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Izuku is being shaken awake, and he's not a fan.
"Mom, noooo," he mumbles into the... slab of concrete that is his pillow.
Wow, okay, weird.
"Wake up, you useless little piece of shit," says a voice.
A very annoyed, very male, distinctly un-Mom-like voice.
Izuku yelps and flails himself into a seated position, his heart beating wildly in his throat as he looks around himself. He appears to be in a warehouse, if the floor-to-high-ceiling mountains of boxes all over the place are any indication. It's impossible to tell if it's day or night in the huge, windowless space, but it's kind of cold and dark, with just some electric lights turned down to a glimmer.
The hero sitting next to him on the ground rolls his eyes behind his black mask. Izuku has no idea who he is — he's a hundred percent sure he's never seen this costume before — but there's something eerily familiar about him; his spiky hair, his voice, the way he's looking at Izuku like Izuku's the single most irritating person he's ever encountered in his life.
"Kacchan?" Izuku blurts, immediately flushing with embarrassment. Kacchan is twelve, this hero is clearly an adult, there's no way—
"At least we know you're not brain damaged," says Future Kacchan, before thoughtfully adding, "More brain damaged than you already were, anyway."
Izuku gapes.
"We really don't have time for this shit," Kacchan says before Izuku could even think of asking anything, and for the first time, Izuku notices the note of urgency in his voice. "How old are you?"
"Um. Twelve."
"Fucking incredible. Okay, long story short: you're twenty-three, you're a hero, you are in the middle of a fight with some creeps, one of 'em apparently has a de-aging quirk. Got that?"
Izuku stares at him.
Kacchan sighs. "Whatever. Just shut the fuck up and try to keep up with me, because there's no way I'm carrying you any further."
To illustrate his point, Kacchan waves a hand at his own right leg, stretched out awkwardly in front of him. The dark, sturdy-looking material of his pants is torn over his shin, glistening with—
"Oh my God you're bleeding," Izuku exclaims breathlessly. He squints at the little bit of bloodstained skin visible through the tear, trying to make out the wound, and that's when he catches a glimpse of something white sticking out of Kacchan's leg. Something jagged and off-white, actually, kind of like a piece of broken...
Oh, so that's what an open fracture looks like in real life.
Izuku gasps, more startled than pained, when Kacchan's open palm connects with his cheek in a no-nonsense slap.
"Hey, eyes up here," Kacchan growls, and Izuku involuntarily raises his stinging eyes to Kacchan's pale, sweaty face, half-covered as it is by his domino. "Don't you fucking dare pass out again."
"I wasn't going to pass out," Izuku lies, sort of proud of himself when he manages to get the whole sentence out without hurling, which is what he actually feels like doing.
He's had some weird dreams in his life thanks to what his mom calls a 'highly creative mind' — known to the rest of the world, courtesy of Kacchan, as his 'freaky nerdiness' — but this one is totally kicking his ass.
"Shut up, you totally were," Kacchan says, sounding more resigned than anything. "We've got ten minutes, tops, before those assholes are all over us again, and fuck knows how far out Todoroki is. I need you to — hey, you listening to me? I absolutely need you to stick with me here and slap me awake if I pass out."
"Why would you pass out?" Izuku asks, hating how small his voice sounds to his own ears.
"Because I'm about to reset my leg and it's going to hurt like a bitch," Kacchan explains matter-of-factly. There's no bravado in his voice, no posing; he's just telling it how it is, and if possible that's even more surreal than the idea of Izuku becoming a hero in the future.
"Wait, can you do that? Reset your leg?" Izuku frowns. "You should probably wait for a doctor."
Kacchan laughs; a small, genuinely amused, totally alien sound.
"I can't feel my fucking foot, Deku, but I kinda still want to in the future. Chill, I've had worse. You've had worse."
"Oh my God," Izuku says faintly, trying really really hard not to imagine what having worse than this would feel like. "My future sounds awesome and terrible."
"It's technically your present but whatever, you can freak out about your shitty life choices as soon as we get out of here in more or less one piece. Here, hold these for me."
Kacchan shoves a roll of bandages at him, and Izuku closes his hand over the bundle instinctively.
"Don't let me pass out and for fuck's sake, don't watch," Kacchan instructs.
Izuku just nods. He wants to offer some kind of reassurance, but he's all choked up from nerves. He keeps his eyes on Kacchan's face as Kacchan removes his mask and unceremoniously stuffs it into his own mouth, his gaze intent on the horrifying mess that is his leg.
As it turns out, Izuku would have probably been better off watching the action itself. What usually consists of a yank and a manly grunt of pain in the movies seems to take ages of slow, careful manipulation. Kacchan is sweating buckets and making these absolutely awful sounds; little keening noises and labored pants around his makeshift gag which bring tears of sympathy to Izuku's eyes. But he keeps watching, because he feels like looking away would be like leaving Kacchan alone, and Izuku's never been any good at that.
After a small eternity, Kacchan finally takes the bandages from him and binds the wound with shaking hands. Then he just sits there for a minute or so, staring at some point over Izuku's head with glassy eyes, before very deliberately leaning over and puking all over the floor.
Izuku springs to his feet and then just kind of stands there, wringing his hands, wanting to help but unsure if touching Kacchan right now would make everything better or worse, or result in Izuku's immediate, violent demise.
He's still torn about what to do when Kacchan finishes heaving and wipes his mouth roughly with the back of his hand.
"Well, that was an experience."
Izuku laughs. It comes out sounding kind of hysterical, but that's basically how he's feeling so if nothing else, this much at least makes sense under the circumstances.
"Deku, give me your comm."
Izuku blinks. "My what?"
Kacchan waves a tired hand in the general direction of his own temple, and Izuku reaches up to his ear where, indeed, he finds a small earpiece he honestly didn't even feel was there. He immediately brings it closer to his face to examine it, making Kacchan groan in exasperation.
"Stop geeking out and just give me the fucking thing already."
Izuku hands it over sheepishly.
While Kacchan is busy growling barely intelligible obscenities at someone named Todoroki, Izuku finally takes a good look at himself. The costume — his hero costume, and how the heck did that even happen? — is kind of underwhelming, all things considered. It fits him perfectly, which is strange — he either remains five feet tall in adulthood, which would suck, or the simple black and dark green material is actually less simple than it appears at first glance. Maybe his quirk has to do with—
Waaait a minute.
"I have a quirk?" Izuku demands. "Kacchan! I have a quirk?"
Kacchan glances up and frowns at him, and Izuku can physically feel his excitement and delight evaporate. Kacchan looks absolutely terrible; pale as a ghost, his hair sticking to the cold sweat on his face in dark, limp locks.
"Yes, you have a quirk. It's a long story," Kacchan says. Just that, but Izuku can hear the plea in his voice; please don't ask.
"Okay."
Then Kacchan totally blows his mind by asking, "Are you alright?"
"Huh? Me?"
"No, Eggplant Man. Yes, you, dumbass. You okay? Aside from the whole shrinking thing."
"I... think so," Izuku says slowly, taking stock of his body. Besides a scraped elbow and a low-grade headache, he can't feel anything unusual.
"Kacchan?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we... like, okay? I mean," he hurries on when Kacchan gives him this completely incredulous look, "in general? Why were we together when this whole thing happened? Do we work together? I just don't get why you would... I mean, you hate me."
There's something fascinating about the way Kacchan's confused look gradually morphs into an alarmed one. Izuku honestly can't remember the last time he saw an expression on Kacchan's face which wasn't some shade of smug, disgusted or furious, and while the handsome hero before him is not his Kacchan, he also knows — feels, somewhere deep down inside — that this version of Bakugou Katsuki is the one he saw when they were barely more than toddlers, watching the heroes fight their battles on TV with twin looks of unadulterated adoration.
This isn't the same guy who kicked his chair out from under him in the middle of class yesterday, and laughed the loudest when Izuku banged his elbow into his desk on the way down so hard he saw stars. This Kacchan did that over a decade ago, and he also dragged Izuku here, to safety, on a broken leg.
"You hate me," Izuku repeats — he doesn't even know if he's asking or trying to convince himself, or maybe Kacchan. "You make my life a living hell because you hate my guts."
Kacchan licks his bloodless lips. It looks like a nervous habit, except Kacchan doesn't do nervous.
"Just... shut up, yeah? You don't get it, Deku. You never fucking did get it."
It could be a trick of the light or Izuku's imagination, but Kacchan almost seems relieved when a door bangs open somewhere on the far side of the warehouse.
"Get behind me. And get ready to run for the door when I tell you to."
Izuku frowns.
"What about you?"
"That's none of your business, is it?"
"But—"
"For once in your life, Deku, just once, could you shut the fuck up and show some self-preservation?" Kacchan hisses, his grip like a vice as he yanks Izuku down on the ground, shielding him with his body.
Then a sardonic voice calls, "Don't blow me up, Bakugou," and Kacchan slumps like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Suck my dick, Todoroki."
"I take it you're more or less fine, then," says the man as he finally comes into view. He has massively cool hair, and one of those more-dashing-than-horrifying facial scars. "Alright there, Midoriya?"
"He's fine. He's also twelve in the head."
Todoroki blinks.
"I see. Well, we have the age quirk guy in custody."
"Thank fuck," Kacchan mutters. "I've already lived though the era of Pubescent Deku once, no one needs a minute more of this shit."
Katsuki opens his front door, and immediately regrets it.
"Kacchan!" an all-grown-up Deku exclaims with that dumb grin that inexplicably won him a stint in a toothpaste commercial last year. Well, it was either his dumb grin or the fact that he's arguably the most kickass hero who's ever kicked ass.
Arguably.
"How's the leg?"
Katsuki shrugs. "Still attached. What do you want?"
"Why do you assume I want something?" Deku shoots back, all big-eyed mock-hurt. "Can't I just visit my... partner?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Isn't that what partners do?"
"I'm going to fucking blow your face off if you don't cut that out," Katsuki growls.
Deku drops the act and laughs; that irritating, full-on belly laugh which involves slapping Katsuki's arm repeatedly. He's much more gentle about it than he usually is, though, and as his laughter finally dies down into helpless little chuckles, he grips Katsuki's shoulder and yanks him into one of those epic, rib-creaking bro-hugs he usually reserves for special occasions. Like, we-literally-just-saved-the-city-and-possibly-humanity-itself-from-sure-destruction special occasions.
Katsuki stumbles into him mostly because he's only got one good leg to stand on, and maybe also because twelve-year-old Deku kind of freaked him the fuck out by bringing up all sorts of bad shit Katsuki has been trying really hard to forget. He hasn't been sleeping all that well, these past two days.
"You're so awkward," Deku murmurs with a smile in his voice. "This is why we don't let you handle old ladies and small children."
"This shit right here is the very definition of awkward," Katsuki mutters into his shoulder.
And if he kind of rests his forehead there for a little while, letting the best friend he sure as fuck doesn't deserve take most of his weight, there's no one around to call him on his weakness.