Chapter Text
Kirishima stared at the elegantly written script on the note card in his hand. He could see the letters, but his mind wasn’t registering what he needed to do. Staring in front of him, he saw a beautiful assortment of dark flowers arranged in a sleek black vase. An eerie chill ran down his spine. He felt as though he should be remembering something, but the image was blurry, like he was viewing a picture underwater. Come to think of it, why was he outside? A harsh winter breeze rushed towards his face, snatching the breath from his lungs. He shivered instinctually, pulling his body in on itself to keep himself warm. His legs were heavy, as if gym weights were resting on his thighs. Peering down, he noticed Bakugo’s limp form cradled in his lap.
Kirishima’s eyes widened in alarm. “Katsuki!”
Bakugo laid limply in Kirishima’s lap; his body rolled with Kirshima’s movement. Terror pierced his heart as he shakily rested two fingers on Bakugo’s pulse point. Seconds stretched on for hours as he held his breath, waiting for the rhythmic feeling. Vaguely, he felt the pulsating thump of Bakugo’s heartbeat. He exhaled a painful breath, releasing the suspense and anxiety that was currently having a cage match in his chest.
The events of the last few minutes came rushing back through Kirishima’s mind with disorienting urgency.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Bakugo whispered evenly.
He had hoisted himself off the couch and stomped outside, saying he needed fresh air.
“Kats, come back in so we can…”
Kirishima’s heart dropped to his stomach as he looked at the note in his hands.
See you soon, Dynamight.
Shit, shit, shit! He had checked out. Now’s not the time, Eijirou! He berated himself. You can disassociate later. Kats is in danger.
Kirishima was a hero. Dangerous situations and traumatic experiences were his unfortunate specialty. In his ten plus years as a pro hero, he had been privy to the worst of humanity. Mutilated corpses, murdered innocents, and deity level wrath haunted his dreams. Despite the vile, gruesome things that he had the unfortunate privilege to witness, none of it compared to the gut wrenching sight of Bakugo passed out in his lap. He was sweating profusely despite the frigid temperature. His pale face was scrunched up in a scowl, causing his glasses to sit askew on his nose.
Bakugo had passed out from sheer terror. That fact made Kirishima’s blood run cold. Bakugo had tried to tell him that something was wrong, that someone was messing with him. A painful, guilt ridden stab jolted through Kirishima’s chest. One week into their relationship and he had already fucked everything up.
Kirishima snapped out of his downward spiral at the sound of his name.
“Ei.” Bakugo’s eyes fluttered open. “I’m scared.” He rasped out weakly.
Kirishima wrapped his arms tightly around Bakugo. A fierce sense of protectiveness overcame him, ridding him of any other self deprecating feeling. Unbridled anger surged through his body. His skin felt hot despite the cold air swirling around them. Everything took on a deep red hue as the rage seeped into his very bones. He may not be able to control people’s minds, call lightning like a god, or unleash explosions that can decimate entire cities. But, he was Red Riot, the unbreakable hero. He could hold the heavens on his back, like Atlas himself, if need be. At that moment, all he wanted to do was shred the people who had caused this hellish nightmare to ribbons, inch by agonizing inch. His darkest, most villainous thoughts had a front row seat to his internal plight. If Bakugo was willing to voice his fear aloud, then the situation was truly dire.
“I’ve got you, Kats.” Kirishima whispered reassuringly.
Gently, he shifted his legs underneath him, ignoring the searing pain shooting through his right knee. He pulled Bakugo towards him, cradling him in his arms. Slowly, he stood up, hardening his thighs and legs to give himself some extra support as he carried Bakugo back inside. He slammed the door shut with the heel of his foot and made his way towards Bakugo’s bedroom, careful to not jostle him awake.
“Eiji?” Bakugo asked sleepily. “What…”
“Sshh,” Kirishima chided softly. “Everything’s alright. I’m just laying you down in bed.”
A look of contented relief washed over Bakugo’s face. He curled onto his right side, twisting the comforter in his hands.
“Thought it was real this time,” he murmured sleepily.
Kirishima’s brow furrowed in worried confusion. He tentatively sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, rubbing comforting circles on Bakugo’s back. “What do you mean, Katsu?”
Bakugo sighed contentedly as the heaviness of sleep steadily overtook him. “Recurring dream. Thought it was real this time.”
Kirishima’s hand stiffened on Bakugo’s back. “You’ve had the same nightmare?” He asked carefully.
“Hmm.” Bakugo hummed. He sighed as exhaustion and worry painted his features. “I thought those mindfucking bastards had figured it out.”
Kirishima’s breath hitched in his throat.
“Just another nightmare.” Bakugo muttered sleepily. His eyelids drooped heavily as he finally succumbed to his tiredness.
Kirishima waited until he could see the steady rise and fall of Bakugo’s chest, indicating he was fast asleep, before padding out of the room and into the kitchen.
Methodically, he grabbed the coffee beans from their designated spot on the counter. He poured them into the grinder and flipped the switch, listening to the outer shells of the beans crack under the pressure before their tough exterior caved to the sharp blades, slowly grinding them to a grainy texture. Once the grinder came to a stop, he silently poured the finely ground powder into a filter and placed it into the machine. Carefully, he filled the brewer with enough water and turned it on.
Focusing on the task at hand was helping him stay grounded. It was a technique that he had learned very early on in his days at U.A. Basic, mundane tasks helped him rid his mind of unnecessary, intrusive thoughts and sort through the rational facts of a situation.
Kirishima perched himself on one of the kitchen bar stools next to the counter. He watched the water filter over the coffee grounds, slowly dripping coffee drop by drop into the pot beneath.
As he stared at the drops of liquid sanity pattering steadily into the vessel beneath, he determined three essential facts.
One, he needed to call Denki and Hitoshi immediately.
So, relying on his hyper focused executive functioning, he sent a text to their group chat. Calling would have been much better, but he didn’t want to speak for fear of breaking his trance-like state.
Emergency. Come to Bakugo’s ASAP.
Two, let the agency know they would be staying there indefinitely.
He fired off a text to Momo, asking that she prep their apartment and set the security to maximum lock down, no questions asked. Thirty seconds later, she responded with a simple understood . She really was the best at what she did. The substantial raise they had just given her wasn't enough to express their gratitude, but it was a start.
Kirishima refocused his gaze on the half filled pot. He inhaled a deep breath, allowing the heady, rich smell to wash over him.
The third and final step, he needed to acknowledge what was happening. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes, willing himself to state the facts one at a time.
Two years ago, Toshi's family wreaked havoc on their psyches, demolishing their innate abilities to trust their intuitions, even after all this time. Three months ago, Bakugo started having bouts of severe anxiety. One week ago, Bakugo's heart gave out. One hour ago, Bakugo admitted he was having night terrors. Thirty minutes ago, they found Nightshade's calling card on their doorstep. He read the note and actually comprehended the meaning . We know your secret. See you soon, Dynamight.
Now, he was sitting in his and Bakugo’s shared apartment, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
“Kiri?” Kirishima snapped his head up to see Denki kneeling in front of him.
“When did you get here?” He asked breathlessly. Panic coursed through him. Did he really not hear someone come through the front door? It could have been anyone! He must have hauled ass here.
“Kiri, hey.” Denki placed a hand on Kirishima’s knee, squeezing gently. “I have a key, remember? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
And damn Denki Kaminari for being so perceptive.
“Here, this should help.” Denki stood up, made his way to the counter, poured coffee in Kirishima’s favorite Dynamight mug, added an obscene amount of sugar and creamer, and passed it to him.
Kirishima smiled graciously. “Thanks,” he murmured. His voice sounded raw, as if he had swallowed broken glass. He took a sip, focusing on the taste and warmth. Sighing heavily, his eyes closed briefly before opening again with renewed clarity.
“There you are,” Denki encouraged. “Now, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Kirishima locked eyes with Denki. He must have come straight from his patrol shift. His uniform was torn in places and covered in dirt. His hair was tousled and matted with sweat, despite it being the middle of winter. Blood slowly seeped out of a shallow cut on his cheekbone, just under a fading lichtenberg scar. Amongst all of the details, one stood out to him more than any other. Denki’s eyes were puffy, swollen and an irritated red color. He had been crying. Studying him more carefully, Kirishima could see the anguish in his eyes, even though he had a reassuring smile on his face.
“Denks?” Kirishima reached out his hand, resting it on Kaminari’s elbow.
Kaminari exhaled a shuddered breath. “I’m alright, Kiri. Just a really, really long day. Are you all okay? When I got your text, I thought something might have happened.”
“Katsuki’s…” Kirishima trailed off, unsure of how to explain what had occurred.
“Kiri?” Denki prompted.
Wordlessly, Kirishima dug his right hand into the pocket of his worn out jeans, pulled the note out, and held it out to Kaminari.
Kaminari’s brow furrowed in hesitant confusion before taking the note. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he read. He placed a shaky hand over his mouth, shock and concern etched into his face.
“The flowers are still outside,” Kirishima whispered.
“That’s…. I mean, it can’t be…. But they….” Kaminari dropped into the stool beside Kirishima, planting one elbow on the counter while keeping his other hand over the lower half of his face.
Kirishima observed his friend's reaction with a sympathetic understanding. He was still trying to process the news as well. Since the ordeal with Shinsou’s family, they had kept tabs on the Nightshade organization. True to their word, they didn’t bother Shinsou or any of his friends, thanks to his parents. His parents ensured no one in the organization interfered with their hero work. Although it was never actually requested of them, they all assumed it was a penance of sorts. There were other facts in play that no one but Shinsou and Aizawa were privy to. Even Bakugo, with his number two hero rank, hadn’t been briefed on the real situation. Regardless, it didn’t make sense for them to be targeting Bakugo when they had been protecting him from the shadows all along.
“Shit!” The buzz of Denki’s phone jolted him from his seat. Checking the caller ID, he answered the call and placed it on speaker phone.
“Hey, Hito. They are okay.” Kaminari rushed out. “Have you made contact with your parents lately?”
“Denks.”
The sound of Shinsou’s voice stole the breath from Kaminari’s lungs. His voice sounded hollow, completely devoid of any emotion.
“Hito? What’s wrong?” Denki asked urgently. “Are you safe? Did something happen? Where…”
The sound of Shinsou sucking in a ragged breath, as if he was struggling to breathe, dropped Kaminari’s heart to the pit of his stomach. An alarming sense of dread suffocated the air. Kirishima held his breath, begging futility for his instincts to not be right.
“Denks, my parents are dead.”