A/N: Well, here's June's chapter, a little late, but before June is over a least haha. I'm going to try to get July's chapter out on time, but we'll see...

Warnings: A child is slapped, some manipulation, but it's mostly unintentional.

When Katsuki gets home, both of his parents are seated on the couch. His father looks disappointed, with a steadying hand on his mother who looks absolutely furious.

"Sit," she hisses. He drops his bag on the ground and slouches onto the couch across from them. "Oh, come on, sit up. Act like you have at least some pride in yourself." He slouches even further, smirking when her cheeks redden. "You don't want to test me right now, Katsuki," she's clenching and unclenching her fist. "I am very upset."

"Please, Katsuki, do as she asks," Masaru requests quietly. "Don't antagonize her." Katsuki straightens his back and gives his father a slightly remorseful look. His father is soft-hearted and Katsuki knows that he and his mother's violence makes him uncomfortable. Honestly, Katsuki doesn't really know how his parents ever found each other compatible. Some kind of 'opposites attract' bull, he assumes.

"Was it Izuku?" Mitsuki wonders.

"Why does it matter?" He refuses to do this right now.

"Because, I want to know," Mitsuki has the tone of voice that says 'I shouldn't have to explain myself to you.'

"Look, I was just putting some extra in their place. I don't know why you're so upset about it." The word 'extra' seems to get caught in his mouth. He feels like he's stuttering just like that damn- like Izuku. For some reason, the word feels wrong, which makes no sense because he's never cared about how his words make people feel. And Izuku's not even here to feel a goddamn thing, so it shouldn't matter what he calls him.

But then why does the name 'Deku' feel like a pit in his throat -and the word 'extra' is hard to force out of his mouth. It shouldn't matter, and before all of this, it hadn't. A tiny voice whispers in the back of his mind that it should have mattered all along. If it didn't, maybe there was something wrong with him. He's jerked from his thoughts when Mitsuki speaks up again.

"Maybe because whatever you did was bad enough that it got your teacher's attention, and got you suspended!"

"Look, it isn't like I did anything I haven't done before!" Except suicide bait somebody, but that's beside the point.

"It must have been pretty bad if you were suspended."

"I don't want to talk about this right now. I'll just have to go over it all again tomorrow when my teacher's here." He stands to make his way to his room, but his progress is halted by an iron grip on his wrist.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Mitsuki isn't yelling, and for some reason, Katsuki wishes she was. He tries to pull away, only for the grip to tighten. There's going to be a bruise there in a little while, but he takes comfort in knowing that it will get lost in the piles of bruises on his knuckles..

"Get your hand off me, hag!" he shouts, glaring at her. Her eyes gaze into his icily.

"Maybe, I didn't make it clear before when I said that I was very upset, so let's try this again."

" Just where do you think you're going, brat?" she repeats.

"I'm going to my room," Katsuki tries to reign in his anger. "I don't want to talk about this without my teacher." He's barely known Mr. Aizawa, but for some reason, he feels like this situation would be much safer with him in the room. He supposes that as a pro hero, he's probably good at diffusing tense situations. The silence roars in his ears as his mother fumes.

Masaru places a gentle hand on his wife's arm."Please, Mitsu, calm down," he tries vainly to placate her fury. She shakes him off, and raises her arm. One back-handed strike later, and Katsuki is seeing stars. Her grip loosens a bit, and he uses the moment to his advantage, pulling away and stomping to his room. He slams his door for emphasis, and flops onto his bed, trying to ignore the fact that he can feel water running down his face. He's supposed to be a hero, goddamnit. He wonders if it will always feel like this.

From down the hall, he can hear his mother shouting. Every once and awhile her voice will pause long enough for his father to murmur something. Eventually, she goes silent, and he hears her trudging feet make their way to her room. She, too, slams the door.

After a few minutes, a gentle knock sounds on Katsuki's door. It's opened a crack, and Masaru's head pokes in.

"May I come in, Katsuki?" he asks softly.

"Sure," he sits facing the wall, making a point not to face his father. The man comes in holding an ice pack.

"Here, for your cheek," he sounds apologetic. This isn't the first time that Katsuki wishes that he were as furious as him instead. It takes his skin a moment to adjust to the cold, but as soon as it does, Katsuki sighs. His father sits across from him on the side of his bed, and they stay like this in silence for a few minutes, neither quite sure what to say until Masaru speaks up again.

"Katsuki, I wish you and your mother wouldn't fight so often," he doesn't make eye contact with his son, looking instead to the wall past him. "I know it's natural that you and her find conflict with each other, it's just that it hurts me to see you two argue all the time."

"You think I like it?"

"If you don't like it, then why do you do it so much?"

"Because if I don't stand up for myself, no one else will." At this, Masaru's head bows in shame.

"Katsuki, I- I'm sorry. I haven't been a good father to you," he admits.

"Don't," Bakugou's voice catches. "Don't you dare apologize to me." Katsuki doesn't know why it's so hard to be angry at his father like he is everyone else. I mean, sure, he hates how weak the man is, and often finds himself wondering why his father doesn't do more to stand up for him against his mother. But then he thinks back and remembers the happy memories they share. Trips to the park, mochi, his father holding his hand when he got his first shot at the doctors office, even though his mother said that a three-year-old should be brave enough to do it themselves.

"I've made it this far without your pity. I don't need it now." You've been as good of a father as you could have been. You're the only person in this shitty world that has ever truly cared about me, so don't sell yourself short. You noticed when I started trying to cook more, and even though you didn't know the first thing about a kitchen, you made sure that I had books that I could learn from and every kitchen tool I could ever want. Mom used to just lecture me about overusing my quirk when my hands would get red and blistered. You're the one that bought me burn cream and bandages.

"But your mother-"

"Is critical. Her mistakes are her own, old man." There's a pause, and it's as if the entire room is holding its breath. For a moment, Katsuki is sure that his father won't be able to think of a response.

"Your mother knows you are strong-willed," Masaru admits. "But I don't understand why she sees that as only a weakness. If you would only apply that strength to more positive ventures, just think of how far you could go." There's a beat of silence as Katsuki mulls over his father's words.

"I'm not saying you're perfect," he finally speaks again. "I'm just saying that you've done better than the hag." Katsuki removes the ice from his cheek, which now feels significantly better, and holds it out to his father.

"Thanks," the 'for everything' is left unsaid..

"I'll leave you be now," Masaru responds. "If you need anything, I'll be in my office." He doesn't quite hug his son, but places his hand on the side of Katsuki's face for a moment. It's so different for him to feel a soft hand rather than a harsh slap. If Masaru notices the tears shimmering in his son's eyes at the unusual gesture of affection, he chooses not to comment.