"Wait downstairs. No, I'm serious—wait downstairs. Actually yeah, don't wait downstairs—just leave the car and take the train ho—don't tell me to shut up! I'm telling you just—hey!"

Katsuki growled as he pulled his phone away from his ear, grumbling a few choice words as he shoved it back in his pocket. Crafting a baby-appropriate vocabulary would have to wait yet another day.

"Hung up on you?" Izuku asked as he triple-checked his backpack. There hadn't been much time for shopping that morning when they'd wanted to return to the hospital as early as they could get away with. Nevertheless, they'd managed to grab some essentials on their way out the door, as well as a few items from the corner store. All that rushing only to wait hours more upon arrival.

"The witch," Katsuki affirmed with a nod. "Insisted on coming up here."

At that moment, there was a buzz, sharp and clear from Izuku's phone. Izuku barely had it out of his pocket before Katsuki was pointing a finger at him.

"Don't you dare tell her the room number."

Izuku began typing, conveniently not looking Katsuki in the eye. "Kacchan, I have to."

"Like hell you do!"

It was already done. Izuku looked up at him with shining, know-it-all eyes. "You shouldn't be surprised, Kacchan. Of course she'd wanna see Sugu."

Sugu. The name had come to Izuku late in the night between hiccupped bouts of restfulness. Both men were decorated with bruised bags under their eyes, born from a nearly entirely sleepless night. Katsuki was only sure he'd slept at all as the clock on their dresser advanced from two a.m. to three a.m. to four between blinks. Meanwhile, he was awake for every moment of Izuku turning from stomach to side to back to side, his uneven gasps of air. Awake enough to agree to the name, anyway. Even as Izuku had said it for the first time, it had drizzled like warm honey over Katsuki. Coating quickly and sweetly from Izuku's lips. Now it was on a birth certificate behind the name Midoriya, tucked into Izuku's bag.

"Tch. Get up in our business, more like."

Izuku chuckled. "I'm sure it's not that. Besides, it's not too much trouble to just give her what she wants."

No, it really wasn't, but only because trouble wasn't the word for what was marinating in Katsuki's core. This feeling wasn't shame. It wasn't guilt. It was self-defense. It was introversion, greed in the face of an invasion. His gut demanded privacy but instead he would be perceived by force. The threat of it poured saccharine and heavy down his throat, landing in the pit of his stomach with a flavor like cherry blossoms trampled into the concrete sidewalk. Once blush pink and open, now yellowed and brown, scenting the spring streets with sweet decay.

This wasn't the first time. It had come last three years ago when they'd told people they were dating. Sticky reluctance in his gut at sharing something so intimate, so personal, even with his parents or closest friends. Before that it had been coming out. The words for it had been trite and rehearsed but still reluctant to be shared, snapping back at him with painful recoil.

It was an assault. It gnawed at his stomach when he thought of getting engaged, getting married. He strategized ways to get away with it, just him and Izuku. Keep the public at bay, convince their friends to keep their congratulations to themselves. Enjoy some peace and quiet.

It sunk into his stomach now as their bubble of privacy threatened to be burst with every step of his parents first across the sidewalk, then through the lobby, and up the elevator to the new postpartum room they'd been loaned.

"Hey," Izuku said, putting a hand on Katsuki's shoulder. They were lucky enough to be in their own plainclothes this time. Simple tees and jeans, so Izuku's touch was softer today than the day before. It was warm over the thin fabric, stretched over large shoulders that always made it hard to buy off the rack. "They already know. They want to help."

The concern must have been too obvious on Katsuki's face. As much as Katsuki would attribute it to the nerd knowing him so well by now, Katsuki himself was just as much to blame. He was comfortable, had to be since they'd started living together. It had been a long time since his face was stony, trained for combat the way it always used to be.

"I don't want their weaseling help," Katsuki admitted, harshing his frown. "We're not kids—they shouldn't have to drive us home."

"I'm pretty sure everyone needs help when they, you know. Have a baby."

The feeling fermented in his stomach. "They should be grandparents. Not co-parents."

Izuku laughed. "You just don't want their say to override yours."

That hadn't crossed Katsuki's mind. His own grandparents had died when he was young, so his parents had always had the first and final say. His mom, really. A montage of memories passed over all his senses. Little slaps, delicious food, yelling, threats—mostly harmless—avid support, chronic absence.

"We ain't doing shit like them," Katsuki stated, already combing through parts of his childhood he wanted to keep, foster and repeat, and those he was still trying to forget about. "They don't get a say."

The sound of high heels clacking echoed down the hallway and Katsuki's spine tensed. The grip that had never released on his shoulder squeezed once, Izuku's thumb rubbing over the ridge of his shoulder blade.

"Heels even to the hospital," Izuku noted.

"Probably wants to make a fashionable impression on Sugu," Katsuki returned dryly.

Whatever nerves or irritation or, dare he say, fear that had been roiling in his stomach damped back to nothing more than that sickly sweet feeling from before as his parents arrived in the doorway. It was strange the way they looked exactly the same as the last time Katsuki had seen them just a few weeks ago. His mother only betrayed a hint of her age and late nights working under her eyes, and his father was barely gray at the temples. Grandparents.

Katsuki put a finger to his lips just as his mother's mouth was opening. He blinked with surprise when she didn't speak, hunching down a bit as though making her body smaller would do the same to her voice, and whispered, "Congratulations, daddy!" It was perhaps the first time she'd ever obeyed him in his life.

"And to you, Izuku-kun," Masaru added, his naturally quieter voice just down a few tones from usual.

"Thank you," Izuku said with a slight bow. "Sorry, Sugu's asleep right now."

"Aw, Sugu," Mitsuki said, a hand to her heart. "Bakugou Sugu."

"Midoriya Sugu," Katsuki corrected.

"Midoriya," Masaru amended, turning a smile to Izuku. "Sleeping like an angel."

"That's most of what he'll do for the first few months," Mitsuki said with a wave of her hand. "Though it won't feel like it. Sure didn't with this brat."

Katsuki glared at the thumb that was being pointed at him, but he had no defense. It had been apparent since birth, apparently, that he took after his mother in coloring, temperament, and volume. Maybe they'd be lucky enough to know what they were getting into with Sugu that early as well. Maybe they'd be lucky enough that he'd go the opposite way.

"Let's go to the car," Izuku suggested, dancing over the potential conflict with grace. "I'm sure we'll be kicked out soon."

"Then someone's going to have to carry him down there," Mitsuki decided before immediately raising her hand. "I volunteer."

The car seat was installed already, and Katsuki met it with a glare. He should be the one in the know, with the instructions in his head about how to install it. He should be the one granted approval from the nurse trailing after them with a clipboard. Still, he grunted his agreement when Izuku thanked them both profusely for the purchase.

"The three of us are going to have to squeeze in the back," Mitsuki said as the nurse investigated their car seat installation. "I know the press likes to talk about your thick thighs for some godforsaken reason, but you're going to have to make room with all this shit."

Katsuki watched a blush bloom on Izuku's face, rosy and assuredly hot to the touch all across his cheeks and up his ears. He snorted quietly, loving his mom just a little bit more, since those teases had stopped working when they came from Katsuki ages ago. Because his eyes were trained on Izuku's face, it was only when Izuku's jaw dropped that Katsuki turned to the now open passenger door, where his mother was looking quite pleased with herself.

The floorboard was stacked with bento boxes, tied with ribbon so that they'd survive the car ride. It was too many to estimate at a glance, probably somewhere between one dozen and two. Enough to fill their freezer and then some.

"Just to give you a bit of a head start," Mitsuki said, her voice more affectionate than Katsuki might have expected.

It was sweet. It was so sweet that his stomach gurgled and seized around it for a moment before settling, better than before. Instead, his throat tightened, and he tried to say something, one of the kind, gracious words that had been hammered in his head as a kid but were always so hard to deliver back. Instead he nodded stiffly.

"We'll wash and return them as soon as we can."

When he met his mother's eyes, they were soft. People had always said to him growing up how harsh red eyes were. Aggressive, frightening, even demonic. How they made perfect sense for someone like him. He'd so often seen that reflected in his mother's eyes as well, but not now. Not in hers, and not in his son's, who wore nothing but softness behind those glowing, vermillion eyes. Maybe his own eyes looked like that too.

They must have, because as he looked at Mitsuki, it seemed she knew just what he'd been trying to say anyway.

Once the Bakugous pulled up to their apartment complex, Izuku and Katsuki were forced to give in to the car seat.

Supposedly it converted from a seat to a carrier, but with Mitsuki shouting directions over Katsuki's shoulder while Masaru struggled with the instruction pamphlet, Katsuki grabbed Sugu, and then shoved the carrier in Izuku's arms. It had taken a few shouts across the sidewalk to convince the Bakugous to let Izuku and Katsuki get settled on their own, but with a promise to visit soon, and a heap of bento boxes on the sidewalk, the two drove off.

Katsuki was through the lobby, and pushing the button to call the elevator before he even realized he was holding Sugu.

It surprised him in a way it probably shouldn't have. This was what they had been preparing for nonstop over the past twenty-four hours. What had fueled every conversation, every action, every thought since he'd arrived at the hospital the day before. Yet with little Sugu now in his arms, he was hyperconscious. The crash course lessons with the nurse for feeding, swaddling, diaper changing, and even holding him for skin to skin were all bleeding together. Was he holding him correctly? Was he comfortable?

Katsuki gripped the baby tight. So long as he didn't end up on the ground, it was fine.

Even twenty-four hours of research, however, couldn't prepare Izuku or Katsuki for what they saw when they finally shoved their way inside their apartment.

"Deku," Katsuki breathed, adjusting his hold on Sugu, resting the baby's little chin against his neck instead of his hard shoulder. "Did you…give your mom your credit card?"

"We…" Izuku's voice trailed off as he quietly dropped the carrier, stacked high with all the bento boxes on the floor just past the genkan. "We have a joint one."

"Well, I hope it's not attached to your savings," Katsuki said as he stepped further in, looking around.

In their time living together, Katsuki and Izuku had managed to acquire very few things for their 1DK apartment. A sleeper sofa, a coffee table, a rug, a fully stocked kitchen, and not much more than a bed and a dresser in the bedroom. Aside from the All Might products that had slowly migrated from Inko's apartment to theirs, the space admittedly didn't have much personality.

Until now.

Now, the theme was A baby lives here, with All Might's primary colors now only providing the tip of the Crayola box. And that was just the kitchen.

Katsuki was already identifying many of the products from the articles he'd read about bottles and formula and diapers and their ilk. The first two items were covering the entire kitchen counter, the bottles already kindly washed and resting upside down. They'd have to venture further into the house to find out about the rest.

"My baby!"

From the recesses of the bedroom, Inko came running, a tiny blanket in hand. Without a glance toward Izuku, she ran right up to Katsuki, standing slightly on tiptoe so as to be at eye level with Sugu, cooing as soon as she caught a glance of his chubby cheek pressed against Katsuki's neck. Izuku chuckled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Guess I'm not your baby anymore?"

"Oh, Izuku!" Inko took a moment more looking at the baby before turning towards Izuku, throwing the small blanket over her shoulder before taking his hands in hers. Already, her eyes were watering, scrunching the rest of her face up as if trying to create layers of barriers—squinting eyelids, crinkled cheeks—to keep the tears from falling. They didn't stand a chance. "Izuku."

"Mom."

It was one of those frowns that Katsuki could never make sense of. Where Izuku's lips turned down as deeply as one of Katsuki's worst scowls would, save for a small upturn right at the corners. It was a frown, it should have been a frown, but with Izuku's soft eyes, round as ever, he couldn't call it anything but a smile. And then it disappeared into his mother's shoulder as she began to weep.

"O-Oh, look at all those bentos," Inko commented through tears. "Let me help you with those, Izuku."

She tried to pull away but was yanked back in a move that Katsuki knew only too well. "No, Mom, don't worry about it, please. You've done so much already—look at this place!"

"I'm just…just trying to give you your best chance, Izuku."

The tears that had never quite stopped picked up again, dripping down Inko's face and darkening the sleeve of Izuku's tee as they embraced.

"If you got their crying genes, kid, I swear to God," Katsuki murmured as he walked around them.

It wasn't a moment Katsuki needed to be a part of. So with Sugu still resting, slowly making a wet patch of drool on Katsuki's neck, he walked to the counter. With one hand, he filled the electric kettle and set it to heat. They'd probably need some boiled water soon enough to make a fresh batch of formula, and everyone else could use some tea.

As the stovetop began to heat, Katsuki stepped away, taking stock of the rest of their apartment's transformation. A number of pieces were still in boxes, yet to be put together, but beside the couch was some kind of a bouncer. There was a changing table against the wall with stacks upon stacks of disposable diapers next to it, as well as a diaper genie. There were bags of clothes and a large, flat box with the image of a dresser on it.

"I hope you like all this shit," Katsuki mumbled as he did a three-sixty turn around the small room, "else it's coming out of your college account."

The little onesies were hardly bigger than Katsuki's stretched-out crew socks. They'd have to be outgrown in a week, right? Or a month, tops? Then they'd just have to buy more and more until the little bastard finally decided to quit growing. Katsuki considered pressuring his parents into developing a clothing line for babies, or perhaps his and Izuku's merchandise developers could. Something that would provide some samples before their closet became a reliquary for once-worn shirts and outgrown pants.

The sound of the kettle flicking off reached Katsuki even over the continued sobbing in the kitchen. He left it. He was going to make formula first, and he was pretty sure the water would have to be cooler. Instead, he sat on the couch and shifted Sugu to his lap.

He swore, even in just one day, Sugu's face was different. He looked less like an old man whose face had given up on elasticity and more like…Izuku.

It was the hair, sure, but also the chubby cheeks and the eyes that, when open, took up half of his round little face. Maybe after a couple years of being kissed by the sun he'd have the same freckles climbing up his cheeks.

Still, he was all wrinkly and deflated like over-proofed dough, his skin dry in a couple patches. Katsuki softly pressed his index finger into one chubby cheek.

"Ugly," he said with a smile. "Such a fucking lump."

"Hey," Katsuki heard coming into the room. He looked up from one set of squishy cheeks to another, Izuku smiling with sinisterly narrowed eyes. "Didn't you say he looked like me? And now you say he's ugly?"

Katsuki grinned, savage. "Exactly."

Izuku reached out with grabby hands, flicking his fingers open and closed in front of Katsuki's face. "Gimme."

"Fine, see for yourself."

Izuku hoisted Sugu from Katsuki's lap, and held him out in front of him. The guy was so little, Izuku could fit his diapered rump in one hand, and wrap the other behind his back to keep him practically seated, holding up his head with only a few fingers. The nurse had said it was perfectly normal for babies to lose weight in the first days after birth, or "birth" in Sugu's case, but he was just so tiny. Katsuki could hardly believe it.

"A very handsome man," Izuku determined. "Just like his dad."

"Only if you're talking about me," Katsuki quipped. The joke felt off, like it tilted reality sideways. But the truth was, reality had already been set that way and this was the best he could do to find his footing.

"Yes, definitely," Izuku agreed. "The handsomest."

Katsuki blinked at the sight before him. Izuku, grinning as he held a baby with unmistakable features of the two of them. He hardly breathed, the moment needing protection like museum masterpieces—a special glass box so that it would stay untarnished by breath or light. There was something so different in watching Izuku hold him that brought clarity to Katsuki. The three of them were one now.

"How'd you lose your mom?" Katsuki asked, nearly choking the words out as he forced himself to lean back on the sofa.

"Mom insisted on putting the bentos away—I couldn't talk her out of it," Izuku explained as he brought Sugu to the crook of his arm.

"She's a goddamn madwoman."

"Yeah," Izuku agreed, looking back to the kitchen. "I hope…I hope that I can be just as good as her."

His gaze drew back to Sugu like a magnet, bouncing a little in a way that made him look unduly expert.

"Forget that shit," Katsuki said abruptly. "You're not gonna be like her. You're gonna be something else."

"Yeah…Yeah, I guess you're right."

Once they fell quiet, Sugu began wriggling in Izuku's arms, obviously taking the lull as his opportunity to share. Little whines fell from his mouth, so different from any sound adults made, even instinctively when they were in stress. But the sound zinged through Katsuki's bones, alerting him into action as quickly as a particular ping on his phone did for work.

Except when his phone sounded, he had immediate steps. Read the reported intel, prepare his costume if it wasn't already one-hundred percent, and take off ready to fight. Now, those highly trained fight reflexes were left impotent, charging adrenaline through his veins, useless as he sat on the couch, watching Izuku's eyes widen in similar alarm.

"Kacchan," Izuku started, his voice serious. "Do not say anything."

"The fuck did I do?" Katsuki asked, bewildered.

"Just…" Izuku held up a hand in wait. Then, with a twinge of regret on his face, Izuku yelled, "Mom?"

Izuku's voice came like a flashback, inflected with tones from childhood. A voice that had once cried about long-forgotten fears—getting lost only four blocks away from home, being out too late after dark with dusty-winged moths flying up to their flashlights.

They were still fucking kids, the both of them. Katsuki thought he'd outgrown that designation at sixteen, risking life and limb for the world. Doing the job of adults when they'd failed to step up. But here they were, helpless in a new sphere, nearly as dependent as the baby on Izuku's lap. Two generations crying out to the elder for guidance.

"Just in time," Inko said as she hurried in, bottle in hand. "If you don't smell anything, he's probably just hungry."

With only one arm, Inko took Sugu from Izuku and expertly led his mouth to the nipple of the bottle.

"Ooh, a good latch," Inko cooed. "A very good boy. Sometimes it's easier with bottles than breastfeeding. You boys are lucky in that way. And be sure to tilt the bottle so it's not straight up."

"O-Okay," Izuku said behind a muffling hand, brows furrowed. He took a step back, knees hitting the front of the couch, and Katsuki stood up to put a steadying hand behind his back.

"You good?"

"God, I'm so not ready for this," Izuku murmured as he sunk into the couch, his voice muffled in both hands as the other came up to squish his cheeks miserably. "So, so, so, so, so not ready for this."

The words echoed in Katsuki's own head, ringing true with sympathetic resonance. Izuku's voice dug out those same thoughts from Katsuki's head—ideas he was actively still shoveling under layers of research and rationale—and let them breathe. Breathe when Katsuki needed them to choke.

"Wow, and here I thought I was going out with the Deku who can do it," Katsuki said, glancing slowly over at Izuku, eyebrows arched in challenge.

The words had their intended effect, bringing Izuku's eyes, sharp and clear, right to Katsuki's.

Those words, the words behind Izuku's hero name, behind the simple act of reclaiming it—Katsuki never forgot, even though Izuku had not once mentioned it—had made this relationship possible. Katsuki's whole life had been a front-row seat to Izuku, running uphill while Katsuki sprinted down a slope that declined gently and easily. That hill had been cranked nearly perpendicular to the ground when Izuku had lost his quirk, but he'd kept running anyway. Because if anyone could do it, Izuku could.

"We can do it," Izuku shot back, as though Katsuki was the one he was arguing with. He whipped back towards his mother, jaw set and square. "Mom, can I try?"

Inko blinked up from her own little world with Sugu. "Oh—of course, honey."

Katsuki watched as Izuku took the baby, mimicking his mother's actions angle for angle. He was as quick a study as he was when he was pilfering hero moves from Katsuki. Studying and repeating the form.

"He has to suck, because then he'll stop when he's full," Inko instructed. "Don't let it just pour out or he'll over-feed."

"Got it," Izuku said, tilting the bottle down just a little lower.

"You boys have a little angel on your hands," Inko said. "So good with the bottle. I tell you, Izuku was so slow to latch—I kept having to have sessions with a lactation consultant every—"

"Mom!" Izuku interrupted desperately, face flushing.

"Sorry," Inko apologized, if slightly disingenuously. "You'll find a great deal of modesty fades away once you have a baby."

"W-Well, it can fade a little later!" Izuku sputtered, indignant.

"Alright, alright," Inko said, flashing a slightly chastened look at Katsuki before returning to Sugu. "Looks like he's about finished."

Sugu wasn't suckling any longer, with little dribbles of milk falling from the corners of his mouth. Inko reached over with the cloth on her shoulder and dabbed them away.

"Already so sleepy again," Izuku observed as he moved the bottle away. Sugu's round little chest was moving up and down evenly, and those big eyes of his were closed. Only his mouth was open, left slack like he'd forgotten about it.

"The bassinet's all set up," Inko said, looking towards the bedroom. "I'm afraid a few of the bigger pieces still need to be constructed."

"Please, Mom, you've already done so much," Izuku said as he passed through to the bedroom. "So, so much."

As the Midoriyas—all three of them—left the room, Katsuki's phone went off in his pocket. As he turned the ringer down, he saw the contact calling him was an old man emoji, yellow and balding, and a flame. Yesterday, Izuku and Katsuki both had hastily called off for the next few days as a buffer before they figured out a long-term plan. Endeavor knew why, and therefore had virtually no reason to be calling them.

Katsuki flicked the green answer button with his thumb.

"What."

"Dynamight," Endeavor began, and just the mention of Katsuki's hero name had him sharp at attention. The haze of the last twenty-four hours burned away like a dream the moment eyes flicked open in the morning and he was back in his old life. "Is now a good time?"

"If you're calling, it must not matter."

"Your villain was caught in another district, but we brought him here for questioning. I thought you'd like to know."

"Bet your sweaty ass," Katsuki replied, already patting his pants pockets for his wallet and keys. Wallet, check—the keys were by the door. "Deku!"

It only took a moment for Izuku to step out of the bedroom, head cocked in confusion as Katsuki clicked the phone onto speaker.

"We have some fucking questions," Katsuki continued once Izuku was listening as well.

"I thought you might. We'll hold him for you and send details in the meantime."

"Peachy," Katsuki replied. "We'll be there."

Katsuki hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket, mind already racing. There were no coincidences in heroics. That's what the amateurs got wrong, and Katsuki was no amateur.

"Kacchan," Izuku said disapprovingly. "We still need to work on your goodbyes."

"If that old timer was ever number one, he can handle it," Katsuki assured. "They caught yesterday's hardhead."

"Oh," Izuku said, sobering immediately. "Good—that was fast."

"Shoulda been faster," Katsuki said, the bitterness corroding the armor he'd tried to build against it. Some two-bit hero shouldn't have gotten his win.

"Work calling?" Inko asked nervously as she stepped out of the bedroom.

As open and joyful as Inko's face had been upon seeing Sugu, now it pinched at the mention of heroics. Even her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself unnoticeable to it.

"Yeah," Izuku said regrettably. "Don't worry, Mom, you can go."

"Okay, honey," Inko said, grabbing her purse. "Be safe."

Izuku gave his mother one firm hug, and she was out of the house with a whiff of cleaning product and warm milk.

After the war, Inko and Izuku had stopped talking about heroics almost entirely. After All Might passed, it only got quieter. Katsuki was never sure what factor Izuku's renewed quirklessness had played into it, or even if the two of them had ever had an actual discussion about the boundary, but it had been firmly in place for years now. No talk of heroics around Inko unless she needed to know. Unthinkable as it was to Katsuki, when he remembered Izuku's injuries—the broken bones, the coma, One For All leaving him for good—Katsuki was willing enough to go along with it.

"Okay, you heard him," Katsuki said, making for the genkan. "They have the villain and he's being questioned. If that fire-breathing circus act knows what's good for him, he's texting us a briefing right now. Let's go."

"Right," Izuku said, spinning around through the colorful wreckage that had once been their home before he patted his pants and found his essentials. "Masks? Hats?"

Katsuki eyed the facemasks on the key hook by the door. He and Izuku took advantage of slight disguises at times when they were out, particularly if they were looking to be more discreet or in a hurry. And they were definitely the latter.

Before Katsuki could answer, though, Izuku gasped, whipping back to the bedroom.

"Sugu!"

Katsuki's heart plummeted. Even if he was still an idiot at this, he knew that they couldn't leave a baby alone, despite the fact that he was apparently fast asleep.

"Fuck," he muttered before turning back to the front door. "Maybe Auntie is still here."

He whipped the door open, but there was no one patiently awaiting the elevator. She was already gone.

"Okay, it's okay," Izuku said as though trying to talk himself down from a panic. He looked up at Katsuki with sudden confidence. "We bring him."

"What?" Katsuki asked.

"Think about it—there's almost nowhere more secure than a hero's headquarters, and we don't even have to be in the room with the villain," Izuku rationalized. "It'll be fine."

Katsuki glanced at the failed convertible car seat by the door. Then back up at the key hooks.

"Then we definitely need the masks."

"Deku, if you keep muttering those damn instructions out loud I'm gonna have them memorized."

Izuku blinked out of the pamphlet for the car seat, looking out the windshield to uncross his eyes. Their surroundings were familiar, so the fuzz coating Izuku's eyes faded quickly as he took in the streets coming up to Endeavor's agency.

"I just don't know why it's so complicated…" Izuku muttered, turning back to the characters in his lap and then the rear-facing car seat beside him.

"Fucking finally," Katsuki groaned as his phone buzzed in his hand.

"What's it say?"

Katsuki glanced toward their driver—with the Bakugous long gone, and public transport still an unimaginable option, it had been their only choice—and held out his phone between the both of them in favor of reading it aloud.

The villain was confirmed to be a mutant, as Izuku and Katsuki had figured out. He had no prior arrests save for a general disorderly conduct one a year earlier. No evidence of chronic villainy and he was suspected not to be affiliated with any villainous organization. However, marked under accomplices was unknown.

"Fucking useless," Katsuki grumbled as he shoved the phone into his pocket, brushing Izuku's thigh as he did so. "I guess we'll just find out ourselves."

They were rolling up to the agency, and Izuku hiked up the diaper bag his mother had presciently packed higher on his shoulder. As Katsuki got out of the car, Izuku turned to the car seat, where a satiated Sugu was sleeping like a prince.

"Okay, so a handle, something is supposed to convert to a handle."

He poked around the underside, but couldn't see the bits that resembled the instructions, wondering if the Bakugous had bought the device in one piece or if they'd assembled it, perhaps incorrectly. Before he could look any further, the seat was ripped out of the car, Katsuki hefting it with both arms.

"No time to play Transformers, Deku," he said before promptly kicking the door shut.

Izuku looked at the driver and smiled hastily. "Aritgatou," he rushed out as he followed Katsuki.

As Izuku stepped onto the sidewalk, a tingle shivered down the back of his neck. Not Danger Sense of course, but not entirely dissimilar either. He glanced around the street in front of the agency and made eye contact with no fewer than five people, even from under the brim of his cap. He caught the eye of a few phones too and lowered his gaze.

"Masks seem to be working," Katsuki groused sarcastically. "Let's go."

Izuku fell in step with Katsuki, murmuring from underneath his mask, "Have you looked online since yesterday?"

They'd both spent much of the last day on their phones, but Izuku had turned off his social media notifications years ago. They'd been too much to keep up with during the war and then afterwards…he couldn't take the sympathy.

He hadn't seen a thing on Twitter or from the press. And though there hadn't been too many people around come the end of the fight, he had saved Sugu in public. He and Katsuki had gone home with him in public. Perhaps the Internet thought it knew something already.

Izuku jogged in front of Katsuki to open the door for him, earning him a dry, sidelong look. It wasn't as though Katsuki had so much as a pinky finger to spare on the heavy agency door, so Izuku just grinned as Katsuki passed through.

The two of them had walked through that hobby in all manners of state. Late for a shift and sprinting past reception, Katsuki elbowing people as Izuku apologized. Dragging each other's bloody, haggard asses on the way to a long shower and the first aid cabinet. Smug, following a victory where quirklessness had not stopped Izuku from saving the day.

Now they strolled through, Katsuki's head held high underneath his quasi-disguise, carrying a baby in the most conspicuous way possible. Izuku lengthened his strides and reached in front of Katsuki again to call the elevator. They stepped in, the car mercifully empty mid-afternoon.

When the elevator pinged open on the upper floor, Endeavor was there. His eyes flickered to the baby and then between Katsuki and Izuku. He gave a stone-faced nod and little else. "Looks like you made it."

"Have we ever missed a call before?" Katsuki asked, shouldering his way out of the elevator—a job made much more unwieldy with his arms wrapped around a large baby seat. "Just show us the bastard."

Endeavor grunted, sparing one more unreadable glance at Sugu before leading the group to whichever interrogation room the guy had been stuffed into. As Izuku followed behind, he caught the eyes of their fellow heroes, all of whom turned to look at their unusual crew walking through the bullpen. No one said anything, and Izuku couldn't parse if it was because Endeavor had said something or if perhaps HR had sent an email blast addressed to everyone but him and Katsuki.

"The villain is willing to talk," Endeavor continued, bringing Izuku back to the case. "He's looking for a lighter sentence in exchange for cooperation."

"Good," Katsuki grunted. " 'Cause he's gonna whether he wants to or not."

"You could hope so," Endeavor said, coming to a stop in front of a pane of single-sided glass. "Right over here."

Izuku only needed to glance to know they'd gotten the right guy. Despite most of the villain's strength being in his upper body, his sheer size had his thighs dwarfing the chair in front of the interrogation table. He had a thick pair of handcuffs on with an equally thick chain. Whether they were quirk-canceling or not was anyone's guess, since there wasn't much one could do to deaden a mutant quirk. Those horns were as big and gnarled as ever, and Izuku was curious for more information about them. But before Izuku could consider any of those questions thoroughly, Katsuki was shoving the carrier in Izuku's hands and had his thumb and forefinger on the mic.

"Hey, shithead!"

The villain's head whipped toward the ceiling, where the lone speaker was.

"You didn't steal anything, you didn't injure anyone. There's no fucking reason you should have to not be able to control your quirk," Katsuki said, listing the arguments on his fingers, despite being unseen by the villain. Meanwhile, Izuku set the car seat down on the floor and unbuckled Sugu before taking him into his arms. "What, you just like chaos? If so, just look around Tokyo tower during tourist season and get your fill."

The villain chuckled and Katsuki's grip on the skinny microphone neck grew choking. Izuku shifted Sugu to one arm and patted Katsuki on the shoulder.

"Ooh, someone's butthurt that some villain managed to get away, huh? A bit of a sore loser, maybe?"

The microphone crackled overhead, wires squeezed a little too tightly. Katsuki's grip loosened, but the tension remained in his neck, in his shoulders. He took a hard swallow.

"Pretty fucking smug for someone locked in an interrogation room," Katsuki continued. "So tell me, you just like wrecking people's day? Scaring the shit outta people?"

"No," the villain said, looking towards the glass, eyes aimed right over where Katsuki's head actually was. "I like money."

"I like money too. That's why I got a job."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you don't have to go to the cash," the villain replied smugly. "Sometimes it comes to you."

"Who paid you off?" Izuku nearly shouted as he snatched the mic from Katsuki's grip. "And why?"

"I dunno," the villain said, and flippant though it was, it seemed sincere. Izuku pursed his lips, inclined to believe him.

The villain was being surprisingly loose-lipped, and Izuku could only assume that it was not just because of the promise of a lighter sentence, but also because he had nothing to gain by keeping things quiet. The guy must have gotten his money already, and, as stated in the report, he wasn't associated with any known organization—that hadn't been who had paid him off. If so, he'd keep the truth to save his life. But if he was willing to share, then his life must not be in danger.

"Do you know any details?" Izuku pressed. "Did you ever meet them in person?"

"They approached me," the villain answered. "Talked at me from behind—"

"What kind of voice?" Izuku interrupted eagerly.

"Normal? Male?" the villain offered and Izuku mentally noted that down. "Talked at me from behind, told me not to turn around. He handed me money, told me to wreak havoc in that area at that time, said my quirk was perfect for it."

"A distraction," Izuku muttered off mic, looking at Katsuki meaningfully. His gaze fell to the face smooshed sleepily in the crook of his elbow. A very convenient distraction.

"What else?" Katsuki asked, taking the mic back.

"So I did!" the villain continued. "I'm taking classes I can barely afford as is. I wasn't gonna say no to that wad of cash. And I didn't kill anyone—just wrecked some cars. As you should notice."

"We're very aware," Endeavor said. "Is that all you have to tell us?"

As the villain shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, Izuku heard soft chuffing against his arm. "Uh-oh," he said, and a moment later the noise grew to a wail. He looked up at an equally wide-eyed Katsuki and Endeavor. "Um. Go on without me."

Without awaiting a response as the cries only grew louder, Izuku stepped away from the interrogation room. He brought Sugu up to a more secure two-armed hold and began shushing the baby, rocking him lightly. Maybe it had just been a bad bit of sleep. Did babies get nightmares? What could be scary to an infant?

"Okay…" Izuku muttered as he rushed through the floor. He didn't have a personal office to hide in—he wasn't ranked highly enough for that. Abruptly, Izuku spotted one of the bathrooms and swept in with relief. "You just ate, so it shouldn't be that…"

There was no changing table in this restroom. Not in the whole office, as far as Izuku knew. Izuku patted where Sugu's diaper was hiding under his clothes. It didn't feel heavy like it had been soiled, he didn't think. Suddenly, he couldn't remember how light the diaper had felt when it was fresh. He hooked his hands under Sugu's arms and brought him up to eye level, taking in the reddening, bawling face. He'd taken on more of a beige color since Izuku had found him, but now he was returning to that ruddy newborn color.

"Is it your diaper, buddy?" Izuku asked, a slight dose of panic growing in his belly. He winced as the screaming grew louder, little fisted hands waving through the air. "Well, we know you'll be a good fighter, huh?"

Maybe he'd change the diaper anyway. It couldn't hurt, right? He could get a towel or something and just do it on the floor…maybe not in the restroom, but perhaps in a corner somewhere?

Izuku groaned, wracking his brain. This just wasn't the place to have a baby. It was too raucous for him and yet the baby screaming intermittently was too distracting for the employees. And what was he supposed to do when he and Katsuki were back on the clock and called out to a mission? There wasn't a nursery, no sitter that they could call. Izuku looked at that gummy mouth, screaming and gulping, and suddenly his eyes widened.

"Or do you need to burp?" Izuku gasped. He hadn't burped after his last meal, not that Izuku knew of. "Let's…let's try that."

Hesitantly, Izuku brought Sugu to his shoulder. He'd read articles about this. Babies tended to swallow some air while they nursed and it gave them bellyaches if they weren't able to expel the gas on their own.

"Okay, buddy, let's give this a try," Izuku said, raising a hand to Sugu's back. He gave a hesitant tap, then another. His hands were so thoroughly trained for violence; they'd been destroyed and rebuilt time and again in the pursuit of that violence. Now he had support item after support item to continue that cause. To enhance his strength in battle, give him a fighting chance against villains with physical quirks. He'd never used anything to make himself weaker. But his first few little pats didn't seem to do anything.

Izuku cupped his hand. Less surface area, less force. With that buffer, he patted a little harder, and in only a few moments, Sugu gave a little hiccup, a drop of drool oozing from his mouth.

"Oh!" Izuku exclaimed as the crying stopped. He waited a moment more, but the bathroom remained silent. "Oh, good job, little man!"

Izuku wiped Sugu's messy chin with his bare hand before running it under the faucet and grabbing a paper towel. He dabbed the damp towel around Sugu's mouth and smiled. Good as new.

Just then he heard a flush, and a young man eyed him strangely as he walked out of a stall to the sinks.

"Uh, hi?" Izuku said awkwardly.

The man blinked. "You know how hard it is to take a shit when there's a baby screaming?"

"Oh," Izuku intoned, flushing. "Sorry."

"What'd I miss?" Izuku asked as he jogged back to the interrogation room. Sugu was back soundly asleep, resting against Izuku's shoulder.

Katsuki eyed Endeavor with a scowl. "You tell him."

"What?" Izuku suddenly asked. "Bad news from the villain? Was he lying? I really didn't think he was."

"No," Endeavor replied, glancing once more at Katsuki before returning to Izuku. "I'd advise you to—"

"He wants a DNA test!" Katsuki accused. "All three of us!"

"What?" Izuku asked again. "Why?"

"I actually didn't get through explaining that," Endeavor said, looking harried. "Of course, it's smart for the obvious reason." Katsuki scoffed. "But you also might want to know…if he has a quirk."

The possibility of it poured like cold water over Izuku, rendering him heavy and sodden. A quirk. From the most obvious genetic perspective, there was a fifty percent chance that he had a quirk from Katsuki. And another fifty percent chance that from Izuku…

He was quirkless.

Memories tornadoed through Izuku's psyche. Years of dreaming of a quirk, all for it to be crushed by a cold stranger in a white lab coat. His mother's distress and the lifetime she'd spent making up for it, feeling like she'd had to, even during the brief period of time Izuku had been blessed with a quirk. The memories had Izuku biting old chapped spots on his lips, trying to keep it all in, in. And the weight of Katsuki's gaze was on him the whole time.

After a moment, it faded away and Izuku watched Katsuki turn and bark to Endeavor, "Why?"

"Because," Endeavor insisted, "Deku, you carried One For All. It was in your DNA. For all you know, it might still be there, and if it is then, well, it's not a quirk that we'd want to be caught off-guard by."

Izuku swallowed dry. "One For All?"

Endeavor stared. "It's something you'd want to know for sure."

"Tch," Katsuki said, shaking his head at Endeavor. "Sure that's what you think."

Endeavor didn't entertain a reply, keeping his focus on Izuku. "We're all thinking the same thing here. If using this quirk on you was premeditated, then we have to ask why. What would a baby of yours do to benefit a villain?"

The question held in the air, thick and stuffy like a hot attic. When the weight of it grew unbearable, Izuku nodded.

"We'll do it," he agreed. Then he shifted his weight and looked down at his old, familiar red shoes. "And until we know what's going on, Sugu and I are going to be staying at home. Indefinitely."