Chapter Text
“Of course it’s fucking raining.”
Katsuki gives himself ten seconds. Fuck. I don’t want to go back upstairs. It was so hot yesterday, what am I supposed to do? Grab a hoodie? The umbrella? Both? Fuck this shit, this is stupid. I’m so tired.
Edgeshot could probably use an umbrella.
“Uuuuugh. Fine.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets with emphasis as he turns, remembering to head for the stairs instead of the elevator. Granted, it’s early as hell; doubtful he’ll run into anyone at this hour. But the risk is enough for him to steer clear. Even flaring the pain in his legs is worth that.
He grits his teeth as he steps, pushing himself up the five flights to the landing. He grabs the doorknob with his right hand on instinct, years of rehab ingrained and unrelenting. Every muscle up his arm tightens, burning. He grunts through his teeth as he pushes through. “Fucking doors.”
He fumbles for his keys in the last remnants of darkness as he approaches his apartment. Sighs as the door unlocks. I wanna go back to bed. Which, on a normal day, would be a winning argument against rain and a trek back home. But it’d been nearly a month since Edgeshot was back, and he was home for the summer this time. They could get back to their lunch dates, not to mention dinner next week with him and Jeanist. Plans he was invited to and included in. Fuck pain, he wasn’t missing any of that.
He grabs his new oversized tan hoodie and the black umbrella he saw in the window of that stupid upscale tech store. Some windproof, sunproof something or other, but the damn thing had faint orange lights along the ribbing that emanated heat. Come on now. Like it was made for him.
He keeps it closed as he makes his way to the car, relying on his hood and running to keep him dry as possible. Though he despises the thought of rain soaking through his hoodie, keeping his new ride free of excess raindrops is the higher priority. Not a damn thing gets to ruin his baby. Not rain, not Kirishima’s stupid caloriemate bars. Nothing.
“Good morning, Bombshell,” he croons as he eases slowly into the seat, running his fingers over the steering wheel. The car wakes of its own accord: screens, lights, seatbelt gliding into place, all at the angles and tints he programmed it. It’s so beautiful. He can’t believe he owns such a thing.
An extra stab of pain shoots into his thigh as he adjusts to release the e-break. “Hah. Not where you belong, is it?” It might be an obnoxiously large keychain attached to his sleek little key fob, but nothing else came close to deserving the honor. He places All Might’s card in its plastic case face up on the center console between the front seats. “You stay there.”
It feels too early to fill the morning with noise. Music off, map directions on mute. Just the steady rhythm of windshield wipers while cradled in his driver’s seat. It didn’t even hurt much, sitting like this. Even with going back upstairs, he’s making good time. It’s just . . . calm.
He’s needed a moment like now all week. Hell, he’s needed it all year. So few things were slow, deliberate, simple. Has he ever had that consistently before? Why was it all so loud?
Stupid question. Everything about hero work was loud. Even paperwork had its way of screaming at you, stacked like it had the right to demand your afternoon. It was a relief when someone needed rescuing - at least then the adrenaline made the pain disappear. Sweating, exploding, flying. Invigorating as fuck. But then it was over, the crash would kick in, and you had to orchestrate and give reports and problem solve amongst every heartbeat threatening to tear you open. Yelling was the only thing that masked the catches in his breath. And then go back and finish the paperwork? Critical thinking while drowning in that? Yeah. Sure.
The doctors had said the progress would be slow, if at all. That he was looking at chronic pain being a facet of life to endure. He understood that - he fucking knew what he’d survived through. But when the hell was he supposed to enjoy anything? The only times that happened were . . . fuck. Even thinking it to himself is embarrassing. But if he's being honest . . .
Picking up Kirishima and Izuku. Talking together - even though Izuku still didn’t know how to take sensible advice and fucking care about himself. After all this time, still smiling through everything. Somehow enjoying the swim in his private sea of denial. Made him want to knock a few extra inches off of him.
Meeting up. Eating together. Sitting next to Izuku and Todoroki like when they interned with Endeavor. Iida and Yaomomo parenting everyone, Spark Plug and Ears being lame, idiotic gossip over relationships, laughing, relaxing. And then everyone’s phones go off and they all launch through the sky together so a half-brained fuckwad could get intimidated by twenty-plus heroes dropping in front of his face.
It was amazing. Until all that was left to do was watch everyone’s backs disappear so he could drive home and be welcomed back by an empty apartment.
The break lights of the car in front of him catch his attention. He’s nearly at the coffee shop a few blocks from the airport. As much as it’d probably be faster to walk in, he’s nowhere near the mentality needed to interact with people. So he waits in the drive thru, orders two of the seasonal fancy-named whatever coffees (one hot, one iced), and asks for them to be double-cupped. Gotta protect the cup holders.
Luckily, Edgeshot’s terminal is one of the nearest to the airport entrance. The line is small for the handfuls of people gathered, luggage to their side, phones illuminating the special dead-eyed stare only long flights can bestow. Excepting one person, standing somehow both straight and relaxed, his shoulder-length hair half-pulled into a small but clean bun. Who is also wearing what could only be described as shinobi-casual.
Katsuki scoffs. “You would, sensei.”
He catches Edgeshot’s eye as he pulls up under the awning, holding up a hand in greeting. Edgeshot returns it with his right hand; he can see the ribboned fingers of his left curled around the end of his sleeve. Katsuki’s heart stutters. Still hasn’t healed yet.
Edgeshot’s eyes are squinting in what must be a smile above the medical mask over his face. Shit, I hope he’s not sick. He pulls up, puts the car in park, pops open the trunk as he steps out.
“You okay?”
A moment of confusion crosses his face before remembering. “Oh, no no, quite fine. Just wanted to be safe on the flight.” He loops the mask from his ears, revealing a sheepish grin. “It’s almost strange not to have a mask of some sort on.”
“Heh, yeah. It’s almost strange to see you without one. Here, let me. You go sit.” Katsuki grabs a bag in each hand, places them gently in the trunk. Shuts the trunk even more gently.
A hitched breath escapes him as he gets back into the driver seat. Shit.
“No improvement as of late?”
Katsuki’s gaze locks on the steering wheel, a flush beginning in his cheeks. He considers lying for .2 seconds. “Not really.”
“Mmm.”
He really fucking hates how warm his face is getting. Body full of betrayal, that’s what he has. At least he has the excuse of needing to watch the road. “It’s not as bad as it used to be. You want hot or iced?”
He can almost hear the hint of a smile in his voice as Edgeshot reaches for a cup. “Iced sounds lovely. Thank you, Bakugo.”
Katsuki reaches for the hot with his free hand, the warmth filling his empty stomach proving a solid distraction. It isn’t until the second sip settles that Edgeshot speaks again. “Please tell me those are not Fat Gum’s specialty absorption seats.”
“Heh. Damn right they are. They almost swallowed Izuku whole. Worth every yen.”
“Of all the useless brandings.”
“Useless is the best, though. You have to check out the umbrella I found. Fucking warms you as you walk. It even glows orange.”
Edgeshot’s smile grows. “Of course such a thing exists.” He takes another sip. “I am glad to see you’re doing as well as you’re able.”
Katsuki grumbles an acknowledgement, nodding. “How’s your sister out in the states?”
“Busy. Those children are all over her. But the chaos of a contained home is something altogether remarkable. I don’t envy her brand of exhaustion, but the payoff is a worthy one. They’re all quite content.”
“Do you know where you’re heading after the summer?”
“Iceland, actually. Then New Zealand after.”
“Fuck, that’s cool. I want pictures.”
“You will have them.”
Katsuki smiles to himself. Edgeshot’s sentence structures are getting even more weird.
“How are you finding hero work these days?”
“Annoying. Boring. Paperwork can die.”
“Ha! It can, can’t it? Easily the worst of it. Though I suppose anything would feel boring from your perspective.” Edgeshot raises his cup halfway and stops, pausing. “Did I ever mention Jeanist and I tried to prevent it?”
Katsuki’s eyes flick towards him. He places his coffee cup down. “Prevent what?”
“You children being involved.”
Now his eyes widen. “Oh. Uh, no. You didn’t.”
“It was a useless venture, to be sure. Removing Midoriya from the equation was impossible, and by proxy, impossible to remove you all from his side. It had been proven multiple times that you’d take matters into your own hands, had you not agreed with what you were told. Aizawa was up in arms more often than not.” The corner of Edgeshot’s mouth tugs slowly. “But we tried all the same. Wanted to hide you all away somewhere safe. Keep your futures . . . guaranteed.”
Responses fly through Katsuki’s mind as if they were himself, tearing through the sky. He defaults to the most non-committal. “You’re not wrong. Bunch of idiots like us, we would’ve found a way there.”
Edgeshot’s smile somehow both grows and strays further from his eyes. “And we would’ve been there to save you.”
Thankfully, they’ve reached the city streets; they demand more of Katsuki’s attention. The silence stretches, bringing an ache to his throat. He intends to resist it, swallow it whole, but much like the rest of his body, the guilt betrays him.
“How . . . are you?”
The pause in the air blooms the guilt to encompass his heart. “Aside from this -” Edgeshot waves the sleeve of his left arm “- I am doing quite well. I am approaching the levels of speed I used to possess, if not so much the endurance. These moments of coming home and assisting Hakamada are keeping me in line.
“Ninpo is still . . . interesting to use. Even after I heal to completion, I expect it will just feel differently.” He feels Edgeshot’s gaze flicker towards him. “Go ahead and park, we’re nearly there.”
He takes the last few turns, finding plenty of available parking this early. He eases into a front spot, parks, keeps the car running. Glues his eyes to his feet.
“I apologize; I am going to be blunt. But this goes beyond the need to dance around difficult feelings.” Edgeshot shifts, facing him more squarely. Katsuki’s face flares. “You are no longer a child. We are equals, you and I. Adults amongst the world. Yet the burden you carry was never yours.
“It was our job to protect you. Myself, Hakamada, Usagiyama. And yet we found ourselves being protected by your blossoming, overwhelming strength.” The breath Edgeshot takes is deep, slow. “In no way would any of us have survived if not for you. We were all essential, but you were the crux. It was the least we - I - could provide in exchange for everyone’s lives.
“You are the reason none of us died, and it took your death to do so. That was insurmountably unfair. And watching you pay for it still hurts us the most.”
A hand rests gently on Katsuki’s shoulder, squeezes. “We may be equals now, but to the three of us adults then, you were our charges. And we failed you. No cost I have endured can begin to compare. That is my burden to carry. Never yours.”
The hand stays a moment longer until it slides away. “Would you like me to tell Hakamada he’ll see you next week for dinner?”
He barely nods.
“Then I will collect my luggage.”
Shit. Luggage. “Here,” he says hoarsely, grabbing the umbrella. “Use that for yourself, I’ll walk you to the door.”
Katsuki pulls his hood up, pops the trunk with his fob as he steps outside. Even grabbing Edgeshot’s bags is awkward; both acting unbothered and showing the strain feels vulnerable. But he insists.
They curve around to the front entrance to Jeanist’s agency. A taller building, with numerous floors of apartments above it. Jeanist has the top floor to himself; his “penthouse,” as he likes to call it, though it’s more than humble by pro hero standards. He has several apartments aside for guests, one of which is reserved for Edgeshot.
Katsuki loops both bags over Edgeshot’s arm; he holds the umbrella as Edgeshot uses his ribboned hand to fish the keys from a side pouch, passing it to his right to unlock the door. He realizes it’s difficult to avert his shame-filled eyes while standing, being a full ten centimeters taller than the hero that formerly held his number four title. But height means nothing to Edgeshot’s commanding, unflappable presence.
“We are both in need of rest. Go, take care of yourself.”
He nods silently, watches Edgeshot step through the entryway. The kid in him wants to stay quiet, leaving the door to close. But Edgeshot deserves better.
“Sensei?”
Edgeshot stops, turning back.
“Thank you.”
This time, the smile reaches his eyes. “Anytime, Katsuki Bakugo. Thank you for the transportation.”
The weight of it all hits Katsuki as he brings the car door shut. He keeps his gaze focused just enough, downs the rest of his lukewarm coffee. Enough people are venturing out to their cars from the apartment complex that he aims straight for the stairs.
His shoes are the only thing he takes off at the entryway, falling straight into bed. Before the blankets have time to settle, sleep consumes him.