Archive of Our Own ^beta

Katsuki wakes up in the morning with dread already in the pit of his stomach. Now, Katsuki was never one to ignore his instincts. However, he'd also had nightmare after nightmare last night. He was asleep before ten and woke up at six, but there were so many fucking interruptions between those hours that he might as well have not slept at all.

Basically, he had assumed his lack of sleep and shitty leftover nightmare jitters were just fucking with his head.

Obviously, that was not it, because when he got back to his dorm room after his run and shower, there was a fucking 'care package' sitting to the side of his door, behind where it would swing open and thus avoiding his notice upon exiting.

Now, this doesn't seem terrible, right?

He's at his dorm. Away from home. A 'care package' is at his door. One's first assumption would be that it's from his parents, and someone had seen and delivered it outside his room.

Katsuki's parents don't send fucking care packages. They leave angry or sad voicemails about him not picking up the phone and then don't bug him until a business associate is coming over for dinner excited to meet the famous Bakugou hero student. (And gee was he a fucking spectacle by now.)

Okay then. Fine. Maybe a classmate had left it, a gesture of friendship!

He was close to no one in the class besides a few people who would never in their lives consider that.

A prank, then?

None of those morons would think to put it behind where the door swung open, they'd leave the fucking lump right in the way to inconvenience him.

There is literally no one else in Katsuki's life who has access in any capacity to the dorms or dorm mailing system.

He left his fucking phone in his room.

Does he want to risk going in and not coming back out?

Call him fucking paranoid, but he has reason to be wary. A call to Aizawa to ask what to do about what he's fairly convinced is either a bomb, a sprung knife trap, poison gas, or some other incredibly harmful surprise, is frankly not worth the risk of going into his room, his back turned to the door, and potentially hearing it close and lock shut. No more chances. He's done with fucking chances.

He's on schedule as always (would be, if not for the stupid fucking box), and Iida--Tenya? The guy had come to rescue him, but did that warrant first-name basis, despite whatever Four Eyes said?--is always downstairs about now, preparing the same breakfast he eats every day. Katsuki can't fault him for the rigidity of his routine; he loses his own shit if anything is disrupted in his morning schedule, including the potential fucking bomb threat, honest to god get back the fuck on track. 

"Four Eyes," he greets gruffly, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

"Good morning, Bakugou" Iida (yeah, definitely Iida) returns politely.

"Need ta' borrow your phone. 'S important," he says, not bothering to beat around the bush. 

Iida's brows furrow immediately with something that Katsuki almost mistakes for concern. "Of course," he agrees instantly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and punching in the passcode. "Do you need to look something up or call someone? Also, if it's anything I'm qualified to deal with, please feel free to share. I'm always willing to lend an ear, even if it's late."

Does he really look that shitty and tired? He certainly feels that way. Maybe that's why he's so lackluster yet paranoid about this. He doesn't even have the energy for indignance at Iida's offer, much less shaking the entire dorm awake with figuring out what the fuck is at his door.

"Call. Need to speak to Aizawa, 's something I think he's more equipped for than you," Katsuki brushes off tiredly, now that his original panic subsided and all that's keeping him awake is spite.

Iida hands him the phone already ringing, but doesn't move an inch when the line picks up. As if Katsuki's gonna budge. He can just be a creep and listen in on the whole thing then. 

"Iida? Did something happen?" Aizawa's voice threw Katsuki for a slight loop. He had that typical, perpetually annoyed drawl, but underneath that, it sounded like.

Worry?

"It's Bakugou, Aizawa."

A sharp sigh. "Bakugou, please tell me nothing happened. I don't really want to put you and Midoriya on house arrest again," Aizawa groans.

Suddenly, Katsuki's posture is a lot stiffer. What if Aizawa doesn't take him seriously? No, fuck that. If Aizawa doesn't believe him, then he'll just figure it the fuck out and never bring up his problems to anyone ever again. Already though, the embarrassment swirls in his gut beside the fear, the paranoia. The red of it creeps up his ears and sits high on his cheekbones. "I-" he starts. Stops.

Why is this suddenly so embarrassing? He was so convinced it was the worst case scenario, but really he could just avoid his room. He didn't need much from there. But what if Aizawa does believe you, and it turns out to be a real problem, and you weren't just the most idiotic person ever? a traitorous, hopeful little part of his brain whispers. 

For once, Katsuki decides he'll listen to that childish part of him. "There's a package placed outside my dorm room in a position I only would've seen coming back and I've logically eliminated all options of it being mail or some sort of 'care package'. I think it may be either a bomb or a sedative, in the more likely cases," he blurts all at once, trying to overrule his... hesitance with the feeling of the frenzied little dance his heart had done in his chest earlier. He refuses to admit to that feeling being fear.

And somehow, miraculously, the silence on the other end of the line isn't followed ten seconds later with the beep of an ended call or the sigh and chastisement for pulling childish pranks. In fact, it's under a minute when Aizawa comes storming in the front door, expression pinched with concern(?). Only then does the call disconnect.

"Bakugou..?" Iida asks. Tentative. (Worried?)

Right, the phone. He tosses it back far more carefully than he tries to let on. "Thanks or whatever. I guess."

"Mr. Aizawa," Katsuki calls, sending Iida a glance that he hopes conveys 'I'll explain later.' Iida will probably forget, but the gesture seems to placate him. Not that Katsuki cares to placate him. "Uh, I'll walk you to my room, I guess."

Aizawa makes no move to shoot him down. No condescending glance or scolding word. In fact, he doesn't speak at all. So why is that dread that settled in him the moment he woke only growing?!

They arrive without fanfare. Both their steps are quiet, though Aizawa's footfalls are infinitely more silent from years of training and experience than the teenager who's never worked a stealth mission in his life. Katsuki shows Aizawa the package. 

"I hadn't looked at it closer the first time, to be honest," he admits through grit teeth. It's important to give the details. "But I believe it was more than likely there before I woke, but I have no idea how it would get there, given it's improbably from someone else in the dorms. There's writing on the back that I can see from above, but I can't make out what's written without moving the box, which I assumed was best to wait for you to do."

Aizawa gives the box the same apathetic appraisal as Katsuki speaks, nodding at his last sentiment. He shifts his eyes to the teenager then, something Katsuki hopes is pride giving them a certain glint. "I'm glad you waited. Your assessment was concise and you noted most of the same things I did. I'm going to trust your judgement in ruling out potential people to have put this here, but since this qualifies as a potential threat, I'm going to need to get everyone out of their rooms and into the commons until this is dealt with. Please tell Iida to call Present Mic and relay those instructions. It's hard to miss his voice."

Katsuki swells imperceptibly at the praise. The foolish feeling dissipates for a moment, replaced by something that feels far too warm and fuzzy, wrapping around his throat and choking him. Then, at Aizawa's directions, he nods sharply, turning on his heel to book it down the stairs. Casually. Because he's not about to wait for those fucking elevators. 

Once he reappears, there's still no one but Iida downstairs. Looks like there are more extras to wake up, then.

"Call Mic," he says shortly, not bothering with nicknames for fear Iida wouldn't understand who he's talking about or waste time chastising him.

The guy is just as quick to pull up the teacher's contact as last time, handing Katsuki the phone already ringing. "Thanks," he grumbles again, quietly, averting his eyes.

"Heeeello Little Listener!" Mic's obnoxiously cheery voice yells from the phone. Katsuki has to jerk it away from his ear, despite not having it on speaker. "What can I do for you?"

"It's Bakugou," he greets with the same gruffness as typical. "Aizawa's dealing with something at the dorms, he needs you to come yell everyone awake and get them downstairs in case..." he trails off, hoping his voice didn't come out tinged with worry. What was the 'in case'? If Aizawa wanted everyone out of their rooms to avoid this potential danger, what's the worst case scenario for him, right next to the threat? God, should he have kept this to himself? 

"Listener? In case what?" Mic calls, cheerfulness in his voice sounding just a slight bit less genuine.

Right, he's on call. He needs to get it the fuck together. "In case what the fuck ever. Just get over here and wake everybody's lazy asses up, old man," he growls into the phone, the nerves surely obvious in his voice. He hangs up before Mic gets the chance to reply, he hands Iida his phone back more aggressively than necessary, running a hand through his hair and tugging once, twice, again, until he has some semblance of a grip on himself. 

"I don't wish to disturb you calming yourself down, Bakugou," Iida interjects at some point. "But you shouldn't be tugging on your hair like that. You'll hurt yourself."

'Oh really,' he almost snarks. 'It's almost like that's the fucking point.'

Instead, he relents, grumbling some wordless complaint and waving Iida off. "I'm going to make food. If you let any of those fuckers in my kitchen, I'm blowing them up and they can starve."

Iida doesn't even make any of his typical emotes of stress, scolding, or awkwardness. He only eyes Katsuki with that odd glint in his eyes, the look he doesn't know what name to put to, and sighs, deflating with a nod. "I'll do my best to keep them away. Let me know if you would like me to manage anything else while you work."

He doesn't use the word 'help'. He's not insinuating Katsuki needs help, or that he's weak. "...Right," he settles for, then. He's not...upset by the offer. It feels more than anything like Iida just genuinely gave a shit and wanted to show it. Huh. It was a funny feeling, the goop he can feel sticky in his gaze as he glances back at Iida. Is it... fondness? Eugh. He shakes his head as he turns around, walking to the kitchen and grabbing the ingredients that he needs. 

Half an hour and a pounding headache from Mic's voice later, all of Class 1-A is downstairs and accounted for. No one has barged into the kitchen, and Katsuki is relieved for the space to separate himself from the extras' rambunctious antics. Iida had calmed them down a bit, vaguely explaining the situation to set them at ease (fortunately, not mentioning specifically the potential bomb threat or Katsuki's involvement). 

He had started the rice first, knowing it takes ages for his impatient classmates. While that cooked, he set to making tamagoyaki, the repetitive motions of cracking the egg, adding the other ingredients, cook, flip, roll, again, again, again, again, pulling him away from his head and the cold dread that sat there. Eighteen servings sat in front of him, finished just as the rice was. He grabbed two stacks of the small bowls, piled nine high each for this exact reason, and filled each one. 

He sticks his head out of the kitchen, calling, "Food's ready! Come get your plates yourselves, lazy asses!"

The atmosphere bubbles up again, excitement and feet thumping and racing and clamoring for chopsticks and soon there's people sprawled on every surface, digging into breakfast between incessant chatter.

"Thanks, Bakugou!" someone calls over the noise.

"Yeah, this is delicious!" another person agrees. 

Katsuki pretends he doesn't feel the same rush of pride as earlier at the praise. "Yeah, whatever extras. I'm just that awesome, now shut your traps and eat!" he chides, aggravation entirely faked. It feels disgustingly domestic, and Katsuki wants to claw his face off at the sudden, sickening rush of affection he feels for his class. He really fucking cares about them. Which only ends up feeling terrible, because that means they've become something he can lose. The thought of what Aizawa's doing up there is suddenly pushed to the forefront of his mind, and he thinks the queasy feeling must show on his face as he rushes to the kitchen, because Iida's naturally heavy footfalls--weighed down by his engines--follow him in.

"Bakugou?" he asks, his voice the same, weird, tentative thing it was this morning. It feels like all Iida's said to him lately is his name. He hates it. He hates how the syllables drip from Four Eyes' tongue twisting in a way that almost convinces Katsuki that he's worried about him. "Are you--" he cuts himself off. "I feel I know the answer to that, actually. Would you like to talk about what's wrong?"

Stupid, stupid, caring fucking classmates who come to rescue him when he's kidnapped because they care, and they're so, so, good and they make him want to be good too and make him care so much back. It's fucking terrifying. Katsuki hates being scared.

He has no fucking energy to shove Iida off when he places a worried hand on his shoulder.

Katsuki wants to get a hold of himself. Badly. But he feels sick to his stomach and exhausted out of his mind and he's worried that he sent Aizawa to his death or maiming or some other number of irreparably horrible things and scared that now that he's attached to his class, something is going to find a way to rip them from him. So instead of getting a hold of himself, Katsuki shoves his head into Iida's shoulder and pretends that his shuddering breaths don't come with tears.

He feels like a baby. He hates being tired and having no grip on his emotions. He hates being so fucking emotional. He hates being an angry crier. He hates being so angry. He hates the fact that he sinks a little bit more into Iida when a hand wraps around his back, switching between rubbing circles in between his shoulder blades and tracing nonsensical patterns. He hates that the comfort, the touch, makes him shudder harder, forcing more choking tears from his eyes. He hates that he doesn't even have to think about raising his hands to clench Iida's shirt in a death grip, praying to god that this is real and praying even harder that it's fake.

And every thought, every piece of hatred he feels, makes him angrier, and he's a stupid fucking angry crier. He's staining Iida's fucking shirt. It makes him guilty. The guilt gives him something new to cry about, and these things keep compounding, again and again and again until he doesn't know how long he's been standing there, sobbing into Iida's shoulder when the guy pulls away.

The shame rears its head then, curling in his gut and flaming his face. He shoves his face in his hands and pretends he's calming down.

The hand doesn't leave him, four fingers curling over his shoulder and a thumb moving in a repetitive, circular motion. The shame quiets only so slightly. "You need to drink some water. I don't want you to dehydrate, even though it's good to get all of this out."

'Good to get all of this out.' He shouldn't have anything left to get out. He cried fighting fucking Deku, and got the rest of it out with violence. Who fucking cares if he can't remember the last time he cried before that. Even during the Sludge Villain Incident, he had nothing more than glossy eyes.

He nods regardless. He's not about to fucking fight the guy after crying him a goddamn river. His head is hung, refusing to meet Iida's eyes even as he accepts the water, drinking it slowly through hitching breaths. 

"It's nothing to be embarrassed of, by the way," Iida says, and it's casual when he says it. He brings it up like you'd mention not realizing someone's eye color. Something not quite common in conversation, but something to say, and accept, and move on from. "I don't cry often either, but when I do it gets rather uncontrollable. I always appreciate someone by my side to help me through it."

And Katsuki typically has the emotional maturity and regulation of a ten-year-old, but this is tired Katsuki. Not an ounce of self-control here. He turns and pukes on the ground. In retrospect, it felt nice to clear out his gut, like he was getting rid of the dread and sick feeling of affection along with it, but in the moment, he's in the process of swallowing water and it comes back out making the bile feel thick, splattering down in a comical rendition of his two times puking up sludge and slime.

What a thought, he realizes absently, gagging, doubled over on the ground, gripping and clawing his throat, trying to get it out, he needs the rest of it out, he doesn't want it in his system anymore. Tunnel vision encases him as Iida scrambles, his calls for someone to get Present Mic growing farther and farther away as all that matters becomes the pile of goopy green under him. Katsuki is gagging, pressing his throat where he knows will force something up, and that makes him afraid. The slime is going to force its way down into his lungs, ruin him, take control of him, pull him in front of villains with no one to save him this time, put him at the mercy of All for One, sneering down at him behind a blank mask of obsidian. He needs to get it out before that happens.

It's illogical, sticking his fingers down his throat and feeling vindication as nothing but acid spills back up his mouth, but logic has no place in his fear. It's instinctual, by now. He learned to fear it the first time. The second had only impounded that lesson. He isn't going to err that way again. 

But someone is by his side, soothing words and quiet, frantic tone, holding his wrist, dragging it away, forcing him to stop bringing more up. He shakes his head slightly, frantic in his own right.

"Gotta," he coughs, gagging again. He dry heaves, tears squeezing themselves from his eyes once more. He hates vomiting, too. It always makes him teary. "Gotta get th' sludge out," he pleads.

"There's no slime, Bakugou. It's just water. There's no sludge or slime permitted in the UA dorms, where you are right now. There are no villains here. You are safe. There is no sludge. Your throat is clear. There's nothing but bile coming up, and the acid you're forcing from your throat is produced by your body. There is nothing there that shouldn't be. You are safe," the voice--Iida, it's Iida's voice--assures, a steady stream of seemingly obvious things providing an anchor, something for Katsuki to latch onto. 

The smell of his puke finally reaches his nose, and Katsuki gags, a final fucking time.

Fucking embarrassing.

There's only one other person in the kitchen. Present Mic. Katsuki doesn't know whether to be more humiliated that his teacher, a pro hero, saw him like that, or grateful that none of his classmates were there. Mic's eyebrows are creased as he stares down at Katsuki, but he takes a second to jolt back into himself when he realizes Katsuki's eyes landed on him.

"Hey Listener," he starts, his voice blessedly quiet. It's strange, but not something he's about to waste thought over--Katsuki has never heard Mic talk so softly. "I'm not gonna ask if you're alright, but do you think you're able to move? Aizawa took care of that package, so Iida can take you to your room to help you get cleaned up if you're ready."

It's stupid. Katsuki feels stupid. Like a sick child, down with the flu and unable to manage himself. 

"'M fine," he says, but none of the bite comes with it. His throat is shredded from puking. He places a hand to his neck, but jolts it away at the stinging pain.

Mic winces. "Yeah, you were clawing your neck up pretty bad there. Iida said it would be better to not touch too much, so I let him handle it for the most part, but I can patch you up once you get changed."

Ah.

He ruined his uniform, splattered with bile. Nasty.

His face feels gross too. 

"I'm not putting any fucking bandages on my neck," he grouses, but the grouchiness is backed with genuine desire to keep his neck as free as possible. It felt like hands and pressure and all sorts of metal things he doesn't want to feel on his neck ever again. He doesn't care if he gets weird looks. 

Mic concedes easily. "Whatever you want to do, Listener. Just let me know."

Iida ends up carrying most of his weight as they go up to his room.

"I have some shit up here to clean off my face. 'M just gonna change my shirt, the pants are fine," he explains when Iida asks him if he needs to go to the communal showers after he grabs a spare uniform, set to sit on his bed for as long as he can allow himself.

"Right. Can I grab that for you?" So obnoxiously helpful. (It eases the churning of his gut, if only for a moment.)

"Desk, second drawer on the right. Package of wipes."

Iida retrieves it promptly. Katsuki's hands are shaking, he realizes as he pulls a wipe out and scrubs his face down harshly, before tossing it in the trash bin to the left of his desk. 

"I'll get your uniform top, if that's fine," Iida offers. 

It would be easier. Katsuki concedes. He's too fucking tired for this bullshit. Maybe this means he'll be too exhausted for nightmares tonight, at least. 

Iida turns away respectfully when Katsuki strips off his top without fanfare, balling it up and throwing it in the hamper in the corner. He tugs on the new shirt, and flops down on his bed, even more exhausted than when he dragged himself up. He really had considered just sleeping in. That seems like a good idea, now.

"You can look now, Four--Iida." He feels a little bad calling the guy Four Eyes after he did all that for him. Iida's smiling when he turns around.

"You can call me Tenya, Bakugou," he offers again. Katsuki believes him, this time. However, he's also not one to be one-upped.

He huffs. "Katsuki, then. Call me Katsuki."

Iida--Tenya's smile widens ever so incrementally. "Right, Katsuki."

It's weird and awkward and kind of nice and Katsuki doesn't fight the way the corner of his mouth curls up ever so slightly and doesn't duck his head to hide the goo that he feels dripping into his eyes.

They sit there for a short while longer, before making their way back down.

"Class already started," Tenya explains, "but we have a pass, so take whatever time you need. Do you still want Present Mic to come help with your neck?"

Katsuki averts his eyes, glaring at the wall. "I don't really want him touching my neck." He's all about honesty today, huh?

Tenya goes quiet for a second. "Would... would you be opposed to me cleaning out the scratches instead?" he asks, tone tentative and open-ended.

It's a startling thought, but Katsuki realizes he really wouldn't mind. He doesn't like people touching his neck, barely accepts touch at all, but, he... trusts Tenya. A lot. And for whatever reason, The realization doesn't feel as bad as Katsuki thought it would. It's a good feeling, even, when he's able to nod. "That'd be fine, yeah."

Tenya honest-to-god sparkles at his acceptance, like the glitter freak. "I truly value your trust in me, Katsuki!" he exclaims, excited. "I'll be careful, but please tell me if I make you uncomfortable at all or if you need to stop for a moment."

It doesn't feel like Tenya is babying him. Katsuki examines the words as he absentmindedly nods, and it should feel like he's being babied. But he doesn't. And it's nice. It feels stupidly nice. 

Tenya's hands are stiff and bulky, but his jerky movements don't hurt, a complete lack of force behind them. Katsuki bares his neck and doesn't bother hissing at the sting of antiseptic, and before it begins it is over. Tenya pats a gauze pad around his neck, to dry it up just a bit.

"It should be fine from infections, but you're sure you don't want it bandaged?" Tenya asks. Double checking. Not pushing.

"I never say anything I don't mean, Tenya," he says with a roll of his eyes, the given name slipping far more easily off his tongue than he imagined it would. 

Tenya smiles again, and packs away the first aid.

They march to class together.

If Katsuki is honest, which he has been an awful lot today, he wasn't paying attention to the lesson in the slightest. The dread is back, crawling and curling and menacing. Something is going to happen. And, as is typical, his intuition is proven right when they are told to stay in their seats after the bell rings. Chatter starts up, speculating what could be happening.

The class flips between dead silence and even more raucous chatter when Pro Heroes walk in. Top Five. Jeanist, Endeavor, Mirko, Hawks, Edgeshot. All five of the top pro heroes, three in civilian clothes, trudge in together. Hawks and Mirko playfully at each other's throats, Jeanist speaking quietly with Edgeshot, a fond gleam to his eyes, and Endeavor grouching, stewing by himself.

Katsuki bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn't care at all. He's not some stupid fanboy like Deku. However. 

However.

They are skilled and strong and what Katsuki wants to become one day. So maybe he doesn't entirely hate having to stay after class to see them.

He hears the nerd muttering already. "Don't be a fucking creep, Deku," he says quietly to the boy. He jumps, blushing and apologizing quickly before burying his face in his notebook.

The tips of his own ears burned. Every time shit like this happened was a dumbass reminder of when he and Deku were four and knew way too much about a hero's personal life that was apparently not public information, and promptly grilled and freaked out said pro into retirement. They were new, but they had a sparking quirk similar to the one Katsuki had just recently developed, so the two got a bit...energetic, in their research. 

Yeah. Neither of them were terribly keen on a repeat incident. 

Katsuki debates pretending to be neatening his class notes as he twirls his pen in hand, wondering if anyone would ask and realize he had the same stupid fucking notetaking habits as the nerd. He thinks he might actually die if that were to happen, or to be caught muttering about one of his stupid theories or other like Todoroki's conspiracy theorist ass. Safer to just leave it.

The next person to walk in is Principal fucking Rat. Katsuki is convinced the guy is just an experimented animal and not a quirked human, but like hell is he gonna bring that up and risk expulsion. Instead, the class stands, greets him, and is told to sit again.

"Now," the bastard says. "The pros have already been briefed on what's happening, but I'm sure you students are curious."

Any near-silent mutters had been cut off in suspense. A pin could drop in the room and sound like a gunshot. 

"A package was reported outside Bakugou Katsuki's dorm room. Aizawa investigated, finding a USB I watched, with a note attached explaining that it was obtained with a quirk, and held valuable, verified information on the League and their actions during Bakugou's kidnapping."

Oh.

He's very glad he puked earlier. There's nothing left to do but dry heave.

"However, I believe there is worth to be gained from you staying, Mr. Bakugou. I cannot force you, but your input would be welcome. A few portions of the tape had me...questioning."

Wow, not even an offer to leave the room. Asshole. Just a menacing ass statement that made fear wrap around his neck like a collar. He clenched his jaw shut, fists white and jaw clenched tightly as he nodded his agreement.

"Well then, I'm glad we all understand. Eraser?"

Aizawa looked upset, but complied. Katsuki wondered what pissed off his teacher, but didn't bother to deliberate further as he saw himself, in chains and muzzle, jolting awake with frantic eyes.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Katsuki's voice curses vehemently, rage and terror simmering like a thrashing beast in his tone .

"Okay, what the fuck?! You can hear my fucking thoughts?! What fucking good is that supposed to do?!" he yells, in the classroom, not the screen, chair skidding loudly as he stands, slamming his hands on his desk.

The stupid, smug fucking rat only makes a weird movement with his face that Katsuki thinks is a smirk. "Much good, actually. You're an intelligent boy, Bakugou."

He clicks his jaw shut and falls back into his seat.

'Am I fucking stupid? Why did I just stand there?!' Katsuki bemoans mentally. A hand stapled together with pale mixed to purple flesh, a phantom, reaches for the back of Katsuki's neck, grazing it lightly. The boy jolts away from the feeling, whipping his head around, searching for the source. The phantom hand is gone.

"Bakugou." Aizawa's voice is firm. "There was nothing you could have done in that situation that wouldn't have put you at risk of death. You aren't to blame for freezing up--it could just as likely have been a side effect of Compress using his quirk on you."

"Right," he grumbles in response. What else is there to say? The nightmares are itching at the back of his head, and here he is, watching on a screen as they're all proven right.

'Okay. This is fine. I'm kidnapped. I've been kidnapped before. I can figure this out. I always have.' He repeats the mantra, again and again, twenty times. 'I can figure this out. I always have.'

Katsuki blinks, coming to a realization. 'It's like hero training. It's just an exercise. If I get out of this alive, I get a hundred. I die, a failing grade. I can do that. Gotta maintain my average.'

The footage pauses, quite clearly at Nezu's whim. "That's what I would love to hear clarification of, Mr. Bakugou. I'm very pleased to hear a student so motivated to maintain high grades, but none of your records, police or otherwise, have mentions of previous kidnapping. Care to explain?"

'No,' he wants to snap. 'It's actually my internal monologue and none of your fucking business, so fuck off.'

Instead, because he does in fact want to continue his education at UA, he explains. "Quirk traffickers." He shrugs. "I didn't exactly keep my quirk to myself as a kid, and it drew a couple eyes. It only happened a couple times when I was around seven to twelve, and always on weekends, so my parents usually thought I went camping or some shit and my teachers didn't notice me roughed up 'cause no one looks twice at a kid with perfect attendance as long as he always shows up. No one ever found out, so there was no record to put it on."

There's a tenseness in the room, somehow worse than it was before. "Seven to twelve..? God..." he hears Jeanist mutter to Edgeshot. Asshole. Was he too--whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Dude," Kaminari says in fearful awe. "There's no fucking way you were still worried about your grades while kidnapped. I'll never be a straight-A student if that's the kind of dedication it takes..."

Katsuki blinks, caught off guard at the abrupt switch in topic. "My bad for giving a fuck, I guess," he shoots back, brow raised. He chooses not to be all too upset. The suffocating tension bled slightly out the door at Dunce Face's comment anyways.

Who am I fucking kidding. It's been two years since I was last kidnapped, and I always went down drugged. There's gotta be something wrong with me, or these guys are a huge fucking problem.

The thoughts fade from being dialogue into the narration--the quirk used to gain the footage is entirely in Katsuki's head.

Not to mention all the research I did on these League morons after USJ. They're goddamn dangerous.

It cuts to a memory of Katsuki, looking withered and exhausted, with his laptop and phone on full brightness in the pitch black of night.

"Oh my god, he is capable of staying up after 8:30!" one of his idiots cry. He growls in their direction.

"There's nothing on these fucking dickwads!" he grumbles to himself in the memory, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. "How the hell am I supposed to make sure no one dies if there's nobody competent enough to gather fucking information!!"

"Bakugou," Jeanist starts, in his lecturing voice. "You have to understand there's only so much detectives and police, the ones who collect that information, can do within the bounds of the law."

A phantom of Best Jeanist appears to memory-Katsuki, in a lecturing voice. "Bakugou, you have to understand there's only so much to be done within legal bounds by detectives and police, the ones who collect this information," he says. Katsuki swats the thought away.

Jeanist blinks, slightly dumbfounded. 

"Wow kid, you got the geezer near word-for-word," Mirko comments, sounding impressed.

"Stupid asshole heroes caring so much about fucking proprietary. There are shady people for a fucking reason. They know a guy who knows a guy and you don't have to know jackshit about them." 

Tension, once again, with a slight air of offense also lining Jeanist's shoulders. "I hope you weren't considering doing anything illegal, Bakugou," he says, a warning to his tone.

Katsuki scoffs. "As if I would ever. I was just sayin'."

"Who am I kidding? I've never broken curfew a day in my life, who the hell am I gonna go talk to? Not my fuckin' job anyway..." he grumbles, burying his head in his hands.

The memory cuts forward a bit. Katsuki is still sitting with his laptop and phone, but he's typing out information on a spreadsheet, with loose papers scattered around him. He's muttering to himself, barely taking a moment to breathe. It's eerily reminiscent of Izuku. 

"Decay quirk... compatible? Something's wrong... flame user's obviously not flame resistant... maybe he's just stupid. Don't have shit on ballsy. Lizard? What even does his quirk do? He reminds me of Stain... are they connected? Stain's got creepy fucking followers, maybe he's one of them. Point of contact? League ally? No, their goals don't seem to align. Stain preaches about erasing fake heroes, League attacks kids. Stain probably doesn't care much, but wouldn't outright partner for their cause. Creepy blood bitch... her quirk is obviously something related to her bloodlust... but is that the cause or the effect? Is it an enhancer quirk? Maybe it's something like copycat's in 1-B... he needs biological matter from the fucker hes stealing from, she might be the same, but it only works for blood. Fucking funny if they were related, both blonde... getting off topic."

His mutters continue into something indistinguishable. The scene switches back to Katsuki in chains, at the League's dingy bar.

Right. I have nothing on them. 

Katsuki's face burns. That has got to have been one of his stupidest little rants yet, pointing out the obvious then sidetracking for a completely illogical joke that a hero student was related to a villain.

"...I should add that to my theory board," Todoroki comments.

Katsuki groans and slams his head into the desk.

Add to that the fact that this is the first time a kidnapper has actually had decent restraints...if i try to bust these off with my quirk, my hands'll blow right off with them, with all the nitroglycerin buildup. Obviously can't break them off with brute force. Maybe if i had more motion. Want this muzzle off. Not a damn dog.

Set off track by his remark about blowing off his hands, no one notices how Katsuki winces at his last two thoughts. He really could've gone without the reminder of how a muzzle feels digging into his face for the millionth time.

Easier to not think about it. Pretend it's a mask. Not a muzzle. 'M not a dog. I'm not a dog. I don't need a muzzle. I'm not a dog. I'm not a dog. I don't need to be muzzled. I shouldn't be muzzled. Don't want to be muzzled. I want it off. I want the muzzle gone. I need to see it destroyed. I don't want anything on my face ever again. I'll blow it off. I'll blow my face off. I'll blow off my hands and use the stumps the get this fucking thing off of me next. I'm not a dog.

Katsuki... kind of forgot how unhinged his internal monologue had gotten at that point. But it was itching him and clawing him and digging into his skin and Katsuki felt like a dog at that moment, forced to heel, forced to sit, stay, roll over. He wants to feel human. He hates how quiet it gets as his voice is projected, ugly and wretched and turning quickly from apathy to desperation.

The chants continue in his mind. I'm not a dog. I'm not a dog. I'm not a dog. They all think so. Maybe I should bark. Maybe I should stop barking and bite. They've gotten their warning. I've given my warning. They don't deserve my warning. Maybe I should bite, and sink my teeth into their fingers until I break into the bone and crunch it off. Chew on it, feel the flesh melting and grinding and crunching in my mouth. The flesh I don't deserve. I'll deserve flesh. I'll deserve blood dripping down my chin and no bark because I gave them my warning. Need this muzzle off.

Okay, apparently it got more unhinged. A few people around shoot him wary glances (he's not a beast) but most keep their eyes firmly fixed away.

"I hope I don't have to confirm this is purely aggravated thoughts provoked further by a high-stakes situation and you would never consider actually mutilating someone, Mr. Bakugou," Nezu says in his stupid rat voice.

"It goes without saying," Katsuki growls back. He growls, because he will do nothing more than bark. Heroes cannot bite.

Katsuki is shaking, trembling with rage and seething. He glares firmly at the door, willing his body to be still. He slackens. Makes his face, twisted with rage and desperation, fall blank.

Not the time. It's just a damn muzzle. I'm not a fucking dog, all that bark and bite bullshit. I'm going to be civil and normal and not die because I can't get a failing grade. Dogs don't take tests. This is a test. I've studied.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. He's not a dog. Dogs don't watch television, and here he is. Dogs don't sit in chairs, yet here he is. He is not muzzled.

"It's good that you're able to compartmentalize, but unpacking that later is equally as important," Edgeshot voices from the front of the room. "Unaddressed, baggage like that takes a toll."

Katsuki can't summon a response.

Dabi prances through the door. I want him dead.

No I don't. Heroes don't want people dead.

Maybe just a little bit.

"Looks like sleeping beauty's awake, fuckin' finally..." he snarks, a bored drawl to his tone. The room is silent. "What, I don't get a hello? How rude to your most gracious host." The 'joke' falls flat when Katsuki's face doesn't so much as twitch.

JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! FIND THE NEAREST BUILDING SO YOU CAN HOP OFF MY FUCKING COCK YOU LITTLE DICKRIDING PIECE OF SHIT! I BET SOMEONE AS FUCKING DUMB AS YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO WALK INTO FIRE TO BE BURNT INTO PURPLE FUCKING LATEX, I SAW HOW YOUR QUIRK BURNT INTO YOUR USELESS FUCKING SKIN! KILL YOURSELF! KILL YOURSELF! EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE IS A WASTE AND A DISRESPECT TO EVERY TREE THAT EXISTS, JUMP!

Katsuki's thoughts rage, spitting venom and petty insults, while his face is unchanging, no emotion displayed behind his eyes. Nothing but the smallest, slightest flicker of anger.

"That is weirdly brutal and strangely cathartic to watch." Mina's voice is almost blank but almost giddy, a strange tipping scale of not knowing what to feel.

"He needed to hop off my dick, I was thinking accordingly." Yeah, he's a little smug. And what the fuck about it?

Aizawa hums, cutting in. "Unrelated to your...personal opinions on Dabi, I'm impressed you noticed his skin wasn't resistant to the heat he produces. That's a good observation, kid."

And there it is again, that funny swelling feeling of being good. He smirks at his teacher, who simply huffs and turns away again.

"The boss said to take the muzzle off you."

The mask of apathy breaks for a moment. Katsuki's eyes widen slightly, hope flickering through them before he stifles it back to neutrality.

"You really want that, huh?"

Katsuki curses himself, seeing it from an outsider view. How much more obvious could he have been?

Dabi comes over, fiddling with the latches that hold the muzzle in place. The tension that lines his body doubles at the proximity then triples at the graze of Dabi's fingertips against his neck. But then the muzzle unlatches, and Katsuki immediately begins to work his jaw as it's pulled away, eyeing Dabi's hand.

It's within distance. Would it be stupid to try? Absolutely. He could burn me to ashes here, a painful death paired with my own quirk. My skin would blister and the heat would be unbearable and the metal would melt into my skin as I die and my corpse will be unrecognizable. Would it be worth it, for the last thing I ever hear to be him yowling in pain that a stable got tugged out? Also absolutely.

More than one of Katsuki's classmates gag at the vivid description, as well as the displayed imagery Katsuki's brain conjured up at the moment. Maybe something is wrong with him. What a thought.

He opens his mouth, teeth bared as he leans forward, when he catches sight of puss seeping from where the skin and leather meet. 

Aw, hell no am I getting any of that fungus shit in my mouth! Nevermind, he can just go fucking off himself without me pulling his staples. Christ.

"That's what inspired you to not?!" Invisibitch shrieks. "Not the graphic image that your own brain conjured up of you being horribly mutilated and dying a slow, painful death?!"

Katsuki offers her a shrug, only very slightly feeling bad.

Nasty bitch. 

Dabi throws the muzzle to the side somewhere, the loud clanging sounding like salvation to Katsuki's ears. He wasn't thinking about it, but a few more hours in that thing and he trusted he wouldn't be leaving this place with hands in tact.

Maybe I'm crazy. I don't care. Now I need to play my cards right. None of this is a new game, but the League of Morons play differently than I'm used to. They want me well-behaved, but anything too far out of character will either make them suspicious or deem me weak and useless and dispose of me before I can sort myself out. I have to run my mouth, but I can't toe the line too far or I'm dead. Or maybe they want me bad enough to only put the muzzle back on. That's as good as death, actually.

"Ah." Nezu pauses the tape again. "This was something else I was confused about. You elaborate further later on how you're 'used to' the games the League plays, but I'd like to give you a chance to warn us of anything?"

Smug. Fucking. Rat. Bastard.

"You'll see it anyways. You're not pussies, you can cope," he snips, not even caring anymore. Fuck this, honestly. It's stupid and demeaning and exposing and everything he never wants to happen.

My mother wants me quiet and agreeable when the muzzle's a threat. That's what it's for; quiet and agreeable. These are villains. They probably don't give a shit what I say if I don't get too confident with personal insults. So what they want is more than likely agreeable.

UA wanted agreeable, right? They didn't get that  or quiet, and All Might ended up shoving a medal down my throat and I looked like an idiot on national TV. Nothing I can't move on from, but that was a lesson. If I don't give, something will. There, it was a little bit of embarrassment and a hard time in a few teachers' classes. Here, what gives can be my life.

I guess I don't have a choice then. A comment or two on the shitty state of the place if it doesn't land badly with Mist Fucker to seem in character, then shut my mouth and pray to god they don't get bored.

Aizawa looks a little more than mildly disturbed. "What are you--Nezu, pause this."

The screen halts to a stop.

"Bakugou, what do you mean you were muzzled in UA? When did this happen? National television? Was this during the awards ceremony for the Sports Festival that I missed?" The bombardment of questions throws Katsuki for a loop, blinking as Aizawa's face scrunches in anger. "What did All Might do?"

It's embarrassing to admit how afraid he is of being muzzled again if he gets too rowdy in Cementoss's or Midnight's classes, but Aizawa's glare makes him immediately rule out lying and/or deflection. "Yeah, uh, at the Sports Festival. I was bein' a bitch about acceptin' the first place medal, so after Midnight knocked me out, she and Cementoss chained me to the, uh, the fucking podium with a muzzle on. All Might came up with the medal and I was still bein' pissy, so he used a little force, I guess. It was fine though, I needed the adrenaline 'cause my blood pressure dropped like hell after I passed out."

Is he mumbling? Yes, yes he is. He has very good fucking reason, because this is fucking humiliating to have to air out in front of all his classmates and a bunch of pro heroes. He doubts he's ever going to get and internship offer again, after this. 

"And," Aizawa's voice is stone cold with rage. It's genuinely a small bit terrifying, "this convinced you that muzzles are an authorized punishment at UA for... for not complying?"

It only made sense to assume so. "Is it not?"

"Not in the slightest, Bakugou. That's cruelty and entirely impermissible."

Oh, well now he feels a bit silly for being so stressed it'd happen again in one of the three teachers' classes. 

"Actually, now that I think about it, that makes Cementoss's weirdass comment make sense." Katsuki's not sure why he verbalizes the thought, but it seems important.

Aizawa takes a deep, calming(?) breath that doesn't seem to do much for him. "What comment...?"

"He said he 'wished he could do this in class' I think? Somethin' along those lines. I dunno, I just assumed he meant it was a two-person job, or that he's too busy managing a fucking class to worry about a muzzle, not that it isn't allowed."

Katsuki's teacher returns his intelligent response from earlier. "Right."

"I'm concerned about the mention of your mother, Katsuki," Jeanist finally speaks up. "Does she... put a muzzle on you often?"

Finally, the easy questions. "No," he replies easily, honestly. "It's all just threats. I don't think she actually fuckin' owns one. She only started up after the Sludge Villain, cause she knew I was touchy about shit covering my mouth and nose and the idea of it got me to shut up and do what she wanted. I'm honestly just not tempted to fuck with her and have her actually buy one, I learned my lesson with her fuckin' quirk suppressant gloves."

Jeanist squeezes his eyes shut briefly. "And that lesson was..?"

"I wouldn't stop sparking off in the house to clear the nitroglycerin off my hands even though she said not to use my quirk inside, told me she'd get quirk suppressant gloves. She got 'em, and I ended up learning how to stop sparking off for a while without blowing my hands off 'cause the constant blisters under the gloves were making it hard to do shit."

"...Okay. Let's...let's revisit this later, once we're done watching the tape." The man sounds shaken, which is unusual. Katsuki huffs, resigning himself to another chiding lecture later.

Hey, this isn't all bad. I can get some information. Maybe if I can get Aizawa something useful, he won't be too aggravated I got myself snatched in the first place.

"I was never aggravated that you were kidnapped," Aizawa is quick to say. "That situation was one you shouldn't have been put in to begin with."

Let's go through who I know the least about. Lizard Face. Obviously a Stain follower, or at least inspired by him, with his whole get-up. Quirk is unclear, haven't engaged enough to gauge personality or inclination for murder versus maiming.

Murder versus maiming, I like that. Sounds like a song name or something. Maybe that should be my rating scale for them. Murder for the most well-liked and maiming for the least. Should it be the opposite? No, because with murder at least I die quick. Maiming could mean slowly bleeding out or having to give up heroics, which would literally just make me kill myself anyway. Yeah, murder versus maiming.

Asui chimes in first at what's probably perceived as his most odd train of thought yet. "What kind of music are you listening to that 'murder versus maiming' sounds like a song name?"

Katsuki shrugs. "I dunno, ask Earplugs. She sends me her playlists, I just listen to those."

Jirou shoots him a look. "You literally recommended half the bands on those playlists, dude." 

"Whatever," he scoffs back.

Actually, I should've started with Ballsy. I have absolutely no fucking clue what that asshole's deal is besides the fact that he acts more flamboyant than Sparkles and his quirk-- compresses, eugh, I feel like I just made a pun--people into a turquoise marble that feels like the fucking void. God, I hate that motherfucker. He's going right to the far side of Maim. More likely to, as well, if his ability can be sectionalized? He could easily Compress my foot, amputating me with a touch. He seems like the kinda guy to enjoy that shit, too. Freak.

"There is so much to unpack from that," Round Face breathes out, blinking rapidly. "Why are you so hateful towards puns? What is it with you and imagining vividly graphic scenarios in which you die and/or are brutally mutilated?! Is it, like, a hobby for you?! she chokes out. Katsuki glares at her, turning his attention back to the screen and pretending he hadn't noticed the chorus of agreements and other questions.

I don't know any of them, really. Does it matter the order?

Handsy. He's important. If I'm right, he's 'boss'. But he's too immature for that. There has to be someone above that. Pulling Shigaraki's strings. This is a poor but well-run organization, and Shigaraki is too unstable and not independent enough to manage that. The important question though; who does he answer to?

I'd imagine it's someone particularly powerful, but what if they aren't? What if Shigaraki was... 'rescued'? There aren't any legal records of a Shigaraki, except for some ancient dude I didn't have time to look into. No missing reports. Shigaraki Tomura is his villain name.

I wonder if he knows.

Not the time for that, now. His quirk is Decay. My problem is with the function. Does the decay spread? I didn't see it in too much action with Aizawa helping out at USJ. I'm glad I didn't have to. But now I might have to, when I don't give them what they want. I wonder, will he reach for my head and watch my torso fall limp as my brain turns to dust? Will he grab hold of my arm, watch as half my power dissipates before my eyes? Or maybe he'll brush his fingers past my shin, watch with the rush of glee he gets from murder as the crumbling spreads up, around, will he relish in the terror on my face I don't bother to hide as my last moments approach, freed from my binds with excruciating pain as I watch my life, my dreams, my limbs turn to dust?

Mineta pukes at his desk, Aizawa excuses him from the room.

Animal lover raises a shaky hand to ask to be excused as well. He leaves, following grape fucker. 

Katsuki's heart thumps in anticipation as the same feeling he had then washes over him. It's something almost better than adrenaline, making him feel euphoric terror and an entire lack of connection to the world, his life.

Shigaraki Tomura, once a person he doesn't personally value outlives their use to him, wants them gone. Considers their presence useless, and seeks to destroy the wastefulness of their occupancy. That placed him about midway on the Murder end. Right now, I'm useful. He wants something. I just need him to wait a while to ask for it so he doesn't run out of patience waiting for me to break by the time I can bust myself out. More likely than anything, when he's done with me, the last thing I'll see is a hand covering my eyes, then I'll be dead. 

I can work with that.

Bloodsucker. Her quirk transforms her, but it's uncertain if she has access to the quirk of the form. It's more likely than anything that her quirk causes her bloodlust, but she's become so dependent on it as a part of the way she engages with people that it would only slightly weaken with the entire erasure of her quirk. So, Maim. The farthest spot on Maim.

But she'd probably die drinking too much of my blood, with all the nitro in it. Ha, natural bug repellent. Maybe she'll leave me be, then. Still leaving her on Maim, I don't know how crazy she is.

From records and past news reports, Toga Himiko is her legal name. She killed a kid at her school after years of being the perfect kid. Her parents probably hated her ass for the bloodlust and forced her to be normal so she snapped. Makes sense she'd keep her name instead of a villain one. Living as herself for once or some bullshit, probably. 

Sigh.

My least favorite fucking member of these shitheads, for various reasons. Dabi.

Obviously a villain name. Most well known, to be honest. Blue flame quirk he's not resistant to, prone to psychotics with a deep hatred of Endeavor, Maim. Far on Maim.

And...blue eyes. The same blue eyes as Enji Todoroki, the same blue as one of Shoto Todoroki's.

The same blue eyes as the dead eldest brother, Touya.

Which could mean nothing.

It's a dumbass conspiracy like IcyHot's that I always make fun of, and I really shouldn't be entertaining the thought, but it makes so much  sense. I overheard Icyhot's talk with fuckin' Deku at the sports festival, and I have some personal opinions on Mister Flaming Shitbag Dad, but it's not impossible for a hero to create a villain. Bad dad abuses his son, who dies in a freak accident. Son is rescued after being presumed dead by villains, who convince abused by hero child that heroes are evil, and arson will fix it. Dabi is born.

Touya Todoroki died to his own flames.

The purple of Dabi's skin expands every time he fights.

And, maybe I'm grasping at straws here. But something in his apathy, his fighting style, is so weirdly reminiscent of Icyhot. It's unnerving, how similar they are. The timeline has a gap, between Dabi's first appearances and Touya's death, about three years, but that would make sense as time to recover from literally dying. The only thing unconfirmed at this point to match them up would be age. Dabi looks older than a prehistoric fucking raisin, but I don't doubt he's somewhere in his twenties. 

Just like Touya would be, by now.

Blue flames that even Endeavor couldn't produce was what made Touya Todoroki special. Flames aren't common, with the multitude of quirk types. Especially blue flames. And here Dabi is, the perfect setup for that tragic backstory, just right to fit the bill of a Todoroki--I thought I saw white in his roots as he walked in, and I can recognize his shitty hair dye for what it is--with blue flames. I'm probably crazy. But it makes fucking sense!

Endeavor and Icyhot are both frozen staring at the screen, listening uncomprehendingly as Katsuki picks apart exactly how likely it is for the two to be one.

Katsuki winces. He all but got his confirmation later on, and he really doesn't want to be here to see their reaction to that.

And then, Mist Fucker. Katsuki shudders to think of...it. It's not a human being, he's sure of that. As sure as he is that Nezu's existence is thanks to science, not a quirk. Stupid rat.

Katsuki pales as Nezu's smile temporarily sharpens, ducking his head.

Fuck, he's so dead. Why can't he even have the privacy of his mind to himself?!

"You're a clever boy, Mister Bakugou," the rat says vaguely, threatening smile softened at the edges again.

Katsuki doesn't know what to do in response to that.

No, Kurogiri is a corpse. It has to be. Because it's a vessel for...something. So either they found a dead body and fucked it up, or they did something to someone, it killed them, and then created this. He's leaning towards the former, but only because of how similar Kurogiri seems to those 'Nomu's. It only follows Shigaraki's orders, despite possessing sentience. 

It's a confusing piece of shit and a massive inconvenience, but if I know anything, I'm certain that thing was created.

"All your observations are interesting. We'll need to look into them further, Mister Bakugou," Nezu says genially.

Katsuki shivers. Creepy fuck.

I'm running out of things to focus on. I wish I wasn't alone.

Usually, there are other people being held. Quirk traffickers don't tend to only pick one target at a time. That always makes escape easier. It makes not losing my fucking mind easier, too, but that's neither here nor there.

The embarrassment is worming its way up Katsuki's throat. Embarrassment, and fear.

I shouldn't be afraid. Why am I always afraid? I'm not afraid. I hate. I am hateful and spiteful and unafraid. I fear nothing. I hate.

Why do his thoughts have to be so damning? Katsuki never wants time left to his thoughts again. It feels terrible and it's something to be held against him like this turned into. The shame. It's always returning. 

He's always so set to deny his fear, but it's never not there. It feels like awful fucking shit.

I can't spiral again. I need my head on straight for this. Unless they're planning on isolation to force me into doing what they want since they took the muzzle off--why did they take the muzzle off, actually?--someone should be coming in. Soon. I just have to wait for soon.

True to his prediction, the League members spill in. He blinks, the haze clearing from his eyes. His pupils are narrowed to dots, flicking from villain to villain, trying to understand their motives and plans from a useless, cursory glance. Katsuki plasters on his nastiest scowl as Shigaraki approaches him, making a growling sound at the back of his teeth, flash of white teeth bared with silent threat.

They want a dog? Fine, I'll bite.

"Real shitty set-up you got here. Maybe you should spend less time harassing kids and more time robbing banks, get yourself a hospitable base," he snarls, glancing over to Kurogiri. It remains neutral, having slid behind the bar to make a drink and clean out some dishes. Safe, then, to take jabs at the place. Shigaraki does nothing more than scoff, and a hand covers his face, obscuring his reaction.

"You're already giving advice, hm?" Shigaraki hums. There's something familiar in his voice. Something that sounds damn near friendly. Katsuki wants to rip his vocal cord from his throat. "This should be easier than I expected, hero student."

Moron. Reminding me of my allegiance isn't going to make me more pliable to your demands.

"What'll be easier?" he snarks, stupidly, boldly. "Shoving my foot up your ass?"

Katsuki hears Jeanist choke on his spit at the front of the room.

Tenya splutters. "Katsuki, that's dangerous! I thought you were trying to watch what you said, you could've really risked your safety!"

"First name...?" someone Katsuki doesn't pay mind to mutters. His face flushes red with embarrassment. Constantly making a fool of himself, that's all he did there. 

"I wasn't really thinking straight. My fucking bad," he grumbles in reply, not putting any of the bite behind his remark. Tenya was just...caring about him.

He doesn't push the guy away when he moves his chair to sit next to Katsuki.

Fuck. Am I stupid? I have to be stupid. Why would I say that? I barely gave myself time to come up with a plan, I can't be testing his patience right now.

Shigaraki pulls the hand off his face, revealing a nasty expression, face twisted and ugly. He stalks to the bar, setting the hand down carefully. "Kurogiri," he demands. "Get me a glass."

The mist thing obliges silently, handing over a ratty looking glass. Shigaraki holds onto it with his pinky out, turning again to fix a burning, withering glare on Katsuki. "This is you, boy," he spits. Hate, hate, hate. He hates as I hate and I hate him.

I'm not a fucking glass, moron.

Wisely, Katsuki's mouth stays shut.

"The glass is useful to me. It does what I need it to do. But there are other glasses I can use for the same purpose. This thing has become filthy, and it's sat untouched and useless for a while now. It's exceeded it's usefulness and frustrated me with its presence. Do you know what happens now, hero student? I've seen the way you analyze, you're smart. Tell me what happens now."

He's fucking--what..?

Fear stabs through Katsuki's heart, the irregular beats reaching a crescendo jackrabbit fast. His breathing hitches near imperceptibly.

They've been watching me. How much do they know? Even Aizawa's never seemed to take serious note of that, how is it that these assholes have?! Why is it them who notice more than my quirk? What do they even want from me? What usefulness would I serve to them? They have everything they need in a team as is, I would just be another member. This isn't some petty whim of Toga wanting a colleague her age like I guessed originally. 

"Come on. I know you know the answer, don't be coy," Shigaraki croons. It's a disgusting sound from his crusting lips.

"You destroy," Katsuki spits. "The only thing you ever do."

A pleased smile stretches Handsy's face. "Good, I'm glad all those notebooks weren't a fluke. You spend an awful lot of energy dissecting heroes, and you seem rather good at translating their skills to yourself. That's useful. You're a clean glass right now. Let's hope you stay that way."

He lets his pinky fall onto the cup. It turns to ash in a second.

Cold terror douses Katsuki like ice. They've seen my notebooks. They've seen my notebooks? No one's seen my notebooks. How much information did they get? God, I'm an idiot. I should've burned them like I'd meant to at the start. It was supposed to be a point of reference for developing the Howitzer and then been destroyed. Why didn't I do that?

And despite the guilt and the wonderances of how many heroes he could've compromised, only one thought echoes consistently in his head.

How much do they know?

Tenya's hand falls on his shoulder, squeezing lightly in reassurance. Katsuki pretends he doesn't feel the slightest tremors wracking his body, reliving the feeling he had that day. He feels curious eyes of the pros on him, analytical and sharp, trying to brute force his secrets into the open. What do his notebooks say? he feels their eyes ask. What do they reveal about us?

Nezu pauses the screen again. "This is something else I'd like you to clarify, Mr. Bakugou. Are you still in possession of these notebooks? I'd like to review them, if so."

Is lying an option? Katsuki rips the thought away from his mind as soon as it pops up. The rat is the smartest creature on the fucking planet, and Katsuki has lied about something serious less than ten times in his life. He'd be seen through in a second. "I made encrypted copies and destroyed the originals. There's no guide for the encryption, it shouldn't be easily decipherable."

"Well, yet another point to lend to your intelligence. I'm impressed." The praise falls cold and hollow on Katsuki's shoulders. "Do you have any of these available for me to review right now?"

He carries all of them on his person since Kamino. He procures the compression bag Hatsume had made him, about the size of his hand, and triggers the weirdass mechanism to expand it to the size of the contents. He's extremely suspicious that the thing is the result of some freaky quirk, but Hatsume is typically able to create things that plain technology should not be able to. 

"There are five in here," Katsuki explains. "There's one notebook I just didn't copy."

He tosses the bag to the front, landing right beside the rat. "Thank you, then. I've already reviewed the footage, so I'll look through these until I have more questions for you." 

The stupid screen that Katsuki wants with all his might to smash into nothing continues playing.

"Aw, Shiggy!" Toga coos. "You're scaring him! Don't be mean."

"I ain't scared of jackshit you bloodsucking bitch," Katsuki hisses, the flash of teeth baring itself again, his fang-like canines on full display.

Toga gasps, her hands coming up to her face, crinkled in joy. "Look, he has fangs too!!"

Katsuki snaps his lips shut.

Not fucking fangs, 'cause he's not a fucking dog. Not a vampire freak, either. 

"Don't be shy, Katsu," she sighs, swaying happily. "I'm happy that we're matching!"

Katsuki wants to snap at her to never use his name again, but he doesn't want to open his mouth. He's not a villain or a creep or an animal. He is nothing that would bare fangs rather than teeth.

Aizawa sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kid, the whole dog thing is starting to seem like a big problem. I'm not going to be able to keep letting you brush off counseling if this comes up again."

Has Katsuki made the sentiment clear, yet, that he fucking hates this?!

Through grit teeth, knowing it will come up again, he forces out, "Sure, whatever."

Tenya's hand still sits heavy on his shoulder.

"It's almost like he wants the muzzle back on," Dabi drawls, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.

Without thinking, Katsuki jerks forward in his chains, snapping his jaw at Toga's far too close hands. "Fuck you," he says, the same glint, a promise to hurt, in his own eyes, right next to the fear and the hate. "You come near me with that damn thing and I'll tear your fucking face off with my damn teeth."

Toga only laughs delightedly, jerking away but waving her hands about whimsically.

"Why exactly did we nab the feral kid again..?" Lizard freak asks, slight anxiety tinging his tone as he noticeably backs away from Katsuki's person.

He snaps his eyes to the pussy villain. They shine with violence, and he doesn't bother to put his teeth away as he honest-to-god growls at the dude. "You wanna say that to my face asshole? Why exactly did they recruit a pussy, huh? Scared shitless of a fucking fifteen year old too chained up to move? Huh? Come on back here, I don't bite. Come on, come closer. I'm friendly."

His scowl morphs into a smile, unhinged and sharp and dangerous as wild, terror-stained eyes glare into the villain's soul. "I'm friendly, mister Spinner, I swear. My teeth are all soft, pinky promise. I won't bite, mister Spinner, why are you backing away?"

Shitty Hair laughs nervously. "Damn, man, you really had the villains on their toes there...!"

Dunce Face agrees with the sentiment, hopping up and over to Katsuki to give him a slap on the back. "That's sick as hell, dude! You had Spinner pissing himself while you couldn't even fight him!"

Katsuki considers being offended for a moment, but chooses to let the pride that swims under his skin at the comments win out. "'Course I had him shitting himself. I'm awesome, and it's impossible to not damn know it!"

A harsh bark of laughter sounds from the pros, Hawks jerking guiltily away from Mirko, who slaps a hand over her mouth doing absolutely nothing to stifle her howling laughs. Katsuki's anger flares, careless of the fact that it's the number two and number five pros.

"Are you fuckin' making fun of me? I feel like fried fucking chicken and a bunny shouldn't be talking shit," he snaps, glaring at them.

"Ah, sorry kid, we aren't making fun of you," Hawks says, his PR smile plastered on his face and the easy drawl he uses for the camera in his voice. "You just remind me an awful lot of Mirko, and she thought that was hysterical, apparently."

Mirko, catching her breath, nods ferociously, agreeing to the sentiment. "I can't unsee it, kid, you're like a mini-me! I'm so proud Eraser's raising you baby heroes right.." She wipes a tear dramatically from her eye, grinning fiercely as she huffs one last laugh and takes a calming breath.

"Spinner, he's so perfect!" Toga cries, doing a little hopping dance in the center of the room. "He bites, just like meee~!" she sings. 

Twice pops his head into the room. 

Shit, I forgot about him. How could I do that? He's literally probably one of the most dangerous assets to the League. A cloning quirk that has sentient duplicates capable of utilizing his quirk... if he fixes whatever's stopping him from using the full potential of his quirk, that's infinite troops. The heroes are screwed.

But what the hell could I do? I can't kill the guy. I don't even know if I'd be able. Shit, I really hate this. I'm no fucking weakling, but a one-v-however the fuck many there are of them is fucking setting me up for failure. The only thing I can be grateful for is that the guy seems nice enough aside from being an entire wreck and a half mentally. I'll put him high on Murder.

"Oh, I see you're getting along with the kid, Toga! That's great! We should kill him." The villain's voice switches mid-sentence, sentiment changing entirely in the same breath.

Yeah, what the fuck?! What is wrong with these fuckers?!

"It's worth noting that this only adds to every recount of hero encounters with Twice," Edgeshot says neutrally. "He seems to have polar opposite personalities constantly flipping within him."

Okay, putting him a little lower on Murder.

"Seriously, you're dedicated to that scale," Tail Asshole murmurs with some awe.

Not likely to kill me himself because his quirk isn't offensive and he doesn't keep obvious weapons, but if his cheery side slips from control then I'm... not going to have fun with how he decides to supervise my death.

Good. Getting information.

Shigaraki hasn't stopped scratching. I'm gonna blow his fucking hands off. He wasn't scratching earlier, did he get fuckin' bug bites or something? What happened between when he walked in and when he finally shut up to make him so damn itchy?

The glass.

He disintegrated the glass.

Could it..?

But that doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't--

Dabi's quirk. Touya Todoroki's quirk. They're the same way.

Incompatible with the body.

Could it possibly?

It wouldn't seem impossible. The human body developed as metahumans evolved, mutations surfacing so the body could healthily occupy the quirk. It's just as possible that some bodies, due to whatever genes or outside interference medically, aren't really equipped to handle their quirks. Like Sparkles. His body isn't built right to handle his weird fucking stomach beam. Touya Todoroki and Dabi's bodies are unable to handle the heat of the flames he produces. It's just as plausible that Shigaraki's body isn't built to withstand Decay, despite the fact that he doesn't disintegrate when he puts five fingers on himself.

Shit, this makes the higher master theory make sense too. If something's wrong with Shigaraki's body accepting Decay, he might have some scientist who fixed him up just enough to require maintenance tugging his strings. 

I need to stop tuning them out. Why am I so out of it?

Dabi's clapping his hands way too fucking close to my face.

"What the  fuck do you want you fucking crisp?!" Katsuki snaps.

"There you are sleepyhead. Jeez, the drugs really do stick hard in your system," he gripes lazily, rolling his eyes.

"You asshole! What the fuck did you drug me with?!" 

Dabi doesn't grace him with an answer, only turning on his heel and retreating to the shadowy corner of the room. 

"Now then, hero student. I bet you're curious to know why you're here." Shigaraki finally stopped scratching. Katsuki near cries from joy. He refrains from opening his mouth, hoping Shigaraki will skip the asshole monologue and just tell him what he wants. He has a few ideas now, so he needs the room empty again.

His lack of an answer curves Shigaraki's mouth into a frown.

Wah, wah, too fuckin' bad, the whiny baby wasn't showered in attention.

"I understand you didn't vocalize any of this, Katsuki," Tenya starts softly, "but you really treated this far too flippantly. You could've been very hurt."

It's worry and concern and all those sticky, honey-sweet things dripping from the words in a way that's nothing like sludge, so Katsuki nods. "I was just trying to keep it light for my own sake. Wasn't exactly looking for another way to fuckin' spiral."

Tenya accepts the explanation. His hand never leaves Katsuki's shoulder.

"Join the League."

"Fuck off and die."

The response spills from his mouth before he can think to stop himself. It's instinctual. 'Join the League' is enough to make him boil, the water in his blood reaching a steaming point and spewing from his mouth as venomous words. 

Shigaraki only scoffs. "They have you trained so well, ingrained the hatred for villains in your brain the same way you know how to walk."

"I'm not 'trained'," is all Katsuki can think to spit. "I'm not a dog."

Katsuki winces as Aizawa shoots him a look. Yeah, he knew it was inescapable. At least he could stick it to Shigaraki in the moment.

Shigaraki grins. Katsuki feels like he just fell into a trap, bit the bait he didn't realize was swinging.

" We know you're not a dog, Bakugou. But do the heroes?" his voice is sly and smug and tricky, like he knows something that's dangling right in Katsuki's face that he was too stupid to see.

Dread.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, moron? Do I look like a fucking furry?" Vitriol and venom, his only defense when his quirk and his muscles are stripped from him.

Shigaraki looks so knowing. I want to rip that expression off his face. "You're smart, Bakugou. You know what I'm talking about, don't deny it." His eyes roll over Katsuki, searching, narrowed. His gaze snags on something that makes his eyes widen. "Or do you? I almost don't believe it."

He pulls a chair over, sitting on it backwards to face Katsuki. "They have you so indoctrinated that you don't even know you were wronged."

I hate this. He thinks I'm an idiot. He thinks I'm naive. He thinks I'm stupid. I'm not stupid. I'm not gullible or naive or an idiot. I know when I've been fucked over, and heroes haven't fucked me over. I am a hero. I save myself, so I'm not fucked over when no one comes to get me. I'm not wronged. I'm not a villain, some scum who turns to crime after some pathetic fucking sob story about by parents giving less than a shit for me and heroes waiting for me to fix my problems myself. That's just how it is, because I'm aggressive and hard to deal with so my anger is my shield and I don't need anyone else's protection. 

Katsuki's voice in the narration sounds frantic to his own ears. Desperate to prove to himself that Shigaraki is wrong and stupid and Katsuki is none of the naivete or trust that clings to him like a leech.

"You were wronged, by the way," Aizawa says monotonously, voice apathetic. It's a comforting kind of typical from the man. "That's the only thing Shigaraki is correct about. You didn't deserve that, and you are owed an official apology from the school." He glares in Nezu's direction, whose smile again takes on a sharp edge.

"But of course, Eraser. I don't know why I hadn't thought to issue such previously."

Katsuki hates that rat.

Katsuki's jaw is clenched tightly shut, teeth grinding together.

"The Sports Festival, boy. We've had our eyes on you for a while now, you're apparently very popular with quirk traffickers, but they were just asking for the world to tear into you with that display at the award ceremony. Oh, even Toga pitied you. The panic was so obvious in your eyes. Chained to a podium like a beast, a medal shoved onto you. It reminded you of the Sludge Villain Incident from your last year of middle school, right? You had the same fear on your face then."

Katsuki feels gross, sickly. The nitroglycerin sliding down his hands suddenly reminds him of the texture of slime, thicker than regular sweat. He thinks he might be sick. He wants to retort, to shoot down Shigaraki's smug words with some factual evidence that proves he's the idiot, that UA was in the right, that he wasn't affected by the ceremony at all.

He comes up blank.

"Not to mention that Midnight using her sedative quirk on you. How cruel, honestly. Even we used the lighter drugs to keep you out of it but not kill you. Did she even read your files, I wonder? Though, heroes really don't care, do they? She could've cost you your life, 'to protect another student'. You didn't have violence in your movements though. I saw none, and Toga saw none. She's the expert, and you're an open book. How could we, villains, have noticed your intentions and fear, but the heroes watched--cheered--as you screamed to be let free?" Katsuki wants Shigaraki to stop. He wants the asshole scum to stop pretending he wouldn't have done worse, had Katsuki not complied to his demands.

The thought finally, finally gives him something to say.

"You preach like you're so high and mighty, but I woke up here in a muzzle, too." He tastes iron on his tongue and runs it across the backs of his teeth. He knows there's no blood in his mouth, but the phantom of it haunts him.

Toga butts in, tutting in obnoxiously light, teasing tone. "Silly Katsu, that's only because you ripped off a strip of Spinner's scales while you were out of it! We sent Dabi in to take off the muzzle as soon as we knew you were up, he's just teasing about putting it back on."

One glance at the guy says otherwise, I really don't think he's fucking teasing. Thanks blood bitch, damn. 

"This is really fucked up..." Tape Face mutters, face contorted in disbelief as he stares at the screen.

"I just wanna apologize," Pinky says, gulping dramatically, "if I ever aggravated you in the past. I so did not mean it please forgive me."

Katsuki, only by her exaggerated fear, is able to dredge up the amusement to snort, shoving his face in his hands and praying to god his classmates don't want him dead after this. "I'll fucking think about it Pinky," he grumbles to the desk he's locked his eyes on.

"I second the sentiment," Bird Brain voices sagely. "A pissed off Bakugou, even under the influence of drugs, is a force to be reckoned with."

And the fucker actually makes Katsuki grin, with that. "Damn right I am, feathers for brains. I'm always a force to be fucking reckoned with."

Katsuki doesn't grace Toga's revelation with a response.

Makes fucking sense he was pissing himself as soon as I flashed a tooth, at least. 

"So, you're telling me to abandon everything I've ever worked for because of the Sports Festival? That's tough shit, you're gonna need a better recruitment spiel," Katsuki shoots out instead, eyeing Shigaraki with a facade of confident contempt.

The villain shakes his head, disappointed. "I can't believe you really want to dig up all the evidence of hero society's failings to you, Bakugou. You and I both know they are many."

Why is he talking like some kind of fucking philosopher? If he starts yapping about being trapped in a cave, I might actually just conk out. 

Snorts from the less academically inclined of his classmates. Tenya's hand on his shoulder tightens, briefly. Katsuki doesn't have to glance out of the corner of his eye to know the guy's face creases with worry for him.

"Yuh-huh. Knock yourself out, I'm going to be a hero." Not his safest choice for dialogue, but better than his last thought. 

Shigaraki steamrolls on. "Do I even have to bring up the Sludge Villain Incident? Don't pretend the thought of it doesn't  scare you, Bakugou." His voice curls around the word 'scares'. It makes Katsuki sick with terror. Yeah, like fuck will he ever admit it, but the name itself draws up that sinking feeling of dread. Said in Shigaraki's voice, it sounds like a promise of death. "If you could only see your face right now. I bet you lie awake at night, feeling the suffocation as sludge forces its way down your throat. I bet you can't sit in dark rooms alone anymore, checking once, twice, three times, for a bottle sealed loosely with something that could've ruined your life. Nothing more than slime in a soda bottle--but it did ruin you, didn't it?"

Katsuki scowls. He can't fix his face, he doesn't care that his eyes are wild and darting, he could give less of a shit that vomit sits at the back of his throat at the phantoms. "And this is supposed to convince me to become a villain? Reminding me of how close to death a villain brought me? Are you fucking stupid?!" He's yelling at Shigaraki, chained to a chair in a room full of people who could want him dead with all the power they need to make it happen. He doesn't care. Not in the slightest. Part of Katsuki, absently, wonders if he wants this.

"No, Bakugou. What ruined you wasn't the villain. You know what did? The heroes, trained, professional  adults, the ones meant to protect you, who stood by and watched you struggle and fight to so much as breathe for fifteen minutes. It was a quirkless boy you hated who ended up risking his life to give you a chance, not any of those whose job it supposedly is to protect the civilians."

Katsuki and Izuku both stiffen at the mention. Their eyes meet without conscious thought, one realization between them. If they know Izuku used to be quirkless...

'Do they know about One for All?!'

"Fuck you," he spits, and Katsuki hates, he hates, he haTES HE HATES HE HATESHEHATESHEHATESHEHATESHEHATESHEHATESHEHATESHEHATES . 

Katsuki's sitting at his desk, boring holes into the wood. The hatred is familiar, it's a comfort, why is it so sickening to be reminded of at its height? He hates and loathes and destroys and violence is his outlet but he has nothing, and is the hatred really hate or is it something worse, something smaller and tentative and vulnerable? Katsuki hates vulnerable. 

"Katsuki." Tenya is muttering his name, calling for his attention, gently jostling his shoulder. His hand still hasn't moved. "Do you need to leave the room for a moment? This is...emotional, I can imagine it's difficult to have aired out like this so carelessly."

He blinks once. Then again. And he lifts his head and listens to his own voice, growling and angry and vengeful like a fallen god. He glances around the room, trying to gauge the reactions of his classmates and coming up nothing but confused. He doesn't understand what's on their faces, the smatters of emotion in their eyes, or what the creases in their brows or tilts and pulls of their lips could mean. Suddenly, he feels like the muscle and bone under his skin has been hollowed out, emptiness buzzing within him.

He shakes his head no.

"Be stubborn, fine. But remember in the darkness how it felt to be bound and chained and gagged all those times before." Shigaraki isn't just talking about the Sports Festival or the Sludge Villain. He mentioned earlier that Katsuki was 'popular with quirk traffickers'. Sick fucking bastard, miming all his kidnappings before.

Yet despite everything Shigaraki is wrong about, he's correct in the familiarity of thick chains against my skin.

It's almost a comfort, makes me hotter with rage than a blanket.

The door clicks shut as the last villain follows Shigaraki out, and the dim lights fade into total inky darkness. Katsuki laughs. He laughs himself out of breath, howling and sounding insane to his own ears. He laughs giddily for a while, in the void the room has become, feeling floaty and lightheaded and dreading, and he laughs and laughs and laughs until he's sobbing, jerking desperately in his chains and wailing for someone, anyone, to make it so he doesn't, for once, need to save himself. He screeches with each heaving sob, yelling wordlessly his rage into the air. If he's going to be bound, the villains can kiss a good night of sleep goodbye. 

He's not sure how long he spends, uselessly trying to force his way out of his restraints, switching between giggles and screams and tears. He falls asleep like that, hiccups tapering off as his eyes slide shut without his consent. He droops forward, head lolling and chest held up by the straps across it.

He takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. It's somehow harder to get through with his eyes shut, throat hoarse from puking earlier making him feel like he's in the dark room alone again, screaming out a lung and crying for someone to come save him like a helpless baby.

Tenya's hand slipped away, and Katsuki wants to ask for it back. Wants to prove to himself that when he opens his eyes, he won't be back there, like he never left. 

"Oh my fucking god!" Invisabitch cries out, sounding like she just figured out how to win a Nobel. "They know you'd hate that and locked you up anyway, those sick fucks!"

Katsuki's heart seizes in his chest, oddly touched. He thought she was going to curse him out for being crazy, but it's a nice step up to hear she's just pissed off about the villains being purposeful dickheads which like, fork spotted in kitchen, but whatever. Invisabitch and Pinky are the heart of the class; if they don't pin him as villainous or childish for his meltdown, he has it on good authority no one else will freak out about it.

"Bakugou, you're going to counseling as soon as this recording is over," Aizawa asserts, voice far less monotone this time.

Jeanist glares at Katsuki's teacher. "He really shouldn't have to be watching this at all. Why hasn't he been permitted to leave the room yet?"

Katsuki's face flushes in embarrassment. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. Honestly. He couldn't keep it together for one fucking day? And here it is, his embarrassment displayed for everyone to see. All his failings in clear pixels and sharp audio. 

Katsuki wakes with someone else in the room. That's never good.

The lights are on. Despite his fear of the agitation emanating from the person he refuses to look up at yet, that fact eases the tension in his posture. 

Finally, he raises his eyes to glare in Dabi's.

God, it's freaky how similar his eyes are to Icyhot's. I hope I'm fucking wrong, it would suck ass to find out your dead brother is actually an arsonist who's tried to kill you more than once. 

Dabi looks pissed.

Fuck.

"Oh my god, he looks fucking terrifying!" Earplugs splutters, jerking away from the screen. She'd gone unresponsive at the last bit, the screaming sounding like hell to her enhanced ears. Katsuki feels a little bad.

"Yeah," he commiserates out of sympathy. "Acted like I pissed in his fuckin' cereal or something."

He sees half his class shudder. Morons. 

"G'morning princess," Dabi greets, and Katsuki feels like he just got harassed hearing the nickname from the creep's mouth. "I bet you slept well last night after fucking up my sleep screaming a lung out."

Oh, he's pissed off that he couldn't sleep 'cause I was literally losing it. Asshole, he's probably lost his shit like that more than once in his life.

"You fuckin' bet I did," Katsuki forces out, his throat shredded.

Dabi hums in fake sympathy. "Bet your throat hurts too, hm? And your face looks rough, you thirsty from cryin' so much?" His voice is so fake and so pitying and Katsuki  hates him. He wants to shove Dabi's face in a toilet like some cliche bully and watch the guy choke on his own shit. He gags unconsciously at the thought, imagining the smell of it invading his nose.

The action earns him a strange look. "You smell somethin' funny?"

"Yeah, your burnt up fuckin' flesh cuz your quirk's incompatible with your body you damn loser," Katsuki returns smugly, noting with pride how Dabi tenses despite the pain of forcing the words from his torn up vocal cord. "Y'remind me of this Todoroki kid, long dead. Didja know him, Touya?"

The phrasing sounds like he's mentioning the name and addressing Dabi as Touya at the same time. He won't sound stupid if he's wrong, but if he's right... it's only a matter of if Dabi bites.

And true to expectation, the villain jolts, seething. "What do you fucking think you're doing throwing that name around, kid? You got something to gain from that? 'Cause the boss wants your smarts, but you don't have that grace period from me. Watch where you stick your fucking nose!"

What sick irony. Standing here in front of me, threatening my life, is more than likely Touya fucking Todoroki, Icyhot's older brother. I wonder what would've happened if Dabi had nabbed Icyhot instead of me. I wonder if he'd let his brother live. I wonder if anybody knows. It's likely that if I was able to figure it out, all the pros are in the know and just keeping it quiet for Endeavor's sake. I don't want to get into shit for knowing what I'm not supposed to, so--

"I'll keep my fuckin' mouth shut, relax. You're just not subtle, and I thought you should know. You morons are obvious as shit," he snarks, uncaring arrogance that they both know is nothing more than bravado in the eased line of his shoulders.

Dabi scoffs, mouth opening in a grin that has no trace of happiness. "The boss shouldn't care if I rough you up a little bit."

He unlocks the first part of the cuffs encasing Katsuki's entire hands, separating two metal blocks.

Katsuki's stomach drops.

There are a million different things that could happen, and all of them either ruin his escape plans or end up with him dead.

Shitty Hair sighs, obviously illogically stressed watching the tape. "It's good to know you were just imagining worst case scenarios, dude. I don't know what we would've done if something serious happened."

Katsuki can only scoff. "I feel like my dread was plenty justified by what he did."

Dunce Face yelps. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dude, that's ominous as hell?!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, ignoring Tenya's concerned side-eye.

Dabi drags up one hand, fiddling with the locking mechanism. "Now, I've been hoping to do this since we dragged your smug ass out here," he sighs, as though Katsuki is inconveniencing him. "But now you've just given me all the more reason. I hate you little hero students. You think you're so wise, so experienced. You're  nothing, in reality. But you don't have to be nothing forever, little hero. I can turn you into my masterpiece."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. I don't know what the fuck he's planning, but I'm almost certain I'm walking out of this with a scar to rival Icyhot's. He's Endeavor's 'masterpiece', right? That's what Dabi wanted to be, and that's what he's going to turn me into. He's becoming the man he hates, how ironic. I'm becoming Icyhot, which fucking sucks for me because Icyhot's life seems shitty as hell.

"I'm relieved your prediction of a scar was incorrect," Todoroki speaks up for the first time, gaze empty. Katsuki genuinely feels guilty for figuring out Dabi's identity, if only for the fact that Icyhot has to live with that now. He also winces at the guy's words, really wishing for once they were right.

"I'm almost never wrong," is all he chooses to say. He hopes it doesn't come across as what it means.

Katsuki's jaw is clicked shut, tightly. He has no set of rules to follow for Dabi, not the kind of rules he can follow with his parents or teachers. Dabi is unpredictable and irrational and insane.

Finally, the lock releases, and half his cuff falls clattering to the ground.

For a moment, very, very briefly, Katsuki considers letting his hand explode. But Dabi has it held between their faces, closer to Katsuki's own. He might be able to blow Dabi's hand off, but he'd blow his own brains out better than a gun in the process. He imagines it for a moment, Dabi screaming at his impromptu amputation with his own brains smattered across the floor.

Katsuki's hands don't flare orange.

"Look at that, you do have intelligent thought beyond violence," Dabi croons. "I'm already halfway done."

He presses Katsuki's hand, slick with nitroglycerin, to his shoulder, his sleeve shoved up. 

"You're smart, hero student," Dabi says, mocking Shigaraki's words from the day before. "I think you know what happens next."

Katsuki is very, very smart.

He still screams when the heat of Dabi's palms sparks off the nitroglycerin, tiny bombs going off against his skin.

"Oh." Todoroki's voice is soft, the room is dead silent. 

"I'm almost never wrong," Katsuki repeats. His voice rings raw and hollow.

Katsuki isn't sure how long Dabi holds his hand to his shoulder, tiny flames licking his skin producing more sweat and sparking it as soon as it leaves his glands. It aches, it aches, it aches, and Katsuki wonders if he's hallucinating his skin liquidizing. 

Finally, he pulls Katsuki's hand away, wrist still tight in his hold. Katsuki falls limp like a puppet with his strings cut, still choking out wretched sobs and panting for breath that burns through his mouth. Dabi lets his hand fall down, and Katsuki is in too much pain with too little energy to do anything as Dabi retrieves the fallen half of his cuffs and locks it back on his hand.

He pulls the other hand up, twisting at the lock.

Katsuki can feel all the pain settling back into his bones, and he cries harder. Wordlessly, without any of the pleading he's thinking, because Katsuki refuses to beg. Under pain of death, Katsuki will never beg for mercy. Heroes fall in a blaze of glory. Katsuki does not care if his death is by his own sparks.

"That's...not a healthy mentality, Katsuki," Tenya tells him, like news he hates to break.

Katsuki scoffs. "Does it really matter if it's healthy? It gets the job done and I get to leave with my pride in tact. No undoing it now, I guess."

"Fuck.. you..!" he spits through tears when the cuff makes the same sound as the last falling to the ground.

Dabi hums, amusement sparkling next to sick, sadistic satisfaction in his eyes. "I'm alright, thanks though."

The buildup is even worse on this hand, spurred by the increased sweat production of the other, and Katsuki's scream cuts off halfway as he chokes on his own blood.

Oh god, oh fuck, it's the sludge again. Can't escape it, in my lungs, can't breathe, climbing in through my nose, gonna gauge out my eyes and make a home in the sockets, always in the sludge, feels thick tastes like iron can't escape get it out get it out  please..!

He coughs and chokes and splutters, hearing the phantom voice of the villain in his head, telling him what a good vessel he'll make, he has the perfect quirk to take over, and it mixes with Dabi's voice promising he'll become his masterpiece and blood is spraying from his mouth as Katsuki's tears mix with the dripping down his chin and his hand still sparking against his shoulder.

He passes out, and thrashes in his sleep with visions of flames surrounding him and sludge forcing its way down his throat.

Katsuki blinks back tears. The marks shaped by his own hands sting, all of a sudden, despite being long since healed. He's trembling again, afraid. He's afraid of Dabi the same way a little kid fears the Boogeyman parents say snatch up bad children in the night. Constantly checking corners, never leaving the lights off, avoiding any and all flames like the damn plague. He hasn't even considered sparring with Icyhot since school started back up. He doesn't want to find out what reaction he'll have if the flames brush too close to his hands.

When he wakes again, Katsuki is still burning with pain, breathing quick and eyes frantic. 

Is it fucked that I'm relieved to be kidnapped rather than back in the alley? Then again, what about me isn't fucked. No sense taking this off the list.

Dabi's still looming, and Katsuki finally snaps into enough awareness that his hands aren't bound by metal anymore, but by leather straps. His palms are pressed into his collarbone, making an 'x' over his chest. Laughter bubbles out of him at the thought of a trust-fall exercise he remembers being forced to do. He had to put his hands like this then, too. 

He stops quickly. My throat fucking hurts. It must've been torn up enough to bleed from me screaming so much.

Round...three, I guess.

He braces himself silently as Dabi greets him happily, palms already flickering blue as he prances over. "Always makin' me wait, huh hero student? But I'll bite; this is no fun with you asleep, even if you cry from those nasty-sounding nightmares."

I hate him. I want him dead. I don't care that I'm a hero. I want him mutilated and gone and unhappy with everything he's ever done. I bet he's never felt joy in his life, going from an abused kid to a fucked-up villain. Good. I don't care about his sob story. He doesn't deserve anything good. And when his time comes, it'll be slow and painful and everything he deserves.

Katsuki  hates.

Side glances, humming, and quiet murmurs from the front of the room. Endeavor walks out, with some half-baked excuse that he's gotten the information he needs and is being called for patrol. Quietly, within the privacy of his mind, Katsuki curses him out as a coward. Face your son, he wants to yell at the hero's back. Face what you created, and what that creation has done.

He remains silent.

"Your hatred is justified." It's Aizawa (it's always Aizawa) who speaks up. "Entirely justified. But you cannot act on it. Not only to abide the law, but for your own safety. I trust you not to do anything rash, Bakugou."

Aizawa trusts him not to do anything rash.

Katsuki thinks this must be the first time he's been trusted with something like that.

It's without fanfare or prompting that the torturous pain continues, and separated from his body, Katsuki wonders what this is meant to accomplish.

I don't want to join them, but like hell I'd be agreeable after this. What does he want from me? What does he gain from seeing some random kid burn and bleed and choke and cry? Does it feel like control? I want to feel control. My whole life has been me grasping at straws for control. I want it back, what I've worked so hard for. I want to hear the sound of his skull cracking into pavement and feel control.

He's not screaming anymore, but he hasn't stopped crying. Katsuki doesn't like that. He wants to stop crying. 

Dabi pulls away for a moment, distracted by something. Stressed out of his mind, heavily exerting himself in an effort to collect enough air into his lungs, Katsuki produces more and more and more sweat in the minutes he's gone and he knows, somehow, that Dabi isn't done with him.

And too soon, far too soon, the villain returns.

It's humiliating. He feels the press of heat against his hands. His sweaty hands, slick with the sludgy drip of nitroglycerin. The smolder of smoke that turns to sparks that turns to full, popping explosions, forced from his hands. They're still pressed to his collarbones, but shifting with the slight liberty allowed by his restraints, the straps that rub and burn his skin. It's humiliating, the way the flame envelops his hand and leaves him powerless to stop the burn marks the shape of his own hands forming just below his neck. It's humiliating. It's exhilarating. Part of Katsuki wonders why he'd never tried it before.

"Pause this now, Nezu," Aizawa demands, going stiff and shifting his gaze to Katsuki in an instant. 

Fuck, why can't people ever let shit go?

"Come with me. We're going to talk in the hall."

Katsuki follows, head hung and shoulders hunched inwards in shame. 

The door clicks softly shut behind them, and Aizawa carefully, so gently, lets his fingertips rest on Katsuki's elbows, conscious of the burn marks he hadn't previously known existed. Katsuki's ears burn. He doesn't look up at his teacher, eyes fixed firmly to the man's shoes. He blinks away the stinging gloss in his eyes.

"Bakugou." Why is his voice so gentle? It's sickening. Katsuki wants him to be gruff and apathetic and uncaring again. He hates this. He doesn't want to feel any of these helpless feelings again, but they never seem to stop haunting him. "Bakugou, please look at me."

He forces his face up, glaring without venom into Aizawa's void eyes. 

"Have you ever intentionally harmed yourself of your own will? Have you ever, since then, 'tried it'?" His voice has the same edge Tenya's did, earlier, to it. It feels sticky and nice at the same time, and Katsuki can't figure out which impression to trust. "I need you to answer honestly."

Aizawa hadn't even waited to see the aftermath. He'd have his answer then. Was it intentional? Was it of his own will? Katsuki isn't sure. He was in a daze then, his memories of those moments are locked away under a foggy haze, meant to be left untouched until he can't stand to turn away any longer, until the mist drags him under and he can't escape.

"Yeah," he answers, as honestly as he's able. "I never left a mark, though."

The only scars he would ever allow himself are the ones Dabi left on his skin. A permanent reminder of his failings at both the training camp and Kamino Ward. He will never fail like that again.

Aizawa sags defeatedly, dragging a hand down his face. "Thank you for your honesty, Bakugou." He keeps saying Katsuki's name. It's odd, but not something he hates. He says it like it means something, like there are some emotions or implications attached to the simple syllables that are important to keep bringing up. Katsuki doesn't call him out on it, hesitant to potentially make him stop. "I'll address if they healed properly with Recovery Girl later. I noticed Iida was with you, but would you like to sit by me or Jeanist for the rest of the tape? Nezu wants you there, but if there's anything I can do to make it easier..."

Katsuki feels like a little kid, sitting in time-out, or being forced to talk with a teacher and explain why he started crying after another kid took the toy he was playing with. He does, stupidly, want to sit by Aizawa. The physical reminder of his teacher, his protector's presence would be enough to ward off the phantoms of Dabi's hands, reaching, burning, popping. But he also likes having Tenya next to him. He cares about Katsuki, and the weight of his hand on Katsuki's shoulder might come back. He wants it back.

"Would you prefer sitting by both Iida and I?" Aizawa asks finally, when the silence stretches uncomfortably long and it's clear Katsuki won't ask for what he wants.

He nods mutely, grateful his teacher didn't make him voice the request. 

He drags his feet back into the classroom and sits beside Aizawa and scoots himself close enough to feel his teacher's signs of life and selfishly snatches Tenya's wrist when he sits on Katsuki's other side before the courage he worked up disappears. Tenya doesn't pull away.

The tape unpauses.

He doesn't realize that the sparks keep popping when the hands are pulled away, too entrenched in his own mind. It's humiliating. It's disgusting, the way his flesh melts unnaturally, charred goop beneath his fingertips.

Tenya sucks in a sharp breath beside him, shifting their hands to hold Katsuki's tightly in his, a thumb over his pulse point.

It's beautiful, feeling firsthand his power to reshape himself so completely.

Aizawa's hand finds its way to the top of Katsuki's head, ruffling his hair gently and resting there, a comforting weight.

It's disgusting and beautiful and humiliating and exhilarating.

It feels like control.

Nezu takes the controller again, flicking the video to a stop. "The next few minutes of this contain nothing but dialogue that repeats previously stated information and a...thwarted escape attempt. Mr. Bakugou, would you prefer we skip ahead to the day of your rescue?"

"What a fucking question," he spits at the smug, asshole rat. Whoever made that thing needs to die in a fucking ditch for creating such a bitch.

Nezu stares blankly at him with his creepy dot eyes.

"Nezu, just skip ahead," Aizawa's tired voice rings. The rat obliges faux-cheerfully.

"You don't need to be stubborn about this, boy," Shigaraki snarls, pacing closer. "Be civil and join us, and you'll be free."

"Throw yourself into traffic."

I'm so far beyond giving a fuck. Why should I? It's death or villainy at this point. Do I have room for regrets? I'd have so damn many. Maybe I should just be satisfied that I got a few years longer than I expected and bite the bullet. Maybe they'll give me the grace to blow my own brains out, but I'd probably have to pretend to agree to join them to get them to let my hands free. Like hell I'll die pretending to be a villain. I'll suffer excruciatingly if it means I die declaring I'm a hero. They can all stick it.

Shigaraki only closes the distance further. Katsuki snaps and snarls and gnashes his teeth.

Four fingers are pressed into the top of his head.

Behind them, Toga remains obliviously happy, flicking on the TV. "Oh, Shiggy!" she gasps excitedly. "They're having an interview about Katsu, and Eraser is on it! He's your favorite hero, right?"

Something dangerous flashes in Katsuki's eyes at the mention of his teacher. If Shigaraki tries shit with him, Katsuki'll murder that motherfucker from beyond his grave and drag him to hell himself.

"What the hell do you fucking want with Aizawa," he growls.

Shigaraki raises a brow uncaringly. "Protective little hero student, hm? I guess Eraser just seems cool to everyone."

Katsuki's face is burning. He feels nothing but fucking foolish, watching himself near being murdered and pissed off trying to protect his teacher. The pro hero. Who's plenty capable of taking care of his fucking self without Katsuki getting in his way and screwing things up. 

He hears a huff from his left. He glances up, out of the corner of his eye, to see a soft smile tinged with something almost like fondness curling Aizawa's lips. The hand still resting on his head ruffles his blond spikes again. His embarrassment spreads to the tips of his ears.

"I'm glad you wouldn't leave me for dead, kid, but that's really the time to worry about yourself," he mutters to Katsuki. He nods, very slightly, trying to pretend he couldn't give a fuck. He gives. Many fucks.

Katsuki is distracted from the fingertips obscuring his front view, really uncaring of the threat in general. His focus shifts to the interview, volume turned up obnoxiously loud.

"So, how dangerous is Bakugou Katsuki, Eraserhead?" a reporter asks offscreen.

Aizawa's face is neutral, but his creased brow prompts an elaboration on the question. 

"I mean, with his villainous tendencies, it's unlikely he'll return to UA as a hero."

The floor seems to crumble beneath him.

W h

a

T?

My w

h A

t

?

With one prompt of a callous reporter who will go to sleep tonight and forget they ever asked the question, Katsuki's life, his dreams, are crushed like sand, running through his fingers and into the void his mind floats in.

My villainous tendencies.

I won't return to UA as a hero..?

Is this what I put up with Dabi's flames for? Will they take me back? Will I be shunned forever? Will I, will I, will I? Will I have to give up on my dream of being a hero?

Will I even make it out of here alive?

Tunnel vision narrows Katsuki's gaze onto Shigaraki's fingers perched carefully on his head, and the last dredges of fear for death that Katsuki denied clung to him release themselves. If he can't be a hero, he has nothing left to live for. He has nothing. If he can't return to UA as a hero, he can't return to his class. He can't ever throw granola bars that 'have been rotting in his bag' at Shitty Hair, can't ever watch Dunce Face's back when he shorts out and swell with pride at the idiot's thanks. He can't ever brawl with fuckin' Pink Cheeks and have someone to compete with in pure, brute strength. He won't be able to race Four Eyes or Ponytail for top of the class or 'reluctantly' organize study sessions Pinky begs for. He can't pretend he's not listening when Invisabitch spills all the dirt she's dug up on all of UA, can't taste test for Sugarfuck's new recipes, or give Tape Arms harsh advice that he takes in stride or compete with the nerd and chase after him forever like he'd imagined. He won't be able to backhandedly complement Sparkles and have the guy glitter at the praise regardless, can't trade shitty low blows with Frog Bitch or pretend his walks with Animal Man are just the two of them heading in the same direction. He won't ever trade bands with Earphones or train defense with Octopus again. He won't ever get a fair battle from Icyhot, and he won't be able to act disinterested while Bird Brain explains exactly how the latest freakish creatures he's become fascinated by operates. He won't be able to brag easily about his martial arts training in evenly-matched spars against Tails. 

He won't be a hero student anymore, and he'll lose everything he so quickly became attached to right along with it.

Suddenly, the fingers don't feel like a threat. They feel like relief. 

Katsuki is certain he hears waterworks behind him, his classmates sniffing and squeezing shut watery eyes as all his fondest memories with them flash through the screen. He loves them to fucking hell and it's a terribly dangerous attachment, and here his soul is bared to all of them, everything he'd tried to hide behind a gruff facade revealed as though all his effort was barely worth a second's thought.

Aizawa's hand is running through his hair in a repetitive, soothing gesture. Katsuki almost feels sick at the comfort of it. Tenya's grip on his hand goes tight again.

Until Aizawa's voice cuts through his muddled spiral of dread.

"Bakugou is one of my students with the strongest resolve. If those villains think they can convince him, they have another thing coming--that boy has determination like I've never seen to become a hero."

Huh?

He thinks I'll--

He believes in me?

He says I'll. He thinks I'll come out of this a hero. Aizawa knows I'd rather die a hero. Aizawa believes in me.

"It shouldn't come as a shock to you, Bakugou," Aizawa says, his head turned away when Katsuki glances up at him. "I meant what I said. Your resolve is incredible, which has only further been proven today."

It doesn't feel like his resolve has been proven. It only feels like all his weakness has been shown, his failure to hold onto any sort of determination to live.

But Aizawa says his resolve was proven, and Aizawa doesn't say things he doesn't mean. Except for maybe logical ruses. If Aizawa is saying all this, what reason does Katsuki have not to believe him? Is it so unlikely for him to be telling the truth?

"I guess," he settles on, just to ensure Aizawa he was listening. 

With the rush of hope, the fear of what happens when Shigaraki puts his thumb down slams back into Katsuki like a damn truck. He has something to return to, now. Aizawa's handed him his future back, all wrapped up in gold. All he has to do now is survive long enough to grab hold of it. Easy enough.

He's never gotten a failing grade.

"Man," Dunce Face says, voice obviously choked with tears. "You were really dedicated to treating that like a test..."

Katsuki dredges up his smile, the one that's feral and ugly and bares his teeth proudly. "I never fail a test, Dunce Face. I didn't damn fail that one."

"I'll play nice," Shigaraki decides suddenly, tugging his hands away. Katsuki hopes the way he sagged with relief wasn't too obvious, but Ballsy's snicker tells him that hope was in vain. "I'll let you out of your chains. It's not like you can fight all of us at once."

Like some sick sort of miracle, the binds that had quickly become brand-new nightmare fuel fall to dust from Katsuki's form. He stumbles to a stand quickly, shaking out his hands. These motherfuckers will regret letting him go in the middle of their fucking hideout. He'll blow this place to ash.

His mouth, blood still stained in the corners of his lips, twists into some cross between a snarl and a grin. "You really want me to join you, then get on your knees and beg!" He drops into a fighting stance, legs wide and hands braced at his sides, glowing orange in preparation to blast. He shoots quickly out at Shigaraki, the closest and most dangerous at the moment.

His next target is Dabi, who he wants incapacitated as soon as possible.

"I hope I don't have to stress to you just how dangerous this was, Bakugou," Aizawa says, half-scoldingly. 

Jeanist nods, chiming in. "You're very skilled, but it would have been less risky to stall or at least not engage in combat given they seemed willing to be nonviolent temporarily."

"I'll keep that in mind next time..." he grumbles, ducking his head again. Why is he always getting ganged up on?

All of them are lunging for him, spurring into action, when the doorbell rings.

Everyone pauses. Honest-to-god freezes to listen to a voice say from the door, "Uh, delivery from Kamino Pizza?" Then stays still for another second to glance at each other and silently try to figure out who ordered.

What the fuck? How are they so powerful and so incompetent?

And then the ceiling breaks in, Lizardfuck getting absolutely bodied by All Might.

Holy fuck, this has gotta be a fever dream.

"I'd be thinking the exact same thing in your place, Kacchan..." Deku mumbles absently, blinking rapidly at the genuinely bizarre scene. Most people are wearing a similar expression.

Katsuki doesn't grace them with any sort of response.

The battle passes in a haze, and Katsuki comes back to himself facing All Might, feeling something choking up his throat. It could be more blood. He might also be hallucinating sludge. As unpleasant as both options seem, either would be wondrous compared to the reality.

His lips wobble, trying to stay sealed.

He doubles over, hacking up slime. 

Fuck, again? Can't I ever escape this shit?!

It's consuming him, and Katsuki feels a terror envelop him worse even than when Shigaraki was holding his life's fate on a whim. 

More than one person can be heard sucking air through their teeth with obvious winces, sympathy painting their postures. He seriously could not catch a break.

He doubles over where he lands, puking up the last of the sludge from his throat. He stumbles as quickly as possible to stand. He's in danger.

"Your senses are sharp, despite how muddled the circumstances could've made your judgement," Hawks says, a simple observation slipping from his tongue. As though it's nothing, not the number two hero saying that the oppressive terror of that freak's presence was something to be praised. Like, oh yeah, let's just brush that off.

"Thanks," Katsuki replies faux-casually, head hung for the millionth time and willing his cursedly short hair to cover his face. 

A man who stands far too tall looms before him, a sleek, industrial grade mask obscuring his face and neck. It shines with the promise of pain, the mere presence of the man emitting a feeling of dread. Katsuki can feel, staring at the person before him, that it's not a fight he would make it out of alive.

A glance to the side shows heroes, including--Jeanist? Holy fuck, Jeanist-! He hadn't expected anyone to come for him, but the dread of his begrudgingly appreciated mentor half-dead on the ground squeezes his gut and chokes him with guilt. The heroes are all sprawled across the ground, clearly injured.

The fault of one man, standing before him and observing Katsuki casually.

His head is spinning and his burns are probably becoming infected and Katsuki, for once in his life, chooses wisely. He shoots the strongest blasts he can muster at the heavy presence before him, and blasts himself towards Jeanist. If he can help, they can probably evacuate. It irks Katsuki to no end to just let a villain go, but if he's beyond  Jeanist's skill? Katsuki's smart. He doesn't like his chances.

But at the worst time, the villains transported the same way as him finish coughing up their slime, surrounding him. He's fucking screwed, one way or another, huh?

He's fucking scared out of his mind, but Katsuki isn't about to go down letting them know.

He braces, readying himself for a fight. A knife slices past his face, hands reaching and grabbing, swords slicing through the air. He does nothing but dodge, again, again, again, evading every strike he sees coming, trying to watch from all sides and blasting haphazardly behind him to repel attacks he can't keep his eyes on. The jolts of each blast feel like the recoil of firing a gun, his arms weakened from not eating in...two days? and the burns that cut into him below the shoulders. And he's running out of steam, he knows, and the glint in the villains' eyes tells him they do too, when he hears his fucking name called from the sky.

This night has been hellish enough that Katsuki half expects to look up and see god.

Mirko laughs harshly at his thought, Hawks trying obviously not to join her laughter. Katsuki never realized the two were such good friends. Pinky and a few other classmates also devolve into laughter at the joke, and he almost feels pride for the panic induced, hysterical joke.

"Aside from your strange thought process," Aizawa grumbles. "You fought very well with little energy."

He's unwilling to admit it, but he hears the silent but you were lucky to be saved when you were loud and clear.

Instead of god, it's Katsuki's classmates, Shitty Hair at the end of their dumbass conga line extending a hand.

So, about as close to god's grace as it gets.

Katsuki doesn't even have to think, grinning wildly and blasting himself up, forward, higher, until his hand clasps with Kirishima's. 

Yeah, pretty fucking close to heaven, I think. 

"Aw, dude, it was nothing!" Shitty Hair yells obnoxiously, voice teary. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes just as dramatically. "Yeah, I mean it's only throwing yourself over an active battlezone between Japan's top heroes and most dangerous villains. No biggie, obviously?"

The moron splutters, and Tenya genuinely huffs a laugh at the sarcasm. Katsuki does a mental fist pump of pride, applauding himself for slowly removing the stick up the guy's ass.

The tape clicks to an end, the screen fading to black.

"Well then!" Nezu says, snapping a notebook shut and moving to stand. "I imagine your teacher wants to give you students the rest of the day to relax and work out your feelings about what you saw here. Mr. Bakugou, thank you for letting me review your notebooks. I must say, I had a difficult time piecing together the code! There were a few portions I wasn't able to translate at all, so well done. Feel free to take these back when you'd like," he applauds, putting the notebooks back into Hatsume's bag. 

Katsuki nods his thanks, still not over his hatred enough to actually voice the sentiment. 

"Heroes," Nezu continues and god, his voice is grating, is that just Katsuki? "feel free to leave at your leisure. There will be another meeting to discuss the contents of this tape soon enough, after I verify a few things."

The pros spend a half hour more straggling around the room, students coming up to engage in tentative conversation. Katsuki speaks briefly with both Jeanist and Mirko, privately fanboying just a bit at the latter, but otherwise contents himself to find a quiet corner and lean into Tenya's steady presence. 

At some point, when Aizawa gives them the rest of the day in the classroom to do what they please, Katsuki falls asleep. No nightmares wait for him as he finally lifts the weight of exhaustion from his shoulders.