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Katsuki came to with stiff bandages around his chest and arms. His body didn’t want to move. It felt distant, as if someone else owned it. For a few seconds he stared at the ceiling, blank, then the memories hit him. The battlefield. That split second when he saw Izuku in the wrong place. His legs had moved before his brain. Then the stab of those tendrils running straight through him. Heat, shock, then nothing but adrenaline pushing him until everything went dark.
His fingers twitched. He tried to curl his hand into a fist, but it barely obeyed. That only made the anger rise.
Why wasn’t Izuku here?
Before he could think of tearing the room apart, the door slammed open and Mineta barreled inside, chattering like he had any right to be loud. For a breath, Katsuki hoped it was Izuku as more silohoettes followed, but it wasn’t. Next came Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari. Their faces pulled tight as if they were waiting for some crack in Katsuki's exterior.
Instead, he ripped the oxygen mask off. The IV stung as he tore it out, blood beginning it's steady little dribble as his arm fell loose. He swung his legs off the bed. “Where is he.” Not even a question, just a demand.
“Bakugou, wait—” Kaminari started.
Katsuki shoved himself forward. “Don’t ‘Bakugou’ me. Where the hell is he? I'm going to kill that nerd with my own hands.”
Ashido moved to steady him. “Bakugo, you’re not supposed to stand yet, you need—”
He smacked her hand away and snarled, “Like I care. Tell me where Deku is right now.”
They exchanged looks and the look suggested... nervousness.
Wrong.
His stomach twisted. “Why aren’t you answering? Why aren’t you saying anything.”
Sero stepped in front of him. “Dude, listen, just get back in bed, okay—”
“No,” Katsuki snapped. His voice rose. “Tell me where he is. Tell me right now.”
Mineta squeaked something about calling a nurse.
Katsuki exploded. “I swear to god if you don’t tell me where that stupid nerd went, I’ll kill him myself so he stops pulling this crap. I’ll beat him so bad he’ll wake up out of spite!”
“A-again, not helping!” Kaminari yelped, trying to block him. “He’s not even awake yet!”
“What do you mean he’s not awake yet?” Katsuki barked. “Move!”
He tried to charge past them. His legs buckled halfway, but he still lunged. They held him back by the arms, and he fought like a feral animal. “Get off me! Let go! I said let go!”
“Bakugo, calm down!” Ashido cried.
“Shut up! I’m not calming down until I see him! Why isn’t he here? Why didn’t anyone tell me anything? Why—”
A nurse sprinted in with a syringe.
“Don’t you—” Katsuki started, twisting violently but Sero caught him with his tape, “don’t you dare stick me with—”
He didn’t finish. The sting hit his arm. His vision wavered. Someone caught him under the shoulders as he sagged forward.
“No— don’t— I have to— Izuku—”
As his hearing began pitching out, he heard them talking. Izuku hadn’t woken up. No signs yet. Still out.
Then nothing.
The next time Katsuki opened his eyes, the room was quiet. He forced himself upright. His ribs ached. His palm tingled every time he tried to flex it. They kept him from walking for nearly a full day before finally allowing him to see Izuku.
The sight hit harder than any hit he had taken. Izuku lay still, wrapped in white, wires running from him to the machines around the bed. Katsuki sat, gripping the edge of the chair so he wouldn’t shake.
All this time. All those stupid choices. If he hadn’t stopped to stare like some kind of idiot on the field, Izuku wouldn’t have needed saving. None of this would have happened.
He waited for some twitch. Some shift. Some sign. Izuku didn’t move. Not that day. Not the next. And while Katsuki wanted to sit there until he got answers, the staff shoved him through physical therapy every morning until he could lift his left arm the way they wanted.
By the time they cleared him, the room was empty. Izuku was gone and he heard from the pros whispering that Izuku had been talking to All Might. The sheets were folded. The machines were silent. No explanation.
He stared at the empty bed for too long. The folded sheets. The unplugged machines. The smell of disinfectant that felt wrong without the steady beeping he had gotten used to.
Then something cracked inside him.
Katsuki shoved past the curtain so hard it scraped along the rail. He stormed into the hallway, chest tight, breath sharp. Manual was the closest pro, talking quietly with another hero. Katsuki grabbed his sleeve before the man even registered him.
“Where is he?”
Manual blinked, startled. “Bakugo, listen. You should be in bed. You’re not cleared to move around yet.”
Katsuki stepped closer. “I asked where he was.”
Manual tried to reach for his shoulder again. Katsuki jerked back. The hallway spun for a second, but he didn’t care. He scanned the pros lining the hall. Hawks leaned against the wall, still wrapped from his own injuries, supported by an obnoxious level of bandaging for his wings that Dabi had burned off. Best Jeanist stood nearby, arms crossed like he wanted to say something but didn’t dare.
“Hawks,” Katsuki snapped. “You saw him. You know something. So talk.”
Hawks blinked, and through his weird mask, spoke, “Kid, we’re doing everything we can. You need to focus on recovering. Things are unstable right now.”
“Don’t give me that,” Katsuki shot back. “You all know what he’s like. He blames himself for everything. Every single thing. He wakes up thinking he ruined the world. He goes to sleep thinking he didn’t try hard enough to fix it. And you’re telling me no one knows where he is. And if he's with All Might, then it's even worse! They multiply those traits!”
They kept avoiding his eyes, like he was saying something they didn’t want to hear, or rather believe.
Best Jeanist finally stepped toward him. “Bakugo. This isn’t the time. We understand your concern, but—”
“No,” Katsuki cut him off. “You don’t understand anything. If you did, you’d tell me where that nerd is.”
A nurse moved in with a soft voice. “Young man, please return to your room. You’re still not well.”
Katsuki scoffed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Jeanist said. “Your injuries were severe. If you push yourself—”
“If I push myself, I’ll find him faster,” Katsuki snapped. “That’s the point. Why is everyone acting like this is some secret? What are you hiding from me?”
“We’re not hiding anything,” Hawks said. “It’s… complicated.”
Katsuki barked a bitter laugh. “Everything’s complicated. I don’t care. Just tell me where he is. Tell me he’s awake. Tell me he didn’t run off thinking he ruined everyone’s lives again. Tell me he—”
His voice cut off. Not because he was out of things to say, but because no one was answering. They were looking at the floor, or the walls, or the ceiling. Anywhere except him.
“Say something!” he yelled, the sound tearing out of him.
Silence.
Jeanist exchanged a look with Hawks. The kind that said shut him down, quickly. Katsuki could see it in the twitch of their shoulders, the way their expressions hardened.
“We’re done,” Jeanist said, gentle but firm. “Return to your room. Now.”
Katsuki surged forward, but his legs trembled. His body wasn’t ready for this fight. He hated that he couldn’t stand tall enough to meet their stares.
A few pros moved in to guide him back. Calm. Like they were dealing with someone fragile.
He despised it.
“Don’t treat me like this,” he snarled as they walked him down the hall, small blasts pushing away any hands that were reaching out. “I’m not something you can push aside. I’m not—”
He faltered as a wave of dizziness hit him.
A hand caught his elbow, stopping him from stumbling. He ripped it away.
“Deku wouldn’t have left if you idiots actually did something,” he muttered, voice shaking. “But you’re too scared to deal with him. All of you.”
No one replied.
His door closed with a quiet click.
Katsuki stood in the center of the room, fists trembling, breath uneven. The anger churned deeper, tangled with something he didn’t want to name. Something like fear.
He didn’t sleep that night. He barely sat. Every sound in the hallway made him jump, thinking someone had come to tell him something. Anything.
Nothing came.
The next morning, they discharged him with the orders to rest, like he was a problem they needed out of the way.
Walking through the hallway felt like moving through a story he didn’t belong in anymore. Hero after hero shuffled past. Some nodded. Some whispered. None stopped him. He spotted Shoto near the exit. The guy looked rough, wrapped in tight bandages. His left side was stiff, and the space around him felt heavy.
When he noticed Katsuki, he paused. Then a small smile tugged at his face, real enough that Katsuki didn’t know what to do with it.
“You’re okay,” Shoto said as Katsuki approached him.
Katsuki scoffed. “Of course I am.”
The smile thinned. Shoto exhaled and glanced toward the window, eyes distant. “It was in vain, wasn’t it.”
Katsuki’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. He wanted to snap back. He wanted to tell him to shut up. Nothing came out. The words wouldn’t form. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t fucking know, half and half. It's chaos out there. I don’t know what to do.”
Shoto hummed, quiet. “How’s Midoriya?”
Katsuki’s breath caught before he could steady it. “He left,” he whispered. “I don’t know. No one’s answering anything. They’re acting like he’s… I don’t know.”
Shoto didn’t move after Katsuki’s last words. He just stood there, quiet, gaze fixed somewhere past the window like he was waiting for an answer neither of them had.
Katsuki almost walked off. Almost. But Shoto reached out, barely brushing Katsuki’s sleeve. “Come with me,” he said. His voice wasn’t steady.
Katsuki didn’t argue. Something in Shoto’s face made it impossible. If it were any lighter sentence, Katsuki would have yelled or jested, but his tongue weighed of gold, and lies were just hard at the moment.
They walked away from the exit, out of the noise of pros shuffling around, and down a calmer corridor. Shoto’s steps were slow. Katsuki matched them without thinking. The silence between them should have felt awkward, but it didn’t. It felt heavy. Familiar in a way Katsuki hated.
Shoto stopped in front of a room the staff had given him. He pushed the door open and stepped aside so Katsuki could enter.
It was quiet inside. Too quiet. Katsuki’s eyes drifted over the untouched food tray, the folded clothes in the corner, the chair Shoto must have sat in for long hours.
Shoto shut the door behind them.
“Bakugo,” he murmured, voice low, “I should have done more.”
Katsuki frowned. “Don’t start with that.”
“I should have stopped Touya,” Shoto continued, like he hadn’t heard him as he stood in one place. “I thought I could reach him. I thought… I thought it mattered that I tried.” His hands hovered at his sides, fingers twitching. “But everything burned anyway. And now Midoriya is gone. And I don’t know if what we did mattered at all.”
Katsuki felt something sharp twist in his chest. He didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to deal with someone else’s guilt when he was drowning in his own. He grabbed Shoto's hand, the uninjured one and dragged him towards the bed. He pushed him to sit down. “Oi,” he muttered, “don’t say stupid things.”
Shoto let out a breath that shook. He stared at the floor, his jaw tight, eyes shining. No tears fell, but they gathered there, stubborn, refusing to drop. That made it worse somehow.
Katsuki bit the inside of his lip. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop himself from saying something wrong. He tasted a trace of iron, but ignored it. He didn’t know what to do with someone else’s sadness. Didn’t know how to touch it. Didn’t know how to speak to it. He wanted to yell, but Shoto didn’t need yelling and for once he knew how to do that.
So Katsuki did the only thing he could think of.
On the table near the bed sat a pocket knife and an apple, probably left by a nurse who thought Shoto might eat if given something simple. Katsuki flopped down on the chair and grabbed both, flipped open the blade with a click, and started cutting slices. They were clean and even, not at par with his usual knife skills since his body still felt a little numb. But it was something to do with his hands.
He held out a piece toward Shoto without looking up.
Shoto blinked. “Bakugo…?”
“Just take it,” Katsuki muttered. “You look like you’re going to pass out or something.”
Shoto accepted the slice. His fingers brushed Katsuki’s for a moment, light and cold. He took a slow bite, as if grounding himself while Katsuki kept cutting.
“Do you think he’s okay?” Shoto asked quietly.
“No,” Katsuki said before he could stop himself. The knife paused mid-slice. “No. He’s not okay. That nerd thinks he has to fix everything alone. He’s probably out there right now trying to hold up the whole world by himself, like the idiot he is. Suicidal bastard.”
Shoto swallowed. “Then we failed him.”
Katsuki’s grip tightened on the knife. “We didn’t fail him. He failed us. He should have stayed. He should have told us what he was planning. He should have…” His voice thinned. “He should have said something.”
Shoto set the apple piece down. His breath wavered again. The tears rimmed his eyes, clinging stubbornly to the edges.
“Bakugo,” he whispered, “I’m scared for him.”
Katsuki didn’t look up. If he did, he’d see the full weight of Shoto’s emotions and he wasn’t ready for that. He shoved another apple slice toward him.
“Eat,” he muttered. “You sound pathetic.”
Shoto huffed a sound that was almost a laugh. Almost.
They sat there for a long time. Katsuki cutting slices he didn’t need, Shoto chewing slowly just to keep his hands from trembling. Neither spoke.
By the time Katsuki reached the dorms, the building felt wrong. Like everyone inside was holding their breath or were mourning someone's iminent death. The common room was full, but it may as well have been empty. No chatter. No background noise. Just a hollow tension that sat on everyone’s shoulders.
Katsuki stepped inside, carrying his hero suit case. “Oi. Any of you know something?”
No one answered.
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t pull this silent crap with me. If you know where that idiot went, say it.”
Jirou pushed to her feet without meeting his eyes. “I can’t do this right now,” she muttered and walked toward the stairs. Momo followed her. Aoyama slipped out behind them, shoulders tight.
Tokoyami didn’t move from his seat but didn’t lift his head either. “Some things are not for us to speak,” he said quietly.
Sero and Denki sat near the kitchen, both too still. Denki’s usual spark wasn’t there. When Katsuki addressed them, neither looked up.
“You two. Say something.”
They didn’t.
That was what made something hot flare in him. “What the hell is wrong with all of you? You’re acting like he—”
He cut himself off when Kirishima stood. The moment their eyes met, Eijiro’s gaze dropped to the floor. He mumbled something about checking on someone and left.
Katsuki’s breath caught in his chest, anger mixing with something close to panic.
“Answer me,” he snapped at the room. “I’m done playing games. Tell me where he is.”
Ochako flinched at the volume. Her face crumpled. “Bakugo, stop,” she whispered. “Please.”
He didn’t back down. “Why? Because you know something and don’t want to say it?”
Her hands balled at her sides. Tears spilled fast, her breath shaky. “We’re all hurting,” she choked out. “You’re not the only one who cares about him. Don’t… don’t rub salt into wounds that aren’t even close to closing.”
Tsuyu moved to Ochako’s side at once, touching her shoulder and glaring at Katsuki with rare anger. “Stop demanding things from people who are already struggling,” she said. “It won’t bring him back.”
Katsuki opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but nothing came out. The room was spinning with people he couldn’t read, couldn’t push, couldn’t fight. He turned on his heel. “Fine.”
He stomped down the hall and opened his door. The faint damp smell from the recent rain clung to the room. His curtains were still half drawn the way he’d left them. Dust motes floated in the stale air. He slammed the door shut and flicked the light on. The silence hit him again, loud in its own way.
Katsuki collapsed onto his bed. Stared at the ceiling. His chest felt tight, his thoughts too loud and not clear enough. He didn’t know how much time passed before he noticed something sticking out from his shelf. A corner of paper, bent like it had been shoved there in a hurry.
Katsuki sat up and narrowed his eyes. “What the…”
He walked over, pulled at the corner, and the object slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
An envelope.
His breath locked up.
He picked it up with a shaky hand and sat back down on his bed. He flipped it over.
Izuku's handwriting stared right back at him.
To Kacchan.
The words hit harder than any attack Katsuki had ever taken. He felt his throat tighten, something sharp and unwelcome rising in his chest.
He bit his lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to stop himself from making a sound. He wished he had some quirk that let him track someone through their handwriting, their thoughts, their breath. Something that could tell him exactly where Izuku had gone.
He shut his eyes and slapped his cheek once with his palm. Frustration boiled under his skin.
“Get it together,” he muttered. “Just open it.”
His fingers shook as he slid them under the flap and tore it open. Katsuki then unfolded the page. Izuku’s handwriting spilled across it in uneven lines, the way it always did when he was trying to say too much at once.
Kacchan,
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve already left. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disappear without saying anything, but if I had stayed a second longer, I would’ve lost my nerve. And if you had stopped me, I would’ve stayed. I know that.
It has to be me. All of it started because All For One wanted One For All. Because he wanted me. Because of that, people got hurt. Our class got dragged into something they never should’ve faced. You got hurt. If I let anyone else stand near me while All For One is still hunting, someone’s going to pay the price. I can’t let that happen.
Kacchan… when you got injured, it was my fault. I know everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t, that I should focus on getting stronger, but I can’t shake it. If I had been better, if I had reacted faster, you wouldn’t have had to protect me. You wouldn’t have been the one who fell. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. And I can’t accept that. I can’t let something like that happen again.
That’s why I have to go. Not to run away. But to end this. To stop Shigaraki and All For One so no one else gets dragged down because of me.
There’s something else I need to say before I go. Something I’ve never said out loud because I knew it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t prove myself first.
Kacchan… I've
Since we were kids catching beetles and running through the woods, I always looked at you and thought you were everything I wanted to be. I admired you so much it hurt. Even when we drifted apart in middle school, even when things were bad, even when I pretended I didn’t care, I never stopped feeling it.
And after we talked… after we fought… after we finally stopped pretending… I realized how much I wanted to stand beside you again. For real this time. Not as the useless kid chasing after you, but as someone who could keep up. Someone who wouldn’t hold you back.
I know this probably sounds stupid. I know I’m saying it in the worst way, at the worst time. But if I don’t write it now, I never will.
I love you, Kacchan. I always have. I always will. That hasn’t changed since we were kids and you grabbed my hand every time I slipped near a ledge. You always saved me without thinking. And I never forgot that.
I’m going to end this. Then I’ll come back. When it’s over, when no one else is in danger because of me, I’ll come back and say this to your face.
Let’s see each other soon, Kacchan? When this is all over. Let's graduate together.
Yours,
Deku.
Katsuki rubbed at his eyes furiously, he gasped and slammed open the window so he could let his quirk explode outside. The sound made his head light, and his ears ring sharply. He wanted to do anything, anything that would stop this feeling that was making it immpossible for him to breathe.
He screamed, because that was the only way he could get the rage out without having to explain it in wonders. Stupid, stupid Izuku. Katsuki wiped his eyes again and punched the wall until his knuckles bled. He felt himself fall to the floor in a sob as he stared at the letter fallen on the floor.
He was going to get that idiot back. It was something that he knew for a fact. He had to get that idiot back and blash him until his hair became a permanent afro. But he also just had to hold him tight enough that he would hear Izuku's heartbeat resonate with his own.
He dried his tears and headed downstairs to the common room. He knew his eyes were probably red rimmed, and that they'd definitely heard him scream earlier, but he could care less. He held the letter up to his classmates and used his quirk to blast it to ashes.
"Bakugo-" Kaminari began, but Katsuki cut him off.
"We'll stop this stupid mourning party," he said gruffly. "He's not dead yet. We have to bring him back."
Tsuyu stood up and nodded. "Izuku-chan would do that for us without thinking."
Iida met Katsuki's eyes and nodded. "Then we're starting when Todoroki's back, aren't we?"
"We can ditch that half 'n half," Katsuki mumbled.
Eijiro moved to grab Katsuki in a side hug. "As if we'd leave out one of our own," he said, lightly punching Katsuki. "Plus, Yaoyorozo just got off the call with him, he's being discharged tomorrow."
Katsuki nodded, and when he looked up again, he couldn't help but feel this wave of reassurance. If it was only him, Izuku would have probably turned him away with guilt, but with all of them, there was no way he could do that. But now? He was sure they could bring him back from the fucking underworld if they had to.