Izuku had really opened up a lot to them, after that first question. It was like he'd realised then that it was okay to talk and be curious and ask questions.

He always got an answer, whenever he asked something, and Tenko would always relax a little when Izuku's face lit up with pure, childish joy.

It reminded him a little bit of when he'd first arrived, too. He'd been so, so happy. Even though Kurogiri became distant later.

The bar had smelt of alcohol and cooking. It had reminded him of home, of his father. It had reminded him of how his father had staggered in drunk and violent, and how Tenko had been scared. It had reminded him of how Tenko had been scared and desperate, and pushed. It had reminded him of how the smell of alcohol had been overpowered by the stench of blood, and how he'd run away before his father could wake up.

But it had also reminded him of how things had got better.

It reminded him of how Sensei had been nice, and how Kurogiri had been kind, even if he seemed a bit detached from it all.

And seeing Izuku's blinding smile had reminded him of that. How he'd been cared for, and how he couldn't really ever repay them, Kurogiri and Sensei.

But he could make them proud. He could make the world better for them. Them and little Izuku, with the haunted eyes and the bright smile.

Izuku's smile wasn't the only bright thing, about him, though. He was learning how to read, or rather, they were all teaching him.

Tenko wasn't entirely sure why Izuku was so insistant on learning how to read. But Tenko suspected that it had something to do with the kid's nightmares about 'Kacchan'. When Tenko had asked, Izuku had mumbled about proving that he wasn't Deku.

And that was more than enough for the boy to unwittingly enlist the help of Tenko, Kurogiri and Sensei.

Kurogiri would sit there, and help the boy through a chapter of a slim book, yellow eyes warm as Izuku stuttered through a page. The bartender was less distant now, more like a person and less like a butler. Tenko had found himself talking to Kurogiri more and more recently, after Izuku had arrived.

Then Tenko would sit with Izuku, and they would take it in turns, reading a line at a time. Sometimes, Tenko would help with the more difficult words, giving hints and encouraging nods. Sometimes, Izuku figured it out by himself.

And once, Tenko had walked in to see Izuku sitting in front of the screen, and Sensei was correcting Izuku's pronounciation.

Izuku seemed to make them all seem closer, Tenko realised. It was after Izuku had managed to work his way though an entire chapter alone, with no mistakes, and they had all listened. Tenko and Kurogiri were clapping and Sensei was making a small humming noise that meant he was happy.

That was then Tenko realised that Izuku had brought them all together, he'd made Kurogiri less distant somehow and Sensei approved, and Izuku had made it seem almost like they were all one really weird family. A really weird family of misfits and villains and outcasts, but a family all the same.

And Tenko, who'd been all alone like Izuku had, couldn't be happier.


Bakugo had never meant for things to turn out the way they did.

He'd known that he was being mean, he'd known that he was being unfair, he'd known he was hurting the boy who had been his best friend.

But he hadn't really realised that he was in the wrong. How could he have fought that he was in the wrong, when everyone looked at him with awe and admiration.

Even Deku.

No one had stopped him, when he'd pushed Deku around. No one had told him off. No one had helped Deku, either.

But Bakugo hadn't cared. Deku was weak. Deku was useless. Deku was a crybaby and would not go away. He had kept tagging along and Bakugo had been sick of it.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand why Deku had stayed.

"You're the least amazing."

And Deku had kept smiling.

"Your name can be read as Deku. It means useless."

And then Deku's smile had faltered, and he'd smiled less.

Bakugo hadn't cared. Deku was useless, weak, a crybaby. He didn't want Deku hanging around with him anymore.

Bakugo was going to be a hero. Everyone thought so. He knew so.

He hadn't needed Deku anymore. So he'd pushed Deku away. He didn't want to be Deku's friend, he didn't want to be smiled at, and he certainly didn't want to see admiration in those annoyingly bright green eyes.

It hadn't really registered when the light in those green eyes had dimmed, little by little. He was more caught up on the fact that Deku wouldn't leave him alone. That Deku thought they were still friends.

Deku still smiled, but it was more of an afterthought. It was vacant, and it was so fake, so plastic. Bakugo had been visciously pleased. Maybe it had meant that Deku would learn his lesson and stop trying to be his friend.

Bakugo hadn't been focused on much more than how he'd wanted Deku to leave him alone.

But he hadn't wanted Deku to leave.

The first day Deku hadn't turned up to school, Bakugo hadn't worried at all. Deku was weak, he'd probably injured himself or caught a cold.

Bakugo had been happy, then. Deku was gone, and that had been what he'd wanted all along, right?

The entire first two days passed like that. Deku was gone, he'd finally got the message.

By the third day, the novelty had worn off. There was a new, unfamiliar feeling settling cold and heavy in his stomach. He wasn't quite sure what it was. It reminded him of that one memory he'd tried time and time to bury. When he'd slipped off that bridge, and for a moment, when he'd realised that there was nothing beneath him but gaping, empty air, he'd been cold.

That memory and that feeling had ended with Deku's eyes, wide and gentle and flooded with concern.

This memory didn't end with Deku's eyes, didn't end with Deku trying to help, didn't end with Deku trying to make everything better.

Then a police officer had come to talk to the teachers.

And then the teachers had cared about Deku. Then they'd gone quiet. Then saying mean things and pushing Deku around had been wrong.

And he'd been confused. If he'd been so mean and wrong and cruel, then why hadn't they told him off? Why hadn't they helped Deku? Why... Why hadn't anyone stopped him?

He'd always remember the look in his mother's eyes when she found out. Shock and disappointment and regret.

Then he'd known he was wrong. He'd pushed and pushed, with his quirk, with cruel words, with everything he had.

"You're so useless. Everyone would be better off if you weren't around!"

He'd been cruel and pushed Deku too far. Then he'd learnt that words could hurt more than burns and scraped knees. Just like Deku had.

And then, he'd realised that Deku wasn't coming back.

That cold, painful feeling had been overpowering, and he'd simmered and stewed until he exploded.

It all exploded into a screaming match with his mother. They'd both ended up crying at the end. That said a lot about the argument, considering that neither of them were criers.

"I'm sorry." He'd said, blinking back tears, because he hated crying. It wasn't really his mother that he needed to apologise to.

She ruffled his hair, but it didn't disguise the fact her hands were shaking.

"It was mean and wrong, and you'll have to take responsibility. It wasn't all your fault, you know. " And her voice was hoarse and thick with tears but it was the gentlest she'd ever sounded. "Not all of it, there are plenty of other people in the wrong, too."

She didn't deny that he was wrong. She'd always been blunt and maybe a little bit harsh, but he'd never thought that she'd lie.

"But-" He starts, and a small part of him hates how small and vulnerable he sounds. But a bigger part of him is guilty and scared and so, so sorry.

"I never stopped you, or told you that it was wrong." His mother tells him firmly, still in that gentle voice. "We never really taught you to be compassionate, we never really discouraged you from anything, and I'm sorry. The teachers never stopped you. They didn't tell me or Inko..." And then she sighed. "I think things weren't very nice for Izuku at home."

And that makes Bakugo feel worse. He's not used to feeling bad or upset or sorry, but he knew even then that he'd be sorry for a long, long time.

"But... On top of all that stuff, I pushed him around, teased him and called him useless b-because he was quirkless. I-I... I told him to leave, a-and he did."

He'd started crying halfway through his explanation. Because he knew it was cruel and it feels wrong to even say it now. Because with the last bit, he was scared. He was afraid, for a moment, that his mother would look at him with the cold, angry eyes that everyone else was, maybe she'd hit him, and he'd deserve it.

Instead, her eyes filled with tears again, and she hugged him tightly. Normally, he'd protest and wriggle away.

Then his father walked in, having come back from shopping and wordlessly dropped the bags and joined the hug.

Everything was wrong. He was wrong. His mother was crying. He was crying and sorry. And Deku wasn't coming back.

And as he was hugged, sorry and hurting, he knew that he was still warm and safe and loved. Then he imagined Deku running away, and leaving all of this behind.

Then he realised that Deku wasn't weak. Deku was brave. Maybe Deku had always been brave.

It was then that Bakugo learned that it was okay to cry, because Deku had cried, and Deku had been brave. And so Bakugo would cry, and then he'd be brave and keep moving forwards.

He couldn't apologise to Deku. It was too late. Deku was gone.

But Bakugo could become a hero, one that made sure that no one ever had to end up like Deku.

Then, Bakugo would find Izuku and they would cry together.