Chapter Text
The hallway was the same white, barren tunnel filled with the scent of antiseptic and tears. The lights were the same, too bright and blinding. The tiles were still cold and unforgiving, still the silent witnesses of the hospital's history with the patients, their loved ones, their final breaths.
Everything was frozen in time, just like in Bakugou Katsuki's memories, but at the same time, it was entirely different.
Because during the times that he’d come here, whether it was him being battered and bruised, or his classmates having a couple of broken bones or a concussion or some trivial shit like that, it was always eerie. The loudest noises he usually heard was the heavy footsteps of nurses.
But now. Now, there were too many people in the cramped corridor. The seats were all filled. The unlucky ones (or perhaps they prefered standing up), were lining the walls, or pacing back and forth, or standing over the shaken ones and comforting them.
Sobs could be heard from every direction. Sniffling. Murmuring. Whispering. Everything grated his nerves, dented his patience, made him lose his goddamn mind.
Katsuki screwed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head of the buzzing noises, of the loud, erratic thumps in his chest. It was too loud. It was too much.
It was too fucking much—
“Bakugou?”
His eyes snapped open. Upon looking up, he took in a breath, realizing that it was just Hair-for-brains. Not a green haired, freckled teen.
Kirishima approached him, a hand held out, as if he wanted to touch him but was scared to do so. “You… um, you made it,” he said. “We thought you’d, um, take longer. S-since your internship was farther away and all.”
Bakugou blinked at him. And blinked again. He struggled to open his mouth, but no words came out.
Kirishima didn't seem to mind, though. The redhead smiled, wobbly and unsure, before putting a gentle hand on the small of his back, guiding him to the ocean of classmates. “Come on, you should sit—”
“No.” His voice sounded so far away. So alien.
“Hey, Bakugou,” Sero called out softly. He stood up from the seat that he’d been sitting on. “Dude, really, you gotta sit before—”
“I said no , you fuck!” Ah, that sounded more like him, but not quite. It was raspy and cracked, as if he’d gone through days without a drop of water. His throat felt like it too.
“Alright, alright.” Sero held up his hands, his face falling with sincere worry. The fuck? “But listen, he’s not… h-he’s…”
“Just sit down, Bakugou.” It was Round Face this time. She held him by the shoulders, with much more force than Kirishima, and pushed him into a seat. Her seat, probably. Bakugou growled, a curse ready on his tongue, but she was faster. “He’s… Deku-kun, he’s not doing so well, okay? H-He… he…” She sniffed. It was at this moment that it dawned on him that her eyes were red and puffy, fat tears running down her cheeks for god-knew how long.
She towered over him, her shadow engulfing him, and his face was splashed with a few drops of her apparent sadness. Her determined expression crumbled and shattered, and she turned away quickly, whimpering, as Tsuyu took her into her arms. Uraraka’s sobbing was one of many.
Abruptly drained, he leaned back on his chair and dropped his head against the wall. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
His throat closed up, and his next inhale sounded disgustingly like a wet hiccup.
A hand landed on his shoulder again. If it were any other day, he’d scream about all the touching, but he was too tired. God, why was he so fucking tired all of a sudden? Wasn't he high on adrenaline when he ran over here? What happened to all that energy?
Aizawa squeezed him slowly. “Bakugou,” the older man's voice echoed in his skull. “It's tough right now. Everyone's worried. He’s been in the operating room for over two hours now and—”
“How is he?” His heart lurched when his tongue finally asked the one question that's been nagging him the entire way here. “Sensei.”
Aizawa regarded him for a moment. In his dark eyes, a quiet sorrow rumbled.
Katsuki didn't need to hear it for his soul to crack.
“We don't know.”
“Recovery Girl is doing her best.” Yaoyorozu supplied, unhelpfully if he may add.
“Deku’s a strong guy.” Kaminari nodded. His scrunched eyebrows and pained smile didn't back up his hopeful words. “I’m… things are going to be okay.”
“You don't know shit,” Katsuki found himself saying. “You all don't know fucking shit .”
“And neither do you!” Uraraka shouted from Tsuyu’s embrace, clearly frustrated out of her mind. “None of us do, Bakugou, until Recovery Girls comes out and tells us. The least you could do is not make it worse.”
“You fucking bitch, I’ll fucking end your little—”
“Dude, enough!” Kirishima held him back, unflinching even when Katsuki flashed him a snarl. “Bakugou. Enough .”
Two seconds passed before his spirit deflated again. It was the same feeling he felt when he barged through the glass doors of the hospital. It left him completely empty, and all he could do was swat his friend's hand away.
What was wrong with him?
When he’d gotten the god-forsaken message, his blood had boiled over, making him dash even before his brain processed the whole situation. By the time he was halfway across the city, it had slapped him hard and swift, forcing him to stop mid-blast.
“Midoriya is in critical condition.”
He’d trembled. Screamed. Retched. Destroyed pavement. And continued his long way over.
He had brushed it off as the heat of the moment. But now, hours later, the same sinking feeling has not disappeared. In fact, he felt it grow, clogging his throat, blurring his vision, crushing his chest in a vice grip that he was sure was going to make his clattering heart jump out of him.
After a minute of breathing, he noticed that his hands were shaking. He fisted them, but it didn't do any good. And then he realized that his entire body was vibrating, agitated. He swallowed, willing himself to just fucking stop .
Is he going to be okay?
Stop. Just stop. Stop. Stop. Fucking stop , goddammit.
What's going to happen?
The walls were suddenly too tall, the room too small, too many people, too much noise. Too much, too much, too—
Something soft and damp was pushed into his hands.
Katsuki’s breath hitched when he saw a mop of green hair. For a split second, for just one blessing moment, he had thought that things were fine, that they were idiots for crowding around like this and being gross and useless when the person they were waiting for was right there, right there , looking at him and—
“Dek—”
—the world came crashing down once again.
Standing before him was a person with no freckles, no awkward smile, and no blush. It was not his Deku.
Midoriya Inko had obviously seen better days. Her expression was the definition of broken. There was no other way to describe the woman. And yet here she was, standing upright, if not slouching slightly, and giving him a handkerchief, of all things.
“Katsuki.” Her voice wavered, and so did he. “Thank you for coming.”
“Au… Auntie.” Katsuki choked. “Auntie, I… I-I’m…”
“I know.” And then, deadlier than any knife or gun, she delivered the most devastated, the most watery smile she could muster. Her short arms wrapped around him, but it was enough. Enough to break him fully and irreversibly. As she held him, trembling and crying and all, she repeated, “ I know, Katsuki. ”
The dam crumbled to nothing. His resolve, his pride, everything just went out the window, and he was just so tired — so fucking tired — and he didn't have it in him to care about the people around him, about the wetness crawling traitorously down his cheeks, about his shaking limbs, about anything besides the sickening warmth he felt in his second mother figure's arms and the mocking door that separated him from Deku.
He didn't want the attention, didn't deserve an ounce of it, but his mind was so far gone. He held Inko tightly, not unlike a child, and wept. He did not deserve the reassuring pats on his head. He honestly, honestly didn't, but he knew he needed it, needed something to anchor him to reality, as fucked up as it was.
It was all a blur of movement and color afterwards. After one last pat and squeeze, he was released, leaving him in his little void again. He had hurriedly used the handkerchief to wipe the evidence of his weakness, as if it mattered anymore, and that was the last thing he did before he succumbed to dread.
Waiting. That was all he could do now.
As time went by, more of his classmates came, one after another, until everyone was present. Uraraka now sat with Inko, the two whispering to each other and holding each other's hands. All Might, who has been uncharacteristically silent, sat on the other side of the woman. He was turning his engagement ring on his finger, again and again, as if it was a faucet to keep his tears at bay. Inko would turn to him once and awhile, asking him a question that Katsuki couldn't hear, only for the man to shake his head, without a word, and dropped his forehead on hers.
Most, including Aizawa, had wandered off to check on Iida, who had been a victim of the attack as well, but was only sporting a broken leg, a large cut on his arm, and three broken fingers. Not life threatening, but still serious enough for him to stay bedridden for a week or two.
Kirishima stayed glued to his side. He didn't talk, which Katsuki was thankful for. He didn't need sweet or comforting bullshit. He just needed a clear answer to his question.
Was the nerd going to pull through?
It sent a disturbing wave of anxiety to wash over him, drenching him in doubts and fears that he couldn't even describe.
Kirishima, the kind asshole, sensed this. “Yo, bro, it’s…” He paused. “It’s okay to be scared. But have a little faith in Midoriya.”
Katsuki was a little late to nod.
Kirishima smiled, happy to have a reaction from him nonetheless. He marched on with a, “I heard it was just a knife wound. He’s had worse, right, man?”
But obviously, as nice as he was, he didn't fail to be a complete and utter moron .
“The knife went through his fucking chest , Kirishima.” Katsuki spat his name into his face, mouth twisting into a vicious snarl, teeth and all. “You know that's where his heart is, right? And his fucking lungs? All the vital shit ?”
Kirishima blanched. “I-I know, I just meant—”
“What, you mean to tell me that your stupid fuckin’ ass is so ignorant to forget that he lost a shit ton of blood, hah?! Yeah, it was a flippin’ knife wound, oh hoo-ray , but look at the nerd now! He’s fucking dying because of it!”
“BAKUGOU!”
Both of them jumped, and so did the rest in the vicinity.
All Might stood firm and tall, his fists shaking at his sides. Despite having a frail body, his powerful aura still held him in another level of authority that even Katsuki knew was stupid to test.
Well, he knew it, but that didn't mean he knew how to keep himself completely in check. Like now, apparently.
“That is enough, my boy.” All Might’s voice dropped to a chilling tone. Katsuki gulped. “You are a hero, and most importantly, you are a person . Have you no shame in spouting all these insensitive statements in front of your grieving friends? In front of a grieving mother ?” He gestured to a shocked Inko. “In front of a grieving mentor?” He added quietly, painfully .
“I…”
His tongue was betraying him yet again. He couldn't move it, let alone use it. He was stuck in gaping up at the man he’s adored since he was a child.
“I understand your fear.” All Might went on, gentler this time. “You have been a precious friend to young Midoriya. But please , as young Uraraka had said,” All Might’s shoulders fell heavily, as if he too was carrying the weight of the world on them, “do not make this worse.”
Unable to bear it any longer, he broke eye contact, and instead opted to stare at his shoes. He did not look up when All Might's large hand found its way into his hair. It felt heavy with love and kindness and understanding.
Through his scratchy throat, he was able to utter, “I’m sorry.”
“It is alright.” A soft ruffle on his head. “It is alright, my boy.”
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. All Might’s boney hand was a balm to his burning heart, easing away the blackened parts with each caress and scratch. He breathed a little better, his hands stopped shaking, but the hum of vibrations still lingered on his fingers, as if they were still searching for something to hold on to. If he wasn't careful, he could very well rip Inko's handkerchief into shreds.
“Be honest, All Might.” Katsuki, with a pace so slow and so unlike his explosive self, looked up into the blue eyes of his teacher. With a shaky sigh, he willed himself to ask, “Is he going to be okay?”
It was so strange to ask such a thing. He had never asked, not about him or anyone else. Usually, it was himself that did the damage, that did the punching and blasting and kicking, and he would be lying through his teeth if he said that he’d never done it with cruel intentions. There had been a dark time in their relationship where violence and hatred were the key to their interactions, and although it had stopped when they got older, wiser, and stronger together, they still found themselves bruised from the other’s knuckles from time to time.
It surprised him that he was suddenly missing the stupid times they’d be in the infirmary, with Recovery Girl nagging the shit out of them about sparring and getting carried away, and how the blubbering idiot would laugh and tease him despite having a giant bandage on his shitty face.
He missed those times where everything was simple.
He snapped out of his thoughts when All Might retracted his hand away, like he felt his memories and didn't want to pry into them. But he remained silent.
“Well?”
“We can only hope that he will be, young Bakugou.” The older man finally said. The glint of worry didn't pass by unnoticed.
He didn't know what he expected. Of course he’ll be fine? Bah.
But somehow, looking at All Might's grave expression, the dried tears hanging onto his sunken cheeks, Katsuki felt even worse.
He’s not gonna make it, is he, All Might?
There. There it was, out into his head, into his frantic heart. His very core shook with the realization that the nerd wasn't going to make it . The trembling came back, full force, and he felt fucking sick . Bile rose up into his already clogged throat, suffocating and burning him, and he held a hand to his mouth, as if it was enough to stop the whimper and choke from escaping, as if it was enough to safe face. He forced it all down — the vomit, the sobs, the pathetic whining — and struggled to focus, to just function because fuck you, you little shit, don't you dare fuckin’ leave me.
His other hand gripped his shirt, clawed at his tightening chest, seeking and failing to relieve himself of these alien things blowing up inside him. What were these? Were these feelings ? For the useless nerd ? Hah, what a fucking joke. A humorless joke. He wondered briefly whether the odd noise that came out of him was a cackle or a gasp. He must've looked like a shitty lunatic at this point.
The hand that was previously over his mouth slid up, over his eyes — the fuck were they wet? Dammit — and then to his hair. He wasn't gentle with the locks as All Might was, and instead he yanked on them, hard enough to hurt, just shy from tearing the tuffs off his scalp, but the pain was welcomed compared to constricting thump thump thump that was erupting inside of him.
Why the flippin’ fuck was he like this? What kind of pain was this? It hurt so, so much. He was so sick of it already. Just die, shitty pain, die, die, die!
“Bakugou, my boy, you must calm down.”
But he couldn't. He wanted to, but he. Just. Couldn't . Not before he saw Deku, breathing and smiling and arguing with him again.
“Bro, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe.”
It wasn't going to be okay, was it?
“Oh, Katsuki…” A quiet sob.
Just stop. Make it stop. Please, just let everything stop.
He never got to tell him. He never got the damned, horrifying truth to come out. The nerd was going to leave without knowing .
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Would it have been better if he’d told him during middle school? God, it would have saved them so much time. The bullying would have stopped. They would've been different people. Things would have been so, so different.
And he was never going to find out the idiot’s answer now, was he?
Don't you fuckin’ leave me, you shitty nerd.
Just trail behind me like you used to.
Why couldn't you just stay quirkless?
If he had stayed the same as they were kids, none of this would have happened. He would have been at home, doing mundane homework, eating katsudon with his mom, being the lousy teen that he was supposed to be, and he would have been safe . Safe from all of this. Alive.
For a split second, he loathed All Might for bestowing One For All — a gift, a blessing, a fucking curse — to Deku. For giving him the hope that Katsuki had spent years trying to burn out of pride and fear.
It was then that he truly felt the unwanted hands on his skin. The hair on his arms stood on end, ferociously appalled at the abrupt crowd looming over him. He felt alarmingly small before them. Instinctively, he swung his arm in front of him, yelling, “DON'T FUCKIN’ TOUCH ME!”
“Back up, guys, back up.” Kirishima rose and ushered the other teens — why the hell were they back already? Since when? — to give him space. “He doesn't need this right now.”
“What I fuckin’ need ,” Katsuki growled, somewhat relieved that a portion of his usual anger still clung to him, “is to see the useless nerd. Move. ”
“Bakugou, that is enough from you tonight.” It was fuckin’ Icy Hot who had the balls to grab him by the arm and pull him back. “Just stop it.”
“You wanna fuckin’ go , Half-and-half?!” Katsuki shouted as he wrenched his arm out of his hold. “Because I can fuckin’ fight all of you if it means I get to go in there and—”
“And what , Bakugou?” Todoroki exclaimed, the loudest that Katsuki has ever heard from him. “ What ?! You barge in there, disrupt the operation, and then what? What do you wish to accomplish?!”
“I just need to fuckin’ see him, alright?!” He swatted the other boy’s hands away when he made a move to grab him again. “You wouldn't understand!”
“Oh, I think I do, Bakugou.” Todoroki chose to shove him, hard. In a normal situation, it wouldn't even faze him, but right now, he was only going on a tiny percentage of his energy, so the force knocked him back a few steps, effectively enraging him. But that did not deter Todoroki. “I want to make sure that he's alright as well. I’m anxious and worried about him—”
“Just. Shut. Up. ” Katsuki lunged, pushing the other with enough power to drive him into a wall, eliciting a chorus of gasps and concerned muttering. Using his dominant arm to hold the bastard by the throat, he leaned in and barked, “Don't you fuckin’ talk about him. I’m so sick of that bullshit.”
“It’s not.” Despite being in a tight position, his voice didn't waver, the damn bastard. “I care about him. We all care about him. Not just you, Bakugou.”
“Well, newsflash , fucker, I ain't the same as you! I’m different!”
“Yes, you are.” Todoroki winced when the arm against him dug deeper, but made no move to push him away, despite having the ability to do so. “You are. Therefore, you should be more rational. You are not helping the situation. At. All.”
“Fuck you, Half-and-half.” Katsuki spat. “Neither are you. Neither is anyone in this room.”
“At least I’m not making a complete fool of myself.”
“Why you fucking —”
“Bakugou, please .” Another voice. This one even more annoying, in more ways than one.
Katsuki tensed. Releasing Todoroki, he turned and glared at none other than the class president. He was perched on a wheelchair, all bandaged up, a sling encompassing his left arm, as if the sight was going to stop him from murdering him.
“ You, ” Katsuki whispered, a darker aura surrounding him instantly like a flapping cape.
Iida had the audacity to lower his head in shame.
“Iida-kun!” Uraraka exclaimed. “I told you to stay in bed!”
“I’m sorry, he kept insisting,” Yaoyorozu said.
“Iida-kun!” Uraraka made a move to take him back, but Katsuki stopped her with a bark.
“Oi, let him finish, Round Face.” Katsuki gnashed his teeth. “He deserves a few last words before I kill him.”
“Bakugou!”
“It's fine, Uraraka.” Iida sighed. “He has the right to be angry with me.”
“You fuckin’ bet, Shitty Glasses.” Katsuki stepped forward. “Because of you… because of… ”
Have you no shame in spouting all these insensitive statements in front of your grieving friends?
He paused, his mouth still hanging open, but no words came.
His eyes darted to his right, where Inko and All Might stood together. Inko had her face hidden in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and All Might had her in his arms, and yet his piercing blue eyes were fixed on Katsuki only. Watching him. Expectant.
You are a hero, and most importantly, you are a person .
He clamped his treacherous mouth shut. His fists relaxed. He took a single step back.
Breathe. Just breathe. Calm the fuck down.
It is alright, my boy.
Iida blinked. “Bakugou?”
“Shut up.” Katsuki mumbled. Ah, his voice was back to that weak, embarrassing rumble again. The fuck was wrong with him?
Chancing one more glance towards All Might, he let himself sigh when the other man nodded at him before giving his full attention to Inko.
“I…” Katsuki cleared his throat. The voice coming out of him was like a stranger. “I need some air.”
I need to get away from you all.
When he turned to go, the distinct sound of a door opening invaded their small bubble of silence.
Katsuki's heart stopped. And then roared back to life a second later.
Recovery Girl emerged from the door, looking a lot more drained than Katsuki was used to.
“How is he?” Inko inquired shakily. She was barely standing on her own, since most of her weight and balance was entrusted to All Might behind her, though the man didn't fare so well either. “How is my son? ”
Everyone went dead still. Most held their breaths, or held another's hand, or prayed. Katsuki himself was struggling to keep standing, because never before has he felt this afraid in his entire life — not when he was kidnapped, not when he was fighting an enemy.
Don't you fuckin’ leave me. Don't. Please.
Recovery Girl took a breath, and frowned.
And Katsuki's soul shrieked in agony.