Deku couldn't help, in the time Mitsuki wouldn't help, Masaru was there.

They stood there, not bothering to pretend that everything was okay for once.

Because they were all broken, but most of all Bakugou Katsuki.

They stood there until the kettle began to whistle. It felt like not enough time, but it had probably been fifteen minutes or so. Masaru reluctantly let him go in order to grab the instant ramen package and pour the boiling water for it to cook.

Bakugou took that short minute to wipe at his eyes and pretend like the snot dripping down his face wasn't absolutely disgusting. This time, when his father came back, he looked at him directly in the eyes and had prepared to explain what he had been doing (or rather, what he had ended up doing instead of what he had originally intended to do).

Instead, the brunette looked at him with a sad smile, "I had a feeling something would happen with you today."

This made Bakugou blink in complete surprise, too stunned to force out the short script he had just prepared.

"Today's the day when Izu-kun had to leave, all those years ago. I'm not sure if you remember him, but you and he were very close. And over the years I've noticed that you've always acted strange around this time of year."

The blonde took a step back in surprise, trying not to release an incredulous laugh at the comment about remembering Deku. How could he ever forget? He wouldn't be able to, even if he wanted to.

The older Bakugou smiled softly, "So when nothing noteworthy happened all day, I had the feeling you'd be up to something tonight. I set an alarm and got up around one, and sure enough you weren't in your room when I checked."

"...how did you know about the instant ramen...?" Bakugou mumbled out despite himself, the exhaustion from his emotional meltdown beginning to catch up with him.

This got a laugh out of the his father, "I know you're strict about your diet, but even the best of us have cheat days," he sheepishly scratched at his chin, "I know you really like spicy ramen, but we don't have much of anything to make it at home, not to mention it would be loud and disturbing at this time of night. Plus, since you were out, I figured that's what you would be getting. And when I saw something in your sweatshirt pocket, it seemed my hunches were correct…"

Bakugou looked away tiredly. It seemed that despite losing the ability to read and understand his own parents, they had no issues noticing his habits and patterns. Even if his father hadn't been completely correct, he still came up with the most accurate conclusion from the data he had.

His gaze gradually fell to the floor as his father led him to the table to enjoy his now-ready, mega-spicy ramen.

He ate in silence as his father bustled about, doing menial tasks just to fill the urge to do something.

An itch that Bakugou had yet to scratch.

Halfway through his cheap comfort food, he put his chopsticks down softly. Masaru took a few moments to notice, but as soon as he realized his son had stopped eating, he made his way back to the blonde's side.

"Hey," he whispered, "I'm here for you, okay? You can tell me anything, however much—or little—you want to share. I know your mother has high hopes for you, as do I, but you're never alone. Even when it feels like you're stuck or struggling under the weight of your problems, there are people here willing to help."

He grinned, "After all, that's the point of having sidekicks and team-ups in heroics, right?!"

Bakugou smiled softly at the table, his classmates at UA immediately coming to mind.

That's right.

There were people he could rely on, and he only had two and a half more miserable years of schooling at Aldera Junior High. He could do this. And then those damned villains wouldn't know what hit them!

With his determination finally put back together and his ego intact, he proudly faced the future with his head held up high and his shoulders broad and strong.

The older Bakugou smiled fondly as he watched a weight lift off of his son's shoulder before he dug back into his comfort food with gusto.