Hours later, Midoriya sat on the edge of an absurdly comfortable bed in one of Stark Tower's guest suites, his injuries treated and bandaged, his costume replaced with borrowed clothes that hung slightly loose on his frame. A tablet beside him displayed news coverage of the invasion's aftermath—reporters already calling it "The Battle of New York" and speculating on the identities of the "heroes" who had saved the city.
Some footage clearly showed him, Bakugo, and Todoroki fighting alongside the other heroes, though the coverage was blessedly too chaotic to provide clear identification. Still, phrases like "mysterious young powered individuals" and "teenage super-team" peppered the reports, causing Midoriya to wince slightly.
A knock at his door interrupted his browsing. He opened it to find Todoroki and Bakugo, similarly dressed in borrowed clothing, looking as exhausted as he felt.
"Can't sleep either?" Midoriya asked, stepping aside to let them in.
Todoroki shook his head, taking a seat in a nearby chair. His heterochromatic eyes reflected the city lights filtering through the window. "Too much to process."
Bakugo remained standing, arms crossed defensively across his chest. His shoulder had been properly treated and immobilized, though Midoriya suspected he'd remove the sling the moment medical supervision ended.
"So we're stuck here," Bakugo stated flatly, cutting to the heart of the matter with characteristic bluntness. "In some alternate universe with no quirks except for a handful of freaks and government experiments."
"They're not freaks," Midoriya corrected gently. "They're heroes. Different from what we're used to, but still heroes."
"Whatever," Bakugo dismissed. The events of the day had drained even his seemingly limitless capacity for antagonism. "Point is, we're trapped in a world where everything we've trained for doesn't exist the same way."
"Our quirks still work," Todoroki pointed out pragmatically. "And people still need saving. The context is different, but the essentials remain the same."
Midoriya nodded, grateful for Todoroki's grounding perspective. "And they believe us, which is huge. They're not treating us like we're crazy or making things up."
"Because they just fought actual aliens," Bakugo snorted. "Dimensional travelers probably seem mundane by comparison."
A small smile tugged at Todoroki's lips—a rare expression that indicated genuine amusement. "Fair point."
"Plus," Midoriya continued, his analytical mind already cataloging their advantages, "they have technology and resources we couldn't even imagine. If anyone can figure out how to send us home, it's probably them."
Bakugo paced the room restlessly. "And what if they can't? What if we're stuck here permanently?"
The question hung heavy in the air. It was the fear none of them had voiced until now—that their displacement might be permanent, their old lives lost forever.
"Then we adapt," Todoroki said simply. "We continue being heroes, just in a different world."
"Easy for you to say, Half-and-Half," Bakugo snapped, a flash of genuine vulnerability breaking through his anger. "Some of us actually have people waiting for us back home."
The implication—that Todoroki's difficult family situation made him less invested in returning—could have sparked a confrontation. Instead, Todoroki merely nodded, acknowledging the truth in Bakugo's words without taking offense.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't make light of what's at stake."
The mature response seemed to take even Bakugo by surprise. He looked away, uncomfortable with having his outburst met with understanding rather than the conflict he typically provoked.
"We'll find a way home," Midoriya promised, his voice steady with conviction. "All of us. Together. But until then, we do what heroes do—we help people, we learn, and yes, we adapt."
"We don't have much choice," Bakugo conceded grudgingly, dropping into a chair by the window. For a moment, his perpetual scowl softened as he gazed out at the unfamiliar skyline. "This world is messed up. No organized hero system, random vigilantes, government experiments—"
"And aliens," Todoroki added.
"And fucking aliens," Bakugo agreed with a hint of his usual fire. "They need all the help they can get."
Midoriya smiled slightly, recognizing the sentiment behind Bakugo's gruff assessment. For all his abrasiveness, Kacchan was determined to save and protect, even if his methods and motivation differed from Midoriya's own.
"First thing tomorrow, we need more information," Todoroki suggested, ever practical. "About this world, its history, how their powers work. If we're going to navigate this place, we need to understand it."
"And we need to figure out exactly what they want from us," Bakugo added with narrowed eyes. "That eyepatch guy didn't just let us stay out of the goodness of his heart. He wants something."
Midoriya nodded thoughtfully. "Director Fury. He seems... complicated."
"He seems like a manipulative bastard," Bakugo corrected bluntly.
"Feasible," Todoroki conceded. "But he also seems to be on the side of protecting this world. That aligns with our goals, at least temporarily."
The conversation continued late into the night, the three students planning and theorizing until exhaustion finally claimed them. Todoroki fell asleep in the chair, his dual-colored hair falling across his face in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. Bakugo, despite his insistence that he would return to his own room, eventually dozed off on the small sofa by the window, his injured arm cradled protectively against his chest.
Midoriya, watching his friends sleep, felt a strange mix of fear and hope. They were lost, far from home, in a world that operated by unfamiliar rules. But they were together. And somehow, against all odds, they had already found allies who believed them, who wanted to help.
Maybe, just maybe, they would be okay.
********
The morning brought a new perspective—literally.
From the heights of Stark Tower, the devastation of the previous day's battle was clearly visible across Manhattan's skyline. Cleanup crews were already at work, but the scale of destruction was sobering.
Midoriya stood at the window of the common area where they'd been directed for breakfast, taking it all in with wide eyes. In his world, villain attacks could cause significant damage, but nothing on this scale. The aliens—Chitauri, he'd heard them called—had been ruthlessly efficient in their destruction.
"Makes you appreciate the architectural redundancies I built into this place," Stark commented, appearing silently beside him with a cup of coffee in hand. Despite the early hour, he looked immaculate in a tailored suit, though dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept much. "Seventy floors down might be a write-off, but up here it's just cosmetic damage."
"It's impressive engineering," Midoriya agreed genuinely. "In Japan, we have buildings designed to withstand earthquakes and tsunamis, but alien invasions aren't exactly factored into building codes."
Stark's mouth quirked in amusement. "Not here either, until yesterday. But I'm a futurist—I design for contingencies others don't consider."
"Like interdimensional travelers appearing in your guest rooms?" Todoroki asked dryly, joining them at the window. Unlike Midoriya, who still wore the borrowed casual clothes from the night before, Todoroki had somehow acquired a simple button-down shirt and slacks that fit him perfectly.
"That one admittedly wasn't on my bingo card," Stark conceded. "But I'm adaptable."
He gestured toward a long table where breakfast was laid out. "Help yourselves. The others will be here soon for our little intercontinental—sorry, interdimensional—summit."
Bakugo emerged from the elevator, his expression suggesting he'd already been awake for hours. He'd removed the medical sling, as Midoriya had predicted, though he moved his injured arm carefully.
"What's this about a summit?" he demanded without preamble.
"Good morning to you too, Sparky," Stark replied, unfazed by Bakugo's abruptness. "We need to establish some ground rules and exchange information if you're staying here. Hence, summit. Very diplomatic."
Before Bakugo could retort, the elevator opened again, admitting Rogers, Banner, and Romanoff. All three looked rested and composed, though Rogers's concerned gaze immediately went to Bakugo's missing sling.
"You should keep that on for at least 48 hours," he advised, nodding toward Bakugo's shoulder.
"It restricts movement," Bakugo replied dismissively. "I can't train with it."
"Train?" Banner echoed with raised eyebrows. "You're planning to train? After yesterday?"
"Of course," Bakugo said, as if the question was ridiculous. "Heroes can't afford to get soft, especially in unfamiliar territory."
Midoriya recognized the defensive edge in Kacchan's voice. Training was his coping mechanism—what he did when situations were beyond his control. The familiar routine would help ground him in this strange new world.
"I'd like to train as well," Todoroki added quietly. "Maintaining our skills seems prudent."
Rogers and Romanoff exchanged a look that Midoriya couldn't quite interpret.
"There are training facilities on the lower levels that survived the attack," Stark offered, seemingly unconcerned. "JARVIS can direct you. Just try not to blow up anything structural, Sparky."
"Stop calling me that," Bakugo growled with a frustrated angry-frown on his face.
"We should eat first," Rogers suggested calmly. "You three need to recover, and we have a lot to discuss."
The group gathered around the table, creating an unusual breakfast tableau—three teenage heroes from another dimension dining with Earth's first assembled superhero team. The conversation began hesitantly but soon flowed more naturally as they moved past initial awkwardness.
"So in your world, most people develop these 'quirks' during childhood?" Banner asked, his scientific curiosity evident.
Midoriya nodded, momentarily swallowing a mouthful of food before answering. "Usually by age four. The first quirks appeared several generations ago, and now they're present in about 80% of the global population."
"Fascinating," Banner murmured. "A natural evolutionary development rather than artificial enhancement or mutation."
"Some quirks are inherited," Todoroki added, his gaze fixed on his plate. "Children often have quirks related to their parents' abilities."
"Like your ice and fire," Romanoff observed perceptively.
Todoroki nodded once, not elaborating further. The brief tension in his posture spoke volumes about the complicated relationship with his heritage—something Midoriya knew intimately but wasn't his story to share.
"And your quirk?" Rogers asked Midoriya directly. "That green energy and enhanced strength?"
Midoriya hesitated, suddenly acutely aware of One For All's secret nature. In their world, only a handful of people knew the truth of his quirk's origin. But here, did the same rules apply? There was no All For One in this world, no need to protect the secret of a transferable quirk.
Still, ingrained caution made him choose his words carefully. "It's called One For All. It enhances my physical abilities—strength, speed, agility. The green lightning is a visible manifestation of the energy."
"Inherited?" Banner asked.
Another hesitation. "In a manner of speaking."
Bakugo snorted derisively at the evasive answer but, surprisingly, didn't elaborate. Whatever his feelings about Midoriya's quirk, he clearly understood the importance of discretion in their current situation.
"And yours, Mr. Bakugo?" Rogers continued, diplomatically moving the conversation forward.
"Explosion," Bakugo replied simply, raising one palm where small sparks danced across his skin. "I secrete nitroglycerin-like sweat from my palms and can ignite it at will."
"That explains a lot," Stark muttered, though his expression showed genuine interest. "Chemical reaction rather than energy projection. Impressive control."
Bakugo looked momentarily surprised at the technical understanding, then nodded curtly, accepting the observation as the compliment it was intended to be.
"In our world, heroes are licensed professionals," Todoroki explained, steering the conversation toward the structural differences between their realities. "There are hero agencies, ranking systems, specialized training schools like U.A."
"An entire institutionalized superhero industry," Stark mused, looking both amused and intrigued by the concept. "Complete with teenage apprentices, apparently."
"We're not apprentices," Bakugo corrected sharply. "We're heroes-in-training. There's a difference."
"The licensing process is rigorous," Midoriya elaborated, hoping to provide context that would help them understand. "Academic education alongside quirk training, ethics courses, practical hero work supervised by pros. It's a structured path."
"Very different from here," Rogers observed thoughtfully. "Until yesterday, most of us operated independently, if at all."
"Some of us were supposed to stay off the radar entirely," Banner added with a self-deprecating smile. "So much for that plan."
"What about your world?" Midoriya asked, his innate curiosity pushing through his caution. "How did you all develop your abilities? Are there others like you?"
The team members exchanged looks, a silent communication passing between them.
"Each of us is... unique," Rogers answered carefully. "I received my abilities through a government program during World War II—a super-soldier serum that enhanced my physical attributes."
"Thor is... well, Thor is Thor," Stark added with a dismissive wave. "Literal god from another realm. Very theatrical about it all."
"I had an accident with gamma radiation," Banner said quietly, his expression shuttered. "The results were... unexpected."
"Trained assassin," Romanoff offered simply. "No enhancements, just skill."
"And I'm a genius who built a flying metal suit," Stark concluded with characteristic immodesty. "The point is, enhanced individuals are extremely rare here. Most people are entirely normal. Boring, really."
"Which is why your arrival caused such interest," Rogers continued, his tone becoming more serious. "In our world, three teenagers with your abilities appearing simultaneously would be unprecedented. Director Fury sees both opportunity and potential threat."
"We're not a threat," Midoriya insisted, leaning forward earnestly. "We just want to find a way home while doing what we can to help here."
"Noble sentiments," a new voice joined the conversation as Thor entered the room, his imposing presence commanding immediate attention. "But returning you to your realm may prove challenging even for Asgardian science."
"You've been thinking about this problem?" Banner asked, looking surprised.
Thor nodded gravely. "I consulted with Heimdall before returning. The guardian who watches over all Nine Realms sees no path between our universe and theirs. It is as if they come from beyond the branches of Yggdrasil itself."
Midoriya exchanged confused glances with his classmates. The terminology was unfamiliar, but the implication was clear—even beings with godlike powers saw no obvious way to send them home.
"So we're stuck here?" Bakugo demanded, his voice tight with controlled emotion.
"I did not say that," Thor clarified gently. "Merely that the path is not readily apparent. There are forces in the universe beyond even Asgardian understanding."
"The Tesseract," Rogers suggested thoughtfully. "It opened the portal for the Chitauri. Could it potentially—"
"Absolutely not," Stark interrupted firmly. "That thing's going back to Asgard with Loki, where it belongs. We're not messing with it again."
"The Tesseract is indeed powerful enough," Thor acknowledged, "but controlling it precisely enough to create a stable passage to a specific alternate dimension would require knowledge none of us possess."
"What exactly is the Tesseract?" Todoroki asked, his calculating gaze moving between the adults.
Another series of glances were exchanged, an unspoken debate about how much to reveal.
"It's a powerful artifact," Banner finally explained, choosing his words with evident care. "Energy source, doorway between worlds, potential weapon. We barely understand its capabilities."
"We weren't even attempting to use it as a portal when the Chitauri came through," Stark added. "That was all Loki's doing, using a specialized device and the scepter."
Midoriya's mind was already racing, making connections and forming hypotheses. "But if it has the power to create interdimensional pathways, theoretically it could send us home, right? With the right application and control mechanism?"
"Theoretically, yes," Banner conceded reluctantly. "But the practical challenges are enormous, and the risks—"
"We accept the risks," Bakugo cut in firmly. "It's our choice."
"It's not that simple," Rogers said, his voice gentle but firm. "The Tesseract isn't just dangerous—it's coveted by forces across the universe. Using it again could attract attention we're not prepared to face."
Midoriya felt hope and disappointment warring within him. A potential way home existed, but it was deemed too dangerous to attempt. The weight of their situation pressed down on him anew.
"What do you suggest, then?" Todoroki asked, his calm voice betraying no emotion, though Midoriya could see the tension in his shoulders.
"We explore alternatives," Banner offered. "I'd like to study your energy signatures, understand exactly how your transportation occurred. Maybe we can reverse-engineer a solution."
"And in the meantime?" Bakugo pressed, barely contained frustration evident in his voice.
It was Stark who answered, his normally flippant tone replaced with something more genuine. "In the meantime, you stay here. Train. Help. Learn about our world while we learn about yours." He gestured broadly. "Consider yourselves part of the team. Temporarily, at least."
Midoriya blinked in surprise, not having expected such a straightforward offer of inclusion. "You're serious?"
"Deadly," Stark confirmed. "You three have skills and abilities we could use. You need a safe place to stay while we figure out your ticket home. Seems like a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Tony," Rogers cautioned, "they're minors. We can't just recruit them."
"I'm not suggesting we send them into combat situations," Stark countered, rolling his eyes. "But they've already proven they can handle themselves. And frankly, the cat's out of the bag—footage of them fighting yesterday is all over the news. Keeping them close provides protection and supervision."
"I agree with Stark," Romanoff said unexpectedly. "They're already involved. Better they're with us than picked up by someone less... ethical."
The implication hung in the air—that in this world, enhanced individuals might be targets for organizations with dubious intentions.
"We accept," Midoriya said firmly, after a quick glance at his friends. Todoroki nodded once in agreement, while Bakugo's lack of objection constituted agreement in their shared understanding. "We appreciate your help, and we want to contribute while we're here."
"Then it's settled," Stark declared, clapping his hands together. "Three teenage superheroes from another dimension joining our merry band of misfits. Fury's going to love this." He sounded entirely pleased.
"Fury authorized temporary custodial oversight," Rogers reminded him. "Not recruitment."
"Semantics," Stark dismissed with a wave. "They're staying, they're training, they're helping. Call it what you want."
"There will need to be ground rules," Rogers insisted, his expression softening as he turned to the three students. "For your protection as much as anything else."
"We're used to rules," Midoriya nodded and assured him. "U.A. has strict protocols for hero activities."
"Good," Rogers nodded as well, looking somewhat relieved. "We'll work out the details. For now, you should continue recovering. Dr. Banner can begin his analysis when you're ready."
"I'm ready now," Bakugo declared, standing abruptly. "The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can go home."
Banner looked slightly taken aback by Bakugo's intensity but nodded. "I can start with basic readings today. My equipment is limited at the moment, but Tony's lab survived relatively intact."
"Use whatever you need," Stark offered. "JARVIS will give you access."
"JARVIS?" Todoroki inquired.
"Just A Rather Very Intelligent System," a disembodied British voice answered from the ceiling, causing all three students to startle. "I am Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"An AI," Midoriya breathed, eyes widening with fascination. "That's incredible! We have support items with AI capabilities in our world, but nothing this advanced or personalized!"
"He made JARVIS himself," Rogers added, a hint of weary amusement suggesting this was a frequent topic of conversation. "One of many."
"Don't get him started," Romanoff warned with a faint smile. "We'll be here all day listening to Tony list his creations."
"You wound me, Romanoff," Stark placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I was merely going to offer our dimensional visitors a tour of the facilities."
"Actually," Midoriya spoke up, "I'd like to know more about this world's history. Especially regarding people with abilities. Understanding the context would help us navigate better."
Rogers nodded approvingly. "Smart approach. I can help with some of that, though my knowledge has some... gaps."
"Capsicle here took a 70-year nap in the Arctic," Stark explained with characteristic bluntness. "Woke up recently to a whole new world. Very Rip Van Winkle."
Midoriya's jaw dropped. "You were frozen for 70 years? And survived?"
"The serum has its benefits," Rogers replied with a self-deprecating smile. "But yes, there's a lot about the modern world I'm still catching up on myself."
"I can provide historical context," Romanoff offered. "SHIELD has comprehensive files on the emergence of enhanced individuals throughout history. Redacted versions, of course."
"Of course," Todoroki echoed, his tone suggesting he understood perfectly the concept of classified information.
"While you're doing story time," Stark interjected, standing, "I need to check the structural integrity of the lower floors. Coming, Banner? We can set up your interdimensional research lab."
Banner nodded, rising to follow. "Bakugo? Ready for those initial readings?"
Bakugo glanced at his classmates, a silent communication passing between them. Despite his eagerness to begin the process of finding a way home, he seemed reluctant to separate.
"We'll compare notes later," Midoriya assured him. "The more information we gather from different sources, the better."
That seemed to satisfy Bakugo, who nodded curtly before following Banner and Stark to the elevator.
"I shall return to Asgard soon," Thor announced to the remaining group. "To deliver both Loki and the Tesseract to safekeeping. But I will consult our scholars about your predicament. If there is wisdom to be found about traversing beyond the Nine Realms, Asgard's libraries would contain it."
"Thank you," Todoroki said simply, his formal manner seeming to resonate with Thor's own regality.
As the god of thunder departed, Midoriya found himself sitting with Todoroki, Rogers, and Romanoff—an unlikely collection of individuals united by circumstance.
"So," Romanoff began, her perceptive eyes studying them carefully, "tell us more about this hero society of yours. How does it function? What are the checks and balances?"
And so began an in-depth exchange of information.
Midoriya and Todoroki explained the hero licensing system, the relationship between heroes and law enforcement, the ranking structure, and the educational pathway. In return, Rogers and Romanoff outlined the much more limited and secretive history of enhanced individuals in their world—from the Super Soldier Program to failed attempts to recreate it, from hidden mutants to the recent emergence of more public figures like Iron Man.
The differences were stark. Their world had evolved with quirks as an integrated, regulated part of society. This world had developed with powered individuals as rare exceptions, often viewed with fear or treated as weapons rather than public servants.
"It sounds like your society adapted to these abilities in a healthier way than ours has," Rogers observed thoughtfully. "Here, the appearance of powered individuals has typically been met with attempts to control, weaponize, or eliminate them."
"Not everyone in our world embraces quirks either," Todoroki pointed out, his voice quieter than usual. "There's discrimination, exploitation... some people see quirks as tools for personal gain rather than gifts to be used responsibly."
"And there are villains," Midoriya added soberly. "People who use their quirks to harm others. That's why the hero system exists—to provide a legitimate, regulated channel for those who want to use their abilities to help others."
"Balance," Romanoff nodded. "Your world found a balance we're still struggling to achieve."
"We can learn from each other," Rogers suggested, his expression thoughtful. "Your experience with a regulated hero system might provide insights for how we move forward here."
"We'd be happy to share what we know," Midoriya offered eagerly. "Though we're still students—our understanding of the system is limited to what we've learned at U.A."
"Sometimes fresh perspectives are the most valuable," Rogers replied with a genuine smile. "Especially from those still idealistic enough to see what could be, not just what is."
The conversation continued for hours, delving into specifics of training methods, ethical frameworks, and practical applications of abilities. Midoriya found himself increasingly impressed by Rogers's strategic thinking and Romanoff's incisive questions. These weren't just powerful individuals; they were thoughtful, experienced professionals who had forged their own paths in a world that hadn't been built to accommodate them.